#steve rogers x smoke abilities! reader

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (sorry!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), teammates to lovers, angst, talk of insecurities, john is an asshole who’s emotionally constipated, mention of violence, wound tending trope, heavy kissing, groping, teasing, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, mild body worship, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, john has a huge praise kink, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen ,,, I know he’s a bad person & he’s flawed but he’s so well-written and hot … and it’s wyatt russell !! first time writing for john and I loved this, I hope you guys love it too! thank you so much for your support! 🫶

Ash floats through smoke-laden air in the aftermath of an explosion, chunks of a building blown into the streets, screams of civilians pounding within your ears. Time stills, as if it’s come to a crawl, and everything slows around you.

Missions still paralyze you from time to time, fear and doubt creeping in, keeping you frozen in-place. It’s gotten somewhat easier, adapting to chaotic situations, attempting to fit in with your new teammates.

A clammy perspiration clings to your flesh beneath your suit, the design nondescript. Valentina had pushed for something flashy, more in-line with your abilities, but you refused. The less that you stuck out, the better.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the rest of the team, healing powers at the expense of your own energy, but you were designated as the ‘medic’, for obvious reasons. Whenever someone was injured or too roughed-up, you were there to help.

“You still with us over there?”

John Walker’s snide quip emanates from the communication link sitting in your ear, and it’s enough to effectively shatter your stupor. It wasn’t a malicious remark — just a little annoying, likely furthered by his tone of voice.

Steve Rogers was someone you knew, years ago — an acquaintance, really, but he’d helped get you out of a bind with undercover H.Y.D.R.A operatives. When he wore the shield, when Sam wore the shield, it stood for something greater than themselves.

Walker had been thrown into enough turmoil already; losing the role of Captain America, murdering an innocent, losing his family. It was all his fault, he knew this — it didn’t make the pain any less, knowing he was at the root of it all.

The both of you butted heads more often than not, two differing personalities that clashed in verbal sparring matches or thinly-veiled hostility. You’d tried to empathize with him, but he made it difficult with his condescending attitude.

Bucky had played mediator more times than you could count — you didn’t enjoy getting angry, the feeling never benefited you. Nevertheless, you were trying to get along with Walker and learn to work better as teammates.

Things were progressing, albeit slowly. Even after extending the olive branch and being kind to him, maybe too nice, he still held some lingering indifference towards you.

“I copy.” In the aftermath of thwarting enemies of the state, you prefer to help the civilians, ensuring that they were out of harm’s way, healed. Jogging toward a group of people attempting to move rubble aside, you’re quick to assist.

“There’s still one more, if someone wants to take care of it,” Ava’s voice comes over the communicator, muddled by background noise of emergency vehicles. “Unless you need help.”

“I got it.” Quick to volunteer, Walker’s voice cuts in before dissipating. You’re busy helping move wreckage aside, freeing any trapped citizens and making way for ambulances. Wailing sirens fill the air, and things move swiftly.

The air smells of burning, intermingled with a twinge of copper, a streak of crimson splashed upon your cheek. It’s a shallow cut, something trivial and minor, muscles aching with a dull throb after the dust begins to settle.

Helicopters begin to circle overhead, the media soon to follow. It was some rogue section of former H.Y.D.R.A operatives that had caused this mess, and with the formation of the New Avengers, these threats seem to appear more often.

The public is torn — one side openly celebrating that there’s protection again, the other side scornful of a ragtag group of government rejects. You aren’t one to pay attention to the discourse, focusing on finding your own footing, building relationships and making amends.

Despite having the team to lean on, you had a complicated relationship with your own family. After your powers manifested, you became isolated, kept at a distance, prompting you to run away and find S.H.I.E.L.D, when it still existed.

Still, you felt alone sometimes, but the pain had lessened with the passage of time. Alexei, of all people, treated you like a daughter, and Ava proved to be a reliable friend, despite her constant grimace. The more you assimilated with them, the more the bitter sting dissipated.

The team was a conglomerate of fragmented pasts — scars, veiled wounds, regrets; but they had become your family, or something close, and that meant the world to you.

As first responders began to flood the scene, you regrouped with the rest of the team, scraped and battered from the fighting, but all intact. Bucky and Yelena typically helmed any media events following a battle, but this time, everyone wanted to go home.

“Look at us,” Alexei laughs, placing a hand on John’s shoulder, and Yelena’s. “We are good team! The best team that the world has ever seen!” He cheers, and you find his enthusiasm endearing. John winces, stepping away from the Russian’s hold.

“You say that after every mission.” Yelena points out, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The jet is somewhere down the street, and you all begin the arduous process of walking back.

“It is to remind of the truth, of our strength.” Alexei boasts, gleeful as ever as he jogs to keep up with Bucky. Bucky’s taken to letting him pretend that he’s the “co-captain”, just to keep his spirits high.

Morale is Alexei’s specialty — there is never a dull moment when he’s around, and his enthusiasm evokes a small smile from you, curling at the corners of your mouth. Dull, throbbing pangs of sore muscle ebbs through your body.

Straggling along at the tail end of the group, you step through some of the smaller pieces of rubble, a majority of what remains to be disposed of by a clean-up crew. Your mind is elsewhere, and the idea of sleeping once you’re back to the Watchtower is very appealing.

John is there too, uncharacteristically quiet as he walks a pace or two ahead of you, and you notice the slight stutter in his gait. There’s crimson blooming from a gash on the back of his suit, a deep wound, and your brows furrow together.

He didn’t say anything about it, which is typical, but you can’t help but be concerned. You didn’t dislike John, simply abhorred his attitude and the way he sometimes believed that he wasn’t at-fault.

Closing the distance, you come up on his flank, softly clearing your throat. “You’re hurt,” You murmur, low enough for only him to hear. He has an issue with getting injured, as if his pride is simultaneously bruised, so you keep it cordial. “I can take care of it.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept your help, allowing himself to fester within the pain, as if it’s some sort of penance for all the wrong he’s done. His muscles ache, and the gash, bruises, and cuts don’t make anything easier.

“I’m fine,” Dismissive, John brushes your concern aside, focusing on getting back to the jet without collapsing. The serum does its part, easier to manage the pain, but it doesn’t take away the sting. “It’s not that bad.” He utters, hoping you’ll drop it.

It’s his tone again; bitter, indifferent, swatting your offer aside as if you’re more bothersome than helpful. For reasons you can’t explain, it makes you angry, as if he’s too good for your help. Your jaw clenches, and you try again.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, John. When we get back to the Watchtower, I can —”

“I said I’m fine.” Walker retorts, snapping at you without hesitation. It’s born from an amalgamation of agony and his own innermost demons that he’s wrestling with. He stares ahead, not wanting to look at your expression.

Bewildered, you fight against getting frustrated with him, wondering if there’s something that extends beyond his surface-level condescension.

Though, you wonder what you did to make him hate you so much — you sparred about the past, sure, but you were trying to bury the hatchet.

As if pierced by something sharp, you scoff, attempting to smother the flicker of fury that burned within your chest. It overrides your judgment, mouth moving before you can tell yourself to stop. “What’s your problem with me? Jesus, Walker, I just want to help you.”

The both of you are far away enough for the rest to remain oblivious to your sudden squabbling, and John grits his teeth, a sharp inhale splitting his lungs. “I can handle this on my own.” His tone is edged, but there’s something more beneath the surface.

Cerulean hues issue a warning for you to drop the subject, and you do, albeit reluctantly. Anger diminishes into confusion, uncertainty; you didn’t understand. Despite your efforts, he continued to swat you away as if you were a pest.

The splinter of desperation in your cadence turns his stomach, verbal sparring settling into a tenuous silence. John steals a glance despite himself, noticing the forlorn look that is etched into your brow, as if you’ve done something wrong.

He knows it’s not you — never has been, it’s him. John’s agitation dwindles into guilt, knowing that your intentions were wholly good, selfless. It’s something that he wishes he could have, and he’s working on it, but the process is emotionally heavy.

Scorned, you keep pace with him, even if he’s pushed you aside, ensuring that he makes it to the jet intact. The rest of the team regards you with perplexity, though you’re dismissive of it, settling into the webbing of your flight-seat.

The aftermath is often hushed — bodies catching their breath, a wordless recuperation, senses beginning to climb down from heightened adrenaline. Bucky’s piloting you out, heading back to the Watchtower.

Exhaustion settles in, replacing the exhilaration that comes with missions, the surge of vigor in your bloodstream. Tilting backwards, your head meets the cool interior of the jet, engine’s idle buzz thrumming beneath your boots.

John sits beside you, unexpectedly, his strenuous sigh rattling your body, passing from the bulk of his bicep to you. His visage is contorted into a look of thinly-veiled wistfulness, glancing sideways at you, a faint grimace of apology.

Quiet, you don’t relocate, simmering in the silence without so much as a murmur. Copper stings your nostrils, the scent of his blood, and you pretend that it doesn’t phase you; it does.

Your arms loosely fold over your chest, listening to the drone of the quinjet. The ride home is short, shorter than expected, and you’re eager to crawl beneath scalding water and let it burn the rush away.

As Bucky prepares for landing on the helipad outside, your gaze flutters toward John, whose stare is attempting to sear through the metal walls of the jet’s interior. He seems gone, as if his mind is a thousand miles away.

It was the same look he had when you were in the Void with him; loathing, conflicted, ripping himself apart for you to see.

The jet tremors violently as it descends onto the helipad, the noise scraping against your ears, a sound that’s still jarring to you. John remains unphased — he’s done it hundreds of times, terse as the hull begins to open.

Saying something now seems meaningless, words fading to ash within your throat, raw from thirst. Your fingers idly curl into the sleeves of your suit, tension relinquished as the team begins to file out of the jet, bearing the bruises and scrapes from the mission.

When you enter the Tower, a sense of relief finds you, the comfort of home, shoulders slouched as you make for your room. Bob is lingering beside the window, a book in his hand, headphones dangling from his ears.

“Good work today,” Bucky calls, attempting to boost morale. He’s at the helm, trying to steer this ship in the right direction, but it’s harder than it looks. “Get some rest.” He moves toward the lounge, hoping to get a status update on the cleanup.

Alexei chimes in with an echoed remark about how everyone did a good job, mirroring Bucky’s own statement. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth despite yourself, feet dragging as you sluggishly stumble toward your room.

Through the light clamor, you don’t see John, disappearing through the tinted pane of your door, feeling it hiss and click behind you. Your room is warm, cozy; it’s a sanctuary you’ve created, making something within the ruins of your old life.

A hush falls throughout the Tower, typically a quiet evening after returning from a mission. Outside, the skies turn to a swirling ink, veiled by heavier clouds that signal the onset of rain.

Peeling away your suit, your flesh is exposed to the coolness of your quarters, glittering with a layer of perspiration, body speckled in light cuts and fresh bruises. The shower calls your name, inviting, and you marinate beneath the water for half an hour.

Bruises pulse with a dull ache, remnants of crimson swept away by the water, leaving you renewed as you change into loungewear. Perched along the edge of your bed, you towel-dry your hair, gaze flickering toward your door.

You shouldn’t be the one to apologize.

The thought of checking on John crosses your mind, and then it stays, leaving you frustrated and torn. You didn’t hate him, you never have; if anything, you were left wondering why the strange hostility still lingered, after everything.

Even then, your desire to help overrode the brief spat that you had. He was your teammate, and leaving him to lick his grievous wounds without ensuring his safety felt cruel.

A tremulous inhale invades your lungs, steeling yourself as you cross into the corridor, leaving your room behind. His quarters are down the hallway, towards the very end, marked by blanched lights on either side.

No one sees you, and you creep over the cold tile as if you might be apprehended in the process. The walk there feels as if it’s stretched on for an eternity, taunting you with each step as you make it to the tinted panel.

His lock is off, you realize, and you try to knock, the sound eerily soft. There’s nothing, only an awkward stretch of silence that makes you shift uncomfortably, the chill of the floor sending a shiver down your spine.

“John?” Abandoning the use of ‘Walker’, you idly pace before the door, weaving in idle circles as you wait for him to answer. Still, nothing — you wonder if it’s intentional, if he’s purposefully ignoring you to prove a point.

Intending to ask for forgiveness later, you slide the door open, stepping into his room with a twinge of anxiety. You shouldn’t be skulking around in here, but his lack of answer had you worried — more than you should’ve been, really.

“So much for knocking,” His voice cuts through your scrambled thoughts like a serrated knife, though lacking the sardonic poise. “Could’ve waited a minute.” John utters, and you spot him in his bathroom.

Startled, your gaze draws to him, attempting to patch himself up with bloodsoaked fingertips and a disgruntled countenance. His back is facing the mirror, head craned over his shoulder, blonde brows creased together, throat stirring with a noise of agitation.

“You didn’t answer.” With a weak protest, you hover in the doorway, shuffling forward to let it close with a subtle click. Everything seems devoid of personal decorum in his room, as if he’s still deciphering what goes where, some belongings still in boxes.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” John retorts, lips parted to make room for a strained sigh. He’s been harsh enough today — he recollects, composes himself, and lets his guard waver.

“I was worried about you.” The weight of your confession brings him pause, hand poised against his back, attempting to apply gauze. He’s failing miserably, cerulean hues darting toward you, arms folded over your chest.

John stops, jaw tense as he huffs with frustration, discarding the roll of gauze onto the bathroom countertop. The low glow of the light glitters against his skin, pleasantly sunkissed, muscles taut and broad, speckled in violet bruises.

There’s a rawness to him, sinewy yet firm, the honed strength of a trained soldier. He’s visceral, nothing grossly herculean, but he’s worked for his physicality, sacrificed plenty for it.

You realize you’ve been ogling him, gaze carefully tracing over the blonde hair smattered over his chest, trailing along his abdomen before it disappeared beneath his tactical pants.

Tendrils of heat snake across the back of your neck, a twinge of something desirous stirring within your stomach. You aren’t used to it, and you feel yourself attempt to rip your gaze away to something else; and you can’t.

He’s a man beneath it all, beneath the shield, the armor, the facade of an inflated swagger, all of the peacocking — he’s vulnerable, now. John’s countenance softens, startled by the sincerity that permeates your voice.

It’s unusual for him to be this quiet, as if you ripped the bravado and smugness right from his throat. Pacing forward, you decide to extend the offer again, hoping that he’ll accept your help and throw away the pride.

“I can help,” Your tone is disarmingly tender, something that John knows he’s undeserving of, given his behavior towards you. You vex him, but not because of your demeanor — he’s falling, and he’s trying to stop himself; he can’t. “Please.”

John concedes, head bobbing in a brief nod as he turns to face the mirror, lukewarm water ridding the crimson that stained his fingers. Coiled muscle cuts across his back, flesh littered in old scars and a colorful variety of bruises.

With a soft exhale, you awkwardly move into the doorway of the bathroom, blanketed by the pale orange of the lights, the distant buzz something of a comfort to you. The gash stretches from his left rib to spine, an ugly wound, oozing red that trickles over his back.

Scraped, calloused hands grip the edge of the counter as he props himself up, gaze flickering toward your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, still damp, tousled and disheveled, a cut on your cheek, mannerisms somewhat shrewd.

It’s quiet — too quiet for your liking, but you don’t want to be the one to break the ice. Wordlessly, you reach out, palm beginning to mist with wisps of a faint green, your powers manifesting.

“I’m sorry for today,” John murmurs, stopping you in your tracks. The mist wavers, concentration effectively shattered by his apology, which happened to be entirely unexpected. “About not letting you help me.”

“Is it something I did?” Your inquiry evokes a pang of melancholy, as if his heart is bleeding, still halfway stitched together. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m trying to move past it.”

John sighs, exiting through his nostrils; measured, restrained. “You didn’t do anything,” He’s learning to admit when he’s the problem, digits tightening against the dark granite; it groans beneath his grasp. “I don’t hate you.”

Relief blossoms within your chest, as if some weight is lifted from your shoulders. Still, you wonder what exactly is wrong with him, festering below the surface, something he’s trying to bury. “Be honest with me — what’s wrong?” You question, brows furrowing together.

He’s reluctant to tell you why he’s comfortable with sitting in the pain — why he feels he deserves it. John knows that you mean well, always looking out for everyone else, showing kindness when you didn’t have to.

“This is what I deserve,” John utters, cadence embittered, withholding a wave of emotion. Tears swim, unshed within his eyes, and he actively fights against it. “The pain — for what I did, for what happened.”

For Lemar, for Olivia, for the blood on his hands, for the son who’ll only know his father as a deadbeat. He hates himself, deep down — he’s learning to be a better man, if that were even possible.

His transparency startles you, attempting to process this information in a way that evokes empathy. No one on the team is truly, wholly good — there’s amends that need to be made, most of them in the healing process, including you.

It’s a bleak contrast from the man constantly barraging you with snarky remarks, constantly engaging in banter with you. You don’t remember him opening up like this with anyone else.

Still, your hand drops, fingers twisting together as you scramble to come up with some encouragement. You’re so accustomed to his general smugness and cocksure attitude that this blindsides you.

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you deserve to suffer, or rake yourself over the coals again,” It’s gentle, sound advice — John’s eyes screw shut. “Everyone deserves to heal, including you.”

The blood on his hands feels heavy, like some anchor dragging him down. After being stripped of the role of Captain America, spiraling, losing his family, he briefly considered it — a way out. He was glad that he never went through with it.

In the Void, when you found your way into his room, it was the moment Lemar had been killed. Replayed, over and over again, unable to be prevented — but his reaction could’ve been.

He could’ve been a better man.

In the beginning, he tried to justify it, rationalizing killing someone in cold blood. After time passed, he knew how wrong he was, how he desecrated the shield, the mantle; all for something else, to sate his rage. No matter how much healing he did, that would haunt him forever.

“Thanks.” He grits, as if he doesn’t fully believe your words. John understands your intentions, that you’re being empathetic and kind despite the abrasive way he’s acted towards you. It makes him feel worse. “I am trying.”

“I know,” Placating, your digits begin to shimmer with wisps of emerald energy, your power manifesting. “I know you are, John.” Oozing with a tender amiability, you can hear the tremor in his exhale.

When you called him John, it startled him; he’d gotten so accustomed to ‘Walker’, but he didn’t mind this in the slightest. Despite the rough beginning the both of you had with one another, he was warming up to you.

Admittedly, he thought it was the right thing to do, not fully letting you in to protect himself. When you had cordial conversations, he felt your kindness shroud him like a warm blanket; you’d moved on from the past.

Quiet, your hand finally lifts to his wound, brows creased in concentration, energy expelled into healing mist as it curls around the flesh. It feels like cold water, albeit soothing, pluming over torn skin and blood until it sinks inward.

A low grunt rips through his throat, somewhat startled at the sensation of your powers; simple, but wildly effective. It’s as if he’d never been slashed to begin with; the bruises and scrapes don’t go away, but the rest of it does.

Strained, your arm quivers, resolve slipping as you step away, using the doorway as a form of support. You’re always a little weak after you’ve healed someone, almost as if it’s an exchange of life.

“Better?” With a tender smile, you watch as he nods, inspecting himself in the mirror; nothing left behind. “Next time this happens, I hope you’ll let me help you.” You prompt, and he chuckles; it isn’t the typical condescending chide he gives you, either.

“I can’t make any promises.” John’s tone loses that bite, the indifference; it’s disarmingly soft. “Thanks again, for that. I’ve been an asshole to you — wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help.” He murmured, tone lacking mirth.

“You have, but that can change,” Lips remain poised into a smile, one that makes his heart lurch within his chest. “You don’t have to keep being an asshole.” Your remark makes him scoff, though it’s more of a bemused sound, than anything else.

“I’ll lose my charm,” John counters, but he’s being sarcastic — somewhat, at least. You suspect he’ll still remain sharp-tongued and smug, but lose the indifference with you. “I know it’s something I need to work on.”

Grateful for his acknowledgment, you finally feel your energy return, a slow ebb that spreads throughout your body. Leaning off of the doorframe, you awkwardly step aside, figuring that this was your queue to leave.

“For the record, I never disliked you,” He utters, jaw clenched as he carefully navigates on what to say next. “Never had a problem with you, either. Your problem with me was justified.” John shrugs, his stare even-keel.

Bewildered, you let the pang of surprise fester, head cocking to one side. “I never really had a problem with you, or disliked you,” After this, you were beginning to understand why he was an asshole sometimes. “It’s all in the past, now. I want us to move forward.”

John’s halfhearted smile oozed with sincerity, a genuineness rarely seen by others. “I can do that.” Even still, he wouldn’t blame you if you had some sort of gripe against him, but you were kind — you were good, even if you didn’t think so.

His gaze hasn’t left you, cerulean hues fluttering over your countenance; you’re beautiful, eyes beset by kindness, half-dried tresses strung over your crown. The shirt you’re wearing is a size too big, sweatpants baggy, too.

He’s acutely aware of how obvious he’s being, ogling you; he always thought you were pretty, but in the bathroom’s faint glow, you’re stunning. You weren’t subtle either, he knows this, catching your shrewd gaze as it lingers on his arms.

John’s hands reach for his shirt, black spandex all wrinkled, balled up, stained with dried blood. The tension becomes unusually thick, mere embers kindled to life, now a fire that he doesn’t know if he can extinguish.

“Can I ask you something?” Your inquiry pierces through the tenuous silence, and there’s some momentary relief you gain from it.

“Yeah.” John’s tone is barely above a whisper, warm; as if he’s trying to calm himself down, ease the tension. With his shirt still clenched in one hand, he’s offering you his undivided attention.

With arms loosely folded over your chest, your fingers idly pluck at frayed stitching on your sleeves, a fleeting distraction. “Why were you always indifferent towards me, if you didn’t hate me?” You’re not accusatory, just curious.

Shit — John’s mind is scrambling for an answer that doesn’t make him seem strange. He’s got feelings for you, and you’re slowly drawing them out into the open; he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to not let somebody in,” He shrugs, gaze wavering, flickering toward the ground. The vulnerability is something he’s still growing accustomed to — rawness of pain, feeling his emotions, choosing the right way to cope. “Because of what’s happened.”

Even then, his explanation still feels like he’s covering up for something else. Nevertheless, you let it rest, offering him a threadbare smile. “We don’t judge here, if you haven’t learned that already,” You sigh. “I’ll be here for you, if you choose to let me in.”

He already has — he’s appreciative, nodding as a display of gratitude before he finds your gaze again. “Thanks.” John smiles despite himself, swallowing down the words that want to escape him.

Silence settles between, the same tension simmering like before, causing you to shift your weight. He’s staring again, but you’re oblivious to it this time, angled away, trying to figure out what to do next.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, your shoulders begin to slouch with relaxation. “I should probably go — you need rest.” You blurt, fumbling over your words, maintaining a sheepish smile as you shuffle toward the door.

John doesn’t really want you to leave; and he knows it’s selfish of him. His lips part, as if to ask you to stay, but he’s frozen, rooted in-place. Still, he nods, quietly resigning to letting you go back to your room.

His feet feel anchored to the floor, each step a drag as he trails after you, following you to the doorway. He’s quiet, still deliberating, turning over every word, every action within his mind. John comes up short, watching as you stop to say something else.

The closeness is sudden, wracked with tension; you’re nearly brushing arms with him, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. You’re both reaching for the door panel simultaneously, fumbling, fingers ghosting over one another; you recoil like you’ve been burned.

In the slim proximity, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — vanilla and peach, something sweeter, causing his jaw to tick. He’s looking again, unable to stop himself, gaze wandering over your body, appreciative; he grips the door frame as a distraction.

When you catch his stare, it burns you, something incendiary, as if he’s searing you into his mind. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, and you’re prepared to tell him goodnight, end it there — but you won’t move.

Silence stretches on, the sort of contemplative quiet before the onset of a storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Bodies linger within arm’s reach, screaming, and you have the audacity to stare at him, doe-eyed.

Then, you say his name, a feather-light whisper, gentle and placating. It barely registers, but he hears it, notices the parting of your lips, the way you haven’t recoiled from the closeness.

John’s mouth is suddenly pressed against yours in a heated frenzy.

A sharp inhale splits your diaphragm, lungs quaking, filled with a sudden surge of ecstasy when he kisses you. There’s a gasp stuck in the back of your throat, swallowed by the snare of his mouth.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his smart mouth. There’s a charged passion that echoes beyond the kiss, as if he’s walking the fine line of restraint.

Bewildered, your head is spinning, brain foggy, as if someone knocked you out. Left reeling, you don’t know what to say, what to do. Though, you’re receptive, mouth shyly moving against his, hands frozen at your sides.

When he pulls away, gauging your reaction, you appear as shocked as he does.

Each breath is labored, wrought with the sudden sting of exhilaration, butterflies beginning to pool within your belly. “I’m sorry.” John’s voice is low, a pleasant hum within your ear, but you don’t seem upset by what he did.

“Don’t be.” Without pause, your lips fly to meet him again, reciprocating the kiss, one that seems sluggish and passionate instead of frantic.

He’s kissing you back, hand dropping from the door to your hip, calloused digits caressing you through your shirt. The gesture ignites a fire within your bones, unable to stifle your mounting excitement.

Shyly, your hands move toward his chest, soft like velvet, smoothing over his pectorals as he presses you up against the door. A low groan vibrates through his chest, reveling in the feeling of your skin touching his.

There’s a poised strength coiled within his body, firm, flesh and blood, chest rising and falling underneath your hands.

His kiss is disarmingly gentle, something unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel his body nudge against yours, distance now nonexistent.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for contact.

He tastes metallic, an amalgamation of copper and a natural musk. Digits idly smooth over the coarse, blonde hair that covers his chest, descending toward his groin. The thought alone makes your knees weak.

Each kiss sends you spiraling, clawing for his mouth, leaving you ragged, desperate for his touch. You can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like this — even then, your experience is thin.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Recoiling from the kiss, your fingers tremble, deftly tracing over his collarbone, over scar-kissed skin, over faint clutches of freckles. “John, I — Are you sure?” You whisper, hoarse, afraid that he might regret it all in the morning.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure.” John murmurs, voice low, curling thickly as his hands rub circles into your hips. He’s strong, secure — you didn’t expect to feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

His lips make contact with your jaw, mouth clamoring over your skin, kissing the spot beneath your ear. Flush to you, his confession makes your bones lurch, and you wonder what else he’s thought about, too.

Flustered, you’re quick to melt into him, visibly smitten, as if you’ve wound yourself into a tight knot. John notices, mouth twitching into a smirk as he places a string of kisses beneath your jawline.

“John …” A soft mumble rolls from your tongue, hands beginning to trail from chest to shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. His beard burns against your flesh, a pleasant scratch, reminding you that he’s real, this is real.

Warm breath feathers over your throat, your jaw, your cheek — he’s still smirking, too. “You’re getting shy on me.” He mumbles, able to taste the heat that bristles from your flesh. A hitch forms within your throat, his remark making you burn.

“No,” Posturing a weak defense, your body succumbs, lips parted to make room for a dizzying sigh. “I’m not.” It’s pathetic, your retort, but he’s still grinning as if he’s caught you in a trap, attempting to reign in the smug attitude.

“Right.” John’s cadence is dangerously low, little more than a pleasant husk that scratches the back of your brain. He’s teasing you still, cerulean hues alight with mirth, fingertips barely skirting underneath your shirt.

He’s charming — too charming, and it makes your flesh burn with an embarrassed heat. His lips plume over your throat, hips brushing against yours, and that’s when you feel it. Something firm through his kevlar pants, briefly grinding against your pelvis.

A noise echoes from John’s throat, somewhere between a grunt and groan, causing you to smile, as if you’ve discovered his secret. “Already?” It’s playful, sure, but you’re simultaneously flattered that it didn’t take much work.

It’s his turn to blush, scarlet crawling over handsome features, red spreading towards his neck. “Can’t help it,” John mumbled, gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’re beautiful.” His low timbre made you shiver.

Unable to smother your smile, you urge him closer for another kiss, digits clamoring for the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there. Each entanglement of lips seems to grow in fervor, charged with mutual excitement, passion.

His hands are fisted in your shirt against, giving it a soft tug, as if silently asking you for your permission. Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your maw.

With a brief nod, he breaks from you, only to assist in removing your shirt, tossing it elsewhere in his room. You aren’t wearing a brassiere, which catches his attention, stopping in his tracks as he admires your physique.

“Jesus,” John sighs, rapturous, noticing the doe-eyed look you’re giving him again. Lips part, jaw unclenched as he not-so-subtly ogles your collarbone, letting it drift toward your chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Swallowing your anxiety, you feel yourself melt beneath his stare, incendiary enough to turn you to cinders where you stand. “The thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Barely above a whisper, your gentle teasing evokes a half-smile from him.

A huff leaves him, hand steady as he kneads into your hip, dipping lower, grasping at your haunch as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You’re still kissing him, held aloft by John’s arms, bearing your weight without effort.

He carries you to his bed, gray sheets already disheveled, laying you down as he crawls on top of you. A soft exhale whistles through your nose, arousal beginning to coalesce between your thighs, warmth pooling in your belly.

“You sure?” John murmurs, wanting to ensure that you’re certain about this. He is, but he wants to make sure that all cards are on the table. He’s not used to this, to showing vulnerability, but it feels comfortable with you.

“Yeah, I am,” Gazes twine together, the only illumination being the glow from the bathroom, blanketing you in swirls of orange and shadow. “I want you, John.” Your admission is saccharine, steeped in a warmth that he clings to, savors.

Christ, he wants you, too — craves you more than air, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. It’s a sudden shift from how things were before, but the tension had finally come to a boiling point, and he was glad that it had.

Mouths connect instantaneously, eliciting a pleading moan from your throat, swallowed by his kiss. Your legs drop, spread apart to accommodate for his frame, lean muscle wedged between your thighs.

His palm kneads into your calf, dragging to the crook of your knee, caressing you over your baggy bottoms. Your hands thread against the nape of his neck, taking handfuls of his blonde tresses, ensuring that you weren’t rough with him.

Chests brush against one another, firm muscle exuding warmth, peaks of your breasts ghosting over his pectorals. Each kiss rips the air from your lungs, leaving you reeling, gasping as you feel his tongue prod against yours.

A whine bubbles from your throat, smitten, tongue shyly mingling with his as the kiss turns into a mess of passion. Your fingers are carding over the back of his skull, slipping over his hair as his teeth catch upon your bottom lip.

John grunts, the tent in his pants grinding recklessly against your core, friction causing both of you to writhe. As if to torment him, you roll your hips forward, evoking a groan from him, his gaze pleading with you to stop.

“Don’t,” He warns, strained, attempting to hold himself together. Your mouth quirks into a smile, one that he feels even as he kisses you again, your palm splaying over his shoulder. “Can I take these off?”

His hands curl into your sweatpants, fingers teasing the waistband as he waits for you to consent. As soon as you nod, accompanied by a breathy ‘yes’, he’s tearing into them, the stitching splitting apart beneath his inhuman strength.

A gasp slipped from your mouth, writhing beneath him to free yourself from the fabric, kicking them to the floor. John marvels at the sight of you, your body something perfect, malleable within his grasp, mouth planting a kiss against your jaw.

Cool air plumes over your heated flesh, offering some alleviation, a reprieve from the fever-pitch of your body. John’s hand smooths over your leg, squeezing into your thigh, digits flicking over the hem of your panties.

