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wayward-mikaelson · 4 years ago

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You Found Me

Word Count: 3678

About: POST ENDGAME. Bucky lost a friend. You lost a sister. You both are alone and learn to live somewhat co-dependent on each other. Then you guys go on your first mission after Thanos.

Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, Pepper Potts (Stark), Natasha Romanov (Mentioned), Clint Barton (Mentioned), Agent Maria Hill

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: Language, Grief, Loss, Mentions of Death, Angst, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Implied Sex, Blood, Fighting, Injuries

A/N: This is a bit long, so bare with me cause it’s very detailed since I wanted to portray/convey the Bucky that barley speaks and sees more with his eyes. He does speak when he needs to. I am also proud of this one too. I hope you all enjoy and I would love some feedback.

*This works contains content meant for the 18 and up crowd.

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It had been four months since you lost your sister, Natasha, or as she was known to you, Natalia or Nat. The only person who kept you grounded and in check. You were still dealing with the emotions that came with it all, knowing full well she would probably kick your ass for wallowing in the grief. You knew why she did what she did. Fuck, you’d do the same exact thing to make sure Clint got home to his family. You couldn’t be pissed about it, but it didn’t hurt any less. You had a huge gaping hole in your chest and you weren’t sure how to fill it or if it would ever heal. That last part scared you the most. Would you feel this pain forever?

After the battle with Thanos and after Tony’s funeral, Pepper set the plan in motion to rebuild the compound. “It’s something Tony would have wanted,” she had told everyone. And everyone agreed. You included. That compound was your home and without it, you had no one and nowhere to go.

So you pulled together what money you had stashed away and went to the nearest motel. When you arrived at the motel, you noticed a familiar face standing at the counter trying to convince the clerk to take his money for the week. But the problem is, he didn’t have enough money.

Taking a deep breath you pull the wad of cash out of your pocket and walk next to him and set it on the counter. “Two queens and make it a month.” The clerk goes to take both your guys cash but you stop them. “Uh-uh,” you pull Bucky’s cash back and slide it over to him. Without a word, he takes it back. The clerk takes your money and hands you both a key.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said when you guys got outside and began look for your room. “I could have figured something out.”

You stopped walking and turned to him. “No, but where else would you have gone? Like me, you don’t have anywhere else do go.” The two of stared at each other. Both your Y/E/C and his blue eyes seemed to have a battle of their own. But being a Romanov, you knew you would win that battle.

Bucky nodded, “Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you fell into a routine and an unexpected friendship. You were there when Bucky would wake up from an intense nightmare. Whether it was Hydra related or him waking up yelling out Steve Roger’s name. You would slip into the bed right next to him and hold him and help him through it. All the while, thinking about how his best friend in the entire world would just end up leaving him. Steve was your friend too, but his leaving didn’t affect you as much as it did Bucky. Night’s like that would make you shed a tear for him. You and Bucky were very similar. You both lost someone close to you. You both didn’t have anywhere else to go. You pretty much had no one but each other now.

Four months later, you guys were sharing a bed but weren’t intimate. You guys had gotten used to use sleeping next to each other that it was nearly impossible to fall asleep by yourselves. Bucky would run to the store and get food once a week, while you did both your guys laundry at the laundry mat around the corner.

The two of you knew each other’s flow of daily life. Bucky would go walking early in the morning and come back with a hot coffee for you. The first time he did that, he came back with the coffee, a handful of three different kinds of sugar packets, and two pockets full of the mini creamers.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee,” He had said as you stared at the contents on the table.

Whenever you were out you always came back with food for the two of you. It could have been a pizza or Chinese take out. Either way, Bucky enjoyed it with you. If any of you had knots in either of your hair, one of you would help the other to get it out.

No matter what it was, you and Bucky were there for each other. And honestly, you were falling for the super soldier assassin who was too sweet on you. You were deathly scared to admit it out loud, but the thoughts just linger in the back of your mind.

Bucky waltzed into the motel room to see you lost in thought. He had your coffee in hand and set it slowly on the table. Bucky wondered what you were always thinking about when he saw you sitting on the bed with your knees drawn up to your chest. Your chin resting on your right knee. But he didn’t ask, he knew by the almost empty look in your eyes that you didn’t want to talk about.

These last four months has been the most stable for him. It was nice having someone there for him all the time. Not to mention someone who was willing to hold him through the nightmares of Hydra. He even was there when you would wake up crying for your lost sister. He wished he could take away that pain for you.

Bucky walked towards the bed you occupied and sat down next to you. He pulled you into his arms and leaned his back against the headboard. You turned in his grasp and placed an arm across his chest and the two of you just laid there. Listening to each others deep breaths and heartbeats. You guys could lay there for hours without a care in the world.

Then a knock on the door made you jump causing Bucky to tighten his arms around you. The knock came again.

“Agent Y/N? Sargent Barnes?” It’s Peppers voice. “I know you’re in there. I saw Barnes walk in there about twenty minutes ago. It’s not hard to miss a metal armed man.”

You pushed away from Bucky and walked towards the door and open it. There stood Pepper looking as gorgeous as ever. There were bags under her eyes so time hasn’t been good to her but she still wore that smile. The smile that hid the pain and sadness in her life.

“I have been looking everywhere for you two,” she said walking into the motel room. She looked around. “The two of you just disappeared before I could talk to you after Tony’s funeral,” Peppers voice almost broke saying the word funeral. “I was going to offer you two to stay with Morgan and me and other agents who didn’t have anywhere to go. But it looks like you guys held up well.”

You shifted on your feet and looked at Bucky who was now sitting at the foot of the bed. He was looking down at the floor with his hands folded together. “We didn’t know we. Sorry.” You said softly looking back at Pepper.

Pepper smiled and took your hand in hers. “Like I said, it looks like you two held up really well. I’m here to tell you, the living quarters of the compound are finished and you guys can move back in whenever you want to. I’ll actually be there later today.”

Pepper turned to leave but you held tighter to her hand. “Pepper? How are you doing?”

“I’m hanging in there, you know for Morgans sake,” Pepper answered as her smile cracked some. “Well, I should get going. I’ll see you both later?”

“Yes,” You said and watched Pepper walk out of the motel room. You felt so bad for Pepper. She lost her husband and the father of her child. That pain had to be bigger than loosing a sibling. You turned to see Bucky hand you your coffee. With a smile you took it out of his metal hand. The very hand that gave you some very impure thoughts. “Thank you,” you pressed the cup to your lips.

“I guess we should check out of this dump?” Bucky asked.

Within in the next hour, the two of you were turning the keys in and walking out of the motel for the last time. Bucky held the cab door open for you and making sure whatever belongings you guys owned were secured. Bucky could tell in your eyes you were excited. He’d only ever been in the compound when they captured him all those years ago, but he was willing to make it home.

When the two of you arrived at the compound you couldn’t hold the smile in. It was beautiful and it looked better than before. There was still work to be done on it, but what you were able to see made you want to cry. Bucky saw the overwhelming expression on your face and wrapped am arm around your shoulder.

“You going to be okay?” He asked softly and you nodded.

You guys found Pepper who showed you around. From the kitchen to the living room to the bedrooms. Pepper showed you your room and then Bucky’s room. His room sat across the hall from yours. As Bucky was looking at his room, Pepper pulled you to yours.

“I made sure you guys were close,” Pepper said moving a stray hair from your face. Probably out of habit and a motherly thing for her to do. “I could tell that you guys have taken care of each other and I’m sure that you guys had some sort of routine down. I wanted to make sure that you guys were still able to have some of that.”

You smiled and hugged Pepper tightly. “Thank you.”

And just like that, over the next month, you and Bucky fell into a new routine. You woke up when Bucky woke up and took morning walks with him. There was a coffee kart that sat on the corner of the street across from the compound. The coffee was so much better than the motel coffee you guys had been drinking.

Bucky late at night, after all the lights were turned out and other agents were in bed, he would sneak into your room. He knew you’d be awake but he was still quiet as he slipped into the warm bed next to you. Bucky would hear a soft sigh as you would turn in his arms and rest your head on his chest before falling into a deep sleep.

One day while you were tidying up the kitchen, Bucky came in from the gym. He would spend a couple hours a day in there to clear his mind. He sat down at the table as you placed a plate of food in front of him.

“Thanks, Doll,” He said taking his hand and rubbing your back.

Turning around with a small smile on your face, since you loved it when he called you doll, there stood both Agent Maria Hill and Bruce Banner. Bruce just stared at you, and the memory of you telling him years ago, that no one was good enough for you and who would want to spend their life with a trained assassin. Bruce who was the only other person on this person beside you and Clint to bring out Nat’s softer side. Agent Hill, also stared but has a small teasing smiling playing on the corner of her lips. You turned back around and slowly walked out of the kitchen letting Bucky know you’d be back.

You sat on your bed when you heard the knock on the door. You looked up and saw Bruce walk in. “Don’t say anything,” You stood up and started to pull out a hoodie from your closet.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Bruce had a small smile on his face. “Except, since when do you own shirts that are too big for you?” He pointed to your bed. You turned to see Bucky’s shirt just laying there. You hadn’t realized that it was even there.

Over the last month Bucky sort of just moved into your room. His clothes had a drawer, he had a spot in your bathroom and two towels hung on your bathroom wall. Bucky even brought the pillows from his room to your bed.

“Okay,” You turn back to Bruce. “Bucky isn’t what it looks like. At least I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell. I like what he and I have. We just sort of found each other and have been there for each other when no one else was.”

Bruce’s face fell what looked like six stories. You could see the hurt. “Y/N/N,” He said softly. You forgot the sound of your nickname that Nat and Bruce use to call you. “I’m sorry I shut you out. I shouldn’t have.”

You shrugged on your hoodie, pushing down the memories of Nat. “Well, it happened. I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing. I mean technically I did. It took four months for Pepper to find Bucky and me.”

Bruce nodded and scratched his head. “Well, you are pretty well versed in the art of falling off the radar.”

You cracked a smile. “Well, I didn’t intend to fall off the radar.”

“Like you didn’t intend to fall for Barnes?” Bruce must has seen the red creeping into your face. “I saw how you were smiling when he called doll. It’s the same face your sister had when she talked to me.”

You rolled your eyes and left the room.

Two week later, you and Bucky are crouched in a dark room. Guns pressed against your chests, being as quiet as you guys could be, as you guys waited for the all clear in the other room. This was your guys first mission since everything that happened almost six months ago.

Just a simple international rescue mission.

Or so you guys thought.

After the room had been quiet for ten minutes. Bucky cracked open the door and gave the thumb ups to you. The two of you creeped out of the room and started back towards where you started. You heard a sound to your right, and turned towards it.

“I’m going to check this out,” you tapped Bucky on the shoulder.

“What? No the fuck you’re not,” He said firmly.

“It’ll just be quick,” you called back to you as you walked down the darkened hallway.

“Be careful, Agent Romanov,” Agent Hill’s voice sounded in your ear piece. “Barnes, stay put unless you’re needed.”

You walked the darkened hallway and heard the sound again. It was louder. It was closer. Your heartbeat quickened as you walked further into the dark. You obviously had your light on your gun but it wasn’t bright enough. Something scarred passed your foot making your gasp out loud.

“You okay down there?” Bucky’s worried voice asked. You made the bad choice to ignore that question. “Y/N?! Don’t make me come down there.”

“Stay put, Sargent Barnes,” Hills voice is firm in your ear that you took the ear piece off. Another bad move.

You walked ten more steps before being thrown into a wall. The back of your head smacked the concrete hard. You fell on your back and groaned. You got back to your feet and drew your knife. With what light you got from your fallen gun you charged the figure that attacked. You shoved him into the wall and drove your blade into his shoulder. In return, he head butted you and shoved you down on the ground. You watched in the faint light he pulled the blade out of his shoulder and knelt down. He straddled your waist and pinned your arms to your side with his knees.

With sick pleasure very visible in his eyes, he drove the blade into your forearm. You cried out as the sharp pain shot through you. When he pulled the blade out, you felt the warm rush of blood seep through your tactical suit and onto the cool floor. You watched as he rose the blade up with two hands right above your chest. You had two thoughts in the matter of three seconds.

Second one, you should have answered Bucky when he asked if you were okay.

Second two, you knew you should have told Bucky your true feelings and now it was pretty much too late.

Second three, your arms were suddenly free.

You scrambled to your feet and held tightly to your wounded arm. You watched as Bucky threw your assailant at the wall and stalked towards him slowly. The man tried to stab at Bucky, but Bucky grabbed his hand with his flesh hand and twisted it to the point you heard the crunching of his bones. With his metal hand, he held the neck of the man until you could hear the faint crack of the neck.

Bucky dropped the dead man on the ground and turned to you. You stood there, not a hint of fear in your eyes. He noticed the blood trickling through your fingers and walked to you as he ripped a piece of cloth from somewhere unknown. He gently moved your hand away from your arm and tightly tied the cloth around your arm.

Without breaking eye contact, he used his flesh hand to brush loose strands of hair out of your face and behind your ear. He let his hand slowly brush down to the base of your neck, where it lingered for a minute before he took the dangling ear piece and gently put it back in your ear.

“Barnes! Status update. Now.” Hills voice was firm.

“Situation is taken care of. Y/N will need medical attention though.” Bucky’s voice was hallow. You couldn’t tell what was going through his brain. Even his eyes were almost impossible to read. “We’re headed back your way.” Bucky took your uninjured arm and pulled you the rest of the way back to the chopper.

After you had been through medical and treated you headed back to your room. Bucky was sitting your room waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hand folded. When he looked up, you can could see the anger and concern in his eyes.

“Okay,” you closed the door and crossed your arms as you turned back to him. “Say it. Get it over with.”

After minutes of silence and staring each other down. Bucky finally spoke. “What you did was completely fucking stupid, you know that?” Bucky’s tone was firm. “You could have died.”

“What did I do that was so fucking stupid?” you dropped your arms, crossed the room and stood three feet from him. The tone in your voice matched the firmness in Bucky’s. “Was it me ignoring you? How about ripping my ear piece out? Or maybe, almost getting stabbed in the heart?”

Bucky stood up. “All of it Y/N,” His voice rose and it continued to rise. “Do you have any idea how scared I was when you didn’t answer back? Do you know that my heart just about stopped when I heard you cry out and saw that dick over you with a blade about ready to plunge it into your chest?”

“It’s not your job to worry about me Bucky,” Your voice rose too. “My decisions on missions are mine and mine alone. So what if I died? It wouldn’t have mattered.”

Before you knew it, Bucky’s hands were pinning your arms to your side. “It would have mattered to me, Y/N. You’re so fucking smart, Doll, but god you are so blind to whats right in front of you.”

“Bucky,” you whispered.

Bucky dropped his hand and turned back to the bed and sat down. When he looked back up at you, he had just about every emotion glassed over his blue eyes. “I could have lost you, too. Does that mean anything to you?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, you read in between the lines. You know what he was saying. You took a deep breath and walked towards him. You placed a hand on the side of Bucky’s face. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand. You dropped your hand to the collar of his shirt and decide to straddle his lap, resting both legs on either side of him on the bed.

Bucky’s eyes opened and he looked into yours, as he did, his hands instinctively moved to your hips and held you firmly in place. “Y/N?” Bucky’s voice caught in his throat.

You shushed him softly, and met his eyes. You took both of your hands and held his face. “You mean the world to me, James Barnes.” You said softly using his first name. Then you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

Your guys lips moved together perfectly. You felt his tongue on your lips and your let him in. He explored every part of your mouth as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. You pulled back for some air and smiled at Bucky who was already smiling at you.

This was perfect, you thought. This was everything you actually had hoped it to be. In the next second, you found yourself on your back. Bucky hovered above you. He had your arm pinned above your head with his metal hand, you ignored the small ache in your bandaged arm. With his free hand, and without taking his eyes off yours, Bucky slowly trailed it from your face to your hips. leaving goosebumps on your both bare and clothed skin.

“You’re my world, Doll,” Bucky said leaning closer to you face. “You found me at my lowest. I wouldn’t know how to live if you died.”

Then he pressed his lips harder and rougher to yours.

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elizabear · 4 years ago

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body language will do the trick

OK, so I know this is going to be fully AU in about five seconds when The Falcon and the Winter Soldier airs, but those couples counseling scenes in the trailer got me WAY TOO EXCITED and I really couldn't help myself.

Title: body language will do the trick

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: frenemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, couples counseling, because sam and bucky can’t stop flirting at work, post-avengers endgame, but it’s au because, steve rogers isn’t old, and natasha romanoff lives, captain america sam wilson, shield agent bucky barnes, past steve rogers/bucky barnes, but it’s minor, bucky and sam fall in love, but COMPETITIVELY, oral sex, anal sex, tender railing, idiots in love, praise kink

Words: 12,598

Link to AO3: here

Summary:

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that these counseling sessions—supposedly for Bucky and Sam’s “interpersonal issues”—are Director Fury’s revenge for that whole fake assassination situation. Which, to be fair to Fury, came about as the result of Bucky’s very real assassination attempt, even if the subsequent “assassination” was fake, so Bucky can’t exactly blame Fury there. What Bucky doesn’t understand is why their possibly-fake counselor—is she a real counselor, or just another one of Fury’s spies?—chooses to conduct her “therapy” sessions in the unlikely and frankly suspicious location of an underground bunker.

Dr. Carson’s therapy bunker is probably just a temporary location, since usable office facilities with running water and electricity are still pretty limited after the Blip, but Bucky was definitely under the impression that modern American therapists’ offices were supposed to be more soothing than this. He’d expected a bland but tasteful space filled with a cushy sofa and watercolor paintings and the calming sounds of nature recordings. Instead, Bucky and Sam are sitting in uncomfortable chairs in a dim room with bare cement walls and unflattering fluorescent lighting. Is Fury even trying to sell this fake counseling op?

Bucky and Sam’s counselor/interrogator is most definitely hostile. Although Dr. Carson looks lovely in her delicate green silk blouse and expensive silk scarf, her expression is stern and sour. She’s styled her glossy dark hair neatly, in gentle waves that summon a distant memory of the way women used to wear their hair in the 1940s, and Bucky wonders if this is Dr. Carson’s authentic style or if it’s just part of another SHIELD spy game, meant to trick or manipulate Bucky into confiding in Dr. Carson because she looks familiar and nonthreatening.

Bucky considers it an insult to the memory of Peggy Carter if Fury thinks he could’ve worked with Carter for two years in the SSR and still underestimate a woman just because she has nice hair and a pretty outfit.

Also, if Dr. Carson’s trying to lull Bucky into a false sense of security, why is she doing it in this weird basement?

Honestly this whole counseling thing really does seem like it’s secretly just a poorly planned interrogation.

Like right now. Dr. Carson asks, “Are you having a staring contest?” and Bucky isn’t going to disclose valuable intel by admitting that while Sam is definitely having a staring contest with him, Bucky is just using this as an excuse to look into Sam’s eyes, which are warm and brown and make Bucky feel all sorts of confusing things. Bucky is trained to resist interrogation, and that piece of information definitely falls under the category of “unexpected and alarming potential weaknesses.”

Also Bucky’s still sort of figuring out how he feels about Sam’s whole eye and face and shoulder situation, so the staring contest is actually a pretty great cover for whatever the fuck is really going on with him. Half of successfully surviving an interrogation is letting your captors fill in the blanks themselves and then pretending like their waterboarding is the worst thing you’ve ever endured.

Unfortunately, while Bucky is congratulating himself on successfully maintaining operations security—and winning their staring contest, no reason he can’t do both at once—Dr. Carson seems to reach her limit for the amount of shit she’s willing to endure from them today.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” Dr. Carson shoots them with a hard glare. “I’m giving you a five minute break, and if you’re not ready to open up and work on your communication and compatibility issues, I’m going to have to advise Fury to put you both on leave.”

