#the way imma start folding like a lawn chair

[dressycobra7]

@oracleact @consumedwithtrust @ryomen-sukuna-1-0

v1

im not okay

not Jin but you know, what if his twin had been born too

[4pfsukuna]

She want a big dawg

Inspo: that trend on tiktok and yall know the one. Somebody made a edit to him to this and i seen the vision. Plus the girlies been saying they tired of smutt so

warning: its purely fluff; 865 word

Being ex military Terry always felt like he was on guard— being a light sleeper, always scoping the scenery out, early morning 6 mile bike rides but there was just something about you that put him at ease.

You were so soft, gentle, always finding the humor in something even if you did have a bit of a dark sense of humor. The scent of coconut always lingered on your smooth skin and your lips stayed pink and glossy no matter how much you licked them. 

The way you thought you could command him to do something even being nearly half his size when all he had to do was give you complete eye contact and you would fold like a lawn chair. All you had to do was bat those pretty brown eyes up at him and that man would build you a house anything to keep that smile on your face.

And in the evenings he loves sitting on the porch with you more specifically he’ll come find you wherever you are in the house, wrap his large arms around you and carry you listening to you rant about your day, or whatever book you were reading or whatever you see on social media.

“She dont want no puppy she want a big dog” you sing for the fourth time since he picked you up holding you with just one arm as if you weighed nothing and he just chuckles at you when you place a bunch of kisses on his face.

“You better chill before you start something mama” he leaves a peck on your lips watching the way you look at him with so much love and admiration like he hung the sun moon and stars in the sky just for you.

Ignoring him you squeeze him tighter in a hug loving the way he kisses the top of your head pulling you closer inhaling his scent feeling the humidity kiss your skin the minute he walks to the porch swing. down south was always warm but nothing could beat the warmth of your embrace.

“Babe, you know how much I love you?” You smile up at him tightening your legs around his waist and he holds your face in both of his large palms pecking your forehead, then nose and finally lips.

“What silly little tic tac trend you trying to trick me into now?” He asks, reading you like an open book watching the way your jaw drops. He knew when you were sweet talking him and what for too— you had been singing that song that one specific part for the past two days. 

“Its tik tok! And what you think you know me or something?” You playfully scrunch your face up pushing your long dark curls that fell from your bun out your face. He chuckles, angling his head down to you watching you squirm instantly. No matter how long yall was together it was certain things he did that still gave you butterflies and made you nervous.

“Baby girl don't insult me, of course i know you” and he pulls you back to him tightly closing his eyes enjoying the sound of nature as day turns into evening. “And i know if you keep pulling away from me imma have to really pin you down”

Terrys love language actually was physical touch, loved having you in his arms, carrying you, waking up in the morning to you still cuddled up to him or when he’s making breakfast and your little arms wrap around his waist grumbling about him leaving you and the bed being cold without him. Or when it’s your turn to cook dinner and he steals kisses knowing you don’t like to be bothered when you cook, always successfully fishing when you swat at him for trying to steal food from the pot. So who were you to deny this time as if your love language isn't spending time together.

You finally settle in his arms, head on his chest yet halfway on his upper arm and he sinks further into the swing slowly rocking it back and forth, left arm running up and down your back unaware of your antics until something catches his ear.

“She dont want no puppy” the music plays and you try to sit up as if he made empty threats tightening his biceps around your shoulders, he definitely was not against pinning you down. “She want a big dawg”

Opening his eyes he looks down at you watching how contempt you look with him squeezing tightly around you not even bothered in the slightest only looking up when you see him looking at you through the camera.

“Ok ok im done go ahead put your old man music on” you giggle happily. you got your video and his muscles were wrapped tightly around you, even placing a kiss on his bare chest before laying back down. Ignoring your slick comment he puts on redbone by childish gambino and like clockwork your hands start running over his back and arms slowly and softly turning him into putty, unraveling his muscles slowly putting him at ease like you always do. 

[elysianecho]

Steve Rogers is a Klutz™

Summary: Getting shot by mobsters and finding Captain America and Spiderman on a roof in the span of one week is weird. 

Getting shot, meeting two Avengers, getting helped by one of those Avengers, and then meeting the rest of the gang?

"What is my life coming to?”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x cop!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some blood, reader being stalked, mentions of gunfights, people falling off ladders. I think that’s everything? Let me know if I’ve missed something!

Word Count: 6593

A/N: This is might make it on time. This is a smidge late. I’m SOOOOO sorry, Anika! Please forgive me. Life is dumb. 

