#marvel enhanced!reader

[purifiedclitoris69]

Cool Off

Natasha Romanoff x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: A hot-headed, cocky pyrokinetic Avenger struggles to control their powers—and the growing tension with Natasha Romanoff.

You weren’t born a hero. Hell, you’re still not sure you want to be one. But somewhere between the burning buildings and the broken bones, you became something they couldn’t ignore.

Your powers showed up early—violent, untamed, and triggered by rage. One minute you were a kid being cornered by people who thought they could hurt you, the next you were standing in the middle of an inferno, untouched, heart pounding, hands still glowing. You didn’t cry. You didn’t apologize. You liked the power.

As you grew, so did the fire. So did the attitude. You learned to own it—your temper, your heat, the way flames lick at your skin like they know you. People called you dangerous, reckless, impulsive. You called it survival. Eventually, you stopped flinching when they whispered “monster.” You started smirking instead.

Now you’re the walking wildfire of the team—hot-headed, loud-mouthed, and impossible to ignore. You talk big because you can back it up. No one wants to spar with you in the training room. You’ve melted more than one combat dummy and set off multiple fire alarms just breathing too hard.

And yeah, you’re cocky. Arrogant, even. But beneath the fire and the biting sarcasm, there’s something else. A need to protect. A need to matter. You’ll never admit it out loud, but these people—this dysfunctional team of weirdos and warriors—they’re the closest thing you’ve ever had to a family.

You’d burn the world down for them.

All they had to do was light the match.

Being part of the Avengers means being part of a dysfunctional family—emphasis on dysfunction. You’re the chaos in the calm, the match everyone forgot was lit until the whole room’s up in smoke. The team keeps calling you a “loose cannon”, which is ironic considering you’re also the one they call when things go really sideways.

You get on everyone’s nerves, but they’d be lying if they said they didn’t love you.

Steve tries to keep you in check. Keyword: tries. He’s constantly telling you to “watch your temper” or “think before you act,” and you just grin and ask if he wants you to knit a sweater and write in cursive next. He lectures, you roast him, but there’s a weird father-figure comfort in the way he never gives up on you—even when you’re blowing holes through the training room walls.

Sam? He’s your sparring partner and your verbal sparring partner. The two of you bicker like siblings on a long car ride. You steal his food, call him Birdbrain, and he threatens to throw you off the Quinjet every time. But if anyone outside the team ever looked at you the wrong way, Sam would be the first to step between you and danger

Clint is your partner-in-crime. You once dared him to shoot an arrow through a flaming hoop you made mid-air. He did it. You high-fived. Nat screamed. It was a great day.

Bruce is wary of you. Understandably. He says you “remind him of a bad day.” But he respects your strength and sometimes lets you hang around when he’s working in the lab. You don’t push him, and in return, he gives you space when the fire under your skin starts burning too hot.

Wanda gets it. She sees the fire in your head as well as the one in your fists. You two share a quiet understanding beneath all the sarcasm. She’s the one who talks you down when your temper edges toward dangerous. You never admit it out loud, but sometimes when the nightmares come, it’s her voice that helps you breathe.

Tony loves the fire. It’s entertaining to him, he can’t comprehend how dangerous it is to fuel. Always matching your sarcastic remarks or commenting on the guests that leave your room. Sometimes you think he lives to see you react—burn.

And then there’s Natasha.

Your dynamic with Natasha is… complicated.

From day one, the two of you clashed. She’s ice; you’re fire. She’s calculated; you’re impulsive. She walks into a room and sizes it up like a chessboard. You? You kick the door open and set the board on fire just to see how the pieces scatter.

She says you’re a headache. You call her uptight. She rolls her eyes when you flirt, and you flirt harder. It’s almost a game now—this push and pull, this unspoken dare between you.

You call her Natty, just to get under her skin. You wink at her in briefings, lean too close when you’re teasing, whisper “You love me, admit it,” like it’s a joke. She scoffs, mutters something sharp, and walks away before anyone sees the corner of her mouth twitching up.

But beneath her cold exterior and your loud bravado, there’s something simmering—something that neither of you touches directly. You feel it when her eyes linger too long after a mission, when she patches you up in silence and her fingers hover just a second longer than they need to. You feel it in the rare moments she lets you see behind her walls, and it terrifies you more than any fire ever could.

She gets on your nerves. You get under her skin. And yet, when everything’s falling apart, she’s the one you find standing beside you—silent, steady, and always watching your back.

Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s danger. Maybe it’s both.

But whatever it is, it burns.

———

You weren’t exactly recruited—you were contained.

After your powers triggered a four-alarm inferno in downtown Berlin during a run-in with a mercenary crew, SHIELD made a call. Fury showed up, grim as ever, and gave you two options: be a weapon for someone else, or learn how to control your fire with people who won’t flinch when you burn.

You chose the Avengers.

It’s been six months. Six long months of testing your limits, pissing off Rogers, burning through reinforced training mats, and learning that your powers don’t just react to anger—they thrive in it.

And Tony? God, Tony’s made it his life mission to poke the metaphorical bear.

———

You’re in the hangar, fresh out of a debrief that felt more like a public execution. Tony wouldn’t shut up about the “scorch marks” you left on the Quinjet floor, and Fury went off about “restraint, discipline, collateral damage, Wildfire, damn it!”

Your fists are clenched. Smoke rises off your skin in thin wisps, heat radiating off you in thick waves. The air itself wavers around you.

Everyone else had the sense to leave, but Natasha?

She leans against a crate a few feet away, arms crossed, like she’s watching a particularly unimpressive fireworks display.

“You done throwing your tantrum?” she asks, arching a brow.

You whip around. “Back off, Romanoff.”

“Original,” she mutters. “You burn a hole in the floor again and Fury’s going to tan your ass.”

“I said back off,” you growl, eyes flickering orange. The fire is crawling up your arms now, licking your shoulders. You’re shaking. The control you’ve spent months building is crumbling fast.

Natasha doesn’t move.

“Breathe,” she says, quietly now. “Unless you want to turn this place into a kiln.”

“Don’t pretend you care,” you snap, voice cracked with heat. “You’re just waiting for me to slip up so you can say I told you so.”

“Oh yeah,” she says dryly, pushing off the crate and walking toward you, unbothered by the scorched floor or the way your body temperature is climbing. “I live for watching your emotional meltdowns. Better than Netflix.”

You laugh once, sharp and bitter. “God, you’re such a—”

But then she’s closer. Her voice drops, no longer playful, but not unkind either.

“Look. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re about to come apart. To be the weapon everyone expects to misfire.”

Her eyes search yours—calm, sharp, unsettlingly gentle.

“You don’t have to prove anything. Not to Stark. Not to Fury. And sure as hell not to me.”

Your breath hitches. The fire falters, sputters, confused. You blink and realize you’ve been trembling. Not with rage. With fear.

You don’t even notice your knees give out until she catches you.

Not gently, but not coldly either—just… present. Strong. Real. Her arms steady you, her touch cooler than your skin, grounding like ice on a burn.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, your voice cracking.

“No, you’re boiling over.” She smirks faintly. “Shocking, I know.”

You snort, half-laughing through a breathless exhale. “You really know how to comfort someone.”

“It’s a talent,” she says. “Now come on. Let’s get you cooled off before you burn off your eyebrows again.”

You look at her—really look. And in her expression, under the teasing and the sarcasm, there’s something soft. Something vulnerable. Something that mirrors the mess inside you.

You’ve always flirted with her, joked and prodded and pushed—but this is the first time it feels dangerously real

And maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one who’s afraid of what happens if that fire ever turns inward—if the two of you stop fighting it.

You’re still shaking, the fire inside you reduced to embers that stubbornly cling to your skin like static. Natasha doesn’t say much as she guides you through the compound—hand on your arm, firm and warm, a silent anchor.

You expect her to take you to medical, or maybe one of the training rooms. But instead, she wordlessly leads you down the hall toward the Avengers’ private lap pool, tucked away behind reinforced glass and sterile white tile.

She flicks the lights on. They hum softly as the water glows a cool, blue-green.

“Strip,” she says, already kicking off her boots.

You blink. “Wow. Should’ve lost control sooner.”

She glares. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wildfire. You’re a human flamethrower and you need to cool off.”

Still, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth—half-smirk, half-internal war. You mutter something about bossy redheads and peel off your shirt. Your skin’s flushed, your chest still rising too fast. The moment your feet touch the water, your body sighs—like the fire inside you exhales all at once.

Natasha doesn’t cannonball or dive. Of course not. She slips into the water like it’s part of her, all grace and calculated movements. She ends up floating beside you, eyes half-lidded, arms spread over the surface like she’s waiting for the silence to say what neither of you has.

“So,” she finally says, voice softer than you expect, “you wanna tell me what that was about?”

You shrug, eyes trained on the pool tiles. “Tony pushed. Fury barked. I snapped. What else is new?”

“That’s not all of it.”

Your jaw tightens. “I’ve spent most of my life being afraid of what I am. People flinch when they look at me. I get too angry and I become this… thing.” You swallow. “And part of me likes it. The heat, the power. It scares me, and I think it scares them too. I’m not like you, Nat. I can’t hide what I am.”

She watches you for a long moment before speaking.

“You think I don’t know what it feels like to be turned into something you didn’t ask to be?” Her voice is low. “I spent years being shaped into a weapon. Made to bury who I was. Smile when ordered. Kill when told.”

You turn your head, meet her eyes. She’s close now—close enough to feel the ripple of her breath across the water.

“I see the way you fight it,” she continues. “The way you laugh and push people away before they can do it first. It’s not just heat you’re holding back.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not yet. But something softens in you.

“I didn’t think you noticed,” you finally say.

Natasha tilts her head. “I notice everything.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Of course you do.”

There’s a long pause. The water moves between you in gentle waves.

Then you say it, quieter than anything you’ve said during your time with the team.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

She blinks. That cool composure falters for half a second—cracked, not shattered. She glances away like the admission struck something unguarded in her.

“That’s dangerous talk,” she says, voice a little too even. “Especially from someone who lights up like a damn matchstick.”

You smirk. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

Silence again. This time, heavier. More charged.

She shifts closer, and now you’re inches apart—warmth meeting warmth, though the pool should be cooling you both. Her eyes flick down to your lips, just once, before she glances away, guarded again.

“You don’t scare me,” she murmurs.

You blink. “Why not?”

She looks at you, expression unreadable. “Because I’ve danced with fire before.”

Your breath hitches. But neither of you leans in. Not yet.

Instead, you float there in the quiet tension—words unspoken, feelings barely contained—letting the water carry what the fire left behind.

For once, you don’t feel like you’re about to burn the world down.

You just feel seen. The silence between you stretches on, taut and electric.

She’s still watching you from beneath those long lashes, eyes dark in the soft shimmer of the pool lights. That unreadable expression—cool, controlled, calculating—is starting to crack. You see it in the way her fingers twitch in the water, in how her mouth parts like she wants to say something but won’t.

You move first.

Not because you’re bold—but because you’re done pretending.

Your hand brushes her arm under the water. Testing. She doesn’t move.

Then you shift closer, and your voice is nothing but a whisper:

“Say something, Romanoff.”

She meets your eyes. Her voice is low, rough. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I say what I want to say…” Her pupils flare with something raw. “I’m not going to be able to stop.”

You inhale sharply. “Then don’t stop.”

And just like that, the match ignites.

She surges forward, closing the space between you with a force you don’t expect—but crave. Her hand grips the back of your neck, the other splashing up water as it finds your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. And then—

She kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s not hesitant.

It’s devastating.

Mouths colliding in a desperate tangle of months of tension and biting sarcasm and flirtation that meant too much. Her lips are hot against yours, her body pressed to yours like she’s trying to erase the space that ever existed between you.

You groan into her mouth, hands gripping her waist, pulling her flush against you in the water. She lets you. She wants it. You can feel the shiver roll through her as your fingers splay across the small of her back.

Her legs wrap around you before you even register it, and the heat between you has nothing to do with your powers now. Your heart is pounding. You feel like you’re burning alive again, but this time it’s not dangerous—it’s hers.

When she finally pulls back, your foreheads rest together, breath ragged, water rippling wildly around you both.

You whisper, “So, uh… that was…”

“Shut up,” she breathes, lips brushing yours again.

And then she kisses you again—slower this time, but no less intense. A confession written in the way she leans into you. A vow hidden in the way her thumb traces your cheek under the water.

For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like a weapon.

You just feel wanted.

And when she finally whispers your name against your lips like it’s a secret—barely audible, almost reverent—you realize you’re already undone.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Okay, uhm *kinda thunderbolts spoilers ahead*

Can I please request something with (beefy thunderbolts) Bucky Barnes and a shy sweet female reader (maybe grumpy x sunshine)

With the prompts: “hell, okay shit that actually really fucking hurts.”, “just let me help you... please”

Valentina brought the reader to the tower as a new team member. The reader has healing powers and is so shy but kind and polite, everyone likes her. Bucky and the reader are falling for each other but of course they are not admitting it. Like glances from the other side of the room and the reader is so flustered. Somehow Bucky gets her to talk more and more (when the reader feels safe and trusts him, she talks like a waterfall) and they become friends.

Later the team is send to a mission and the enemies attacking the reader and Bucky runs infront of her to protect her and gets shot, then he fights with one of the the enemy. When he turns around to the reader (to check if she is okay) he gets distracted and Bucky gets stabbed. He fell to his knees and Alexei brings Bucky and the reader to the tower and went back to the others.

The reader brings Bucky to her room and is cleaning his wounds at first and takes care of him. Bucky notices that her hands are shaking and her eyes are full with tears (the reader thinks it's her fault but it's really not). He is comforting her and soothes her and she starts to heal him.

A moment later he is so caring and soft and they confess their feelings to each other 🥺❤️

I'm so sorry I got carried away, tell me if it’s too detailed or if you want an other scenario

Thank you so much 😌❤️

Not Your Fault » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader with the Thunderbolts

Summary: Bucky gets injured while he’s trying to protect you during a mission and you feel like it’s your fault and he assures you that it’s not your fault.

Warnings: Fluff, language, flirting, blood, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: @jackys-stuff-blog thank you for the lovely request🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You nervously fidgeted with your fingers as you rode the elevator to the main room of the tower with Valentina. You got startled a little bit by the ding of the elevator when the doors opened. You followed Valentina out of the elevator and into the main room where there was a small group of people. The Thunderbolts gathered around when they seen Valentina.

“What do you want, Valentina?” Yelena asks with annoyance in her voice.

“I have a new team member for you guys.” Valentina says.

They looked over at you. You gave them a shy smile and a small wave. Valentina nudged you with her shoulder as a way of telling you to introduce yourself to them.

“I’m Y/N.” You finally introduced yourself to them.

“Enjoy your new team member.” Valentina says.

The Thunderbolts watched Valentina leave before turning their attention back to you. They all introduced themselves to you. They’re all really nice to you, but you still feel shy around them, which they don’t mind.

“Do you have powers or abilities we need to know about?” Yelena asks.

“I have healing powers.” You tell them.

“So you can heal cuts and stuff like that?” John asks.

“That’s what healing powers do, Walker.” Ava says.

Bucky was staring at you with heart eyes as you shyly talked to everyone. He thinks your shyness is cute.

“Would you like a tour of the place?” Bucky asks.

You nodded and smiled. Bucky showed you all around the tower, showing you to your bedroom last.

“And this is your room.” Bucky says as you followed him in the room.

“Where’s your room?” You curiously asked.

“My room is right next door.” He says, pointing to the right.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound weird or creepy. I was just curious.” You nervously rambled.

“It’s ok. I don’t think it’s weird or creepy at all. You’re welcome to come to my room at anytime of the night if you need anything late at night.” He says.

“Ok.” You replied softly and shyly.

“Do you have any questions?” He asks.

“Not right now, but I’ll let you know if I do.” You answered.

———

It didn’t take you long to adjust to living in the tower. Bucky made it easier for you to adjust too. Everyone loves you, especially Bucky. You hangout and talk to him more than the rest of the team. You and him have become best friends with the short amount of time you’ve been living there. He has gotten you to come out of your shell a little bit. Once he gets you talking, you don’t stop talking. Bucky listens to every word you say with the look of adoration on his face. Also, you have a huge crush on Bucky and he feels the same way about you, but neither of you have admitted to it yet. The team has noticed it too.

Right now, you and Bucky are watching movies. Actually, you fell asleep in the middle of the third movie. So did Bucky. Bucky woke up to the TV lighting up the living room and you snuggled up against him. He smiles at you before checking the time on his watch. It’s later than either of you expected. Bucky shut the TV off and picked you up bridal style, carrying you to your bedroom. He gently laid you down on your bed and covered you up with a blanket. In your sleep, you reached a hand out and grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could walk away. He decided to stay in your room for the night. There’s no harm in that, right? It’s just for one night. Bucky got in bed next to you and protectively wrapped his arms around you.

“Goodnight, doll.” Bucky whispers softly and kisses your cheek.

———

A few days later, you, Bucky, and the team had to go on a mission. You guys had a meeting before it and then suited up. During the mission, Bucky tried his best to protect you and do his part of the mission at the same time. While you were doing your part of the mission, Bucky sees someone aiming their gun at you. His eyes went wide and he ran over to you, shielding you from the bullet. Bucky got shot while he was shielding you from the bullet. Then he turned around to check on you. You had a look on your face like you were about to start freaking out.

“Are you ok, doll?” Bucky asks softly.

“I-I am now.” You stuttered in a shaky voice. “I didn’t see that guy.” You say.

“It’s ok. It happens.” He says.

You nodded. While Bucky was making sure you were ok, he wasn’t paying attention to anything around him. The guy who tried to shoot you, walked over to you and Bucky, stabbing him next to where he was shot. Your eyes widened in horror as he fell to his knees in pain.

“Bucky!” You screamed.

You dropped to your knees to check on him. You looked down to see his hand on his lower abdomen. You seen blood seeping behind his fingers. Your eyes teared up. Bucky noticed.

“Don’t cry, babydoll. I’m fine.” Bucky manages to say and then winces in pain.

“You’re bleeding.” Is all you say.

Alexei wasn’t too far from where you and Bucky are when he saw Bucky on his knees and in pain. He ran over to you guys. Without asking what happened, Alexei helped Bucky up and took him back to the tower. You followed beside them. Alexei took Bucky to your bedroom and helped him in your bed.

“Thank you, Alexei.” You say.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Alexei replies.

Alexei left your bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him. You got the first aid kit from your bathroom and sat down on the bed next to Bucky. Normally, Bucky can tolerate pain, but it hurts a lot more this time than it did in the past.

“Hell, ok, shit. That actually fucking hurts.” Bucky groans in pain, his hand still on his abdomen where he got shot and stabbed.

“Just let me help you… please?” You say softly.

Bucky nods and takes his hand off his abdomen. He leans up just enough to take his shirt off, wincing in pain as he did so. Your eyes teared up again when you see where he was shot and stabbed. You started with wiping the excess blood from his wounds and then put alcohol on both wounds so they didn’t get infected.

“Fuck!” He winces at the sting of the alcohol.

As you continued to clean his wounds, you couldn’t help but feel like this is your fault. If you have seen that guy who did this to Bucky, he wouldn’t be in this position right now. Bucky looks down, watching you clean his wounds, noticing that your hands are shaking. He also seen tears in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong, babydoll?” Bucky asks softly, putting his hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry.” You apologized profusely, your voice cracking and tears rolling down your cheeks.

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, doll.” He says.

“Yes I do. This is my fault. This shouldn’t have happened to you. I should’ve been paying attention.” You say.

Bucky props himself up on his vibranium elbow and cups your cheek with his right hand, wincing in pain as he sat up.

“I want you to listen to me when I say this, ok?” He begins. “This is not in any way your fault.” He assures softly.

“It feels like it.” You say.