The brief gesture makes your head spin, desperate for him to touch you. He’s already got an idea in his head, calloused fingers rough like leather as he drags his hand between your legs.

Knuckles ghost over your clothed cunt, feeling the tangle of damp cotton, the way your throat sputters with a subtle gasp. Your thighs twitch, knees trembling on either side of him as your nails trace over the back of his neck.

“Christ,” He huffs, forehead nearly flush against yours, watching as you squirm from the brief caress. John repeats the motion, feeling your nails dig harder into his skin, mouth screwed open. “You like that?” His murmur makes you feel weak.

With a nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his hand. To your delight, he doesn’t torment you, doesn’t make you work for it as his fingers slip beneath your panties.

Two fingers stroke along your cunt, gathering the warm slick there with one sluggish swipe. To your utter bewilderment, he lifts his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean before he lavishes your throat in a myriad of kisses.

“John, please.” Moaning his name, the sight he just treated you to is sure to be burned in your mind forever, causing your thighs to rub together. Kissing a trail down your neck, he finds your sternum, mouth voracious, ceaseless.

A boyish grin settles onto his features, deriving enjoyment from your reaction, continuing to worship your flesh in rapturous kisses. No inch of skin is safe as he descends, lips pluming over your breasts, your ribs, navel; lower, and lower again.

You taste sweet, as if your skin oozed with sugar, and he’s savoring every piece of you, kisses steeped in a disarming reverence. His beard tickles your flesh, goosebumps cascading down your spine as he makes it to your waist.

His muscles flex, pulled taut as he crawls lower, face hovering beside your hip as he eases your panties down, letting them creep over your thighs. Everything feels hot, body set ablaze, arousal coalescing against your cunt.

Lips press to your thigh, shoulders creating space, bullying your legs apart. Digits flex, trembling as they lower to card through his tresses, gaze ensnaring with his own, causing you to shiver.

John kisses a trail over your inner thighs, toward the glistening heat at your apex, listening to your breath hitch. It’s labored, wrought with exhilaration as your back begins to arch.

That ghost of a cocksure grin feels like a hot brand against your thigh, softening when you make a strangled, pleading noise. Nearly prone against the sheets, he lets your legs recline against his shoulders, hands gripping your hips.

The first rake of his tongue over your cunt is agonizing, hot embers, scorching against your flesh as he laps traces the length of your slit. It’s sluggish, exploratory — he’s keen to know what makes you writhe.

With parted lips and eyes wrenched shut, a needy moan splits past your throat, unable to keep quiet. John’s chest stirs with a low grunt, greedy tongue deftly splitting past your folds, tasting you with a sudden fervor.

Still, he’s gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms massaging into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant.

John eases you into it, committing every detail of your body to memory; hoping there’s a next time, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. Lapping against your core, his ministrations slowly gather haste, nose grazing your clit.

A myriad of moans leave you, attempting to keep the sound hushed, as to not alert any unwanted attention. Your legs tense, flex on either side of his head before his shoulders nudge you apart again, mouth dragging over your cunt.

He maintains something of a rhythm, attempting to walk the line of restraint, as to not overwhelm you. Your body rattles beneath him, spasmodic tremors of delight rolling down your spine, waves of bliss felt all over, ebbing through your veins.

One hand haplessly fists at the sheets, fingers curled so tightly that you want to rip it apart. He’s too good at this, which surprises you — he doesn’t give that impression, initially.

The room feels like a furnace, bodies bleeding heat, each breath hoarse, tight with rapture. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

John’s gaze flutters from the task at-hand to your countenance, contorted into an expression of ecstasy, effortlessly pretty. His heart skips a beat; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You’re wound up, coiled over and over again, into a tangle of heat, furled desire that’s begging to be released. Carding through his tresses, you gingerly scratch at his crown, briefly tugging on his hair, hips wantonly urging into his mouth.

“G—God, John,” A sheepish moan falls from your mouth, coupled with a sharp inhale that rips through your diaphragm. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, back arched from the mattress. “So good at this.”

It’s an inkling of praise, but it’s enough, evoking some hunger from John, who's eager to please. The tent in his tactical pants is borderline painful, erection grinding against the bed in a pitiful attempt to alleviate some of the friction.

Driven to the brink, you feel as if you’re beginning to toe the line of some steep plunge, his lips urging you closer to a release. Everything feels hot, as if you might combust, arousal coalescing between your thighs.

John has you pinned down, nose ghosting over your folds, tongue still ceaselessly lapping at your core until there’s a shift in rhythm. He presses a kiss to your clit, listening to the tremor in your exhale, feeling your legs tense.

Teeth catch across your bottom lip, biting down with an absent pressure, digits beginning to lightly curl against his scalp. His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm.

“You’re easy to rile up.” John murmurs from between your legs, a breathy chuckle floating from his chest when your fingers pull on his hair. He plants a reverent kiss to your thigh, teasing, but the break doesn’t last for long.

If it weren’t for his lips pursing around your clit, you might’ve clawed for a retort, but he rips any remark from your throat. The sudden ripple of bliss sends you reeling, choking on a simpering whine as you shift beneath him again.

His mouth gingerly laps at that sensitive clutch of nerves, shockwaves shattering through your body, tingles of ecstasy following suit. A strangled moan snares in your throat, slipping through when he drags his tongue along your cunt.

He’s right, though — you are easy to vex, and he’s mapping you out as if you’re intimately familiar to him already. John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You’re getting close, body being pushed to a blissful oblivion, the white-hot heat that threatens to consume you. His hand drifts from your thigh to the slick warmth between, thumb seeking your clit like a missile, slowly circling around it.

“Fuck,” You moan, the expletive uncharacteristic of you, but he finds plenty of enjoyment in you saying it. His name is soon to follow, a bedroom hymnal, repetitive as it spills from your tongue, crying out his name to the ceiling. “J—John!”

It’s pathetic how easily he’s got you squirming, tension beginning to unfurl, the knot within your belly stretched to the brink. He’s careful, tender, intimate in a way that makes your features surge with warmth.

“That’s it.” John murmurs, timbre little more than a drawl as he coaxes an orgasm from you, thumb continuing to toy with your clit until you burst. He’s mesmerized, a super-soldier reduced to a lovesick boy, watching you with a thinly-veiled rapture.

With one simple circle of your pearl, you’re gone, ecstasy bleeding from you in one wave, nearly overwhelming. You’re blinded by euphoria, white-hot stars crossing your vision until you’ve melted into the sheets.

Nerves are frayed from bliss, tossed into the throes of pleasure, one that you may not fully recover from. Stars linger still, head foggy, dizzy from a desirous haze as you try to find a scrap of composure.

He tastes you again, one last time, committing it all to memory as he kisses your leg, kneeling in-between your thighs. You’re shaking, chest tight with drawn-out sighs, gazes ensnared, burning with adoration.

“You’re really good at that.” A soft whisper rolls from your lips, appreciative, but John looks like you’ve just called him perfect. He’s starved for praise, reduced to a mere beast, laying at your feet, preening for more.

John’s up on his knees, staring a hole through you, hands reaching for his belt. Driven by both excitement and instinct, you sit up, fingers clamoring with his own as you’re helping to wrestle his belt off, unzipping the front of his tactical pants.

“You drive me crazy,” John groaned, feeling you grow smitten in the wake of his admission, desperate to be inside of you. “Can’t think straight.” He utters, and you know it’s an intentional compliment.

He repositions himself, hunched in, blanketing you with his bulky physique, lean muscle glued to your frame. He’s much larger than you, you realize, listening to the shuffling of fabric, feeling his cock press incessantly against your navel.

You’re intimidated, bewildered by his size, startlingly large, unabashedly so. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, your hands come to hook around the back of his neck, no space remaining.

As if to ignite the tension further, your mouth catches his, lips locking together in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself, an added layer of debauchery, but he’s groaning into your lips, fisting the pillow near the side of your head.

John’s other hand finds your thigh, kneading into your haunch as he steadies himself, cock heatedly grinding against you. Mouths tangle, clash — it’s a war of teeth and tongue, thirst instead of hunger, as if he needs you more than anything.

Wanton, exhilarated breaths drag between bodies, the warmth of his sigh pluming over your features, his beard ragged against your cheek. His blonde tresses are tousled, disheveled — he’s painfully handsome, kissing all over your mouth.

He withdraws, heads flush together, mere centimeters apart as he adjusts himself, cock nudging against your folds. You’re clinging to him, a twinge of anticipation churning in your belly.

“You alright?” He utters, low and husky beside your ear, actively restraining himself from being too spirited. There’s something intoxicating about the way you’re staring at him; it’s tender, more than he deserves, he thinks.

Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, and then beneath, where a yellowing bruise sits. Hands wander to the firm muscle of his shoulders, kneading over freckled skin.

John exhales; a drawn-out, contented sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled groan.

“Go slow,” You squeak, body already sore from the mission — he might add to it, if he isn’t careful. His lips seal themselves to your throat, peppering your flesh in a myriad of sweet kisses, nose brushing over your jugular. “I need you.”

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins, oozing raw strength, but he knows to rein himself in, head bobbing in a brief nod. “Say that again.” John grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

His head is partially buried into the hollow between throat and shoulder, beard prickling your flesh, a satisfying sensation. An excitable buzz wracks your body, sending tingles all over, a throbbing pulsing from between your legs.

“I need you,” Wantonly, your palm splays over his shoulder-blade, nails digging into his skin, eliciting a low groan from your paramour. “J—John, please!” It’s a plea, a desperate one, spoken through a beguiling cadence, one that winds him into tight knots.

With a shudder, John is thirsty for your embrace, a man lost within a desert, finding his oasis. His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, heeding your words as he fists at the pillow, body kissed by perspiration.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, fighting against baser, lesser instincts. Clinging to him as if he might fade through your fingers, he moves at an agonizing pace, not wanting to hurt you.

He doesn’t, a husky groan ripping through his diaphragm when your hips accidentally roll, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. “Jesus,” John grits out, feeling your nails dig crescents into his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

A moan tumbles from your parted lips, his cock filling you completely, nearly bottoming out as he sinks forward. Intermingled groans and hot sighs tangle in the thin space between, heat against heat.

Your knees squeeze near his waist, legs kept spread apart by his musculature, bodies clawing for one another, ardor thinly-veiled. John’s countenance is contorted into a look of concentration coupled with bliss.

“S’good,” You moan, having adjusted enough, allowing yourself a moment of composure; it won’t last, and you know it. “Move.” Breathy and wrought with exhilaration, you give him the signal to take things further.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. Propping himself up on one arm, the other holds steadfastly to your thigh, an anchor.

Foreheads knock together, noses ghosting over one another as he begins to thrust into you, bicep flexing with exertion. The first drag of his hips sends you reeling, and you know that you won’t last long — and neither will he.

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

The fit of him is tight, cock oozing with heat as he draws back again, following through as he jolts forward.

Beneath you, the bed frame creaks — faint, as if it shows some give with the super-soldier on top of you. Your digits coax him in for a kiss, mouths colliding in a messy clash of tongue and needy lips, fire feeding fire.

John groans into your mouth, pushing and pulling, hips urging into yours, cock filling you with each thrust. Between fervent kisses and pleading moans, your head is foggy, dizzy with desire.

He develops a rhythm, the pace steady, each drag of his hips ripping a moan from your mouth, and he earned it. His hand kneads into your thigh, squeezing on occasion when the pleasure mounts, muscles coiled within his stomach.

“Y—You’re perfect,” The praise leaves your tongue as a hoarse whine, a noise that leaves goosebumps trailing over John’s spine. It’s the validation he desperately craves, the veneration, knowing he’s doing something right. “Don’t stop.”

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

It’s unintentional, his shifting pace; it begins to climb, from drawn-out and steady to needy, rutting into you as if each stroke would be his very last. John is trying to keep himself controlled, but you make it so difficult.

He slows again, the pleasure mounting, a knot that is becoming frayed at either end, prepared to be pulled apart. His cock throbs incessantly, pulsing inside of you, feeling your cunt clench around him.

Perspiration glitters along his brow, glistening along his hairline as he hunches in over you, and you feel all of him, viscerally.

The bed frame rattles in protest, as if bowing to his strength, and he’s already tearing the stitching in the pillowcase beside your head. A soft gasp slips from your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Grunts of ecstasy leave him in droves, cock easing in and out of your cunt as if you’re made for him. John’s countenance is one of bliss and concentration, frustration now dissipated.

Each snap of his hips drags you further into the throes of ecstasy, and he’s nearly there, cock spearing into you. His breathing is growing ragged, raspy as it curls beside your ear, hot breath pluming over your face.

Noises surge in volume, filling his room with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking; he doesn’t care if the team hears anymore. John’s rapturous groans make you shiver in delight, head flush to yours again, the closeness addicting.

Another grunt ripples through his chest, the sound stretched, the rest tapering off as his hips begin to stutter, pace erratic and desperate. He’s close, weighing the odds of finishing inside of you, nearly whimpering when your legs hitch around his hips.

His name spills from your lips like a confessional, sobbing to the heavens, feeling your body begin to unfurl with tension. Bodies move within one another, his cock buried deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust.

From the tension in his muscles alone, you can tell that he’s about to burst, combust like fireworks in your hands. You’re on the pill, and so you urge him closer, wanting him inside of you even still.

When your name emerges from John’s mouth, you’re awestruck, flustered by the way in which he says it so tenderly. “I’m on the pill.” It’s all you’re able to say before he’s swallowing your words, covering your mouth with his.

The kiss is voracious, needy — John is unable to mask how he feels about you, letting it all bleed into tangled lips as he cums. He releases inside of you with a groan, followed by a rush of warmth that blankets your insides.

Tingles of delight wrack your body, a subdued release that seems to twine with his, a muted buzz surging through your bones. John’s hips crawl to a sluggish rhythm, agonizingly slow, as if to absorb the last few traces of friction.

Each breath heaves for composure, shallow and taut with exhilaration in the aftermath, sweat-slick skin melded together. His forehead nestles against yours, labored breathing evening out quicker than yours as he stills.

His spend and your arousal feel slick between your legs, making a mess of his sheets, joined bodies bleeding heat. You’re reeling, slower to recuperate as he pulls out of you with a soft grunt, rolling over to lay beside you.

John doesn’t leave, cerulean hues glued to your countenance, as if his whole sense of gravity has been shifted, changed. It’s hushed, save for your labored sighs, in-tandem with one another.

Wordlessly, he coaxes you closer, muscled arm hooking around your middle, inviting you to lay against his chest. One palm remains splayed, flat against your ribs, soothing you with easy caresses.

“Are you still with me?” John’s wisecrack makes you blunder, a soft laugh escaping you, hand playfully bumping against his chest.

“Yeah,” Unable to smother your smile, you’re delighted to sink into his embrace, keeping your hand on his chest. The hair beneath is something you trace through, over muscle, over old scars and greenish bruises. “I …”

As you trail off, John’s head cranes down enough to brush his lips against yours, the kiss sweet, bristling with a thinly-veiled affection. He lets you finish your thought, watching as you sit up enough to see him fully, perched on your stomach.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” You utter, agonizingly soft, cadence wrought with an amalgamation of sentiments. John’s trying to be better, and it’s something you want to be a part of, if he’ll let you.

Neither did he, admittedly; it’s something John’s willing to admit to. “The thought never crossed my mind,” He murmured, blonde lashes fluttering as his hand cupped your jaw, calloused and careworn over satin skin. “But I’m not perfect.”

“I know, that’s why I like you.” With a dazzling smile, he’s caught right in the crosshairs, lips parting with a placating huff. It turns into a hum of a chuckle, his hand still firm against your side.

In a gentle clamor, his lips find yours, beard tickling your skin again, the sensation wholly pleasant. The kiss lingers, something that feels closer to home, a newfound warmth that the both of you desperately crave.

John’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, a peculiar mirth beginning to touch his eyes. He feels you plant a kiss against his shoulder, and he knows he’s completely screwed — you’re falling, but he’s falling harder.

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 1]

(Chapter 17)

An Unaccomplished Loss

The weight of loss had settled deep in Steve’s chest, a dull ache he had forced himself to ignore.

He couldn't afford to dwell on it—not now. Not when there was still a mission at hand. Not when Bucky needed him. But the thought never left him.

Y/N was gone.

His sister, his constant, the only person who had understood him before the serum, before the war had swallowed them whole. He had searched for her, prayed for her, but every lead had turned cold. No body. No rescue. Just empty silence where she should have been.

And now, all Steve had left was Bucky.

His grip on his shield tightened as he observed his situation. Bucky was weak, breath slow and shallow, though he still had the energy to grip the railings refusing to leave Steve stranded. They had fought too hard to get this far, now the bridge—the only way out of this crumbling hell—had collapsed in a fiery wreck, leaving him stranded.

The structure groaned beneath them, walls shaking as fire licked hungrily at the remains of the base. There was no way across, no way out.

Steve’s mind raced for an escape as he began to prepare to jump, a high risk of him falling into the flames beneath, but his solution came from somewhere unexpected.

A voice—weak, distant, and utterly impossible.

“Steve...”

He froze, his blood running cold. His heart pounded, a painful, stuttering beat.

No. It couldn’t be.

And yet—there, through the thick smoke and dancing flames, a figure emerged.

She was alive.

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracked, raw with disbelief.

She was barely standing, swaying unsteadily as if every step forward cost her everything. Her clothes were scorched and tattered, her skin pale beneath the flickering light of the fire. But what made Steve’s stomach lurch with unease was the unnatural energy rippling around her. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath her skin, her entire form humming with something otherworldly.

Steve’s breath caught. What had they done to her?

“What... what happened to you?” His voice was hoarse, eyes scanning her like he could somehow piece together the impossible sight before him.

Y/N barely seemed to hear him. Her body trembled, shoulders heaving with exhaustion, but something unseen crackled around her. The fire that had been creeping closer hesitated—as if repelled by her very presence.

Bucky, still dazed, lifted his head at the sound of her name. He blinked rapidly, his mind struggling to catch up with the sight before him.

“Y/N...?” His voice was weak, breathless. His confusion mirrored Steve’s, but beneath it, there was something else. Something unreadable.

“Is she real?” Bucky rasped, gaze darting between her and Steve.

Steve couldn’t answer. He didn’t know.

But then Y/N lifted her hands.

The ground beneath them rumbled, and suddenly the flames recoiled—pulled back by an unseen force. The air crackled as the glow around her intensified, shifting and bending like something alive.

And then—they were weightless.

Steve barely had time to react before an invisible force lifted them into the air, yanking them from the burning wreckage. He clutched Bucky tightly as they soared over the collapsed bridge, the fire raging below them.

It was overwhelming—disorienting. The wind howled around them as Y/N’s energy carried them higher, farther—toward safety.

But Steve could see it—the toll it was taking on her.

Her breathing turned shallow, the blue glow flickering, dimming. Her limbs trembled as she forced herself to keep going, as she pushed past the breaking point—

Until she couldn’t.

The energy snapped.

They hit the ground hard, tumbling into the dirt outside the ruined base. Steve barely managed to keep Bucky from crashing onto the rocky terrain, rolling onto his knees as he spun toward Y/N—

Just in time to see her collapse.

“Y/N!” Steve lunged, catching her before she could hit the ground. Her body was limp in his arms, her breathing ragged. The glow around her had vanished, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

Steve pressed a hand to the side of her face, his fingers trembling. “Hey—hey, stay with me, alright? Look at me.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Bucky groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his expression still clouded with disbelief. “What the hell was that?” he rasped, eyes locked onto Y/N’s unconscious form.

Steve didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t sure if he wanted one.

“She saved us,” Steve murmured, pulling her closer. “She—she saved us.”

But at what cost?

As the burning wreckage of the HYDRA base crumbled behind them, Steve’s stomach twisted. His sister was alive. She was here.

But she wasn’t the same.

And whatever had been done to her, whatever power now coursed through her veins—it was only the beginning.

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary:  In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

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

A/N2: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

���Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.  

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

­-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“  

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.  

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

[deliciousangelfestival]

My Problematic Girl-Chapter 7

Character: College!Steve Rogers x Rich!Female Reader

Words Count: 1,200,-

Prologue:  Steve has lived being nobody in this prestigious university. He just wants to graduate and get a job to get more money to pay the bills for his mother's surgery. 

But his life turned upside when a new student attended his class. His quiet and dull life became dangerous and full of surprises.

A/N: In chapters 6 and 7, we will learn about Y/N's background story. 

×××

She exhaled the cigarette smoke from her lips. She still doesn’t care even though he told her he has asthma. 

She looked at Steve and said, “Bark for me.”

Steve felt humiliated, and his pride was crushed. But she held his life and secrets. He had to bury his dignity to the ground, and he murmured, 

“Woof.”

******

I would appreciate any comments and feedback you can give me. 

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi

Y/N has never stepped into the Solomon house again since that day. Brian became a famous lawyer all those years, and his image as a loving husband and father towards Sophia and Sarah always appeared in the newspaper since Sophia was a socialite. 

One day, on her 15th birthday, her father called her. She thought he had realised his mistakes, but she became more disappointed. 

It turned out he asked her about the share from Starks company. Back then, Stark was just a small company, but now it has become an industry and beat Solomon company. It was unpredictable and put shame, especially on the main family of Solomon. They want some share from the Starks. 

Brian remembered his deceased wife owned a share at the Starks industries. How surprised he was when he discovered that Evelyn was the top main shareholder, and she gave it to Y/N. 

He wants it. 

Y/N rejected him upfront. He has taken everything from her, her mother, and her ability to play the piano, and now he wants to take the last gift Evelyn gave her. 

“Don’t you ever feel sorry about your wife?"

"Your anger means nothing because it doesn't change anything."

"Don't you know what today is?"

"What?"

"Today is my birthday."

There’s no guilty expression on her father's face. He typed his phone without looking at her. "Do you want to have dinner here? I'll call Sophia and Sarah."

Y/N scoffed. "Goodbye, Father."

"You should've said see you again. It seems like you don't want to come back here." 

She ignored him and left. Nothing here made her feel at home as long as she stayed with Stark's household; that's enough. 

She should've made that wish in front of the birthday cake with a candle to make it come true. 

Because Howard and Maria got into a car accident three days after her birthday, the bridge they drove through collapsed.

Tony couldn't accept his parents being gone. He searched for the answer and found an inspection about what there was. The quality of the materials is poor. And another important clue is that the company responsible for building this bridge is Solomon construction company. 

He already has the evidence, but the court denied the case. Say the evidence is not enough. That must be her father doing.

Y/N want to burn the Solomon company to the ground. But she remembered her anger was useless. She needs a bullet to shot. 

Solomon became untouched after her father joined the family. No law can bring them down. That means she has to understand their mind and her father. 

"I will go back to that house to find the evidence."

Tony shook his head. "No, you will die if you stay there." 

"Whatever it takes to find the evidence."

Y/N went back to the prison house and became invisible. If she has to suffer, so be it to find any document related to her mother, Sophia's first husband and the collapsed bridge. 

But she got nothing. 

Then there are left 2 options—the document could be in her father's law firm office or with Maximus. 

Since then, Y/N has studied all the time to become a lawyer. 

But then her father said no. She must enter medical school at the Imperial University to become a doctor. 

"You want me to become a doctor to help your stepdaughter if she finds any difficulty at the university."

"That's right. Both of you need to help each other. Your grade is more than enough to enter the Imperial University."

"No, you want me to be her loyal dog like you with that woman. I don't owe anything to these people!!!"

"Y/N, just listen to what I said for your good."

"Fuck you!!!"

Y/N clenched her fist even though it was painful. 

She doesn't want to be a doctor. It was Sarah's dream, not hers. 

Y/N must save her place as a law student; to do that, she must meet Maximus.

Her father underestimated her. Not just him who knew how to blackmail; she also got dirt on that old man. That was the first time she learned that blackmail was useful. 

Her trick worked, and she entered law school without any problem, and there she met Brock Rumlow. A bright and friendly person. Both of them start as friends, and he is always there when she feels down. 

With one goal in her mind, Y/N was able to graduate faster than her classmates and join her father's law firm. 

At her father's law firm, Y/N didn't find anything that related to the case, but she found a clue that Maximus had it. 

But before she met Maximus, she got kicked out from the family because of the case she handled vs Imperial University, and she rejected the engagement with Brock Rumlow after she found out he's been with Sarah all this time. 

"How does it feel to lose?"

She hates it.

"You could ignore me as your father, but you can't deny my blood ran in your veins."

"It's true, but I won't be a loyal dog like you."

Brian smirked. "In this world, you need power to survive and not be underestimated. Kindness won't make me rich, Y/N."

"Is that why you left your wife? It's never enough for you!!!"

Brian sighed, he loves Evelyn, but it's not enough. He wants more. He doesn't want to live as middle class for the rest of his life. Especially with his job as a lawyer. Reputation is important in the industry. 

When he met Sophia, a stupid but ambitious woman, he admired her greed and honesty to get whatever she wanted, and she could hear it because she was a Solomon. 

His biggest regret is that Evelyn found out about his cheating. If she stayed quiet and did not ruin his reputation at his office, they wouldn't fight, and Sophia would only be his mistress. 

Brian wishes his daughter could have the same view as him, but it's difficult to tame her. 

"If you just sit still, you could enjoy the good life of being Solomon."

How? All he ever did is taken everything from her. "When you die, I'll laugh on your grave."

"If you make another problem, I will make you lose your lawyer’s license and send Lilly somewhere else, and you'll never find her."

Y/N snapped; there's no right and wrong to her anymore. She approached her father, her hand reaching his neck and strangling him. "Just once, please be a father to me."

"Uurgh." Her hands are on his neck, but why does she have difficulty breathing? 

"Y/N!!!"

That voice. Steve? She looked right and left, but where was he?

"Y/N!!! Wake up!!!"

When Y/N opened her eyes, she was confused; her eyes weren't accustomed to brightness. Her hand covered her eyes. "Steve? What are you doing in my place?"

Steve's hands hold her shoulders, "Tony called me. You don't realize you have a seizure in your sleep?"

Thank you for reading. I hope you like it.

You can tell me if you want to join the tag list. Don't be shy 😘💖💜💙

I will always be grateful for those who reblog. Thank you so much.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, - Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9,-

Main Masterlist || Buy me Ko-fi

Join the tag list :

@cherrybubblebullet

@starsofcloud

@kandis-mom

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@mansaaay

@zaraomarrogers

@magnificentsaladllama

@rebeccapineapple

@irishhappiness

@sjlainny

[pinkykitten]

Based on a Gif!

Marvel

Steve Rogers (Captain America) x smoke abilities! female reader (requested by @captainskyline)

Warning: curse words, violence, angst l(ike what is with me and angst lately jeesh)

The team was splitting. Some thought it was needed to sign the Sokovia Accords while some thought it was unnecessary. Including your Steve Rogers. 

“Tony we need to convince Steve to sign the dam* thing. I can’t lose him too,” you stressed to Tony as he rubbed his temple. “I know y/n, I’m trying here. He’s-”

“Stubborn, trust me I know.” Sighing you stand abruptly to go see Steve. Steve is in his room overlooking pictures of Peggy Carter. 

You feel bad as you place a hand on his shoulder, “she was beautiful Steve.” You hear him sniffle as he laughs, trying to play it off, “yeah she was a doll, a gift.”

“You know you don’t need to do that. You can cry if you want to, you can miss her Steve. She was an important person in your life and she meant a lot to. I understand all that. I’m here for you.” 

Steve nodded and gave you a tight hug, “I do miss her y/n.” He breathed out. A tear fell down his cheek and lightly kissed your skin. You kissed his forehead. “You know though what I am here to discuss about.”

Steve shook his head, “I can’t believe you want to sign the accords.”

“Steve there are rules and lines we can’t cross. You need to understand this isn’t just our world, this isn’t our playground!”

Steve laughed, “what you think that I believe this a game? A joke?”

“No I don’t think that, in fact I think totally differently. People look up to you Steve,” you grasp his hands in yours. “They see you as their savior. They’re scared and sometimes don’t understand us. Thats why signing this shows that you’re on their side and you can show them that we heroes take their thinking and putting into our hearts. Plus they saw what happened with Wanda.”

“Oh c’mon y/n, you’re starting to sound like Tony!”

“Well Steve lets see, all the people only saw was that she exploded a building!”

“She’s just a kid.”

You got into his face, “and they are just people! They don’t know the in depth things of situations. They don’t know that she’s just learning, they don’t know that Tony has panic attacks, they don’t know that you have nightmares. They don’t know how much I love you, see those things people don’t see! All they see is someone to save them! When they have no hope we give them that Steve. We are their light in a darkened world. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’m sorry y/n, I can’t sign it.”

You nodded, “well then we’re done.” You walked away and could see in the clear glass of the windows his saddened reflection. 

“So this is what is has come to,” you said as you were placed on Iron Man’s side, the side of good. 

“Hello their y/n,” Steve said as he was standing opposite from you, with his team. 

You ignored him and face Tony, “are we gonna get on with this or not?”

Tony chuckled and soon you all started running two each other. You fought with Wanda first. Anger boiling within you as you used your powers on her. You used your gift to lift her in the air with smoke and drop her down harshly on the ground. 

Then it all led up to fighting Steve. “Wow this should be easy to kick your as*.”

Steve gave you a guilty face. His blue eyes seeping into your brain and making you have feelings for him all over. “Y/n I don’t think I can-”

You shut him up real fast as you used your powers on him. 

Steve rolled and hit one of the airplanes. 

“You can’t what? Hurt me? Too late Rogers, you already did.” The smoke blocked his vision and you became invisible. The smoke was everywhere. Steve looked all around until you came up from behind him and locked your legs around his neck, flipping him over. He quickly though found his place and hit you with his shield, sending you hitting the ground. 

“I don’t want to do this to you y/n. I can’t hurt you.” Steve gasped as he saw your tears. “Why? You did hurt me Steve. You chose a piece of paper over our relationship. Everything we have been through. And now you don’t want me to hurt you? You don’t want me to kick your as* after everything you put me through. Steve, I loved- still love you. But you pushed me away. I can’t go through this anymore.” You were about to puff hot smoke on him but Steve did not move. “If this is what you feel to be right then I won’t stop you.”

You put your hands out and tried to hurt him, tried to sting him but you just couldn’t. More tears came out as you stopped, “I can’t hurt you...I’m still in love with you Rogers.”

Steve motioned over to you and placed his hands on your cheek, “this is for until we meet again.” He placed his rough delicate lips over yours and kissed you. It was nostalgic. You missed the feeling. You grasped tightly onto his shoulders to deepen the kiss. 

“I will always love you y/n,” Steve gave you a charming smile. 

“I can’t never stop loving you,” you cried as you let him go on a jet with Bucky. “Until we meet again.”

(authors note: lil fact civil war is actually one of my fav marvel movies, one, one of my fav dont get my words twisted now lol. i know its angsty and all that jazz but i just felt that at this time and moment and cool i hate myself ✌️ jk hope yall like it and pls pls keep requesting this is ur LAST DAY)

Tag list: @harrington-lover, @angelgl16, @perfectlybeautifulsuit, @hyehoney, @haven-prelude (wont let me tag), @leasly, @totally-alexa21, @creamy-pasta-boi, @multireese, @fanfictionrecommendations-com, @prentisskelley, @malereaderforkpop (wont let me tag), @guardian-of-cookies, @justafangirl-97, @teenageshitposts (wont let me tag), @andreaoreas, @dippergravity (wont let me tag), @some-booty, @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople, @collectiveyou, @wtfisalltherandoms, @fangirl-4-life415, @dirbel, @marwantr, @divaanya, @wassupitschloe, @idontknowwhattocallthisworld (wont let me tag), @spycii, @woeisbutwoe, @pormacskaa

wanna be tagged in my crap? comment!