Anyway! This is for @anika-ann​’s 500 Celebration! You rock, girl! My prompt was: 

“Say something so we know you’re okay!” “Ow.” 

It will be bolded in the story.

This is a hot mess but: Enjoy!! :D

~~~~~

Why was he here again?

“Okay, so, there’s been these guys that have, like, lasers and bombs and stuff—”

Oh, yeah. 

Steve watched as Peter explained what the latest baddies had been up to in Queens. Judging by the amount of arm waving Peter was doing, he was explaining through interpretive dance. He was in fact, listening to Peter, but he was also keeping an eye on their surroundings. According to Peter, the baddies were supposed to hit a bank near here tonight. 

“Listen, kid, ya gotta analyze what’s going on around you before you start to jump in. Otherwise you’re gonna miss—” 

“Like that door opening?” Peter said, pointing. Steve raised his shield and looked to the roof access door to see a woman step through it backward. She turned and stopped when she saw them. In all honesty, it wasn’t hard to miss Captain America and Spiderman on an empty rooftop.

She blinked at them. She held two brown glass bottles in one hand, a book and bag of chips  in her arms, and her phone was lighting her shocked face. 

Steve lost most of the ‘choose-your-fighter’ stance, lowered his shield, and extended a hand to show they meant no harm. Peter was muttering under his breath and looking from the woman to Steve. 

“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. And I don’t smell anything either,” she said, removing an earbud, “Imma sit right over there and enjoy the sunset.” She moved to a corner and set her things down. Steve noticed a wince as she stood straight and pulled a folding lawn chair from a crevice and set it up. 

“What do you mean you don’t smell anything?” Steve asked, finally finding his voice in this weird situation. 

She sat down slowly, wincing, twisted the cap off a bottle and took a swig before she grinned at him. He expected alcohol, but the scent of sassafras hit his nose instead.

“Here’s a tip, Spidey,” she said, looking at Peter, “a little cologne goes a long way.” She popped a chip in her mouth and swung one foot at a time on the chair to get comfortable. 

Steve looked to Peter who was...smelling his armpit? He hadn’t even realized he was wearing an overabundance of cologne; the kid spent so much time at the Compound anymore it was just—. Steve sighed. It was normal. Great. A supersoldier got so used to someone wearing so much fragrance he became nose-blind to it. But a civilian? Who just happened upon them one night? No problem. 

“Also, friendly tip: if you’re gonna keep your ‘secret identity’,” she said with a wide grin and exaggerated air-quotations,  “a continuing secret, wear a different cologne when you’re in the suit.” Steve grabbed Peter by the shoulder and pushed him toward the far side of the roof. 

“If you’ll excuse us, ma’am,” Steve said, nodding to her. She gave a two-fingered salute and an ‘aye-aye, Cap’n’ as the two moved their position. 

~~~~~

It was three days later when Steve was trying to take a walk through the town that he got an odd feeling he was being followed. He and Peter had taken care of the guys they were after: low-level crooks with high-level weapons. A very bad mixture in Steve’s mind.  

But now, he didn’t sense danger necessarily, he didn’t hear anything menacing, and it wasn’t like it was a flock of teenagers following him again. That he could hear a mile away over rush hour traffic. Plus, the beard and longer hair helped him blend a bit more.

He kept his stride and turned down an alley to take a couple shortcuts to see if his tag-a-long could keep up. Two minutes later, down this alley, back onto the main street, and down another alley, the feeling was still there. Turning once more, he backed up against the wall and waited. Once his follower got close enough to the corner, he snatched them, forcing them against the wall. 

This was something he didn’t expect. 

A gasp, the sound of boxes falling, paper crumpling, and a wry smile followed by: 

"Well, hello to you, too, handsome."

Her again.

"Why are you following me?" he said, moving his hands over her sides and down her thighs. Call him paranoid, but two years on the run will do that to you. 

"Gun and permit are on the waistband," she said, her hands halfheartedly raised. She spread her legs, just to see how far Captain America would go to pat down a woman carrying her groceries. 

Which he finally took notice of when he had to move a bag of green beans to lift her pant leg.  She bit back a groan when he brought his hands up to her sides again and around to her back. 

She had to admit, of all the pat downs she's had in her career, this had to be her favorite: Exceptionally attractive man? Check. Very smooth, deep voice? Check.  Warm, rough hands that weren't too rough while gliding down her thighs? Check and check.