“It could’ve happened to any one of us. If this happened to you, I would’ve dropped everything to patch you up.” He says softly. “I want you to understand that this is not your fault, ok?” He assures softly again.

“Ok.” You replied in a whisper.

Bucky wiped your tears away while looking deep in your eyes. Something about staring in Bucky’s blue eyes felt calming to you. He leaned up more and kissed you passionately. Now you definitely feel calmer. It’s like every worry you had in you left your body the second you felt Bucky’s soft lips on yours.

“How do you feel now?” Bucky asks softly.

“Calmer.” You answered softly.

“Good.” He replies softly.

Bucky lays back on the bed so you can finish cleaning up his wounds.

“I’m going to heal you now, ok?” You say softly.

“Ok.” Bucky replies.

“It shouldn’t hurt.” You say.

Bucky nods and looks down, watching as you hovered your hands over his wounds. A bright light shines in your hands as you healed his wounds. It took a few seconds to heal his wounds and then he was good as new and not in pain anymore. You moved your hands away to check the area of his abdomen where his wounds were. The wounds weren’t there anymore. He’s healed.

“How do you feel?” You asked.

“I’m not in pain anymore.” Bucky says.

“Good. That’s good.” You say softly.

You cleaned up everything and put away the first aid kit. Bucky noticed your hands were shaking again and your eyes were tearing up.

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky whispers. “I’m fine now.” He whispers again.

“I thought you were going to die before I got the chance to tell you that I love you.” You say, your voice cracking and your eyes tearing up again.

“You love me?” He asks, making sure he heard you right.

You nodded and sniffled.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky says softly, cupping your cheeks.

You smiled when he said that. Bucky dips his head down to kiss you. This kiss had more passion in it than the first kiss.

“Be mine?” He asks in almost a whisper.

“I would love to be yours, Bucky.” You say softly.

Bucky smiles and kisses you once more.

“Thank you for healing me.” He says softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, Bucky. I would’ve healed you no matter what.” You say with a smile.

-Bucky’s Doll

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Spiders Sister - Chapter 1

Summary: Reader gets caught hiding out in the avengers tower. In the end it turns out for the best.

TW: non-sexual nudity, illness, fainting, swearing

Words: 4.1K

A/n: Super long first chapter

маленький паук – Little Spider

It defiantly wasn’t part of your life plan to be living with your bother again in your adulthood.

You had spent an excellent few months on your own having finally moved out of May Parker’s apartment, it had been perfect. Well … as perfect as life could be for a parker.

Then … you guessed it … parker luck struck again. There was a huge fight, one you had been itching to join but your brother, peter parker, had it covered. And since nobody knew that you sometimes wore the spider-man suit when peter wasn’t able to, it would all be over if two Spider-Man’s ended up fighting some of the weird aliens that had invaded New York.

You see, you and your brother had more in common than most siblings did. Peter parker had been bitten by a radioactive spider on a school trip as was known to a few people. But, at the same time, you had been eighteen and chaperoning the field trip.

When peter had snuck off to the side you had gone after him. When he was bitten, so were you.

But for now, you had decided to try and stay away from the superhero lifestyle. But when the itch came, peter lent you his suit so you could scratch it.

You had helped him refine his web-fluid and had your own web shooters as well as one of his old suits just in case. May knew about you and peter after finding out a while ago. However, peter and you had kept everything about your existence from the avengers so you could live a semi-normal life. At least for now.

But the day the avengers were fighting off the aliens, New York had taken some heavy damage. You had been running a small illustration business out of your apartment in queens. Your apartment … which was now levelled in the fight was gone. Along with your business.

Since you had moved out young, May only had one spare bedroom in her apartment which peter was occupying. Leaving the Parker’s with one option.

As peter had a room in the avenger's tower, you could stay there or with aunt may. Peter being Peter didn’t want to ask tony if he could stay in the tower for the unforeseeable future without arousing questions. So, you had been secretly living in the tower for about three days now.

Peter brought you food and had bribed Jarvis to keep your existence a secret. You had his old suit if you wanted to leave the tower, you could swing away instead of walking through the building and getting caught.

It was a pretty solid plan and it had been working pretty well. Until the day you got sick.

Peters' bedroom in the tower was on the floor with the other avengers, meaning you had to be somewhat quiet so Natasha, clint or the others didn’t find you. But it had begun to get colder out, and Peters old suit didn’t have a heater. It had been made before tony had found out spiders, including peter and yourself, can't thermoregulate. And swinging around New York without a heater in the nippy winter air had left you with a pretty nasty cold.

Unlike peter your powers didn’t give you super healing. In fact, your powers differed from peters in more ways than one. For one thing you had small fangs which you could retract, they didn’t do much, but they were cool, and peter was mildly jealous. Another thing was you had taken on aspects of jumping spiders as you could jump higher due to your super strength and some weird spider quality peter lacked.

Like peter the bit had given your excellent eyesight, increased metabolism, a lack of thermoregulation, the weird sticky thing, the spider sense and super strength and the allergy to peppermint. But due to sharing the suit anytime you went out as “Spider-Man” you had to refrain from using your own unique powers, so you didn’t give anything away.

The thermoregulating thing may have finally come back to bite you now that you were in peters old suit. After taking one of his patrols for him so he could finish his assignment and you could get out of his room in the tower, the cold had made you sick. Heres the thing about having a high metabolism when you don’t have an increased healing factor. It went one of two ways. Either you had flash colds which were taken care of quickly and at a much faster rate than the average human, or if it was stronger than your immune system, it was quickly made into a bigger problem than it should have been due to your body processing things faster and speeding up its strength.

Anytime this had happened in the past, due to not being able to go to a regular hospital, you had thanked the gods for May choosing a career in nursing. Though she had been able to treat you superficially with regular medicine and not anything made for super soldiers or spiders as that was a Bruce banner specialty that was unique to the tower's med bay. So, you often just had to ride it out and if things got really bad, peter would try and smuggle you some of his medicine out of the tower for you.

So, this is where you ended up. Curled up in Peters bed in the tower, stifling rough sounding coughs into his pillow and making a mental note to wash his sheets soon. You were doing your best to remain quiet and not alert either of the super spies to your presence or any of the other avengers. You thanked Thor that only you and peter had super hearing which meant you could usually tell if someone was in the halls.

Feeling miserable you buried yourself further into the sheets and shivered, it was so cold but in reality, you probably had a high fever. Your lungs let out a wheezing noise whenever you exhaled, and you were beginning to think maybe your asthma was back. Unlike peter you had not been so lucky as to have had it cured by the bite.

Your asthma puffer was one of the few things that survived your apartment being destroyed. As you laid in bed feeling awful you thought back to that day.

You thanked the gods you had been out at the time. You had gone to a coffee shop downtown with your sketchbook, laptop and usual things you took out, including a range of art supplies and of course your emergency puffer which peter had managed to smuggle out which had doses that worked with your metabolism.

You were broken from your daydreams as another harsh coughing fit wracked your body. From what you could hear nobody was in the halls, but you did your best to keep quiet regardless. The wheezing that trailed after each breath was getting worse and your lungs were feeling tight.

You had been trying to use the puffer sparingly so it didn’t run out because you didn’t know if and or when peter could get you another. But as drawing breath grew harder you made the executive call to use it. You rolled over in the bed and threw an arm down to fish around for your red backpack. Finding it you fiddled with the zip before your fingers wrapped around the cool plastic of the device. Tony being tony had insisted it have a Spiderman case thinking it was peters which ended up being rather ironic as it was fitting for you too.

You tried fruitlessly one last time to draw breath before achieving nothing but a crackling wheeze. Screw it. You uncapped the red lid and held it to your lips, propping yourself up on an elbow in an attempt to sit u straight to take it.

You exhaled and inhaled repeating it once more before drawing in a lungful of the super-medicine. Almost straight away you began to feel better. Your fast metabolism speeding up the medicines process.

Feeling like you could breathe again you replaced the cap and put it on the nightstand before curling up in the sheets again feeling cold still but also slightly damp from the thin layer of sweat that had been forming all morning.

You were dressed in spider-man pjs which had a thin t-shirt and long pants. You had considered getting up to grab one of peters hoodies to get warm or another blanket but the idea of standing up made your head spin.

You nestled back into the sheets and let your eyes fall shut despite it being almost midday. The curtains were drawn and so it didn’t bother you too much. You began to drift off into a semi-peaceful sleep broken by harsh coughing fits which were becoming harder to stifle in your half asleep and fevered state.

Meanwhile the avengers had just finished their morning training session, one which Peter had joined for once. Peter being Peter had barely broken a sweat and as a result had opted to hang out on the communal floor while everyone went o freshen up.

Stark had designed the tower well. With Peter’s bedroom being on the same floor as Natasha’s who was rather protective of her younger spider counterpart as well as Wanda’s, Yelena’s, Kate’s and a few spares. The rest of the avengers were a floor above.

At first peter had been a bit miffed about being on a floor of just girls but he ended up liking it a lot. And he had a second bedroom in the master suite with tony and Pepper which he proffered anyway. The one on the avenger's floor was more for if Tony and Pepper were away, and he wanted to be around the others.

Natasha was headed for her room after waving goodbye to peter who had settled down to watch more star-wars, when she paused in the hallway.

Retracing her steps she found herself stood outside peters bedroom door. Frowning she pressed an ear to the door and froze. Someone was inside and coughing. Knowing it wasn’t peter, nat carefully twisted the door handle.

Peter being peter had prepared for almost anything. As soon as Natasha had set foot inside peters room Jarvis had alerted peter of her presence.

Meanwhile Natasha peered into the dimly lit room. The lump in the bed was wriggling around and coughing. Nat was on high alert by now. She realised this person was ill but how had they managed to get in without Jarvis knowing? And why were they in peters bed?

She crossed the threshold and walked over to the bed. Taking note of the backpack on the floor and puffer on the bedside table as well as your spider-man pjs which had been a gag gift from Peter last Christmas.

Nat stood and observed for a second. Looking down at your flushed face which was burning with fever and the harsh coughs that were wracking your weak form.

Nat watched helplessly for a second unsure of how to deal with a sick intruder.

She hesitated before extending a hand to your forehead and feeling a very high fever. She sucked a breath. Despite being an intruder she had some ideas as to why you may have been here. Your likeness to peter wasn’t hard to spot. Yet. She was unsure.

Peeling of the blankets to get a better look at you, as she did you made a small noise of discontent and curled into a shaking ball still fever addled and half asleep.

Before she could continue the door opened and peter looked in.

“Uhh M-Ms Romanoff…” Peter said looking guilty as he stepped in and closed the door again.

“Peter, do you know who this is?” Natasha asked getting straight to the point. Peter hesitated and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Y-yes.” He said looking at your sick form with a frown.

“Peter.” She said crossing her arms. “Care to share whats going on?” Nat said as she headed for Peter’s bathroom.

“Um… She … she’s,, my sister.” Peter said unsurely. Natasha returned after a second and nodded. Now holding the first aid kit from peters bathroom in her arms.

“Anything else i should know?” She asked walking over to the bed and sitting down to rifle through the first aid kit.

“Petey?” You mumbled hearing his voice.

Peter seemed to break out of his trance and came to your side. “I’m here Y/n.” He said.

“‘S cold.” You mumbled making peter frown.

“Actually, I think she has a fever.” Nat said as she found what she was looking for, pulling out a thermometer from the kit.

Nat gently placed the thermometer under your tongue and turned to look at peter.

“Pete, you’re not in trouble but i need some more information.” Natasha said.

“This is Y/n. She’s, my sister. Her apartment was levelled in the last attack and so she’s been staying here ever since. She’s not a threat I promise.” Peter said almost tripping over his words in order to explain.

Before Nat could respond the thermometer beeped and she removed it to look at the small screen, drawing another round of coughs from you. Natasha rubbed your back with one hand while frowning at the screen.

“Peter… she should be dead. This says 106. There’s more isn’t there.” Nat said with some urgency as she began peeling the rest of the blankets off you in an attempt to cool you down.

“Ahh … yes. She had powers. Like mine. She … she wears the suit sometimes.” Peter said standing nearby and watching with a worried expression.

“Ok. So, she has spider powers? High metabolism, super strength, etc.” Nat said and Peter nodded. “Why hasn’t her healing fixed this?” Nat said feeling your forehead again.

“She doesn’t have it. Her powers differ slightly.” Peter explained as Nat cursed softly in Russian.

“Her fever’s still rising.” Nat said making a decision. “We need to cool her down fast before she gets too hot for her own good. Jarvis?” Natasha said and peter looked panicked for a second worried about more people finding out about you.

“Ms Romanoff-“ he started.

“Pete, we need to cool her down stat. I need some help.” She said and peter nodded still looking nervous. “Jarvis call wanda to Peter’s bedroom.” Nat said and peter relaxed slightly. Wanda was ok. She would be good for the situation.

“What are you going to do?” Peter asked.

“She needs a bath and I doubt you want to do that.” She said with a small smirk and Peter flushed for a second.

“Defiantly not.” He said shaking his head.

“Is there someone we can call? Someone who she’d be ok with dressing her once we cool her down. She may be sick but i don’t want to invade her privacy.” Nat said as she scooped you up from the bed and into her lap while they waited for wanda to arrive. You cough harshly again and wheezed making nat frown and look to peter.

“Asthma.” He said.

“Runs in the family huh?” She joked reaching over for the puffer on the bedside table.

“Uh… about that.” Peter said looking guilty. “Mine was cured by the bite. I need the puffers for her.” He said looking sheepish. Expecting Nat to be mad she grinned.

“You’re a good brother.” She said as she uncapped the device and pressed it to your lips.

“Exhale.” She instructed and by some small miracle you complied. When you went to inhale, she administered the medicine and told you to hold.

Recapping the device, she rubbed a hand up and down your arm. “Good job sweetie.” She said and felt you relax into her arms some more as you let out a breath.

The two sat in silence for another second before the door opened again and wanda slipped inside.

She was freshly showered, her hair damp and she smelt like jasmine and honey. She was dressed in a simple faded black t-shirt and grey track pants.

“Whats-“ she began before pausing, her eyes caught on you laid in Natashas lap half asleep.

“Wanda,” Nat said. “Meet Y/n. Peter’s older sister.” She said.

“Okay…” Wanda said looking lost before her expression morphed to concern as you coughed. “Is she ok?” Wanda asked.

“No. That’s why you’re here. Long story short, peter smuggled her into the tower, and she has spider powers and her fever is really high. We need to cool her down.” Nat said and wanda swallowed and nodded. “Peter?” Nat said turning to the younger parker.

“Yes?” He said looking up from where he had been studying his shoes closely.

“You never answered my question. Is there someone we can call to come and get her dressed after wanda and i bathe her?” Nat asked and peter blushed again and nodded.

“I can call May. It’s her day off.” He said and Nat nodded.

“You do that. Wanda and I will look after Y/n. We promise not to go further than her outer clothes.” She said and scooped you up into her arms. She headed for Peter’s bathroom with wanda trailing behind. You remained limp in her arms snuggled into her chest in an unconscious need for companionship.

Once the two redheads had you in the bathroom wanda looked at nat. “Now what?” She asked and Natasha smirked.

“Now we take her clothes off.” She said and gently she lifted your arms from where you were laid on the floor in her lap and pulled the spider-man t-shirt off over your head. Wanda blushed slightly at the sight of your red sports bra despite having seen Nat and herself train in about the same if not less clothes.

“You wanna help?” Nat asked with a grin that only served to make Wanda’s blush deepen. You squirmed slighting in Nat’s lap but stopped when she gently rubbed your arm after you buried your warm face into her stomach.

Wanda rolled her eyes in an attempt to feign nonchalance despite being way past that point.

She lifted her hands, and the familiar red glow of magic surrounded her hands. Her magic lifted your hips so Nat could slide off your pants. Wanda blushed again at the sight of your Black Widow boxers. Natasha however grinned at them finding it both adorable and very cute.

After a beat Wanda met Nat’s eyes again. “Now what?”

“We get her in the bath. She needs to be cooled down Asap.” Nat said hoisting you into her arms again as you wriggled, turning and grumbling into her chest.

“Not gonna lie she’s pretty cute.” Nat said and Wanda avoided her eyes as she used her magic to fill the bath with tepid water.

Natasha gently lowered you into the tub ignoring your whining protests and running her hands through your hair which seemed to calm you down as you relaxed again.

“So … now we wait?” Wanda guessed and Natasha nodded.

“Yep. Unless you really want to steal May’s job of getting her dressed again.” Nat teased making Wanda splutter slightly. “Im kidding.” Nat said. “I know what hot women do to your brain.” She winked and wanda slouched slightly.

After a second you grumbled and blearily opened your eyes, squinting at the two women.

“Peter is so dead.” You mumbled before letting your eyes drift shut again. There was a pause before wanda and nat both started laughing.

You groaned. “Peter!” You yelled before coughing again making Wanda and Nat frown. But before they could do anything the door opened to show a beat red peter with his hands covering his eyes.

“Yes?” He said in a small voice.

“When I get out of here, you’re dead.” You mumbled with a foggy glare sent in his direction.

“Hey. Peter did the right thing.” Another voice said from behind Peter.

“May?” You called. “Oh, wtf is going on right now.” You mumbled.

“Whats going on kiddo is that, once again, you failed to ask for help which landed you here.” May said entering the bathroom with a change of clothes.

“Nice to see you Ms Parker.” Nat said and wanda echoed.

“Please. Call me May. And thank you for looking after her.” May said and you groaned.

“I hate all of you.” You said hiding your face in your hands.

“Uh huh. Sure, you do.” May teased.

“It was no problem. Ms- May.” Wanda said. “We’ll wait in peters bedroom while you… yeah.” Wanda said before making a hasty retreat. Nat laughed and followed her out.

May gave you a disappointed frown once she had shut the door and turned back to you with a sigh.

“Honey.” She said.

“I know… I know.” You said still feeling like death but slightly less so. “Did the black widow and scarlet witch just really see me in my underpants?” You asked.

“Yes, and I serves you right for hiding illness … again!” She said as she came over, rolling up her sleeves and helping you out, practically holding all your weight for you as your head spun.

May frowned and guided you over to the covered toilet seat to dress you again.

Gently she began to towel you off and change you into fresh clothes.

“I can do it myself.” You whined but May shot you a look and you knew better than to challenge the angry Parker and you and peter had called her as kids when she was upset at you for something.

“Now, once you’re dressed you are going to thank those two for their kindness and your coming home with me.” May said.

“But-“ you began.

“No buts.” She said and helped you up, now fully dressed.

She helped you over to the door opening it despite still holding you up. The two of you shuffled into the room where Peter, Nat and Wanda were sat on Peter’s bed talking in hushed voices.

“Pete. I love you but I can hear everything you’re saying dumbass.” You said rolling your eyes and May lightly hit your arm.

“Right.” He said rubbing his neck. “Super hearing.” He nodded.

“I’ll add it to the list.” Nat grinned and you groaned before May jabbed you in the side and looked at the two girls.

You coughed at her actions making her frown but quickly got it under control for the sake of your already fragile image.

“Thank you, Wanda and Natasha, for helping me.” You said still leaning heavily on May. Now you had been standing for a bit the room began to spin. Your face went a shade paler making Natasha frown and stand. It was a split second before you stumbled, almost bringing May down with you in the process. Luckily strong arms wrapped around you, and you looked up into Nat’s pale green and worried eyes.

“Y/n?” You finally registered she was talking to you. “Y/n?” She asked again a little louder.

You let out a soft groan and she huffed. “Right. Up we go.” She said hoisting you into your arms and making the room spin again as you buried your face in her arm.

You felt her gently set you down on the bed and feel your forehead.

Distantly you heard May saying something along the lines of taking you home and the sound of Natasha arguing they were better equipped to help with your powers and sickness. May relented and you went back to dozing.

“What happened?” Peter asked from where he was stood by the door.