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi sweetie, congratulations on the 1000 celebration. I absolutely love your work, and I’m so happy for you. Was wondering if I could submit a request to the fantastic moment.

𝖲𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗑 𝖯𝗅𝗎𝗌𝖲𝗂𝗓𝖾!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

Prompt: 3, 40, 44, 45, 48

Trope: Enemies to Lovers

AU: Mob

Once again congratulations. I’m a writer myself and you really inspire me, much love. Mwuah.

Mutually Assured Destruction

Mob!Steve Rogers x plus size reader

Steve likes to take what he wants and he always gets his way in the end

Warnings: smut, kind of hate sex, unprotected sex, enemies to lovers, implied oral (m receiving), jealousy, degradation, smoking

WC: 1.4k

Minors DNI 

3: “Can he fuck you like this?” 40: “I’m gonna suck the soul outta you.” 44: “I would burn worlds for you.” 45: “I told you to stay put!” 48: “You can take it, you were made for it.” 3: Enemies to lovers 7: Mob

1000 Follower Celebration

“Fuck! This pussy is so fucking tight!” Y/N cried out as a painful smack landed on her already sore ass. The sting sent a shock of pleasure up her spine. She slumped forward onto her desk, physically unable to hold herself up anymore as the man behind her ripped her apart with every thrust and put her back together every time he pulled out. 

Attempting to ground herself, Y/N’s fingers curled into the wood, perfectly manicured nails slicing the expensive vanish. She tried to scream, to speak but her voice had been ripped from her just as easily as her panties had. “You can take it, you were made for it.” He crooned as he readjusted his grip on her wide hips, to angle them up slightly, allowing the head of his fat cock to bash against her cervix with each downstroke.

Y/N moaned through clenched teeth, still unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was affecting her. “Shut the fuck up and make me cum, Rogers.” She snapped, yet her voice lacked any real conviction. But Steve didn’t appreciate her words.

“You stupid fucking slut, you take what I give you and you thank me for it.” His grip became painful, holding her so tightly, Y/N thought he might shatter her pelvis. His tone was balanced and laced with an anger that drove her higher. 

Their alliance had been one purely out of necessity. Both of them are heads of notorious organizations with cops and robbers alike in their pockets. They tolerated each other, knowing a war between them would be mutually destructive and only coming together when another, larger force threatened their power. 

Y/N thought Steve a bastard of the highest order and Steve believed Y/N a frigid bitch. They had to have at least 10 feet of space between them or else they would get into a physical fight. The partnership, however, was going well, they were slowly but steadily gaining back lost territory and it seemed like both families would have more power than ever once the war was over.

But all that was on the verge of crumbling down when Steve burst into her office, his long dark blonde hair a mess, his breathing ragged as he asked. “Did you fuck my right hand man?” He already knew the answer, Bucky had confessed to him a mere five minutes before he kicked down her door, going into far too much detail about the mob boss and her abilities. 

Y/N just shrugged with a barely contained smirk. “What’s it to you Rogers?” And he snapped.

Items from her desk had been haphazardly knocked to the floor, and her clothes ripped to shreds as he plunged inside her, defiling her in a way she could’ve never imagined. She was forced to submit, to become nothing more than this powerful man’s toy and yet, she did not hate it. “Can he fuck you like this?” He murmured into her hair, the smell of cigarettes and her own juices filling her nose as he bent over her plump body.

“Can he make you tremble like this? Cockdrunk and pliable, willing to do whatever I want just so you can cum.” His thrusts had slowed down to a simple roll of his thin hips, keeping him buried deep within her in a way that drove her mad. She could feel the zipper of his expensive suit pants pressing painfully into the bruised skin of her behind, the dual feeling of the pain and fullness making her pleasure even more delicious.

One hand moved from her hip to the back of her neck, cradling the flesh almost tenderly. He guided her head so that she could look at him over her shoulder, force her eyes to meet his blue ones which were wild with lust and fury, and some deeper emotion she could not yet comprehend. “You’re mine princess.” 

And something inside of her snapped. The fight left her body as her orgasm washed over her, her mind going blank with ecstasy. Steve grinned wickedly as she trembled below him, tightening around his cock, refusing to let him leave the warmth of her cunt. “That’s it, cum for me, princess.” 

His smile fell as she tried to pull herself away from him, the pleasure quickly becoming a burn of overstimulation. “I told you to stay put!” He snarled. Y/N whimpered and struggled against him.

“’s too much!” She whined but instead of sympathy, she was met with another smack against her rear.

“Shut the fuck up! First you complain it’s not enough, now it’s too much? You really are an ungrateful brat.” And just like that, he pulled away from her once more, his thrusts becoming brutal, much like the monster she had come to know, not the man that held her gently and called her princess in the throes of passion.

He was seeking his own high, disregarding her pleas of slowing down. His cock twitched violently within her as he battered her womb. “We’ll be done when I say we’re done.”

——————

The room stank of sex, even with the huge windows thrown open to let some air in. Steve, having finally spilled his seed, not once, but twice over her back and thighs, was done. Given that he had ripped her own shirt in half, the blond gave Y/N his, quietly appreciating the way it shaped her curvy body, stretching over her considerable bust and wide hips.

They had yet to speak a word to each other, each of them too lost in their own thoughts as they sat side by side on the couch in the corner of the room. Steve pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pants pocket, silently offering his partner one and shrugging when she refused. Blue smoke curled around his head.

When he crushed the butt of his second cigarette in her coffee mug which miraculously hadn’t been shattered, Y/N finally spoke. “You can leave now.” Steve raised a dark eyebrow at her.

“Is that what you want, princess?” He made no move to get off the couch and instead crossed his right ankle over his left, stretching out his long legs. Y/N scoffed.

“You got what you wanted didn’t you? Proving you’re a better fuck than Bucky.” She didn’t dare attempt to stand and move away from him, knowing that her knees would give out the second she put any weight on them, so instead she refused to meet his eyes, focusing on the view of the ocean her high-rise office permitted her.

Steve’s brow furrowed and he was tempted to fish out another cigarette. “Is that what you thought I came in here for?” Y/N gave him a look that screamed ‘really Rogers?’ in the most condescending way possible. He chuckled, throwing a muscular arm around her shoulders to bring her body against his broad chest.

“I wasn’t aware you thought so low of me, princess.” He resisted the urge to lay a kiss on her temple. 

She was quiet for a moment before she spoke so softly, Steve had to strain his ears to hear her. “Then why else did you come here, Steve?” His first name, she called him by his first name for the first time since he has known her. 

Hooking a finger under her soft chin, he guided her eyes to his own, much like he had done earlier. Except this time, she could see nothing but admiration and adoration in that striking blue. “I came here for you, princess. I’m not going to lie, thinking about you fucking my best friend fucking sucked and it pissed me off. But I was upset mainly because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass to tell you sooner.”

“Tell me what?” She breathed, unconsciously inching closer to him.

“I would burn worlds for you.” 

He watched as her expression softened before her walls came back up and her signature scowl returned. “Oh fuck you Rogers. You can’t just say stuff like that.” She huffed, turning away from him, obviously pouting.

“And why not?” He teased, yanking her back to him.

“How the fuck am I supposed to compete with ‘I would burn worlds for you’?” She dropped her voice down in an obvious if not terrible imitation of him. Steve laughed heartily, planting a loving kiss to the top of her head.

“I can think of a few ways.” He replied cheekily, cupping his growling bulge. Y/N glared at him playfully and slipped off the couch to kneel before him. Her face was coloured with determination as she pulled down the silver zipper and freed his cock from his boxers. “I’m gonna suck the soul outta you.” And she did just that.

Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff

@alexxavicry

@ravenwings73

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@silverfire475

@psychadelichues

@mvyalx

@km-ffluv

All Marvel

@lokiandbuckysdoll

@andreasworlsboring101

@pretty-npeach

Steve Rogers 

@minervadashwood

@raajali3

@honkytonkbabe

@nini-trash-forever

@itsbqueenthings

@lovelytricia

@mandyzsick101

@galaxydj654

@blasianbitch

1000 Follower Celebration

@pretty-npeach

@raajali3

@itsbqueenthings

@mandyzsick101

@galaxydj654

@theweepingvulcan91

[smalls-words]

Chapter One: Have We Had Sex?

Summary: Your job leads to one hell of a woman.

Pairings: Detective!Fem!Reader x Detective!Steve Rogers (separating co-parents), Mama!Reader x Margaret "Peggy" Rogers, Reader x Natasha Romanoff (friends atm), Natasha x Wanda (platonic), Natasha x Delilah (friends), Natasha x Yelena (sisters).

Warnings: Demons and Angels, murder, blood, sexual suggestion (no smut), Natasha is a rich smug woman, lots of biblical references.

A/N: I'm really excited to be writing this. Lucifer is one of my favourite TV shows.

Series Masterlist

*not my gif*

The wind in her hair as she cruised down the highway was just one part of her thrilling night ahead. She idly sent the car around the corner, following the massive line outside of the bar before the engine shut off and she threw the keys to the valet at the front door.

"Hey, boss." He greeted her as he caught the keys.

She stepped in to hear Fame by David Bowie playing in the background, briefly admiring the dancers on their platforms whilst a waitress handed her a drink. Her hand curved around the condensating glass effortlessly, as if it was a skill practised for centuries.The dark navy suit curved around her body, a shimmering silver dress shirt matching her multiple piercings whilst a few tattoos covered her wrist and peaked up at the back of her neck, slightly hidden by her bob of fiery red locks.

A few moments were taken at the top of the stairs, looking down onto the main floor of the club before making her way down the set of stairs. Many glances were both given and received by passersby, many of them being women in skin-tight dresses with shoulder straps so thin she could tear them with her teeth.

She was also sure many of them would enjoy it.

As she spotted her target, she approached the turned-away brunette but could still see her face in her mirror's reflection whilst she cleaned a glass in hand. "Where have you been?" Her Romani body was held beautifully and scandalously in the top that exposed quite a bit of cleavage, her jeans hidden by the bar.

The boss smirked at her reflection. "Oh, holed up in a château, copulating with a young woman named Faith. It's ironic, isn't it?"

The brunette looked down. "Thank you, Patrick. You can go."

A gleeful young man stood up and licked his lips clean before leaving the two to chat.

"You little devil." Her boss smirked knowingly.

The sexy Romani grinned mischievously. "What? I dropped something."

"Well, I'm sure you did."

"Now, Natasha, I am a big fan of sex."

"Obviously." She nodded.

"But I didn't leave Hell to be a bartender. Shouldn't you be spending your valuable time doing something more... significant? You're the queen of Hell, for crying out loud."

"I am retired, Wanda. I've got nothing but time. Thank you." Natasha gestured to her empty glass before Wanda began to refill it.

But then, the pour of the bottle began to slow. The music slowed, the people slowed. Natasha and Wanda looked at each other, an annoyed look in the redhead's eyes whilst the brunette seemed a mixture of worry and alert.

Natasha took the two drinks Wanda had poured before heading over, smirking at the blonde as she emerged from the smoke and shadows.

"Yelena, how's it hanging, little sis? Huh?" She asked, holding one drink in either hand.

"Your return to the Underworld has been requested." Yelena stated rather formally.

Natasha put down both drinks and began her theatrics, knowing they'd piss her off. "Oh, right, okay. Let me just, uh, check my calendar. Yeah, here it is. Uh, the 7th of never through to the 15th of ain't-gonna-happen. How does that work for you guys?"

The stare Natasha received would have killed her within a blink of an eye if Yelena's special ability was a death stare. "Look, remind Dad that I quit Hell because I was sick and tired of playing a part in his play."

"I'm gonna warn you against disrespecting our father, Natasha." Yelena grumbled.

Natasha took a sip of her drink before she scoffed. "Yeah, well, our father's been disrespecting me since the beginning of time, so pot-kettle, don't you think?"

Yelena sighed loudly. "You are a mockery of everything divine."

Natasha's expression sank into one of gratefulness, her hand falling over her heart. "Thank you. Thank you, but lately I've been doing a fair amount of thinking. Now, do you think I'm the Devil because I'm inherently evil, just because dear old Dad decided I was?"

Yelena took a step towards Natasha. "What exactly do you think happens when the Devil leaves Hell?"

Just as Natasha scoffed, Yelena placed her hands firmly on her sister's shoulders. "All of those demons, all of those tormented and tortured souls, where do you think they go?"

Natasha knocked Yelena's hands off of her, meeting her face just inches away. "Don't know, don't care. Not my problem, sister. So consider the position officially open. And you, my feathered friend, can go to Hell."

In a blink, Yelena's dark grey wing-tip was held underneath Natasha's throat, ancient steel fused at its tips. But Natasha didn't flinch, no - instead, she chuckled. "Yeah, try it. You think Father's upset now."

Yelena stepped back, her wings neutral as they rested behind her, a small chuckle coming from her too. "You know, he will not be merciful for much longer."

And with that, Yelena left just as quickly as she came. The world began to return to normal speed, bustling patrons and staff whilst Natasha decided to get some air. There were few things in the world that could rattle her, and as much as she loved her, Yelena was one of them.

So Natasha stood outside, spinning a coin in her hand, still thinking about her conversation with Yelena, when a taxi slowed to a stop in front of Lux. The rear window rolled down and a beautiful hot mess appeared.

"Hey, you. Remember me?" She asked.

Of course Natasha knew who she was - she prided herself on knowing everyone in LA - but she also prided herself on being the flirtiest and most teasing. "You're famous, aren't you? Delilah, isn't it? Can I have your autograph?"

Shouts of "I love you, Delilah!" came from the line behind Natasha as well as other people walking past, many already taking flash photos.

Delilah chuckled at Natasha's quip. "If I can have a drink."

So, Natasha led her inside and got her a drink, clearing out a booth with a single stare so the two could sit.

"So are you gonna tell me why you really came back?" Natasha smirked.

Delilah sighed. "There's something I need to know."

"And what's that?"

"Did I... sell my soul to the Devil with you?"

"Well, that would imply the Devil's actually interested in your soul." Natasha quipped before she recognised Delilah's worry. "Look, all I did was introduce you to a few key people who owed me favours, that's all."

"I mean, with all the good came a hell of a lot of bad." Delilah commented.

"Oh, right, so the Devil made you do it, did he? The alcohol and the drugs, the topless selfies. The choices are on you, my dear. I mean, Jimmy Barnes?" Natasha scoffed. "I can't believe you almost married that sweaty little imp."

Delilah rolled her eyes as she tried to gain back some dignity. "He produced my album. You introduced me to him."

"I suggested you work with him, not sleep with him. Besides, I bet he's a shit lay."

"Well, I... got confused."

"And then you left him at the altar."

Delilah sighed. "Yeah, that was rude of me."

"No, actually, I quite enjoyed that bit." Natasha chuckled, to which Delilah joined her.

"You know, he trapped me in the bathroom at the Grammys, said he wanted to get back together. Then I hear he's marrying a supermodel - this weekend. And I'm jealous. Oh, God, I'm a mess." The blonde's head fell into her hands before Natasha took it out of them by a gentle grip on her neck.

"God has nothing to do with your mess. Look... You didn't sell your soul, Delilah. You do owe me a favour though."

"I'm scared." The shy pop star admitted.

Natasha nodded with understanding eyes. "You should be. Because what I'm about to ask you is gonna be quite difficult for you." She paused to watch Delilah's fearful reaction. "Pull yourself together. That's it, that's all I'm asking. 'Cause you're wasting your talent, your life. Hmm? What do you say?"

Natasha led a tired and drunk Delilah out of her club, keeping her steady as they walked into the brisk evening chill. Delilah slowly brought them to a stop, Natasha's eyes falling onto her.

"I'm gonna do as you asked. I'm gonna get it together. Promise, Natasha." Delilah nodded.

Natasha sighed regrettably. "Look, it's not about me. What happens now, that's up to you. Okay? Now come here, you." She hugged her.

Tires squealed to a stop before two bullets hit Natasha and three hit Delilah, the glass shattering from the other three. Natasha fell to the ground and Delilah collapsed next to her, the redhead's eyes shutting slowly.

But when they opened to a car crash in front of her, she checked over Delilah and her heart sank to find no pulse at her neck. She stood, anger fueling her, and stormed over to the wrecked car.

"Oh, no, no, no, not yet." She growled, shaking the guy awake before bringing his head towards hers. "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry." The guy whimpered.

"'Sorry?' Why did you end her life?"

"Why else? Money."

"'Money.'" Natasha scoffed. "Oh, it's times like this I wish I was still in Hell. All the fun activities I'd have planned for you."

"Hey, girl, I just pulled the trigger."

Natasha watched as the light of his soul faded from his eyes, drifting off into what she hoped was her old domain. She silently prayed for some of her best demons to torture him before she pulled out her phone and called the police, staying by Delilah's side even as her blood stained the glass shards around her corpse.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

А full-blown crime scene formed within half an hour. Helicopters spun as police swarmed the crime scene. Delilah's body was put in a bag and slotted gently into the back of the coroner's van as an unmarked cop car pulled up. Out hopped LAPD homicide detective, Y/N Valeria - a beautiful woman, but one that downplays it on purpose. She's smart, cold and direct, as shown when she immediately moves towards the dead drug dealer.

Another plain-clothed detective walked up from the other direction, the badge on his hip reading Detective Steve Rogers. "Want to hear what I've got so far?" He asked cockily.

You huffed as Steve's grainy voice annoyed your brain. "Lieutenant said this is my case."

"Yeah, Y/N, it is your case, but try not to take too much time. It's an easy one. That's our bad guy, Eddie Deacon, he's a low-level drug dealer. I found these in his pocket, and I found this in Delilah's purse, so obviously drug-related. She probably owed him a bunch of cash or something - she's not exactly selling out stadiums these days."

"How do you know he's low-level?" You questioned.

"Look at his car." Steve chuckled.

"Did you look at his watch? That thing ain't cheap." You replied.

"It's probably fake. Look... there's gonna be a lot of attention on this one, Y/N. I wouldn't pick at it too hard. Not after Palmetto Street."

Steve watched your eyes darken as you folded your arms. "I asked for this case because of Palmetto Street, Steve. So, are there any witnesses?"

The tension between you both was enough to almost see, just like heat rising from the tar of a hot road. Steve eventually pointed you inside and you walked into the club, noticing other cops questioning possible suspects whilst a medical officer was checking up on the club owner.

You decided to talk to her.

You really shouldn't have.

"Natasha Romanoff." She greeted you.

"'Natasha Romanoff'? Is that, uh, a stage name or something?" You questioned.

She simply chuckled. "God-given, I'm afraid. You know, you look familiar. Have we met before?"

You paused for a few seconds, processing the odd question. "Yeah, five minutes ago. And I'm asking the questions here. Talk to me about your relationship with the victim."

Natasha sighed as she stopped playing the piano to have a drink. Her mind instantly drifted towards what she would do with you given half a chance, and with her special ability, she knew she had more than that. "Well, she used to work here a few years back. I would occasionally accompany her while she sang. Then she became a big star and someone decided to end her life." She ended bitterly.

"Do you know the shooter?" You asked quickly, writing down brief dot points in your notepad.

Natasha shook her head. "No, but we did have an interesting little chat just before he kicked off. I asked him why he did it." She clarified when your brows furrowed cutely.

"Huh, like to play cop, do you?" You snickered, causing Natasha to laugh at the comment.

"No, I just like to play in general, Detective. What about you?"

*Christ, Y/N, get control of this questioning.* You thought to yourself before you spoke again. "I see. Did he tell you why he did it?"

"Why, money, of course. You humans, you love your money, don't you?" Natasha smirked as she took another sip of something you thought could only be whiskey, tequila or bourbon.

"Yes. Yes, we do. And, uh, what planet are you from... Russia?" You quipped, but you didn't expect a chuckle from it.

"Yes. He also said, 'I just pulled the trigger.' Now, don't you think that's interesting?" Natasha added.

You hesitated, but then decided to continue the questioning with this strange woman. "Delilah was shot to death by a drug dealer. And looks like Delilah herself kept the guy pretty busy. You know, it's sad, it's ugly, but it's not rocket science. Something probably went south between them. She gets riddled with bullets, and a nice little act of God takes him out."

The redhead shook her head in dismay. "You know, it doesn't work like that, Detective. It's quite a neatly wrapped little present for the LAPD, don't you think?"

You led the conversation down another path, hoping to get answers for the questions asked by the other cops to you. "Why don't you tell me something? How does she end up dying in a hailstorm of bullets and you get away without a scratch? I think that's interesting, don't you?"

Natasha simply smiled at you. "The benefits of immortality."

*This girl has to be crazy.* Your thoughts grumbled as you continued talking. "'Immortality.' Mm, of course, uh, you spell that with one or two M's? I always forget."

"What will your corrupt little organisation do about this?"

At the bold question, your notepad slapped down to shut. "Excuse me?"

Natasha sighed before clarifying. "Will you find the person responsible? Will they be punished? Will this be a priority for you? Because it is for me. She was my friend."

You scoffed as you tucked away your notepad and pen, folding your arms. "You got some balls on you, woman."

"Oh, thank you very much, but they're really quite average." Natasha grinned.

"I bet." You grumbled.

"Now, are you sure that we haven't met? I could swear I've seen you naked- have we had sex?" Natasha asked, pushing you over the line.

"We're done here."

You walked around the piano before Natasha took your wrist, her voice faltered by the slight flinch and the tinge of fear hiding beneath your storming anger. "Uh, Detective, wait. Someone out there needs to be punished. We're not done!"

You ripped your wrist out of her grip. "Yeah. Yeah, we are." You growled.

*I hope I never see her face again.* Your mind mumbled as you got into your car and headed back to the station.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

"You have got to be kidding me." You muttered under your breath, the sight of Natasha standing with 2Vile enough to make you regret waking up.

"LAPD, guns down. On the floor, down." You ordered, the butler beside you as an idea popped into your head.

"Detective, welcome to the party." Natasha grinned at you but you ignored her gazing eyes.

"Grab the bucket, collect the guns. Now." You looked once at the butler.

"You sly fox, you did listen to me." Natasha continued.

You shook your head, lowering your gun once the bucket of guns was by your feet. "I ran the dead guy's cell phone. 2Vile was the last person he called. What I find highly interesting is how you made the connection on your own."

"Well, I've been busy, my dear." The redhead smirked.

You looked at 2Vile. "Why did you call the shooter two days before she was murdered?"

He huffed before confessing. "Fine. Yeah, I called Eddie 'cause he hooks me up sometimes. He met Delilah through me. Whatever. Don't make me a killer, do it?"

"No, but it does make you a suspect." You gave him a fake smile.

"Wait, aren't you that chick from that film?" The man standing beside the rapper pointed at you.

"Hmm, what's this? What film?" Natasha faced you, intrigued.

"You used to be an actress or something, right?" The man asked again.

"Yeah." You sighed.

"That teen movie... I forget what it's called."

You watched as Natasha had an epiphany. "Of course. Hot Tub High School. That's where I know you from."

You felt the conversation spiral out of your control quickly. "Let's just stick to my questions, shall we? So-"

"The one with the famous nude scene, coming out of the hot tub! It was, like, a complete Fast Times rip-off. She was, like, the new Phoebe Cates!"

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"That was quite a nude scene." Natasha grinned widely at you, her tongue briefly coming out to wet her lips before her teeth dragged over her bottom lip.

Your short fuse burst at her. "I have far too many bullets in this thing for you to still be talking. You, we need to have a conversation right now." You pointed at 2Vile.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "That's a waste of time, Detective. I've just threatened his life, he's not our guy. He would've said, trust me."

Your eyes widened. "You did what?"

"Yeah, isn't that illegal?" 2Vile looked at you hopefully.

"Uh, little bit, yeah. You stay put. You, you're coming with me." You grabbed your cuffs and Natasha's arms, locking them into place as you led her outside to your car.

"I'm not quite sure why I'm being arrested." She asked.

"Because you're interfering with a police investigation, you've broken I can't even count how many laws, and you pissed me off." You ranted, opening the car door and gesturing for her to get in.

"Right. I can get out of these, you know?"

"Funny." You chuckled, which was shortly cut off by the sight of the open cuffs in Natasha's hands. "How'd you do that?"

She sighed at you. "Come on, we're wasting time. We should be out there solving a homicide and punishing those responsible."

"'We'? You're insane. I'm taking you in. Get in the car."

"No, that's boring. Not to mention pointless." Natasha whined. "Come on, I'll help you. It'll be fun."

"How could you possibly help me?" You leaned on the open car door, tempted to zone out and ignore everything she says.

"I have a certain skill set. I can be very persuasive with people and tend to see things that others cannot."

You tried to register her cryptic words. "So, you're psychic or something?"

Natasha chuckled. "No, I can't read people's minds, I'm not a Jedi. People just like to tell me things."

"Hmm, just-just tell you things? Just confess their sins, just like that?"

Now Natasha was annoyed at your semantics. "No, not their sins. I have no power over people's sins- I actually get a bad rap for that. I have the ability to draw out people's forbidden desires. The more simple the human, the easier it is. The more complex, the more challenging and exciting, really. But no, the actual sins, the sins are on you people."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the look making Natasha's body react accordingly. "'You people'?" You scoffed - you weren't a freaking alien, or a robot as far as you knew.

She sighed. "Okay, look. Tell me, Detective, what do you desire more than anything else in this life?" Her eyes fell onto yours, her green eyes almost sparkling in the sunlight.

"This is it? This is your big trick?" You asked, to which she nodded.

You analysed the green irises, taking note of the way that some brighter and darker lines slashed towards the pupil in a daring and almost charming way. "I guess, when I was a little girl, I... always wanted to help people and... and be taken seriously... when I say to shut up and get in the damn car."

Your grin spread as Natasha's fell. "You're not a Jedi or something, are you?" She asked.

"Get in the car." You grumbled.

"No, no, no, no, no. Look. I know something you don't know."

Your eyebrow rose and Natasha almost wanted to get rid of it right then and there. "Really? What's that?"

"Won't say unless you take me with you on this." She smirked, but it faded as your posture didn't change. "Please, come on. I got to 2Vile, didn't I?"

"Why do you care about this so much? About Delilah?"

"Look, I just... I just do. If I hadn't meddled with her career, maybe she wouldn't have died."

"Okay. Okay, fine. But if this little clue thing of yours doesn't pan out, these are going back on, and they're gonna stay on." You held up the pair of cuffs in your hand.

"Is that a promise?" Natasha grinned, to which you nodded wryly and pushed her towards the door.

As you drove to Beverly Hills, you could feel Natasha's gaze on you. It felt both familiar and different - the familiarity of a man's horny stare whilst the difference of admiration instead of lust.

You answered the call on your earpiece, waiting for the office on the other side. "Yeah, therapist in Beverly Hills with the first name Katherine. See if Delilah was a client."

"Ah-ah, actually, she had a pseudonym, which I also happen to know. I'm quite good at this, aren't I? Uh, Penny Lane." Natasha gave you the information.

"Okay. Delilah may have gone by Penny Lane. Thanks." You ended the call, looking into your rear-view mirror to see Natasha looking back at you. "Don't look so smug. Nothing's panned out yet."

"No, no, no, it's not that. It's just that I knew that I recognised you."

"Right, you've seen my boobies. It's exciting. What are you, 12?" You grumbled.

"So is the movie why you've got such a chip on your shoulder?" She asked suddenly.

"Uh, it's low on the list of things I have to live down, I guess."

"Right. Attractive female cop struggling to be taken seriously in a man's world, is that it?"

"Yeah, something like that." You shrugged.

Natasha scoffed, but for some reason, you felt it wasn't towards you. "Well, they're threatened. You're clearly smart and have notable instincts. Ignore them. Trust yourself."

You looked back up at the woman when you felt her eyes fall away from you, almost willing to thank her for the compliment - although, you weren't quite sure if anything out of her mouth was truthful.

Your phone rang and you pressed the earpiece to answer. "Detective Valeria. All right, text it to me. Thanks."

"What's that?" Natasha asked when you finished.

"What you were saying stands up. There's a Penny Lane who sees a Dr. Katherine Bishop in Beverly Hills."

Now you could add one truthful statement to her name.

"Excellent. I'll clear my schedule." Your phone rang again, surprising Natasha. "Ooh, someone's popular."

You huffed. "Please stop talking. Hello. What? You're kidding me. Is she okay? Oh, of course he's not there. Thanks." You ended the call, feeling almost itchy as Natasha looked at you again.

"We have to make a pit stop."

"What? No, absolutely not." She argued.

"My kid got into a fight. I got to pick her up." You shot back.

"What, can't she get herself home?" Natasha grumbled, the sound odd coming from her lips.

"She's seven." You scoffed.

You then shut her up by taking the corner sharply, as well as the added harsh braking when you stopped outside of the primary school. "All right. Wait here."

"With pleasure. I despise children." She mumbled as you left the car.

However, she soon left it at the sight of a pretty MILF-y thing walking past in a pencil skirt and white blouse. She followed her inside, hoping to take it further than third base, but after losing sight of her, Natasha sat down on the bench and pulled out a cigarette.

"I don't think you're allowed to smoke in here." A childish voice came to her right, and surprise surprise, it was a child.

Her blonde wavy locks and blue eyes stared at her whilst her two front teeth were missing. A pair of blue leggings matched with her blue and red shoes whilst a grey zip-up hoodie covered her red shirt underneath. Her small pink backpack sat just behind her, the straps still over her shoulders.

"Oh dear, what will become of me?" She asked sarcastically, going to light the end.

"My mother is a police officer. She could arrest you."

At the child's words, Natasha snapped the lid of her lighter shut. "I think I might know your mother."

"What's your name?" The child asked.

"Natasha. What's yours?"

"My name's Margaret, but everybody calls me Peggy." She replied, her missing teeth causing a slight lisp.

"That's a hooker's name." Natasha blurted.

"What's a hooker?" Peggy asked curiously.

She froze slightly. "Ask your mother. So... why are you in trouble?"

"See that girl over there?" Peggy pointed to a girl sitting across the hall, most likely a pre-teen. "She was bullying me. She created a fake Snapchat account and used it to make fun of me. So... I kicked her in the no-no-touch-touch square."

For clarification, Peggy pointed at Natasha's private parts. "Oh. Oh, I see. Well played. Well played, indeed."

As the school bell rang, Natasha watched as you came out of the office and took Peggy's small hand in yours. But then, at the front of the school, you came to a stop. Natasha analysed the blonde man in the beige-on-beige suit, designating him a douchebag.

"Hi, Daddy." Peggy smiled at him.

"Hi, munchkin." He smiled back.

"Wow, shocker, you're late." You bickered.

"Come on, give me a break. I'm putting a case to bed." He replied, and Natasha watched as Peggy blocked her ears with her tiny fingers.

"Right, like I'm not working a case, too. Oh, yeah, the one you tried to steal from me." You shot back, your hand coming to soothingly brush your fingers through Peggy's hair.

"You mean the open and shut one. You did open and shut it, right?" He questioned arrogantly.