Ever since the pardon, Steve Rogers remained a sort of enigma. He still went on missions, which she witnessed just the other night, but he had pulled so far back from the PR world that people were trying to figure out if Captain America was the same person.

Steve ran his hands along her back and found the gun on her waistband and— 

"You're a cop," he said, exasperated, holding up her badge. She let her hands fall, smirk still on her face. "Why are you following me?" 

"Well, I was out getting groceries, which you probably smashed the eggs, by the way, thanks for that—" she said, taking her offered badge back. 

"Why is an off-duty cop getting groceries following me in broad daylight?" Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Because I really just wanted to stare at your ass—I'm being followed, you doofus,"she hissed at him. 

"What?" Steve was instantly on high alert, listening more closely to passersby on the main street and all around. He chanced a peek around the corner to see if anyone had followed her. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "Why didn't you just call for back up?"

"Long story," she said looking around as well. She pulled back when she saw people round the corner, only to be caged in by tree-trunk arms from an annoyed Avenger. 

"I've got time."

"I don't," she said, staring at him incredulously. 

Steve Rogers was one cocky little shit. He had the nerve to lean on his forearms, prop one elbow on the wall to rest his head in his hand, and cross his legs at the ankle. His face and body just inches from her own. God, he smelled amazing.

Late June was hot. Late June plus very close proximity to a very stubborn, very attractive supersoldier? She may as well be on the surface of the sun. She took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled slowly to calm her heart rate. 

"Come out, come out, Queenie. We know you're there." 

The sing-song voice came just around the corner from where she and Steve were standing. 

Her heart rate didn't stand a chance of slowing down. 

Steve's brow furrowed, and he regained some of his earlier tension. He watched her eyes widen and flit back and forth. It almost looked like a plea for help, but her gaze hardened; she was planning something. Probably something stupid. 

He pulled his phone out and set up the camera. Taking a picture— albeit blurry, sue him—he held it up for her to see. There were ten men looking around every corner, behind every doorway. 

She ran a hand down her face. There had only been four when she last saw them. They were getting smarter. 

She opened her eyes when the temperature dropped. Steve had moved back and was looking around the alley, formulating his escape plan. She reached for her gun, but his hand caught her arm and he shook his head, putting a finger to his lips as the men called out for her once more. They were getting closer. 

He pulled her further down the alley, groceries forgotten, both of them trying to be as quiet as possible. He stopped when he reached the fire escape and cupped his hands, eyebrows raised asking: you ready?

Oh Lord, she had to put her hands on him?

If she wasn't looking at him, she never would've heard his whispered, "Hey!" She shook her head and put her foot in his hands and one hand on his shoulder. 

Is this what it feels like to fly? He lifted her like she was nothing and she barely had to pull herself onto the fire escape. Though the stitches in her side still pulled and she bit her lip to stop the hiss of pain. 

Steve backed up to the opposite wall and took a running jump. His foot barely touched the dumpster, and somehow he managed to not make a sound when he landed on the escape. 

He just smirked and shrugged when he saw her bewildered face. She rolled her eyes. 

The voices were louder now, triumphant: they found her groceries. She silently mourned her ice cream as she and her cohort climbed. 

The rig was old and even though Steve wasn't making a sound, the metal was. He grabbed her elbow five stories up, making her stop. He had his finger to his lips again, then pointed below them. 

"I know you're here somewhere, Queenie, I just wanna talk to ya," one man said, adjusting his cuff links. He was the best dressed of all of them but Steve could see the outline of a gun in his suit jacket. 

"C'mon, ya don't wanna play with me anymore?" he said, as his men were still searching below and further on.

This guy was starting to creep Steve out. He still had no idea what this woman had gotten herself into, but the saccharine tone of his voice made him sick. 

"I'm real sorry, I hurt ya, sweetheart. I promise, I won't do it again," he was finally moving on from the alley along with his posse. 

They stayed still for another moment while he was still in view at the mouth of the alley. He stood looking out at the main street with his hands in his pockets. 

Steve motioned for her to continue. They were one flight away from the roof when Back in Black started blaring from Steve's phone. 

He scrambled to turn it off, but when he pulled it out of his pocket with such panicked force, it slipped. Right out of his hands and down. Clanging on the rail and singing all the way down to shatter on the unforgiving concrete below. 

He heard her move up the last flight, while he just cringed staring down at the broken pieces. Tony was going to kill him.

Great.

 The suit had walked over to investigate. And he looked straight up at Steve. 

Great.

"Hey! Sorry 'bout that! Butterfingers, ya know?" he said, waving, "Can ya do me a favor and just toss it in the nearest can? The wife's gonna kill me if I don't finish dinner." 