“Probably got too dizzy from standing up. Her body’s already trying to fight off sickness.” Natasha said and Wanda nodded.

“Peter? Don��t you have a super high metabolism?” Wanda asked.

“Yeah?” He said looking lost as May seemed to catch on.

“Y/n when did you last eat?” May asked and you groaned and buried your face in the pillow. “Well, that answers that.” May said rolling her eyes.

“Peter, do you have any of those energy bars that steve uses?” Wanda asked and peter nodded and headed for his bedside drawer.

He fished around and pulled out one of them and passed it to nat. She unwrapped it and shoved it into your hands.

“Eat.” She said and you made a groan of protest. “It’ll help.” She said in a softer tone.

“Fine.” You said sitting up against the headboard and nibbling on it slowly.

“Better.” Nat said and you frowned.

“You know you’re cute when you’re mad.” Wanda said looking surprised by her own words and blushing at Natasha’s knowing gaze.

“Get some rest маленький паук” Nat said once you had finished eating, and she begun to shepherd everyone out of the room.

PART 2

[tldrthor]

The Princess (and the chaos she brings with her) - steve rogers x fem!reader (1/?)

Summary: when Thor asked the avengers to guard a dear friend of his, they didn't think twice before saying yes. What they didn't know was that said friend is the princess of one of the nine realms, and a lost love of one Captain Rogers.

Part 1 // I thought you were dead // word count: 3.5k

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"(y/n), you have to eject, right now!" Steve screamed over the torrents of wind whistling through the ship. Schmidt was dead, gone. So was the tesseract. But it wasn't over yet. "I have to put her in the water!"

The girl behind him widened her eyes, battling against the elements to reach him. "There's no world in which I let you do that, Captain!"

"I'm not asking for permission!"

"Well then, I guess we go down together!" She painstakingly made her way to him, every step a feat of strength. Her previously neatly pinned curls no longer even resembled what they once were as her hair whipped around her face.

As Steve turned to face her, she somehow still looked angelic. He felt that right now, she was more heavenly than ever. He couldn't let her die with him.

"Buckle in." He commanded, as they began their quick descent. He looked at her, the first woman who had ever made him feel seen, the only person he had ever met who was as crazy as he was.

As the ice flew closer, he turned and placed a hand tenderly on her face. Tears welled in his eyes as his mind wandered to the future they could've had. God, they could have been amazing.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)." He whispered. She could only just hear it, even though they were right next to each other.

He pulled the yellow ejection lever on the seat she had just buckled herself into, watching as her eyes widened. "No! Steve, no!" She lifted her hands to stop him, to jam the lever, anything to stay with him. She wasn't quick enough.

Steve closed his eyes as her seat was ejected, hearing her scream his name. There was no world where he allowed her to go down with him, and he trusted that wherever she ended up, Stark and Peggy would find her. He hoped they would be able to find him, too.

He hadn't prayed in a long time, but as he went down, he bargained with God for her safety.

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"It is my honour to introduce the new and improved Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit, in honour of the 100th birthday of Captain Steven Grant Rogers." The crowd clapped as the senator stepped off the podium, motioning for Steve to take the mic. Bucky and Sam laughed at how uncomfortable the Captain was as he stood thanking everyone for an exhibit he never wanted. All part of the job, he supposed.

After the handshakes, and the photo ops, and the autographs and the meet and greets, the boys finally got relative peace to wander around the new exhibition.

"I can't believe you used to wear these stupid suits." Sam laughed, standing in front of the main exhibit. Bucky sighed, budging Sam's shoulder. "Says the asshole who wears a bird suit to fight." He retorts.

Steve laughed at his friends antics, but walked away when he noticed an addition to the exhibit he hadn't seen before. He stared, wide eyed at the name in front of him.

(Y/N): THE MISSING HERO?

Steve found himself drinking in every inch of the gorgeous photo underneath the text, her bright smile and barely visible freckles. The lighting highlighted the different hues in her immaculately pinned hair. She looked just like an angel, as she always did in real life.

Steve looked down, forlorn eyes investigating very few artefacts in the glass exhibit. Her folded uniform, found in her room after the plane went down. The blush lipstick you wore every day. Finally, an object that Steve didn't recognise. A golden ring, encrusted in unidentified jewels and a family crest no one knew. He frowned.

He had known her only a short few months, but he regretted never asking about her family. And now, it would haunt him that he never did until his last breath.

"They never found her, huh?" Bucky placed his covered hand on Steve's shoulder, a sadness tinged in his voice. He had only met (y/n) briefly, but he knew even then that Steve's heart rested in the palm of that woman's hand.

He had asked about her, once, but the look on Steve's face when her name was mentioned told him everything he needed to know.

"No. Howard searched for years, found nothing. Turned out that she had lied on her intake forms for the SSR, too. We don't even know if (y/n) was really her name." He took a beat. "We have no idea if she survived or not."

Steve didn't have to make the subtext clear, Bucky knew he worried that he had killed her by ejecting her from that plane. Bucky also knew there was no sense in trying to tell him she would have died either way, that the ice would've killed her.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, after another few moments of silence.

Steve nodded, looking at the photo. "I'm glad she's remembered. I just wish I didn't have so many unanswered questions."

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"So," Tony started. "Thor is arriving with the guest of honour later today, who we have agreed to protect here for the meantime. We don't have a lot of background for this one. The dark elves are the ones we're protecting her against, but Thor said threat could come from many areas. Do we have any questions?"

The team looked nothing short of bored. Well, most of them. Cap always had the good grace to sit up and look interested. Scott was straight up asleep.

"Is she important? How long will she be staying with us?" Steve asked.

"No idea, and uh, no idea. Anything else?"

"Is she single?" Sam asked, earning a laugh from some of the others. Steve shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled at his friend's levity.

As Steve stood up to go back to training, FRIDAY sounded around the room. "Excuse me everyone, my satellites have detected a bifrost signal heading for the compound imminently."

"Speak of the devil!" Tony clapped his hands as everyone headed out to the bifrost landing site (something that had been instituted after Tony's lawn got scorched one too many times).

Bucky smacked Scott upside the head to wake him up with a jolt. "Oh, where are you guys going?" He called behind them, jogging to catch up. Steve waited behind from him, laughing at his groggy friend.

A bright light connected with the grass just beside the landing site. Tony's hands covered his eyes as he mouthed are you fucking kidding me. When the light cleared, Thor stood tall in his usual armour.

"My friends!" His voice boomed, "I present to you, my fellow avengers, the honourable princess of Alfheim, jewel of the Alfar and ambassador to Asgard." Thor's voice boomed through the halls of the compound. "This is my friend, (y/n)."

Beside Thor stood a girl. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a heavenly stature. She looked like she could have been carved from marble by the hands of God himself.

A light Asgardian pink dress was covered by a golden chest-plate which fit her body like it had been moulded just for her. It was covered in intricate etchings of suns and stars, which caught the light and shone brilliantly. She wore golden jewellery, which was nothing like the avengers had ever seen. Golden ear cuffs covered her pointed ears, with her long hair pulled into an up-do, emphasising the golden, bejewelled tiara on her head.

"Princess?" Sam squeaked. Wanda smacked him, with a look that screamed don't embarrass us.

Tony tilted his head in confusion at the guest, who he could almost swear he recognised from somewhere. "Thor, you did not inform us that we were looking after the ruler of a planet. We would have been more prepared."

"I am not ruler yet, Mr. Stark." The girl cast her eyes up at Tony, as she smiled sweetly. Her voice was honey smooth, and anyone who heard it felt themselves being charmed by it. "I have heard much about you all from Thor."

"Should we bow?" Bruce whispered to Tony, who shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully, (y/n) took the lead and shook each of their hands.

She looked around at each of the gathered avengers. Thor made his introductions to the rest of the group. "Where are the others?" Thor enquired.

"Here!" Steve smiled at the site of his old friend, his view of the princess obscured by the large man. Bucky and Scott tagged behind him, also happily greeting Thor.

"Captain, it is very good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to the Princess (y/n)." Thor stepped aside to introduce them, but his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when neither of them moved, almost frozen in place.

"Uh... hi." Scott side-stepped the Captain and caught the eye of their guest. "My name's Scott Lang."

The girl tore her eyes away from the captain, unsure really on what to do. But her training kicked in, knowing that being rude was one of the worst sins a princess could commit. "Hello, Mr. Lang. I am (y/n)."

"Holy shit." Bucky breathed out.

The rest of the avengers watched the rather silent exchange with confusion. It was very unlike Steve to get so tongue-tied, and he would never be so rude as to not introduce himself.

"Captain Rogers..." The girl spoke first, confusing them further. "I believed you dead." Tears had welled in her eyes, intriguing the observing crowd even more.

"I thought you were dead." He breathed. "What... what is going on?"

Bucky interjected. "Um, hi. I'm Bucky, we met briefly in '45."

She smiled softly at him, but her eyes betrayed her confusion. "Sergeant Barnes, of course! Didn't you... also die?"

"Yeah, we've all got a lot of explaining to do." Bucky laughed as the absurdity of the situation caught up to him.

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Thor's eyes darted between his friend and the captain. When Thor asked the avengers to guard her from the war on Alfheim, he knew some hijinks would ensue. This is not what he expected. He knew you had spent some time on Midgard before and when you returned you were emotionally distraught. He had simply figured the war you had fought with the Midgardians had taken it's toll.

He eyed both the Captain and you, suspiciously. You were his dear friend, but you had never talked to him about any mortal love.

"So, Princess. You've been here before." Tony enquired.

The Princess licked her lips nervously, glancing at Steve, who had barely moved a muscle, his eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, Mr. Stark. I spent some time here during the second world war. I left Midgard when Johann Schmidt was defeated, and haven't returned since."

"Tell us about your world, Princess. I've never heard of it before." Natasha, the red-head in the corner, asked the guest.

"You have heard of it before." The princess smiled, explaining. "I believe we are now known as a fantasy character here - you call us elves." She pointed to her pointed ears as each avenger clung to her words.

Thor smiled at his Midgardian friends' curiosity.

"The Alfar still live amongst you, they are simply unseen. I believe you may know Tolkien?" At the mention of the author's name, everyone's ears pricked. "He was one of my father's greatest friends and many of his book settings were inspired by Alfheim."

"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's insane."

"Really, Ant Man?" Bucky responded, pointing out that they were all ridiculous, when you thought about it. The world was crazy now.

The princess chuckled, and rose from her seat at the conference table. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Avengers. I would quite like to rest in my chambers, if you would be so gracious to allow me."

"Um, yeah... consider yourself allowed." Tony stumbled over his words. Very unusual for him, and it did not go unnoticed by the others. "Dinner is at seven."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers," She addressed the Captain, who looked up quickly. His face was pale, and he nervously twiddled his thumbs. "Would you be so kind as to show me my rooms?"

He popped up, almost comedically fast. "Yes. Yeah, sure. Um, this way." He walked out quickly, darting his eyes back to make sure the princess was following him.

She followed, gracefully. Her skirts fanned out behind her as she walked. The avengers in the room could scarcely take their eyes off her as she faded from sight.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the room devolved into chaos. People shouting theories and questions left, right and centre. Mostly, everyone was just bewildered. Bucky and Thor discussed how they had both known the couple separately, and whether each had talked about the other.

Natasha watched as Tony sat quietly on his tablet for a few seconds, searching for something she could only assume was relevant to the discussion at hand.

"Bucky, what's the deal there?" Clint asked.

He was interrupted by Tony. "Aha!" Stark called, silencing the room. "I knew I recognised her from somewhere."

He projected a photograph to the wall, and the avengers gasped.

The photograph consisted of Steve and Bucky front and centre. Bucky had his left arm wrapped lazily around Tony's dad, Howard. And Steve was looking directly at the girl next to him, holding her to him by the waist. It was the princess. The gaze he looked at her with... it was like nothing they had ever seen from him.

"They didn't just know each other, they were in love." Bucky replied to Clint's question, a hint of sadness underneath his words.

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(Y/n) followed Steve along the large corridors of the compound, her smaller legs working double time to match his long strides. They walked in silence, for the most part. It wasn't the comfortable kind.

"Captain." She spoke first, again. As she called for him, he stopped walking abruptly, turning slowly. He met her gaze and then cast his eye down.

"(y/n)... I mean, um, Princess." He responded.

"(y/n) is sufficient." She whispered, almost guiltily. "I can't believe you're alive..."

"I can't believe you're alive," He retorted. "I searched for you, when I woke up. They couldn't find any records of you other than your enlistment form, and they found you had lied. People think you're just a ghost story..."

He took a breath. "I can't believe you're here and... an alien princess?"

"I know it's hard to believe, I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you back then." She laughed. "When I found that you and Sergeant Barnes were dead, I couldn't face being here anymore... I returned to Alfheim."

As she thought back on it, a tear sprung to her eye. On seeing her reaction, Steve couldn't help himself but place a friendly hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. She briefly froze at the contact, but quickly, she moved her own hand down his arm until she was holding onto his hand with both of hers.

So much went unsaid, but the contact confirmed what they had both most desperately wanted to know. Would it be the same?

"If I had known that you and Sergeant Barnes were alive, Captain..." She admitted. "I would have returned in an instant, I give you my word."

He smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. A red blush hugged her cheeks as he did so.

It was typical of him that he couldn't concentrate on the moment, "Why are you here?" He asked. "What are we protecting you from?"

She sighed. "The Svartalfar, or the dark elves. You may know them - they attacked Thor in the Midgardian city of London some years ago now." He nodded in recognition.

"They are determined to conquer Alfheim, and have set their sights on my family. They have already managed to get close to killing me."

She pushed the collar of her dress down, showing a large, angry, red scar just above her collarbone. His hands flew up to trace the scar. She gulped at the close contact, her eyes meeting his.

His expression gave away his concern, knowing that Thor had suggested she was in a lot of danger. "Don't worry, Princess. You're safe here." He smiled, softly. "We'll protect you with everything we've got."

"Thank you, Captain."

"It's just Steve." He unhooked their hands, and gave her his arm. She linked her arm in his, and he resumed wandering down the halls to her rooms. "Do you have any bags?"

"No, I fled to Asgard with nothing when I needed healing. The Asgardians were kind enough to offer many gorgeous clothes for me to bring, but I figured they were a bit conspicuous."

Steve laughed, "Yeah, they might be."

They walked for a little while longer, before Steve entered a room to the side. It was rather basic compared to what she was used to, but it would more than suffice for the meantime.

"This is your room." He stood by the door as she entered. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything. I'll get Tony to send you some less conspicuous clothes. See you at dinner."

"Thank you, Steven." He laughed at her inability to be too informal with him. He nodded at her, and turned to walk down the hall to his room.

As he entered, the photograph of her from the Smithsonian caught his eye from the nightstand. He picked it up, tracing her features with his finger - unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. Who would've thought? Not only was his girl alive, she was also alien royalty. Sometimes, just sometimes, he adored his strange, strange world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Sir," The agent walked into the dark room with purpose in her every step. "The Princess has been spotted."

The man in the chair looked up at the mention of his target. "Show me" he ordered. He watched as agent transferred the images on her tablet to the big screen, showing grainy, far away surveillance of the avengers compound.

As low quality as the image was, the woman arriving with Thor in the distinctive Alfar dress and armour was certainly the princess.

"Oh, my dear..." The man's deep voice dragged out. "You have walked right into our sights."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: let me know what you think! if you can't tell, this is basically the set up for a longer series... i'm really excited to explore this character and get deeper into the relationships!

i've never really written in the third person POV before, so let me know if it's something you like or not, and i can switch for the next part.

please like/reblog if you enjoy! let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next part <3

[arcadia-smith]

One touch

Part 1 // Part 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life carrying pieces of others—memories, emotions, pain. A single touch is all it takes. You never meant to fall for Bucky Barnes. Not when one touch showed you the full weight of his past—every wound, every scream, every drop of blood spilled. But the problem with avoiding someone is that it only makes you want them more. And Bucky is just as drawn to you as you are to him.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Bucky's memories, kinda slow burn.

Note: Might be inspired by that one POV I saw ages ago. Finally, wrote smth on it.

You’re careful, always. Gloves in the winter, long sleeves in the summer, avoiding unnecessary contact. But you weren’t expecting to meet him that day. You weren’t expecting his steel-blue eyes, the hesitant way he reached for you, the calloused warmth of his palm.

James Buchanan Barnes. You thought maybe it would be something vague, like the usual flickering memories you caught from strangers—forgotten birthdays, the feeling of laughter in their ribs, the taste of their last sip of coffee.

But the moment your hand slipped into his, you knew you had made a mistake.

Pain.

It surged through you in an instant, stealing the air from your lungs, making your knees nearly buckle under the weight of it. The sharp bite of a knife slicing through flesh. The suffocating grip of restraints against metal wrists. The echo of voices shouting commands in Russian, the chilling sensation of being stripped down to nothing but a weapon. The screams. The red star. Blood, so much blood—on his hands, on his soul, dripping onto snow-covered ground. The sensation of metal replacing flesh. Terror. Rage. Regret. The unbearable weight of loss.

You ripped your hand away, eyes wide, heart hammering. Bucky was staring at you, brow furrowed in confusion.

"You okay?" His voice was rough, but his concern was genuine.

You force a smile. A lie. “Yeah. Just—just got a little dizzy.”

It’s the first of many lies.

You avoided touching him after that. It was difficult. Bucky's a tactile person, more than he realized. A hand on your back when guiding you through a crowded space. Sitting beside him on mission briefings, careful not to let your knees brush. You handed him files with your sleeves pulled over your fingers. You trained in the same room but always kept your distance. It was exhausting, this careful, deliberate avoidance, but you had no choice.

He was kind, in a quiet, unassuming way. He made you coffee in the mornings when you were both in the compound kitchen too early for anyone else to be awake. He told you about the books he had been reading when sleep didn't come. He listened when you talked, really listened, like what you were saying was the most important thing in the world.

He made you want things you shouldn’t.

But you knew what was inside him. You felt it. You felt him break, over and over again, and you didn't know how to hold that without breaking too.

Bucky wasn't just the things Hydra made him do. He wasn't just the broken memories and the pain. The way he always waited for you to enter a room first. The way he softened when he talked to Sam’s nephews. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

He remembered things about you, little things you barely noticed about yourself. And it terrified you because you were falling for him.

And worse? He was falling for you, too.

“You don’t like touching me.”

You froze, coffee cup halfway to your lips. You were both sitting in the compound’s common area, the glow of the city outside casting long shadows across the floor.

“I don’t like touching anyone,” you corrected.

Bucky didn’t look convinced.

"Steve told me you have some kind of.. gift or whatever he called it." He huffed.

"A gift," you shook your head. It was all but a gift. "i can see.. and feel... memories of a person, whenever I touch them."

“What did you see, when you shook my hand that first time?” Bucky questioned, not knowing if he really wanted to hear the answer.

You hesitated. He deserved an explanation, an answer, but how could you explain something like this? How could you tell him that touching him had nearly broken you? That you’d spent weeks trying to separate your own thoughts from the pain you’d absorbed? That even now, sometimes, you woke up gasping, ice spreading through your veins, memories that weren’t yours pressing against your skull? He didn't deserve that. After all he'd been through.

"You were quite a skirt-chaser back in the day." You shrugged, hoping he'd let go of the topic.

Bucky let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what you saw?”

You forced a smile, lifting your cup to your lips. “That’s what I’m telling you I saw.”

You weren’t sure if he was buying it, but either way, he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned back against the couch, stretching his metal arm along the back of it, close but not touching.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I might’ve been a flirt, but I was always a gentleman.”

You raised a brow. “That so?”

“Absolutely.” He smirked. “Always asked for a dance first.”

You huffed, shaking your head. “How chivalrous.”

Bucky chuckled, but you could feel the shift in the air. He hadn’t forgotten your deflection. The momentary ease between you wasn’t enough to erase the unspoken weight of his question.