"I'm being diligent, Steve. It's a high-profile case."

"Exactly, which is why you need to be smart about it."

"She is smart. You're the dimwit." Natasha commented, watching Steve look between herself and you, almost like you should be defending him. "Perhaps you should refrain from arguing in front of the child. It's unbecoming."

"I don't know whether to laugh or to shoot you." Steve scoffed, stepping up to Natasha intimidatingly.

"Surprise me." She smirked.

"Isn't she funny, Daddy?" Peggy beamed.

You looked at Steve as he stepped back from Natasha. "Hey, can you drop Pegs at my mom's? We have to go. Thank you."

You knelt down to Peggy's level. "Peggy baby, give Mama a kiss. I love you so much. Good job standing up to the mean girl."

"Thanks, Mama. What's a hooker?" She asked.

You looked up at Natasha, who was looking anywhere but your eyes, and then a grin came to your lips. "Daddy will tell you."

You watched Peggy take Steve's hand. "Bye, Natasha! It was nice meeting you!"

Your hands rested on your belt. "Hmm. I think she likes you."

"Of course she does. What's not to like?" Natasha quipped.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

You sat patiently outside of the therapist's office, the name Dr. Katherine Bishop slid into place on the door's label whilst a bunch of certifications were abbreviated underneath in small writing.

"Was your offspring planned or a mistake?"

Natasha's question shocked you as she sat down on your left. "Planned. Sort of."

"Really? 'Cause I've never understood the human desire to procreate."

"That's probably a good thing." You mumbled.

"I mean, children are hideous little creatures, terrible, taxing burdens." She sipped on the coffee in her hand, as black as possible. "Oh, yours is fine. I mean, nothing to crow about, but nothing to be too embarrassed about either, so that's quite good, isn't it?" She corrected herself.

"Are you at all aware of how dickish you sound?" You asked annoyedly.

"No. Speaking of dicks... Why was that ex-husband of yours pressuring you to close the case?" Natasha leaned in close to you, the distance letting you see those narrow lines of bright and dark.

"No reason." You replied cautiously.

"Strange." The redhead murmured.

"Yes, you are." You grumbled.

"Did my father send you?" She asked.

As you were about to answer, the door opened and the noirette therapist smiled at you both. "Okay, Detectives, I'll see you now."

"Thank you." You slid your phone into your pocket and readjusted your badge and gun.

"Oh. 'Detectives.' Exciting."

You ignored Natasha's comment.

"Dr. Bishop, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Delilah." You began, but watched as her eyes drifted to Natasha, almost hungrily.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" The redhead asked.

"What?"

"Yes, I wouldn't recommend it. I'm like walking heroin. Very habit-forming. It never ends well." She sank into the back of the couch.

"I'm sorry, do... Do you two know each other?" You questioned, watching how Katherine struggled to look at you whilst Natasha was in the room.

"No, no, but I know that look."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Katherine tried to deny it.

"That is interesting because... you don't look at me that way." Natasha turned to you.

"What way?" You asked, now extremely annoyed.

"With carnal fascination." She clarified.

"That's 'cause it doesn't exist." You scoffed.

Natasha sighed. "No, you see, that's just it. With most women, it does. I tend to appeal to the dark, mischievous hearts in all of you, but you, Detective, you seem oddly immune to my charms."

"Referring to them as 'charms' is a bit of a stretch. Truth be told, I find you repulsive. Like, on a chemical level." You commented.

"That's fascinating. Now, tell me, Katherine-"

"You say it's fascinating, and yet I can see that it disturbs you, doesn't it?" The therapist asked with a soft tone.

"Dr. Bishop-"

"Kate is just fine." She corrected you.

"Okay. Kate, we know that Delilah was having a clandestine affair with a wealthy married man, so if you just tell us his name, we will be on our way." You smiled shortly, your patience running out with every second Natasha was sitting with her thigh against yours.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." She replied calmly.

"Oh, she's one of the complex ones." Natasha whispered in your ear, her breath tickling you. "Katie, darling, why don't you tell me? Hmm?"

You watched the incredibly disturbing interaction of a mess of giggles coming from Kate whilst Natasha tried to coax the answer out of her. "What did you do to her? Did you roofie her?" You asked angrily.

"Oh, no, it's not her fault. She's just reacting to me. Just watch and learn, okay?" Natasha told you, patting your thigh twice before turning back to Kate. "Right, the answer is yes, we can take a trip to Pound Town if we must, but first, you're gonna have to tell us, Katie, okay?"

You almost gagged at Kate's moans. "Okay... It's Grey Cooper."

"Grey Cooper? Seriously? That is juicy." You agreed.

"Grey Cooper, the actor? The one who's married to Amanda what's-her-chops?" Natasha asked for clarification, to which you gave a nod. "Oh, no, he's horrible. So square-jawed, so handsome, so vanilla. Oh, I'm really quite disappointed in Delilah. That's truly terrible taste in the opposite sex."

"Thank you very much, Dr. Bishop. We'll be in touch. All right, we got to go." You stood up.

Natasha took your wrist gently. "Yes, of course, but I... I made a deal, so I'm gonna have to hold up my end of the bargain. You wouldn't mind waiting outside?"

Your eyes widened slightly. "Are you seriously talking about having sex with her right now?"

"Well, it won't take long." Natasha shrugged.

"I do yoga. Hot... yoga. I'm freakishly flexible. Want to see?" Kate suggested sultrily to Natasha.

You walked towards the door, looking at Natasha impatiently whilst your back was turned to Kate.

The redhead sighed. "Uh, look, I'm really sorry, but I'm gonna have to take a rain check. I will be back, okay?"

"I certainly hope so." Kate mumbled.

"My word is my bond." Natasha gave her a flashing smirk before she left with you.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

After interviewing Grey Cooper, the most boring man on earth according to Natasha, you were stumped. Natasha had given you directions to Lux and the two of you sat, a drink in her hand whilst you stirred your straw in a club soda.

"Thanks." You muttered to the officer on the other end of the call, hanging up after.

Natasha's eyes on you had an expecting hold, but she never rushed you. Her suit jacket sat on the back of her chair whilst her white dress shirt covered her arms and torso. She was nursing a plain vodka drink and you kept your eyes away from her as long as possible.

"So, Grey and Amanda have zero connection to the shooter. But the shooter had the same watch as Grey. That can't be a coincidence. Maybe Delilah gave him one, too, like kind of a go-to gift? I..."

Natasha didn't like seeing you distressed like this. If you were distressed, you would get annoyed and angry with her charms. "Well, that would imply she was actually sleeping with that maggot."

You chuckled. "Really? Jimmy, 2Vile, Grey Cooper. That's three other maggots she's sleeping with. I don't think there's a lot of discretion going on with her."

"Yeah. I suppose you got a point." She sighed, watching you down the whole soda.

"God, what am I doing here?" You mumbled.

"Wrong deity, but, yes, that is the eternal question." Natasha smirked, making you chuckle.

"No. I mean here, in a bar, with you."

"Well, I don't know. You tell me, Detective. I mean, despite your proclaimed revulsion, you can't deny that there's a connection between us. Tell me, what do you actually want?"

"You mean, 'what do I desire more than anything else in this life'?" You teased, mocking her slightly.

"Yes. But no tricks. Not that they work on you, you freak." Natasha snickered, observing the small smile she'd brought to your glum expression. "But seriously, I'm curious."

You sighed. "I don't know. What I told you is true. I really do want to help people. My father was a cop. He was a great cop. My mother was an actress. Really cheesy one. I tried the acting thing, I took off my top. Wasn't really contributing to the betterment of society."

"I disagree. I love that movie." Natasha grinned.

You smirked slightly. "So I quit. Decided to become a cop like my dad and, uh, dealt with the whole Hot Tub High School thing, until I became a detective and found a whole new way to ostracise myself."

"Ah, the... reason your ex-maggot was pressuring you to close this case?" Natasha queried.

You nodded. "Yeah. Exactly. There was a case, a shooting on Palmetto Street where a cop was shot, and I saw it differently than pretty much everyone in my department, including my ex. I stuck my neck out, and it backfired. And, uh, now... no one wants to work with me." Your head tilted back in annoyance, but mostly guilt and shame on yourself - something Natasha could easily see.

"Well, I'm available." She shrugged.

"Too bad your little protégé isn't around to collect the check." Wanda commented as the TV ran above the bar, your eyes drifting to it before they shot to Natasha, her eyes coming to yours too.

"Of course. Delilah didn't give that watch to the drug dealer."

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

Natasha sat in the passenger seat of your car as the sirens wailed above her, your control over the vehicle incredibly enticing for her. As you slammed your car door shut, Natasha watched you check over your gun and its magazine in particular.

"What's that for?" She asked you as you pocketed it in the back of your jeans.

"In case Jimmy goes Neutron." You answered sarcastically.

You opened the door and followed Natasha into the recording room, keeping your face neutral as Natasha stood in front of you, her jacket doing a good job of hiding most of you.

"Hello, Jimmy. How's the album sales doing?" She stared at him.

"What album?" He asked.

"Soundtrack to Time Will Tell, which you produced." You clarified, walking around Natasha. "Whitney Houston hit the top ten for album sales after her death. Michael Jackson hit the stratosphere. Not sure you'll achieve such heights having Delilah killed, but that sure is a boatload of royalty checks headed your way. Guess you really needed the cash, huh? Which is why you had to pay the shooter with your watch."

Natasha watched Jimmy's smug grin fall into one of fear - the fear of being found guilty. "The watch Delilah gave you. Now, that's just sick. But then you are, so... seems fitting to me."

Jimmy pulled out a gun from his back pocket and Natasha realised what you meant earlier as your own aimed right at his chest. "Hey, Jimmy? Calm down, you don't have to hurt him too."

"I made her, and she ruined me. She humiliated me, she owes me!" He snapped, holding the young singer's temple to his gun.

"You're not God, Jimmy. You didn't make her. But you did destroy her. So I'm gonna punish you." Natasha promised, walking towards him ever so slowly.

"You back off, you freak. I mean it. I am not going to jail for that bitch. No chance."

"Listen to him, Natasha. Back off." You ordered, but the woman didn't.

"I told you, it's fine. I'm immortal." She rolled her eyes - how had you not understood that yet?

But she couldn't get close enough, because when Jimmy's gun trained onto her temple you shot him straight in the chest.

"Why did you do that?!" Natasha growled at you in complaint as the singer ran off.

"He was going to kill you." You scoffed.

"No, no, no, no, no, no. You just... you just let him off too easy. He needs to pay! He needs to suffer! He needs to feel the pain, not escape it!" Natasha snapped, watching fear creep into your irises from around your steeled expression.

"Don't worry. I'm sure where he's going, the pain's coming."

"No, it's not, actually. And you know why? Because I'm here and he's-"

Two harsh thuds reverberated to your inner ears as you fell back from the concussive force of two bullets. You looked down at your shoulder and gasped at the immense pain that came with moving your arm. Any movement at all hurt like a bitch, so you simply let your arm go limp onto the carpet.

"Y/N..." Natasha murmured, your eyes focusing onto her instead of the ceiling, your body focusing on her warm hand holding your cheek instead of the searing pain in your shoulder.

"I... I don't want to die." You whimpered weakly.

"I won't let you, malyshka. Your father will just have to wait for you." She quipped softly.

Your blurred vision watched Natasha stand over Jimmy and snatch the gun out of his grip, but you weren't sure where all of the bullets in Jimmy's gun went. He'd aimed them at Natasha, but she made no move to buckle in pain, not even a flinch.

Natasha ripped him off of the floor and smashed the back of his head against the glass. "Please don't kill me. Please, please, please..." He begged, but this was not like your pain-filled one - this was the one of a weak man too scared to face his punishment.

"Oh, Jimmy." She turned him around, holding him still within her constricting grip.

"You're going to wish that's all I did to you."

Jimmy screamed as he saw her reflection, dark orange eyes staring back whilst freshly burned skin covered her head. Natasha knocked him out and cuffed him with your pair of cuffs, looking up to see some paramedics rushing towards your unconscious body.

⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖⧖

*This world is too damn bright.* Your first thought floated around in your mind as you slowly opened your eyes. Two bunches of flowers, one some lovely purple lilies and the other lively sunflowers, rested in the sun on your bedside table.

"Well, look who's back." Natasha smirked as your eyes fell onto her.

She was wearing a beautiful red jacket with a set of dark blue jeans, one of two black boots resting on her other knee.

"How long have I been out?" You asked weakly.

She leaned forward onto your bed's railing. "Five years." She sighed regretfully.

Your eyes widened. Had it been five years? Where was Peggy? Was Steve looking after her? What about your mom?

Natasha's chuckle eventually stopped your thoughts as her hand took yours. "I'm joking, malyshka. It's 2pm."

"You're such an ass." You grumbled.

"Why thank you." She grinned.

You looked her up and down. Her hair hung beautifully down her face whilst her chest seemed alright, no damage to her arms and legs as far as you could see. "Oh, God. He was firing at you. How are you not... more dead?"

"You're having a very hard time with this immortal thing, aren't you?" She shook her head lightly.

You sighed at her antics, pausing for a moment. "What, uh... What happened with Jimmy?"

"Jimmy... Jimmy got what he deserved." She commented, watching you shuffle over on the bed.

"Well, I'm pretty sure I would be dead if you didn't help me, so thank you."

"I'm sorry, what was that last bit? I didn't quite catch it." She teased.

You shook your head as a small smile grew, your hand gently pressing on her shoulder. "Thank you, Natasha."

"You're welcome. And besides, you're far too interesting to let die." She grinned as she leaned back in her chair.

"You saved my life because I'm interesting?" You scoffed.

"Wildly irritating as well, but yes." She teased.

You chuckled through your nose a few times before your head came to rest back on the pillow. "So what now?"

"Well, I mean, I've obviously proven myself to be an invaluable crime-fighting tool. You're a pariah in the department. I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship, don't you?" She stood and grabbed her things.

"Who the hell are you?" You questioned wondrously.

She sighed. "I told you, I'm-"

"Natasha!"

You smiled at the little blonde as she tackled Natasha's leg into a hug, smirking as the redhead's arms raised. "Ah, yes, hello child. Um, just... Why don't you save some of this unpleasantness for your mother, yeah?"

Natasha easily picked up Peggy and roughly laid her on top of you, your painful chest letting out an 'oof' at the impact. "Oh, did that hurt?"

You glared at her playfully before Peggy snatched your attention. "Are you hurt, Mama?"

"I'm okay." You assured her, holding her close and running your fingers through her hair.

"Right. Well, I'd stay for the family reunion, but it's giving me terrible IBS. So, look forward to seeing you soon, Y/N." Natasha smiled as she held the door frame.

"I don't." You waved goodbye.

"Bye, now. Glad you're not dead."

You rolled your eyes as Natasha left, kissing Peggy on the forehead before you both fell asleep.

[melancholyshadow]

sunday’s with a solider || b. barnes

part one 

summary: after a good date with bucky, (y/n) figures out who she’s really getting involved with. 

pairing: bucky barnes x female!librarian!reader 

warnings: kissing (??), swearing

an: im honestly speechless, the first part of this series has 150+ notes! i’m so happy you guys liked it! i’m debating on make this a three or a four-part series, please let me know what you think, but there will definitely be at least another part. one of the next, or the next, will include some spice, if you know what i mean. and who do y’all want me to write about next? im thinking mr. steve rogers. 

tags: @biixlv​

“Please tell me you’re a booth person and not a table person.” You chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Uh, yeah.” He laughed and rolled his eyes at you. He began walking towards one of the booths. You followed happily behind him, scooting into the opposite side of the booth. He pulled off his hat and both his gloves, setting them on the seat next to him. You propped your head on the palm of your hands, stopping yourself from looking at his metal hand, you weren’t even sure if it was metal.

The diner was one that had been in this town for, at least, forty years, and it definitely showed its age. It was trying to be a ‘retro diner’ in the eighties, so that aged it another thirty years. You grew up coming here with your family, the food was good, and you thought the inside was cute. The building was longer than it was wide, and the floor reminded you of a checkerboard. There was a long bar on the left, space for waiters to maneuver, and a long panel of metal enclosing the kitchen portion. Bright red bar stools were implemented into the floor, screwed into the floor, every two feet or so. On the right, were five or six booths, the same shade of red as the bar stools, big enough for about four people max. 

“Hey, sugar!” A familiar voice chirped to your left. Your eyes met a familiar pair of green ones, and a smile immediately filled your face. “Hey, Mabel!” You cooed, half-standing under the table and wrapping your arms around her small, fragile frame. She smelled like coffee and smoke, as she always did. The two of you pulled away, and her eyes instantly went to Bucky. “Who's your friend?” She asked, raising her eyebrows at you. “Mabel, this is my friend James. James, this is Mabel.” You explained, quickly introducing the two. He smiled at her and stuck out his ‘normal’ hand to give her a handshake, which she was very fond of. 

“Well, it is great to meet you, James! What can I get you to drink?” She had abandoned her notepad well before you were born, her ability to just remember someone’s order still amazed you. “Coffee please, no sugar or creamer please.” She smiled at him, and turned back towards me, “Regular for you, dear?” She asked, and you smiled, scrunching up your eyes and nose. She practically pranced away with a huge smile on her face. Bucky chuckled, pulling you from your thoughts, turning your head back towards him. His eyes were scanning over the faded laminated menu.

“How do you know Mabel?” He asked, looking up and unzipping his jacket, pulling it off his abdomen and onto the seat beside him, with his gloves and hat. “I grew up coming here with my family, she’s known me since I was in my mother’s stomach.” You explained, pointing to a picture above the bar. It was pretty faded after sitting in direct sunlight for over two decades, but it was a picture of Mabel, your mom, your dad, and you, you all had on party hats. “I had my first ten birthdays at this diner.” Bucky squinted his eyes and smiled once he made out the picture of baby you. 

“That’s awesome.” He said looking back at you. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mabel cut him off. “Here is that coffee, Mr. James.” She slid the coffee in front of him, “And a regular for you, (Y/M/N).” She wiped her hands on her apron, “What can I get you two to eat?” Bucky looked at me, wanting me to order first. “We’ll both take the ‘67.” You smiled. She copied, “You got it, dearie.” And she walked away. Bucky cleared his throat, “Just trust me, Bucky,” You chuckled, placing your hands on top of his, “You’re gonna love it.” He paused for a moment, “I’ll hold you to that.” He winked at you. Did he just wink at you? Was he flirting? You immediately shot back at a wink and a flirty response, “Deal.”

The two of you ate and chatted for about an hour and a half. “Okay, you were right, that was the best food I’ve ever had.” He said, stacking your plates and utensils together, making it easier for Mabel when she took them off the table. “Can I get you two anything else?” She asked, picking up the two plates with ease. Bucky looked at you and you nodded a ‘no,’ and he looked back at Mabel, “No thank you, ma’am, but I will take the check.” He smiled. 

“No, Mabel, split the check pl-” But Mabel cut you off, “Sorry, dear, my hearing aid died, I can’t quite hear you. I’ll bring that check right to you, Mr. James.” Quickly walking away. “Bucky, no, I will pay for mine.” You insisted, going to reach for your purse. You looked around you in your seat in a panic, and then you remembered, it was in the saddlebag attached to his bike. He laughed at you as you came to that realization. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” You sighed, taking a sip of your drink. He simply shrugged and smiled, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. 

Once Mabel returned with the bill and Bucky’s card, the two of you stood, and he let you walk out first. It was a lot colder now, goosebumps layered your exposed arms, like a reflex you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Here, you take this.” He insisted, placing his heavy leather jacket on your shoulders. “No, I can't, you're gonna get cold too.” You began to shrug it off, but he placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’ll be fine.” He smirked at you, his hands lingering for a little longer than normal. 

“Ready?” He asked as he straddled his bike, once more. You stuck your arms through the long sleeves, which went way past your fingertips. You took your seat behind him, and he handed you the helmet, and you slid it over your head. Similar to earlier, you snaked your arms around him, clasping your hands together, and resting around his mid-abdomen. His hands, once again, landed on your thighs, pulling you even closer to him, making a different type of goosebumps cover your arms. 

“Hang on tight, doll.” He said as the bike came to life. You were so glad you were wearing a helmet, so he couldn’t see the brush creep onto your cheeks. As you two rode, he used his prosthetic hand to steer the bike and kept his flesh hand on your knee the entire time. The sky had ditched the orange, pink, and red hues and was now littered in stars and moonlight. You didn’t want this to end, you felt like you could stay there for hours, but the library came into view a lot sooner than you wanted it to. 

The next day came and you got excited, as always, to see Bucky. Today was a little different though, after your date last night. Wait, was that even a date? It had to be, right? I mean he paid and flirted with you. 

“Bucky, why do you come in here every day?” You asked, peering at him over the book in your hands. He didn’t move for a second, you assumed he was finishing the sentence he was reading. “Well, all the libraries in New York City are crowded and noisy.” He explained, “So when I found this place while scoping out new libraries, even though it is quite a distance, I knew this place was it for me.” He smiled at you. “At least that was the reason initially.” He muttered, picking his book back up. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You set your book down this time, squinting your eyes at him, and propping your head up on your hands. “Well obviously, I now come back because the shitty coffee you offer is to die for.” He said sarcastically. You gasped and threw one of your pens at him, bouncing off his chest and onto the floor. He broke out into a fit of laughter, and you soon followed. 

“No, but now I come back to hang out with you.” He admitted to you, avoiding your stare. “Oh that so sweet…” You started, “...Dork.” Throwing another pen at him, this time hitting the bill of his hat. Bucky had come in every day for a little over a month now and missed not a single Sunday. “Hey (Y/F/N)?” Bucky asked, looking back up from his book. Your eyes didn’t leave the pages of your book, but you answered, “Yes, Buck?” You asked back, flipping the page. 

“I won’t be here tomorrow, and for a couple days after that.” When the words left his lips, a wave of sadness washed over you. Your lips twisted into a pout, looking towards him. “Why?” You asked, dragging out the word. “I have some obligations.” You rolled your eyes at him, “Okay, Mr. Mysterious.” You scoffed, feeling a bit upset. How long had he known? Why was he just now telling you? “I’m gonna be so bored without you.” You whined, leaning back in your chair with a huff. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” 

It was closing time now, and as usual, Bucky walked you to your car. “You better bring me a souvenir from wherever you’re going.” You joked, tossing your purse into the passenger seat, and turning back towards Bucky. “Would you prefer a T-shirt? Maybe some socks? How about a shot glass?” He joked back, leaning against the side of your car. “Surprise me.” You laughed, pushing his chest. 

As you went to pull away from his chest, his flesh hand wrapped around your wrist, softly. He placed it back on his chest, and his metal hand went to your hip, pulling you closer to him. The only distance between both of your chest was being occupied by your hand. You swore up and down that he could hear your heartbeat, but you were soon reassured because you could feel his heartbeat racing just as much as yours was. Bucky glanced down at your lips, and you did the same. 

You closed the space between your lips, and without thinking your eyes fluttered closed, taking in everything happening over your entire body. His lips were soft, tasting like coffee and mint. The growing stubble on his chin rubbed against the softness of your cheeks. His flesh hand was warm around your wrist, gripping it softly, he never wanted to hurt you. But the gestures with his metal hand were very different. It was leaving a cool tingling sensation against the small patch of exposed skin, and his grip was tighter, pushing you impossibly closer to him. You took your free hand, and placed it on his face, thumb running over his cheek, and your other four fingers resting on his neck. 

After what feels like minutes, but was probably only about thirty seconds, you pulled away from him. Reluctantly, of course. The two of you just stood there, not moving, relishing at the moment for as long as you could. “You know I meant to surprise me souvenir-wise, right?” You chuckled, messing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “Oh okay, we can just never do that again.” He sighed, messing with you. 

“No, no, we can definitely do that again.”

~

It was the first Sunday without Bucky in a while, he had been gone for almost a week now, you assumed working on his ‘obligations.’ You had been keeping yourself busy with a new book series, one that Bucky actually recommended to you. But today would be full of dusting, reorganizing, putting away some newer books, and vacuuming. It was probably around 3:30 in the afternoon, and you were dusting the large bay windows by the front of the store. 

You could feel the music moving through your body, making it impossible for you not to dance, at least just a little wiggle. You swayed your hips, the music taking over, singing into the duster like a microphone. Your free hand ran up the side of your body, from your thigh all the way up to your face. You threw your arm up over your head, and prancing around the tables, shifting the duster from a microphone to an electric guitar. When the song was finally over, and you were very much out of breath, you made your way back to the window. And when you did so, your heart dropped to your toes. There was a man standing on the opposite side of the window, watching you. 

It only took a few seconds for your fear to turn into relief. It was Bucky. You dashed to the left towards the door, unlocking the door, and running out to greet him. Practically leaping towards him, you wrapped both arms around his neck, and his arms snaked around your waist. After a few moments of swaying and just taking in his presence, you pulled away. He was smiling widely, “I didn’t mean to end your concert so soon, I was enjoying it.” Adding a chuckle. Your face blushed, and you put your hand over your eyes, peeking at him through your middle and ring finger, “Did you see the whole thing?” You asked, dreading his answer. “The whole thing.”

The two of you walked back inside, the music still playing loudly. There was a slow song playing, and you grabbed your phone to turn it down, but Bucky stopped you. “Wanna dance?” He asked, putting his hand out for you to grab. You smiled, happily taking it. He pulled your chest against his. Your arms rest on his shoulders, your fingers loosely interlocked. Both hands on your hips, both of you just rocking side to side. The music wasn’t even registering in your brain, you were just focusing on this moment with him. 

“I remember when this song came out.” He said softly. You cocked your eyebrow at him, “Didn’t this song come out in the fifties?” You asked confused, what did he mean by that? “So you really don’t know who I am, huh?” The question caught you off-guard, it sounded very egotistical. “No..?” You asked more like a question. And that’s when he explained everything, making a very long story very short. He explained the arm, the serum, and the ‘obligations.’ 

“You’re a fucking Avenger?” You asked, head in your hands, elbows on your knee. “Well, technically I’ve never been asked to be one, but kind of.” His hand on your back, rubbing it in small circles. “So you’re the James Buchanan Barnes from the Captain America museum?” He nodded. Everything kind of flooded back to your memory, you knew you heard the nickname “Bucky” before, and you knew he looked somewhat familiar, but you assumed he just looked kinda similar to an actor or something. 

It was silent for a good five minutes, but Bucky broke it. “Hey, guess what?” He asked, trying to hide the upturn of his lips. What now? Was he gonna break some more news to you? Was he also part alien? “Hmm?” That was all you said, running your fingers through your hair. He moved his hand to reach into his backpack and pulled out a book, sliding it towards you. 

“Russian Urban Legends.” You read the title, quickly flipping through the book with your thumb. “Flip to page 48, and tell me what it says.” He said, propping his head upon his hands. You did as he said and landed on page forty-eight. “The Winter Soldier.” You read the words written in a bright red font, the page decorated in grainy photos and ridiculously cheesy government lettering and drawings. Bucky looked at you, prompting you to continue. 

“A ghost story or a real threat?”

[moonlight-prose]

Fatality (part two)

A/N: I’ve been working really hard on this, so I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Before he became free of the bonds that made him the Winter Soldier, before he remembered you. He had to meet you. His past was dark, twisted, something he didn’t want to remember. But you shed light on it, and gave him something to hold onto.

Word Count: 8.7k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Explicit so SEE YA THE FUCK LATER MINORS, cussing, violence, mentions of ptsd, mentions of torture, ANGST, smut, p in v sex, fingering, metal hand kink (don’t look at me), bucky barnes comes with his own warning. let me know if I missed anything.

Washington D.C. 1974

      Music poured out onto the streets from the different clubs. The smell of cigarette smoke burning your nose as your own cigarette dangled from your lips. The age of rock and roll, of disco, of having fun was upon you and even though it was only for a short time you reveled in it. They sent you out on a mission to find a man, which one though is something they wouldn’t tell you. All they said is that you’d know him the second you saw him and you would hold them to that.

      A woman bumped into you, the slurred sorry she shouted out making your lips curve into a smile. People who were able to live how they wished always amused you. They didn’t have to give themselves over to something greater than them; oblivious to who actually hid in the shadows protecting them from those who would happily harm them.

      You walked past the clubs, eyes searching the crowd for the man you were meant to be looking for until you spotted someone leaning against a bike, his eyes calculating and cold. He had been watching you weave through the throngs of people the entire time, his blue eyes piercing into you, the long hair somewhat tied back. He didn’t look like what they called him, but you supposed whoever controlled him did this for effect. So, he would blend in with the rest of the crowd rather than stick out like a sore thumb.

      The only order you were given was to kill him. You’d heard the stories told about the man they called the Winter Soldier. The one who had more kills than anyone in history; a personalized assassin created by the enemy. It’s why you were enlisted, why you were turned into what you were. Because of him. SHIELD didn’t like that there was a soldier with the same serum as Steve Rogers, so they did what they did best. They made someone like him; a willing human subject that they gave the serum to, giving you the same abilities as Captain America himself.

      He looked uncomfortable. Almost like he didn’t know what to do, how to act around people, and you had to smile at that. They made him so much like a machine, that he had forgotten how to act like a human. Hydra had the habit of never knowing when to stop, when to step back over the line before they reached total insanity. Except now they blurred the line, turned this man, this human into something that couldn’t recognize society.

      You tilted your head, keeping his gaze before walking away. He would follow you either way, because he was programmed to do so. Sent here to kill you efficiently and nothing more. But you wanted to see what lie beneath the surface; how much of him was left, if anything at all. You guessed that they took all of that away. His past, his present, his future. All the days blending into one until he just acted on their behalf, never given a minute to actually regain his focus, his memories. You’d heard the stories, knew that they wiped him clean every time, but to see it in real time, to see what they did, it terrified you.

      They took a broken man and broke him some more. Until the pieces of him were turned to dust, leaving nothing left but the shell of who he used to be.

      He made no noise when he moved. You noticed that as you walked into the empty alley way. The footsteps silent against the brick walls whereas your heels echoed. But you wanted him to know where you were going, wanted him to follow along, because this is where it started. SHIELD didn’t like your tactics when they sent you out on missions. Always testing the rules, going against their orders, and beginning your little play of prey and predator. You like to make the enemy think they had you, that you would never see them coming.

      You saw them, just averted your gaze to give them a chance to walk right into the trap.

      Side stepping into the little crevice between the wall and another building you waited for him to catch up. Metal arm, most likely a knife, and two guns. He came prepared and armed to take you out. The tactics of which moves would be able to take him out ran through your head, until you came to one that made the most sense. Sensory deprivation. He needed to see, needed to hear in order to hunt you. He relied on those things, so what happens when you take them away? You are left with nothing but a soldier unprepared.

      Taking out the small device you had personally made, you switched on the button. A flash bang of light would blind him for a minute and the high-pitched sound would take out his hearing. Only problem is. It would take yours out as well. So, you had to fight deaf but not blind.

      Something fell to the floor, rolling your way and you had just enough time to kick it out of the way before it went off. He really thought that a small explosive would take you out? It went off at the end of the alleyway illuminating the area and giving you enough time to throw your own device at him. A bang echoed off the walls, light streaming everywhere and you ducked shutting your eyes to prevent the blindness. You heard him shout before your hearing cut off and the ringing started.