Bucky’s fine with being put on leave, and he’s fully prepared to wait out SHIELD, Fury, and Dr. Carson. It took HYDRA fifteen years to break him down enough to send him out on missions, and no matter how much they tortured him Bucky didn’t shed so much as a single tear until they showed him newspaper headlines about what a bad pilot Steve turned out to be.

Also, Bucky’s not entirely sure that he’s not actually immortal, so he figures his patience will probably far outlast Fury’s determination to punish him for shooting him a few times when he didn’t even die. Actually, now that Bucky thinks about it, Fury’s probably less mad about the whole fake assassination thing than he is about Steve forcing him to offer Bucky a job and then grit out the most begrudging apology Bucky has ever heard in his life for SHIELDRA holding Bucky hostage as a brainwashed assassin while Fury was the Director of SHIELD. Right in front of Captain Marvel, too, Fury’s favorite Avenger, who had looked very disappointed in him. Apparently Danvers had her own history as a superpowered amnesiac brainwashed into working for the bad guys? Bucky’s unclear on the details, but when Danvers’s mouth tightened and her head shook in dismay, Nick Fury’s shoulders had slumped like a chastened schoolboy.

God, Steve is such a dick sometimes. Bucky loves him so much.

Dr. Carson’s high heels make clipped little clicking noises that speak volumes about her frustration with them as she strides purposefully out of the room. As soon as she closes the door, so firmly that Bucky can just tell that she had to have put conscious, controlled effort into not slamming it behind her, Bucky turns to Sam with a satisfied grin.

“Well, I think we’re doing great,” Bucky says. “SHIELD’s going to have to work a lot harder to get any real intel out of us, and I was definitely promised that they wouldn’t be using any drugs or brainwashing techniques this time so I think we’re going to nail this whole interrogation.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “This is therapy, man, not an interrogation. We’re supposed to be, like, opening up and becoming a better team.”

“Yeah, well, if this is real therapy then where are the goats?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow toward the most likely location of the nearest camera as if to say gotcha, Fury, your goatless fake therapy interrogation tactic isn’t fooling me.

“I’m sorry, goats? Why would there be goats?”

Bucky leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. “I’m just saying, in Wakanda I always got to hang out with animals when I did therapy. And look how great that turned out! I hardly ever kill anyone anymore, and when I do it’s on purpose because I decided to. Anyway, I really feel like this is all just a plot by SHIELD to find out why we—”

Bucky and Sam bicker for a while about whether or not this is real therapy until they’re interrupted by Dr. Carson’s return, her face looking a little damp now, like maybe she spent her time away from them splashing water on it and doing some deep breathing exercises in the bathroom.

“OK,” says Dr. Carson, visibly relaxing her spine. “We’re going to take a new approach. Have you heard of the five love languages?”

Sam’s eyes widen in horror. “No, we are not doing the five love languages.”

Bucky hasn’t heard of the five love languages, but he can tell from the look on Sam’s face that they definitely don’t want to do this, and Bucky’s pretty good at improvising when he needs to. “Oh, you know, I think HYDRA already implanted the five love languages in my brain when they were doing the rest of the Romance languages. So we can just skip those, I already know them.”

Bucky offers Dr. Carson his blandest and most innocent smile, the same one that sometimes worked on Sister Mary Angela back at old St. Charles Borromeo, but Dr. Carson’s face remains as stony and unmoved as the church itself, still standing in Brooklyn Heights in the year of our Lord 2023. Instead she says, “I think we need to take a couples therapy approach.”

“Couples therapy,” Sam repeats, sinking lower in his chair. Bucky winces as Sam’s knee starts to crush his balls.

“According to this file,” Dr. Carson says, opening it up to read aloud, “the two of you are here because your colleagues have complained about your, quote, romantically-charged bickering, your constant flirting, and your unnecessarily sexual sparring.”

Dr. Carson punctuates these damning statements with some truly savage air quotes.

“Listen, when I slap Sam’s bare ass in the locker room after a good sparring session it’s with purely collegial respect for a worthy opponent,” Bucky says, folding his arms across his chest. “I only ever treat Sam with the same level of professional respect I give Steve and Natasha.”

Sam nods in support. “Steve and Natasha never have a problem getting sweaty and physical with us, and I’ve personally witnessed Steve and Natasha slap Bucky’s ass dozens of times.”

Dr. Carson raises a single judgmental eyebrow. “Don’t you think there might be a reason why Fury’s banned the four of you from using the gym at the same time?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “The other SHIELD agents get intimidated by Sam’s shredded abs and Steve’s and my super strength. Plus everyone’s scared of Natasha.”

Dr. Carson closes her eyes and visibly counts to ten. Bucky can see her mouth forming the words.

“All right, we’re just going to move on here, because I’m really only able to deal with just the one dysfunctional relationship at a time.” Dr. Carson passes them some worksheets and pencils. “I want you to fill these out, honestly, and then hand them back to me when you’re done.”

Bucky reads over the worksheets, which are filled with questions like, “Do you like it more when your partner reacts positively to something you’ve accomplished or when they do something for you that you know they don’t particularly enjoy?” There are a lot of questions about hugging, and holding hands, and Bucky gets distracted trying to picture holding hands with Sam, who has big hands, strong and capable and—

“Stop trying to copy my answers,” Sam says, when he notices Bucky glancing over at the way Sam grips his pen as he fills out his worksheet. Sam shoves his knee harder into Bucky’s crotch and Bucky stifles a gasp.

“I’m not!”

“Bucky, stop cheating.” Dr. Carson presses her lips together in a severe frown.

Bucky scowls and scooches his chair back several inches. It makes a loud scraping sound as it drags against the cement floor. But before going back to filling out his form, Bucky gives Sam’s ankle a sharp kick for getting him in trouble with Dr. Carson, and the two of them engage in a brief but brutal silent kicking war below the front of the desk where Dr. Carson can’t see.

When Bucky and Sam finish their kicking war and their quizzes, they hand their worksheets back to Dr. Carson for grading and rub their shins as they wait.

“Bucky, your primary love language is words of affirmation, and your secondary love language is physical touch,” Dr. Carson announces. “And Sam, your primary love language is acts of service, while your secondary love language is quality time.”

Bucky frowns. On the one hand, he feels like he’s received some pretty valuable intel about Sam that he could use to his benefit. But on the other hand, he’s probably given up some valuable intel of his own. He wishes there hadn’t been so many questions that made him think about hugging and touching Sam—somehow those made him so distracted that he forgot to respond with lies.

Bucky’s stomach knots up a bit at the thought of Sam learning his potential weaknesses, but really, how much of a psyop could Sam possibly launch with the results from a couples counseling questionnaire? (Natasha could probably execute a successful psyop based on the information from a Buzzfeed quiz meant to reveal your “celebrity mom,” so Bucky really hopes Sam doesn’t talk to Natasha about this.)

“Your homework is to try to learn to speak each other’s language.” Dr. Carson stands up and walks around the desk to touch Bucky’s shoulder. “Good job today, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles, and the knot in his stomach releases a bit. He is so nailing this therapy thing, he knew he’d be better at it than Sam.

Dr. Carson helps Sam back into his coat as she ushers them toward the door, and Bucky’s pretty sure she’s meant to be modeling an act of service except that mostly it seems like she’s just trying to rush them out of the office.

“See you next week.” Dr. Carson smiles stiffly, like she is not at all looking forward to seeing them next week. Her expression is full of determined professionalism right up until the click of the door latch, and then Bucky hears a dull thudding noise that is pretty unmistakably the sound of Dr. Carson hitting her head against the doorframe.

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

***

They’re on a mission together the next day, battling some Doombots in New Jersey, and wow is Sam committed to this whole words of affirmation thing.

When Bucky deflects a punch aimed straight for Sam’s head with his vibranium arm, Sam whistles and says, “Nice save, man, you’re killing it today.” Warmth rises up in Bucky’s chest at Sam’s praise, and Bucky is filled with panic and dismay when he realizes that the fight to squash it back down is honestly more taxing than their battle against Doombots. There’s absolutely no reason Bucky should be having such a physical reaction to basic battle camaraderie.

When Bucky stretches his leg up above his head to nail one of the bots with a vicious kick, Sam smirks and gives him a distinct how-you-doing sort of nod. “That was—seriously hot, man. Have you been doing yoga or something?”

So apparently Sam is choosing to interpret words of affirmation as “wild flirtation,” and Bucky’s cheeks are choosing to betray him by radiating at Sam’s attention. Bucky knows there’s a flush spreading down his neck, and he’s hoping Sam will attribute it to exertion from the fight, because there’s no way Bucky can let Sam know that Sam’s sort of winning at their therapy homework—not when Bucky’s entire mental health journey and, like, the honor of the Wakandan animal-assisted therapy program is at stake.

But after they board the Quinjet and set the autopilot on a course back to New York, Sam gives Bucky a slow up-and-down perusal with his eyes, and Bucky feels Sam’s gaze like a physical touch. “You look really good after a fight, Buck. That messed up hair and pretty pink blush are giving me all kinds of ideas.”

Bucky’s cock twitches at that, and huh. Bucky blinks and looks down at his crotch.

So that’s working again.

A dirty smirk spreads across Sam’s face, like maybe Sam knows exactly what just happened inside Bucky’s pants, and fuck, this whole situation is spiraling rapidly out of Bucky’s control. Like, yeah, Bucky kept Sam from getting a pretty gnarly concussion, and that was probably an act of service, right? But it’s pretty clear, to both of them, that Sam is winning this competition, and Bucky is not about to go down without a fight.

Which is—an idea.

Bucky drops to his knees in front of Sam and bites his lip in a way that he knows, instinctively, will make him look hot. Sam inhales sharply in response, and Bucky reaches up to grasp Sam by the hips before he can take a step backwards. The material of Sam’s uniform bunches up and shifts under Bucky’s hands, and fuck, Bucky’s cock is aching now, throbbing and filling up in his tight uniform pants. Bucky forgot he could feel so good.

“What are you doing,” Sam protests in a half-assed sort of way.

“Servicing you,” Bucky replies with a wicked grin, sliding Sam’s zipper down slowly over his thickening cock. Bucky can’t remember if he’s done this before, but the way his mouth waters and his throat aches in anticipation makes him feel pretty fucking confident about how this is going to go down.

But before Bucky can pull Sam’s cock out of his briefs, Sam slides his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tips his head gently backward, using his other hand to tilt Bucky’s chin up to look into Sam’s face. Sam’s pretty brown eyes are already darkening with arousal, but his expression is serious.

“You don’t have to suck my dick for therapy, man.”

Bucky huffs. “Sam, this is the first time my dick’s been hard since 1945. Do you know how many times Steve’s let me watch him jerk off trying to heIp me get hard again? I am definitely not doing this only to win at therapy, pal.”

Sam’s hands freeze in Bucky’s hair and his cock swells visibly in his briefs. “I’m sorry, Steve let you do what now? Dude, I thought Steve was straight.”

“Oh, he’s definitely, like, straight-ish,” Bucky assures Sam, with a little so-so wave of his hand that hopefully conveys the correct amount of ambiguity there. “He’s mostly just a really great friend.”

Sam’s eyes close for a long moment, and then Bucky’s scalp stings when Sam clenches his fist in Bucky’s hair and pulls. “Jesus,” mutters Sam, his voice gruff and husky. “Yeah, OK, baby. Go ahead and suck my dick.”

Bucky’s heart pounds as he pulls Sam’s cock out of his briefs and licks a wet stripe up the length of it, groaning at the feel of Sam’s skin under his tongue. Sam tastes salty with sweat, and his scent is musky and thick after their fight with the Doombots. Bucky teases him for a while, the way he’s seen people do in porn, trailing wet kisses along the shaft and mouthing at the head, and Sam lets out a ragged moan when Bucky’s mouth finally engulfs him. Bucky’s feeling pretty cocky about this, loves the rush of power he feels as Sam’s hips twitch and jerk to keep from thrusting into Bucky’s mouth—but then Sam fucking escalates shit, because Sam is an asshole.

“Christ, you feel good,” Sam murmurs, reaching down to rub his thumb against Bucky’s mouth, stretched wide around Sam’s cock. “You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

And then Bucky’s the one moaning, eyelids fluttering shut and heat coursing down his spine at the sound of Sam’s husky voice. Bucky should have expected Sam to counter his act of service with more words of affirmation, but somehow he wasn’t prepared for the unbearable ache he’d feel at Sam’s dirty talk. Bucky feels inexperienced, outclassed at this sort of sexual warfare, and the only way he can retaliate is by sinking as far down on Sam’s cock as his throat will allow him. He reaches up to grab Sam’s hips, urging him to fuck his mouth, and then he hums a little inside his head to try to tune out the sound of Sam’s praise.

“Fuck,” says Sam. “God, that’s it, baby. You take it so well, Buck. So fucking good for me.”

Bucky whines, his jaw aching, eyes filling with tears as Sam’s cock stretches his mouth open. Sam keeps offering him filthy praise as he slides his mouth up and down Sam’s thick cock, and Bucky doesn’t know why this is doing it for him when all of Steve’s pale skin and strong thighs and big dick couldn’t, but maybe seventy years of torture and captivity have left Bucky with a few new kinks. Or maybe Bucky’s just healing or whatever. Bucky honestly doesn’t care, as long as Sam keeps letting him fill his throat with Sam’s dick.

Sam’s voice is rough when he says, “God, you fucking love it, don’t you,” and Bucky pulls off Sam’s cock just long enough to nod eagerly and gasp for air before diving back in. “Take your dick out, baby. I want you to come sucking my cock.”

Bucky’s rhythm stutters at that, his hand reaching down to pull his cock out of his uniform pants. He wants to be so fucking good for Sam, wants to come just how Sam says, wants Sam to keep telling him how good he looks, how much he loves fucking Bucky’s mouth, how much he likes giving it to him.

Sam’s praise grows hotter and filthier as he gets closer, and Bucky whimpers as he feels his own orgasm approaching. God, he hasn’t come in so long, hasn’t felt that hot rush and that familiar ache in his balls in forever and he wants it, wants to come, he just needs—

“Come on, baby, come for me, I know you can do it, just keep sucking my cock, God, you look so good, baby, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

And Bucky spirals over the edge, cock pulsing and spilling over his fist. He lets out a choked moan around Sam’s dick before his mouth is flooded with bitter, salty fluid. And then Bucky feels so fucking full, like he could drown happily in Sam’s smell and his taste and his fucking words of affirmation.

Fuck.

Bucky definitely did not win that round.

***

The whole blow job thing was an outstanding idea, really, one of Bucky’s best. But fuck, he did not anticipate Sam using that as an opportunity to completely turn the tables and affirm the shit out of him. Bucky can’t help but privately acknowledge to himself that Sam is completely winning at love languages so far.

They’re in counseling the next week, still in Dr. Carson’s depressing therapy bunker, and honestly, Bucky can’t imagine that this setting is good for, like, anybody’s mental health. His therapy in Wakanda always took place outdoors, under the warm African sun, surrounded by the wild, earthy smells of mud and animals and Lake Turkana. It made him feel open and free and connected to nature or whatever. It was peaceful.

Therapy at SHIELD is not very peaceful, especially because Dr. Carson clearly hates them, and she isn’t at all impressed by what Bucky considers some very impressive progress by them. Bucky and Sam are getting along.

“So,” Dr. Carson begins, apparently deciding to just start right off with more hurtful accusations from their colleagues, “according to Carl from the gun range, the two of you have been subjecting your coworkers to your, quote, uncomfortable bickering-slash-foreplay, and Maria Hill reports that you’re still, quote, cluttering up comms during missions with the most embarrassing flirting I have ever heard, I hate it so much.”

Dr. Carson’s air quotes are fucking vicious.

Despite the fact that they’ve only just started their session, Dr. Carson looks tense and aggravated already. She’s wearing another pretty silk blouse today, but her earrings don’t seem to match and it looks like she didn’t bother to curl her hair today. Maybe she just realized that Bucky wasn’t fooled by those forties waves?

Also, even though it’s Friday, Dr. Carson’s giving off a very Monday sort of vibe.

“Sam and I are working on it, OK?” Bucky says, with a mulish set to his jaw. “Obviously I’m doing my best here, but it’s hard to do therapy in a cement basement that gives me flashbacks to 1970s HYDRA facilities where I was tortured. And there aren’t even any pets at all to comfort me. Didn’t you receive the note from my Wakandan therapist stating that I require animals during therapy?”

A blood vessel in Dr. Carson’s forehead throbs, and she raises her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’ll see if I can get us a room upstairs for our next session, but I’m telling you for the last time that we don’t have any therapy goats.”

“Well, I don’t have any issues doing therapy without goats,” Sam says, like the worst sort of teacher’s pet. God, Sam’s teachers probably loved his charming smile and his quick wit and his stupid handsome face. “Maybe Bucky is using the goats as an emotional crutch.”

“Listen, goat therapy works, OK?” Bucky counts out on his fingers as he lists the many examples of real progress he’s made since his time as a goat farmer in Wakanda. “I started off as an amnesiac brainwashed assassin, and now I have a steady job, a haircut, an apartment leased under my own shell companies, and I only kill people when I want to kill people now. And I wash my hair regularly. And if I don’t wash my hair, I use dry shampoo. And I don’t turn into a mindless killing machine when people speak Russian at me.”

“Dude,” Sam says.

“Anyway, it’s fine if you’re not as good at therapy as me.”

“Not as—not as good at therapy as you? Man, I am a certified peer specialist. I was so good at my own therapy that they let me give other people therapy,” Sam says, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Yeah, in America, where they’re not even familiar with things like advanced goat therapy.” Bucky clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Did you even keep up with your continuing education requirements while you were fugitives with Steve?”

Sam sinks lower in his seat and frowns. “No. But speaking of Steve,” Sam says, perking up a bit as he follows a new thread of argument. “Whose PTSD recovery was so complete and inspirational that Steve Rogers trusted them with the responsibility of carrying the Captain America shield, hm?”

“Listen, Steve is reckless as shit and he’s so irresponsible with that shield that he’s constantly losing it in rivers and getting it broken by alien supervillains,” Bucky points out. “I’m so recovered that the king of an entire country, a man so responsible that they put him in charge of running literally everything in the most advanced nation on the planet, trusted me with a prosthetic arm powerful enough to crush the skull of an ordinary man with a single blow. Probably even his skull, and he’s been enhanced by some weird plant that makes him even stronger than Steve.”

“Yeah, well, I’m so recovered that—”

Dr. Carson interrupts them here, pinching the bridge of her nose. “OK, listen, I think there’s actually something pretty interesting here in how you each relate your recovery to your ability to wield weapons. Why don’t we stop bickering and discuss that a little further?”

“Yeah, OK,” Bucky mumbles.

Sam sighs heavily. “Fine.”

***

So the blow job thing is working perfectly—like, so perfectly, God, Sam’s dick is amazing—except for the fact that Sam is able to talk the entire time. Words of affirmation spill from Sam’s pretty lips every time Bucky swallows his cock, and Bucky is still fucking losing the love languages competition.

It’s time to create a Pinterest strategy board to figure this thing out.

Bucky is a visual planner, and he believes in tactical flexibility. He might not remember a lot about sex, but there’s tons of porn on the Internet. He just needs to find a couple of ways to service Sam while Sam’s mouth is otherwise occupied. How hard could that be?

After a lot of research and the creation of several Pinterest mood boards, Bucky calls Steve down the hall to his apartment to help him out. They all live in the same building since it has the best security in the city—and Bucky and Natasha are very particular about security—and it makes sense for the four of them to basically live together when they already spend all their time together. When Steve arrives, they head right to Bucky’s bedroom, get undressed, and survey the porn board on Bucky’s laptop.