The suit just stared at him, disgusted. He reached in his jacket and Steve prayed that his companion had made it to the roof. He brought a pack of cigarettes out and lit one, walking away from the broken pieces. 

"Hey, thanks, pal!" Steve said, turning and taking the last flight two stairs at a time. He hopped over the ledge and found her on her back, hands on her face in annoyance, and a red spot on her side. 

"Are you bleeding?!" he asked, rushing to her and landing on his knees. He scanned the rooftop and the adjacent buildings looking for a sniper. What kind of trouble was she in, anyway?

"Am I?" she moved her hands and sat up. Her breath hitched and she laid back down. "Ah, yup, stitches probably ripped."

"Can I?" he said, gesturing to her shirt. She waved a dismissive hand and he slowly pulled her shirt up. She was right: the stitches under her breast had ripped and what he could safely assume was a bullet wound, was bleeding again. 

"There goes the bra…" she muttered, rubbing her temple, "and it was a cute one too."

Steve shrugged a shoulder as he reached in his back pocket for a handkerchief. He glanced around at the nearby roofs once more before turning back to apply the cloth to the wound. She was staring at him. Smirking.

"Did you just...agree that my bra was cute?" she asked, her smirk turning into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners.

His gaze dropped to her wound again, brow furrowed, as he put pressure on the wound. A low hiss escaped her, but it was quickly replaced by the same grin. 

"Hmm. The eyebrow quirk and head tilt said you did. Name's Y/N, by the way," she said, getting him to glance at her. His hair was falling in his face and she couldn't help but think it just made him look extra handsome. "Figured you should know mine since I already know yours."

"Thought it was 'Queenie'," he said, a small grin playing on his face. The grin fell when her gaze hardened. 

"He shouldn't know it," she shook her head and ran a hand down her face. Before Steve could question, she waved his hand away from her side. She tucked part of the cloth under her bra and sat up with the help of Steve's large hand on her back. 

Steve moved back to give her some room before he asked, "What do you mean he shouldn't know it?"

"I dressed up one Halloween as a character named 'Queenie' and now that's what my whole precinct calls me. No one else calls me Queenie," she said.

Steve listened as she explained that she had been assigned to this particular precinct. Apparently due to suspicion that one or many of its members had close mob ties. Now she had proof, but no clue who to look for. 

They sat in silence for a moment before Y/N squinted and pointed over Steve's shoulder. 

"Hey, isn't that your buddy Iron Man?" 

Sure enough, it was. Steve turned back to face Y/N and just raised a hand in a lazy wave and sighed like an exasperated teenager about to get scolded.

Y/N grimaced at the loud sound of the Iron Man's repulsors. He dropped down at the edge and walked over, his helmet disappearing to reveal his face. It was a very annoyed face. 

"So you're just gonna ignore me now?" he said, stopping next to Steve and crossing his arms. 

"Tony, this is Y/N. Y/N, Tony," Steve said, gesturing one to the other. 

"Yeah, hi," Tony waved in Y/N's direction, then turned to Steve again, then back to Y/N, "Are you aware—you're bleeding."

The drastic tone change made Y/N blink. He spun his around to her so fast she thought his neck broke. She looked to Steve who had a hand over his face, but she could see his brows knit together as he shook his head. His shoulders shook in a silent chuckle.

"Wow, it is true," Y/N said, looking at Tony, "You really are a genius." 

Between the baffled look on Tony's face and the strangled laugh-turned-cough from Steve, her day was a whole lot better.

"Yes, we're both aware I'm bleeding. Captain Handsome over here was helping me avoid some trouble. This is a few days old, the stitches just ripped," she explained. Tony just quirked an eyebrow and a wide grin spread on his face.

"'Captain Handsome'? Oh that's definitely gonna be a thing, now," Steve's groan of disapproval cut through, but Tony paid him no mind, "Anyway, we need to get you patched up, and you were supposed to help set up-"

"Wanda's birthday, ah, shit!" was muffled as he ran both hands over his face and back into his hair. Y/N blinked.

"Captain America swears?" she said, looking at Tony who just shook his head in blatant disappointment. 

"Like a sailor. Romanoff's bringing the car around, so grab our invalid and bring her to the Compound. Romanoff, can you bring the car around?" Tony said, walking to the edge of the roof. Y/N tried to deny being taken with them, but Tony closed his helmet and blasted off. 