      You wouldn’t hear him coming, but you knew his attack. Get you either in range or pinned against a wall. Blinking slightly, you were relieved to find out your sight was still intact before sprinting in his direction. He didn’t see you coming, too busy stumbling until his back hit the wall. This was new territory for him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t attempt to still complete his mission, the knife that was clutched in his hand swinging out towards you.

      Ducking you managed to stay out of range, but knew if he kept it up you would be cut somewhere. Your knee met his stomach, forcing him to double over as you grabbed the back of his jacket and threw him forwards into the alleyway. But it seemed his vision was returning a lot faster than you anticipated, because he rolled, landing onto his feet and quickly turning back to face you. They had told you that he was modified, that the serum they put into him differed from the one you had, but you didn’t expect it to differ so much.

      “What’s your name soldier?” you asked, trying to throw him off guard.

      He didn’t answer, opting to lunge for you again, a gun now in his hand and pointed at you.

      “Would be easier if I knew a name.” Now you were just trying to get a rise out of him. Anything to show you that you were in fact fighting a person and not just a mindless machine that looked like a man.

      You managed to get a hold of the gun, twisting it out of his hand until it dropped to the floor going off. Kicking it out of the way, you kept your grip on his arm trying to twist it back and maneuver him into a chokehold. There was a way to bring him back. A theory that a scientist at SHIELD told you about before coming here. Hit him hard enough on the head and he’d snap out of it, cognitive recalibration. Simple enough in your mind, except when it came to actually doing it, he put up more of a fight than you thought.

      Something went wrong and his arm got around your neck, the pressure cutting off your airways, but you were reaching for the gun at your thigh, gripping it tightly as you fought for some air. Mentally apologizing to him, you pulled the trigger hearing him shout in pain as the bullet went through his thigh. He let go and reached for his thigh instead, and you could see it, the man underneath the mask they forced onto him. Pain is how you got through to him. But there had to be something else.

      Almost instantly his mind reset itself and the expression of pain was wiped off his face as he reached for his other gun. They say if the Winter Solder had been sent to kill you, he’d have done it from far away, using a rifle. You’d be dead before you hit the ground. So why hasn’t he done it yet? Why was he choosing to fight you instead of kill you easily?

      Maybe because Hydra didn’t in fact want you dead.

      Raising the gun, you whispered a sorry and pulled the trigger, watching as it went through his chest, right near his shoulder. Not enough to kill him, but enough to cause more blood loss than necessary. It soaked through his shirt and jacket quickly, doing exactly what you expected it to do. Knock him unconscious. Just for good measure and to try out the scientist’s theory you slammed him in the head before he fully fell under the pull of sleep.

      Now to get him out there and somewhere safe.

      Light blinded him as he opened his eyes slightly, the glare from the lamp on the table making him wince. His head felt like it was splitting open the more he woke up from whatever sleep he was in, and he didn’t know how to get rid of it. Shaking his head slightly, he glanced around seeing the woman from the alley lounging in a chair, knife in hand. She didn’t acknowledge that he was awake, just continued to watch him as if he was going to break free from the tightly bound rope around his arms. He knew he could get out of it, but some part of him didn’t want to.

      Meanwhile the other part of him, the side that somehow managed to go dormant screamed at him, tried to push through the barrier that he had put up without knowing it. The Winter Soldier wanted out of his cell, but for now, somehow, Bucky Barnes was the one in control again. It felt weird to be back to himself after so long pushed down. Strange to have full control of his body again, and not have to live through the movements of a killer. Of a machine.

      “Name?” you asked, spinning the knife between your fingers.

      He groggily looked up at you again. “Huh?”

      “What’s your name soldier?”

      Bucky pulled at the rope lightly, but figured it was better he remain bound. He didn’t want to kill you the second he got free, because he could feel it, the strength to hold back to monster inside him back.

      “Name...” He blinked slowly as if trying to remain conscious. “James.”

      You crouched in front of him, the knife being slipped into a thigh holster for it. “James good. Do you know where you are James?”

      “I tried to kill you,” he mumbled. “In the alley...”

      His head fell back, eyes shutting closed and you tried to get him back, tapping your hand against his cheek, but it didn’t work. He had lost consciousness again and you were left to wait until he woke again in order to get answers. So, you dragged the chair you were sitting in over to him and placed yourself on guard. He’d wake up eventually, and if you were right, Hydra had no expectations of him coming back early. SHIELD informed you that this mission was believed to be a month long for the both of you, but even Hydra couldn’t have their soldier out for that long.

      “You’re going to be a difficult one to break James,” you said, waiting for him to wake up as himself again.

      He didn’t...

Two Months Later

      “Name?” you asked, already tying his wrists tightly enough so he didn’t break again.

      Two months ago, he woke up different, baring his teeth at you and ready to kill. Which is why you left. Was it bad of you to flee out the window? Most likely, but then you realized that the more you asked him about himself. The more you gave him questions that regarded it, the more he began to slowly break down those walls. This was the third time of doing this; knocking him out and tying him to a chair to interrogate him in any way possible. And from what you could tell, it seemed to be working. It was slow, the process taking more time than either of you had, but nonetheless it worked.

      “James,” he mumbled. Something felt familiar to him, all of this like a faint memory that he was trying to drag to the front of his mind.

      “Do you know where you are James?” you asked. The same questions each time he woke up to try and bring something back to him. You didn’t know why you were doing this, why you wanted to help him rather than kill him, but each time you looked at him you saw it.

      The prospect of a man who used to be someone other than the monster they made him. Yet he wasn’t a monster to you.

      “In an apartment in Washington.” The words fell from his lips faster than he expected, surprising even him.

      “Good.” You sat in front of him, bringing a hand out to lift his head to see his eyes. It’s what you always did; once you realized you could see which side of him held control through his eyes. The blue no longer looked cold, empty, like no one was actually there behind them.

      He wouldn’t say it, but your touch, your face, voice, fuck even the way you smelled all felt familiar. He wondered if he’d seen you in a dream. That had to be it, because there was no way he actually knew you. Things were slowly coming back to him now that he was free from his mind. Memories of people, places, faces that he didn’t think he’d be able to get back, and yet he still couldn’t place you.

      “Who are you?” he asked, softly. Maybe he was asking to thank you, he wouldn’t be able to say for sure. All he knew was that he wanted to know who had saved him from that hell, the one in his mind that even he couldn’t fight against.

      “That’s none of your concern right now,” you replied. “What year were you born James?”

      “March 10th...” he paused, taking in the sight of you sitting in front of him, looking at him with something in your eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time. Compassion. “1917.”

      Your heart dropped. Shit. So, he really was the man you looked into before. James Buchanan Barnes, best friend to Steve Rogers, the man formerly known as Captain America. Your mind reeled with this information as you took in the defeated look of this soldier that sat before you. He’d been fighting a war more brutal than any most would see in their lifetime, and he’d been doing it within the confines of his mind.

      “Do you know a man named Steve Rogers?” you asked, waiting patiently for an answer.

      He took in a breath as the image of a kid with blond hair flashed into his mind. “Steve,” he said fondly.

      The dazed look in his eyes told you that he was once again lost in his head, but at least now he wasn’t lost to the pain. You leaned back in your chair, waiting, and giving him this time to reminisce after he couldn’t for so long. Memories were fickle things, but with a mind as strong as his they’d come back. You weren’t sure if his mind was strong when you first met him, except then you were told about how they wiped him. How an average person’s mind would melt under the pressure of the machine.

      James Barnes was no average person.

      “Do you know why you’re here James?”

      He returned to the present, regarding you with clear eyes. “I’ve been here, before haven’t I?”

      You nodded. “A few times.”

      “Who are you?” The same question as before, and you hesitated. Should you tell him who you are? Tell him that truth of yourself that you were lucky enough to still hold? No, probably not. But there was no one here to stop you. Not this time.

      “Y/N,” you whispered. “My name is Y/N. I work with-”

      “SHIELD,” he responded, finishing it for you. “I remember seeing a file about you.” He held his breath as another memory came forth into his mind; never having happened that fast before. “You’re the one they call...”

      “Ghost.”

      You knew what the name meant for your life the second they bestowed it upon you. Forever to remain a story, a figment of the imagination created by people who spoke about you. Forever to remain nothing but a spirit that haunted the walls of wherever you went. A ghost. To you that meant never being a person. Straddling the line between finding sanity and losing it. You supposed that’s why you were helping him; why you couldn’t let him completely lose to the line he unwillingly straddled.

      “Why am I here?” he asked, leaning forward.

      The blue of his eyes clearer than they had been beforehand. You could tell him that he was here so you could kill him once you got the information you needed. But then you’d be lying. It’s not like you haven’t lied before, but this felt different, the ache in your body becoming more. Lying to him felt like you were lying to yourself and while you did that too, this hurt worse. This would bear more consequences in the end. So, you went with the only answer you could give him.

      “I want to help you,” you responded, keeping your eyes locked on his, hoping that they remained nothing but a clear crystal blue. “Your mind, it’s been...well it’s been turned into something I’ve never seen done before, but there has to be a way to stop this, to get-”

      “You can’t,” he cut you off.

      Some part of him knew why you were here, knew why his mind felt familiar here, felt safe. You wanted to save him, because he could see it in your eyes. The skills that you wore like a badge of honor, he wore like a battle wound scar. You were the opposite to him, but somehow you still reflected everything he’d been through and more. You wanted to save him because in the end you wouldn’t be able to save yourself. Working for SHIELD always came with repercussions and you knew that the day you signed up; knew that there wouldn’t be a way out that was civil.

      And that’s the different between the two of you. You’d go out bloody and bruised whereas he came in that way.

      “There’s no saving me Y/N.” He leaned back in the chair, now free from the ties, but keeping his hands behind him in case you retaliated. “I’ve been a lost cause since day one.”

      “You’re not a lost cause. You’re just-”

      “Broken,” he mumbled.

      The memories had stopped coming back to him, but that was to be expected. Each time he woke up here more came back. Each time he gained back a piece of himself, but instead of keeping it, he had it ripped away from him again. A torturous cycle that left him a withering mess of a man; that made him wish he didn’t have a brain to be played with.

      You watched as his eyes grew hazy again, once again getting lost in a past he wouldn’t remember when he had to return, and you knew. He’d fall asleep soon, the exhaustion getting to him, and he’d wake up a different man. Somehow that hurt more than actually trying to help him, but you couldn’t do much about it. He’d have to find a way out of there on his own, or with help, because if SHIELD so much as found out you were helping him, they’d have your head. They would most likely put a bullet through you in the end.

      “Tell me your name again,” he said out of nowhere.

      “Y/N.” Your head tilted watching him. “Why?”

      Bucky brought his hands out from behind the chair, making you freeze and immediately reach for the knife strapped to your thigh. “I think you might want to restrain me again.”

      Grabbing the metal cuffs that you brought, you clicked them into place behind his back before returning to the chair. His head had dropped again and you worried that he had fallen asleep, but he was just staring at his scuffed-up boots. He was getting lost in a memory that included none other than his old friend Steve. The sounds of laughter echoing in his mind as they ran through the muddy streets of Brooklyn, the shoes he had worn at the time becoming more scuffed than before.

      “I want to remember,” he muttered.

      You figured he was talking to himself, but then those haunting blue eyes of his were focusing back on you.

      “I want to remember you,” he said. “But I don’t think I can.”

      Nodding your head, you leaned forward trying not to show him how much it hurt to hear those words. After doing this several times with him, you’d begun to know him a bit, even though he’d never know you. He’d never be able to recall what you said last time. Never be able to call back the memories of him trying to kill you, because once he woke up again, he’d never even hold the single memory of his own name.

      James Buchanan Barnes would cease to exist again the second he stepped out of these apartment walls. He’d become another faded ghost that history didn’t want. Another mark on the wall that would never be removed; just another headstone people passed by in a cemetery. You didn’t want to say you were the same, but you’d seen it. To make you completely invisible, SHIELD gave you a funeral, and you were allowed to attend.

      You couldn’t help but think of how strange it was to attend your own funeral. It didn’t terrify you to see your name on the headstone, but it did leave a feeling in your gut at the realization that this was it. This is all you would be forever known as. Because after you stepped away from the headstone, after you jokingly left white roses for yourself, you’d cease to exist. Just like the man sitting across from you.

      “Did you know that when I was a kid, I was afraid of ghosts,” you said, taking his mind away from focusing on the inevitable.

      “Why?” He knew what you were doing, but went with it rather than fight it.

      “I heard they haunted people. That they were bad and would basically kill you if given the chance.” Your hands tangled together to try and ignore the rock that now rested in your gut. “I never thought that I’d become one.”

      “And are you...” He tilted his head and you hated how much you liked it. “...a ghost?”

      You turned away from his eyes, because you felt as if he could see right through you. “Some days I certainly feel like one.”

      Another pause, giving the silence a chance to overwhelm the both of you. He didn’t bother with saying anything, just focusing on what you said before. You felt like a ghost; well so did he. Bucky wasn’t sure what lay outside of this, outside of the building, but he knew that he was born in 1917, he knew that he had a friend named Steve, and he knew that if given the chance, he’d very much like to kiss you.

      He was fading fast, his head screaming at him to give in, to not hold the control anymore. And after who knows how long fighting it, he was ready to give in. His eyes met yours one more time, and he spent a few moments trying his best to memorize your features, trying to keep you alive in his mind. But he knew whatever he did would be gone in a manner of seconds. He wouldn’t be able to keep you in his memories, because there would be none to keep.

      You stood from where you sat, pulling on your black coat and pushing the gun in the back of your pants. He watched it all, trying to hold onto the movements of your body, the curves of what you looked like. Anything he would take, because you were the first person in decades, who wanted to help him rather than hurt him. You were the person who matched him and he’d give whatever it took to keep you with him.

      Stepping closer, you cupped his face, brushing the hair away from his eyes. “I’ll see you soon James,” you said.

      “Please,” he whispered. What he was asking for he’d never know, but then his thought from before came back and even though it was fleeting, he still knew he wanted it.

      Your lips met his and he broke. He felt the heart that beat steadily in his chest, crack in two. Why did you have to taste that way? Why did you have to care for him? A lost cause in the sea of brokenness. Why did you have to actually kiss him? He couldn’t do much except try and kiss you back, but after so long with no physical contact other than violence, it felt odd to have lips pressed softly against his. His heart raced as you pulled away, opening your eyes and smiling at him.

      If there’s one thing James regretted in life. It was letting you leave without telling you thank you.

      You watched his eyes rolled back in his head as he became lost to the ravages of his mind.

One Month Later

      Same place, some of the same people, and the same set of eyes on you. One month since you’d seen him, but still you could recall the way he looked at you as you stepped away from him. One month since he had gained a small piece of himself back only to have it ripped away again, and to see his cold eyes again wasn’t a surprise. He followed you as always, through the alley, towards the building where you’d eventually begin fighting. Always the same routine, but you could feel a shift in the atmosphere around you.

      What you expected to happen, didn’t come to pass, and instead you were stuck in a situation you couldn’t escape from. His hand was wrapped around your throat, your back pinned against the wall behind you as he continued to watch you with those eyes that sent fear streaking down your spine. Whatever was going to happen terrified you and left you trying to grasp for anything to fight him with. The knife you had strapped to your thigh seemed to be your best option.

      “Name,” he mocked, his voice sounding mechanical in a way.

      “What?” You were gasping for air, the knife gripped tightly in your hand waiting to be shoved into any part of him you could get it.

      His head lowered towards you, hand squeezing against your throat harder. “Name.”

      Your mind froze at his words, realization seeping into your bones and leaving you unable to do anything but stare. He wanted your name, but he wasn’t Bucky at this moment. Was he? You could no longer tell who was in control, because his eyes continued to shift. You watched his pupils dilate every few seconds, the blue going from cold to being full of life again, and you understood that this was Bucky fighting for control.

      Except you couldn’t breathe. The pressure on your throat was cutting off your airways and you were desperate to get free from him. Your hand moved quicker than you expected, plunging the knife into his thigh and forcing him back, the air rushing through your lungs. Just as always, the air burned as it went in, but you reveled in it.

      “Do you know me?” you asked, side stepping his swing and blocking his blow.

      Get into the apartment. That’s all you had to do was get into the damn building, and you hoped you would be able to bring him back. He continued to swing at you, the motion of blocking his punches beginning to wane on your muscles, but you kept at it, knowing that if he got one hit in you would be done for. One hit. That’s all you needed to get him unconscious, but he put up a bigger fight than before.

      “James!” you shouted into the empty alleyway, effectively freezing his movements and forcing him to face you. “Do you know me?”

      His eyes dilated again, the strain in them terrifying you as he fought for control of his own body. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. The transition being easier the past few times, but this...this was Hydra’s way of punishing him without telling him about what he did. The wrath the inflicted became all he knew, until he wasn’t sure who was in control of his mind. But before you, he didn’t care.

      “I-” He fixed his gaze on you, seeing the way you tried to approach him calmly, almost as if he was a wild animal who needed to be put down. That sight, the heartbreak in your eyes, it shifted something, until he felt his head begin to clear.

      “Y/N,” he mumbled more to himself, but you caught onto it, held it in your grasp as he tried to repeat your name. Hope. That’s all you needed to push through the dizzying haze he put you in, and soon you were swinging at him.

      Rendering him unconscious just as you always did, but his reflexes kicked in and you were shoved to the ground. You thought you heard an apology fall from his lips, but maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you. His metal hand was wrapped around your throat faster than you expect, squeezing down until you couldn’t breathe, until all the air in your lungs was shoved out from the weight of him. From what you could see of him, he looked to be fighting himself, trying to pull himself off of you, but also kill you and at this point none of it mattered. Because black spots were forming in your vision, cutting you off to the rest of the world.

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, as you were forced into the tranquil state of unconsciousness.

      Pain spread through your face when you managed to open your eyes. A sharp stinging pain that seemed to make its way from your temple to your chin, throbbing and forcing you to squint rather than open your eyes fully. He had hit you harder than you expected. They say that you don’t wake up in pain with serum, that you would heal fast, but having it run through your veins didn’t make you any less human. Because it still fucking hurt to get punched in the face and choked out.

      “You’re awake,” he mumbled, startling you into a sitting position, your hand automatically reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

      Your vision began to clear slightly, giving you a chance to see the man who sat in the chair beside the bed you were laying on. His head was ducked down, hands clasped together, and hair covering his face. But it didn’t take a genius to see that he was ashamed of what he had done; that he was in a different type of pain, because he finally remembered who you were.

      It happened instantly, the moment that he saw you unconscious underneath him. The tug on his heart, on his mind, becoming too great to ignore and all it took was for him to give in. His mind was clear after that, the steady stream of memories he once had continuing to trickle in every few minutes. Bucky knew who you were, knew why you were there, and remembered that he cared for you more than he liked to admit to himself.

      “You remember,” you said.

      He nodded, raising his head to meet your eyes and seeing the same conflicting emotion that showed in them. The one that both of you knew would happen eventually, but refused to acknowledge it, because that’s where things fell apart. That’s where you stepped into dangerous territory and made this situation...this...whatever it was, more complicated. You had kissed him.

      A man doesn’t forget that. Not even if they tried to force it out of him.

      “Why are you helping me?” he asked.

      Do you tell him the truth? Admit finally after so many months that you saw yourself in him. Saw the horrors of what happened to him all because of a place that believed him to be theirs. Do you relinquish the truth of your fear? Of how you didn’t want it happening to you, or anyone else ever again, and so to save him meant to save yourself in a way.

      Selfish you knew that, but you didn’t bother with caring. Holding onto that emotion meant having to grasp onto others, and at this moment, as you continued to watch the turmoil in his clear blue eyes, you didn’t give a fuck about caring. Because the ultimate truth that neither of you wanted to admit to each other, let alone to yourselves, was that you cared for one another.

      The most dangerous act of them all. Loving someone nearly as broken as you, hoping that it would balance out all that pain. Hoping that it would be the savior you were searching for.

      “Why did you bring me here?” He looked away when you said it, knowing that if he answered you’d find out the truth. “You could have killed me. Should have killed me.”

      “I shouldn’t have killed you,” he interjected. “I couldn’t-”

      The deathly noxious silence followed, forcing you to find a way out of it. If you spoke now, told the truth, you’d be giving into the one thing that could destroy you both. Except you felt it the second he glanced back at you, and that scared you most of all.

      “You’ll forget me again,” you said with no malice. It was okay if he forgot you, because it was meant to happen. He’d never hold the memory of you, and both of you knew that the second he brought you up here to sit by your side.

      “You kissed me,” he relied. “How’s a man supposed to forget that doll?”

      The name was new, making your eyebrows raise slightly, but you found that you liked it a lot more than you thought. Doll. It had slipped out, because even he looked surprised, but that was good. It meant a small amount of progress.

      “I kissed you as a goodbye.”

      He smiled and you found the sight unfairly beautiful. An image that you wanted to hold onto, but knew that you’d only get to see it once or twice. After all heartbreak comes with the ravages of time, didn’t it? Came with the understanding that this was all you’d have with him. This minuscule amount of time to give him an allotted amount of freedom that he wouldn’t get again.

      “And to say hello?” he asked.

      Bucky felt himself slip back into the persona of the man he used to be. The man who could sweep a woman off her feet and leave her wanting more. You brought it back to him, and he wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or sad, because he’d lose it eventually.

      You leaned forward; hands pressed against his knees. “Hello James,” you whispered.

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      A smile spread across your lips and he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. How beautiful the sight of you; a memory he wanted to badly to hold onto.

      “I know what you meant. I just don’t know if I can give that to you.”

      “Why?” he asked, his warm hand wrapping around your wrist lightly.

      “You’ll forget me James, and one day I won’t be here to bring you back from that. They would...they would hurt you. I don’t want to be the cause of that. Not when I only wanted to-”

      He cut you off, his hand moving from your wrist to your neck and pulling you to him. Out of all the things that happened, every twist and turn, every heartache, this was the worst. This sinfully sweet act of him kissing you. Somehow it broke you in half more than it healed you, but you’d take it all the same, because it was from him. He replaced your breath with him, consuming you and giving you no time to recover from any of it. His fingers dug into the back of your neck, his tongue delving into your mouth and rendering you a mess. It became your ecstasy.

      “You’ve already saved me,” he breathed against your lips, his thumb rubbing into the skin of your neck.

      This time it was you who kissed him, who willingly offered yourself to him in hopes that he’d take it. He did. He kissed you back just as eagerly, trying to pour himself into you, because he knew that you were safe. You were everything he’d been longing for and more. You were home.

      He tugged you forward, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck, hands digging into his hair as he continued to kiss you. It was fierce, passionate, all of him being given to you at once. And you kept up with it. You did whatever you could to make him as much of a mess as you were. Tugging his bottom lip into your mouth you sucked on it until his fingers were digging further into your hips.

      “You’re teasing me,” he got out, his eyes shutting at the feel of your tongue tracing the vein on his neck, your teeth sinking in slowly after.

      A laugh echoed in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “I’m not teasing you James.” You bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, clenching at the sound of his broken groan. “I’m savoring you.”

      He threw you off him, hearing you scramble to grab for something, thinking he had gone back to his alter-ego. You certainly didn’t expect him to climb over you, pinning your hands to the sides of your head as he continued to kiss you. He wanted to pull sounds out of you that would be burned into his mind. Hear you scream as loud as possible for him, because it’s what he needed to breathe, what he needed to force down the Winter Soldier and find Bucky again.

      Bucky had control of himself; knew what he was getting into with just kissing you, but then you whimpered his name. The gasp leaving your lips as your hips jolted into his, and it the tight handle he had on himself snapped like a fine piece of thread. You ripped your hands out of his hold to tear at the buckles of his vest, ripping it off him and exposing his scarred shoulder. Any other time, where he wasn’t thinking of anything and everything you, he would have shied away from your stare. Would have put the vest back on to cover himself, but the look in your eyes kept him in place.

      With you he felt normal again, because you were just as messed up as he was.

      “James,” you said, hand running along the scars lightly, almost looking sorry for it. As if it was your fault, he had to wear them every day for the rest of his life.

      “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” His hand covered yours, bringing it to his lips to distract you. “I promise.”

      He could feel the mental would of a memory he didn’t hold anymore heal the second your lips touched his again. He lost himself in you, because you were the opposite of him in every good way possible. You were soft, scarless, while he was rough, held more scars than he knew, and not all of them visible. You roamed in the light, soaking in its warmth and spreading it around, while he huddled in the dark, trying not to allow the cold to seep into his skin. A thing of beauty that he didn’t want to taint, but knew there was no stopping it.

      All good things were tainted by the horrors of reality in the end anyways.

      “Can I, have you?” he asked. This was something that he hadn’t done in years. He wasn’t even sure he remembered how to.

      Meanwhile you did nothing but smile, seeing the hesitation in his eyes. “I’m already yours.”

      You guided him through it, every movement, every touch, every whisper. You were pulling him into the light and away from the dark; saving him without ever knowing you were doing it. He tugged off your shirt, tossing it to the side as you unhooked your bra, baring yourself to him just as he had done. And he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think straight, because you were even softer than he thought.

      Muscle memory kicked in and he ducked his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple and tugging on it lightly with his teeth. The noise you made in response made his head feel fuzzy. He did that. He brought you pleasure instead of pain for the first time, and he wanted to do it again. Your hands dug further into his hair, tugging on it sharply as he continued to spread his tongue over your breasts. Nipping and sucking on the skin at the side of them before moving back to your nipples, scraping his teeth to elicit that same response.

      “I want you inside me,” you whined out, pulling his head up towards your lips.

      He smiled, a real genuine smile in decades, enjoying the fact that you were already gone because of him. He did this. He caused you to get lost in the realm of pleasure, and that shot pride through his heart.

      “Not yet,” he replied, knowing that he didn’t want this to end just yet.

      He pulled on your pants, getting them off as quickly as possible along with your underwear, before he settled back in between your thighs. If he had all the time in the world, he’d bury himself in you. Do whatever it took to make you realize just how grateful he was for you to have saved him.

      You dug your nails into his shoulder when he trailed a finger across your slit. Except then you removed his flesh hand and replaced it with his metal hand, the look of trust in your eyes nearly ruining him. He didn’t wait, or give you warning, just did what he thought he was meant to. Bucky was thankful for the muscle memory of how to do this kicking in, but it still took him a moment to locate your clit, pressing on it to see your hip jolt.

      “Now who’s teasing,” you panted out.

      He slipped two cold fingers into you knuckle deep, curling them slightly and finding the spongy spot inside you on accident. But the cry you let out; your back arching slightly let him know to keep brushing against it until you were digging your fingers into him so hard it stung. You couldn’t gain a hold on the reality around you, the feeling of his fingers continuing to pump into you too good to push past. So, you sank into it. Writhed underneath him, cried out for him, did whatever he wished you to do because it was all you had.

      “Oh shit!” you cried out, tugging on his hair to bring his lips closer.

      Bucky listened to the wet sounds that echoed around the room, each one followed by a whimper or a cry of a slurred curse word, and he lost himself in it. Swallowed down your sounds as he sped up his fingers until you were incoherent. Your head fell into the bed, eyes rolling back as you clenched around his fingers, soaking them in your slick. He could do nothing but watch, his eyes stuck on the sight of you giving into what he was making you feel. Inexplicably and utterly beautiful.

      “You’re perfect doll,” he whispered, lips pressing against any piece of skin he could find.

      His words sounded faded, hazy as you tried to come out of the daze, he put you in. But they made you smile nonetheless, warmth spreading under your skin from where he touched you. Bringing him closer you brushed your lips against his until he melted into you, the feeling of him pressed up close against you, driving you closer to the insanity both of you ran from.

      “You won’t remember me...” You cupped his face, watching those blue eyes that you had fallen for stare at you with a longing that you didn’t think was possible. “But I’ll remember you James.”

      He moved off you, taking off the tactical pants he wore as quickly as possible; laying himself down over you again. You wanted him to feel what you felt, what he drove you to. So, you wrapped your hand around him, tugging lightly and hearing him hiss out through his teeth. It made you feel powerful to know that the man who could snap people in half was bending to your will, but it wouldn’t last. You were okay with it though. He could have you any way he wanted you and he knew it just as much as you did.

      “Are you sure?” you asked.

      His eyes snapped back to yours, seeing the way you tried to see past the walls he had up in that moment. They weren’t there to keep you out, but to keep a part of himself that he didn’t want to see in. He wanted to protect you from the kind of man he could become; especially after what happened in the alleyway.

      “Yes,” he breathed out. Why was he so nervous? Was this always supposed to happen? Or perhaps that was because he couldn’t remember the last time, he did this; couldn’t even recall the memory itself of doing it.

      But then he pushed into you, feeling your walls tighten as you clenched around him, as a moan so sinful it had his head reeling left your lips. He couldn’t breathe, think, do anything except continue to push into you until his hips met yours. He paused for a moment, trying not to lose himself too quickly, but you were impatient. You knew that to have him like this meant more than either of you could put into words and the greedy part of you wanted all of him. The good, the ugly, everything he had to give you.

      “Move please,” you whined out, clutching onto his hair.

      He shifted, pulling out only to push back in quickly, and hearing you cry out. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, feeling his teeth sink into the skin of your neck as he snapped his hips back to yours again. Where he couldn’t think, you were thinking of nothing but him, where he couldn’t breathe, you were inhaling him like a drug you couldn’t get enough of; your favorite addiction. Just as painful to keep as it was to let go.

      “James!” you cried into the cold air, feeling him drag along that spot that had sparks showing up behind your eyes. “Oh-right there.”

      Bucky propped himself up on one arm, gripping onto your leg and tightening it around his waist as he focused his thrusts on that one spot. It had you wailing out his name, a sinful prayer he’d listen to over and over again without hesitation. He wanted more, craved it like he craved you.

      “Shit.” It was all he managed to get out, and it was enough for you.

      His hand shifted from your thigh to your clit, rubbing fast circles around it, causing you to buck into him, meeting his thrusts as much as you could. He was barely pulling out, terrified of leaving the warmth of you, of not being as close as he could get. So, you hooked your other leg around his waist, dragging his head up towards your lips as you swallowed his groans, whimpers, moans. You took all he’d give.

      “I’m gonna-” You were cut off by the streak of heat coursing through your body; forcing you to arch up into him. His name was a broken shout on your lips, the sound like heaven to his ears, and he marveled at the sight of you. Completely undone; all for him.

      His hips stuttered at the feel of your walls practically strangling his cock; the sound he let out just as filthy as yours. It made you clench around him harder, keeping him within you as he said your name against your lips. He couldn’t kiss you, but you’d take sharing your breath with him as he panted into you, his hips thrusting a few times as he rode out the waves of his release. It shot through his body, nearly making his eyes roll in the back of his head.

      You moaned at the feel of him coating your walls, the warmth of his cum that you knew would drip out of you later. He fell over you, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you dug your feet into his back, forcing him fall completely. He didn’t need to worry about crushing you. Not when you were like him in strengths.

      “That was-” he began, pausing to lick a line between your breasts just to see you shiver. “Fuck that was incredible.”

      “Mmm,” you hummed, brushing a hand through his hair and pushing it away from his face. “James.”

      He looked up at you, his eyes looking lighter than they ever had, the feeling of freedom showing on his expression. Should you have ignored the heartache that completely embodied you? Should you have just pushed it away? Probably. But that wasn’t the reality of the situation you lived it.