What did you see?

What did you feel?

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

The ice-cold metal of an operating table. The burn of a shock collar. The sting of a fresh wound being ignored, a voice barking orders in Russian. The absolute, gut-wrenching terror of realizing—over and over—that you weren’t in control of your own body.

And beneath it all, buried so deep it nearly went unnoticed—loneliness. A yearning for something, someone, anyone to remind him he wasn’t just a weapon.

You couldn’t tell him that.

So instead, you clung to the lighter pieces, the moments before the pain, before the war. The golden haze of 1940s Brooklyn, the warmth of laughter, the way the air used to hum with the promise of something better.

“Steve always said I was a pain in the ass back then,” Bucky mused, snapping you back to the present.

You glanced at him, offering a small smile. “Some things never change.”

That made him laugh, real and genuine this time, and for a moment, the weight in your chest lightened.

The next few days were a blur of subtle moments, quiet exchanges, and the uncomfortable tension that lingered between you and Bucky. You tried to keep your distance, pretending that everything was fine, but the truth was far harder to swallow.

Every time Bucky walked into the room, the pull was undeniable. You’d find your gaze drawn to him, and when he caught your eye, you’d quickly look away, as if your body was betraying you, desperate for something you couldn’t have.

And then there were the little things—the way his presence seemed to fill the space around him, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, like he was trying to break through some invisible barrier that you’d put up.

You didn’t want to feel that pull. You couldn’t afford to. Because no matter how much your heart ached to close the distance between you and him, you knew the consequences.

That afternoon, when you were leaving the training room, you almost collided with Bucky in the hallway. He stepped back just in time, his eyes flashing with surprise as you tried to regain your balance.

“Easy there,” he said, his voice low but steady, his hand brushing your arm to steady you.

You froze. The moment his fingers made contact with your skin, everything came rushing back. The sharp pain of a bullet slicing through muscle, the flash of a bomb exploding too close, the heartache of losing everything that had ever mattered. The memories of the wars he’d fought, of the things he’d been forced to do, filled your mind so quickly you barely had time to breathe.

You pulled away instinctively, your body trembling, your chest tightening as you fought to keep it together.

“I—I’m sorry,” you gasped, avoiding his eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t want to look at him. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you might just break, and you couldn’t do that. Not with him. Not when you already knew the kind of pain he carried inside him.

Bucky took a step forward, his expression softening as he reached out, his hand hovering just shy of yours. “You’re not okay,” he said quietly, his voice full of concern. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, willing the storm inside you to settle. “I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just… tired. Long day.”

Before either of you could say anything more Steve appeared at the end of the hallway, calling out to Bucky.

“You coming, Barnes?”

Bucky hesitated, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer, as if he was torn between walking away and staying.

Finally, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he said to Steve, before turning back to you. “We’ll talk soon, yeah?”

You noded and you couldn’t breathe until he was gone.

The next day, Bucky found you in the courtyard, sitting by yourself, your eyes distant as you stared at the horizon. He walked up slowly, as though unsure of how to approach you.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a free country.”

Bucky settled next to you anyway, the quiet between you comfortable for a moment, but not for long. He was too aware of everything. Too aware of you.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice low.

You shifted uncomfortably. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?” His tone softened, and you finally turned to meet his eyes.

“I told you, I don’t like touch. And it’s not something I can just turn off. And it's hard to be around you... when all I want to do is touch you, for you to touch me, kiss me..”

You got up on your feet but before you could turn, you felt the weight of his hand on your arm, gentle, but firm. Your breath caught, heart pounding in your chest. His touch was warm, steady, nothing like the icy remnants of war that had scarred him, but you still felt the sharpness of his past pressing against you like a shadow.

You looked down at his hand, at the way his fingers barely brushed your sleeve. It was a simple gesture, but to you, it was more than that. It was the invitation. The risk. The question you both had been dancing around.

You swallowed hard, fighting the sudden wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. But when you met his eyes, the vulnerability there, the honest want for connection, it nearly broke you.

You wanted to pull away. You wanted to stop, to keep him at arm’s length, but something inside you shifted, and you found yourself taking a step closer, just enough for your fingers to brush against his.

The world tilted.

The memories flooded you—faster, sharper this time. The face of a man who wasn’t quite Bucky anymore, wasn’t quite the soldier he’d been. The ache of betrayal, the desperate longing for redemption. The faces of people he’d loved and lost, the quiet rage of a man who had been turned into a weapon and was still trying to find his humanity.

Your chest tightened as the memories crashed over you, and you gasped, pulling your hand away, stumbling back like you’d been burned.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice ragged. “I—I can’t…”

Bucky’s face twisted, a flash of pain crossing his features “I’m sorry if I—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not you. It’s me. I just… I can’t keep doing this.”

[a-spes]

Before the Storm. (N. R. x W. M. x R). — Part Zero, 'Of Ashes and Dust'. (338 words).

" From the ashes of a fallen kingdom, a threat that everyone thought was defeated shall rise once more, sentencing a second realm to the same fate. The prophecy foretells that the apparition of a young woman where she never belonged will herald the end of everything. Can the impending doom be forestalled, or will the destruction of Earth become inevitable? "

| Tags & Warnings — Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Enhanced!Reader. No warning for this part.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. previous part. - next part.

You are wandering through the streets of the Kingdom that you used to call your home — But was the word still appropriate to use? 

The now empty streets of the city are far from the one you remember, those that once were full of life, and the buildings that used to proudly stand, symbols of the realm’s wealth and strength, were now crumbling.

There was nothing familiar anymore about this place.

The city you are travelling through is no more than the ruins of the one that once stood there — Who would have guessed that this was one of the most powerful capitals?

But it was too late to save it, the evil corrupting these lands being too strong, and while many people tried to fight for their homes, none of them could beat the prophecy. Eventually, everyone left, leaving you as the only soul on these lands. 

You refused to leave because you couldn’t imagine your future anywhere else. You are tied to this realm in a way that can’t be described, and despite the feeling of dying at the same time as the city, you have never felt so.. alive in your life.

The ground was trembling beneath your feet, and the warmth of the flames was caressing your face. The ashes have penetrated your lungs, making it difficult to breathe and yet, there was something oddly comforting in your situation, in watching the city gradually being destroyed, and witnessing the castle on the hill disappearing.

You consider yourself lucky for having the chance to walk these streets one last time, to be able to look at the stars before they eventually vanish, along with everything else — Including yourself. The place you cherished soon becoming your grave.

One by one, each of the things that had made this city great was disappearing and soon, it’ll be the turn of memories of the people who inhabited these lands to be taken.

And then, it will be as if this realm never even existed in the first place.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. previous part. - next part.

| Tag list —

[falloutwitch2004]

Thunderbolts* Era Bucky Barnes × Enhanced! Wife! Reader Headcanons

TW: mild cursing, mentions of fighting, (not really triggers): domestic Bucky, children

○ you and Bucky get married almost as soon as he comes back from the blip. Neither of you want to chance missing the opportunity again in some tragedy. To his surprise, he also returns to a set of twins: Grant and Rebecca, who are nearing five years old at the time.

○ post marriage pre congressional candidacy, you and Bucky welcome a son: George.

○ Bucky then later would take a step away from the fight and run for a position in congress. You found it a bit of a strange choice at first, but continually supported him. "Mom, Dad's campaign ad is on!" One of the twins would call from their seats in the living room of the house, now tweens.

○ handling two tweens and a toddler was no easy feat. The twins could get a bit rowdy, and George was in constant need of some sort of attentious care. "Give it back!" was how any argument started over any material item. "Rebecca James, Grant Samuel!" You'd scold. They knew they were in trouble when they heard you use their middle names. However, that wouldn't keep them from continuing. Most times, you had to physically pull them away from each other with your powers, since their natually enhanced strength kept you from just stepping between them.

○Bucky knew how hard it was for you to balance mom life and mission life, even if you had managed to do so in his absence. Once he is elected as a congress official, he had more time at home with the kids when he wasn't in a meeting or doing press. That's when Sam was a trusted sitter.

○ you'd walk into the house to find Bucky cooking, a sauce stain sticking out like a sore thumb on his white button down and George giggling in his high chair with a fistful of spaghetti-o's. He was so focused on following the recipe perfectly. "And this, my dear husband, is why i take care of dinner." You say half-jokingly as you walk in after having a long mission debrief. "Just look at your shirt. And I just finished laundry. Hand it over. I'll have to pretreat it so that doesn't stain it forever." Bucky gives you his shirt. "You're on ref duty while I take care of this."

○ yeah, the twins are absolute menaces even for Bucky. And it doesn't get any easier when it's found out that Grant inherited your powers. "Hey, no powers in the house!" Bucky would tell them.

○ you had not an ounce of trust when you saw Valentina stop by with the files. "You're doing this again?" You ask.

○ "yeah doll, you won't believe these kids. And you'll never guess who's here. Fucking Walker." Bucky would tell you over the phone. "Say hi to the kids for me."

[ktrivia]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Summary: A dreamwalker who has been in the heads of everyone from the most famous to world-leaders finds herself in Steve Roger’s dreams more than once. The Avengers don’t take kindly to people walking through their minds un-guarded, so what happens when Steve discovers her antics and takes her back to Avenger’s Compound for information?

Chapter Notes: Welcome to the rewrite of a fic I started writing years ago called “All Men Dream” This story will be a Bucky/Reader story, but we need some world building first before he can come in. Stay tuned for him starting in the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Next Chapter ->

Chapter 1:

“Move Meatball!” I yelled as I tried to forcibly remove the petulant fluff ball from the sink he occupied.

“I’m trying to brush my teeth dammit,” I muttered as the cat finally moved, white face scrunched in indignation.

“It’s bedtime! You know he goes to sleep early.” I rationalized, hoping the feline understood my plight. He meowed indignantly before hopping onto the toilet lid and staring at me. I wet the toothbrush, coated it in toothpaste, and began brushing as I looked over at Meatball.

“Stop judging me,” I demanded weakly as I brushed. “I have fun with him. It’s not hurting anyone, and besides he has no idea I’m there anyway.” The cat’s head tilted to the side.

“It’s not like I planned to stick with him for long,” I stated after another moment. I couldn’t help but feel like he was judging me. After spitting in the sink and rinsing my mouth, I picked up the judgy fluffball and carried him with me to the bedroom. As I walked, I kept rationalizing my decision to him, as I had done now every night for the past month.

“Captain America just has the best dreams. Classic 1930s fun. He goes off to the dance hall and I get ice cream. It’s a win-win,” The cat laid down on the foot of the bed, ignoring my rambling. After moving to turn off the light, I crawled under the covers. As I shut my eyes, I thought of the face of Steve Rogers.

When I opened my eyes again, I was standing in the middle of a hustling New York City street, but rather than the modern cars rushing by me, Hudson’s and Packard’s scooted past. A grin pulled at my lips as I took in the bustling sidewalk full of people in outfits that seemed like they were from a different world. As one woman passed, I flicked my fingers, changing what I wore to match her. Instead of the pajamas I fell asleep in, I now donned a loose frilly day dress.

I took a cursory glance around, searching for Steve Rogers himself, and saw him stalking towards a darkened alley. What the exhibit in the Smithsonian said was true, Steve Rogers always stood up for the little guy and that included in his dreams. Every so often he’d disappear down a Brooklyn alleyway to recreate a fight from when he was a kid. He could go pummel every bully in Brooklyn for all I cared, because I was off the dance hall. His distraction was simply my gain.

I did my best to stay out of Steve’s way while I was in his head. Science says we only dream of faces we’ve seen before, and while that counts the people we’ve seen in passing, I didn’t want to risk Steve one day realizing that a certain face was appearing every time he slept.

Moving with the crowd, I worked my way down the street towards the Dana eh all glancing down the alley Steve had disappeared into as I passed it. I may not interact with him directly, but I also wasn’t going to let the guy have a nightmare. The last time I’d crashed one of those had been a doozy and I didn’t want a redo. I squinted into the darkness, lingering for just a moment, but didn’t see Steve. Dammit. He must have already fought the bully, which meant he’d be off to dance with some dames.

With a disappointed sigh, I pivoted on my chunky heel determined to head to the soda shop instead. A root beer float would cheer me up.

I felt a prickle on the back of my neck, like someone’s eyes were on me. No, no, no, no…

Turning slowly, I saw Steve Rogers standing across the street, stare drilling into me.

Fuck.

Hiding my panic, I gave him a soft smile, hoping to convince him I was just some woman happy to be acknowledged. I swiftly turned down the alley, bending the surrounding shadows to cover me. My mind was racing, trying to think of every possibility and option.

I could jump out of the dream, but then I’d never be able to come back and this little place had become my happy place. Sure, I could recreate it in someone else’s head but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, planting false dreams into others mind’s wasn’t really my style. Steve could have thought I was just a pretty damn who he wanted to speak to. A snort left me as that thought came and went. No one glared at someone they thought was hot with that much anger.

That left the final and worst option: Lucid Dreaming. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, the dreamer could alter their own dream and had awareness of their actions. If Steve was lucid dreaming then all bets were off to what he could do. How did I miss the damn trigger though? Normally lucid dreams had some kind of barrier for the dreamer to cross, some kind of force they had to beat before they gained control. After a lifetime of doing this, I was quick to catch when a lucid dream was coming and bail before shit hit the fan.

Any planning was in vain, as a large hand harshly grabbed my shoulder, turning me quickly towards them. That would leave a fucking bruise.

“Who the hell are you?” The Captain demanded as he glared down at me.

“Oh, hello sir. I was just trying to get home, but I think I made a wrong turn,” I said sweetly, playing dumb.

“Who. Are. You?” He asked again, eyes burning. Looking around, I tried to find something I could use to distract him but the alley was empty. Blood dripping from his knuckles caught my eye. Damn. The bully or whoever he fought in this alley must have been the trigger for his lucidity.

“You have about ten seconds to tell me why you’re in my dream before this gets nasty,” he warned at my lack of an answer.

“A dream? Darling are you saying you dream of me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes in one last ditch effort. I really didn’t want to give up this slice of paradise.

“You’re coming with me…” Was all I heard before I cut connection.

“Fuck!” I yelled as I shot upright in bed, gasping for air. Movement at the end of my bed had me panicked before I realized it was Meatball attacking my feet under the covers.

“Well Meatball, you were right. Shouldn’t have hopped into the Captain’s dream tonight.”

After a night of fading in and out of a dreamless sleep, I got up to get ready for work. Losing my new happy place made for a depressing morning, especially as I was about to go into my unhappy place aka my job. Greg was a dick and could go fuck himself with a cactus if he tried to het me to make his marketing plan for him again.

I went through the motions of eating breakfast, getting dressed and saying goodbye to Meatball. I locked the door of the walk-up with a sigh, heading down the stairs into the streets of modern day Brooklyn. Glancing around, I couldn’t help but note how boring this was compared to Steve’s dream world, but it was what it was. The stifling heat of the city blasted into me and I could feel myself already starting to sweat through my work blouse. At least the office was only a couple blocks down the road, or else I really might have quit by now. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the screen, noting no notifications.

“Shit!” I yelled as I stumbled backwards after running into what felt like a brick wall. A hand shot out to catch my forearm, keeping me steady. After a deep breath to steady myself, I looked up to thank the person for catching me and then chew them out for not watching where they were going. Looking down at me was a familiar pair of rage filled blue eyes.

“Shit,” I muttered again, this time for a totally different reason. Falling on my ass would have been much better than this.

“It’s you.”

[skyfallslayer]

The Darkness In Me - Masterlist

-Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Reader-

Main Masterlist

🖤 Summary: You were shocked to find out your childhood friend turned out to be the Kingpin of the underworld, but you had to put those thoughts aside to bring him down. You were Hell’s Kitchen vigilante, its protector. There's no valid reason not to stop him. However, when your hidden feelings for him start to surface once more, how will you be able to even think about bringing him down?

🖤 Pairings: Kingpin!Matt Murdock x Vigilante!Fem.Reader

🖤 Rating: Mature - Explicit

🖤 Warnings: At the beginning of each chapter (This series will contain 18+ themes)

🖤 Word Count: 25,966

🖤 Start Date: 8/8/23

🖤 End Date: N/A

🖤A/N: For those who aren't the biggest Marvel fans, I'm going to give you a little backstory behind this fic. This story is based on the "Spider-Gwen" comics where in this universe, Earth-65, Matt's origin story is very similar to the one where we already know, except Stick was killed by the Hand and takes Matt under their wing. He's turned into an assassin, but still goes to law school and eventually becomes Wilson Fisk's defense lawyer. Somewhere along the line, Matt cuts ties with Fisk and becomes Kingpin himself. This story was kind of a 'A-ha!' moment, and I decided it would be interesting to see this take on Matt with a reader insert. Don't know how many stories I'll do, but if you readers seemed to like it I'll keep going :) Enjoy!

-INDEX-

🖤 Story 1: The (Wo)Man Without Fear

Summary: After all these years away, you’re finally relocated back to Hell’s Kitchen, the place where you were born, a place filled with happy memories. However, the city is not what you remembered, and when your job as a detective is not enough to save it, you might have to become something more.

🖤 Story 2: Auld Acquaintances

Summary: Deciding you have no choice anymore, especially how your new partner scares you half to death, and the police in this city seemed not to care, your hundred percent committed to becoming a vigilante. But before you could do this, you run into an old childhood friend and his business partner. But unknowingly to you, he’s not the same little boy you remembered hanging out with. He’s… something else entirely.

🖤 Story 3: Kingpin & Daredevil

Summary: Your night trying to save a kid takes a dangerous turn. Now fighting to stay alive after a possible life threatening injury, you soon find yourself face-to-face with the man that runs this city’s underworld: The Kingpin. Aka… your childhood friend.

🖤 Story 4: Snapdragon (Coming Soon)

Summary: Your world is officially upside down. Your small taste of nostalgia has been ruined by what you discovered. Now, you’re out on investigations with Frank, and decide to dig deeper on other cases to take your mind off things. But of course, you always had the worst luck, and nothing can make your heart stop when you find the King of Darkness in your living room.

🖤 Story 5: A Euphoric Misery (Coming Soon)

-Taglist Is Open-

@utterlynuts @etanordoesbullsh1t @mattmurdocksstarlight @l3xiluve @lunaticgurly @margoo0 @swift-enchanted @athenniene

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[callalillywrites]

Accidental Switch

Created for @steverogersbingo. D5 - Body Swap

I had every intention of writing this as a vignette of a fuller story, but I couldn't figure out what I wanted to portray. I didn't necessarily want to start at the beginning of it, but I also knew that starting anywhere else would require some (and even possibly extensive) back story to make it make sense.

So, you're getting a moodboard/storyboard of it instead for the moment. It'll also be the image that I'll use when I get the chance to sit down and write this into a fuller story.

Basic Gist: An accident in Tony's lab has you switching bodies with Steve Rogers. Not necessarily a big deal, right? Wrong! You have the biggest crush on the super soldier (and he you though you don't know that). Plus, you have -- had -- powers that stayed with your body while you're now having to deal with handling everything that comes with his body. Strength, heightened senses, big. So very big body compared to yours. It's going to take some time to get you both back to rights, but Tony and Bruce are on it. In the meantime, you and Steve are just kinda stuck with having to adapt and deal with the differences in each other's bodies and all the shenanigans that can come with that.

Yep, that's what I've got so far as I'm still planning this one out, but I do hope to have at least a basic outline and possibly a couple of parts out before the end of the year. (Along with all my other stories I need to work on.)

[purifiedclitoris69]

Some Place Safe

Natasha Romanoff x Supersoldier!R

Warnings: Angst, Alluded SA, Violence, ETC

Summary: You were raised to be a weapon. Loving her was the only thing they didn’t teach you to survive. She escaped. You let her. And you never planned to follow. (Heavily inspired by sinners LOL)

You were born in the shadow of war—an accident, a consequence of two operatives colliding in the chaos of a mission. Your mother didn’t live long enough to hold you. You never knew her name. You never knew your own.