She looked to Steve who stood and held out a hand to help her up. Reluctantly (or not, he had very nice hands) she took it.

"Seriously, just drop me off at my apartment and I'll be fine. You've already helped enough," she said. 

Steve just shook his head and started leading her towards the roof access. "Not happening. I was already thinking about it, anyway.  Dr. Cho should have you patched up in no time."

Y/N groaned. How was she supposed to fight Avengers exactly?

~~~~~

Dr. Helen Cho has very kind eyes. But when she says 'go', even Steve Rogers moves. Y/N was introduced to her and then immediately directed (read forced) onto a table after her shirt and bra were (forcibly) removed and replaced with a hospital gown so fast the embarrassment didn't hit her until after Dr. Cho's machine was stitching her up. 

Or whatever it did. 

Y/N looked at her wound in the bathroom mirror. There was no scar, no trace of the bullet hole or the stitches. Still amazed at the technology, she lowered the borrowed hoodie and made her way back into the lab. Black Widow, or Natasha, was waiting with a small smile.

"I really want to thank you guys for everything, and I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I am! But I should probably be getting home…" 

Her smile tightened and her nose scrunched. "Mm, about that."

Y/N blinked. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it means." 

Her smile twisted up a little more before she grabbed Y/N's hand and began pulling her back to where Y/N thought was the living room. 

This week was just getting weirder and weirder by the second. Natasha pulled her by the hand the whole way and Y/N made no move to let go either; it was oddly comforting, and Y/N didn't even realize she needed it. She briefly wondered what it would be like to hold Steve's hand. 

She immediately grabbed that thought, stuffed it in a box, put that box in another box, duct taped the whole thing, and buried it. 

Crushes on celebrities were fine. If you've met them, cool, good for you. If you've been as close as Y/N had, you should be commended and given 'The World's Luckiest Bitch' medal. 

But she didn't want to get her hopes up. Chances are they'd just be crushed. Probably under a star-spangled shield or something much more terrifying. Nope, she may as well crush those feelings now before they got out of hand. 

Natasha took her down several halls to see a lounge room where several were gathered watching what seemed to be Lord of the Rings. Y/N didn’t recognize any of them, but judging by all the lab coats strewn all over the chairs and various snacks, they were probably just on a break. 

A couple turns and an elevator ride up a few floors, Natasha's hand still holding hers, and down more hallways Natasha finally stopped and opened the door to a conference room.

Y/N was completely lost as to where they were in the building, but she wouldn't really need to know. She'd be going home soon anyway.

"Is that my apartment?!" 

Steve, Tony, and Bucky Barnes turned at the sound of her voice, but her eyes were locked on the screen behind them. 

Most of it was nonsensical gibberish to her, but the main picture was her apartment building. On fire. Specifically her apartment. And the one next to it, too, where she knew the couple next door. They had just had a baby.

"Tell me no one was in there," she whispered, her voice starting to shake, "Tell me no one was home, Steve, they had a baby. You tell me no one was home!"

She had moved around the table, volume rising with every step. Steve put his hands on her shoulders when she grabbed him by the shirt. 

"Mom and baby are fine, they weren't home," he said, voice quiet and calm, "Dad's in the hospital with a few broken bones and scrapes, but he'll be fine, Y/N."

Steve thought he would get lost in her eyes earlier, now it felt like she stared into his soul. She took a shaky breath in and out, closed her eyes, and breathed again. It was when she was finally able to release his shirt that Tony spoke.

"Looks like you didn’t make it out, though," he said, turning the volume up. She turned to him and saw some blonde news reporter stating that one person had been killed in the explosion ("Ex- explosion?" was whispered as Steve helped her to a chair and sat her down.) 

Her own face stared back at her. Her name was on the news. 

Blood rushed in her ears and drowned out whatever was being said, whether on tv or in the room. Mind racing, she tried to figure out what her next step should be: who does she call? Does she call anyone? Can she? Not knowing which of her supposed brothers and sisters she could trust. The proverbial brakes came screeching to halt when she heard—