      “If you forget me...”

      “No,” he cut you off, pressing his lips to yours.

      You pulled back though, needing to get it out. “If you forget me. Or if you remember me again one day. Know that I’m yours, that I...”

      “I know,” he whispered. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

      He rested his forehead against yours, kissing away your tears as you both came to one final realization. This was it. The small apartment where you found each other is all that it would be. You knew he’d be back a few more times, knew that Hydra wanted you dead, but after those few times...there would be nothing left. Time would take him and eventually along the line it would take you as well. A bittersweet ending to a love lost by the years that separated them, by the freedom they both lacked.

      “Y/N,” he breathed out, hoping that repeating your name would help to cement it into his brain. “Don’t leave me yet.”

      You pressed another kiss to his lips, tightening your legs around his hips and pulling him deeper into you. “I’m staying right here James.”

      “I promise,” you replied. The biggest lie that both of you gladly welcomed, because you both knew that this was dangerous as it was.

      This was the fatality of your life. The love you held for each other.

Fatality Masterlist

Masterlist

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@karasong​ @aaliyasaurus​ @queenbbarnes​  @charmedbysarge​ @jenrebloggingfics​ @princess76179​

Permanent Tags:

@pamguini​ @blondekel77​ @ezrasarm​  @the-purity-pen​ @princess-and-pedro​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @mxsamwilson​

[lilxberry]

The Glitch: Chapter Two

Synopsis;

Wanda certainly had attracted the newest Avenger. Y/N’s usual overconfident façade seems to easily drop when around the Sokovian witch.

Warnings: Language. I think that’s pretty much it for now, unless you wanna be warned about hella sarcasm and snarky remarks too lmao

Words: 1,010 

Pairing: Avengers x reader, Wanda Maximoff x reader (later chapters)

(A/N: For future knowledge, chapters will be kept under 3000 words)

< CHAPTER 1  CHAPTER 3 >

--- flashback ---

‘Man, those assholes were ANNOYING.’

Y/N stretched her arms above her head, groaning slightly, cracking her back, working out the painful kinks that developed from the whole bank fiasco.

She had rid herself of her jacket as she moved further into her apartment. “And what do I feel like having today?” She questioned herself aloud, swinging the fridge door open to scour the selves for food.

She huffed and straightened her back, slamming the fridge door shut with her hip before proceeding to search the freezer instead. 

“Bingo!” She reached in quickly and retrieved the piece of frozen plaice she got a few days ago from the store, smiling victoriously.

Preheating the oven and setting the piece of fish on to a cooking tray, she places the tray with the fish into the crematorium for food before getting herself the box wine from the kitchen and heading over to couch.

Kicking her shoes off, she swings her legs up on to the couch, sprawling herself along the faux leather seating, afterwards turning on the T.V. and waiting for her food to finish cooking.

_______________

Her meal had finally heated thoroughly, Y/N now had the finishing touches to add.

Setting her plate down upon the dinning table, she seats herself with her meal in front. She picked up a sliced, fresh lemon, squeezing the sour fruit to further add flavour to her fish.

Satisfied, she smiled picking up her knife and fork, ready to devour the plaice before her. She sliced a small bite off, impaled by the fork. She brought it up to her lips, almost shoveling it down her throat when-

‘KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me, man.”

Y/N let out an aggravated groan as she threw her utensils back on to the plate with a loud clatter and stood up harshly, chair scraping against the kitchen floor, enough to make her screw her features up and cringe.

She shuffled towards the door. “If you’re girl scouts, try shoving the cookies through the letterbox and I’ll slide the money under the door.”

“Unfortunately, Miss Y/L/N, we aren’t selling cookies.”

She threw the door open and leaned against the door frame, eyeing the man. “Oh boy, I see this lil’ girl scout hit puberty. Sounds like she started smoking too.” She felt humoured at the remark, though his face held no amusement. She noted his attire and quirked an eyebrow. “Listen, patches, I don’t want whatever it is you’re selling so please, fuck off so I can enjoy my dinner. Thanks, BUH-BYE.”

She moved to close the door when he barged into her apartment. “No, you listen, glitch, we have a lot to discuss, whether you like it or not. What happens after our little conversation, is entirely up to you.”

The use of the word ‘glitch’ had made her stiffen, her posture made rigid. His voice held an threating underlining tone as he spoke with authority. All she could do is nod slowly, showing she understood.

“Good. Now, Miss Y/L/N, I’m director Nick Fury of the organisation S.H.E.I.L.D. and I’m here to discuss recruiting you, and your abilities, for the Avengers”.

‘WHAT. THE. FU-’

--- end of flashback ---

_______________

“Pardon my Goddamn French but what the fuck, Fury?” Stark started, shortly followed but Steve muttering ‘language’ under his breath.

“Seriously, you can’t just spring shit like this on us!”

“I believe I can, I will and I have.”

Soon began a shouting match between Nick Fury and the Avengers. Some trying to defuse the tension, some inputting their out thoughts on the sudden matter at hand and others continue to spectate whilst sitting on the couch still.

Y/N rolled her eyes and groaned loudly, gaining the attention of the people in the room. “Listen, C-3P0,” she spoke, gazing pointedly at Tony. “I get this may not be ideal for you and the others but it sure as shit ain’t ideal for me either. First, my trip to the bank went tits up ‘cause some inconsiderate assholes decided to hit it, then patches her interrupts my dinner, now I’m gaining a migraine ‘cause you asshats wanna scream at each other and still, no one has answered the ONLY question I’ve asked.”

Peter could only let out a snicker, trying to hold in his laughter, at her hilarious out-burst as the others stare at her, moths agape.

Tony sent the young teen a look before turning his attention back to Y/N and Fury, letting out a scoff. “Pray tell us, what makes her so special? Why exactly is she here?”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., bring up the footage of bank incident today.”

“Yes, director Fury.”

‘What the fuck was that?’ Y/N looked up and around her, searching for the feminine voice that answered the man before turning her attention towards the large screen mounted opposite the large couch.

The T.V. displayed the combat she partook in at the bank against the group of men, the Avengers witnessing the skills and abilities she possesses. 

“So that’s how you found out about me, huh?” She glanced towards Fury as she crossed her arms. 

“If you didn’t want to be found out, you should have hidden your face better, Y/L/N.”

“Touché.”

Soon, the footage ceased, allowing the team to soak in the new information that they had just been presented with. “So, you’re like a, glitch, or something, right?” Sam turned towards her, his own arms crossed over his chest.

“Something like that, Tweety Pie, yeah.” She retorted back, eliciting a raised eyebrow from him and a snicker from Bucky.

“I like her.” Clint muttered quietly to the Black Widow beside him.

Steve glances at everyone occupying the room before letting his vision focus solely on to the girl. “I guess, welcome to the Avengers, Y/N.” He extends his hand out for her to shake, which she hesitantly grasps in her own, smaller appendage and shaking firmly.

“Now, I have two questions. One, where did that voice earlier come from? And two, where are we on the whole snack thing?”

_______________

.

.

.

.

.

So, here’s chapter 2!

I’m still fairly new to writing so this may or may not be shitty (it totally is)

I still haven’t really came to a decision who i would like to pursue as a main love interest but I have decided who I would not like to see:

        * Peter Parker. (You) are supposed to be in your early/mid 20′s, possibly even older, and he’s still like 15 so nope

        * Bucky Barnes. I kinda don’t want to see Bucky as the main love interest in this as Bucky tends to get a LOT of fan fiction written about him. This brings me on to my next character

        * Steve Rogers. I’m not entirely opposed to Steve but like Bucky, he has a load of fiction written about him and I’d like to change it up

        * T’challa. Honestly, even before Chadwick’s death, I have felt weird when it comes to romance with the character. I feel like if i write anything beyond a platonic relationship with his character, it would be disrespectful and objectifying. This is my personal reasoning and you do NOT have the agree which is perfectly fine

I’m so open to hear your thoughts and suggestion on this matter as I’m pretty stuck on this decision lmao

I hope you enjoyed. please show me so by hitting that lil’ heart at the bottom of the post my doods

And finally, constructive criticism and requests are welcomes as always and are greatly appreciated :D

[marvelskies1969]

Infinity

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader / Loki x Fem!Reader

Premise: Y/N Rogers was sent away as a child, her powers deemed dangerous. After years of brief summers with Steve and Bucky, she returns for good when their mother dies—just as war begins.

As her abilities awaken, she draws the attention of Loki, the trickster god, and faces growing fear from those around her. Caught between destiny, war, and forbidden ties, Y/N must decide who she truly is—and who she’s willing to fight for.

Warnings/content: slight angst, brief mention of death/dying, jealousy, sexual assault, fluff, swearing, unstable parental relationships, follows the plot of the MCU timeline, with small changes.

[Masterlist]

[Part 1]

(Chapter 7)

Knight in Shining Armour

Bucky should have been enjoying himself.

That was the whole damn point.

The music in the bar was loud, the air thick with smoke and laughter, the scent of whiskey and cheap perfume clinging to everything. The kind of night he normally thrived in. The kind of night he had always thrived in.

But tonight, he felt off. Everything felt off.

And he knew exactly why.

His fingers drummed restlessly against the wood of the table as Steve droned on about some guy he’d nearly fought in line at the enlistment office. Normally, Bucky would’ve been all over that, teasing him about picking fights he couldn’t win, but his focus was elsewhere.

Across the table, Y/N sat with her fingers curled around a glass, her gaze cast downward, her lips barely parted like she was lost in thought.

And not once had she looked at him.

Not once.

He should’ve expected this. Things had been weird since the hospital—since that damn moment between them that neither of them had acknowledged, but both of them felt.

So, fine. If she wanted to pretend nothing had changed, then he could do the same.

He could make this easy.

Which was why he had an arm slung lazily around the waist of a blonde he barely remembered the name of, whispering smooth words into her ear as she giggled and leaned closer, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt.

It was the oldest trick in the book.

And it should have worked.

Except it didn’t.

Because when he stole a glance across the table, Y/N’s posture was stiff, her fingers white-knuckling the drink in her hand. Her lips pressed together as she laughed at something Steve said, but he knew her too well.

That wasn’t her laugh.

And that? That did something dangerous to him.

She wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t even acknowledging him, but he could feel the tension between them. Like a live wire sparking under the surface.

Damn it.

“Bucky.” The blonde giggled, tapping his chin playfully. “You listenin’ to me, sweetheart?”

He blinked, barely registering what she had said. “Course I am, doll.” He smirked, shifting his attention back to her. He turned up the charm, letting himself fall into old habits, giving her the full weight of his smile, the same one that always worked.

Except the only person he wanted to look at him wasn’t.

And for the first time in his life, flirting with a pretty girl felt like a mistake.

Steve let out an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, I’m getting another drink before I have to watch Barnes charm another girl into regretting her choices.” He stood, rolling his eyes, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder and heading toward the bar.

Leaving them alone.

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Y/N traced the rim of her glass with her finger, still not looking at him.

Bucky exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of everything between them settle deep in his chest.

This wasn’t how they were supposed to be.

This wasn’t them.

And that realization? That scared him more than any war ever could.

Then he saw the man approach her.

Tall. Dark-haired. Smiling like he already had her figured out.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

He didn’t like this. Not one damn bit.

But before he could even shift forward, Y/N spoke.

“I don’t interfere with the girls who come up to you, Barnes.” Her voice was cool, indifferent. “So don’t bother interfering with me.”

Bucky stilled.

It shouldn’t have hit him like that.

But it did.

He swallowed, forcing himself to lean back into his chair with a lazy smirk, like he didn’t care.

Like it didn’t matter.

“Suit yourself, doll.”

And with that, he stood, heading for the bar without looking back.

His grip on the edge of the bar was tight, knuckles nearly white as he waved down the bartender.

He wasn’t going to look back.

He wasn’t.

Damn it. He needed to stop caring so much.

Y/N wasn’t his.

She never had been.

She never would be.

It didn’t matter that the thought of her smiling at someone else made his stomach feel like it had been turned inside out. It didn’t matter that some guy was probably leaning in right now, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh, that made her look at him the way Bucky wished she’d look at him.

And it sure as hell didn’t matter that if she was his, he’d never have to watch someone else try to win her over.

Because she wasn’t.

She was just Y/N.

Steve’s sister.

His friend.

That was all.

That was all it ever could be.

So why the hell did it feel like something was clawing at his ribs, like he was already losing something he never had?

“Whiskey.” His voice came out rougher than he intended. The bartender nodded, sliding him a glass.

Bucky picked it up, rolling the amber liquid around the edges, jaw tight.

She wasn’t his.

She could talk to whoever she wanted.

He had no right to be jealous.

So why the hell did he feel like if he turned around, he’d regret it?

And he did.

Because when he finally looked back, she was gone.

And so was the guy.

A cold dread slithered down his spine.

His feet were moving before his brain could catch up, shoving through the crowded bar, heart hammering. He scanned the bar frantically, calling her name, looking in every corner he could find. Nothing.

The moment he burst outside, he spotted them.

Y/N’s back was pressed against the alley wall, the guy leaning in way too close, his hands where they shouldn’t be.

Bucky saw red.

“Get your hands off her.” His voice was low, lethal.

The guy barely had time to turn before Bucky’s fist crashed into his jaw. The crack of impact echoed through the alley, the man stumbling back with a groan.

“Jesus—what the hell, man?” He spat blood onto the pavement, glaring at Bucky before his expression turned smug. “Fine. She’s frigid anyway.”

Bucky lunged for him again, but the guy was already backing off, raising his hands in mock surrender as he disappeared into the night.

Bucky’s breath was ragged as he turned to Y/N.

And that’s when he froze.

She wasn’t saying something sharp or sarcastic. She wasn’t rolling her eyes, brushing it off like she normally would.

She was shaking.

Tears lined her eyes, her whole frame trembling.

And for the first time in his life, Bucky saw her. Not the quick-witted, stubborn girl who could handle herself in a world that underestimated her—just her. Vulnerable. Frightened. Small.

He didn’t know what to do with it.

His arms moved before he could think, pulling her in.

She didn’t fight it.

Didn’t say a damn word.

Just buried her face against his chest as a quiet, shattered sob escaped her lips.

And Bucky felt it crack something inside him.

He held her tighter, pressing his chin to the top of her head. “I got you, doll,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “You’re safe. I promise.”

And he meant it.

With everything he had.

A second later, Steve came around the corner, freezing at the sight. His eyes flickered between them, between the way Y/N clung to Bucky like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

But he didn’t say anything.

Just stepped forward and rested a hand on her back, grounding her between the two people who would never, ever let anything happen to her.

[star-spangledstud]

Diamonds

Pairing: Steve Rogers x (female!)reader

Summary: You knew exactly how to push Steve’s buttons.

Word Count: 4000-ish. 

Warnings: +18 SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor), dom!Steve, slight daddy!kink if you squint, rough intercourse, no protection (wrap it before you tap it), reckless driving (don’t do it, kids.), cursing

A/N: I’ve been posting a lot of content. We’ll see how long I’m able to keep the creative juices flowing. Quarantine’s got me all fucked up, but at least it’s given me time to waste on Tumblr. Enjoy :)

Steve was angry. He was fucking pissed off, to be exact and it was all because of you. You knew it, felt the way his eyes drilled holes in your back all night. You could practically sense him fuming from across the club, even though the darkness as a result of the smoke machine near the spinning table engulfed you and the 150 other people in the room. 

Of course, it was Tony’s idea to rent one of the fanciest clubs in NYC for the night. You’d completed a very big mission just a few weeks ago, and after everyone had time to heal in the medical bay and file the appropriate paperwork, the case was closed at last, and he insisted on a celebration unlike any other. 

Bottles of champagne flowed across the dancefloor. Sweaty bodies of special agents, paper pushers from the lowest possible level and Avengers alike, all pressed up against each other in the room hotter than what you imagined hell to be like. You didn’t even fucking feel like going when Tony first proposed the idea, but everybody knew you couldn’t say no to him. Nobody could say no to him and his lavish parties. Not to mention the fact that you never wanted to go and yet you always managed to be the last to leave. You blamed the alcohol. 

He’d hired the best DJ in town. His tunes kept you on your feet despite the fact that they were starting to get sore, hips swaying sensually to the music in between Natasha and some random level 3 agent whose name you couldn’t remember for the life of you. He was just as tall as you in your patent leather Louboutins, his hair swept carelessly to one side. He clearly hadn’t changed after work, because he still had his SHIELD pin mended to his breast pocket. You’d just pulled his tie to drag him closer to you, which earned another hard glare from Steve. Everybody in the fucking room knew you were his, they didn’t even dare to come close to you, but this guy was clearly wasted and you’d initiated it. 

You could feel level 3′s dick through his pants while he continued to grind against your ass, just as you did to Natasha. You smiled, bopping your head along to the song, your curly hair bouncing lusciously up and down. A quick glance towards the bar made you snicker soundlessly, afraid he’d be able to hear you despite the loud music and people singing along. The thought of him being able to smell the perfume on your skin, his favorite, from all the way over there made your heart flutter and your stomach tighten.

He looked fucking good. Hair slicked back, deep red button-down loosened at the top tucked tightly into dark denim. He hadn’t shaved, he knew damn well how much you liked that, and his eyes weren’t so blue anymore in the strobe lights that illuminated him every twenty seconds. They looked black as if his pupils had bled into his irises.

You’d put effort into your appearance too, he could tell in an instant. Your lipgloss sparkled the same as the diamond necklace he had given you that hung around your neck. He remembered buying it for you, eyes nearly rolling out of his fucking skull when the guy that helped him pick it out told him the price. Your dress, black and short, had a split so high he was certain he could see your pussy if you made a wrong move, meaning level 3 could see it too. 

He downed another glass of scotch, slamming it down on the bar with a growl so low only Bucky could hear it. He shook his head at his friend, who also refused to get on the dancefloor. The way 21st-century people danced was unlike anything they were used to seeing back in their day. He couldn’t get drunk, but Steve could taste the alcohol on his tongue and the warmth of it in the back of his throat when he gulped another glass down. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky left him for Bruce, who also wasn’t dancing. Didn’t give a fuck, either way. All he had eyes for was you, showing off his money like it was yours, to begin with. 

You didn’t do that often. You were humble, wore jeans and a t-shirt on most days, didn’t indulge much. You tried to live sustainably where possible through recycling and cruelty-free beauty products. Hell, Steve had only actually seen you wear the necklace a handful of times, including your aunt’s wedding just to piss her off and make her jealous. He knew you had money too, it was a perk of being an Avenger, but spending money on yourself wasn’t the same as lavish gifts from your handsome as fuck boyfriend. Besides, you donated a lot of it to animal shelters and safe houses for women. 

“The party’s out there, you know?”

You gulped, skin-crawling in fear when Steve appeared out of the bathroom stall without warning. How long he’d been hiding the bathroom you didn’t know, but he knew it was you the second you pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

He could smell that guy on you as you stood in front of him, cheeks red from dancing and stray hairs sticking out from the sea of curls. It made his fists curl, his brow crease. He was mad as hell. 

“You scared me,” you said exasperatedly, blood rushing to your cheeks when he stepped out of the shadows and into view.

He didn’t smile back to you, which told you exactly how the night was going to go down. 

“You havin’ fun?” He asked, walking around you in a circle after you stepped away from the dirty mirror. 

He wanted to drink you in, take in your appearance while you still looked put together. Soon enough, the charade would be over and he’d have your make up smeared, clothes on the floor and your hair a mess. 

“Yeah,” you smirked, “you?”

“Not yet,” he growled in your ear, “but I will.”

He’d disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared, leaving you leaning against the dusty sink, breathing deeply in and out through your nose. When you trusted in your ability to stand up without tripping over your own feet, you grabbed your lipgloss from your purse, along with your perfume, of which you added two more spritzes. You didn’t want him to know how easily he was able to get to you, how easily he was able to make you shake. 

He had a plan, concocted it while drinking expensive scotch at the bar. Steve came up with it while he was watching you grind on another man. He knew why you did it, you wanted to get a rise out of him, and getting a rise out of him was exactly what you did. Of course, he could do the same to you, which is why he left you stumbling in the bathroom with nothing but a promise he intended to keep.

You returned to the floor after getting another vodka sprite from the other end of the bar. He noticed how empty your wrist was and told himself he’d buy you a diamond bracelet to match the necklace. You’d like that. He’d fuck you raw and stupid after giving it to you, just like he did when he gave you the necklace. 

Even when you were starting to get a buzz, you could still feel his fucking eyes on you, never leaving your swaying hips, bouncing tits and shaking ass. For a moment, the two of you made eye contact. Instantly, you knew you were screwed. You could read him like a book. 

“Steve,” you gasped when his hands tightly gripped your waist suddenly, “you’re dancing.”

He was on the dancefloor, yeah, but the man was hardly dancing. The only thing he was moving was his hips against your ass. He didn’t need to tell Level 3′s sorry ass to fuck off, the look on his face had the young man scrambling away in fear immediately. Natasha had left minutes before, busying herself with the hottest bartender in the club while he poured her a dirty martini with five olives.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He whispered in your ear, lips pushing against soft flesh. His beard scratched your throat, sending delicious tingles down your entire spine.

“What do you mean?” You asked, pretending to be oblivious, “I’m not doing anything.”  

Steve’s hand caressed your hip, snaking around the front to touch your barely clothed pussy. Your cheeks reddened, eyes frantically searching for anyone who might be watching but finding none. Everyone around you was either drunk or making out. 

“What are you doing Steve?!” You hissed, biting your tongue, “Someone might see us.” 

“I don’t care. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, kissing the side of your face and neck, “it is, I know it.”

He dragged you out of the club and into his BMW, harshly securing your seatbelt before getting behind the wheel. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel the entire drive, and you could see him straining against his pants. You didn’t say anything, the only sound audible being the angrily revving engine of his car. He was flooring it the whole way there, ignoring red lights and swerving around every car on the road that was in his way. 

“See how it feels when you tease me,” he mumbled, “you’re gonna be fucking sorry real soon.”

“No,” you stammered, “please.”

He sat down on the bed, grabbing your wrists and yanking you down over his lap. You kicked your heels in the air in an attempt to get free from his iron grasp, but he only needed one hand to restrain you while the other traveled up the back of your legs so slowly it made you want to cry. His hand disappeared under your dress and found no panties, just as he expected. He knew you too well. 

“You’re real bad, aren’t you?” He asked, retrieving his hand back so he could pull the dress up to expose your naked pussy, “did you think I was gonna let you get away with what you just did to me?” 

“I didn’t do anything!” you mewled, “I swear.” 

“Grinding up on that guy all night? Letting him touch you in front of me? How dare you?”

He caressed your ass, tracing his fingers over your lips before smacking both cheeks without warning. You squirmed, wiggling on top of him. You’d seen him angry before but only on rare occasions; either when he was chasing after bad guys, or when you’d pissed him off and this time, you’d pissed him off real good. Just like you wanted to do. 

“Don’t you dare move against my dick,” he said with a tug on your hair, “or you don’t get to cum.”

He plunged three fingers into your mouth, silently ordering you to suck on them while he continued to keep your wrists bound. You already knew what was going to happen and it took every ounce of strength for you not to move. He chuckled when you nibbled on his fingers, coating each and every one of the three with your saliva. 

He plunged them into you without warning. You cried out, unable to stop yourself from trying to break from his grip on you. You were already wet, probably didn’t even need the saliva, but it helped his fingers glide in so easily it made him want to laugh. You were putty in his hands and he knew it. How the hell had he gone from being little, insecure, baby Steve to this man, this unrelenting, unforgiving force of a man? 

“Shut up,” he growled, picking up the pace, “did I tell you you could make noise?”

“N-no,” you stammered, “no Steve.” 

His fingers left your cunt before you could properly enjoy it. You knew why he did it; he was getting you ready for his cock. You’d had it countless times in places you couldn’t even recall, had it gently and so hard you couldn’t talk after, but you always needed time to adjust.

He grabbed ahold of your legs with his slick-coated fingers and picked you up, effortlessly tossing you onto the bed like a ragdoll. You heaved, hair already beginning to stick to your forehead while you watched him slowly unbutton his shirt.

“What do I keep telling you about pissing me off, huh?” He taunted, slipping the shirt over his broad shoulders.

“I told you not to do that,” his pants were next, falling limply at his feet after he unzipped and unbuttoned them, “but you don’t listen. You don’t listen because you like what happens when I’m mad, don’t you?” 

“No, I’m sorry,” you breathed, gazing up at him through fake eyelashes, “I didn’t mean to-”

You weren’t sorry. You enjoyed this, this side of Steve. Loved it even, how sometimes, he was able to let go of his own righteousness and give in to his darkness. It had taken almost a year of being in a vanilla relationship for him to show you this side of him, and you’d ached for it ever since. You did it on purpose, grinding with other people, dressing up in clothing inappropriate for the occasion. Short skirts, tight blouses, and fuck, those sheer black stockings with the black stripe running along the back of your heel to your panties. Short shorts and cropped tops in the summer, so short they nearly showed off your fucking tits. He hated it because men worldwide couldn’t help but look at you even though you were his and his alone. You were his prized possession. 

“Don’t lie to me.”

“You know,” you answered smugly, “I could feel his erection on my ass the whole time.” 

Steve growled, pushing your back into the mattress before starting towards you.   

“I told you what happens when you make me angry,” he said, lowering himself onto the bed until he was straddling you, one leg on each side of your trembling hips, “you know what happens, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Steve,” you moaned, rocking your hips up against him. 

You gripped his bicep, but once again, he used his hand to bind your wrists, this time holding them above your head, “You gonna be good for me and apologize?” 

“Yes,” you cried out, “I’m sorry!” 

You still weren’t. In fact, you had to fight the urge to grin. You had him right where you wanted him, despite his hold on you. You wanted him to fuck you until you couldn’t see straight and he was going to give it to you either way. 

He let go of you, hands traveling across the diamonds around your neck. He ripped the necklace from your throat in one single motion, earning a gasp and a loud ‘what the fuck?!’ from you when it snapped in half. He tossed it to the ground as if it was trash, discarding it like it hadn’t cost him the price of a house. 

“Daddy’s gonna buy you a whole lot more diamonds if you’re good,” he whispered, “Is that what gets your little pussy dripping? Me spending my hard-earned money on you? Answer me!”

“Fuck yes,” you replied, “shoes, too. And a car.” 

He laughed, taking your clothed tits and rubbing them before ripping the silk dress in half with his bare hands.

“What do you need a car for? You don’t even drive. I do. I’m like your fucking private chauffeur, always driving you around.” He was right about that.  

You smirked, “want you to fuck me in it.”

Steve began to grow tired of your mind games. His dick was hard as granite, as were his bulging muscles, and he needed a release fast. He’d go back to being sweet old Steve after he got what he wanted, but for now, he was a man in heat, needing to take what was rightfully his. One of the busted diamonds pierced the skin on your ass when you found yourself laying on it, but you didn’t care. You welcomed the sting.

Steve rolled you over until you were on your stomach. With one arm around your throat in a chokehold, he lifted up your body, taking you in a position that could almost be classified as Doggystyle. He lined himself up with your entrance, enjoying the lovely sight and the sweet smell of your pussy dripping just for him. Your love for him was like a fucking disease and unfortunately, it turned out to be terminal. You ached with anticipation while he dragged the head of his cock along your entrance, back and forth between your pussy lips. 

The air was taken from your lungs when he shoved himself inside you, not wasting any time with pleasantries and soft-spoken words. He bit down on your shoulder, earning a loud moan to escape your lips. He wasn’t gentle, this wasn’t making love, but it was what you both desired and he was more than happy to give it to you. 

You whined breathlessly, pussy clenching around the length of his cock as he drove into you.

“Could’ve just told me you wanted me to fuck you,” he groaned, “’stead of makin’ me all mad at Tony’s party.”

You wanted to tell him off and if you would, he’d probably have to tell you you were right because he never did this unless he had a reason, but your mouth remained shut instead. Steve was a softy at all times, sweet and gentle and a true gentleman, except for when you brought out the beast in him. 

He grabbed your hair, yanking it so your body stood flush against his. You could feel him, every inch of his marvelous abs expanding and contracting and his hips, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You arched your back into him, exposing your neck to his lips. He began to suck on your skin immediately, leaving marks that would last for days on your beautifully soft skin. This pulled another sinful moan from your glossy lips. 

You turned your head, forcing his head towards your face with your free hand while the other grasped the one on your hip. You kissed him hard, lips and teeth and tongues crashing together. You could taste the scotch on his breath and he caught a whiff of your strawberry lip gloss. You smiled into his mouth, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting down on his skin. They’d see the bruise in the morning, although come afternoon, the serum would’ve taken care of it. You hoped somebody would see. 

“Goddamnit,” he cursed after tasting blood, hand around your hair loosening before sliding down the length of your body in search of your clit, “gonna make you cum so hard you can only say my name.”

He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and slapped your ass with it before resting it on your hip so he could get a better grip. 

You whimpered when his fingers made contact, another moan drawn from you when he began to rub the sensitive bud forcefully. You couldn’t hold on much longer. 

“Want you to say it,” he ordered, “say my name. Say it right now.”

“Steve,” you cried out so loud you were sure whoever had the room next to his could hear, “oh, fuck Steve!”

“Don’t stop,” he rubbed faster, “keep saying it. Gonna fuck my name from your brain, fuck it right out.” 

“Steve,” you squeaked, “Steve, Steve, Steve.” 

You grabbed the wrist of the hand on your clit and dug your nails into his skin, whining his name over and over until you couldn’t stand the tightening of your stomach any longer.

“Don’t stop saying it,” he commanded, “I didn’t give you permission to stop.” 

 You did as told while he continued to ram his cock deep into you, grunts escaping from his lips while he pounded into you at an unforgiving pace. Your throat would be sore in the morning, but you didn’t stop, chanting his name over and over like a prayer.  

“You gonna cum all over my dick, huh?” He throbbed inside of you, panting harshly against your lips.

“Want you to cum inside me, Steve,” you dug your nails into him, “give me your fucking cum right now.” 

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I’m gonna give you my fucking cum.”

You loved drawing profanities from a man who didn’t curse. It was like a game to you, seeing how many curses you could squeeze out of America’s golden boy before he’d collapse on top of you. You loved how dirty he could be behind closed doors, loved the contrast between the sweet and gentle Steve that held your hand in public and this monster of a man who bought you expensive things and fucked you senseless with his thick cock afterward. He loved it too, didn’t even know it until you pissed him off for real one time and it just happened out of the blue, but after that, he hadn’t looked back. It came so naturally, he was afraid of himself sometimes, but then he’d see that blissful sheen, that fucked out look on your face and the smile you wore just for him and he was instantly reminded of why he did it. 

Because it felt good. 

You already knew you’d be bruised when you’d wake up next to him in the morning from the way his fingers grasped you tightly, but you loved it, knowing you carried his markings under your clothing and you were sure he loved it too. 

He didn’t stop, not even when you’re moaning his name so loud it’s almost deafening. He didn’t stop when your pussy clenched painfully around his dick, didn’t stop when you began to tremble and shake so hard he thought you were having a fucking fit. You started moving away from him in an attempt to ease the overbearing sensation of his fingers still forcefully rubbing on your clit, but he simply yanked you back against him, sweat-covered biceps flexing while his thrusts became so sloppy he could hardly stay upright. You gripped the headboard so tight you thought it would splinter. 