They took you in—not out of mercy, but out of opportunity.

The Red Room didn’t raise children. It raised weapons. You were placed in a second-tier orphan program, a quieter project—off the books, away from the widows. They didn’t dress you in black leather or teach you seduction. They taught you obedience. Stillness. Fear.

You learned not to cry by the time you were three. Every moment of comfort was conditional. Every word of praise was a tool. You were nothing more than a blank slate with muscle and reflex. You were tested, shaped, punished, refined. They didn’t want loyalty. They wanted control.

By the time you were ten, you could speak five languages, disappear in any crowd, and kill with a pencil. But you still didn’t know your name. They made sure of that.

When the Red Room joined hands with HYDRA, they sent you away—one of a few deemed stable enough to be "enhanced." You remember the cold first. The facility buried beneath snow and silence. The needles came next. Then the pain. Then the darkness.

HYDRA took what the Red Room started and broke it open. They injected you with a serum they said would make you strong. Faster. Better. But all it did was blur the line between survival and violence.

Your body changed. So did your mind.

They didn’t need to train you anymore. They just conditioned you. Trigger words, electric shocks, hallucinations—it all became routine. Every memory was wiped clean. Every hesitation was punished. You weren’t supposed to feel anything. Just kill and return.

And you did.

Over and over, you painted the world red for masters who never told you why. They didn’t call you by a name. They called you Asset. Subject. Spectre.

Until one day—you met her.

You were sixteen. Back in the Red Room, temporarily removed from your HYDRA assignments. The widows in the 14–15 age bracket needed oversight. “Instruction,” they called it. But you knew what it really was. A test.

A test for them—and a reminder for you.

Your handlers said no one would be more efficient, more ruthless, more capable than you. Two rounds of serum had ensured it. Bones reinforced. Reflexes sharpened to an unnatural edge. Pain meant nothing to you anymore. And if it did—you never showed it.

Madam B led the drill, standing beside you with her arms folded and her voice like a knife. “The enemy is smarter. Stronger. Faster. You do not overpower them. You dismantle them.” You stood still, hands folded behind your back, eyes scanning the group. Ten girls. Uniforms crisp, eyes cold. And then one was escorted in late.

Her.

Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

You knew what she was before the handler said her name. The way she walked, the way her jaw tensed, the flicker of calculation behind her gaze. You knew where she’d come from. Who she’d been with. You could smell it on her—pain, gasoline, cheap cologne, blood.

You’d lived it.

Something flickered in your chest. Recognition? Disgust? Curiosity? It passed before you could name it.

“Let’s begin,” Madam B said sharply.

You moved to the center of the room on instinct, like muscle memory. You weren’t thinking. That wasn’t your job. You were the lesson. They were the students.

The first widow came fast—predictable, linear. You sidestepped her and slammed her into the mat with a single twist of your hip. The second tried to sweep your legs. You jumped, drove your heel into her shoulder, dislocating it. Another got bold, locking her legs around your neck in a textbook chokehold. You slipped out of it in half a breath, kicked her ribs hard enough to hear the crack. An elbow hit the back of your skull. Your knee buckled from a follow-up strike, drawing a grunt from your throat. You caught her arm anyway, flipped her clean over your shoulder, and knocked the wind from her lungs with the landing.

And then she stepped forward.

Romanova.

She moved like you. Fast. Controlled. Measured. The other girls fought with desperation, with something to prove. She fought like she already knew. Every motion had intention. No waste. No fear. No need for approval.

She didn’t just want to survive the match— She wanted to understand you.

Her strikes were sharp, almost elegant. You blocked the first two. She ducked the third. A feint, a sweep—you stumbled, just half a step, just enough for her to see it.

The room watched in silence.

She came again, faster this time. You grabbed her wrist mid-swing. Her foot connected with your side. It stung—she was good.

Not enough to beat you. But good.

When you slammed her into the mat, she landed like a cat, rolled back up, and turned toward you without blinking. The others were still catching their breath. Some were still lying on the floor.

Only she stood with you.

You stared at her, breathing evenly. She stared right back.

Madam B called the drill. The other girls were dismissed. But Romanova was told to stay.

You remained too.

That was the first time you saw her. Not just a file. Not just a name. Her.

And somewhere—beneath the layers of numbness, the serum, the training, the triggers—You felt something stir.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything.

But she would become the exception.

From that day forward, she was everywhere.

In every drill, every sparring match, every strategy debrief. You weren’t sure if it was coincidence, punishment, or a new kind of test. But wherever you were, Romanova followed.

At first, it was friction. She questioned everything. Why the techniques were outdated. Why the conditioning was flawed. Why she was expected to lose.

You watched her get punished for speaking out—watched her grit her teeth through each consequence. But she never broke. She never stopped fighting.

You hated her for that. And—if you were honest—you respected her for it too.

When you sparred, it was always different with her. She didn’t try to overpower you. She tried to figure you out—where you carried your weight, how you breathed before a strike, how your body reacted to pain. She learned fast. Too fast.

You kept putting her down. But never easily. And never the same way twice.

The others grew afraid of you. Romanova never did.

One night, after a brutal joint exercise, the two of you were left in the mat room longer than expected. Bloody. Breathless. Silent.

You sat on opposite sides of the mat, both pretending the other wasn’t there. But you felt her eyes on you.

“You don’t enjoy this,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t look at her. “It’s not about enjoyment.”

She didn’t push. Just nodded once, as if that confirmed something for her. As if she already knew.

You didn’t speak again that night, but the silence between you felt… less like an empty space, and more like something waiting to become a conversation.

Over the months, your dynamic evolved.

You were still stronger. Still faster. Still something… other. But she challenged you in ways your handlers never anticipated.

She made you think.

During field simulations, the two of you started working together without being told to. Covering each other’s blind spots. Moving in sync. Communicating without words.

She never praised you. You never praised her. But the trust was there—in the way she never flinched when you stepped behind her, in the way you didn’t hesitate to back her up when she made the call.

Still, tension burned beneath it all.

You’d snap at her when she questioned orders. She’d challenge your blind obedience. You fought. You bled. You pushed each other to the edge and back.

And somewhere in all that chaos—You started to need her there.

Not as a rival. Not even as a comrade. But as something quieter. Closer.

You’d catch yourself watching her longer than you should. The way she wrapped her hands before a mission. The way her brow furrowed when she was working through a problem. The way she touched people like it was foreign. Like it might shatter them.

She was learning how to care.

And you—You were just learning how to feel.

One night, during winter drills in the dead cold, she caught you shivering beneath your gear. The serum made your body hard, durable—but not immune to the cold.

Without a word, she peeled off her second layer and threw it to you.

You didn’t thank her. She didn’t ask for it. But for the first time in your life, a gesture wasn’t part of a test. Or a manipulation. Or control.

It was… kindness.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Her face kept appearing in your mind. Not as a fellow operative. Not as a threat.

Just her.

And it terrified you more than anything they’d ever done to you.

Because if you let that wall crack, if you let her in—She might see who you really are beneath it all.

And worse…You might start to remember too.

But that wasn't in there plans.

You weren’t supposed to leave. But no one asked you.

It happened after a routine infiltration exercise—standard, controlled. You weren’t even armed. One moment, you were walking back through the frostbitten corridor of the Red Room barracks. The next, a needle was in your neck.

Your body dropped before your mind could react.

You woke up somewhere far colder. Darker. Underground.

No windows. No clocks. No names.

Just HYDRA again.

Apparently, you still belonged to them. The Red Room had only been borrowing you.

They said you weren’t done. That your body was strong—but your mind, soft. That there were still layers to burn out of you. So they stripped you down to bone and nerve and rebuilt you again.

More injections. More surgeries. Weights so heavy they crushed the air from your lungs. Shock conditioning to suppress emotion—any residual hesitation, memory, or attachment. They filled your bloodstream with compounds that ate away at your warmth. And they watched. Measured. Adjusted.

Until the version of you that had once flinched at kindness, that had once felt something in Romanova’s gaze—Died.

When you came back—months later, or maybe years—you weren’t the same.

The Red Room barely recognized you.

Your body was bigger now. Broader shoulders, thicker arms, deeper definitions all around. More power behind every movement. Your hands no longer trembled, not even slightly.

But the real difference was in your eyes.

Nothing in them.

Not fury. Not pain. Not longing. Just silence.

The girls whispered when they saw you. Some wouldn’t meet your eyes. Even the instructors seemed uneasy.

But Natasha—She wasn’t there to see you return.

She was gone.

You found out later.

While you were underground being gutted and stitched back together, she’d grown too.

They started giving her solo missions. Black ops. Quiet eliminations. Intel retrieval. Sabotage. She was rising, fast.

Faster than anyone expected.

You saw her name on the mission logs once. Just a line. Romanova, N.A. — Status: Completed.

You should’ve felt something.

But you didn’t.

Not until the first time you saw her again.

It was in the training compound. You had just come from the lab—still sore, your muscles heavy from the new modifications.

She entered in full gear, fresh from a mission. Blood on her knuckles. Eyes hard.

She saw you. You saw her.

Something flickered behind her expression. Shock, maybe. Recognition. But then her face hardened too.

You were taller now. Bulked. You had a presence that filled the room like a storm waiting to break.

She took a step toward you. Stopped. Looked you over like a stranger. Then said quietly, “What did they do to you?”

You blinked at her. “What they always do.”

Her jaw clenched. She looked away first.

Something cracked between you then—subtle, but deep. Like a frozen lake underfoot. Silent. Invisible. Deadly.

She was sharper now. More guarded. No longer the girl trying to figure you out.She didn’t try to speak again. Didn’t reach out.

And for the first time… you didn’t want her to Because some part of you knew: If she touched you, she’d feel it.

How gone you really were.

Ironnically, they assigned you together without warning.

No briefing room. No courtesy. Just your names on the same mission order, stamped with urgency, marked “Classified – Joint Operation.”

You stood by the helipad in the cold, snow clinging to your gloves, staring at the file in your hand. You didn’t flinch when her footsteps approached behind you—but something inside you shifted.

“Is this a joke?” Her voice was sharp. Older. It cut different now—refined, precise. She was no longer a student. She was a weapon fully realized.

You turned to her. Nothing in your expression.

“No,” you said. “It’s an order.”

She looked you over again, as if still trying to reconcile the you in her memory with the one standing in front of her. The serum-enhanced bulk. The vacant eyes. The silence.

“You look like them now,” she muttered. “Like the guards. The machines.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

She didn’t respond. Just pulled on her gloves and boarded the chopper. You followed.

Neither of you spoke for the entire flight.

The mission was straightforward: sabotage a black-market weapons trade in Serbia. Silent entry. Quiet eliminations. No civilian casualties.

Easy.

Too easy.

You moved like a ghost—silent, brutal, efficient. Taking out guards before they even knew they were dead. She followed, handling the tech, bypassing locks, placing charges. Clean. Professional. Cold.

But the silence between you roared louder than the gunfire.

At one point, you cleared a stairwell while she set a timer on the explosives. You glanced back at her—the flicker of red hair under moonlight, the tight line of her jaw.

There used to be warmth in the way she looked at you. Now, it was calculation. And something worse—disappointment.

You met her gaze. She didn’t look away this time.

“You’re not the same,” she said quietly.

“I’m better.”

“No,” she said. “You’re just… gone.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have one.

The hallway lights flickered. Footsteps above.

You both moved without another word.

After the mission—successful, of course—you were debriefed and dismissed.

But that night, in the Red Room barracks, she came to your door.

You heard the knock. You almost didn’t answer.

But you opened it.

She stepped inside like she was walking into a war zone. Her eyes scanned the room, then locked on you.

“You didn’t flinch when that civilian was caught in the blast radius.”

“They weren’t the target.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “You didn’t feel anything.”

You looked at her. At the way her chest rose and fell. At the fire in her eyes.

“What do you want from me?”

She stepped closer. “I want to know if you’re still in there.”

Your throat tightened.

Then—softly, bitterly—you said, “Why? So you can mourn me properly?”

Silence.

Her hand reached up before she could stop it—just barely grazing your shoulder, hesitant. Her fingertips trembled.

You didn’t move. But you felt it.

Something broke inside you.

And you whispered, “You shouldn't touch me, Romanova. You’ll get hurt.”

She didn’t pull away. “Maybe I already am.”

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t cry. But something in that moment laid itself bare between you—too fragile to speak aloud. Too dangerous to name.

She left without another word.

And for the first time in a long time…You wanted to be seen again.

The next few missions are different.

She stops flinching when you’re too close. You start pausing before pulling the trigger. You cover her flank instinctively. She watches your back like it’s second nature.

You still don’t speak much. But the silences become softer.

One night, while tending a wound, she says, “You never told me your real name.”

You stare at the floor. “I don’t remember it.”

“Then tell me something you do remember. Something real. Something yours.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

Then, finally: “I remember… humming. I think it was my mother. Before everything else. Just humming.”

She doesn’t say anything.

She just reaches for your hand. You let her.

And that’s the moment you know—Whatever they did to you… she might be the one thing they can’t erase.

t happened late one night, long after curfew.

You couldn't sleep. Not because of nightmares—those had dulled into something quieter—but because she hadn’t returned yet.

Her mission had run over. You knew it wasn’t your concern. You told yourself it didn’t matter. But when the door finally creaked open and she stepped inside, bruised and soaked with cold rain, your heart did something you didn’t recognize.

It lurched.

You rose from your bunk without a word. Met her halfway. She tried to walk past you like always.

But this time, you reached for her wrist.

She froze.

Then her eyes met yours. And for once, there was no mask. No cold front. No assignment.

Just two ghosts standing in a borrowed room pretending they weren’t drowning.

“You okay?” you asked, voice low.

She stared at you for a long time. Then shook her head, slow.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I think I forgot how to feel something and still survive.”

You didn’t speak. You just stepped closer.

She leaned her forehead against yours.

And when her hands came up to cradle your jaw—gentle, trembling—you let her. No drills. No orders. Just warmth. Just touch.

She moved her arms to your shoulders pulling you into a desperate hold. You held her back.

It was the first thing that had ever felt real.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not because of fear. Because for the first time—you didn’t want to close your eyes and miss it.

You were in the mess hall the next morning when the alarm rang.

Red lights. Sirens. Door locks snapping shut. You didn’t even have to guess.

They’d seen it.

The surveillance footage. The shared room. The closeness. The disobedience.

You were ripped from your seat. She was dragged from hers. Not allowed to speak. Not even look at each other.

They took you to separate rooms.

They didn’t ask questions. Just pain.

Electric pulses to the spine. Icy injections in your veins. A boot in your back and a handler shouting:

“You are not human. You are not lovers. You are assets. Tools. You do not belong to each other. You belong to us.”

You bit down until your teeth bled.

But they weren’t trying to break your body this time.

They were trying to break what you’d built.

It took days before they let you see each other again. Weeks before they assigned you to a new mission together.

But in the silence of your quarters one night—when they thought they’d burned the bond out of you—she turned to you and whispered:

“We can’t keep doing this.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet.

“We’re ghosts,” she said. “And maybe we always will be. But we don’t have to haunt this place.”

You watched her carefully.

She leaned in. “I have contacts. Quiet ones. People who owe me. We could make it out. Maybe not far. Maybe not long. But free. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You looked at her.

For the first time in your life, someone was offering you a door.

And you wanted it.

You planned it. Mapped the blind spots. The shift changes. The weak points in surveillance.

But the night came… and you didn’t move.

You stood at the exit.

So did she.

Neither of you said it—but you both felt it: That pull. That tether. Not to each other—but to this.

To the bloodstained corridors. The silence. The structure. The certainty of it.

It was hell. But it was the only hell you understood.

And maybe—maybe—out there, the world would be worse. Colder. Empty.

You looked at her.

She looked at you.

And slowly, quietly… she shook her head.

“Not yet,” she said. “We’re not ready.”

You nodded.

Neither of you turned away from the exit right away.

But you didn’t step through it either.

That night, you held her again. Not in defiance, but in mourning.

Because love, in places like this, wasn’t a rebellion.

It was a wound. And you carried it like everything else they’d given you.

Deep. Quiet. Permanent.

The final mission came suddenly. Too clean. Too perfect.

Natasha was to infiltrate a U.S. intelligence outpost under the guise of a defector. Get inside, get the data, extract herself. But you’d seen too many missions. You knew the pattern. You knew the words they didn’t say.

This wasn’t an op.

It was an opportunity.

A door. A rare one.

And for the first time—you could open it for her.

You stood by the projector as the handler outlined the objective. Your face didn’t shift. You nodded when expected. Said “understood” at the appropriate moments.

But when the lights dimmed and the others filed out, you turned to her—just the two of you left in the briefing room.

You said her name—her name, not her codename.

She looked at you. Confused at first. Then slowly—terrified.

You walked closer. Pressed a small drive into her hand. The one with the real data—hers. Proof of HYDRA’s involvement. Enough to earn her a chance. Enough to buy her freedom.

“Take it,” you said, voice low. “When the window opens, you run. Don’t look back.”

She shook her head. “No—no, we said we’d go together.”

You gave a faint smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“I don’t exist out there.”

“You do to me.”

You swallowed hard. “That’s not enough. Not this time.”

Her hands shook.

You reached out, steadying her fingers around the drive.

“You’re better than this place,” you whispered. “You always were.”

Her eyes glistened, and your throat burned with everything you couldn’t afford to say.

You didn’t kiss her.

You just let your forehead rest against hers—one last time.

A silent goodbye wrapped in the shape of a moment.

She did exactly what you trained her to do.

She got out clean.

The data hit U.S. intelligence servers like a bomb. Names. Coordinates. Project logs. Red Room locations.

And her? She vanished into shadow.

It worked.

She lived.

You watched her defect from behind locked doors, cameras feeding you the grainy security footage of her slipping past the final perimeter. She turned once—looked back.

You knew she was thinking of you.

But she ran.

And you—You stayed.

They punished you, of course.

You’d disobeyed protocol. Leaked sensitive intel. Let an asset go.

But you were too valuable to kill.

So they hurt you instead.

They locked you away. Sedated you for weeks. Ran tests. Reconditioned you until the edges blurred again.

When they were done, they gave you a new mission.

You accepted it wordlessly.

Like always.

But something in you had shifted. Not broken—but buried. Because now, no matter how many memories they wiped, no matter how many shocks they ran through your spine…

They couldn’t take her from you.

Not where it mattered.

Natasha Romanoff didn’t waste what you gave her.

She used your sacrifice like a torch.

She lit the Red Room on fire from the inside out. Cracked it open piece by piece—its secrets, its science, its cruelty. She brought down handlers and directors. Saboteurs and scientists. Anyone who carved girls into weapons.

And when she was done with them, she turned to HYDRA.

Not all of it. Not yet. But enough to make the world tremble.

And through it all—every raid, every mission, every sleepless night—she searched for you.

Files. Photographs. Ghosts of you in surveillance clips: grainy footage of a tall figure, a shadow slipping in and out of black sites with blood on your hands.

She kept seeing you. But she never found you.

They said you were a myth. That maybe you'd died. That maybe you'd broken entirely, brainwashed past the point of no return.

But Natasha knew better.

She knew what it meant when your body flinched in the exact rhythm of danger. When your jaw ticked before a mission. When your eyes—those goddamn eyes—flicked to hers in a moment of clarity, even through pain.

You weren’t dead.

You were still in there.

Somewhere.

she pulls the footage alone.

She'd rewatch the frame by frames. Zoom in on your face.

You’ve changed.

There’s no warmth now. No hesitation.

But the way you move—the way you look at the camera right before it cuts out—it’s you.

And it’s not.

The ghost she loved.

Now a killer set loose in a world she tried to fix.