“OK, so what about sixty-nine,” Steve suggests. “Let’s try that.”

They get themselves into position, mouths hovering over each other’s flaccid dicks like totally normal best friends.

“See, I feel like this works, but is it really servicing Sam if he’s, like, servicing me at the same time?” Bucky flops over onto his back in frustration and worries at his lower lip with his teeth.

Steve nods and tilts his head in thought. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Depending on the grading rubric, the two acts might cancel each other out. How about rimming?”

“I feel like rimming is a great idea, and I definitely want to do that, but how do I shut him up while I do it?”

Steve frowns. “Can you reach up and cover his mouth with your hand? Hold on, let me bend over and we’ll see.” Steve gets on his hands and knees, tilting his ass up for Bucky to simulate a rim job.

“You know, your ass really is kind of amazing.” Bucky takes a moment to admire the jewel of Howard Stark’s empire. “I mean, it was cute as hell when you were little too, but Scott Lang definitely wasn’t wrong in that podcast episode about which superhero has America’s ass. Don’t tell Sam I said that, by the way.”

“Thanks, pal,” Steve says, flashing Bucky a quick grin. “Your ass is great too, Sam’s a lucky guy. Now bend over and pretend to rim me.”

Bucky leans down and uses his hand to cover Steve’s exposed hole, then presses his mouth against the back of his hand to simulate a rim job. He reaches forward with his other arm to see if he can put his vibranium hand over Steve’s mouth. He could—maybe? If he releases the catch on his shoulder?

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Bucky says with a frown. “Here, maybe try getting on your back and holding onto your legs?”

“Like this?” Steve asks, shifting gamely into position. Bucky folds him over and pretends to rim him while covering Steve’s mouth, which—works, actually. And this is probably the most erotic scene Bucky’s ever been a part of—Steve really does look incredible like this—so it’s kind of a shame that it does absolutely nothing whatsoever for Bucky’s dick.

Except then Bucky pictures Sam in Steve’s position, bent over and whining under Bucky’s vibranium hand, and Bucky’s cock gives a little twitch. Fuck.

Bucky sighs and releases Steve with a short nod. “Not bad, pal. I think this one’s gonna work. Let’s write it down.”

They test out a few more positions, taking careful notes on the comfort and degree of mouth coverage of each one. Bucky finds a few more pictures to add to his Pinterest board, and they sort through every image and assign them to the correct position number. Then Bucky and Steve print off their pictures and tape them to Bucky’s wall for inspiration, mapping out a sequence of actions that will lead to orgasms for both Sam and Bucky with a minimum amount of talking on Sam’s part.

Which is a shame, really. Sam’s dirty talk really does it for Bucky.

Still nude, Bucky and Steve stand in front of the vision board and assess the plan.

“I think position two is really going to work,” Steve says, stroking his chin, and Bucky’s brain flashes back to an image of Steve in pretty much this exact pose, assessing a map of HYDRA facilities in Western Europe with no less gravity and passion. God, Steve Rogers is a great fucking friend. “And if you really want to service the guy, I mean, you’ve already got him all loose and open. You might as well give him your dick too, right?”

Bucky nods in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, as long as I keep kissing him, he won’t be able to affirm me too much. I think this really is the winning scenario.”

“Great teamwork, pal,” Steve says, slapping Bucky’s bare ass. “This was fun! Just like the old days.”

Bucky smiles wistfully. “Yeah, there’s nothing like planning an op with The Man With the Plan. Hey, you want to grab dinner after this?”

“Nah,” Steve says, too-casually, angling his pelvis away from Bucky as he pulls his pants back on. “I think I’m gonna go see if Natasha’s busy.”

Bucky grins. “Give her my best.”

“Will do. Love you, pal,” Steve says, giving Bucky a quick kiss before he leaves.

Steve doesn’t bother putting a shirt on before he goes, and Bucky can hear him whistling cheerfully all the way down to Nat’s apartment.

***

Steve and Bucky’s plan was great, so naturally it goes to shit as soon as Sam gets involved.

Bucky’s sucking Sam’s dick, which OK, yeah, wasn’t technically in the plan, but God, Sam’s got such a great dick. How far behind can Bucky really fall in the standings from just one blow job?

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby,” Sam says, sliding his long fingers through Bucky’s hair—which Bucky washed before he came over, because he is killing it as a recovered assassin and also because this afternoon Sam grabbed his hips and leaned in, breath hot against Bucky’s ear, and murmured how much he wants to smell Bucky’s shampoo on his pillows tomorrow morning.

Which was both smooth as hell and very convincing. Bucky immediately bought like three more bottles of that shit and accepted Sam’s invitation over to his apartment that night.

So now they’re in Sam’s apartment, and Bucky’s sliding his mouth along Sam’s cock, and Sam’s telling him how much he loves the way Bucky sucks him, loves the way Bucky’s pretty face looks with Sam’s cock in his mouth, lips slick with spit and tears leaking out of his eyes. And then Sam says—

“Are you gonna let me fuck you tonight, baby? Gonna let me see how well you take it?”

And before Bucky knows it, he’s moaning around Sam’s cock and nodding his head, and Sam’s pulling a condom and lube out of the side drawer, and then Bucky’s face down on Sam’s bed, gasping and clenching around Sam’s long fingers.

When Sam finally turns him over and pushes inside him, Bucky feels his brain just—fully vacate his skull. Pleasure buzzes up and down Bucky’s spine like an electric current, and he’s only barely conscious of the wet-sounding gasp that comes out of his mouth when Sam finally slides all the way home.

Sam gives it to him slow and sweet, fucking into him at a dreamy, leisurely pace as Bucky grabs fistfuls of Sam’s sheets and scrabbles at any leverage he can get to try and push back against Sam’s cock. Bucky wants Sam to grab his hips and pound him hard, overwhelm him with stimulation and keep him from sinking under the gentle wave of that languid rhythm. It’s too intimate, too vulnerable, and Bucky’s chest is cracking wide open for Sam to look inside. He’s a little afraid of what Sam might see within him, but instead Sam’s expression is full of awe, his face open and tender as he runs a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous, so fucking sweet for me.”

There’s a lot of eye contact after that, and romantic face touching, and Sam telling Bucky how much he loves the way he feels, loves the way he looks and smells and tastes. Warmth pools deep in Bucky’s gut, spreading through his veins like the burn of whiskey, until Bucky feels like he’s going to burst into flames around Sam’s cock. Instead he comes, long and hard and messy, all over his stomach.

Sam’s eyes are hot as he looks down at the sight of Bucky’s abs covered in pearly fluid, and then he slams his hips into Bucky three more times, hard, before groaning and collapsing on top of him.

Fuck, Bucky thinks.

He takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then suppresses a half-hearted sigh when he realizes that he completely blew the plan. Like, yes, that was some fucking amazing sex, Sam gave him the dicking of a lifetime, but somehow Bucky ended up even further behind in the love language competition. How does Sam keep winning?

It’s too late now to offer another act of service. Even if Bucky could get it up again, Sam definitely couldn’t.

Shit.

But wait, what was Sam’s secondary love language? Quality time? Perfect.

Bucky rolls over to give Sam a few open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder. Sam is sweaty from exertion, and he tastes salty and amazing. God, Sam is the best.

“You mind if I stay the night, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam’s lips curve up in a soft and pleased smile. “Yeah, baby, I was hoping you would.”

“C’mere, you can be the little spoon,” Bucky says, reaching around Sam’s waist to reel him in, and Sam huffs out a surprised grunt and then a happy sigh when Bucky wraps his arms and leg around him.

They fall asleep within minutes, and it turns out Sam really was into the smell of Bucky on his pillows because they fuck again in the morning, and this time Bucky forgets to keep track of who’s winning at therapy homework.

***

They fuck constantly after that, which is amazing, but unfortunately Bucky is still staying in this game only by the skin of his teeth. Like, yes, Bucky is performing acts of service for Sam on the regular, but somehow Bucky finds his self-control dissolving like sugar melting into caramel when Sam spreads him out under his dirty mouth and his clever hands.

So now when Sam collapses on top of him at night, fucked out and shaking, Bucky nuzzles his face into the back of Sam’s neck and wraps his arm around him to pull him close. Bucky stays the night, every night, and at work he sticks to Sam more tightly than one of Steve Rogers’s t-shirts. But the more quality time Bucky offers Sam, the more acts of service Bucky ends up performing—which, sure, sounds like a plan that would put Bucky pretty solidly in the lead, except for how Bucky always ends up a sobbing, needy mess dripping onto Sam’s sheets while Sam smirks and tells him how good Bucky is for him.

They fight together even better now, in sync in a way that Bucky hasn’t felt since he worked with the Howling Commandos, and when they finish a skirmish they turn to each other, flushed and grinning, flying high on adrenaline and oxytocin and arousal. They kiss savagely, mouths wet and open, and they don’t care who hears them pant and groan over the comms.

“God, you were so fucking hot—”

“Sam, yes, god, please—”

Bucky and Sam have died and come back to life already this year and somehow they’re still bringing each other back to life. Bucky swaggers through SHIELD headquarters with champagne flowing through his veins, bright and bubbly, and Fury yells at them twice for passing dirty notes to each other during briefings. They’re obnoxious about it, obvious and messy and shameless, and Bucky’s pretty sure that Maria Hill is going to resign in protest if she has to work surveillance for even one more of their ops.

Somehow they’re generating even more complaints to HR than before.

***

Dr. Carson has finally managed to find them a room with a window for their counseling sessions. They’re on the fifth floor, and there’s not much of a view—just the brick wall of the building next to them—but sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains and highlights the cut ridges of Sam’s frankly incredible cheekbones. God, Sam’s so fucking handsome.

Bucky and Sam are grinning broadly, but Dr. Carson looks stressed out and irritated today, even though they just started the appointment. Her hair is stringy and a little greasy at the roots, and Bucky wonders if Dr. Carson knows about dry shampoo. He isn’t sure how to ask, or if it would be rude to offer her a few sprays from the travel bottle he keeps in one of the pockets of his tactical pants? She’s still wearing a nice silk blouse, but it looks like she’s buttoned it incorrectly, and the tail is hanging out of the top of her slacks.

Are those even slacks? They kind of look like yoga pants.

Privately, Bucky thinks that an outsider might be hard pressed to figure out which of them was supposed to be the mental patient here. Are Bucky and Sam actually driving this woman insane?

“So you’re sleeping together.” Dr. Carson’s tone is flat and dismayed. “You know this is against SHIELD employee regulations, don’t you?”

She taps her pen against their folders in agitation, and Bucky wonders if those folders are their actual permanent records. Does Bucky’s folder still have all of the notes from Sister Mary Angela about his “distracting” and “unnaturally close” relationship with Steve? God, Sister Mary Angela hated Steve.

Sam waves a careless hand and props his ankle up on his other knee. “We’re independent contractors, and Steve and Natasha made sure that our contracts didn’t include any kind of anti-fraternization policies. They were extremely thorough about it.”

Dr. Carson sighs heavily, and it looks like she’s doing literally everything in her power not to roll her eyes. Instead, she tips her head back and looks at the ceiling, probably hoping to roll her eyes where Bucky and Sam can’t see them. “Nevertheless, the two of you are still required to be discreet and professional when you’re at work. We’ve received complaints from several of your coworkers about your behavior in the last week. According to Carl, you’ve been bringing, quote, unwanted and uncomfortable sexual energy to the workplace.”

Bucky scoffs. He knows how to handle this sort of situation. “Listen, I didn’t lose my life fighting Nazis so that a little homoerotic banter and ass grabbing would get me in trouble at work. And anyway, this is how Captain America and I behaved at work back when we were fighting fascism and defending the free world—in the 1940s, even!—so I can’t imagine that somehow you’re just not allowed to give each other friendly hand jobs in closets in 2023. If anything, I should be able to give Sam a friendly hand job outside of a closet. Those are exactly the kinds of freedoms I fought and died for.”

Sam nods in support and says, “That’s a great point, Buck,” and Bucky feels warmth curling in his belly before he realizes, fuck, Sam’s doing it again, and right in front of Dr. Carson too. Jesus, Sam is so good at therapy. “And it sounds like Carl might be just a tad bit homophobic. Maybe we should be complaining to HR about him. You know, I didn’t serve during the long years of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell just to hear—”

“Carl is happily married to his male partner of thirty-seven years,” Dr. Carson states, clenching her jaw. Bucky has literally fought people to the death who look less bothered by his general existence. “Also, you didn’t actually die fighting Nazis, Agent Barnes.”

“It was a metaphorical death,” Bucky defends, because this is important to him. “The old Bucky Barnes died in that ravine. We went over it all in my therapy in Wakanda, the most scientifically advanced country in the world. What even are your credentials and where are your goats?”

“I have a Bachelor’s degree in psychology from Harvard and doctorates in clinical psychology and neuroscience from Oxford. I was a Rhodes scholar, I’ve received a MacArthur Fellowship for my work in PTSD and polytrauma in returning veterans, and I literally wrote the textbook for most Introduction to Psychology courses.”

Bucky waves his dismissive hand at this. “Yeah, well, Sam did eighty hours of coursework and an eighty hour practicum to become a certified peer counselor. Plus he has experiential knowledge, which is more important than book learning. Also, Sam isn’t HYDRA. Are you HYDRA?”

The wood in Dr. Carson’s pencil cracks a bit under her hand. “I’m not HYDRA.”

“But, like, would Nick Fury know if you were HYDRA?” Bucky presses.

“That’s an excellent point, baby, you’re killing it in therapy today.” Sam pats Bucky on the thigh and then leaves his hand there, bare inches away from Bucky’s cock, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moving his hips or making any noises. “Nick Fury would definitely not know if Dr. Carson were HYDRA, his Nazi-finding track record is, like, dismal at best. I vote that we suspend therapy until there’s been an independent investigation into whether or not Dr. Carson is HYDRA.”

“You can’t suspend therapy,” Dr. Carson says, her expression pinched. “These counseling sessions are mandatory.”

“Look, we’ll keep doing the love languages thing as a show of good faith, and once the investigation’s concluded we’ll come back so you can decide which one of us is winning at therapy,” Bucky says. “In the meantime just, like, prepare to have all of your secrets uncovered and all of your loved ones and ex-boyfriends questioned extensively about your most private and intimate memories.”

Dr. Carson covers her face with her hands. Is she trying to muffle a scream?

“For the last time, no one wins at therapy,” she grits out.

“I mean, I think I’m pretty obviously winning,” Sam says. Bucky tips his head in reluctant agreement. “Anyway, we’ll talk to Natasha and Steve about the HYDRA thing since they actually know how to find Nazis. If Steve and Nat clear you, then Bucky and I will agree to let you judge which one of us is winning the love languages competition. In the meantime, it would be nice if you could get some therapy pets for Bucky. He likes animals. Goats might be a bit unreasonable for downtown D.C., but I’m sure you could rustle up some cats or something, right?”

Bucky hums. “I like dogs better.’

“All right, cool. Dr. C, get us some dogs.” Sam raps two knuckles against the desk. “Bucky and I are going to go to the gym to work out a bit. Bucky’s shoulders are looking really good lately.”

“Sam!” Bucky hisses, squirming a bit in his seat. “Not in front of Dr. Carson!”

“Sorry, baby,” Sam says, holding out a hand to pull Bucky up out of his chair. “See you next week, Dr. C!”

***

It hasn’t exactly escaped Bucky’s notice that Natasha has been avoiding him ever since Bucky and Sam started their love languages competition, so when Bucky sees Steve walking alone down the hallway toward his office, he reaches out from the broom closet where he’s hiding and yanks Steve inside.

“Is Natasha helping Sam win the love languages competition?” Bucky hisses.

There’s no real reason that they need to have this conversation in a broom closet instead of Steve’s office, but Bucky’s feeling nostalgic today, and Steve doesn’t seem at all bothered to suddenly find himself in a broom closet with Bucky.

“I mean, probably?” Steve says with a shrug. “It seems only fair, since I’m helping you. Also her dirty talk has really leveled up lately, and that’s probably not a coincidence. Why, what’s Sam doing?”

“He’s, like, constantly flirting with me. And the touching! God, Steve, I’m horny all the time now. And you wouldn’t believe the things he says to me in bed! Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on all the sex routines you and I’ve choreographed when Sam’s telling me how pretty I look with his cock in my mouth?”

“Natasha is definitely helping him then—she says that to me all the time when she’s using her strap on,” Steve says, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Are you sure you can’t keep it together enough to service him without getting distracted by his words of affirmation?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, his cheeks growing hot. “You have no idea, Steve, like Sam just gets so filthy. I know my brain’s been fried like an egg and I don’t actually remember a lot about sex, but I don’t think people talked like this in the ‘40s, right?”

“I mean, you and I shared a bedroom in an apartment with paper thin walls and then spent a few years in a warzone. There’s not much opportunity for dirty talk when you’re just doing your best to get off without waking anybody up,” Steve says. “But that does give me an idea. Sam’s secondary love language is quality time, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So date him! You may not have the sexual repertoire of someone who’s watched hundreds of hours of modern porn or even someone who remembers much about having sex before like three weeks ago, but you do know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles. “Do I, though? Do I still know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing?”

“I believe in you, pal.” Steve claps him on the shoulder and then looks around the broom closet thoughtfully, taking in the dirty mop and the shelves of cleaning supplies and filthy rags. “You’re honestly not even doing a bad job of wooing me right now. Want to trade hand jobs for old time’s sake?”

Bucky shoots Steve a withering look. “I’m not wooing you right now, Steve, you’re just easy. Go find Natasha if you’re horny.”

Steve shrugs. “Eh, it was worth a shot.”

***

Two months later, once Steve and Natasha have completed Dr. Carson’s background check and confirmed that she isn’t HYDRA, Sam and Bucky return to therapy. Even though Dr. Carson hasn’t seen them in months, she looks pinched and irritated, and the deep wrinkles in her forehead and the sudden explosion of gray in her hair make her look as though she’s aged five years since she started giving them therapy.

Bucky frowns and squints in suspicion. “We haven’t gotten Blipped again, have we?”

“What?”

“You just look—” Bucky gestures toward her hair and the bags under her eyes.

Dr. Carson’s expression shifts from exhausted indifference to polite fury, and Bucky’s just about to apologize when Sam gestures toward the floor under the window and says, “Hey, look at that! It’s about time you got Bucky a therapy puppy, you know that his doctors in Wakanda strongly encouraged it.”

When Bucky follows the line of Sam’s arm, he sees the cutest puppy in the world sitting in a fuzzy little dog bed with pictures of bones on it. Bucky gasps in delight. “He’s so cute, Sam, look at his little face!”

The puppy’s face is perfect, with big brown eyes and a short little snout with a tiny black nose. When he wags his tail, his little butt wiggles and Bucky wants to die about it. He loves this puppy so much.

“I’m naming him Paddington after my favorite movie,” Bucky declares.

“I love it,” Sam says immediately, pulling out his phone. “Put him in your lap so I can get some pictures for Steve and Natasha. They’re going to be so jealous when they find out that we got to have a dog in our therapy.”

Sam and Bucky spend the next ten minutes playing with Paddington and taking photos of the two of them with their adorable new therapy dog while Dr. Carson rubs her forehead like she just fucking knew this puppy would be a distraction.

“I think we should get started,” Dr. Carson interrupts, glancing pointedly at her watch.