His cum shot up into you in hot spurts, coating your walls in it while he rode out his orgasm. His hand finally left your pussy, allowing you to breathe in what felt like ages.

“Jesus,” the drawl of his voice sounded like music to your ears, “you’re gonna be the death of me.” 

Smiling sweetly at the man beside you, you pressed your lips softly to his burning cheek. Then, you rested your head on his shoulder, allowing his arm to engulf you and pull you flush to his heaving body. You sure managed to cause Captain America to work up a sweat. 

He inspected the purple spots on your neck and looked down, eyes scanning the dark red marks on your hips that were there to stay for at least a few days. He’d learned to accept them, to love them, but he hated the idea of hurting you at first. You had to remind him each time that you were completely okay with it, that it didn’t actually hurt in a bad way. 

“I’m sorry about the diamonds,” he offered, looking at the discarded Cartier on the floor, “and the dress.” 

“Should be,” you mumbled, eyes closing at the sound of his heartbeat in your ear, “those weren’t cheap.” 

It wasn’t even your money that just went to waste. Hell, they could probably fix it up at the store, but that wasn’t a part of the game. It wasn’t good enough.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he kissed your forehead, “I told you I would.”

The next day, he did indeed buy you a new diamond necklace. And a diamond bracelet. And earrings. 

Now, all you needed was a ring to match. 

[themarveledwriter]

By the Light of the Moon~Part 2

Story Summery: Y/n is a vampire hasn’t told anyone about herself, her family, her history. She hasn’t even told her boyfriend. What happens when her secret is revealed in a violent manner.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Vampire!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, Sadness, Sorta asshole Steve (but his hearts in the right place), Cursing.

A/N: Here is the second part! Next part should be up soon! Not beta read.

She was gone. 

Just gone.

The window completely shattered, she didn’t even slow down. 

Everyone was stunned, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he couldn’t go after her, she ran across the walkway and out the door before Bucky could even blink. 

Steve came out of it the fastest, “FRIDAY lock down the building.” This made me swing around to look at him, furious with what he was doing. 

“Are you still trying to stop her!? She doesn’t want to be here Steve! You pushed her to the edge and now she is gone!” Bucky says while walking towards Steve, shoving him with his last word. 

“Captain Rogers, Y/n is no longer in the building.” The AI says. 

Steve turned away from Bucky, “How did she get out?” 

“She exited from the roof.” Bucky was the one to talk this time, “What? How did she exit from the roof?” “She jumped.” Klaus said before the AI. Both Bucky and Steve turn around to Klaus, “What do you mean she jumped? This building is 93 stories!” Bucky said, panicked.

Klaus smirked, “She’s an original vampire. She could jump off a cliff and be fine, in fact she has.”

This confused Bucky, “Original vampire?”

Klaus tilted his head, and the smirk fell from his lips. “She really didn’t tell you anything did she?” Resulting in Bucky shaking his head. 

“Well, is there somewhere we can sit? It is a long story.”

Steve takes the lead on this, feeling more comfortable with having a purpose. “We can go to the common room. FRIDAY call the team down there.” Steve turns to Bucky, “I think this is something everyone should know.”

~

~

~

The entire team is already in the common room by the time Bucky, Steve and Klaus get down there. 

When the elevator doors open everyone stands up, Sam being the first to talk.

“Who is this? Where is Y/n?”

Steve goes to answer but Klaus talks first, “I’m Klaus Mikaelson, Y/n is my sister. She’s gone.”

This time it’s Natasha’s turn to talk, “What do you mean she’s gone?” She says, worried for her friend. 

Klaus steps forward, taking an empty chair, but no one else sits down. 

“Well? Go on, sit. It’s a rather long story and I doubt you’ll want to stand the whole time.” Everyone slowly takes their seats, Bucky sitting next to Sam who lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. Him and Bucky may have their differences but Sam can tell when his friend is hurting. 

“Alright, lets begin.” Klaus says with a smirk.

“So, as you all learned earlier, my sister is a vampire. What you didn’t know is that she is one of the first vampires in existence, along with me and our siblings. See, my mother was a witch, a powerful witch though not as powerful as her sister. My mother was barren, and made a deal with my Aunt Dahlia to be able to have children, she just had to give her first born to Dahlia. So she gave up my sister Freya and told her husband she had died from the plague. My mother had another child named Finn before they came to the New World in the 10th century when my mother was pregnant with my brother Elijah. They settled in a village where everyone was healthy and happy, we didn’t know that they were all werewolves till later, though we lived with them peacefully for years.”

 Klaus stops at this, taking a breath before continuing. “I was born next, but I was born out of an affair between my mother and another villager. I wouldn’t know that until after I became a vampire. Kol came next, and then Rebecka. Lastly my mother fell pregnant with twins, Henrik and Y/n.” 

Sam talks before Klaus can continue, “Y/n has a twin?”

Klaus looks down with a sad expression on his face.

“Not anymore… I was incredibly close to Henrik and Y/n, closer than to anyone else in my family. They were the youngest out of all of us and I was always more protective of them.” Klaus looks up at the group. “Henrik and Y/n were only 13 at this time… After we had discovered the people who lived around us became beasts on the night of a full moon, I became curious. I had planned to sneak out and watch them transform, which was forbidden, and when Henrik found out he wanted to come as well. Of course, Y/n being his twin came too. One of the wolves lost control, mauling Henrik. Y/n almost died as well, but was able to run from the wolf that was attacking her. Henrik died that night, from my ignorance and stupidity. It was also the night our mother decided to turn us into vampires.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to speak up, “But Y/n doesn’t look like she is 13, how old was she when she turned?”

Klaus looked at him, “Our mother performed a ritual on all of us, including Y/n, to make us stronger. She wanted to protect us. My mother's witch friend Ayana refused to do the spell, but she did make it so that Y/n would continue to age until her 18th birthday.”

“The spell made us powerful. It made us fast, strong, it gave us fangs to rival the wolves, but it also turned nature against us. The sun burned us, the neighbors that had once welcomed us into their homes could now keep us out, the flowers at the base of the tree that was used in the spell burned us and prevented compulsion,” Klaus turns to Bucky. “That’s the ‘protection’ that Y/n mentioned earlier. Do you have a bracelet or necklace that she gave you?”

Bucky was already fidgeting with the necklace Y/n had given him for their one year anniversary. It was a habit he formed after she gave it to him. A pendant with his star on it, on the back engraved in her handwriting is “You are my hero”. She said it was to remind him that his arm didn’t make him a monster. 

“Yeah, this one.” Bucky says, not letting go of the necklace.

Klaus holds out his hand, “Can I see it?” 

Bucky is hesitant, but ultimately agrees. Standing up and handing the pendant to Klaus, who’s skin starts smoking the second it touches his skin. 

“Woah, what the hell?” Bucky says, taking back the necklace. 

Klaus smirks, “Like I said, vervain burns… The only thing that can kill us is a stake made from the tree that gave us life. The white oak… Like I said, werewolf venom won’t kill original vampires. I just had no desire for my sister to be in pain until it burned out of her system. I also haven’t seen her in years, I missed her.”

“When we became vampires, Y/n was the last to turn. She was so so young and killed the person that our parents used to complete the transition. She hated herself for so long after, and has always struggled with her bloodlust… When I killed my first human not long after my transition we learned that I was part werewolf. A hybrid, but my mother suppressed my wolf side. It was only recently that I was able to unlock it, which is why I can heal a werewolf bite. A normal vampire would die from a bite without my blood.”

Steve took this time to ask Klaus, “Y/n was drinking Bucky’s blood. Is he going to turn into a vampire?” This made Klaus chuckle, “No. You would have to die with vampire blood in your system and then drink human blood to complete the transition. But vampire blood also has healing qualities, if given to a human with a fatal injury they will heal within minutes.”

Klaus stood up, “I’m going to find my sisters storage unit, is there a room I can stay in tonight?”

Tony tells him where he can stay for the night, but when he turns to leave, Bucky runs after him. 

“Wait! Are we not going to look for Y/n?”

Klaus turns around, a small smile on his face. “It’s nice to know my sister has someone who cares so strongly for her, but looking for her right now is useless. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. I just hope what happened earlier doesn’t push her over the edge. She has gotten better at controlling her bloodlust but when she’s incredibly emotional she tends to struggle. We will know by morning.” This concerned Bucky. “What happens if she loses control?”

Klaus frowns at this, “Well, she will probably kill some people. That’ll cause her to have really bad guilt. If that happens I will need your help to make sure she doesn’t flip her switch.”

“What do you mean flip her switch?

“Oh I forgot about that. Vampires have this… ability. Our emotions are heightened, if the guilt or sadness gets too bad, we can turn off our humanity. It’s like this switch that we can flip. It’s incredibly hard to get someone who’s flipped their switch to turn it back on. We can’t let Y/n do that.”

That scares Bucky, “Has she done that before?”

Klaus nods, “She was the first one to do so… I feel like I should let her tell you the whole story but basically what happened was she accidentally killed someone she cared very much about. I believe that was why she was so scared when she fed from you. That person was her main form of sustenance but they were attacked by a hunter, she was severely weakened with vervain and he was seriously injured. She couldn’t control her bloodlust and he ended up dying.” This broke Bucky’s heart. He never wanted to see Y/n in pain. 

“She couldn’t take the pain and the guilt. It was killing her. She wanted to die but couldn’t find a way. She somehow found out she could turn it all off. It took me decades to get her to turn it back on. She left a string of bodies from New Orleans to Los Angeles. When she turned it back on she had all that guilt as well. Everytime she has turned it off it has always been worse when she turns it back on.

Bucky felt more comfortable now. It helped him to have orders, a mission. While Klaus isn’t technically in charge of him, he knew Y/n better than Bucky. Bucky could do what Klaus asked, or at least try. He wouldn’t lose Y/n.

“I am going to find Y/n’s storage unit. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is by any chance?” 

Bucky knew she had a storage unit near the tower, but he had never been to it. 

“I think it’s at Manhattan Mini Storage, it’s near Hell’s Kitchen.”

Klaus nods, “Alright, I’ll be back tonight.” 

He walks onto the elevator, leaving Bucky standing in the hallway.

~ ~ ~

Bucky was sitting in your room, it was almost bare because you have been slowly sneaking your stuff into Bucky’s room. 

But it still smells like you. 

He couldn’t believe he never noticed anything. Now that he knows he realizes there were many strange things that he always ignored. 

That ring you claimed you hated but would never take off. The time you lost it and refused to leave the tower, not even going into the common room. The fact you wouldn’t go into someone’s house before being invited in. You wouldn’t even go into Bucky’s room before he told you you could. 

He always thought it was because you didn’t want to spend that much time with him, that it was too personal. You had already been spending time with each other for a few weeks prior and he thought he had crossed a line. 

Apparently not. 

~Flashback~

Bucky had just arrived at the compound after his time in Wakanda. He was a lot more confident knowing the Soldier could no longer be triggered, but he still wouldn’t be the first to approach someone. 

Y/n watched him around the compound, fascinated by the other man out of time. Her and Steve had been friends for years, and she had helped him and Sam in Romania. 

When he arrived at the compound, she was one of the only people to truly try and make him feel welcome. No one was out right rude to him, but they weren’t exactly welcoming.  Only Steve, Y/n and Nat would ask him to join them for supper or training. 

But Y/n went above and beyond for him. 

She would leave food by his door when he didn’t eat with the team. She defended him when Tony would say something.

The thing he appreciated most was the time she helped him through a panic attack.

It was when he was on trial, there was no way he would be convicted with all the Avengers behind him, but it still took a toll on his mental state. 

People were able to find his files, and after the public found out how many people he killed a lot rallied against him. Calling for the death penalty.

Tony had a party after the trial was over. Inviting all the New York socialites and having Bucky as the “guest of honor” to prove that he was one of the good guys now. But all he could hear the entire night was people saying how they couldn’t believe Tony let the man who killed his parents on the team. A monster.

He was pushed close to the edge when a drunk man started asking him all these questions and accusing him of things he never did. 

He was pushed over the edge when he started talking about his family. Claiming his ma and sisters would hate him for the monster he became. He was hyperventilating and about to lash out. Looking around for Steve or someone who could help him. 

That’s when Y/n swooped in like a guardian angel. 

The media loved Y/n, she was always helping people. Visiting children's hospitals and helping the homeless. 

Which is why they didn’t care when she threw the man across the room. 

She walked right between Bucky and the drunk man, telling him to back off. Bucky couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, he was too busy trying to not shut down, but the last thing he heard was the man call him a monster before Y/n had shoved him so hard he flew across the room. 

She had always claimed she was a mutant. That was why she was so strong and fast, why she healed faster than him or Steve. 

Next thing he knew she was leading him out of the party, arms linked. 

He was gasping for breath at this point, not really noticing she was moving him until his back hit the couch. They were in a smaller common room at the tower, used as a sort of library. Bucky knew this was Y/n’s favorite room in the tower because there were days he wouldn't see her until she emerged from the library at midnight, walking into the kitchen wrapped in a fluffy blanket looking incredibly relaxed.

Not that he was looking for you. 

“-ucky. You are okay. Match my breathing okay? You are just fine.” You were pressing his hand to her chest, her hand on top of his. 

It's the first time they touched.

Well not the first time, they’ve trained together. Brushed shoulders in passing. 

But she was purposely touching him, comforting him. 

His breathing slowed down, and he was shocked when your arms were suddenly around his shoulders.

“I’m so so sorry he said those things to you.” 

Your voice sounded watery, which made him push on your shoulders to see your face. Which made you panic. 

“I-I’m so sorry Bucky. I know you don’t like to be touched. I should have asked before I hugged you. I was just so mad that he said those things to you!” You were aggressively wiping the tears from your face. “He had no right! He doesn’t know what you went through and the fact that he was accusing you of things you never even did! I’m so-” Bucky was smiling at this point. 

“Doll, you’re rambling.”

That shut you up really quick. 

A small smile slowly appeared on your face, confusing Bucky.

“Doll? You called me doll?”

“Uh… Yeah, I guess I did.” Your smile grew larger. “And don’t feel bad for hugging me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I… I liked it.”

“Then why did you push me away?” Y/n says, tilting her head to one side. Making Bucky think of a confused puppy.

“I heard you crying doll. You should never cry over me.” At this she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, snuggling her face into his neck. “Everyone needs someone to cry over them sometimes.”

~End Flashback~

When Bucky came out of his mind, the sun was already rising. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. 

He didn’t realize so much time had passed, and couldn’t help but wonder where Y/n was. 

Was she even in New York still?

Bucky laid back, grabbing one of Y/n’s pillows and hugging it to his body, breathing deeply. 

He was dozing off, comforted by the smell of you, when FRIDAY jolted him awake.

“Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Mikaelson is back and requesting your presence in the kitchen. The rest of the Avengers are already on their way.”

Bucky jumped up quickly, needing to know if Klaus found anything, when he your favorite of his hoodies in your closet. He quickly grabs it and throws it on, comforted by the fact it smelled like you. 

He made his way down to the kitchen as fast as he could, practically running once the elevator stopped.

When he made his way into the kitchen he noticed the rest of the Avengers were already there. Klaus was standing at the island with a canvas bag sitting in front of him. 

Steve was the first to speak, “Why’d you call us all down here? Have you heard anything?” 

Klaus looks at him, and then at Bucky. “I went to my sister’s storage unit. While I was there I got a call from my sister Freya-”

Natasha cuts him off. “I thought you said your mom gave her to your aunt in the 10th century?”

Klaus smirks, “You pay attention, nice. Incredibly long story short, my aunt discovered how to practically make herself and Freya immortal by sleeping for 100 years and then living and aging for only a year.”

“Anyway, Freya called me. She said that there were some ‘animal attacks’ on the outskirts of the town. I’m going there tonight, James is coming with me.” 

Klaus started gathering the bag, but Steve puts his hand over it, stopping him. 

“Bucky isn’t going anywhere with you, how do we know we can trust you.” Bucky was about to object, but Klaus started first. His face blank.

This is my sister!” Klaus says, getting angry as he said it. 

“I would not do anything to risk her. I agree, you don’t know me and have no clue if you can trust me, but I will help my sister no matter what. I need James to help me with that.”

“Why does Bucky need t-”

Steve is suddenly pushed against the wall, Klaus baring his fangs at him. 

“He may be the only one who can keep her from losing her humanity. He is coming with me.

Steve goes to object, but Bucky stops him. “Steve, that’s my girl. I am going with him.”

“Buck-”

“Stop. You are the one that pushed her over the edge. I will not lose her”

He turns back to Klaus, who looks overly smug.

“Is there anything you need before we go?”

Klaus nods at this, “I need a cooler, and you should pack for at least a week… Maybe longer. We will also need a car.” He says, looking at Tony.

Tony speaks for the first time, telling FRIDAY to ready a car and make sure it has a cooler in it. 

“Why do you need a cooler?”

Klaus walks back over to the canvas bag on the counter, unzipping it. 

“Well, I went and collected some things from Y/n’s storage unit. Let’s just say, it’s a tad perishable.”

With that he turns the bag over, ten blood bags spilling out.

“What the hell is that!?” Clint says, “Well, I know what they are… I’m in the medbay enough to know that, but why do you have them?”

Klaus looks at him, “Take a wild guess.”

He looks at Bucky, “She’s feeding on people, we need to get her back on blood bags as soon as possible. She may not be a ripper but she is in such an emotional state that we don’t need to risk her seriously hurting someone.” He finishes with a pointed look at Steve. 

“Sir, the car is prepped.”

Klaus looks at Bucky. 

“Go pack, we have a long drive ahead of us.”

Taglist (Open):

@tranquility-or-chaos​ @21st-century-daydreamer​ @winterboobear11​ @theycallmemrsbarnes​ @notawritergettingtherethough​

[lorenzodemedisi]

Mother’s Love.

PAIRING. 

Steve Rogers x Enhanced!Reader; Stephen Strange x Enhanced!Reader (enemy?); Avengers x Enhanced!Reader. 

SUMMARY.

After the battle in Wakanda, Thanos didn’t use the stones. No him and his army just disappeared and now he awaits, hidden in the shadows. 

The Avengers and others heroes decide to re-group at the compound, and think of a new strategy to finally defeat their enemy. Dr. Strange had a plan but is something that you might not like...at all. 

A/N.

Angst and Fluff. 

This is my entry for @captain-kelli, Captain Kelli’s 500 Fam Writing Challenge. Congratulation on your milestones girl! Prompt;  “I could do it better! And in heels.”. The theme is Strong Women, and today I really wanted to put a light on strong Mothers; their power and love. Don’t hesitate to give me your thoughts, message, and comments. Hope you will like it and thank you for reading!

Gifs are not mine, credits to the owner and maker. 

A lots of love. Lex!xxx

WORDS.3020ish. 

°°°

You felt your heart beating hard inside your chest, hurt, confusion and anger pressing your from inside out, making your body shaken hard, standing beside your husband. You felt his hand taking yours, his skin pressing your fingers together, reminding you that he was here with you but you couldn't acknowledge him right now. Not after what Strange just announced to everyone.

" You must be mistaken, Stephen. " You took a step forward, breaking the contact you had with Steve, your eyes only on the face of the man who just turned inside out your world. " Unfortunately, no. I wish we would not come to this - " " You wish! " You hissed your fuming gaze inside his regretful blue eyes, you make a fist of your hands, already feeling the energy gathering under your skin. " I will make you wish to never cross me. " You argued, your voice hard as steel, your breath ragged, but determinate to beat his ass. " Alright let's put everyone on a time out and tried to consider for a bit. " Tony interjected the little fight between the wizard and yourself putting his body in front of you. " I think we all need time to re-group and think of this new strategy-" " There is no " new " strategy to think of. " You interrupted the billionaire frowning at him before glaring toward the doctor once again. " Besides, a hard and final; no. " You snarled between your teeth, unfazed by the different gaze of other superheroes coming from other galaxies or planets.

You turned around on your heels, and quickly started to walk out of the room, leaving the other in shock, surprise but also understanding your reaction. The click of your heels echoed inside the hallway as you distance yourself from doing something stupid to the wizard or anyone else. Actually, you didn't care what they were all thinking back there, your only preoccupation was on the only person who mattered inside your eyes right now. 

"Y/N?" Steve called behind you, following you through the corridor of the compound. " What didn't you say anything? " You sharply turned around, surprising him as the blond-man froze dead in his tracks. " Y/N…" Steve sighed, his voice full of sadness and exhaustion. " This is a delicate situation and-" " No. It's not, Steve! " You cried out, furious with the lack of his reaction. "There is no need to think about it or even discuss the fact with the other. " You vaguely pointed the door behind him, where were gathered a high amount of heroes. "The answer is no. A hard no. " You declared loudly, panting. Your hands starting to shake more from anger and frustration. Why everyone acted like it was normal to consider this sacrifice and you were the only one seeing the truth? " I know that. We have to consider another alternative…" Steve tired voice told you while making a step toward your angry frame. " So why, I felt like the only one in there being alone against everyone? Why don't you had my back? " You continued to shout, interrupting him once again, tears threatening to fall on your cheeks. " I have your back, Y/N. " The Captain also yelled at your face, outraged of your accusation. He took a deep breath, calming his emotions looking down on his shoes, for a minute. " I have your back. " He repeated calmer, rising his head to look at your face. " And I already told you, this fight his a delicate one. We all need to be on the same page and threatening an ally is not how we need to handle this. " He explained, making another step and gently took your hand inside his big one.

You let your blurry sight looking away from his blue eyes, and watched the compound's ground behind the huge glass windows. The sun was almost up, and you realized that you've been locked inside the room at the end of the hall for almost all night. Exhausted you closed your eyes, and bit your lips while Steve pushed on your hand to make you take the one last step that separated both of your bodies apart. You face collied on his tone chest, and his protective arms enlaced your trembling figure inside a thigh hug.

" I will never let anything happen to our baby girl or you. " He murmured leaning his head inside the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your ear. " I promise you with all my heart that I will be long dead before someone touches her head." He added, pressing a soft skin on your skin.

You sniffed against the fabric of his shirt, holding on your tears as hard as you could, the reassuring words of your husband playing inside your brain and appeasing your worries inside your mind.

" Let's go join them. " Steve whispered, pulling his figure away from you. " We have to take a decision, together. Something which will suit everybody. " Steve declared, in his deep and firm leader voice.

It was easier to say that to accomplish.

°°°

Because of your different personalities, different historical backgrounds and also deep and true nature, it was difficult to make a conclusion of what would be the best approach to win against Thanos and his army.

" So, after hours of deliberation, we all conclude that we can't take him by force, surprise or with subtlety. " James Rhodes enumerated reminding everyone of what you haven't decided to do within these thirteen hours of searching. " So, we all going to die. That's fun. " He nodded, taking a seat next to an annoyed Clint at the huge table inside the room. " Maybe if we go with my idea…" Dr. Strange mumbled under his breath not looking at anyone in particular, standing a little bit at the edge of the group.

You snarled and glared at him, ready to cut his irritating head from his irritating body if he mentioned his horrible idea once again.

" Maybe the wizard had a point. " The One who names himself Star-Lord, winced crossing his arms on his chest. " Excuse me? " You sneered, turning your dark eyes toward the brown-haired man. " All I'm saying is that maybe it worth a shot. " He shrugged his shoulders, grimacing, even more, feeling all the eyes of the room were on him. " No, it's not. " You firmly replied to him, before Steve could defuse the situation. You raised yourself from your seat, your angriness growing once again inside your core. " Come on, Y/N. I'm sure your daughter could do it. " The wizard remarked striding toward the table, purpose inside his eyes. " She's only three, Stephen. Stop this nonsense and lets us think of something more conclusive who doesn't involve my daughter's safety. " Steve raised his voice inside the room covering the little chats amongst the different groups seating at the table.

His features resolved and set, showing no discussion could change his or your mind, but when the magician had something in mind he was ready for anything to accomplish his purpose.

" I don't agree. " Stephen grinned eying you, and only you. " She would be fine." " And I would be better. " You affirmed him, blowing your fists covering in brigh force field against the wooden table in front of you making everyone jolted inside their seats. " Good. " The wizard concluded, taking his hands away from his pockets. "Because he's here." He announced taking a deep breath.

Nobody had the time to fully understand the meaning of his words before the ground shook and devastated started to wreck everything on the building.

°°°

Dark smoke everywhere made you coughed inside your hand, while walls shooke the grounds by falling down on everything and everyone. You couldn't see anything only heard cries, here and there from people trying to free themselves from this nightmare. You closed your eyes, feeling a headache beginning to ponder inside your skull, but suddenly you felt a hand griping your arm hard and raised your body from the holes you were lied on to the surface. You gasped for air, your eyes opening wide as you felt warm hands on your face and a distinct familiar voice calling you.

" Y/N? Y/N? Can you hear me? "

You shifted your eyes toward the voice, your eyes catching Steve's blue one. He sighed seeing you alive, a faint smile creeping on his face but quickly the sharp sound of weapons clashing against one and other, guns and other powers drowned toward the enemy made him looked away. Toward the battlefield. 

" He's here. " You moaned, putting yourself into a seating position, crunching your nose when you felt the injuries inside your rib cage and thighs burning you. " Yeah…" Steve nodded faintly, raising his eyes on the battle ahead of you, looking through for the Titan. " Great. " You sighed, biting your lips hard realizing that the final battle had knocked hard on your doorstep. All of sudden you realized something, that made your blood boiled with madness. " Where's Strange? " You demanded, turning your eyes toward the battle scolding your eyes at all the individuals.

You didn't wait for an answer from your husband to raise your body from the destroyed ground and started to run. You felt all your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and injuries but you continued to run, without thinking about anything but about the teleportation abilities of the wizard and his knowledge of the location of your daughter. You passed by many Dora Milaje fighting aliens, quickly your eyes caught Tony in his suit flying above your head, followed closely by Sam and the Valkyrie. Your eyes were everywhere but you couldn't find the wizard anywhere. You groaned frustrated, unaware of being the target of aliens weapons, you heard the sharp cries coming closer, and your eyes caught sight of them, but it was too late. They were upon you a second and being thrown away from a large hammer, the next. You pushed the next wave of monsters with a wave of your hand, craning your neck to look at Thor behind you.

" Where's Strange? " You asked him, yelling over the battle shout around you. " A thank you would also be nice. " He raised an eyebrow, his hand opened in front of him to get a hold of his hammer coming back toward him, knocking a few aliens along the way. " He's over the barricade, holding down the water. Why? " The God of Thunder asked, making out a bolt of lightning with the tip of his fingers and hit with it another bunch of your enemies.

You quickly searched for him, behind your back but found yourself blown away by a huge amount of power. And this time no one was there to save your ass as your body got thrown on the ground, hard. You felt bone-breaking because of the blow you received, colliding against the rough soil.

" I heard quite a tale Miss Y/N. " A deep and mocking voice told you reaching your ears even if multiple battles screams were all around you. You groaned, feeling your injuries tearing you apart all your frame, and rose your head opening your eyes to watch the dark purple head of the Titan smirking at you. " Here we meet again. " He smiled, his dark eyes filled with mischief and darkness.

You groaned, even more, feeling the copper taste of blood on your tongue, your wobbling legs getting your body up. You stood awkwardly, patches of dirt and dry blood on your skin, your hair all messed up. It was only you and him, apparently. Good.

" Maybe I should pay a little visit to your dear daughter of yours. The wizard thinks highly of her. " He started advancing on you, still smiling. 

Oh no he didn't. At the mention of her, your eyes widen in shock but also anger and hatred. Rage started to grow inside of your body erupting inside your heart.

" She's three right? " Thanos asked, still grinning. You felt the hot flame of outraged growing inside your stomach, your legs started to shake feeling warm wrath emanating all over you. " And he really thinks she can be the key to beat me and this. " He chuckled raising his arm strapped into the gold gauntlet, all the Infinity Stones bright with glow and colors. " That's a bit…too much, don't you think?" " H-He w-wanted to make an s-s-sac-crifice of her or s-somethin'. " You stuttered, your voice trembling from the boiling emotions that were exploding inside of you. You watched him stop into his tracks, just a few meters away from you, looking at you from up-down. " That's funny. Maybe I should start by killing you and then go make a little visit to her. " He suggested, starting to make a fist of his hand wearing the most powerful weapon in the world. " And, I would get to see if she's actually good enough to… destroyed me. " He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes catching the magic trick of Dr. Strange was making with his hands, standing a few feet away from you. Gold lines were appearing everywhere between his fingers.

Your eyes were only on the man who had utterly threaten your daughter's life. You couldn't feel anything, nor the ground under your heels, nor the floating glow around you but only the anger. The fury coming from you was unyielding love of a mother, that would do anything to protect her little one from this sick monster. Stephen Strange tried to hold on the Titan for a long time but with a flick of a gem, he got knocked out on the ground.  

" You really think you could have a shot to defeat me, you lower rank magician," Thanos chuckled, shaking his head at the man lying. " No…" The dark-haired man shook his head looking up at the figure in the sky. " I could do it better! And in heels. " You declared high in the sky, your eyes glowing like flame ready to destroyed and burned everything on his way. "Goodbye, you freak. "

Quickly you rose both of your hands and let the anger pondering inside of you for hours wreak havoc on the battlefield. Time stop, body froze, some felt on the ground, some raised their head to look at the firebird bright in the dark sky. You were nothing but, power. Raw power, destroying, ruining and killing the opponents by shattering their body in pieces. Your eyes were only on the man who had menaced your child, feeling the deep pool of your power breaking the smirk of his face made you pulled inside of it, again and again, your rage, protectiveness and love never-ending if it meant the safety of your child. You continued to ruin everything until nothing was left of his body, his army and his ships in the sky. Until you felt no more pain, anger or any feelings at all.

°°°

Something smooth was stroking you. Light and as soft as a feather. You slowly opened your eyes, feeling the caress trying to pry on your neck and tickled you. Bright light through the windows made you close your eyes quickly but the little sensation on your skin put a faint smile on your lips. You were awake, alive and... well had some company. You tried again to open your eyes once again, slowly this time and turned your face toward the little disturbance. The little girl opened her blue eyes wide seeing you smile at her.

" Awake! Mommy is awake." She cried out in a delicious laugh, her face lightened up. She rushed her small body against yours her little arms enlacing your neck.

You chuckled, your nose brushing her little head. You raised with difficulty your arm to stroke her back. You rose your head and caught the sight of your husband smiling at you. You licked your lips, feeling a little bit sore, your injury not completely healed and winced a bit as you pushed yourself into a seating position, your back against the bed headboard.

" Hi, baby. " You whispered, your voice hoarse and dry. " How's my baby girl? " You murmured as she pulled away from your neck and put a gentle kiss on your cheek. " Alright, Audrey let mummy breathe a little bit. " Steve announced walking toward the bed you were resting, before stroking the hair of his girl. " No, it's ok." You murmured smiling at the blond-man. " Mummy wants another cuddle, come here. " You proposed opening your arm the other still numb. " Yeah, cuddle! " Audrey exclaimed, pushing her body against your collarbone, her hand enlacing your neck once again. She closed her eyes, her head resting on your shoulder.

You put another kiss on her head, and breath, your nose pressed against her skin, reassured that she was here, with you. You opened your eyes and slid your face to look at Steve.