Years had continued to pass.

Until the intel finally came. It was clean. HYDRA remnants were relocating prototype tech—illegally acquired Stark-adjacent hardware. Avengers were dispatched for containment.

It should’ve been a simple in-and-out.

Until you showed up.

It begins with Sam.

He never sees it coming.

He’s airborne, covering Steve’s flank, when something clips his wing mid-flight. Not a bullet.

A blade.

You appear out of the smoke—fast, silent, brutal. A black blur against a backdrop of chaos. You hit the ground and scale the debris like a phantom. Sam goes down hard, suit sparking.

Steve calls out—but it's too late. You’re already on him.

He blocks your first strike with the shield. The second knocks the breath from his lungs. The third slams him into concrete. He tries to talk, to get through to you—

But you don’t speak.

You just fight.

And you win.

He’s unconscious before he hits the floor.

Then comes Stark.

“Who the hell—” he starts, suit flying into position.

But he doesn’t get to finish.

You use an EMP blade—short-range, custom—forged in the black budget corners of the world. You slam it into his arc reactor, right below the clavicle. The suit collapses like armor made of paper.

He stares at you from the floor, breathing heavy.

“Jesus,” Tony mutters. “Who trained you—?”

Your boot slams into his jaw. He blacks out.

The smoke clears.

And Natasha walks into the aftermath like she’s walking into a graveyard.

She sees them—Sam, unconscious. Steve bleeding. Tony barely breathing.

And then she sees you.

Standing there with your back to her, blade slick with Stark’s blood, eyes scanning the horizon for the next threat.

You don’t turn when you speak.

“I was wondering when you’d show.”

Her stomach turns. Your voice hasn’t changed.

Neither has the way it makes something in her ache.

“Stop,” she says, gun aimed at your spine. “This isn’t you.”

You finally turn.

And gods, you look calm. Too calm. Not brainwashed. Not drugged. Just still. Centered. Like the world finally makes sense to you—for all the wrong reasons.

She hesitates.

“Tell me they did this to you,” she says, desperate. “Tell me they put something in your head. I can help you.”

You shake your head. “No one put anything in my head, Natalia.”

You say her name like a knife and a kiss.

“I chose this.”

Her grip falters. “Why?”

You step closer.

“I gave you freedom. I never said I wanted it for myself.”

That hits harder than any punch.

“I’m not broken,” you go on. “I’m clear. The world you live in now? It’s naïve. It lets monsters breathe because it's scared to kill them.”

“And you’re not scared?” she whispers.

“No. I’m what comes after fear.”

Your blade raises.

Her gun doesn't move.

“I don't want to fight you,” she says.

You nod. “Then don’t.”

It’s vicious.

You move like muscle memory and instinct are the only gods you answer to.

She holds her own—barely. Blocks your knife with her forearm, kicks your knee to destabilize, sweeps your leg, only for you to flip back onto your feet like gravity’s a suggestion.

She pulls you in recklessly and you slam her against the wall.

You’ve both slowed.

Breathing ragged. Bruised. Bleeding.

She’s knocked the blade from your hand. Neither of you has the upper hand now.

And still—neither of you runs.

She stares at you, hair stuck to her face with sweat and blood. Eyes glassy. Jaw clenched.

And then, finally—she breaks.

You’re both on your knees in the rubble of the mission site.

Bruised. Bleeding. Exhausted.

Your knife is somewhere behind you. Her gun’s been kicked across the ground. There are no weapons left now—only words sharp enough to kill.

And hers cut deepest.

Her voice breaks the silence, trembling but strong enough to reach you.

“Why won’t you tell me the truth?” she pleads, eyes locking with yours, glistening. “I was young enough to believe we’d find each other again. That you wanted to.”

You say nothing.

Because if you do, something inside you might shatter.

“I waited,” she whispers, and it cracks something in your chest. “I waited a long time…”

You watch her swallow it down—those tears, that hope, that version of you she carried in her chest like a ghost.

“But I’m grown now,” she breathes, straighter spine, trembling chin. “I’m good. And I know you never planned to stay.”

She steps forward.

Just one step.

“So why can’t you just say that?”

And now it’s your turn to bleed.

You want to lie. It would be easier.

But your throat burns and the truth is louder than your silence.

“Say what, hmm?” you rasp, almost bitter. “That I love you?”

She flinches.

You press forward, voice low, shaking, every word costing you a piece of yourself.

“That I think about you every damn day? That I saw you run and told myself I’d done something good—for once. That maybe if you lived, if you became something better, then everything I did would’ve been worth it?”

You pause. Swallow. You can’t look at her.

“I just wanted to keep you someplace safe,” you whisper. “And that was never gonna be here.”

“And it was never gonna be with me. Never.”

And she stands there—tears slipping free.

But she doesn't collapse.

She burns. Quietly. The way she always has.

“So that’s it?” she asks. “I was a mission to you? Something to protect and abandon?”

“You were everything,” you say, barely above a breath.

And you mean it.

Which is why you turn and walk away.

Because staying? Would destroy the last thing you did right.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi! Can I please request a Bucky x fem!reader where she is a mutant (from present day) with the ability to time travel, but she does not know how to control/use her powers, so she accidentally sends herself all the way back to the 40s and she doesn’t know how to send herself back. She meets Bucky and Steve and they quickly become her best friends and also take her in because she has no where to live (due to her time traveling there, but they don’t know that) and her and Bucky fall in love and get married. After losing both her husband, Bucky, and her best friend, Steve (she, like the rest of the world, has no clue either of them survived) her grief starts up her powers again and she finds herself back to present day, right smack dab in the middle of the Avengers HQ while they’re having a meeting about Bucky (this is after he has been captured, when Zemo is about to talk to him). The Avengers are 100% ready to fight this perceived threat that just came out of nowhere, but Steve, after taking a second to process (he is BAFFLED), realizes that this is one of his best friends, his other best friend’s wife, from the 40s, and Y/n just starts crying and throws herself into his arms because her best friend is alive 🥺 He’d be so shook to hear that she was never actually from the 40s, but from present day. Anyway, when Zemo triggers the Winter Soldier to come out, when Steve and Sam bring him to that warehouse and have his arm trapped so he can’t move, Y/n comes along with them and sees her husband (who she thought was dead) for the first time since the 40s (for her it hasn’t been that long though because she time traveled back to present day right after losing him and Steve, so the grief is fresh) and Bucky immediately starts crying because his wife is there 🥺 (Steve 100% knows right then and there that he’s speaking to Bucky, not Winter Soldier)

Together Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: 40s Bucky Barnes x Mutant/Enhanced!Female Reader with Pre Serum Steve Rogers, Husband!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Mutant/Enhanced!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: Your somehow loose control with your time travel abilities and it sends you all the way to the 1940s and you end up meeting Bucky and Steve. After hearing the devastating news about your husband’s death and disappearance of your best friend, or so you thought, your abilities send you back to the time period you’re supposed to be in and find out your husband and best friend have been alive the whole time and you two are finally together again.

Warnings: Fluff, language, crying, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the beautifully detailed request @kpopgirlbtssvt 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

GIFS ARE NOT MINE! Gif credits go to the creators.

You’re still trying to get used to having the ability to time travel. You don’t know how to control them yet and you ended up time traveling to a time period you’ve never been to. You looked around frantically. You were in an alleyway, but you don’t know where. You ran out of the alleyway to find something to tell you where you are and what time period you’re in. You looked around, seeing old cars and not as many businesses as the time period you’re supposed to be in.

“Ma’am?” You heard a voice from behind you.

You yelped and turned around, seeing two guys. One is a tall brunette and the other one is a blonde who’s about the same height as you. Both of them have blue eyes.

“Are you lost?” The brunette asks.

“Very. I’ve never been here before.” You say. “Can you guys tell me where I am?” You asked politely, trying to stay calm.

“Brooklyn, New York.” The blonde tells you.

“What year is it?” You asked curiously.

“You don’t know what year it is?” The brunette asks.

You shook your head no.

“It’s February 1941.” The brunette tells you.

Your eyes widened and your heart started to thud in your chest. You looked around, trying to gather your surroundings. That’s when you realized you were getting judgmental stares from anyone who walked past you.

“Why- Why’s everyone staring at me?” You asked.

“I think it’s because of what you’re wearing.” The blonde says.

You frowned and looked down at your outfit. You’re wearing a sweatshirt, black leggings, and your favorite sneakers. What’s wrong with that? Your mind was all over the place that you completely forgot that women in the 1940s don’t wear clothes like what you’re currently wearing.

“How about you come home with us so you’ll be warm and I’ll get you something to where?” The brunette suggests.

You stared at the two men for a few seconds before nodding your head. You walked with them, both of them on either side of you.

“What are your names?” You asked.

“I’m James, but everyone I know calls me Bucky.” Bucky introduces himself.

“And I’m Steve.” Steve introduces himself. “What’s your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.” You tell them.

When you got to their apartment, you looked around and sat down on the couch, nervously played with your fingers.

“Bucky will be back in a little bit. He went to his parents house to see what his sister has for you to wear.” Steve says, handing you a glass of water.

You smiled and accepted the glass of water.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He says.

You nodded.

“It’s ok. I understand. I used to be like that before Bucky and I became friends.” He says.

You smiled at how understanding Steve is. You and Steve maintained a great conversation till Bucky got home.

“My sister gave me a few options for you to choose from.” Bucky handed you a few hangers of outfits. “You can change in my bedroom. It’s at the end of the hall.” He says.

You smiled and went to Bucky’s bedroom. You laid the outfits on his bed and looked at them, trying to decide which one you should wear. You settled with a floral skirt with a matching short sleeved blouse. You put it on and looked down at it, smoothing it out with your hands. You went back to the living room.

“What do you guys think?” You asked.

“You look beautiful, Y/N.” Steve compliments with a smile.

Bucky’s jaw dropped. He was stunned by your beauty. He’s never seen a woman as beautiful as you.

“What do you think, Bucky?” You asked.

Bucky is still stunned. Steve poked his cheek to get his attention. He swatted his hand away, making you giggle.

“You’re drop dead gorgeous, doll.” Bucky finally compliments.

“Thank you.” You blushed.

A smile formed on Bucky’s face the more he looked at you. He knew he that you, him, and Steve are going to be great friends. Actually, Bucky wants more with you. He can see a future with you.

Shortly after that day, Bucky and Steve let you move in with them. You still haven’t told them that you have the ability to time travel and you’re not actually from that time period. You have a feeling that they won’t believe you. You might as well be honest with them and tell them.

“Bucky? Steve? I need to tell you guys something.” You say nervously.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky asks.

“I haven’t told you guys everything about me.” You say.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Promise you guys will believe me?” You asked.

They nodded.

“I’m not actually supposed to be in this time period.” You tell them.

“Of course you do, doll.” Bucky put a comforting hand on your knee. “You belong here.” He says softly.

“That’s sweet of you to say, Bucky, but I’m serious. I’m not actually supposed to be in the 1940’s.” You say.

“If you think you’re not supposed to be in our time period, what time period do you think you’re supposed to be in?” Steve asks.

“In between the 2010s and 2020s.” You say.

Bucky’s and Steve’s eyes went wide when they heard those years.

“You’re supposed to be almost 100 years in the future?” Steve asks.

You nodded.

“The only way you’d get from the future all the way back here is time travel.” Bucky says.

You stared at them, waiting for them to realize it, in which they did. Both of them had shocked looks on their faces.

“Did you use a Time Machine to get here?” Steve asks.

“Not exactly.” You answered. “The time period where I’m supposed to be in has superpowers and abilities. Those who have superpowers or abilities are enhanced or mutants.” You explained.

“Which one are you?” He asks.

“I’m a mutant.” You tell them.

“You don’t look like a mutant.” Bucky says.

“You look like a normal human like us.” Steve says.

“Thank you, guys.” You smiled.

“Which do you have? Superpowers or abilities?” Bucky asks.

“Abilities.” You answered.

“What are your abilities?” He asks.

“I have the ability to time travel, but I don’t know how to control them.” You explained. “So now, I guess I’m stuck here.” You say.

Bucky’s and Steve’s minds are completely blown right now. They always thought that superpowers and abilities were fictional in the books they’ve read. They would’ve never guessed that they’re real.

“Do you guys believe me?” You asked nervously.

“Of course we do, doll.” Bucky smiles.

You smiled and hugged them.

A few weeks go by and you’re still getting used to life in the 1940s. Bucky and Steve are making it easier for you to adjust to this time period. Also, you’ve started to develop a crush on Bucky. Bucky has the same crush on you as well.

“Hey, Bucky. What’re you reading?” You asked, walking in his bedroom and sat down on his bed next to him.

“Reading The Hobbit.” Bucky says.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

“What’re you laughing about, doll face?” He asks in a playful voice.

“You reading The Hobbit.” You giggled again. “That makes you a nerd.” You joked playfully.

“There’s no need for name calling, doll.” He says, still sounding playful.

“What’re you going to do about it, James?” You playfully taunted.

Bucky grabbed you, pulling you onto his lap and started tickling you. You giggled and squirmed on his lap.

“Bucky, st-stop!” You giggled.

“Nope! This is what you get for calling me a nerd.” He says.

“You- You didn’t let me fin-finish.” You laughed. “I-I think you’re a cute nerd.” You say.

Bucky stopped tickling you. You laid across his lap, trying to catch your breath.

“You’re cute too, babydoll.” Bucky says softly, gently cupping your cheek.

“Really? Even if I’m a mutant?” You asked.

“Yes.” He whispers.

Silence filled the bedroom. You and Bucky gazed in each other’s eyes. You sat upright and sat next to him. You leaned in at the same time as Bucky. You two kissed passionately. His lips felt so soft against yours. You and Bucky were breathless when he pulled away.

“Woah…” You say, completely speechless.

Bucky chuckles lightly. He then cups your cheek.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Bucky asks softly.

“Yes.” You smiled.

Bucky smiles and pecks your lips a few times.

———

“I can’t believe we’re married.” You say, staring at the ring on your finger.

“You better believe it, doll. This is our life now.” Bucky smiles. “Mrs. Barnes.” He says softly.

“Mr. Barnes.” You say with a smile.

———

“Do you have to go?” You asked.

“You know I have to, doll.” Bucky whispers, gently caressing your cheek.

“I’m going to miss you.” You whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Bucky kissed you softly and sweetly.

“I’ll be home before you know it, babydoll.” He whispers.

“I love you, James.” You whispered.

“I love you too, doll.” He whispers back.

———

“Stevie!” You smiled happily when you opened the door.

“Hi, Y/N.” Steve says.

You hugged him tightly. You looked outside, expecting Bucky to be with Steve, but he wasn’t which confused you.

“Where’s Bucky?” You asked, looking at Steve.

Steve looks down and sighs, dreading that he has to tell you what he’s about to tell you.

“Y/N…” He begins softly.

“No.” You said. “I know what you’re about to say. Bucky is not dead.” You say, your voice cracking.

“I’m so sorry, but he is.” He says.

“He said he’d come home to me!” You cried.

Steve wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly.

“Tell me how he died.” You say.

“He- he fell off a train. I tried to get him, but he fell before I could get to him.” Steve tells you, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

Steve couldn’t stay after that. He had to go back to the Army. You laid in bed, trying to process your husband’s death. You gazed at the picture of you and him on yours and his wedding day. Your bottom lip quivered and a loud cry left your lips. That’s when a bright light lit up the bedroom…

PRESENT DAY

The Avengers were having a meeting about the Sokovia Accords when you appeared in the room. You were on the floor, crying in the fetal position. The Avengers were alarmed when they seen you and they stood up from their seats.

“Ma’am?” Steve slowly approached you. “Are you ok? Are you injured?” He asks.

You quickly recognized that voice. You know that voice. Your crying stopped and your eyes shot open. You sat up, seeing your best friend.

“Steve?” You asked.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

You stood up from the floor and ran over to him, hugging him tightly.

“You’re alive.” You whispered.

You and Steve stood there hugging while the Avengers stared at you two in confusion. They cleared their throats to get yours and his attention.

“Who is she, Steve?” Natasha asks.

“This is Y/N. She’s Bucky’s wife. She has the ability to time travel. She’s actually from this time period.” Steve tells them.

Tears rolled down your cheeks and your bottom lip quivered when you heard your husband’s name. Steve excused himself and took you to a different room to talk.

“I have something to tell you and it may come to you as a shock, but I’m telling the truth when I say this.” Steve begins.

You sniffled, waiting for him to continue.

“Bucky is alive.” He tells you.

Your eyes went wide.

“But- but told me he was dead.” You say.

“I thought he was, but I seen him.” He says.

“When?” You asked.

“Not too long ago.” He says.

“Take me to him.” You say.

“I will once I figure out where he is. I promise.” He says.

———

“Why did you bring me to an abandoned building in a different country?” You asked Steve.

“Bucky is in here. I brought him here.” Steve says.

You looked in the room Bucky is in, gasping when you seen Bucky. You went to run to him, but Steve grabbed your arm before you could get to your husband.

“Steve, he’s waking up.” Sam informs him.

Steve walks toward Bucky with you and Sam following behind him. You stayed hidden behind Steve. Bucky frowns when he noticed that his metal arm was wedged in some kind of machine.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?” Steve asks him.

“Your mom’s name is Sarah and you used to wear newspapers in your shoes.” Bucky says.

You smiled to yourself when you finally heard your husband’s voice for the first time in a while. You stepped out from behind Steve.

“James?” You asked.

“Doll?” Bucky whispers. “Is that really you?” He asks.

Bucky thought he was hallucinating for a second.

“Yes.” You confirmed softly.

Bucky somehow managed to get his metal arm out of the machine. He stood up and walked over to you. Steve stands in between you and him, just to be sure he was in Winter Soldier mode.

“Steve, please.” Bucky’s voice cracks and his eyes tear up. “Let me hug my wife.” He pleads softly.

Steve looked in Bucky’s eyes, seeing his best friend and not the Winter Soldier. He stepped aside, allowing Bucky to approach you. Bucky hugged you tightly. He broke down in tears and so did you.

“We’ll give you guys a moment.” Steve says.

Steve and Sam left the room, leaving you and Bucky alone. Bucky cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately. Your hands clutched the fabric of his henley, melting into his touch.

“I missed you more than anything, babydoll.” Bucky whispers against your lips.

“I missed you more.” You whispered back.

Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him.

“I love you so much, James.” You whispered.

“I love you more, babydoll.” He murmurs softly. “I’m never leaving you again. I promise.” He whispers, kissing the top of your head.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[creative-caramel-coffee]

The Bear || Chapter 2

Pairings: Wanda x R || avengers (platonic) x R

Word count: 3K

TW: swearing, violence, hangover, injury, fainting (more like getting knocked out but ok), implied trauma, vomiting, medical inaccuracies (maybe maybe not), concussion (+ adjoining symptoms)

Summary: You join your uncle tony in the avengers, it wasn’t your original plan but you never planned for your powers either so here you are. Now your at the avengers tower and falling for the girl of your dreams. With a haunting past and interesting abilities can you navigate your way through the challenges of being a hero? After a mission gone wrong and a cruel twist of fate the team starts digging for answers. Can tony keep them from finding out the truth?

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

A/n so far i have four chapters planned out for this series so i hope you guys like it lol

The next morning when you woke you were grateful for nat making sure you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself. Your splitting headache subsided slightly with the pain medicine and still in your pjs you slipped on your fluffy triceratops slippers and shuffled out into the kitchen. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat when she saw you. You were so cute with your bed head and pj’s with the cutest slippers she had ever seen.

“Ahh theres the party animal.” Tony said slapping you on the back.

“Too loud.” You groaned “need coffee.” After nudging tony away nat pressed a warm mug of coffee into your hands.

“Im not sure how how you like it but its better than nothing.”

You took a sip humming at the taste as your shoulder slumped in satisfaction. “Perfect nat thank you.” You said shuffling over to the table and sitting next to Wanda.