“Yes, perfect!” Bucky pulls a small notebook out of his back pocket. “OK, so let me catch you up on everything we’ve done to each other since our last meeting, and I especially want your input on the scoring system that Sam and I have developed—”

Bucky and Sam spend the next half hour recounting their every interaction over the past couple of months in explicit, pornographic detail while Dr. Carson repeatedly clenches and unclenches her fists. When they spend ten full minutes alone on the rim job Bucky gave Sam last Saturday, Dr. Carson’s eyes go distant and glassy like a shell shocked veteran of the Great War or something. Bucky has literally seen torture victims make less of an effort to dissociate from their surroundings than Dr. Carson right now.

Honestly, who would have expected a therapist with thirty years’ experience to be so faint of heart? It’s absolutely critical to Bucky and Sam’s scoring system to determine whether Sam let out a “choked moan” or a “strangled gasp” while Bucky ate him out, and Bucky doesn’t appreciate Dr. Carson’s frankly lackluster participation when they stage a reenactment of events to try and settle the matter. She doesn’t even seem very decisive when she finally renders her judgment, like maybe she just doesn’t care what kind of sound Sam made, even though it was the most erotic noise Bucky’s ever heard in a hundred years.

When Sam concludes his argument for why words of affirmation during sex should count for more points than praise at work, Dr. Carson sighs heavily, looks off into the distance for exactly ten seconds, and then states, “I think we should discuss how you two can erect boundaries between your work relationship and your sexual relationship.”

Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow at Dr. Carson’s audacity. “Do you really feel like you’re qualified to counsel us on that particular issue?”

Dr. Carson’s jaw clenches. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, after everything that went down between you and Dr. Fitzgerald back in Philadelphia, I hardly think—”

Dr. Carson’s face whitens like curdled milk. “How did you find out about that?”

“Remember Natasha’s background check? Anyway, I’m just saying that it’s a tad bit hypocritical of you to suggest that Bucky and I shouldn’t be fucking during work hours, I mean, Bucky isn’t even married—”

Dr. Carson bites her lip so ferociously that she draws blood. “Bucky may not be married, but he is technically your subordinate, and that means there’s an uneven power dynamic to consider here—”

Sam smirks like he’s fucking Benjamin Matlock and he knows he’s just one pointed question away from making the guilty party break down and confess right there on the witness stand. (Bucky makes a mental note to ask Sam later why he and Natasha always snicker when Bucky and Steve get together to play cribbage and watch Matlock on Sunday afternoons.) “You mean like the uneven power dynamic at play between you and that doctoral student whose dissertation committee you chaired at UPenn?”

Dr. Carson gasps, and her face turns as red and furious as Sister Mary Angela’s that time she caught Steve’s skinny arms nailing a copy of Martin Luther’s Ninety-five Theses to the heavy wooden door of St. Charles Borromeo.

Bucky’s mind wanders a bit at that memory. God, Steve Rogers really was such a bad influence—maybe Sister Mary Angela was right about their distracting and unnaturally close relationship. Because of course Bucky couldn’t leave that stubborn asshole to face Sister Mary Angela’s wrath alone, so Bucky had ended up confessing to abusing his powers as editor of the student newspaper to let Steve use the school’s small printing press. Bucky emerged from the experience with an ass that burned for a week and a few uncomfortable new kinks.

Now, Bucky looks speculatively over at Sam’s strong hands and shifts in his chair.

“I just remembered, Sam and I have something really important to do,” Bucky announces. “So we’ll see you next week, right? OK, cool. C’mon, Paddington!”

Bucky grabs Paddington’s cute little dog bed and Paddington hops down from Sam’s lap to follow them out of the office, his tail wagging happily as he trots along beside them. God, Paddington is so fucking cute, Bucky cannot believe what a great dog he is.

Dr. Carson calls out after them through gritted teeth. “You’re not supposed to take the therapy dog with you!”

“Sorry, what?” Sam shouts back, cupping his hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you!”

“Bucky, I know you have super hearing!”.

“Sorry, I’m a hundred and six years old and I left my ear trumpet at home!” Bucky raises his hands in an exaggerated shrug to convey the hopelessness of trying to communicate at this great distance of about forty feet.

“God, I need a fucking vacation forever,” Dr. Carson mutters.

***

Later, after Bucky and Sam collapse against Sam’s sheets in sweaty exhaustion, Bucky mentally tallies their points and comes to the frustrating conclusion that Sam is still absolutely wiping the floor with him in this love languages competition. God, how is Sam so good at everything? He’s so fucking handsome and charming and athletic and just, like, absolute dynamite in the sack—

God, no wonder Bucky’s losing. There’s no way he can win this competition with his dick alone. Time to channel Tommy Dorsey and play it from the heart.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky murmurs, leaning up to nuzzle his nose against Sam’s jaw. “Let me cook you dinner tonight, doll. Wanna treat you right.”

“‘M not your doll,” Sam grumbles. “But yeah, OK.”

Bucky kisses Sam’s shoulder and plots.

Three hours later, Bucky and Steve survey Bucky’s dining room with the smug satisfaction of Scarlett O’Hara stealing her sister’s fiancé to get her greedy hands on his general store and sawmill.

“I think we nailed it, pal,” Steve boasts. “This looks just like your date night mood board.”

“I mean, I feel like half the credit should go to Pinterest user donkeydick2004—who would’ve guessed that he’d have such a sensitive soul.”

Bucky’s dining room table is covered with rose petals sprinkled over Bucky’s mother’s best lace tablecloth, liberated from the archives of the Smithsonian along with the rest of the contents of Steve and Bucky’s old Brooklyn Heights apartment. Two lit candles rise proudly from the gleaming silver of Sarah Rogers’s candleholders—the only wedding gift she’d managed to save from the pawnbroker during those lean years of Steve’s childhood—and the Victrola crackles with the smooth tenor of Enrico Caruso singing an aria so romantic it once brought a tear to the clear, flinty eye of Bucky’s father. Bucky’s grateful now that the Barneses were a Victor Talking Machine Company family—those Edison wax cylinders decayed faster than American democracy after the invention of Facebook.

The first time Bucky saw the familiar red logo of that Caruso record again—faithful Nipper the dog, his head tipped toward the horn of a gramophone playing the sound of his dead master’s voice—Bucky drove straight out into the desert and screamed until he was hoarse.

And now tonight Bucky’s using that very record to romance the shit out of Sam Wilson, so Nick Fury and Dr. Carson can fuck off with their so-called “therapy” because Bucky Barnes is doing great.

Steve clears his throat and gives Bucky a meaningful look. “You know, if this is all just some competition between you and Sam, you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland to dig all of our most personal and intimate memories out of storage for this dinner.”

Flustered, Bucky replies, “You have no idea what a canny opponent Sam is! Every time that man talks, my heart flutters and my stomach’s all full of butterflies. Besides,” Bucky says, “my grandfather paid fifty extra dollars to get the Circassian walnut veneer put on that old Victrola—he would haunt me if I didn’t ever use it, Steve.”

“You know your Aunt Margaret spit on her own father’s grave when your grandfather left that Victrola to your dad instead of her?”

Bucky laughs. “Is that why they had that big falling out? I couldn’t remember.”

“Peggy said that your Aunt Margaret wrote Howard Stark a letter every month until the day she died demanding the return of that Victrola.”

“Well, I hope that greedy old hag is looking down at me right now,” Bucky says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She deserves to watch me seduce my gay lover with that Victrola, it serves her right. You know she called you a fairy once?”

Steve gestures toward the intimate tableau featuring all of Bucky’s most precious memories and dryly states, “Well, as long as you’re clear on spite as your motivation for all of this.”

Bucky bites his lip as a sudden fear strikes him. “Do you think Sam’s going to like the chicken? People still roast chicken, right? It’s not just, like, sushi and gluten free vegan desserts nowadays?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a knock at the door. Paddington dives off the sofa like he’s responding to an Avengers Assemble alarm—which, oh my god, could Paddington wear a little outfit and come with the Avengers on ops? Bucky needs to look into this immediately—and dances around in elation when Bucky opens the door to reveal Sam, who is looking fine as hell in a lavender button-down and navy trousers.

And Bucky’s heart is—honestly not reacting much differently than Paddington right now.

“Aw, hi, baby!” Sam says, leaning down to pet Paddington and scratch him behind the ears. When Sam’s finished giving Paddington the attention he so richly deserves, Bucky’s pulled in for a long, heartbreakingly tender kiss that sends a shiver of want down the entire length of his spine. Sam and Steve exchange their own greetings while Bucky surreptitiously reaches up to rub at the goosebumps prickling at the sensitive skin at the back of his neck.

“Steve, you’re going to be OK watching Paddington tonight, right?” Bucky’s voice is threaded with the justifiable suspicion of someone who has known Steve Rogers for a lifetime.

Steve’s mouth drops open in offense. “Yes! Bucky, I know how to watch a dog.”

Bucky lifts Paddington’s tiny body and curls his arms protectively around him. “OK, well, Paddington is the most important thing in the world to me, and you are literally the least responsible person I know, so.”

“What? Bucky, I’m—that’s—I’m Captain America. I’m famously responsible.”

“Sam is Captain America, Steve. I feel like you’re not moving on. Also my brain might be a giant lump of small curd cottage cheese now, but I still remember that you’re a reckless idiot.”

Sam gives Steve a sharp look of his own and says, “Steve, Paddington is very important to Bucky’s therapy and also to our therapy as a couple—” Sam pauses, then adds, “of coworkers. So make sure you give him his favorite treats, but don’t give him too many treats, and make sure he doesn’t pull the squeaker out of his stuffed alligator—”

Bucky and Sam lead Steve to the door while Sam continues to debrief Steve on all of Paddington’s most important feelings and preferences. “You should really be writing all of this down, Steve,” Sam says with a frown.

Steve sighs. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“All right, well, if we pick him up in the morning and he has an upset tummy, I will literally kill you, and Sam—the trustworthy Captain America—will be my alibi,” Bucky says.

Sam nods in solemn agreement.

Bucky and Sam part from Paddington with identical expressions of worry as Steve walks him down the hall to his apartment.

As soon as Steve’s door closes, Bucky is all over Sam, pressing him against the wall and skimming his lips over the warm skin of Sam’s neck. God, Sam smells incredible, like tobacco and vanilla and oiled leather, and somehow the masculine scent of him travels down Bucky’s windpipe and directly to his cock.

“Hi,” Bucky breathes.

“Hey, baby,” Sam murmurs, tipping his head back to let Bucky’s lips trail along his throat to his jawline. Bucky’s just getting really into it, his hips pressing insistently against Sam’s, when the timer for the oven goes off.

Over dinner, Bucky and Sam talk and laugh about their coworkers as the candlelight does frankly amazing things for Sam’s bone structure. Bucky squirms in his chair and tries to will away the flush he can feel spreading up his neck when Sam compliments Bucky on the romantic lighting and the beautiful place settings. Fuck, he’s supposed to be giving Sam quality time here, and instead Sam’s using that quality time to offer Bucky more words of affirmation. Bucky’s not really ready to concede this battle just yet, but he’s definitely starting to craft a defeat narrative for himself about the lack of shame in being beaten by the best.

And Sam is definitely the best.

“That chicken was incredible.” Sam pats his stomach and groans in satisfaction. “You know that’s just how my mama always makes it?”

Bucky wonders if it would be weird to divulge that he actually broke into Sam’s mother’s house to sneak a look at her recipe cards. That’s normal intelligence gathering, right? Bucky made sure Sam’s mom was out of the house when he entered, and afterward he sent a team of security specialists to give her a better alarm system setup—”compliments of SHIELD, ma’am”—when he realized that her house was way too easy to break into. And Bucky’s dad always said to leave things better than you found them, so if anything Sam’s mom is probably safer now than she was before the world’s most legendary assassin crept into her house to rifle through her personal belongings.

He feels like Natasha would agree with him but he also feels like Natasha is probably just as batshit insane as Bucky and Steve are. Bucky has literally no normal friends and he should probably start spending more time with Sharon Carter.

After dinner, Sam looks relaxed and sated, his eyes warm and heavy-lidded as he watches Bucky shiver under his praise. “You know you have a praise kink, right?”

“Yes, Sam,” Bucky says, and tries to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Steve and I did a ton of research and watched, like, hours of porn together. We figured it out.”

“You and Steve have some serious boundary issues.” Sam shakes his head and grins in amusement. “But seriously, though, you’re not just hooking up with me because you imprinted on me after I made your dick hard or something, right? I mean, I remember the first time I got a boner after being deployed. I cried like a baby, so I get it, man, but—”

“Actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you about that,” Bucky says, his stomach swimming with nerves. This is the moment he’s been anticipating and dreading since he planned this whole date night op. “I was thinking—how would you feel about taking this competition to the next level?”

Sam’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just think we’d both have more time and energy to devote to this competition if we were competing, you know, exclusively.”

“Ah.” Sam’s expression clears and a slow smile spreads across his handsome face. “You want to be boyfriends.”

“I want to be boyfriends,” Bucky confirms with a decisive nod.

He may be losing this love language competition by about a hundred and fifty points, but Bucky still has some fight in him yet. And between work and sex and co-ownership of Paddington, Bucky’s already spending so much time with Sam that there’s no real way to increase the amount of time in “quality time”—but he can improve the quality of that time. If Bucky and Sam are boyfriends, Bucky figures, all that quality time should automatically count for more points than the quality time they spend together as coworkers with confusing feelings for each other, right?

Bucky’s lungs burn as he holds his breath held in anticipation of Sam’s response.

“Yeah, let’s be boyfriends,” Sam says, with a grin tugging at his lips.

Bucky’s heart soars in victory.

***

Bucky and Sam have decided not to bring Paddington with them to any future therapy appointments just in case Dr. Carson tries to take him away like Cruella de Vil.

This week, however, Dr. Carson shows up their session with a whole new vibe. Instead of striding imperiously into her office in her usual stern fashion, Dr. Carson blows in fifteen minutes late with the casual energy of a high school senior during the last week of school. She walks over to her desk, flip-flops slapping against her feet, and reclines back in her chair to prop her feet up onto the polished surface of her solid oak desk. She’s dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie like a suburban mom in an airport waiting to fly down to Miami for a Caribbean cruise.

“So how’s it going this week, boys?” Dr. Carson asks, slurping from the straw of her Big Gulp soda.

“Um, great.” Sam eyes her cautiously. “Bucky and I are boyfriends now.”

“No shit!” Dr. Carson says, and tilts her head back to squint down at them. “Huh. What do you know about that.” Then she shrugs. “Tell me how it happened.”

So Bucky and Sam tell her every detail of the last week, including the way they tenderly made love after Sam agreed to be Bucky’s boyfriend. Dr. Carson is clear-eyed and engaged the entire time, even during the five full minutes Sam devotes to the ripple of Bucky’s abdominal muscles as he strains toward orgasm, and Bucky’s just starting to think that maybe they can get some real therapy out of Dr. Carson when she says—

“So Fury’s transferring me to Hawaii.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“Yup.” Dr. Carson burrows deeper into her chair and lets out a relaxed sigh before taking another loud sip of her soda. “This is our last session!”

“So do we have a new therapist after this, or?” Sam waves his hand uncertainly.

“Nah, I’m just gonna go ahead and tell Fury that you guys are doing great. You’ve officially graduated therapy.”

Bucky chokes on air. “Excuse me, what? We graduated therapy?”

“Sure, why not?” Dr. Carson says with a lazy shrug. “Despite literally all of my expectations to the contrary, it seems like you guys have actually formed a stable partnership. Just, you know, maybe stop fucking so much at work.”

Bucky scoffs. “Listen, I didn’t give my life fighting Nazis in World War II—” he begins.

***

After Bucky and Sam’s appointment with Dr. Carson, Sam receives a text asking him to meet Fury in his executive suite.

Bucky heads back to his own office—his real one, buried deep within the bowels of SHIELD in a secret interrogation room someone bricked up the entrance to and then forgot about years ago. Bucky discovered it while crawling through the air ducts to place surveillance equipment in the offices of Nick Fury and the major SHIELD department heads. Once Bucky disposed of the mummified body he found inside—which, wow, super gross—it made the perfect private office space and server room.

Bucky opens his surveillance software just in time to hear Fury tell Sam that Bucky broke his best therapist.

“Dr. Carson is a highly trained professional at the top of her field,” Fury says, his voice stern. “I had to offer her a fifty percent raise to lure her away from private practice, and now I’m sending her away from D.C., where all of my elite agents reside, to Honolulu, which is where I send all the useless nepotism agents I’m forced to hire by the World Security Council. I don’t know what Barnes did to that woman but he just cost me a very experienced and expensive mental health professional.”

“And what makes you think Agent Barnes is at fault?”

“Dr. Carson is obviously not at liberty to divulge any specifics about what was said during your therapy sessions, but she did note that your bickering was ‘maddening’ and that she, quote, hadn’t even realized it was possible to overshare during therapy. She also indicated that Barnes instigated an invasive and traumatizing background check that caused her a great deal of personal distress.’”

“Given Agent Barnes’s history with SHIELD, I think it’s perfectly understandable that he may have sought reassurance that Dr. Carson wasn’t an agent of HYDRA.” Sam’s voice is bland and pleasant. “It’s hardly Agent Barnes’s fault that Dr. Carson turned out to have a surprisingly messy personal life.”

“Be that as it may, I’m suspending Barnes from active duty until he passes a second psych eval from another therapist.”

“With all due respect, sir, Agent Barnes has been nothing but cooperative in this retaliatory investigation into his mental state. He’s a skilled and creative fighter, a selfless and generous partner, and a brilliant tactician. He deserves to be treated with the same respect as any other SHIELD agent who hasn’t shot you.”

Jesus Christ, is Sam offering Bucky words of affirmation even when he’s not there to hear them? What kind of love language master is Sam? God, how can Bucky possibly compete with this?

Fury’s voice is strangled. “Retaliatory?”

“Yes,” Sam says firmly. “As far as I’m aware, Agent Barnes has cleared all mandatory psychological evaluations and then some. If you have a problem with his—or my—behavior in the workplace, I suggest you carefully review our employment contracts and initiate the appropriate disciplinary proceedings. In the meantime, I will be continuing with Agent Barnes as my partner. There will be no suspension.”

The sound of Fury’s office door slamming shut is unexpectedly erotic.

By the time Sam slides through the secret passageway into Bucky’s office, Sam looks calm and collected, like he hasn’t just returned from facing down a man with the power and authority to send him to one of a half-dozen black sites so secret they probably exist on other planets.

“So how’d the meeting go?” Bucky asks, suppressing a grin.

“Oh, it was fine,” Sam says with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “We don’t have to do therapy anymore.”

Bucky lets his smile spread across his face. “Oh, yeah? No more retaliatory investigations into my mental state?”

When Sam realizes how Bucky must have overheard that remark, his eyes widen in delight. “I’m sorry, did you bug Fury’s office? Bucky Barnes, you crazy asshole, I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky freezes. Sam loves him? Adrenaline and exhilaration race through Bucky’s veins, spreading through his entire circulatory system until he feels like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin. For the second time in Bucky’s life, he’s been flung straight over the side of a cliff, except this time Sam has wings to catch him. God, this is why they call it falling, isn’t it?

Bucky is feeling so fucking affirmed right now. He has never felt so affirmed in his entire life.

And Bucky’s lost that stupid competition now, hasn’t he. There’s no way Bucky can compete with that declaration, no way he can pull off a victory after Sam just earned himself, like, fifty million points—but when Bucky looks at Sam’s gap-toothed grin, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s secretly won after all.

And he does have one last, best card to play.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky says, with a wide grin, “how do you feel about moving in together?”

#marvel cinematic universe #bucky barnes #sam wilson #bucky barnes x sam wilson #winter falcon #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #old man steve has no power here #fuck old man steve #natasha romanoff lives #idiots in love

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leahxx129 · 5 years ago

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Misbehavior (Tony Stark x Reader)

This is my entry for the stunning @lancsnerd ‘s 1K Challenge. Congrats girl once more! My prompt can be found in bold in the text.