" What happened? " You inquired shifting your eyes toward your husband while holding on your breath waiting for his reply. One hand protectively on your Audrey's back. " Everything and everyone is fine. " Steve smiled, before pushing his body to hover yours and your little one. " Thanks to you, mama bear. " He murmured, his clear eyes bright in the natural light of the room.

Steve put a soft kiss on your lips and sat on the edge of your bed, reaching for his daughter to put her little body on his lap. The little family was reunited and started to enjoy their moment after complicate and dark times.  However, the wandering eyes spying on them through the clinic window was a colorful addition to the mix.

" Don't look like me like this. " The dark-haired man scoffed, arranging the collar of his cap. " I do what I had to do for us to win. Mother's love is the most powerful and dangerous thing out there." He shrugged his shoulders at the two soldiers glaring at him. " I had to make her angry, and that was the only way. " He continued to justify himself, as he started to walk outside the room, following by the desperate look of Sam and angry stares of Bucky. "Desperate times need desperate measures, soldiers. " Stephen Strange told them still striding to the exit, his back to them.

°°° Tag List; @jtargaryen18 @princessdancingonthesunshine @captain-kelli​ @fckdeusername​

[pinkykitten]

marvel masterlist

✰menu✰ cakes: one-shot macaroons: blurb/drabble or imagine with less than 1,000 cupcakes: headcanons baguette: preferences pies: chapter or series

✰ — cakes:

“trust” | bucky barnes x frankie winchester (oc)

“vegetarian life” | m’baku x fem! reader

“traveler” | erik killmonger x calantha morrison (oc)

“tour of wakanda” | t’challa udaku x fem! reader

“short tickles” | james howlett x short! fem reader 

“heaven’s light” | kurt wagner x fem! reader

“safe and sound” | loki laufeyson x fem! reader

“the gala” | tony stark x plus size! fem reader

“come back to you” | stephen strange x wizard! fem reader

“make you feel loved” | matt murdock x plus size! fem reader

“we can be the greatest” | yon-rogg x fem! reader

“due date” | steve rogers x pregnant! fem reader

“inhaler” | peter parker x asthmatic! fem reader 

“the bracelet” | hank mccoy x fem! reader

“sun rise and mangoes” | bucky barnes x wakandan! fem reader

“sacrifice for wakanda” | t’challa udaku x wolf powers! fem reader

“inconsolable window” | tony stark x gn! reader (platonic)

“i can be loved” | stephen strange x plus size and fire power! fem reader

“dressed up” | yon-rogg x fem! reader

“i’ll walk you home” | peter parker x fem! reader

“the unspoken story” | bucky barnes x raina zeller (oc)

“are you acting jealous?” | tony stark x fem! reader

“mission fail” | yon-rogg x starforce! fem reader

“we’ll be okay” | peter parker x lia stark (oc)

“self conscious” | bucky barnes x fem! reader

“melted laughter” | bucky barnes x fem! reader

✰ — macaroons:

“icy kisses” | m’baku x fem! reader

“comfort” | kurt wagner x fem! reader

“based on a gif” | loki laufeyson x little girl! fem reader (platonic)

“based on a gif” | thor odinson x werewolf! fem reader

“lost friend” | yon-rogg x fem! reader

“based on a gif” | clint barton x fem! reader

“based on a gif” | steve rogers x smoke abilities! fem reader

“based on a gif” | peter parker x villain and angel! fem reader

“attention seeker” | thor odinson x fem! reader

“to the future” | yon-rogg x pregnant! fem reader

“based on a gif” | steve rogers x fem! reader

“the truth” | yon-rogg x starforce! fem reader

“tease of a friend” | yon-rogg x fem! reader

✰ — cupcakes:

“being taken care of when you are sick” | scott lang x fem! reader

“black panther headcanons” | t’challa udaku, erik killmonger, m’baku, w’kabi, okoye, nakia, shuri x fem! & male! reader 

✰ — baguettes:

“having a relationship with erik” | erik killmonger x fem! reader

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 17: You’re A Beast, Barnes

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: All it takes for Bucky is five martinis and three tequila shots and then he’s pulling down his pants in the middle of the bathroom. Steve’s not sure whether to be worried or impressed that he’s not dead yet.

Word Count: 5,653

Warnings: Language, drinking, smut (rimming, blowjobs, public)

Masterlist

Steve awoke early that morning from restless dreams, visions that haunted him inside and outside of sleep. His mother. Peggy. Bucky. His girl.

Their girl.

He hadn’t seen her in days—not since the funeral.

Part of him seethed when he thought about it, muscles tense, fists clenched. Another part of him, however—another part of him felt broken, chest and throat tightening, skin buzzing with pain.

It was a visceral response, either way, but he was more inclined to block out the sadness in favor of rage. He had broken knuckles and a bloody lip to attest to that.

 “Time to wake up, sunshine!” Sam’s voice rang through the small Brooklyn apartment.

Steve sat up and looked around. He realized quickly that he wasn’t in his own bed—he wasn’t in a bed at all, actually, but instead on Sam’s sofa. Sam was in the kitchen, a metallic clang against plastic echoing in the living room as he shook a protein bottle around.

“What time is it?” Steve asked. He went to rub his eyes and flinched when a sharp sting spread through his skin, mixing with the dull ache of a bruise.

“Almost ten,” Sam answered. “Want a protein shake?”

“Sure,” Steve grunted and stood up, stretching out his aching limbs. He was shirtless and he could see more purple mottling on his stomach, around his ribs.

Sam handed him the protein shake and nodded to his injuries. “How ya feeling?”

“Like a truck ran me over,” Steve mumbled. He popped open the protein bottle and took a sip, cringing at the taste of watery vanilla—made with rice milk, no doubt, part of Sam’s new health kick.

Sam chuckled and went back into the kitchen. “Not a truck, no. But Rumlow wasn’t going easy on you last night.”

Steve groaned at the memory. He didn’t know if the throbbing in his head was from his hangover or his concussion.

Sam continued, “Still, man, congrats. Rumlow didn’t make it an easy win, but you managed it!”

The memories from last night flooded his mind. It wasn’t too different a night from the entire past week. There was an underground fight club they frequented in Brownsville, one that Steve participated in every so often. He hadn’t fought much for the past year—not since meeting Peggy—but now with so much built up anger and frustration over everything that had happened in the days leading up to the funeral, he needed to release his emotions somehow.

Fighting worked wonders for his excess energy.

He had fought every night that last week, and he had won every single match. Last night, he fought Brock Rumlow—one of the mobsters from Hydra, whose territory mostly spanned the other side of the Hudson despite their slow encroachment on New York City. Beating Rumlow to a pulp the previous night had not only won Steve ten grand, but it also established the dominance of the Brooklyn Mob over Hydra—informally, at least.

Steve finished off the protein shake and set the bottle on the kitchen counter.

“Feel free to take a shower, man,” Sam said, “You stink like shit and you got blood on my throw pillow.”

He glanced to the couch where his head had been resting, indeed finding dark brown stains of dried blood on the square pillow there. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that. I’ll just—” Steve motioned to the bathroom and got on his way.

“And Buck’s gonna be here in a few. We’re going out to breakfast—wanna come?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve mumbled, then shut himself behind the bathroom door. As he showered, wincing from the hot water running through the cuts on his face, he readied himself for Bucky’s arrival.

Things were tense between the two men since Y/N had decided to leave. Bucky wasn’t doing well with it—eating his feelings and drinking away the pain at night. He knew Bucky blamed him, and he knew he was falling back into old habits like drinking and partying. Not that Steve was doing much better. He drank just as much, his smoking had doubled, and of course the bruising on his face spoke for itself.

But he didn’t know what to do, or why he felt this way. The past year when he had been staying away from Y/N, focusing instead on the mob and Peggy—that had been fine. He had been fine.

But now…

He ran his hands down his face, rubbing soap into the lacerations until it burned so bad, the pain was all he could think of.

When he got out, he dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that Sam had left out for him before slicking his hair back to the best of his ability and running his knuckles against his jaw. He was getting a little scruffy, not having shaved for a few days, but the hair did a little bit to hide the bruising on his jaw and the cut on his chin from his fight two nights ago with one tough bastard named Wade Wilson.

As he entered the living room, he saw Bucky and Natasha sitting on the couch with Sam.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted his friend with a clap on the shoulder, pretending not to notice when he shied away. “Nat. Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Buck stayed at my place last night so he invited me.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t know what Bucky was up to lately, but now he wondered if he was back with Natasha… But Natasha was with the Maximoff girl… Right?

“You look like shit,” Bucky commented dryly.

“Yeah, Rogers, what happened?” Natasha asked, a smirk playing on her red lips.

When Steve ignored her, Sam answered, “He dragged Brock Rumlow across the ring last night.”

“Brownsville?” Bucky asked, turning in his seat to look at Steve, brows furrowing as he took in Steve’s full appearance, bruises, cuts, and all.

“Yeah,” Steve grunted, putting on his sneakers. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about it—not before a cup of coffee, at least. “Can we go now? I’m starving.”

It didn’t take long to walk to Coulson’s, only a few blocks down. The diner was a staple for them—they had been going there since high school for late night burgers and milkshakes, and Bucky realized that despite all of the stress from the last few weeks, his and Steve’s tumultuous relations with Y/N, some things never change.

He had to admit his annoyance and anger with Steve and how they had handled everything. Bucky didn’t think he himself was blameless—he acknowledged his own part, not supporting their girl enough, not being perceptive enough to realize how she was suffering. He wouldn’t apologize for punishing her when she deserved it, but he was sorry for everything else.

It was driving him crazy. He wished he could tell her this—beg for forgiveness—but he didn’t know how.

“I’ll have a cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake,” Bucky said, looking over the menu. “And a BLT. And fries.”

Sam raised his eyebrows from across the table. “That all?”

“I’ll have a side salad, too. Dressing on the side.”

“You’re a beast, Barnes.”

Steve stayed silent through the exchange, only speaking to order a breakfast spread and a coffee. He remained as such throughout most of breakfast, even as the others made conversation; how Sam’s latest fling with a girl from the Bronx was going, the latest Giants game, and construction for the Manhattan location of the Widow’s Web. Only once Steve had finished his first cup of coffee did he speak at all.

After Natasha mentioned her relationship with Wanda, Steve asked, “She’s still working at the Web?”

Natasha nodded, eyes lighting up with amusement as if she could see where Steve’s train of thought was going. She was always able to see through him like he was made of plastic wrap. “Yeah, but it’s a pain for her to commute now that she moved into their new apartment.”

“Where is their apartment?” he asked, trying to seem nonchalant.

She scoffed, but the smirk on her lips told him she wasn’t annoyed with his query. “I don’t know if I should tell you, Rogers. I’m perfectly aware of how Y/N broke up with you—”

“She didn’t break up with me—”

One of her perfectly groomed eyebrows arched so high Steve thought it might detach from her forehead. “Oh? Well it sure seems like it.”

His voice strained with effort as he resisted the urge to yell at her, or punch something, or flip the table. He was working hard on not making scenes in public. “I’m not asking for the address. Just making conversation.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Right. Well it’s not too far from the university. Wanda said they can walk to class.”

“Classes have started already?” Bucky asked, eager to smooth over the tension still radiating from Steve.

“Yep,” Natasha popped her lips, that sly grin coming back. “And don’t ask me what classes your girl is taking—I have no idea about her.”

Steve rolled his eyes and mumbled into his coffee mug, “She’s not our girl…”

“Not anymore she’s not.”

“Nat.” Bucky sent her a look, not mean, but stern and exasperated as she tried to rile Steve up further. “Knock it off.”

 Steve looked at Bucky then, really looked at him—for probably the first time that entire morning. He took in the tight t-shirt Bucky wore, straining against his chest, the sleeves rolled up on his thick biceps. The man in front of him—the man he had known his entire life, who he had grown up with, who he had seen blossom from an awkward teenager into this beautiful man.

It wasn’t hard for Steve to admit that he missed him.

So things had been tense between them—Steve knew Bucky was mad at him, and Steve’s mood was rarely much better—but Steve missed Bucky. He knew Bucky would come around eventually. Not many things could get between their years of friendship.

Bucky held his gaze, wondering what Steve was thinking—and then Steve’s lips quirked up in a smirk behind his mug, his eyes sparkling with something suddenly.

Oh.

Well, Bucky was still a little pissed off, but he could work with that.

He was never good at holding a grudge, anyways.

Maintaining eye contact still, Bucky picked up his milkshake and wrapped his lips around the straw, taking a long sip and letting Steve observe the pucker of his red lips, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucked.

Steve licked his lips, mouth parted for a moment, entranced at the display, but their attention was diverted as the food arrived.

As Bucky started on his BLT, Natasha asked, “Buck, you coming to the party tonight?”

Bucky nodded, mouth full, and Steve asked, “What party?”

“A rave in East Village. Wanna come?”

Bucky swallowed and looked at Steve again—Steve, who was looking back at Bucky in an almost challenging way.

“Sure,” Steve said, surprising Bucky. “I’ll come.”

“Don’t need to go defend your title in Brownsville?” Bucky asked. Part of him still wanted to be angry at Steve. However, another part was excited for Steve to go tonight. He couldn’t remember the last time they had gone out together—it was before Y/N, maybe even before Peggy. Not that Bucky had been partying much the last few years after he got clean, but he was excited still. They could fool around like they used to, and it would be like old times.

Steve shrugged. “I think I’m done fighting. For now.”

Bucky snorted, but grinned at his friend. “You’re never done fighting, Stevie.”

 It was later that night, almost midnight, when Steve saw Bucky outside of the nightclub in Manhattan, and he almost had an aneurysm at what he was wearing. A skintight silk button down shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, matched with the tightest jeans he owned. His hair was down, long at his shoulders, a piece braided in the front. Red lips slick with spit, skin a little shiny, it was clear that Bucky had already pre-gamed earlier with Natasha.

As they stood behind Natasha, who was whispering to the bouncer, saying some sort of magic words to gain them entry, Bucky slung his arm low around Steve’s waist, swaying on his feet a little.

Steve slid his arm around Bucky to steady him, and his body tingled at the feeling of Bucky’s slimmer frame against him. He had always loved being able to support Bucky like this, hold him up when he was drunk. Steve was always the skinnier one growing up until they finished high school and then somehow he grew taller and filled out.

Bucky always said he loved Steve either way, and he was the only one to love him when he was tiny.

“How much have you had to drink?” Steve murmured to him, voice a soft growl close to Bucky’s ear.

Bucky shuddered, his shoulders vibrating under Steve’s arm. “Maybe one or two martinis at the Widow’s Web.”

“One or two?”

“Or five.” Bucky shrugged. “You know me.”

“Yeah I do. All too well…” Steve trailed off as the bouncer ushered them inside.

It was packed, lights flashing green and blue. Streamers, bubbles, and glitter floated around in the air, giving the sense of being underwater. Go-go dancers stood around the crowd on pedestals, dressed in clamshell bras and tight scaly skirts. Heavy electronic music played, and Natasha led the boys through the throng of dancers up to the bar. She managed to get them drinks relatively quickly—even though the bar was crowded with people, the bartender seemed to recognize her and got her order together pretty quickly.

She got them all shots of tequila. Steve cringed at the taste; it reminded him of the last time he had drank tequila and the bad decisions that had come with it.

After two more tequila shots, Natasha was pulled away by somebody she knew, and then Steve felt Bucky tugging at his waist.

“Come dance, Stevie!”

Steve had no chance to respond before Bucky was pulling him onto the dancefloor, expertly weaving through the crowd and then grinding his ass against Steve.

Well, Steve wasn’t going to protest.

He hadn’t gotten off since before the funeral, and he hadn’t fucked Bucky in much longer, and he was getting that craving again. Bucky was always the perfect sub for him. Something Steve admired about Bucky was his ability to switch between roles so well.

Another thing Steve admired about Bucky was his tight little ass, which Bucky was grinding against Steve’s half-hard cock like he was being paid for it.

Steve’s hands settled on Bucky’s hips, gripping tightly and moving them as he pleased. Bucky’s back was pressed tight to Steve’s chest, and Steve’s lips skimmed his ear, his neck, his jaw, where he nipped harshly at the bone, eliciting a deep groan from Bucky that rumbled through Steve’s chest.

After a few songs, the tequila started to kick in, and Steve felt bolder. His hands wandered up and down Bucky’s sides, his chest, skimming across soft bare skin juxtaposed by coarse black chest hair. He took a handful of Bucky’s pec, squeezing, slipping underneath his soft shirt and pinching at his nipple.

“Missed you, Buck,” Steve groaned in response to Bucky’s breathy whimper.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped as the man behind him brought his other hand to cup Bucky’s growing erection through painfully tight denim. His hands worked Bucky’s chest and cock in tandem until Bucky was shuddering and shaking, turning around to face Steve. “C’mere—” Bucky muttered before crushing his lips to Steve’s.

The kiss was deep and filthy, tongues dragging against tongue and teeth, lips sucking apart with lewd sounds drowned out by the music. Their bodies gyrated against each other to the beat, Steve’s hands gripping Bucky’s ass in a bruising hold, keeping their cocks pressed against each other through two layers of denim. Bucky fisted Steve’s hair, ran his hands down Steve’s neck and back and then tucked up underneath his shirt, lying flat against heated skin, damp with sweat.

Steve sucked a bruise into Bucky’s neck, all teeth and harsh sucks, while Bucky ran his nails down Steve’s shoulders.

“Want you,” Steve breathed into Bucky’s ear.

“Then take me.”

Without any warning, Steve led them to the men’s room, shoving Bucky into a stall and dropping to his knees. His hands worked Bucky’s jeans off quickly, pulling them down his thick thighs.

“No underwear, Buck?” Steve smirked up at him. “Feeling hopeful tonight?”

Bucky snorted. “The way you were eyeing me at the diner earlier told me all I needed to know about how things would go tonight, Rogers. You’re not as slick as you—oh, God—” His insults were cut off as Steve suddenly took Bucky’s entire cock into his mouth, down to the root, nose buried in Bucky’s shaved pubic hair.

Another thing Steve admired about Bucky was that Bucky kept everything so soft and smooth down here. It made giving head a downright joy.

“Oh, Stevie, please, yes—” Bucky gargled, slanting his fingers through Steve’s hair and holding him there.

Steve pulled back and dipped his head down, licking down his long shaft, tonguing the join between his cock and balls, and then running his tongue all over his balls until they were dripping spit. Steve sucked one into his mouth, playing with it with his tongue as Bucky chanted pleas and praise, mind lost at the feeling of Steve’s mouth on his most sensitive area.

Maneuvering their bodies so Bucky was leaning against the stall wall, Steve encouraged Bucky to spread his legs as much as possible with the restraint of his jeans around his thighs, even yanking his pants further down to get Bucky’s legs as wide as they could go in this dirty club bathroom. Then, Steve dove in, starting again at Bucky’s balls, sucking and tonguing them, and then licking back around to Bucky’s taint and burying his face as far as he could between Bucky’s legs to lick at the rosebud between his cheeks.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky gasped raggedly, holding Steve’s hair with both hands and shoving.

It was an incredibly awkward position for Steve, face shoved into Bucky’s balls, mouth desperately trying to reach his asshole, chin absolutely soaked in saliva. One hand pumped Bucky’s cock and the other gripped his ass cheek, kneading and spreading them.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” Bucky canted his hips forward, trying to get more of Steve’s mouth on him. “More, Stevie, please—more—”

Steve pulled away, grinning at Bucky’s disgruntled whine. After a sharp smack to Bucky’s ass, he shoved at his hips. “Turn around and bend over, baby.” His voice was so rough and gravelly it made Bucky shiver.

Bucky obliged quickly, and Steve wasted no time in spreading Bucky’s ass and placing the width of his tongue over Bucky’s little pink asshole, letting the split that had collected in his mouth drip down his tongue and over Bucky’s rim and down his perineum, coating his balls in slick saliva.

Once Bucky’s hole was wet enough, Steve put his mouth fully over the puckered flesh, sucking at the rim hard. Bucky cried out, shoving his ass back into Steve’s face and reaching down to slowly stroke his own cock.

Next, Steve straightened his tongue and slowly breached Bucky’s entrance, letting Bucky’s flesh tense and relax around him. Meanwhile, Bucky kept up a string of pleas and cries, begging Steve for anything and everything.

“So good, Stevie, so fucking good—God—fuck!” Bucky growled. “Yesyesyes—please, Stevie—more—want your fingers—”

Steve could never deny Bucky.

Retracting his mouth, he sucked one finger into his mouth and covered it until it was dripping wet, then slowly entered Bucky’s hole, glistening with spit in the dim fluorescent light of the bathroom.

“You like that, baby?” Steve asked as he started fucking Bucky with his finger. “You like me licking out this sloppy little hole?”

“Steve—yes—fuck—”

“You like me eating you out on this dirty bathroom floor? You’d let me fuck you anywhere, wouldn’t you, Buck?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“You’re filthy, baby—fucking filthy for me—all for me, right?”

“Yeah, Stevie, only for you—please let me come—”

“Come for me, sweetheart—that’s right—” Steve leaned forward and licked around the finger pumping in and out of Bucky’s ass, reaching his other hand around to play with Bucky’s balls until he could feel them drawing up against his body. Bucky let out a few little moans, breathless and sweet, and then Steve felt the other man’s release dripping down onto his hand.

Bucky leaned against the stall, pressing his face against the cool metal, while Steve took away his finger and gave a few soft licks to Bucky’s rim. Then he stood up and slotted himself behind Bucky, kissing up and down his neck, sweeter and softer than he had any right to be after the depraved words he spoke.

Bucky slowly turned around, a little shaky on his feet and a little awkward with his pants still down. They kissed, sloppy and hot, until Bucky reached for Steve’s erection.

Steve stopped him with his hand that wasn’t covered in come. “I want to take you back home. Wanna come in your ass.”

Bucky groaned low in his throat and nodded, mouthing at Steve’s cheek and jaw. “Want that—yes—please, Steve—”

Steve chuckled and pulled away. He locked eyes with Bucky, keeping eye contact as he brought his hand up and licked the come off his fingers, sucking them into his mouth one at a time. “You always taste so good, Buck.”

He offered some to Bucky, and he took his fingers in between his plump red lips and sucked all of his own cream off, not blinking once as he worked.

Once they were cleaned up, Steve helped Bucky put his pants back on, and then kissed him once more. “Let’s go home.”

Later that night, as they cuddled in Bucky’s bed, Steve’s come still leaking out of Bucky’s ass, Bucky murmured into Steve’s shoulder. “We gotta get her back, Stevie.”

Steve sighed. He had thought the same thing a hundred times in the past week alone. “I know… But how?”

“I don’t know… But we have to figure it out.”

 “Wait, wait—” Wanda grunted in the middle of the stairwell, between the fourth and fifth floors. “Wait! I said wait!”

All the girls around the dresser groaned. Two on one end and two on the other, Kate in the middle doing her best to keep the piece of furniture together, the girls paused their hefting and heaving at Wanda’s demand.

They had found the dresser on the curb two blocks down and had come too far to give up now—especially when dressers this size would usually cost upwards of three hundred dollars, more money than any of them had put together.

But moving furniture was never easy, not when the elevator was broken and they lived on the top floor.

“What?” Kate snapped, poking her knee forward to stop one of the dresser drawers from sliding out and falling through the stair rail and down four and a half floors. “Why are we stopping?”

A petulant whine came from Wanda’s throat. “I need a break!”

“Oh my God!” America moaned, “We’re almost there!”

“We’re only halfway there!” Wanda protested, gently setting the dresser down on the landing. “This thing is fucking heavy!”

“Are you seriously doing this?” Y/N asked, stationed right beside Wanda. She adjusted her grip on the dresser so it wouldn’t fall down and squash Kamala and America.

“I have no endurance, okay?”

“At least she admits it,” America muttered, and the girls huffed a laugh, too out of breath for much else.

Kamala groaned “We need to speed this along! I have a meeting with my advisor in forty minutes.”

“For what?” America asked.

“Changing some classes to fit my major.”

“What’s your major?” Y/N asked. She hadn’t yet gotten to know the other girls very well, only having lived with them for about a week. Classes were about to start and she was nervous enough—she hadn’t even thought about a major yet. It seemed like every time she turned a corner, there was another thing she was behind on.

And the list was mounting—she hadn’t done her FAFSA, hadn’t signed up to the bill sharing website they needed for utilities, hadn’t bought the required textbooks for her classes. She had only picked her classes a few days prior—and the pickings were slim so close to the start of the semester. The four classes she chose included a seminar, a class about ancient history, a chemistry course, and an introductory art class as an elective. While trying to find classes, she realized she knew almost nothing about anything, so she decided to try a well-rounded schedule of courses this semester to try and figure out what exactly she wanted to do with her life.

“I’m film,” Kamala said.

“What about you guys?” Y/N asked.

“I’m doing theater,” America said, “But after I graduate I’m going to law school.”

Kate said, “I’m doing engineering. I’m torn between chemical engineering, electrical engineering, and mechanical engineering.”

Wanda added, “I’m doing business. My dad wants me to take over the liquor business one day, so I guess I’m getting ready for that.”

 Y/N hadn’t even thought about graduation or anything after that. She couldn’t fathom the work that went into engineering, or law, or business, or getting a job, or—

“What about you?” Kate asked her.

“I’m undecided,” she shrugged. “I don’t really know what I want to do yet.”

Wanda smiled at her and nudged her with her knee. “You have plenty of time to figure it out.” She smiled back, but there was a sinking feeling in her stomach, a suspicion that she wasn’t good enough or smart enough, inadequate in so many ways.

Did she even deserve to go to NYU? Was this truly the right place for her?

Or was her purpose in life to serve the mob, as her parents had told her all her life?

Kamala grunted, lifting the dresser again. “Can we get going? I don’t want to be late.”

They all started lifting together, grunting and groaning in turn, when a familiar voice called from the bottom of the stairwell.

“You girls need help?”

“Ouch!” Wanda yelped as Y/N stumbled and almost dropped the dresser on her foot. The blood left her face and she started to sweat—and not from the physical exertion.

Bucky’s face appeared on the other end of the dresser, taking the load off of Kamala and America. “Here, you girls get the sides.”

Y/N remained silent as Bucky directed them up the rest of the stairs, carrying most of the weight of the dresser and helping America position it in her room.

“There ya go,” he breathed, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Thank you so much!” America said, a wide grin on her face. “I mean, we could’ve done it without you, but I probably would’ve ended up punching Wanda in the face with all her whining.”

“Hey!” Wanda frowned, smacking America lightly on the arm.

Bucky chuckled. “Anything for one of Y/N’s friends.”

The three girls who knew nothing of Bucky turned to face Y/N, shocked.

Kate asked, “You know him?”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Kamala asked.

Her response was an awkward chuckle. “Well I was trying not to drop the dresser… So…” She hadn’t looked at Bucky once since they got into the apartment, pointedly avoiding eye contact with him now as he stared at her.

It was his first time seeing her in a few weeks, and his heart leapt at the sight—she looked good, really good. Hair shiny, skin glowing, nails painted bright red. She wore high waisted shorts that showed off just the slightest hint of her ass, and a skintight off-the-shoulder top.

Bucky missed her, but he had to admit, if this is how she was dressing now, maybe college was the right decision for her.

“Why don’t you show me around, sweetheart?”

Y/N glared at him; however, he knew she wouldn’t say anything against him—hoped, at least, that there still might be something left of their obedient little doll. Still, she hesitated, worry on her face behind her anger.

Wanda touched her arm. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

She sent Wanda a grateful look and turned to leave the room. As they left, Wanda whispered to the other girls, “He’s her ex-boyfriend. Total asshole.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at that but paid close attention to the girl in front of him as she showed him the living room and kitchen. He noticed they seemed to have no space for anything, boxes all over the place, counters cluttered with pots and pans. That was run of the mill for a Manhattan apartment, but he was sure it was a pain in the ass.

He followed along as she pointed out each bedroom in the hallway. “And this one’s mine,” she said shortly, stopping in front of the closed door at the end. She made no move to open it.

“You gonna show me inside?”

“No.”

He chuckled, delighted at her fiery attitude. He could deal with the brattiness as long as she was actually speaking to him. “C’mon, sweetheart. I swear I won’t try anything. We’ll leave the door open.”

The way he looked at her with eyes so earnest, big and blue and pleading—it weakened her resolve. She considered it for a moment and then looked away from him, chewing on her lip, suddenly a little shy. “It’s really small. Nothing fancy.”

“Darling, I just wanna see it. I don’t care how it looks.” He brushed past her and took hold of the doorknob, letting himself inside.

Small was an understatement. Her queen-sized bed took up half the space, and the rest of it was filled with boxes. The walls were drab—greying white, holes in the drywall everywhere. Clothes littered her bed and the desk chair from her old room that was shoved into a corner between the wall and the bed.

She weaved her way through the boxes and plopped on the bed, leaning back on her hands and staring up at him. “I don’t have room for a dresser. And I don’t have closet space. So…” Her sentence finished with a shrug.

“Aw, honey…” He frowned, surveying the space, mind working with how he could help. “Maybe I can build you some shelves. Hang ‘em up right here, and here,” he pointed to a few spaces on the walls. “I could put hooks or racks in them so you can hang your clothes.”

Her mouth twitched. “You don’t have to do that. Really, it’s fine.”

“I want to. It’s the least I can do, after…”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she asked, “How did you get my address?”

“Natasha told me.” It was a lie, but she didn’t need to know about the extent of his and Steve’s scheming over the past two weeks.

“Why did you come here?”

He pulled his backpack off, and that was when she noticed it wasn’t his backpack, it was hers. It was the one she had packed for the few days before her dad’s funeral, when she was staying at the boys’ apartment. She had left her things there and completely forgotten about it until now.

“You left this stuff at our place. I wanted to return it.”

“…Oh.”

“And I wanted to check on you. I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Her lips seemed to waver between a smile and a frown, pink and glossy, just like when he first kissed her at her birthday party. He kept his distance, not trusting himself if he was too close to her, and definitely not here, in her room, which smelled like her, like sweet flowers and vanilla.

“When do classes start?”

“Next week.”

“What’s your schedule like?” She hesitated, looking at him with an untrusting, wary expression. He sighed, holding up his hands in innocence. “Just so I know when to come and install the shelves.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she relented. “I have classes every day in the mornings and swim practice every afternoon. I’m looking for a job too but I don’t have anything yet. You can come next weekend.”

He smiled at her, that bright, happy grin that lit up her childhood. “Great. I’ll see you then.”

He turned to leave, and before she could stop herself, she scrambled off the bed and grabbed his wrist before he could go. “That was it? That’s all you came for?”

Looking down at her, he nodded, schooling his expression into one of honesty and concern, which was exceptionally difficult when all he felt was hunger for her. “Yeah—what were you thinking?”

Quickly, she let go of his hand. He immediately missed the feeling of her soft skin on his. “I don’t know.”

He smiled again and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. God, how was she so soft? “You seem happy, darling. And I want you to know I’m proud of you for making it here, making it to NYU. You seem to be doing well.”

She paused, then nodded. “I am.”

“Good.”

And with that, he gave her bare shoulder a squeeze and left the room without another word. She stood still, shocked for a moment, focusing entirely on the tingling feeling where his hand touched her shoulder, wondering why her skin was breaking into goosebumps just from a simple, innocent touch.