“Hydra?”

Natasha had joined Bucky in looking at a file on the table and Tony was sitting on its edge; they all turned to look at her. When she stayed silent, Steve moved from behind her chair and leaned his hip against the table. He said her name, snapping her attention back to reality. 

“Did you say Hydra?” she asked. Bucky nodded. “No, no, no. We’re talkin’ Clair Vitali, yeah, he’s no small fry, but he’s not Hydra. That’s crazy! Sure he’s a megalomaniac, but he’s not that smart. He shot me in broad daylight and had the balls to follow me in broad daylight, but then again, he had the balls to follow me in broad daylight and he does have some pull up on high. I wonder if that’s how he got Roca’s territory…” 

Steve thought she was going to burn a hole into the table with how she stared at it. Bucky chuckled and looked at Steve.

“She talked herself into it,” he grinned, “Didn’t even have to show her evidence. But it does look like the explosives they used were from Hydra. Not just with your house, but multiple others.” Y/N looked up as the screen changed to show five other bombings. Ones she didn’t even know were connected to Vitali. “And I remember seeing him around Rumlow a lot.” 

Rumlow.

Something about that name rang a bell. A gruff laugh, dark hair, an easy smile, and honey colored eyes filled her mind. 

"Brock Rumlow?"she asked. They all nodded. She grimaced and muttered, “Glad I didn’t go on that date with him, then. Oh-kay! So. Now what? Hydra is way out of my league. How do we handle this?” 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot almost to his hairline and Steve let out a strangled “Date?!” as Tony just turned back to the screen and started talking to the air. To her surprise the air spoke back. Oh, yeah. He’s Tony Stark. AI’s are a thing here. 

She heard Natasha’s chuckle and chanced a glance at Bucky, his expression was locked on Steve who she did not glance at. She was far too invested on the screen; her eyes locked on a familiar face, she stood slowly. Steve said her name and she blinked. 

“Bottom right,” she said, pointing, “That’s Charlie and, Houser, our captain.” 

Tony brought it up front and center showing the captain standing straight, and her partner behind him, hands clasped and shoulders slumped. He looked truly dejected. Angry. He kept his eyes low while the captain gave his statement on her supposed murder. No, he didn’t say murder. He said death. Death. Like an accident. Like her home spontaneously combusted. Like she wasn’t hunted like a wild animal, beaten, shot, and thrown into the river. The blood in her veins boiled watching him give his speech. 

“This is a day of grieving for us all. This is such a tragic loss for this precinct, for this city. Officer L/N was a treasure; a hardworking—”

“That’s detective, you monumental bastard,” she spat. Tony turned with a raised brow and a smirk. “We don’t really get along.”

“—shows no sign of tampering, but we will dig further to get to the truth of this atrocity—” 

She wondered who gave him this false information and thought about what she was going to do to them. If the police had been in her apartment, they should know whether or not it had been a bomb or some sort of malfunction. 

And then her fire was extinguished. 

He sniffed. 

She watched as Charlie’s brow furrowed and for the first time he looked up at the captain. His hands clenched into fists before he moved them behind his back. The captain continued his speech, sniffing again. 

“That sorry, low-down, pig-headed—” she shoved the chair and stepped away from the table, taking deep breaths, almost panting. 

“Hey, easy,” came from Steve who put a hand on her shoulder, “What’s wrong?” She took another breath and held it for a beat, then two, sure he could feel her pulse racing. Her fists clenching and releasing, she let the breath go, slowly, controlled, before she turned to him. 

“He’s in on it. He’s the connection to Vitali. That sniff?” she pointed back to the screen, “That’s his tell. The man can’t play poker to save his life! And that bullshit story about me being, what’d he say? ‘A treasure?’ Ha!” She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, trying not to think about how Steve seemed to be subconsciously rubbing his thumb in small circles on her shoulder. Taking another deep breath, she looked up at him once more. 

“And now that I know who the connection is, I have a good idea about who else is on Vitali’s payroll.”