“It’s Clint’s morning to cook so we’re having pancakes. I hope thats ok.” Nat said sitting on your other side.

“Sounds perfect.” You grinned.

“You obviously don’t know Clint very well then.” Nat teased and laughed when she felt a burnt pancake hit her in the back of the head thanks to Clint.

“Shuddup” he huffed and went back to cooking pancakes.

About half an hour later the team was sat munching on the pancakes Wanda had cooked after Clint nearly set the tea towel on fire trying to fan the pancakes which were also on fire.

“Damn these are really good thanks Clint.” You teased and Wanda rolled her eyes zapping you with a small flick of red magic. You burst out laughing and nearly choked on the pancakes but nat started smacking your back hard enough that you stopped. She handed you some water and you shot her a grateful look as you took small sips.

You were about to make another comment when Jarvis piped up.

“Ms Maximoff, Ms Romanoff and Ms L/n director fury is requesting your presence in the meeting room.” Jarvis said and you groaned in sync with Wanda as nat stood up.

“Duty calls.” Nat winked and dragged you and Wanda out of the kitchen.

It was a simple mission really. Nothing you hadn’t done before with tony before … well … before everything. So far nobody had seemed to question your ability to fight like a pro or the way you naturally seemed to have all the experience to match some of the older team members like Natasha or Steve even. But they had just assumed tony had trained you or more likely paid someone else to train you. They could not have been more wrong. But you preferred it that way.

You threw a few things in a bag before stripping down and changing into your new suit tony had designed. By spinning your ring on your left pointer finger left then right then left again the suit appeared starting at your finger tips and then melded over the rest of your body. It was red and black. Kind of like peters suit but the mask was a skull mask. You weren’t ready for the world to know who you were and you had valid reasons for it. Throwing a few knives onto your belt and a gun on your waist you stepped onto the jet a few minutes before Wanda. Wanda did a double take at your outfit. She had to admit you looked pretty badass. Black combat boots, your mask, your suit and an old tactical jacket with the logo ripped off the sleeve and chest made you look awesome.

As you stepped off the jet you walked up to Wanda deciding to take a chance and get some adrenaline running. You whispered in here ear your lips almost touching her neck. “I love the outfit, but I’d love it more on the floor of my room later tonight.” With that you went on your tiptoes and kissed her cheek. Wanda flushed, the two of you had been flirting for a while but nothing so outright as of yet. Until now. Wanda couldn’t wait until the mission was over. Carefully she tried to retrain her mind trying to focus on the mission.

The mission was going well, good even. Nat had taken the floor above and Wanda the floor below. You were in the middle. Te hydra base was nearly empty on a skeleton crew. Things were going too well and you knew your luck would run out soon. Rounding the corner and walking down a long hallway you stopped and pressed against the wall hearing voices in the room beyond the door.

“Nat” you whispered into the earpiece. “I’ve got company.”

“Ok I’m coming, Wanda meet me at y/n’s location. Do not engage until we get there.”

Your luck however had finally run out as the door opened and the men saw you.

“Shit” you swore and pulled out your gun. Dodging the bullets and taking out the guards was second nature although you were a bit rusty. Once most of the men had fallen or run you entered the room cautiously. When suddenly a guard appeared from nowhere and punched you in the face. Your mask cracked and fell to the floor. Your cheek bled from where it had cut you. Quickly you took the man down. After taking a minute to breathe you heard a slow clap. Your body stilled, swivelling on your heals you pulled you gun on the man and froze. It was him. The man who had haunted every night terror you had since you escaped. Your blood ran cold. Ice stilled in your veins and you were afraid your heart would stop beating. Hell it felt like it had. Your breathing stuttered and you didn’t register Wanda and Natasha arriving still frozen in place.

“Guards.” The man said and before any of you could react a burly man threw you into the wall. Your head collided with a sickening crack and you fell slumped on the floor, back still against the wall, out cold. “Y/N!” Nat yelled and ran over to you while Wanda jumped into action and fought off the two men who escaped.

Nat held you close to her in her lap and check you over. She knew you would have a nasty concussion and a hell of a headache when you woke up. But what concerned her most was that you froze. She had never seen you so afraid before. And it puzzled her why this seemingly random hydra scientist had such an impact on you.

“Wanda can you cover us?” Nat said into coms “we need to get her out of here she’s out cold.” Nat said and Wanda agreed.

Careful not to jostle your head nat scooped you up and carried you bridal style in her arms out the room. Carefully she jogged slowly making sure the action wasn’t moving your head too much until you could be properly assessed by Bruce back at the compound. Wanda stayed close behind making sure to cover the three of you and taking out any of the guards along the way. Nat had actually just gotten what they came for moments before you ran into trouble so at least the mission was a success in some senses.

When the three of you finally reached the jet Wanda carefully took you from Nat’s arms who gave a tight nod before going to pilot the jet. She would be back once they were up in the sky and she could put Jarvis in control.

Wanda laid you down on the floor with your head in her lap. The jet didn’t really have anywhere else for you to lie down so the floor was the best option. She carefully stroked the hair from your eyes and inspected the cut on your cheek. It wasn’t deep but it was bleeding. Reaching for the first aid kit without standing up she used her magic to bring it over. Carefully she cleaned the cut with some anti sceptic before putting on a plaster to keep it clean. And because you wouldn’t know any better she pressed a small kiss to the bandaid and stared lovingly down at you. Sure she was worried you hadn’t woken up yet but you looked so peaceful lying there. Carefully she checked your pulse and was glad to feel it strong adjacent her finger tips. She hummed and went back to running her hands through your hair. She paused momentarily as your eyes fluttered but stayed shut. Carefully you opened them winced and then closed them again.

“Don’t stop” you murmured and Wanda smiled softly before running her hands through your locks again. “‘S too bright” you mumbled and used your arm to cover your face. Wanda carefully pulled your arm away.

“No none of that. You need to be carefully y/n/n you probably have a nasty concussion and we need to get you to Bruce before you start touching your head.” She said and pulled you closer to her front as you were now fully curled up in her lap. Tears pricked your eyes as the headache hit you in full swing.

“Aww bubs come here.” She said hating to see you in pain. she pulled you closer again and you hummed into her stomach as she still was carefully stabilising your head. Wanda giggled slightly at the vibrations on her skin and hummed in content. Soon after Natasha returned and sat beside Wanda.

“You two look comfy.” She smiled.

“Shhh too loud.” You whimpered and both girls hearts broke for you. Nat hadn’t been speaking loud at all you simply had one of the worst headaches you had ever felt in your life. You buried your face into Wanda’s stomach again and missed the concerned looks the girls exchanged before looking back at you. They smiled slightly at the soft snores they heard coming from you a few moments later.

“Should we wake her up?” Wanda asked concerned

“No she probably needs all the rest she can get its a long flight home anyway. Also here take this you never know if she’ll need it.” Nat said handing Wanda a plastic sick bag.

“She might be sick?” Wanda asked raising a brow and badly hiding her concern. Nat simply shrugged.

“It can happen with bad concussions so its better to be ready than be covered in it.” She said masking her own worry better than Wanda could.

You slept for a few hours before you felt the plane start to descend. Without opening your eyes you felt yourself being lifted from the floor and the warm tingling of Wanda’s magic surround your head as she carried you inside keeping your head stable with her magic. You turned you face into her chest and she chuckled slightly.

“You sure are cuddly aren’t you.” She said smiling softly and you simply gave a sleepy hum of agreement.

“Come on cuddle bunny lets get you to Bruce baby girl” she said mind running back to the way you had kissed her on the jet before the mission. She wanted more but knew you needed help first. She would ask you to be her girlfriend later your head was more important right now anyways.

Nat’s silent footsteps followed Wanda as the three of you headed towards the med bay, nat had alerted Bruce already that you were coming. They were almost in the clear, nat still had the sick-bag in her hand as you stepping into the lift. However your stomach and head did not like the jolt as the lift began to move and nat noticed your face pale as the nausea peaked.

“Y/n/n? Are you ok?” She said carefully. You shook your head as a spike of pain hit and a slight green tinge took your skin.

“Gimme that.” Wanda said urgently as she used her magic to put the sick bag under your chin. Because she didn’t have any hands free nat quickly went to help Wanda. Guiding the sickbag to your chin and holding it there with her nimble fingers. A second later you threw up into the plastic sick bag and sobbed slightly as it made the pain in your head worse.

“Shhh shh shh” Wanda shushed whispering encouragement and sweet nothings in your ear as you heaved again. Nat frowned at you feeling bad you were sick and she couldn’t help. Nat held the hair from your face as you finished and went limp in Wanda’s arms. Body no longer tense as you stopped throwing up. Nat brushed the hair from your face and e your eyes fluttered they knew you were awake ad hadn’t passed out again, you were simply exhausted.

“Are you done y/n/n? Not got any more?” Nat said carefully

You weakly hummed a no snuggling further into Wanda’s chest. Nat took the bag away deciding to believe you. She wasn’t grossed out she and Wanda had seen much worse. She tied off the bag and as the lift opened the two of them stepped out, you still in Wanda’s arms as nat went to find Bruce and discard of the bag.

Wanda went to set you down on the bed, freezing when you began to whine as she was concerned she had hurt you.

“Y/n?” She said sounding alarmed, if you were sick again she didn’t have anything else to give you. “Whats wrong sweetheart?” She asked carefully.

“Stay” you said in a small voice as you tugged the collar of her shirt. She was pleasantly surprised and sat on the medical bed with you laid on-top of her. A moment later nat and Bruce arrive and nat raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything but Wanda’s cheeks heat regardless. Bruce hurries to your side gently positioning you so he could see your face and he began to feel the back of your head. After hearing you were thrown into a wall he wanted to first check the site to make sure there was no bleeding.

Satisfied there was just a large bump he laid you against Wanda again. Wanda hummed and noticed nat was holding another sick bag, she raised a brow at her and nat mouthed ‘just in case’. Wanda nodded and drew circles on your back and Bruce shone a light in your eyes to check the pupils reaction. After a few more tests and a scan, Bruce determined that you had a bad concussion which made nat scoff as she predicted it from the start.

He said you were free to go back to your room but to stay away from screens, bright lights, loud sounds and to rest for a bit. He then turned to nat and Wanda and told them they would need to monitor you just in case due to the severity of the concussion. Bruce said that if you got worse or they grew concerned to check in with him and if needed bring you back to a reevaluation. He rattled off a short but concerning list of possible symptoms to expect but reiterated concussions were different case by case. He handed nat a couple more sick bags before discharging you with some pain medicine. Wanda sighed as she realised you still weren’t going to let go. She stood with you in her arms still. Its not that she didn’t want to spend time with you but she did simply want a shower. This time the lift didn’t seem to set you off but nat was ready regardless. As Wanda walked into the room you were glad you had put your drawings of her and nat away before you left. Your sketchbook was on the bedside table along with your pencil-case of essential supplies. You clung to Wanda who sat on your bed.

“You take a shower I’ll take the first shift.” Nat said peeling you out of Wanda’s arms and taking her place on the bed.

You nuzzled into her still only half understanding what was going on.

“Thank you i wont be long.” Wanda said shooting nat a grateful look as she headed for the door.

“Take as long as you need we’re gonna have our hands full with this one.” She said jabbing a thumb at you while you began to snore softly in her arms. Wanda held back her desire to coo at your cute form, instead she settled for a shower and slipped out the door.

You barely remember nat feeding you the pain medicine but you do remember it tasted like burnt cardboard and paint. As an artsiest you had eaten your fair share of paint, accidentally of course. Painting before lunch and then it getting in your food. Only small amounts though nothing harmful.

Wanda returned a while later and swapped spots with nat who carefully handed you to her and by some small miracle you stayed asleep. Wanda prayed you would stay that way until nat returned from her shower, she knew how to care for people and despite being experienced she felt out of her depth with you, she didn’t want to make a mistake and hurt you in anyway. But she knew she wouldn’t.

MASTERLIST

[tldrthor]

Part II: The Princess (and the chaos she brings with her) - steve rogers x princess!reader

summary: the princess gets to grips with life in the avengers tower, the captain does his best to not allow his feelings to get in the way of acting normal. everything is nice... but for how long?

part 2 // it was an honour and a privilege, for his words to reach only her ear // word count 2k

you can find part one here and here's my masterlist <3

a/n: nothing much happens in this one but i needed to set the scene! hope you enjoy this short and fluffy fic x

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Steve felt a kind of giddiness he had never felt before. It was almost nauseating; somewhere between the greatest euphoria and the deepest of depressions. He felt himself unable to bring words to his lips, when Bucky knocked on his room door to ask him how he was holding up.

“This is fucking crazy, man.” Bucky had breathed out. It seemed the same cat had got his tongue.

Steve had breathed out a half-laugh. “Yeah, it’s definitely crazy.”

He felt delirious. Dizzy with every emotion he had ever, and will ever feel. He found himself staring at the clock as time ticked by, agonisingly slowly. He fought against every instinct he had to run to her, make sure she never left his sight again.

It had been nearly 80 years since they had last seen each other. What if she had moved on? What if he was too different for her now? What if she was different?

As they had talked, it felt the same. But the talk they had had wasn't quite enough for the captain. He fought against every instinct he had to charge into her room and demand answers to the thousand questions running through his head.

His best bet would be going for a run, clear his head, work off some energy. It was a nice day outside, and a weekend so most of the agents and personnel were off-base. He shrugged on some gym clothes and headed out. He found himself lingering, as he walked past her door, trying to fend off thoughts of charging in and blurting his deepest thoughts to her.

The sound of... struggling? He could hear her, with ragged breath and the sound of what he thought was someone bumping into furniture. His eyebrows furrowed as he went into avenger mode.

"Princess?" He knocked quickly on the door, listening as he did for further sounds. As he knocked, the noises stopped. It was only through his supersoldier hearing that he could still hear her ragged breaths.

A small, breathless voice came from behind the door. "I'm okay, I'm alright!"

The captain wasn't entirely sure what to do. "Do you need help with anything?"

There was silence for a moment. And then, the lock on the door turned and she stood, once more, in front of him. Now, she was more flushed, and her hair had fallen ever so slightly out of place. The captain still thought she was the most radiant being he had ever seen.

"I... I am sorry to ask, captain. I am so used to having handmaidens that I can't get my armour off by myself." She looked away as she said it, and Steve cursed himself as a blush spread it's way over his cheeks.

"I'll help!" He said, perhaps a little too much enthusiasm behind his words. He immediately pulled it back, "or I could get Natasha, if you want."

The princess smiled at him. "It's okay, I wouldn't want to bother Miss Romanoff, if you don't mind helping?" She held the door for him and he entered her chambers. If she had been on Alfheim, or Asgard for that matter, this would have caused great scandal. For a brief moment, regardless of the circumstances, she was grateful to be back on Midgard.

She lifted her arms to show him how the chestplate connected around her torso, and he began to undo the intricate mechanism stitching it together. They were both hyper-aware of their closeness in that moment, each fighting not to think about it too much.

"It's beautiful." Steve tried to cut the silence, but his voice came out as more of a whisper. "Your armour, I mean. The carvings." He cleared his throat.

She made eye contact with him, and he nearly audibly gulped. "Thank you." As the mechanisms finally gave way, she pulled the piece over her head, holding it in front of her. "It belonged to my grandmother, the last Queen of Alfheim. They say even the stars themselves bowed to her."

Steve didn't miss the sadness layered in her voice.

"I never knew anything about your family before. It's crazy that they're kings and queens." Steve confessed.

She placed a hand, lightly on his arm. She couldn't think of what to say in response to that, but the gesture was enough. She hung the armour in the wardrobe, then began to take off her jewelry starting with her jeweled tiara. As she pulled it from her hair, he audibly gasped.

With the way her tresses fell, and covered her ears, it was like the princess disappeared and was replaced with (y/n). His (y/n). The one he ejected from the plane to save, all those years ago. The one he had mourned since he came out of the ice.

She turned to him, smiling. "You look the same, you know." She continued, "As when we last saw each other."

Steve caught a glimpse of himself in her mirror. He didn't feel the same as back then. He had been so full of hope, so naïve. The modern world made it hard to be optimistic.

"I'm older, now. You haven't aged a day." He responded.

She chuckled. "Steven, you are the same boy who jumped on the grenade at Camp Lehigh, it doesn't matter how you've aged." The kindness of her words as she said his name moved him in a way that no one had in a long time. "My people age far slower than Midgardians, so physically aging is an honour. I hope that one day, I experience the blessings of the years."

"What... what age are you?"

"Are you quite certain you want to know?" She asked, a hint of a smirk on her lips. When he nodded after a moment's hesitation, she continued; "I am 578 years old."

His jaw nearly hit the floor in shock. He looked at her features intently, his mind clawing desperately for anything to say. She didn't look a day over 25, and hadn't since the 40's.

"That's... um, pretty old." He stuttered out. Well, that was not what he had meant to say.

Her melodic laugh reached his ears and he had to admit, he breathed out a sigh of relief. "Captain, that is not a very becoming thing to say to a lady," She giggled. "I am barely a quarter of the way through my life span."

"God, sorry I didn't mean it like that, just... It's all so strange."

"I know, Captain. It is a long time in comparisons to a Midgardians life. I hope that it does not disturb you too much."

In the silence of the room, Steve suddenly became aware of the distance between them, or rather, the lack thereof. She was so close he could almost feel her breath on her face, as her eyelashes fluttered, looking up at him.

Her irresistible eyes.

He could reach out and grab her, right now. It would be easy, romantic, passionate, wonderful. He wanted to do it, badly. To feel his hands on her waist, to wrap her in his arms. He wondered, briefly, if she would tangle her hands in his hair.

In the real world, he couldn't do it. They had been apart for nearly a century, and even when they knew each other, they hadn't gotten that far. He didn't know if she still... felt that way.

His head was spinning, everything seemed to be moving too quickly and too slowly at the same time. Mayday, mayday, mayday.

He cleared his throat and moved away. Well, it was more of a jump. So much for looking normal, he thought to himself.

"We should go for dinner, uh... people will be waiting." He examined her features. She smiled politely, but her eyes betrayed something else. Was that... disappointment he detected? He was probably wishful thinking.

"Of course, Captain. I will get changed into the clothes Natasha brought for me, and then we shall go." She elegantly picked up some clothes, and wandered to the bathroom.

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Dinner was lively as ever. At Thor's request, everyone had joined the team in the dining room for some pizza. Steve and the Princess wandered in later than everybody else, but were welcomed with cheers and laughter. It was nice.

"Princess (y/n)!" Thor boomed, motioning his friends over to two empty seats beside him. "I believe you have met everyone bar the young master Parker, over here." He pointed towards a young brunet boy, sitting rather awkwardly at the corner of the large table.

He waved, whispering a barely audible "Hi."

"Hello, Master Parker. I am (y/n) of Alfheim."

"Yeah, I heard, um. It's Peter, not Master Parker. My name I mean. If you want to- if it's your tradition or whatever you can call me that too I just... um, most of the uh avengers call me Peter, I mean." He placed a hand over his face in what even the princess understood was teen angst.

"Peter, then." She smiled politely at the young, flailing boy.

"I call him bugboy, if that's any more appeasing to you." A familiar voice parted through the din of the many, many conversations being had around the table. The princess looked to see Bucky sitting across from them, next to the man called Sam.

She laughed politely, at his joke, understanding immediately that the young avenger certainly experienced a lot of jokes at his expense.

Her attention was diverted, once again, by Mr. Stark. "Have you ever had the Midgardian delicacy of pizza, your highness?" There was a hint of sarcasm to his deference, that was not unnoticed by (y/n).

"Tony, she lived in Brooklyn in the 40s. Of course she's had pizza." Steve spoke up for her, also noticing the way Tony laced disquiet with her titles. He was being overprotective over pizza, and even though he was aware of the fact, he couldn't stop himself.