As for the fic, this is not how I intended it to play out at all but once I started writing one thing followed the other and voilà - it was born. I hope you enjoy & also please forgive me for the sucky smut part. I need to work on my smut writing skills, I know.

Summary: A mission goes sideways because of Tony Stark’s impulsive decision and this angers you to the point of punishing him in a very special way. Unbeknownst to you, an entire audience witnesses it.

Warnings: swearing, smut

Word count: 2.060-ish

Gif is not mine.

You are walking through the glass suspension bridge in the Stark Tower; Natasha, Steve, Tony, Clint, Bruce and Thor follow closely in your heels. The course of an outstandingly important mission deviated from schedule, and Fury commanded you to gather in the conference room for a video discussion, right after the Quinjet’s landed.

No matter how hard you try you can’t remember a single time when you’ve been angrier than now. In fact, the word ‘angry’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Mad? No. Furious? Close but not quite. If it wasn’t for Natasha you’d feel much better now. Stark would have a broken nose and you would have your peace of mind... but no, she had to intervene and restrain you.

“I’m just saying that my brilliance may not be evident but that is what brought the mission to success today, not Little Miss Goodie Two-Shoes over there!” Tony provokes you and you’d be damned if you missed the opportunity to rip him a new one.

You turn around and duck from Nat in one quick motion, but Steve steps in front of the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, shielding him.

“I appreciate the gesture, Rogers, but I don’t need protection from Y/N.” Tony objects.

“You’re not in your suit and she could strangle you to death with her thighs exclusively, so you might wanna reconsider, Stark.”

“I mean, wouldn’t be the worst way to die I guess…”

“Come on people, move!” Thor yells at all of you out of the blue, earning your undivided attention. “I must get back to Asgard as soon as possible and your childish banter just puts off the end of this gathering we are about have.”

“Childish banter?” you repeat, pulling a face. “We almost failed because of Stark’s eccentricity! Heck, one of us could’ve died!”

“Little dove, you do realize I’m a god, right? I cannot die, so it couldn’t have been me.” he states with a wink, leaning to the side of the bridge.

“Actually, I did some research and that’s not entirely true.” Bruce chips in, making Thor’s head snap in his direction.

“What are you talking about, Banner?”

“Technically, you are not immortal.”

“Lie. I am.”

“But you’re not.”

“But I am.”

“Okay people, I think we’re gonna find out who’s immortal and who’s not if we will be any later to Fury’s meeting!” Clint puts an end to their disagreement and urges you all to proceed.

You push the double-winged door open and take a seat at the far end of the oval glass table. When Tony is only a few chairs away from you, Steve pulls on his shoulder, forcing him to sit down right next him. The others make themselves comfortable as well and a hologram of Fury appears in the middle of the table almost immediately after.

“I’ve been waiting for quite some time now, Avengers.” he proclaims. “I figured maybe you had difficulties grasping what ‘right after landing’ meant and you went to take a shower or something, but you still look like crap, so…explain.”

“We’re sorry for the delay, Fury. It’s just Y/N and Tony had a moment of not seeing eye to eye.” Nat replies.

“And why is that?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe because Stark’s an egoistic prick and his reckless behavior endangered all of us?!” you answer him this time.

“Not all of us.” Thor interjects “He didn’t endanger me.”

Everybody brushes his comment off with a sigh, even Fury chooses to ignore it.

“Can I just say that I do not agree with Y/N ’s ascertainment?” Tony inquires as innocently as possible, but you are not fooled by his pretenses. You’ve grown to know all his little games and tricks by now.

“You can but nobody cares, Stark.” you voice your opinion before Fury even gets the chance to open his mouth. “What the hell were you thinking?! I know your magical armor is almost invincible but the rest of us aren’t and exposing us to the enemy did not aid the cause of the mission!”

“See, that’s where you are wrong, Y/N. Our arrival was highly anticipated and by doing something unexpected – in this case exposing ourselves and pretending to surrender – we managed to catch them off-guard and consequently we were able to defeat them. I call this smart leadership and if this is your peculiar way of thanking me, you’re welcome!”

“Un-believable! Smart leadership?! Stark, it’s obvious you winged it just like everything else in your life! Gosh, do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

“Okay, now that’s getting a bit personal-“ but Tony’s not able to finish his sentence.

“ENOUGH!” Fury thunders. “This isn’t kindergarten. You know what? Get out. Both of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” you can’t believe your ears.

“I said leave the conference room. Both of you. You got ten minutes to cool down then you may rejoin the discussion.”

Tony rolls his eyes and slowly takes his leave. You wait a couple of seconds, hoping Fury would change his mind and let you stay but nothing happens. You let out a loud scoff and storm out. The heavy door closes behind you with a thud and you head to the bridge, but before you could set a foot on it, you hear a violent ‘psssssst’ coming from a door cracked open about ten feet away. You approach it with caution but as you get near it, a hand reaches out and pulls you in.

“Tony?!” you blurt out.

“Ssshhh! No need to scream just yet, darling.” he scolds you then flashes a smile that would make the majority of earth’s female population drop their panties in an instant.

“Is this… is this a janitor’s closet??” you ask incredulously as you take in your surroundings.

“Yeah, but hey, you know the drill about desperate times and desperate measures... I want you. Now.”

Not waiting for a reaction, he grabs your hips and kisses you forcefully. You can taste the whiskey he drank prior the battle mixed with blood from your busted lip on his tongue. A second later you push him away and he looks utterly at loss.

“You risked the success of our mission earlier today! Do you honestly expect me to just let that slip? You were a bad boy, Tony. And you know what bad boys deserve?”

“Punishment.”

You take a step closer and press yourself flush against his body while standing on your tiptoes.

“Indeed. And I think I may have to be the one to deliver the punishment in the form of what the French call La Petite Mort.” you whisper in his ear, and you can feel his hard-on twitching in his expensive Hugo Boss pants.

He loses control almost immediately and pins you against the wall.

“That’s my favorite kind of death, darling!” he says in between kisses.

It takes a few seconds to peel each other’s redundant clothing off, but you succeed. He flips you so you’d face the wall and enters you from behind. A moan escapes your mouth. One of his hands is on your hip and the other one he uses to reach to the front and massage you.

“You know, you couldn’t have come up with a better punishment, even if you tried…” he pants, his lips brushing against your neck.

“Thanks... but lately I feel like… I’ve been dealing out… more chastisement than ever…” you breathe out as pleasure slowly begins building inside you.

“Busted…you see what you do to me, Y/N? I aim to misbehave… just so you would get angry… and you’d punish me…”

He picks up the pace and soon you have to bite down on your lower arm to prevent yourself from screaming out. His fast motions morph into slow, sloppy ones and a deep groan lets you know he’s reached his bliss as well. You stand there for a minute all tangled up in each other, trying to normalize your breath.

“I so hate sneaking around…” you complain in a thin voice as you pull the zipper up on your skin-tight suit.

“I know, sweetheart, me too. But we’ll go official when the time is right.” he pecks you on the lips “Now let’s rejoin that ridiculous meeting.”

You enter the room but halfway to your seat you come to a halt. The atmosphere has clearly changed. Steve is staring into the void while Nat’s face is buried into her hands. Bruce appears to be thinking hard while Clint can’t tear his gaze from you.

“Where’s Thor? And Fury? Is the meeting over?” you ask.

“Thor left for Asgard and Fury is probably poking his other eye out. Or deafening himself. At least that’s what I’m contemplating right now.” Clint offers an explanation completely deadpan.

Before you can threaten him to kick his ass if he didn’t quit messing, Tony comes in and stops behind you.

“What happened to you all?” he draws his eyebrows together “It appears as if you- nooooo…“

His eyes widen and you look at him in confusion.

“The body camera in your suit.” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

“Bingo, Mr. I aim to misbehave!” Nat’s voice is muffled but still audible.

When your heartrate increases or decreases to an unusual level, the camera starts projecting the image to the closest device capable of receiving its signal. This way you can get help if you’re in trouble or hurt. Apparently, the gadget cannot differentiate between an increase due to danger and an increase due to excitement, so the projection started in the conference room... As a result, the company present saw and heard everything. Everything. All the blood drains from your face.

“Next time please do us a favor and turn the damn thing off, would you?” Bruce suggests.

“Banner, you know how this works, too, why didn’t you stop the projection?!” Tony snaps at him.

“I tried but Thor got uncomfortable and smashed the control panel with his hammer! He damaged the system enough to log Fury out, but the video kept going and going… So, he summoned the Bifrost on the balcony and left. We, on the other hand, are still waiting for Fury’s return so we had to endure the whole show you put on...”

“Gosh, this is embarrassing… but hey, at least it was educational for Rogers, wasn’t it?

“Tony!” you smack his shoulder, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Yes, darling?” he snakes an arm around your waist.

Suddenly, Fury’s hologram pops back in.

“You…” he drags the word, staring daggers at the two of you. “You almost made me carve out my good eye…”

Clint claps his hands together then points at Fury, mouthing an ‘I told you’. Fury glances at him but carries on without reacting.

“If you didn’t happen to be two of earth’s mightiest heroes, I’d fire you in a heartbeat!”

“We are very well aware, and we are incredibly sorry for the inconvenience we caused!” you almost stutter the sentence. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hey!” Tony protests.

“I mean, in public.”

“Ah, okay.”

“Anyway…” Fury continues “Unfortunately, we all learned the true reason why today’s mission went sideways, but that’s not what’s gonna get documented. We will go with Stark’s smart leadership crap. If there are no further questions, the meeting is over, and you can disassemble.”

The others vanish in a blink of an eye, only Tony and you are left in the conference room. He pulls you closer and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?” he murmurs.

“Yup. Though this definitely wasn’t the way I wanted to let them know we’re together.”

You stand there for a couple of minutes, just swaying in each other’s embrace. You lean your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

“Listen, I know you said public places were off-limits, but here’s this huge glass table and everyone’s gone!” Tony whispers, totally ruining the moment.

You roll your eyes and smack his shoulder yet again as a response, then head off.

“I assume that’s a no then?” he shouts after you.

A small smile spreads across his face. He is not a believer, but he believes in you and in what you two have. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he knows it.

#lancsnerd1kchallenge #marvel fic #marvel #tony stark #iron man #mcu fic #avengers #fanfic #rdj #robert downey junior

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 5 years ago

Text

Beauty and the Beast Ch.8 (Bucky x Reader)

We are getting closer and closer to the end, guys! I’m thinking I’m going to finish this one up since it’s so close, then focus on “His Shooting Star” and “The Prince and the Pauper”.

Summary: It took the kingdom of Hydra five years to finally take advantage of the disappearance of the Stark Kingdom. It took Prince Brock two weeks to make the small, unprotected village of Marveline hate his existence. His ways left Captain Rogers to go looking for help, hoping to find a royal family that could protect the people. But what happens when he hasn’t come back? It’s up to Bucky to find out what happened to his best friend and the royal siblings, but he never expected what’s to come.

Chapter 8

"I love him."

The words seemed to echo in Sam's mind as he tried to explain the situation to his friends and family. No one could grasp at the fact that Bucky was gone. Everyone thought it was going well and to hear the sound of Bucky leaving for the second time? They couldn't understand. The unspoken truth was that they were running out of time. And no one knew what to do. Fear was taking the lead.

"Everybody, calm down," Rhodey shouted, voice carrying over the arguments already filling the halls. "Give Sam a chance to explain."

All eyes were on him. He fidgeted slightly, knowing this would be a little difficult to explain. "She's...She's in love with him."

"Then the spell should be broken," a voice shouted, their face lost in the crowd.

"No, it's not enough." Wanda this time. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when she appeared not too far away from him. "The curse isn't merely a Stark falling in love, but someone falling for her as well."

"Does it count if he doesn't even know who she is?"

More murmurs and arguments arose, everyone wondering if that was true. Was that a legitimate fear? Were these secrets going to be what kept them in this cursed state forever?

"Enough." The tin voice rattled through their minds, cutting thoughts and opinions short. No one expected to hear that voice. Tony creaked his way down the hall, ignoring the concerned look that Rhodey sent his way. This was certainly not about him. "I know that our family hasn't done the best by you. The curse wasn't right and we - I accept full responsibility for the mistakes of my father. If there was a way to turn you all back, you know we would take it in a heartbeat. You all have been good, loyal people. And I'm sorry." A pin drop could be heard, the silence was so deafening. No one had really seen Tony in years. It was as if a ghost had walked into their lives. He stood, armor glinting even in the low light. If he could give that smug smirk and enjoy being the center of attention again, he might've. But these circumstances caused a different set of emotions to dance in his stomach - anxiety, fear, worry. "Well, don't everyone talk at once."

Awkward laughter cracked through the tension. It seemed that there might be a chance that everyone would adjust to his sudden reappearance with little to no issue. "It's good to see you here, Your Highness," Scott spoke, earnings nods of agreement and a few smiles.

The anxiety slowly melted away and Tony found himself feeling a little more at ease. It would all be fine. It would all be fine. "Well," he cleared his throat, the sound akin to a pebble dropped in a tin can. "Where is my favorite stable boy, huh?"

Heads turned, eyes searching for the boy Tony had taken under his wing before the curse had struck. Peter had made himself comfortable aiding Wanda in the kitchens, but before he was the best stable boy the kingdom had ever seen. Tony was eager to train him to be a knight some day, making it his mission. However, the two hadn't crossed paths in quite some time.

"He isn't here." The confusion laced in Maryjane's voice signaled that she hadn't expected that. Wanda, Sam, and Rhodey immediately scanned the crowd, panic starting to set in when they realized the little teacup wasn't among their friends.

Even so, their panic was no match for Tony's anger. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

-------

Arriving home wasn't something that sat well with Bucky. He didn't understand it, but he felt like he wasn't coming home. It felt like he was leaving it behind. Dismounting the mare he had borrowed from Y/N's stables, he stared at the small house before him. Steve had to be here. He wouldn't be foolish enough to confront Brock and his men over and over. Not without backup. Right?

"Steve?" Bucky stepped through the doorway, gaze scanning and searching for any sign that his friend had been here recently. "Steve, please tell me you're here."

Nothing.

Making his way to the stairs, they creaked under his now foreign weight. He was hoping and silently praying that maybe, just maybe, Steve was sleeping hard enough that he didn't hear Bucky's arrival. But the sinking pit in his stomach reminded him that Steve had never been a light sleeper.

"Steve," he tried once more, opening the door that lead to his bedroom. It was empty, bed neatly made and fresh drawings hanging in the air to dry. Bucky clenched his jaw, trying not to let his fear bring up the worst possibilities. "Damn it..." His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as he tried to keep the tears at bay. His choosing to trade places with Steve was what brought this mess on. It was his fault.

"Mister Bucky?"

That...That wasn't Steve. Bucky looked down at the satchel attached to his hip. It had been where he had stored the mirror, but there wasn't anything else in there. Or so he believed.

Peter nudged the flap of the bag open, grinning up at the man who stared at him in complete shock. "Hi!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" Bucky lifted Peter up, setting him on the bed and crouching before him. So many questions ran through his head. Did Y/N know? Were they looking for him? Why was he even here?

"I wanted to figure out why you left."

Bucky frowned. "Peter, you shouldn't be here."

"And neither should you. You should be with Y/N."

"No, I should find Steve." He rose, his mind already listing the different places Steve could be. The best one to check would probably be the tavern.

"You stay here."

"But -"

"Peter, stop. I don't have time for this." Bucky walked around the bed, closing the satchel as Peter hopped across the thin mattress. "Just let me find Steve and I'll be right back." The door closed behind him, silencing Peter before he could develop any sort of argument. Rushing down the stairs, he came to the front room as the not-too-distant sound of horses met his ears. What was that?

Opening the door, Bucky stumbled back when he came face to face with an unexpected guest. His hand instinctively grasped the leather at his side, his jaw clenching and shoulders tensing. "Brock."

"Hello, Barnes." The Hydra officer leaned forward, arm propping itself against the doorway and revealing the sight just behind him. Steve was in chains, unconscious and head cast to the ground, a hollowness to his face. He'd lost weight and the injuries did nothing to help keep his strength. The sight made Bucky's heart stop. This was what happened to his best friend? This was what he had caused?

"Steve..." He stepped forward, his mind instantly reeling and instinctively acting on all he could think of - instinct. He was stopped by Brock's hand pressing against his chest. His piercing gaze shifted to the officer before him. Oh, all Bucky wanted was to punch that smug grin off of his face. "Let him go."

"No." His grin turned into a smirk as he added, "I think I have a better idea."

The sound of shouting forced Peter to look away from the door and instead, to the window on the opposite side of the room. He hurriedly made his way across, struggling to finally reach the windowsill, but finding aid with the nearby chair. Breathing hot air against the cloudy glass, he squinted and struggled to make out the figures. "Bucky!" Hopping eagerly when he recognized his friend, Peter's brow scrunched when he noticed that someone was punching him. "No! No, stop it!" Peter spun around, looking around the room for some form of escape, but finding nothing that could be of any use. "Come on, there has to be something."

Bucky's knees hit the ground, arm unable to dodge the foot that kicked the back of his head. His face greeted the mud and he grimaced. It tasted disgusting. He grunted when one soldier twisted his arms behind his back, another yanking his hair back and forcing him up.

"So where were you, Barnes?" Rumlow asked, his voice closer to Steve.

Meeting Brock's gaze, Bucky sneered before spitting out grass and dirt. "Go fuck yourself."

Brock scoffed before gesturing for one of his soldiers to throw Bucky's bag his way. He caught it with one arm. "Let's take a look, shall we?" He watched the way Bucky's eyes flashed, the emotion something he didn't care to think too much about. Instead, he flipped the satchel over and spilled out its only contents. The mirror.

Bucky jerked, trying to free himself from the two soldiers. Through gritted teeth, he spat, "Be careful with that."

Brock smirked, tossing the satchel to the side before picking up the mirror. He didn't pay much attention to the reflection, instead flipping it over. The smug expression, that pleased glint in his eyes, it vanished at the sight of the insignia on the back. He turned his attention back to Bucky. "Where did you get this?"

Bucky grinned. "Bite me."

"You can never make things easy, can you? Always having to turn me into some sort of bad guy." Brock rolled his eyes and turned away, taking strides towards Steve. Bucky tensed when he saw one of the soldiers pass him a sword. "Do I have to ask again?" Stepping behind Bucky's oldest friend, he held the sword to Steve's throat. The look in Bucky's eyes earned an amused grin. "Where did you get the mirror, Barnes?"

Bucky's gaze never wavered from his unconscious friend. He couldn't fail him again. "I - The castle.”

"The only castle around for miles is Hydra's and this," he flipped the mirror around, showing the back to Bucky. "Isn't the Hydra insignia."

Bucky bowed his head, strands of hair shielding his face as he tried to blink away tears. "No, it isn't."

"So care to share with the group?"

Clenching his jaw, Bucky refused to look his way. Steve was the stronger of the two. Always had been. He was a good man, a fighter. He didn't deserve this. But if Steve was awake, if he could fight, he wouldn't want Bucky to say a word. The idea of Hydra getting the upper hand was something Steve would never let happen. Shoulders slumping, he couldn't help but wonder - how did it get this bad?