~~~~~

Hello, Queenie. 

You wanna play?

Her eyes snapped open and her heart hammered in her chest. She sat up, gun raised, and looked around the room. This wasn’t her house. This wasn’t her house. 

Breathing became harder for her and her hand started shaking. But when the faint smell of a musky cologne reached her nose, she remembered blue eyes staring into her own. Her next breath was shaky, but she put the gun beside her on the bed. She’ll have to thank Natasha for giving her one of Steve’s shirts. 

Throwing back the covers, she swung her legs off the bed and made sure her legs weren’t wobbly before standing and walking out of the room. Ice cream was much needed. Now. 

Where the hell was the kitchen?

She tried to get a map in her mind, but, instead of directing her to her destination, it throbbed and refused to do any work. Forcing her feet to walk ten steps to her left, she faced her next obstacle. Waking the beast. 

She knocked three times. Silence. Three times more. 

“Fuckin— hang on!” 

Captain America swears like a sailor. She couldn’t stop the grin creeping on her face. Judging by the thudding and even more swearing, he was having some difficulty. Thirty seconds later the door disappeared and she flinched, stepping back.

Steve Rogers sleeps nude. 

In her peripheral, she could just barely see that he was holding a sheet around his waist. She didn’t dare to actually look, but tilted her head to see his face instead.

This was possibly the best decision she’d ever made. 

Steve Rogers with bed head. ‘World’s Luckiest Bitch’ indeed. 

She pursed her lips to keep the giggles from escaping. Sleepy, grumpy Steve was so cute. As she committed it to her long-term memory, he rubbed his face and let out a muted ‘shit’. 

“I thought you were gonna be Bucky,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. “What’s up? You okay?”

Oh, Lord, his voice. Abort mission. Abort. 

“I— uh, was gonna get some ice cream, but um, I’ll— I’ll just let you get back to sleep,” she said. Her cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much. Gesturing to his attire, she couldn’t help but giggle, “Obviously you’re waiting for Bucky, so…” 

Confused even more by her laughter, the dolt looked down at himself, let out a louder ‘Fuck!’ and slammed the door shut. Steve continued his stream of obscenities as they both realized his sheet had gotten shut in the door. A short burst of laughter rang in the hall before she clapped both hands over her mouth. 

“Shut the fuck up, Queenie.”

Removing her hands and breathing, she took a moment to actually appreciate him. He now had on dark jeans and an unzipped jacket baring his broad chest to the world. He was really trying to kill her. And she would let him. 

But when he ran a hand through his hair, she was done. 

Giggle-drunk and trying not to be a thirsty hoe, she started towards the kitchen. Until Steve called to her again. When she turned, he was sporting that ridiculous smirk and pointing in the opposite direction. She threw her hands in the air, the shirt raising just enough to draw Steve’s eyes down to her bare legs. 

“Come on, Rogers, why are you keeping me from my ice cream? You owe like two gallons anyway,” she said, grabbing him the jacket and pulling him along. 

They finally made it to their destination after he had to grab her by the shirt and redirect her twice; he damn near strutted to the freezer and began naming off the flavors they had stashed away. 

“Seriously?” she asked, looking at his choice of butter pecan in disgust. 

“I already told you once, Queens, shut the fuck up,” he said, jabbing a finger in her direction. Ignoring the swarm of butterflies and heat rising in her face, she waved a dismissive hand and let loose an ‘aha!’ when she found the bowls. She frowned and stood on her toes because seriously, who puts the bowls on the top shelf? Fine.  

She did what needed to be done. She climbed onto the counter. Just being on her knees gave her the necessary boost to reach her goal. A shiver ran through her when a deep chuckle came from behind her. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Steve asked, leaning against the island. 

“Immensely,” she said, smirking, “Is the counter the only thing holding you up right now?” 

“At the moment, yes.” 

She giggled and handed him two bowls and hopped down, ready to devour the sweet, cold, goodness that was ice cream. 

Somehow this was right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt...safe. Sitting in nothing but a borrowed shirt and her underwear with a barely-dressed supersoldier eating ice cream at God-only-knows-what time in the morning.  

“What is my life coming to?”

Steve looked up at her. They sat at the table, and for a long time were swapping funny stories about their teams. Her mind swirled with the new facts she’d learned just a few hours before, and even though she knew that the people she’d worked with for two years were not all they appeared, it still hurt. 

“Thanks, Steve. For everything.”

As if she needed another reason to swoon over this beast of a man, he looked at her with such sincerity and gave a crooked smile. She swallowed. 

“Anytime.”

Well that just won’t do. 

“Even at 3 o’clock in the morning?”