"Actually, Captain, I never got around to trying it during my time here."

A silence befell the dining room.

"What?" The harsh words came from Bucky, but it was a sentiment echoed quickly by Cap, and then young Peter.

"How could you have lived in New York for several years, and not had pizza?" Steve laughed at the Princess, who sheepishly smiled.

"I honestly did not realise it was a food, and I lived mostly on army rations anyway..." She explained.

"Oh my god, she's never lived." Sam spoke, dead-pan.

Tony finally interrupted the cacophony. "Well then, ma'am, consider this evening an education."

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The evening was lovely. The conversation (and wine) flowed, never a dull moment. Thor and the Princess dazzled with tales of their worlds and the many battles they had faced. Steve and Bucky reminisced with the Princess about the times they had shared together.

As the evening grew quieter, the Princess found herself feeling safe, for the first time in a while. She was all too aware of Cap's arm slung over the back of her chair, dangerously close to being around her shoulders. Her heart skipped a beat every time he leant down to her ear, to share something only with her. It was an honour and a privilege, for his words to reach only her ear.

For the last 80 years, she had felt like she was spinning out of control. With the war, and especially the last attack, things had been worse than ever. But now, she could get used to this.

She dared, as she laughed at one of Tony's jokes, to put her head on the Captain's shoulder. As she did, she happened to catch Bucky's eye - he smiled and winked.

Yeah, she could definitely get used to this.

Unfortunately, she wouldn't get the chance to.

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== TAGLIST ==

@vicmc624 @jvdgement @capswife @megluv1 @moviegurl2002 @aliciaasky @yiiiikesmish

i tagged everyone who said they wanted part 2, but let me know if you want to be removed from the taglist at any point! thanks so much for your support on the first part x

[arcadia-smith]

One touch Pt 2

Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Reader

Summary: You’ve lived your whole life carrying pieces of others—memories, emotions, pain. A single touch is all it takes. You never meant to fall for Bucky Barnes. Not when one touch showed you the full weight of his past—every wound, every scream, every drop of blood spilled. But the problem with avoiding someone is that it only makes you want them more. And Bucky is just as drawn to you as you are to him.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Bucky's memories, slowburn, brief mention of sex.

The dim glow of chandeliers reflected off the polished floors of the ballroom, casting shadows on the faces of the guests. The event was a high society gala, a masquerade of sorts, where the powerful gathered in the hopes of hiding their true intentions behind polished smiles and sparkling gowns. You and Bucky were here, undercover, with roles to play—his as a charming businessman, yours as his spouse.

You hated the fake pretense. The political chatter, the deals and transactions veiled in honeyed words. But what you hated more was the way your heart beat a little faster each time your eyes met Bucky’s. The way yoy wanted to forget the truth behind the touch of his hand, the memories that would always haunt you, that you could never escape.

It was after you’d both moved through the crowd, gathering intelligence, that Bucky’s gaze found you across the room. His lips quirked upward.

Before you could look away, he was at your side, his presence sweeping over you like a tidal wave, suffocating and comforting at once.

“Wanna dance?” His voice was low, calm, like he was making a casual suggestion.

Your stomach twisted. Dancing meant touching, and touching meant memories. The last time you'd brushed your fingers against his skin, you'd been thrust into a whirlwind of horrors that almost shattered you—wars, pain, isolation.

“Bucky, I—” You hesitated, your voice faltering. Your heart was already in your throat. "We need to stay focused. The mission—"

“I’m aware,” he interrupted, the steel in his tone only half-veiled by his casual smile. “But if we're going to make this look convincing, we’ll have to get close. And you are wearing gloves... thought they'd stop you from seeing or feeling things.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he reached for your hand. For a moment, you debated pulling away, but you knew it would raise suspicion. Reluctantly, you placed your hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent an immediate ripple of tension through your body, but the second his fingers closed around yours, you froze. Gloves helped, memories weren't as vivid as they were the first time, yet the feeling of them still lingered somewhere in the back of your mind.

"Focus on me," his voice broke through the haze in your mind. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, a gentle motion that grounded you, kept you tethered to the present. “Focus on this moment. Just the two of us.”

Yoy looked up into his eyes, finding them softer now, the playful edge replaced with something deeper, something that made your chest tighten.

The music swelled around you, a slow, steady rhythm that seemed to match the beat of your own heart. Reluctantly, you let yourself be swept along.

As he led you across the floor, his hand never leaving the small of your back, you couldn’t ignore the warmth of his touch, the way your body reacted to him, the way he made you feel more alive than anything else.

But as you danced, one thing became clear. The line between you and him was starting to blur.

And in that moment, you realized you were falling in love with the man who was both a stranger and someone you knew better than anyone.

"How are you holding up?" Bucky asked, his breath warm on your skin.

You stiffened at the question, the warmth of his hand on your back sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m fine,” you lied, but the tremble in your voice gave you away.

He pulled you in a little tighter, his hand settling at the small of your back, his chest brushing yours with every step.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said, so quietly you could barely hear him over the music.

You swallowed thickly, fighting the overwhelming urge to cry, to scream, to pull away. But instead, you nodded, your fingers clinging to him, your chest aching with the weight of everything that had come before you, and everything that might come between you.

"I know," you whispered, "But I can’t keep doing this, Bucky. Not when it feels like I’m drowning in your past."

"I can’t stay away from you."

The music swelled around you both, but it felt distant, like the world had narrowed to just the two of you in that moment. The weight of Bucky’s words hung heavy in the air, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to walk away, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You let your gaze slip up to meet his.

You shook your head, trying to focus on the present, to anchor yourself in the here and now. The memories of his past swirled just beneath the surface, and the longer you stayed close to him, the harder it became to keep them at bay. His pain was still there, in every line of his face, in the tension in his shoulders, in the way his hand rested on your back like he was afraid you’d slip away.

"Every time I touch you, I feel it all—the weight of everything you’ve done, everything you’ve been through. I can’t bear it, Bucky.”

His expression faltered, and you saw the flash of regret, of guilt, cross his features. “I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t want to drag you into this.” His voice trembled. Bucky leaned in, his lips grazing against your forehead in a gentle, almost hesitant kiss, like he was testing the waters—afraid of the flood of emotions that might follow.

You felt a new layer, something you hadn’t expected. A tenderness, something fragile and human. You could feel his fear, yes, but you also felt the love he was capable of. The longing. The need to protect, to be seen, to not be alone.

You blinked, trying to pull yourself together, but the pull of his presence was undeniable.

His forehead rested against yours, and for a moment, you let everything else fade away—the mission, the pain, the history that weighed you both down.

“I can’t stay away from you, either,” you whispered.

“I don’t know what we’re doing here,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t stop wanting to be close to you.”

The music faded entirely, but you were no longer aware of the room, the people, the mission. All that mattered in that moment was the way he held you, the way you felt safe despite everything.

The night had stretched on, its quiet hum now almost deafening. The mission was over, and the city outside the hotel room window was nothing more than a blur of lights, its life continuing on without a care for the world you both were trying to keep hidden from it.

You were alone in the room with Bucky, and the weight of the silence between you felt heavier than any mission brief you’d ever read. The door was locked. The lights were dimmed. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the corner, the faint sound of his breathing, the sound of your own heart racing.

Bucky was standing by the bed, his arms crossed loosely in front of him, his eyes flickered over you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on your skin. He was trying to read you—trying to figure out if you were ready, if you wanted this. His fingers flexed before he stepped closer, kneeling in front of you as he reached for your hand.

Slowly, so slowly, he took off your gloves. His fingers brushing against yours, as soft as he could manage.

"I can’t keep pretending like nothing’s there.” he whispered, his fingers twingling with yours.

You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

A battlefield, smoke curling from the ruins of what was once a city. Gunfire, screams, the bite of metal and blood staining the air.

Then another scene—this time in a dark room, the sound of chains scraping against cold stone. Bucky, no longer the man he was, was shackled and helpless, his body broken, mind twisted by memories of wars and men who had forgotten what it meant to be human.

The memories, the feelings—the weight of everything he had suffered—crashed into you. Every moment of pain, of fear, of loss, was yours now too. You felt it all, as if it had happened to you.

But then... something else crept in.

It was fleeting, like a whisper through a storm. It was him. The real Bucky. The man who had loved and been loved, who had fought for redemption, who had learned to smile again even though the world had taken so much from him. And somehow, amid all the pain, he had found a way to be more than just the Winter Soldier.

“I’m not sure I can be what you need,” you whispered, unsure if you were speaking to him or to yourself.

Bucky gently cupped your cheek, his touch tender, but there was something beneath it—something urgent. He was fighting something, too. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his breath hitched.

“You’re everything I need,” he murmured. His thumb brushed over your skin, a gesture that was almost too soft, too gentle for the man who had seen everything.

Your heart ached at his words. There was so much more to him than the man who knelt in front of you—more than the haunted eyes and the burden he carried. And there was so much more to you than the fear of getting close, of letting someone in. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you in that small, dimly lit room.

You couldn’t fight it anymore.

You closed the gap between you, your hands finding their way to his chest. His heart was beating beneath your palm, and you could feel the rawness in it, the way it raced in anticipation. Bucky’s breath caught as you slowly leaned to kiss him, your lips brushing against his, the moment your lips met, everything else faded away. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as if he’d been waiting for this moment, too.

His lips were firm against yours, but his touch was careful, as though he was afraid you might break beneath his hands. It was a slow burn—gradual, tender, like both of you were hesitant to take that final step, but neither of you were able to hold back any longer.

Bucky’s hands roamed to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasped, feeling the heat of him through the fabric of your clothes. He groaned softly at the feeling, his mouth trailing down to your neck, kissing you gently, as though savoring every inch of you.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough and low, lips brushing your skin.

You nodded, unable to find the words. You reached for the buttons of your shirt, your fingers trembling slightly as you undid them one by one. His eyes followed your movements, his gaze darkening with each step, but he didn’t move. He was waiting for you.

When your shirt finally slipped off, he inhaled sharply, his hands immediately finding your shoulders, gently tracing the curve of your collarbone. His touch was reverent, like you were something fragile, something precious. Maybe you were both fragile in this moment, standing at the edge of something neither of you could control.

You reached for him, unbuttoning his shirt with the same hesitant urgency. The moment your hands brushed against his chest, you felt the faintest flicker of memories from him—his pain, his darkness—but you didn’t let it overwhelm you. Instead, you focused on the man in front of you, the one who was here, now. You pushed his shirt off, your hands exploring the muscles beneath, feeling the way his body tensed under your touch.

When he kissed you again, it was deeper, more desperate. His hands cupped your face as if he needed to hold on to you, afraid of letting go, afraid of this connection slipping away. You leaned into him, your hands sliding to the waistband of his pants. You hesitated, but he helped you, his movements slow and deliberate as he undressed you, taking his time as if savoring the moment.

Bucky’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and in his eyes, you saw everything—the weight of his past, the fear of not being enough, the longing for something real.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

You could feel the heat between you, a connection so strong it almost overwhelmed you.

You reached for him, pulling him into a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with everything neither of you had said yet.

His hands slid down your back, tracing every curve, and when he pulled you closer, you felt him—felt everything he was. The kiss deepened, and he gently guided you, both of you sinking into the softness of the sheets. It was like the world had stopped, like nothing existed outside of the two of you in that moment.

Bucky kissed you again, his touch almost worshipful as he took his time, never rushing, never forcing anything. He was careful, patient. And you, too, were patient, letting go of the doubts, the fears, the weight of the memories, allowing yourself to feel him, to be with him.

When he finally entered you, it was slow, almost tentative, as if testing the waters once more. You gasped, your breath catching as your bodies finally aligned, finally fitting together in a way you never thought possible. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that remained was the overwhelming closeness between you both, the physical and emotional connection that bound you together in that moment.

And when it was over, when the world slowly came back into focus, you lay there in his arms, your bodies tangled together.

And for the first time ever, you could control what memories and feelings you absorbed.

Peace.

Happiness.

Love.

Note: This is the end for this storyline. For now. I might make a twist on things sometime in the future.

Thank you for reading.

Taglist: @cjand10 @the1sunshine1girl

[papipopsicle]

MERCENARY PART THREE

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Enhanced!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff

Summary: In which Hydra never seems to give Earth's Mightiest Heroes a break, and while dismantling every known base, they find a weapon. In which this weapon is a young woman whose known nothing but the life Hydra gave her, and a certain super soldier becomes protective of her from the first time they lock eyes. AU AWAY FROM IW&Endgame, ALSO THERE ARE X-MEN

Warnings: swearing, reference to scars

Song: Punching Bag by Palaye Royale

Words: 1.6K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

"Stark Industries and and the Wakanda Outreach programme has helped thousands of mutants and inhumans, why don't we just hand her over to them and be done with it?" Kitty Pryde mulled over the idea, rolling her eyes as the clock ticked over into the third hour of bickering.

Y/N's sedation would wear off within the next half hour and the team were still yet to come to an unanimous decision on what to do with her. She was currently fast asleep on a comfy bed inside a room which restricted the use of her powers- but she didn't know that yet.

Bucky had tried his best to remain objective, but as he watched the large monitor streaming footage from her room, he couldn't help but be reminded of the girl he watched grow up into a woman and how he'd already missed four years of her life.

"I'll monster watch tonight, James." Y/N hummed, playing with a small flame at her fingertips. She looked over her shoulder and found him watching her with worried eyes, yet she just smiled, "You haven't slept for three nights in a row now. Trust me, they'd hurt you a lot more if you fail your mission tomorrow than they will if I'm a bit grouchy. Sleep, moya lyubov."

"She'd still be a great addition to the team," Tony sighed, standing up to stretch his legs, "and by team I mean the Avengers, I don't even know why you're here quite honestly."

Kitty flipped him off before storming out, probably going to find Charles or Raven to vent to them about how much Stark pissed her off.

Natasha leant over the table, eyes not moving from the tablet in front of her, "Is she like you were, Barnes?"

Bucky tensed and looked at the redhead, "In what way?" He asked slowly.

Nat glanced over at Tony before finding the super soldier waiting for her response, "Did they manipulate her mind and create triggers that'd turn her into a murder machine? Is she at all loyal to Hydra?"

"Come on, you saw her earlier, Nat, Y/N had tried to escape that many times they had to chain her up." Steve tried to reason as he saw Bucky's flesh hand clench up.

"We should consider every possible angle though, right?" Bruce spoke up from his seat towards the back of the room, propping his glasses on his nose and taking a better look at the security footage, "She seems harmless, but-"

"She is harmless." Bucky stressed, "Sure, when you look at her file you see a genetically engineered super-assassin with elemental powers, but not one day passed without trying to escape or planning our next escape. And okay, fine, she enjoys violence, but Hydra conditioned her to be that way and she's never had anyone to tell her otherwise. At the end of the day, she's scared- and I don't want her waking up alone."

The soldier felt Steve's hand squeezing his shoulder in comfort, but it felt cold and the sentiment felt short. Bucky watched each pair of eyes fall away from his sight and their voices stayed silent. He shook off Steve's hand and left the room, making his way down to the supervisory level. He looked down at the small piece of technology in his hand, matching the number to the cell like room and entering a six digit code into the keypad from memory. A single second later it pinged and the lights turned green.

The one armed man stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Y/N's healing figure peacefully sleeping. It was a sight to behold, even in tattered clothes and a thick layer of grime and dust covering her, she was anything but a weapon. She was soft and even delicate to the eye, resting as if her mind wasn't plagued with the tortured souls from her past.

Bucky sat down on the cool wooden floor, crossing his legs like he used to at the age of eight, playing tic tac toe with a small Steven Grant Rogers. Those memories didn't feel much like his own, more at peace with the ones of war he shared with Y/N.

"Stop pulling your punches, their hands are worse than yours." Nineteen year old Y/N warned James with a sharp whisper. His flesh knuckles were scorched from her most recent attack, goaded to use her powers by the watchful handlers. Metal collided with bone and he knew on impact two ribs had fractured, a further one would bloom with bruises soon enough. Training was often more taxing than the missions themselves, bored Hydra agents pulling on puppeteer strings to ensure they put on a good show.

Y/N estimated another ninety minutes had past before her handler pulled her away for healing observations, for research rather than well-being purposes. It wasn't long until she found herself flung back into the dingy cell with a kick to the back of her knees and an expired first aid kit thrown to the ground beside her.

Once the door cranked shut, James knelt beside the stoic woman he knew was hurting so deeply within. He collected any supplies for sterilisation and allowed Y/N to collapse under his touch. She curled into his chest as he cleaned the wounds he caused, burnt knuckles stung from the movements but that was numb compared to the torment of seeing her in pain.

James was past the point of blaming himself for any injuries Y/N incurred from training and vice versa, too much of their precious time had already been taken away in arguments of how much the other was not at fault. Hydra allowed them one hour a day together, usually after training, to decompress and recover and mostly hold each other. Y/N had a knack for sneaking out of her cell to be with the super soldier, it took more time stopping her, punishing her and hauling her back than their current routine. Teamwork on missions became more efficient, so they were allowed their hour of peace unless it became a weakness.

That was when Y/N was most aware of time passing by, fingers habitually running over the rigid scars between metal and soft flesh as a reminder James was entirely real. He watched between the fire dancing in her free hand and the peace within tired features, her own eyes burning bright at his constant touch. The hour would soon be up, and there was no fight to leave each other other than the lingering fingertips as they were pulled apart.

"You cut your hair-" Y/N's gravelly voice was cut off with a harsh array of coughs, spluttering dust from her cell's destruction stuck in her lungs. She squinted at the bright sterile lighting, everything in the room intensely white with the exception of Bucky and his all black clothing sat at the bottom of her vision.

He dialled the lights down noticing Y/N's discomfort and handed her an unopened bottle of mineral water. Her eyes carefully surveyed his movements, not considering him a threat as she chugged the liquid gratefully.

"Do you like it?" He asked after a few seconds of silence had filled the air, taking a seat at the side of the mattress apprehensively. Four years had passed and although he trusted the woman he thought was dead with his life, she was indeed alive and Hydra could do a lot of damage in much less time apart. He had so many questions, so many missed touches longed for and so little worry that she was no longer his Phoenix.

Even with grime covering her from head to toe, Bucky couldn't take his eyes away from her as she scrunched her nose playfully and answered, "I'll miss your long hair, but this suits you- you look like a person."

Unlike Bucky, whose memories were fuzzy around the edges, for better or worse Y/N held all of hers. She remembered cutting his hair short for a mission the once and wishing Hydra wouldn’t let it grow out again. But seeing him this time was immaculate- he was his own human, and she looked to the dirt and disheveled clothing on her person and knew she wasn’t. Purely what she was engineered to be and not a thing more, a biological weapon owned only by Hydra.

Bucky sensed the mental downward spiral as she scanned herself, brows knitting together and tears welling threatening to fall.

He corralled her away from those cataclysmic thoughts with a cool touch to her hot fingertips, metal thumb running across the back of her hand soothingly. “It took a bit more than a hair cut, but the days I feel like a person outweigh the days I don’t. And we’ll get you there too.”

“Can I start that tomorrow?” Y/N pouted and lay against the plush pillows behind her head, content with the sounds of metal whirring against her skin that only super soldier hearing could pick up on.

The team, fewer members left in the conference room, watched the interaction from the projection. A few more words were shared before Bucky lay down beside Y/N, both infinitely still but continuing the motions on their joint hands. Steve’s chair rolled back a few inches as he eyed Tony, “Listen, I can already see Bucky following if we send her off somewhere, we’ve got to at least try re-humanising her.”

“Great, we adopted another murder machine- when the first one gets lonely, at least now he’ll have company!” Tony held his hands up in defence when Steve didn’t appreciate his humour, “Alright, Cap. We’ll observe, give it a few days and get to work on project no murder and less machine.”

part four?

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