"Alright, have it your way." Brock tossed the mirror to Bucky's feet, the reflection staring up at him, mocking him. Bucky blinked, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks and onto the glass. He glanced up, seeing the sword raise. Steve might not want Hydra to win. But Bucky did not want Steve to die. His eyes grew as the sword came down, struggling to break out of the grip of his captors. "Wait!" The sword stopped only an inch away from Steve's neck. With his back to Bucky, Brock gave his soldiers a knowing smile. He turned to face Bucky, flipping the sword and striking it into the ground. "Yes?" Bucky's panicked gaze looked from Steve to the mirror and back. He could right this. He could help Y/N through whatever Brock had planned, but he couldn't save Steve if he was dead. Eyes never wavering from Steve, he said, "Show him. Show him everything." Brock's brow furrowed, confusion evident. It vanished as quickly as it appeared when he noticed the reflection in the mirror begin to change. Gone was Bucky's reflection, quickly replaced by the woods. It seemed to be traveling, showing the way to the castle that appeared just beyond the trees. Brock picked it up, eyeing the imagery carefully. It was dark, a looming structure he couldn't quite place the familiarity of. It wasn't until the image rippled again and showed a wild animal, a beast, that Brock dropped the mirror in disgust. "What the hell was that?" The sight of Brock's disgust made Bucky's stomach churn. Not so long ago, he would have reacted the exact same way. Now that he knew Y/N, the clear reaction only made Bucky angry. "She is a good person. Someone better than you could ever be." Brock laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have feelings for that creature." When Bucky's gaze never wavered, Brock laughed. "Are you in love with that thing? That beast?" Bucky jerked forward, fighting off the guards only long enough to rise to his feet. They pulled him back, a third soldier unsheathing his sword and pressing it to Bucky's neck. He didn't flinch, staring Brock down. "She's not a beast." "A 'she' is it?" Bucky growled. "Yes." "Careful, Barnes, you're sounding a little like a beast yourself." "She's good and kind. There's more humanity in her heart than you and your men combined." "She's a danger to your town's people." "No more than you, Rumlow," he spat. Something shifted in Brock's features. Bucky couldn't quite place it, but the sight sent a shudder down his spine. He clenched his jaw, flinching when Brock raised his hand, pressing the blade against Bucky's neck. It pricked the skin, allowing a slow trickle of blood to glide down his neck. "Let's see about that, hm?" Taking a couple steps back, he turned to his soldiers. "Let's pay this castle and its beast a visit!" Soldiers cheered, rising up with excitement and immediately going to their horses. Hand catching the shoulders of two nearby soldiers, Brock said, "Take care of these two. Make sure they can't follow us."

"Rumlow, I swear to whatever god there is that you will pay if you so much as touch her." Bucky tried to throw off the soldiers holding him back, ignoring the stinging pain that came from his neck. Brock looked his way and smirked. "You'll have to catch me first, Barnes." "Rumlow!" Bucky lunged, missing the sight of one of the soldiers raising the hilt of his sword. He was struck in the back of the head. Falling to his knees, the last thing he saw was Brock mounting his horse before everything went black. Peter's features were pressed to the glass to the best of his abilities. He fidgeted nervously. Bucky was unconscious like his friend. The soldiers were leaving to attack his home, his friends and family. And he was stuck here. "This isn't good. This is not good. Not good at all."

----

Tags:

Beauty and the Beast:

@learisa @xoxalwayschangingxox @cap-just-said-language

All works:

@rinthehufflepuff @the-captain-bambooty

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stolethekey · 5 years ago

Text

if we make it past december (everything’s gonna be all right)

for @capcountdownchristmas!

read on ao3

December has rapidly become Steve’s least favorite month.

December is the start of winter. It means wind, snow that somehow finds a way to soak even the most bundled-up person’s socks, and a bone-chilling cold that bites at the very foundation of humanity’s collective soul.

At least, that’s what Steve’s Californian first-grade teacher used to say.

He didn’t mind it so much as a kid, back when he could bundle up with his mom in front of the fireplace and they could bask in its warmth, finding comfort in blankets and hot chocolate and each other. It was fine, back then – but then Sarah Rogers died right before Thanksgiving, which meant Steve’s first Christmas as a legal adult was spent alone, staring incessantly into the flames while he stubbornly refused to admit that he maybe should’ve taken Bucky up on his offer to spend the night at his house.

It was, somewhat literally, all downhill from there.

Bucky fell off a train in the Alps, surrounded by snow so bright it hurt to look at. Steve watched him fall, then promptly nose-dived a plane into the ocean and spent the better part of a century frozen in a block of ice.

Suffice it to say: he’s had enough cold for a lifetime. And December brings nothing but cold and people celebrating a holiday he hasn’t found joy in in seventy years.

So it’s only natural, really, that his first December out of the ice is spent in relative restlessness. It’s natural that, when Fury sends out a volunteer request for a stakeout that starts December 10th that features an “indefinite length of time – could go into Christmas”, Steve jumps off of his couch and heads directly to Stark Tower.

He fully expects to be the only one there, but as he turns the corner and steps through the door he sees a certain redhead perched on Fury’s desk, leafing through a stack of papers.

It’s hard to say who looks more surprised as they take in each other’s presence.

“I – um, hi,” he stutters, trying not to appear intimidated by his two companions. “I just – I’m here for that stakeout assignment?”

“Oh,” Natasha says, her eyebrows raised slightly. “Wow. Really? You know it’s probably going into Christmas, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I knew that was a possibility. That actually – um, that actually kind of makes it more appealing to me.”

She tilts her head slightly, a curious, searching look in her eyes. Steve shifts uncomfortably, well aware of her uncanny ability to read people.

“There’s always an assignment near Christmas,” Fury says from behind the desk, and Steve looks at him, grateful for the excuse to look somewhere else. “But Agent Romanoff is the only one who ever takes it on. The volunteer request is simply a formality – most people know they aren’t expected to take it.”

“Well, I guess I never got the memo.”

Natasha studies him. “Most people have Christmas plans.”

“I don’t,” he says shortly. Then, in an attempt to appear more amicable, he follows it up quickly with, “But now that I’m here, you can take this year off. Spend some time doing your own Christmas thing.”

She shrugs. “I don’t have a Christmas thing.”

“Great,” says Fury, with an air of general impatience. “Then you can do it together.”

The assignment is fairly simple – a routine stakeout at a surprisingly nice campsite. Their target is a Ukrainian mobster whose drop-house is apparently a cabin at the edge of the campsite, and as the two of them trudge into a neighboring cabin and drop their bags on the floor, Steve casts a cursory glance out the window.

“That cabin looks completely empty,” he mutters.

“I know,” Natasha says, carrying a few grocery bags into the kitchen. “It is. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t have to be here for as long as we probably will be.”

“So we just – what, we just wait until someone shows up?”

She glances at him. “Never been on a stakeout before, huh?”

“Well, not like this,” he says, almost defensively. “Not that I’m complaining, but you’d think they’d have a more precise time period for the drop.”

“I thought you wanted it to go long.”

“I do, I’m just making a general comment on the inefficiency of it all.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Steve feels inexplicably as if he has disappointed her.

“Why do you always do these assignments, anyway? Wouldn’t it make more sense for people to rotate by year, or something?”

She shrugs. “Like I said, everyone else makes plans for the holidays. They have people to reunite with, friends to spend time with, family to see. I don’t.”

“You have friends. Clint’s your friend.”

She gives a short laugh. “Clint always has plans.”

“With whom?”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she looks up at him, a familiar guarded expression on her face. “People who aren’t me.”

“Right,” Steve says uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

Natasha sighs as she places the last loaf of bread on the counter and shoves the empty grocery bags into a cabinet. “It’s okay. He invites me every year, but it’s not – I don’t want to intrude on his time with them. We spend most of the year together, anyway. Plus, American Christmas really doesn’t mean that much to me. So I don’t mind taking on a little extra work while everyone else is celebrating.”

“Right,” Steve says again. “That makes sense.”

“What about you? Why did the great Captain America decide to spend his December holed away in a cabin, waiting for a mobster to stop by?”

He hesitates, but as he meets her eyes he can tell that she’s already figured him out. She knows why he’s here – she’s simply giving him a chance to tell her himself, to set the parameters for the rest of their conversations here.

He doesn’t know her, not really, but for some reason he knows that she’ll respect his boundaries. That if he decides to bluff and make up some excuse about spending his holidays doing good for the world, she’ll shrug, say “fair enough,” and won’t bring it up again.

She knows exactly why he wanted to work– he sees that. He also sees that she’s perfectly okay with however he wants to play it. It’s a strangely comforting realization, if a little unexpected, and maybe that’s why he makes the choice that he does.

“I don’t like Decembers,” he says, toying with the hem of his jacket. “My mom died in the fall, and that winter had some of the hardest months of my life. Plus, Bucky died in the snow, I was in a block of ice for a couple decades – ”

“And Christmas isn’t exactly joyful when you’re alone,” she supplies softly.

Maybe she’s guessed even more than he thought.

“I wanted a distraction.”

“A distraction,” Natasha repeats, a small smile toying at her lips. “I think we can handle that.”

They do their job, of course – the drop-house is always being watched. But their cabin’s location makes it fairly easy to ensure that their target is under constant surveillance, and there is plenty of free time to be had, given that their mobster friend chooses to never show his face.

The days are filled with board games and gentle music, thanks largely to Natasha. Steve notices fairly quickly that she has a striking intuition for his emotions – when he wants to be left alone, she’s nowhere to be seen, but when he starts to get restless, Settlers of Catan appears under his nose before his thoughts even have a chance to start spiraling.

She’s good at small talk, he learns. Good at filling the silence with words that would be trivial were it not for their ability to keep an ever-approaching despair at bay.

He hasn’t had this type of companionship in…well, decades, and he’s surprised that it doesn’t make him more uncomfortable. They barely know each other, after all, and it should be unsettling that she can read him as easily as she does.

For some odd reason, it’s not.

She accommodates him as easily as anyone ever has, providing him with companionship when he needs it and leaving him alone when he doesn’t, and the next few weeks pass in surprising comfort.

The days aren’t happy, exactly, but they’re not entirely full of pain, either. And that’s an improvement.

“Hey,” Natasha says one evening, sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

Steve pauses, looking up from his copy of Crime and Punishment. “Huh.”

She hesitates, then flips over onto her back to look at him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you really believe in God?”

His brow furrows slightly in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just – Christmas is a religious holiday, you know, so I just got to thinking about it, and back when we first met, on that jet, you said that there was ‘only one god.”

He chews his lip slowly, letting the book drop into his lap. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully. “I guess I was always taught to as a kid, and I’ve never really thought about it. But I’d like to believe that there’s something or someone out there that’s watching over us, at least.”

She hums.

“Do you?”

She gives a hollow laugh. “I don’t know that it matters. The gods have never cared for people like me.”

He looks at her, staring up at him from her spot on the carpet next to a bowl of popcorn and a glass of mulled wine, and something clicks.

“Maybe not,” he says softly. “But there are people who do.”

Something changes in her expression at his words, and as she holds his gaze a strange feeling starts to form at the bottom of his stomach.

He coughs. “That reminds me – I got you something.”

Her brow furrows as he slips a bookmark into his book and disappears into his bedroom. When he emerges, a wrapped box in his hand, she shakes her head.

“I – um, I didn’t – ”

“I know,” he says, smiling slightly. “You don’t need to.”

“I can’t accept that,” she protests. “Not if I didn’t get you anything.”

He rolls his eyes and tosses the box in her direction. “Open it.” Then, more gently, “Friendship is not transactional.”

A curious expression flits across her face at the word friendship, but she takes the gift without further complaint and slips a finger underneath the wrapping paper.

“Oh,” she breathes as the wrapping paper falls away to reveal a small, black pouch. “Steve – ”

“It’s flameproof, bulletproof, the whole nine yards,” he explains as she flips it over to reveal an hourglass, emblazoned in fiery red. “I have one, too. I keep – I keep the things that mean the most to me in it.

He hesitates. “I just figured – we all have something we really treasure, and nothing in our lives is safe. You can tie that to your belt, stick it in a pocket, it’s a way to keep something with you, you know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, tracing the hourglass with a finger. “So, if I put something inside, the only way it gets destroyed is if I die, basically. And maybe not even then.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to be that morbid about it, but yes.”

She studies him for a moment, then grins and sits up. “Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.”

Her grin fades into a softer smile as she reaches for her wine, beckoning at him to do the same.

“Look at us. Two loners, doing okay on Christmas Eve.”

“Doing more than okay on Christmas Eve.”

“To us,” she declares, raising her glass. “For making it through December.”

They clink glasses, and as the blend of wine and holiday spices hits his tongue, Steve feels a sense of warmth start to spread over his shoulders.

The stakeout ends almost as quickly as it starts. The mobster shows up on the day after Christmas, they take him down before he even has a chance to draw his gun, and by 4pm on the 27th, the two of them are back at SHIELD headquarters, debriefing complete.

Steve is on his way to the elevator, actually looking forward to returning to his apartment, when he hears someone call his name.

He turns to see Natasha jogging down the hallway toward him, a slip of paper in her hand.

“I have something for you,” she announces, coming to a stop in front of him. “Consider it a late Christmas gift.”

“I told you, you don’t have to – ”

“But I did.”

“Natasha, really – what you did for me this December is more than anyone could ask for.”

The words fall out of his mouth before he really has a chance to think about them, and a blush creeps steadily up the sides of his face as he waits for her to ask what he means.

Instead, her expression softens. “You did it for me, too. Whether you knew it or not.”

He barely has time to process her words before she shoves the folded slip of paper into his hands. “Just take it.”

Steve unfolds the paper to reveal a sequence of numbers, written in black ink. “What’s this?”

“My phone number.”

“I have your phone number.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You have my work phone number. Which I sometimes do not use, depending on my mood, the time of day, and the general urgency of the incoming message. That’s my personal phone number.”

“I didn’t know you had a personal phone number.”

She winks. “I don’t.”

“Right. Okay.”

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “If you ever need anything – food, a bowling partner, someone to beat you at Catan – just let me know. Seriously. I know what it’s like to be new here – in this world, I mean – and feel like you’re completely alone. So use that.”

“Yeah,” Steve says faintly. “Okay.”

“Also, you should ask out your neighbor.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

Natasha pats his arm, as if to say, don’t worry, you’ll get it someday, and gives him one last smile before turning and jogging back down the hallway.

Steve turns back toward the elevator, a smile making its way onto his face. He looks down at the slip of paper again, and notices a few words scrawled hastily underneath the phone number.

Congrats on making it through the worst month! It only gets better from here :)

Steve steps into the elevator. As the doors start to close, he slips the paper into the small pouch tucked away in his jacket pocket, wondering if she might be right.

#my mcu fics #my fics #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #captain america countdown to christmas #romanogers #capwidow #stevenat

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tony-starkrogers · 6 years ago

Text

rec week day four

For the cap-IM rec week 2019 day four: Fluffy Thursday! @cap-ironman

This list includes some classic favorites and some new works. Enjoy reading and be sure to show your authors some love!

Indecent Proposal by gyzym, Siria (T, 2.5k)

On the plus side, marriage is bound to be easier than proposing.

"death by coffee" and other search queries by @goodmorningbeloved (T, 2.8k)

In which Steve's feelings are hopelessly obvious through his Google searches. JARVIS decides to step in.

Stick With Me, Baby, I’m the Fella You Came in With by Annie D (scaramouche) (E, 10.6k)

During the final battle with Ultron, Tony kisses Steve for the first time. Afterward, he makes it clear to Steve that he was just running on adrenaline and not thinking clearly. Steve seems to accept it, but the kiss nudges open a door of possibilities, and the situation escalates.

The Trial Run by Annie D (scaramouche) (T, 13.8k)

Tony and Steve pretend to date, and enjoy it far more than they should.

A Hundred Times, Once by @festiveferret, SirSapling (E, 24.7k)

The shrill tone of his SHIELD beeper pulls Steve out of sleep and into battle. He fights robots, he fights Tony's shameless advances, he fights the exhaustion that threatens to take over him, drown him. And then the next morning, he wakes and does it again. Exactly the same.

And again.

Gained in Translation by Annie D (scaramouche) (T, 11.5k)

Steve returns to New York and meets Tony for the first time since they’d parted ways after the Chitauri incident. It’s a little awkward at first, but they gain a new rhythm, which is mainly based on their ability to surprise each other and prove those first impressions inaccurate.

Set between Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Avengers: Age of Ultron.

no matchmaking before breakfast by @elcorhamletlive (unrated, 3.4k)

“I don’t even find Steve attractive.” Natasha says, eyes following greedily every drop of coffee the machine pours, for once in her life genuinely unaware of the impact her words are about to cause.

Surreal, But Nice by @festiveferret (E, 26.8k)

Tony Stark never thought he'd ever meet Captain America, let alone have his underwear tumbling around in Tony's dryer mere minutes after he broke Tony's doorknob.

What even was his life?

Mister Fixit and the Mechanic by @mizzy2k (M, 40k)

An Iron Man 3 AU, wherein Steve was defrosted too early, and after a couple of lonely decades working for SHIELD, decides to retire and run a hardware store called Mister Fixit’s in suburban Miami.

Tony Stark, presumed dead, presumed not-Iron Man, needs to make some weapons to take on the Mandarin’s mansion. A non-chain store that takes cash and doesn’t ask questions is just what Tony needs.

Steve becomes intrigued by the mysterious mechanic that keeps buying things from his store, but when he becomes more aware of what Tony the Mechanic is up to, is Steve ready to be this close to the world of superheroes again?

Binary System by Annie D (scaramouche) (E, 13k)

Tony tends to be tactile with people he trusts. These days that list of people includes Steve, which is a good sign of the progression of their friendship. For his part, Steve seems to enjoy it as much as Tony does... until Tony goes a little too far.

absence makes the heart by fantalaimon (G, 4.8k)

“One night,” Tony says, and just flies himself bodily into one of the canary yellow beekeepers like a red and gold battering ram. “I ask for one measly night. One single goddamn night with my boyfriend—”

“Oh, is the boyfriend label on now?” Clint asks over the comms.

Momentary Paws (or, DO NOT WANT) by velithya (T, 16.8k)

WTF KITTEN

Get Some Now by Sineala (T, 10.3k)

Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any.

Admiring the Scenery by Annie D (scaramouche) (E, 10.2k)

Steve’s used to people checking him out, but when Tony does it, it feels… different.

A Groove of Perpetual Motion by Annie D (scaramouche) @no-gorms (T, 26.7k)

Tony Stark’s pretty sure where he stands with Steve Rogers. They got off on the wrong foot on day one, and since then there’s been minimal tolerance and thinly-veiled dislike between them. Tony’s certain that this would never ever change, not even when he gains some unexpected new information that suggests that Steve’s feelings for him aren’t what he thought. Because it cannot be true. It’s impossible. Surely?

All I Want by @sineala (T, 2.5k)

Steve's not used to anyone spoiling him. But he's willing to let Tony try.

Check One by JenTheSweetie (T, 4.2k)

The important thing to know - and I mean really, the actually important thing - is that no matter what Bucky said, Steve was not flirting with Tony Stark.

(“Yes you were, you son of a - ”)

Steve has an annoying best friend. Tony has an elaborate plan. Sam has allergies. Bucky has no idea what's about to hit him.

Mandatory Fun by @captainneverever (T, 6.7k)

Steve loses a bet to Tony and has to go to Las Vegas for a fun-filled vacation. Or it was fun until people started thinking that they were married.

Tony Stark Defense Squad (Steve's Had Enough) by orbingarrow (G, 1.6k)

The Avengers are called in by the government to "discuss" recent events, but it turns into a game of Let's Bash Tony and Steve is so not cool with that.

Or, the one where Steve Rogers makes himself the President of the Tony Stark Defense Squad. Matching t-shirts to come later.

Our Personal Fairytale by pensversusswords (T, 2.9k)

In which there is a first date, a giant octopus, and Tony is scared of Ferris wheels.