“Now wait a damn minute—”

~~~~~

With the Avengers on the case, it only took a day to gather enough information on her captain and several others that were in league with Vitali and Hydra. 

Now their plan was going into action. 

Despite her nerves about walking back into this building, she stood strong. Not to mention she had back up this time. 

Clair Vitali owned several hotels in New York. His reach spread much further than other mob families, and one by one, he seemed to swallow them up. She had very little knowledge of the layout of this building, but again, with the Avengers, impossible was simply not in their vocabulary. 

She and Steve were parked across the street in one of Tony’s mustangs. When she told him what hotel he usually frequented, he agreed that using a more high-profile car would be acceptable. 

“You sure about this, Y/N?” Steve asked. His gaze shifted from the hotel doors to her in the passenger seat. 

“A smidge,” she looked at him, “I just want this over with.” 

Steve nodded and looked back to the hotel. Vitali was here. She took a deep breath and got out of the car, but leaned back down to the window. 

“Besides, after being in a car with you driving, this’ll be a cake-walk,” she said, grinning. Steve opened his mouth to defend his driving skills when Bucky’s voice cut through their earpieces. 

“Punk, you wreck every vehicle you go into a fight with. Don’t start.” 

Four other voices agreed with him. Tony was going into his threat about Steve wrecking this car as Y/N started to cross the street. 

Blood pounding in her ears, she threw open the door and walked up to the front desk. The young man politely asked how he could be of service, despite his look of distaste at her attire. She flashed him a smile. 

“Actually, I was hoping to speak with Mr. Vitali,” she said. The look on this poor kid’s face almost made her laugh. He started to sputter and say that her request wouldn’t be possible; he was in a very important meeting and she might be able to schedule something in the future. She hummed and shook her head. 

“Unfortunately, it has to be now. I’m sure he’s missed me the past couple days and I just can’t leave him waiting any longer, sir.”

“Miss, I’m very sorry, but he doesn’t want to be disturbed—”

She sighed. 

“Alright. I didn’t want to play this card, but…” she laid her badge on the counter, pushing it towards the man. Whether or not he knew what his boss was really into, the color drained from his face. 

“You tell him Queenie’s here to play.” 

As he made a frantic phone call, she hopped up on the counter and sat, swinging her legs, making a call of her own. The voice that answered was hesitant. 

“...Y/N?” 

She smiled. 

“Hey, Chuckles. Listen, you’re gonna get a call about the Foundry Hotel in a few minutes. Bring back up. Don’t be surprised.”

“On it.”

She put her phone back in her pocket and waited. It didn’t take three minutes before grunts with guns surrounded the desk. Some actual patrons screamed and started to scatter, fleeing the building. Clair came swooping in and stood, behind his troops, grinning from ear to ear.

“I knew you’d come back to me, Queenie,” he said, “I was really hoping we’d have this little reunion at your funeral, but we can make this work—”

“Cut the bullshit, Clair, where’s Houser? I know he’s here.” She looked around the vast entry hall and into the restaurant where more people were huddled, being contained by more of the brute squad. “It’d be a cryin’ shame to kill me off and not celebrate your victory!” 

“You’re looking pretty good, sugar, you get all healed up?” Clair asked, chuckling. She nodded, still swinging her legs as if it was just another day at the park.

“I did. I found friends in high places. But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?” she asked, jumping down. Some of the men shifted. “Being in league with Hydra and all.” 

Something glinted in his eye. She had him. 

Everything after that happened fast: bullets flew, glass shattered, people screamed.

The next thing she knew her ears were ringing. Everything was too bright, too loud. Too blurry. She couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe. The only thing she saw clearly were piercing blue eyes. A voice cut through the fog. 

Queens! C’mon, just say something! 

~~~~~

 Wanda and Vision were due to be home from their island getaway in just a few minutes and everyone was running rampant around the living room. Streamers were hung from all over. A giant cake was being shielded by Bucky from Clint’s wandering hands. 

And some idiot put Steve Rogers on a ladder to hang the banner. 

“Hey, Queens, can ya tell me if it’s straight?” 

She walked away from the ladder and next to Tony to get a better view. And, boy, did she. Steve’s ass looked great in jeans. She hummed appreciatively. 

“Looks, great, Stevie. Now please get down, my blood pressure’s out the roof,” she said. She turned to Tony. “Don’t you have, like, robots or something to do this?” 

“I do, but this is payback for not helping sooner,” Tony said, sipping a lemonade. She nodded. 

“Really, Tony?” Steve started, “I told you, I dropped my phone! I was not ignoring you!” 

The two started to throw snark between them and Y/N just rolled her eyes. Steve tried to stop on the ladder and turn to look at Tony. He missed about two steps and got his leg caught between rungs. 

To say the look of horror on his face wasn’t funny would be an outright lie. 

The crashing and clanging drew everyone’s attention. Others asked if everything was okay and what happened. The two closest ran over and moved the ladder off  Steve. 

“Stevie,” Y/N said, lightly tapping his face, “hey, say something so we know you’re okay!” 

Steve just groaned and cracked an eye open to look at her. 

“Ow.”

Bucky called out, “Eh, he’s fine.”

Tony just laughed and walked away. An exasperated sigh made her slump onto his chest. He chuckled and leaned up to press a kiss on her hair. She raised her head. 

“I think I’ve got a new nickname for you,” she said. His smirk just grew. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Captain Klutz.”