Neanderthals In Tights (Also Known As a Football Game) by Wordsplat (T, 3.2k)

In which Tony supports Steve at his first big football game, with guest appearances by an exasperated Pepper and an embarrassed Bruce, because yeah, okay, maybe Tony's not really one hundred percent clear on the rules of this game. Why, exactly, are a bunch of neanderthals tackling his boyfriend again?

Aesthetic Appreciation by @theappleppielifestyle (M, 2.2k)

“Nice shirt, Stark.”

It’s Natasha, sounding strangely- smug, maybe?- for reasons Tony doesn’t much care to know.

“I know,” Tony says, not opening his eyes. He tilts his head back, lets out a satisfied sigh and rearranges himself on the chair. The sun climbs another inch of his abs when his shirt rides up with the motion.

Today’s a good day, Tony thinks contentedly, and continues sucking lazily on the popsicle.

don't know why it took me so long to see by @goodmorningbeloved (M, 11.2k)

“Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”

Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”

- In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognizing his boyfriend past a mask.

going on a ride by theappleppielifestyle (unrated, 6.3k)

"You want to take me for a ride on your motorcycle," Tony repeats, slow so he can process it as he’s saying it, "because you think my glasses are cute."

An Abundance of Heart by theappleppielifestyle (T, 14.8k)

Steve finds himself grinning, despite everything, because god, he didn't realize how much he's missed this- having someone to back him, people to fight around, getting caught and pulled to his feet.

Hell, even Stark's quips make his mouth quirk upwards slightly.

When I Think (Oh, it Terrifies Me) by celli (E, 8.6k)

Look, some mornings you wake up and little green men are invading New York City; some mornings you wake up and you can hear Captain America's voice in your head. Tony has been an Avenger long enough that he saves his freakout for important things.

Curiosity Changes Everything by @scifigrl47 (T, 6.5k)

Everyone in their life has had a little case of hero worship. A tiny crush on a celebrity. A teenage infatuation.

Dummy Stark-Rogers is not any different.

And the Mars Rover Curiosity is a stunning piece of tech.

Tony Stark Falls In Love With A Cat by shellhead (M, 6.8k)

When Steve goes missing, Tony ends up finding him at an animal shelter. Volunteering.

Like Gene Kelly in the Movies by lyra_wing (M, 11.4k)

Everything Tony Stark does is a dance. And it's super confusing for Steve.

#capimrecweek #stevetony #stony #superhusbands #stony fic rec

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peggysousfan · 5 years ago

Text

New Years Series Chapter 2

Okay, so here is chapter two for day two of the January New Years Series! I already broke my limit of 1,000 words...whoops. The story takes several unexpected turns and is more of a Avengers crossover. There are minor relationships such as Pepperony and Tharol (Or thoral. Which ever you prefer for the Thor/ Carol ship name) I hope you all enjoy! :)

"We are over! We were over from the second you left!" She screamed.

"I didn't have a choice, Peggy! There were bombs on board and I had to save lives!" He watches her pace around the compound, wearing down the flooring.

"Save lives? Save lives! Don't be an idiot, Rogers. You could have easily set the plane on auto pilot to fly down and then jump out. Its as simple as saying where you were so we could find your bloody body and help rather than you being dramatic and going down with the damn plane!" She shouts. "If you really wanted there to be an us you would have fought for it."

While Carter and Roger indulge in a screaming match, everyone at the Avengers head quarters watch from afar. Romanov, Stark, Potts, Odinson, and Danvers all keep their distance as the two argue; no one has said a word since the shouting started.

"So how long are they gonna do this?" Carol asks "Because I don't know how much more I can listen to." She turns towards the Avengers and then at Thor, but he just shrugs his shoulder.

"That depends on how angry Aunt Peggy gets," Tony replies. "If Steve keeps pissing her off she's gonna kick his ass. And trust me, you won't want to miss that." He says with a smirk. The only person missing from the crowd was Daniel Sousa, the man Steve Rogers continued to ignore and keep his distance from.

Rogers knew there was something between him and Peggy, but he never knew what it was. The two were always together and never apart for more than 10 minutes; which made Steve mad with jealousy. They were always laughing and smiling and close together; never once did they argue or complain about spending too much time with the other. Ever since Steve learned Peggy was alive, he's wanted nothing more than to talk to her, but Daniel was always around.

Flashback:

2 years during the days when the Avengers tore apart and Captain America, Black Widow, and Falcon became fugitives on the run, many things had begun to shift in the world. Two people who were once at peace in an endless time of rest, now walk among the people of 2019. As their worlds are brought to a new separated light, they walk along the streets in a future they didn't know. For hours they walked from different destinations and paths, making turns and stops different to the other; and yet they find each other. They bump into each other while passing by, and one glance is all it takes before the tears stream down their faces.

"Daniel..?" Her voice cracks as she reaches out towards him. He places his hands on both of her arms, holding her to make sure she was real.

"Peggy?" She smiles and throws her arms around him; holding on for dear life.

"Oh my darling!" They squeeze each other tight, never wanting to part. He keeps one hand in her hair and the other on her back, keeping her close. "I've missed you." She cries.

"Me too...meu amor." She chuckles at his use of his mother tongue and proceeds to press her lips against his own.

After 3 months they find their godson and his wife. They visited them nearly everyday to make up for lost time. For two years they lived in the modern world, finding jobs and making a new life. Tony insist on taking picture of them as momentum's, and they don't refuse. They want to make the most of their second chance.

They dance everyday and work less than before. They had the life where work was most important; now it's time to focus on them. When they think they're alone, Tony points to them and Pepper turns to watch. Peggy and Daniel have never seemed happier than they are right now. He takes out his camera and snaps a picture without them knowing. He shows it to Pepper and she laughs.

"They're good together." She says.

"Yeah, I know." He turns to look at her and wraps an arm around her waist. "Where do you think I learned it from?" Pepper smiles and kisses her husband, and then they break apart when the others come in.

"Don't stop on our account." Peggy says with a chuckle.

For those 2 years they all have lives in peace, until one day when Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff stopped by the Stark cabin unexpectedly. Peggy and Pepper were in the kitchen talking and preparing lunch. More so Pepper was cooking and Peggy was talking, and Daniel and Tony were outside with the alpacas.

"Seriously? Tony, come on! You're kidding!" Daniel exclaims in disbelief.

"I swear on my mother's grave." He says with hands in the air.

"Maria would kick your ass if you were lying." Daniel laughs.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm not." Tony laughs in return.

Before either man speaks again, they hear the car pull up and watch Steve and Natasha walk out. Daniel's face drops at the sight of Rogers and he rushes into the cabin to warn Peggy; but it was no use. Steve had already made it to the house and saw Peggy before they could make a run for it.

"Peggy?!" He says in astonishment. She turned around slowly to face him, and in that moment, everything changed.

End Flashback.

"I love you, Peggy. I never stopped! Yes, what happened with the Valkyrie was a mistake and I should have tried harder. But you're back now and this could be our chance to-"

"To what? Hm? I hope you're no implying what I think you're implying."

"Yeah, Peggy. I am." He sighs and looks down at the ground. "Please, just hear me out." He pleads, but she wants to hear none of it.

"Alright. What exactly do you have to say that will change my mind? Because there will never be an us, Rogers. That door closed a long time ago."

As the arguing continues, the Avengers sit quietly across the hall lounging and listening. Over by the couches, Carol sits down next to Thor and steals one of his pop tarts.

"Hey!" He exclaims. "That was mine!" She smiles at him while taking the other one.

"You have 2 boxes full of them. I'm sure you can spare 2 of them." She smiles. He glares at her but gives in any way and wraps an arm around her shoulder.

"Very well, but that is all..." He warns. While Thor talks to Carol, Tony steals a packet. "Stark! I said Carol could have one, not you."

"Favoritism much." Pepper slaps Tony's shoulder and looks back at Steve and Peggy.

"I agree with what Carol said earlier. How much longer are they going to keep yelling?"

"Probably till Danny gets back. Then Steve will will throw a fit because he and Peggy will disappear somewhere and then Aunt Peg is gonna kick his ass." Tony smiles.

"Wait, how exactly is she your aunt if you're the same age? If anything she looks younger than you." Carol states.

"She and Daniel are the same age as Steve. They died several years ago but came back somehow. No one knows when or how, they just appeared out of thin air, young and alive again." Pepper chimes in.

"Did SHIELD have anything to do with it?" Natasha finally speaks up after listening to everyone else speak.

"We don't know. They won't say anything. The only thing we do know is that they were brought back somehow and eventually ran into each other on the street and haven't been apart since." Tony explains. "Well since today at least. Uncle Danny went out for something. Did't say why though."

"That's because you can't always keep a secret, Tony."

"Wait- You know what it is?" He asks, but Pepper doesn't answer. Instead she looks away and takes some chips from the table "Okay, I see how it is. Fine if you want to play that game, by all means-"

Before Tony can say another word, there is a loud crash from shattering glass. Everyone freezes and shares a look at each other before they all rush towards the sound. Thor calls to storm breaker and Carol turns on her light show. Natasha grabs her pistol while Tony turns on part of his nano tech suit around his hand. When they walk around a corner, they find Steve ducking down and Peggy standing with a deadly glare.

"Burn in hell!" And with that she storms off, but stops when she runs into Daniel.

"Uh..." He looks around and sees the Avengers in battle mode, Steve cowering away in fear, and notices the broken window. "Do I even want to-" before he can finish his sentence, Peggy cuts him off and kisses him breathless. "Okay. That works." She laughs and looks down to see a box in his hand.

"What's that?"

"Oh! It's for you. I thought since it's... you know, that time of year again-"

"You mean our anniversary?" Daniel looks around and then at Steve. "I told him. I'm done hiding everything and catering to other peoples childish feelings."

He nods and gives her the box. When she opens it, she gasps. Inside is a rose gold pendant with the engravings of their wedding day and their initials.

"Daniel..." She looks up at him with a wide smile, grabs him by the hair, and snogs him.

"So...can someone explain what the hell just happened here?" Tony says, breaking their kiss and the silence. "You know, the broken window and stuff."

"Oh that? Captain Rogers needed to learn an important lesson on respect and boundaries." Everyone glances between Peggy and Steve. "He tried to kiss me after apologizing for kissing my great niece."

"Seriously? Dude what the hell!" Carol says from the back and Thor shakes his head from beside her.

"That still doesn't explain the window..." Natasha says as she holsters her gun.

"She threw a damn book at me and it flew out." Steve finally speaks.

"Dodger Roger!" Tony shouts and point at Steve. Everyone turns to him with a bewilder 'you idiot' look. "What? Not catchy? Whatever. You people have no sense of humor."

"Steve...why would you- you know what, never mind. Are you two coming with us or staying here? Tony planned on going to that Italian place Daniel said he loved going to."

"Oh of course!"Peggy says excitedly.

"Anyone else?"

Thor and Carol join in, and so does Natasha. As they all leave the compound for a bite to eat, Rogers is left alone. Within the coming years they face off with the threats that come, but continue to prevail in happiness. When Tony and Pepper have their daughter, Morgan, Peggy and Daniel visit more often and live out the rest of their lives more in peace than before.

#peggysous #peggy carter #daniel sousa #Peggy x Daniel #fanfiction #new years series #pepperony #tharol #thoral #tony x pepper #thor x carol #Avengers #agent carter #anti steggy #natasha romanoff #Steve Rogers

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avengersassemble-fics · 6 years ago

Text

Unexpected Mutant

Steve Rogers x Reader

Previous Chapter

Link to Master Post

Word Count: 2.7k

AN: Sorry for the wait idk what happened. But this has been one of my favorite things I’ve ever written (the story in general), so pls don’t let this flop.

PS I’m no longer doing tag lists since I can’t keep up with it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There was a flash, and you had Steve pinned under you, his helmet tossed somewhere and his temple bleeding. He was whispering his pleas to you, and before you could finish your blow, you jerked awake. You glanced around the lightly lit room, the fire place still had a small flame burning and your eyes traveled over the three sleeping men. Sam, Bucky, and Steve were sound asleep, and you sat up and rubbed your face.

In Bucharest, every few months you had the same dream - hurting your friends, your family. It ended the same way every time as well, you’d wake up crying and Bucky would wake up in seconds, and hold you through your episode. This time, you silently crawled over the back of the couch you were sleeping on and grabbed a jacket you had found in a drawer earlier and slipped outside into the cold night.

You eased yourself down onto one of the steps, releasing a tense sigh. At this point you missed your healing factor, and knew it would just get worse from here. You stared up at the beautifully star lined night sky, and closed your jacket as you heard the door open behind you. Steve stood in the frame for a second, looking down at your outline. You knew he was there, and glanced over your shoulder at him, so he stepped outside.

“What are you doing out here?” he questioned, his voice low from just waking up. He slid the door closed behind him and took a seat next to you, and you shrugged, glancing back to the night sky.

“Bad dream.. You?”

Steve’s eyes didn’t leave your face and you could see a small smile on his lips, “I heard you moving around and wanted to check on you.”

You nodded your understanding and a silence fell between you two, and Steve didn’t know what to say, but you started talking.

“I never got to say I was sorry, when we got back from that mission..” you trailed off and Steve gaped at you, starting to shake his head, “No, please.. I need to say this Steve.”

Steve looked down to the ground, and you continued, “I was starting to see things, and I knew.. I knew I didn’t have much time before everything kicked off, and I was angry. At everything.”

Steve leaned his arms against his knees, leaning forward, letting you speak, you bit your lip to hold back your tears, “I’m so sorry I left,” you whispered, and Steve finally met your eyes, “I’m so so sorry I had Tony lie to you-”

“(Y/N),” he cut you off, closing the gap between you both, and his hand found your cheek, wiping away a tear from your cheek, “I didn’t mean what I said, back then.”

You sniffled a bit, and he smiled warmly at you, “I was never mad, when you did that for Sam I realized how much you meant to me,” he paused and dragged his thumb below your lip, “how much I loved you.”

You wanted to embrace him then and there, but he continued, “When I held you that day, when you.. When you died. I knew I waited too long to tell you I love you,” he smiled sadly at you, “I love you, (Y/N).”

You eased yourself closer, Steve’s hands cupping your face and he kissed you. Slowly his lips pressed against yours and you melted against his chest. His fingers lightly danced against your cheeks and hair, before gently pulling away, your hot breathes mixing together.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” you whispered, earning a chuckle from him.

“How about we go back inside,” he asked, rubbing your shoulder, “you need your rest.”

You nodded, and with Steve’s help you were back up on your feet and shuffling back inside quietly. Steve’s hand left yours as he eased himself back onto the floor, and you slowly laid back down on the couch. As you both fell asleep, you felt at peace, unknowing of what would occur the next day.

The sun rose and you were all on the move with empty stomachs. Steve and Sam sat in the front of the small car while Bucky and you were in the back seat, you behind Steve and Bucky behind Sam, who was practically in the soldiers lap. It was tight, even your legs were a bit squished behind Steve, but you couldn’t complain.

“Why did you have to pick the smallest car possible, Steve?”

Bucky could though, and you grinned secretly to yourself.

“It was the only one that looked discrete enough,” Steve defended, and Bucky grunted.

“Then how much longer until we meet this connection of yours? I need to stretch my legs.”

“I’m not getting out,” Sam replied, earning a glare from Bucky, and you placed your had over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. Bucky glared your way before throwing his arm along the back of the seat, “Come on seriously, how much longer?”

Steve was slowing the car down to make a turn down an abandoned road, another car further down the street in front of your view. You peeked around Steve’s body and saw a blonde exiting the chair, typing away on her phone. You didn’t notice the side eye that Sam gave Steve, settling a little further into his seat.

Bucky grumbled lowly, and you patted his leg to calm him down. Steve put the car in park and unbuckled himself, “I’ll be right back” earning just nods from the car. He opened his driver door and got out, his tall body towering the small Volkswagen Beetle and shut the door, the car moving just a bit and a heavy air settling into the vehicle.

You peered around the seat as Steve made it to the blonde, who smiled at him and put her phone away, and you looked towards Sam, “Who is that?”

“That would be Sharon Carter.”

You raised a brow, “Carter? As.. in..?”

“Yeah, that Carter,” he answered and you nodded your head, sitting back into your seat.

You watched as she opened her trunk and showed him something inside, and he was probably thanking her as the gentleman that he is. All three of you watched as they continue to speak, and there in that moment, almost in slow motion as if to taunt you, her arm reached out to his neck, and their lips met.

A far away voice called your name, and you felt as if you vision went fuzzy, a headache forming in your head and your hands suddenly clenched. The voice called your name again and everything came flooding back. You weren’t sitting in that cramped small car, but on the steps of a stoop back in New York.

The scenery was so familiar, yet foreign, and people walked past you as if you didn’t exist. A small part of you was grateful to be out of the car, and you stood to stretch your legs. Taking a step down onto the sidewalk, you ran your hand over the concrete siding of the steps and looked around.

It really was like you were invisible. And you realized why when your eyes landed on a familiar friend.

“Thought you could use saving again,” the slick voice said, and you couldn’t help but rush towards them and throw your arms around their neck.

Loki happily embraced you, his hands holding onto your back and the nape of your neck. It had been several months since he had last seen you, but he had checked in every once in awhile when he could. It was especially easier since Thor and him were on the planet to find their father, Odin. Finding you was a bit tricky since you weren’t where he had last checked in with you, but he deduced that wherever Steve was.. You would be with him.

“Loki what the fuck,” you mumbled, pulling away to look at him, “you’re in.. a black suit.”

He grinned, “Had to blend in with you Midguardians.”

“Blend in? By wearing the most extra suit I’ve ever seen?” you laughed which earned a smile from him, and you paused for a moment.

“Wait, you’re here?” you breathed, your hands going back to his shoulders, “Really here?”

“On Earth? Yes. My brother and I we’re uh searching for Odin,” his hands went to your hands and held them down between the two of you, “but here with you? Not quite.”

He noted your frown and he smiled, rubbing the back of your hands, “Listen. Once all this mess is settled with my brother, I promise to come back and whisk you away from all this.. Mortal drama, and live a little.”

You chuckled and he dropped your hands, “I’m serious. But.. It’s time for us to part again.”

“Gotta stop doing this to me Laufeyson. Gonna break a girls heart one of these days.”

With one last chuckle, he pulled you back into a hug for a few more moments, and you rested your chin on his shoulder. You had never figured out why Loki made you feel so comfortable, so safe, and he didn’t know why he enjoyed your company so much. But these moments did mean a lot, even though they were short and brief, they still managed to give you that push you need. Loki released you from his arms and after taking you in for a few more second, he took a step back and turned his back to you, making his way down the street. Someone cut around him and once you got a clear view again, he was gone almost as quick.

And just like that you were back to sitting next to Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson in the front seat of the car. No time had passed with your interaction with the God of Mischief, and Bucky quickly turned to you. You glared, your hands reaching forward to push the driver seat up and you pushed the door open and stepped out of the vehicle. You slammed the door closed as hard as you could.

Steve’s eyes were open, his hands were up in an almost shocked position, and the rattle of the car made Sharon unlock from his lips, and they both turned towards the commotion. You, with a dead look on your face, were staring at them. You could almost make out a mumbled word from Steve, and you walked forward.

Steve thought for a moment on what to do. Does he try to say something? Does he take a step forward? No, god no, and yes. He took one step forward as you neared them, and you stopped, sending a stare up at him. He nervously swallowed the lump in his throat. You didn't say anything, much to their surprise, only shot Sharon a look before reaching into the trunk, grabbing all the gear yourself in your arms, minus Steve’s shield, and spun around and made your way back to the beetle.

The two men in the car were shocked, to say the least. They watched as you walked to the back of the car, threw open the trunk, set the things inside, and slammed that shut too. Bucky’s eyes never left your face, and Sam looked ahead to see Steve grabbing his shield, and Sharon giving him a sad smile. Steve turned around to see you getting back into the car, not looking his way, and he sighed.

The ride to the airport was awkward, to say the least. No one really spoke, and there was music playing very lowly through the radio. Steve stared ahead at the road, checking the rearview mirror every once in awhile to see your face, Sam stared ahead as well, and Bucky was just watching you. You, on the other hand, completely tuned the other men out as you stared at the scenery passing by.

It really was such a pretty country.

The silence was short lived as Steve pulled into a parking garage, away from all the other vehicles he put the small car in park and shut the engine. Everyone was eager to get out and stretch their legs, and you didn’t wait for Steve to exit, and instead slid onto the passenger side and followed behind Bucky. Steve noticing this, breathed out a pent up sigh, and stepped out, towering over the small car and looked around.

“So what are we waiting for?” Bucky asked, and you were walking down the lane away from them. Steve’s eyes followed you, but still answered his question as he walked away after you.

“Some friends.”

It didn’t take him long to catch up, you had made your way to the stairwell that led to the other floors, and there was an opening to peer out. You knew he would follow you, but he didn’t speak when he was finally behind you. The wind whipped your hair back, the cooler breeze made your cheeks feel nice and cold, and you leaned against the edge, carefully of your still healing bruises.

“I used to always sit in my room and think that I wanted this exciting life, to be something greater than I was, important. But I’ll tell you what, having something always interfere with your life is really fucking annoying.”

It was the first words you said to him in over an hour, and Steve took this as an invitation to walk closer, and lean over the edge with you, careful to not get too close if you may retaliate.

But you didn’t.

“Do you ever miss just having a semi-normal life?”

It was a loaded question, one that made Steve frown towards you, who stared off into the distance and didn’t look his way. He traced over the edges of your face, and looked down at your laced fingers.

“I used to. I would’ve given anything to just go back, and live my life out in the past. With.. With Peggy.”

You didn’t react, he didn’t expect you to. Deep down you knew his answer, but he continued.

“But then.. I got this. These people became my family, and it made it easier to be without that life. And then I also met you. And you became my everything, and all I can think about now is being with you for as long as I can.”

You glanced his way, “You hated when we first met.”

“I wouldn’t say hate, more like intimidated.” he answered honestly, smiling down at his hands, and you finally turned to face him. He raised a brow and looked over to you past his shoulder.

“Oh I intimidated Captain America? Wow, I feel like a total badass now,” you smiled lightly, and so did Steve, but it fell quickly, “I’m not mad, by the way.”

Now this made him turn and face you, “You’re..not?”

You shook your head, “I mean you didn’t.. Reciprocate it so.. No,” you paused and he grinned, and slid his arms around you and pulled you into a hug. You fell into it, resting your head on his chest and he rubbed your back, “everyone’s just lucky I didn’t lose my shit and fight her.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head, “I promise.. When all this is over,”

“-And we become fugitives of the law?” you interrupted, looking up at him.

“And we become fugitives,” he agreed, and pushed some hair behind your ear, “I promise, we can just runaway and get one of those semi-normal lives.”

You smiled up at him, a silky noise leaving your throat that sounded like agreement, “With all our fugitive friends?”

Steve’s hands wrapped in yours as you both started to head back, everyone waiting on you two, “They can be close by. But maybe just us for a little bit.”

It sounded like the perfect dream. Just to take some time and be alone, which is something you never got to do as a couple, or in general for a very long time. You could see it now, a cute little place far away where no one would recognize you, be able to really spend some time with Bucky on getting rid of all the things Hydra put in his head, maybe you could have a farm, you always wanted something like that.

And it was true. It was all the perfect, unattainable dream. Because in the span of another hour, it become just that. A dream.

#Steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fic #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #Avengers #avengers fic #avengers x reader #pls love this

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yurio-plisetksy · 6 years ago

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World of Gods: Loki x Goddess!Reader Part V

Summary: You finally meet up with the Avengers, which brings us to the current. Loki’s plan is set in motion, but things end up different when Loki has a hard time ignoring his jealousy.

Tags: @sweetacp @buckybarneslemons@chamberof0secrets@loki-odinson-of-jotunheimr@bonightmare @woohoney

Warnings: Mentions of blood.

World of Gods: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Loki smirked, and turned invisible under a green shimmer, opening the doors of the ship for you. Taking one last breath, you headed down towards the deck, only to be met by at least a hundred curious eyes. Stark himself was waiting at the end of the path, and he eyed you with fading suspicion. The click of your heels against the firm underground was attracting attention, and as you roamed your eyes around the crowd, you had easily spotted all the avengers within seconds. Natasha on the second floor. Clint behind the bar. Bruce in the middle of the living area. Steve Rogers, your target, leaning against a door close to the restrooms.

Which brings us to the present.

Reaching the owner of the building, you avert your eyes to the man of iron, catching the way he looked up and down your appearance. “Excuse me, but this is an invites only…” He starts, but gets lost in your eyes as you offer him a gentle smile and halt in front of him.

“Of course, but I figured I wouldn’t need an invitation.” You answer, offering the man a small bow before walking past him into the building. He quickly follows and clears his throat as you nod towards the crowd of people waiting for an explanation. Their eyes seem just as impressed as Tony’s, and you could feel their interest fuel your powers.

As you pick up a drink from one of the waiters, Tony grabs your arm. You turn and offer a look of confusion to him, ignoring the way the rest of the Avengers slowly join the crowd behind you.

“You are aware of my name, are you not?” You ask him, and he nods with hesitancy. A laugh spills from your lips, mocking his lack of knowledge. There seems to flash a hint of hurt in his eyes, but you ignore the sympathy that shoots through your mind.

“My apologies, the name is ___, goddess of seduction.” His eyes, and the people around you begin to whisper. There’s a atmosphere of unbelief, but as Tony turns to the ship he can conclude you aren’t from anywhere close, and looking at your appearance, there was indeed something holy about the way you carry yourself. His frown is replaced by a bright grin, and with an eager look he offers you a hand, which you ignore in favor of waving towards the crowd of people. Tony clears his throat and draws his hand back with hidden embarrassment.

“Excuse me for the intrusion, there are some things I need to discuss with the so-called Avengers?” You question with curiousness in your voice. People make room for 4 people to step forward, and they eye you with a promising look. They receive a small bow from you, and a look of trust.

“Romanoff, Hawkeye, Banner… Captain…” You say, meeting everybody’s eye individually and taking in their judgements. It was only a couple of them, the rest would most likely be on several other parts of Midgard. As you walk past Natasha, she seems wary of you, and you raise an eyebrow at her. Her eyes roam down your appearance, but as you nod in her direction she surrenders under your sweet looks and nods back.

Captain America’s heartbeat increases as you stand in front of him, and there’s a slight tremble in his fingers. You shoot him a smile, and he swallows with nervousness at the sight of it. Clearing your throat, you turned to Stark and add him to the list of recognition.

“And of course the ever so famous man of iron. Tony Stark.” You walk up to Tony with spread arms, presenting him with a look that boosts his ego. The room is silent as you approach him, and you note the two golden bracelets around his wrists. He’s always prepared.

You lean into him, and he holds his breath as you clear your throat. Tony Stark, a man with a lot of ego, confidence, but also a lot of hidden insecurities. Mentally he was weaker than people thought him to be, and it was easy to manipulate him. Especially for you.

“I need to speak with the Avengers in private. It’s urgent.” You tell him, offering him a look of determination once you pulled away. The look alone told him you weren’t messing around,=. He glances over your shoulder and locks eyes with each Avenger, before nodding towards his office upstairs. They seem to get what he’s referring to, and one by one they head towards the enclosed area.”

Tony offers you an arm and you politely hook yours around his, ignoring the shimmer of green in the corner of your eye that silently warns you. An invisible hand grazes your hip, and it gives you a sense of safety. Loki is around, and if things escalate, he’s there.

Tony guides you towards his office, and locks the door behind your backs.

“So what’s this about?” Bruce asks as he leans his hips against the edge of a desk. His arms folded over his chest that tells you he seems unsure. There’s suspicion in his eyes, and he directs it towards you. Their gazes point at you, following each step you take towards Tony’s desk, where blueprints of the new facility lay exposed. You run your fingers over it and take mental note of the way it is designed.

“The tesseract has been stolen from Asgard.”

The announcement comes unexpected, and Immediately their eyes widen. Tony sighs with such despair you can tell how stressed he is, and you can't really blame him after all that happened. Things hadn’t exactly be looking good for the group of heroes, and having you deliver this news to him only added to their worries.

“Please elaborate.” Natasha asks, and you nod. With a snap of your fingers, you create an image of the tesseract, an illusion that has both Stark and Banner impressed. Their jaws slack, and Banner moved his hand through the illusion to see what effect it has. His hand disappears within the hologram and he smiles in astonishment.

“Three days ago, the tesseract disappeared from the weapon vault on Asgard. It designed to keep out the strongest of creatures, and it’s a miracle someone was able to break into it.“ You show the inside of the vault, as well as a complicated image of how the locks are designed, and the thickness of the metal surrounding it.

“The walls are vibranium. Hard to get through as you might know.” On Stark’s desk lies an unfinished vibranium shield, and for emphasis, you knock with two knuckles against the vibranium surface. Tony jumps at the sound, and you take notice of it. With a quick swipe of your finger, you rotate the image, and show the way the vault is isolated, before letting the hologram vanish, you gain their attention once more, while folding your arms over your chest.

“We found the tesseract’s presence here on earth, but for some reason we can’t see the exact location.” You lie, eyes darting towards Stark and Banner, who share a look with one another, before returning their gazes back to you. Bruce fiddles with a pen and you sense his growing anxiety.

“Are you asking us to track it?”

You fake a smile, and clap your hands together with excitement. They were humanely naive.

“Correct. I want to know where it is and who was able to steal it from the highly secured vault.”

There’s a green shimmer passing you and you try to ignore it. Loki was making it very apparent that he was still around, and you worried the others might detect him.

He whispers. “Focus.” in your ear, than fades like a ghost into nothingness. He was getting impatient, and he probably already hid the tesseract somewhere in the building. Now he was forced to watch you interact with the Avengers. Which wasn’t his favorite thing to watch.

Trying to figure out a way to get to the soldier, you clear your throat and blink, faking a stumble and having everybody turn to you.There’s a tremble in your fingers that doesn’t go unnoticed by Clint, and he grabs your arm in support.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” He seems to worry about you, and as you meet his eyes, you try to look as ill as possible.

“Excuse me, I don’t feel very well…” You place a hand on your chest, and sigh deeply, excusing yourself and heading towards the hallway. As expected Captain America follows with worry pooling in his eyes. You smirk as he calls your name, and you whimper while you turn around. With dramatic intent, you lean against the wall, and exhale harshly.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” He asks and stands in front of you. You look up at him and smile weakly, receiving a confused stare in return.

“I’m a little nauseous, but it is nothing urgent...” It was already working, Poisonous seduction held Steve’s eyes on you and they couldn’t avert to anything else. He wasn’t aware yet that you had him under your control, but to fully hypnotise him, you needed to get to his nape.

“You seem rather well, if I say so myself.” He points out hiding the smirk that was tugging at his features. A chuckle fell from your lips, and you hummed before looking up at him with half lidded eyes.

“I’ve heard so many good things about you, Captain, but seeing you in person just… has me trembling.” A hand finds his arm, and he quickly glances at it, before looking back into your eyes. His hand slides up to your waist in desperate attempt to feel you, and you shiver visibly under the touch. Just like you had done to Tony, you lean into him and slide your hand up his arm and towards the curve of his shoulder.

“It does? I could say the same thing...” He retorts and you humm in his ear, luring him even closer. Instinctively he presses himself against you, unable to break the spell you put him under. Your breath hit the shell of his ear and you opened your eyes to glance over his shoulder.

It didn’t surprise you to meet a pair of eyes. They burned into you and your lips curved into a smirk at the clear jealousy. Pressed against the soldier, Loki was having none of your act. If it wasn’t for his plan, he would have revealed himself immediately and stepped in between, but right now he could only wait for you to attack.

Meanwhile, your hand had traced over the curve of Steve’s shoulder, and now found the nape of his neck. You ran your fingertips over the skin, and caught his energy flow. Like a snake you inserted your poison into him. His breath hitched and his eyes turned a shade of fire that was signature to your powers.

“And now you’re mine…” You whisper and pull back, watching as fire blazes in his eyes. He composes himself and shakes his head to clear his mind. Unaware of your spell he eyes you once more and asks if you’re feeling any better. As if on cue, Natasha enters the hallways and sees Steve leaning over your form. She narrows his eyes at him, and you clear your throat in order to distract.

“I’m feeling better… apparently the air is different here on Midgard.” You smile innocently at her, as you walk past the captain, and he quietly follows. His eyes linger down your frame, and Loki scoffs at the way he stares. He smirks and places a leg on Captain’s path, making him stumble. He trips, but keeps a hold of himself by seeking support of the wall. Natasha and you didn’t notice, and Steve looks back over his shoulder with a look of confusion. Loki chuckles to himself and follows after you.

As you entered the room, Tony and Bruce seemed to be arguing about what they found,. Bruce was rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand, while Tony is tapping on the monitor with a pen, clearly frustrated as he explains. “I want to agree, but why else would she be here?”

“We do not even know if we can trust her!”

“I suppose you do not know about my status among the nine realms.” They turned to you, and silenced their arguing. Tony walked up to you, glaring at Bruce and holding up a monitor, which showed the location of the tesseract.

“Our trackers say it should be right here, inside this room, but that’s impossible.” Tony exclaims, but Banner interrupts.

“The program is clearly malfunctioning, or…” Bruce turns to you, and you offer him a stoic look. “She’s lying, and she has the tesseract.”

They all turn to you with newly bred suspicion. The look on your face remains neutral, and you ask him why you would do such a thing.

“I’m quite known around the nine realms, if I would even get my hands on the thing the word would spread like fire.” You exclaimed, creating a small flame between your fingertips that strengthened your words with physical reasoning.The silence resumed, and you sighed with a slight blush creeping up your neck.

“It’s rather complicated, you know.” You tugged at your collar and cleared your throat. “I was actually supposed to marry Thor, and become the queen of Asgard… but something came in between.”

Banner swallowed thickly, but didn’t apologize for the assumption. Ignoring their stares, you ask for Tony to continue, and he hesitantly does so, already sensing that something isn’t right.

“The tesseract was brought back to Asgard,if this vault is so highly secured, I can’t think of a person from earth who’s able to break into it.” He retorts, still fiddling with the pen, which catches your eye. He’s anxious. After showing the flame in your hands, they figured you must have some kind of power. One they don’t know.

‘So, they’re being cautious…’ You note to yourself, and smile at his words. Agreeing with Starks words, you clasp your hand together behind your back, and make your way towards a certain someone.

“I can think of one.” You mumble, and make eye contact with Banner. Just like you expected, he gets nervous. Indirectly you’re blaming him, and even the others get slightly wary of how he reacts.

“Banner, you’re quite intelligent, are you not? As well as strong… inhumanly strong…” Your eyes narrow down on him and he chuckles nervously.

“You think I stole it?”

“I think it’s a possibility.”

“Bruce would never do that.” Natasha interrupts and you turn to her with a look of curiosity. The green shimmer returns behind her, but this time it gets noticed. Tony detects a figure behind Natasha, and he nudges Banner. The man looks up at him, and he nods towards the space behind Natasha.

Loki circles around her and grabs your waist out of nowhere. You jump at the sudden intrusion. Some heads turn, and you wave it off as a bad cough.

“The air…” You repeat with a hoarse voice, and you pet your chest. You can feel Loki press against your backside, and your breath hitches as he pecks your shoulder..

“It’s time to go…” He whispers, and then disappears yet again.

Before Banner could say anything, you cleared your throat and announced your departure. “I’m not blaming anyone… yet. I will inform Thor about the situation though. ” They wanted to protest, that was clear by the way they tensed once you announce your departure. There was a look in Tony’s eyes you couldn't decipher, and maybe ignoring it would be best for now.

He noticed it again. A green shimmer, by your side as you walk out of his office. Something brushes against your side, and he notices the fabric move without any reason. Someone was there. Someone who was cloaking themselves and watching as the situation would escalate. Tony nudged Bruce and nods towards your jacket, and the scientist immediately notices as well.

You reach the bottom of the stairs, smiling towards all the guests and telling them that you are leaving. Suddenly Tony calls out to you, and you turn to him with curiosity. He’s adjusting his bracelets and you know immediately that your cover has been breached. Tony narrows his eyes.

“Why didn’t you marry Thor? What came in between?” He asks, but it was already too late for them. Tony could charge, but the damage had been done.

You chuckle sinisterly, and the Avengers tense at your change in demeanor. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, and raise your hand, which holds a ring with a beautiful green crystal.

“Loki did.”

At the mention of his name, the whole demeanor of Tony and the rest changed. There was a change in atmosphere and theyé rushing to get to you as soon as reality dawns upon them.

A rush of adrenaline shoots through your veins as metal bends around Tony’s skin, the whirring sound like music to your ears. This is what you had hoped for, For them to show their weakness. Being scared and very naive.

Hawkeye and Romanoff had been just as fast, and within the blink of an eye you had two weapons aimed at your head. Captain tries to act, but your spell has him useless. A puppet, waiting for you to give him orders. The others didn’t notice the way his eyes cry for help, and the real Steve was trapped within its own mind.

Bruce couldn’t turn into the hulk, not right now. The situation was still too uncertain, there were too many people, and he still didn’t have enough control of his body.

.Within seconds Tony had transformed into Iron man himself, landing in front of you and pointing both his weapons in your direction. Bruce gathers all the guests and has them standing at the back of the room, a safe distance away from you and the Avengers.

“Tell us where he is.” Tony commands, but you’re distracted by the green shimmer behind him. He’s completely unaware that Loki is here, and it amuses you that he has the power to do whatever he likes in the current moment.

From thin air, Loki appears, two daggers in his hands and a wicked grin on his features. There’s gasps from the crowd, but before Iron Man even realizes what is happening, Loki presses the daggers through his suit and into his back. The crack of metal proves he’s successful in breaking through the armor, and Tony calls out towards Jarvis as the suit malfunctions. Pushing even harder, Loki manages to pierce his daggers through his back, and Tony cries out in pain as his skin tears around the blades.

You smile, and watch as Tony falls to the floor, clasping a hands over the hurt area. Crimson seeps between his fingers and drips onto the ground, and everybody is forced to face the fact that Tony is badly injured and unable to protect.

Natasha’s attacks in quick instinct, but before she reaches you, a circle of flames erupt from the ground, and forces her back with heat. Hawkeye flinches as fire licks at his skin, and he quickly jumps back, bow and arrow already aimed at both you and Loki. His arrows can do only little harm, and instead of charging he decides to focus on Tony, who is spitting blood and trying to remove the daggers in his chest. He rushes towards him and inspects the wounds, cursing under his breath and trying to think of a way to remove the daggers.

“Why?” Natasha asks, and her suspicion is replaced by genuine curiosity. Your flames turn blue, and even more heat forces them back. Loki eyes the way they intent to destroy, warm and powerful, the element of pure destruction. He steps forward and Natasha seems ready to charge when he does, the gun in her hands already aimed at the center of his head, but she can’t. The fire is too warm for her to step forward. She’ll most likely burn before she can even reach the god.

“I only came to deliver a small package… my precious wife hasn’t done any harm did she?”

The pictures clears up, and everybody feels defeated at his words. They continue to stare, trying to fit the last puzzle piece into the finished image, but it’s harder than it seems. You were planning on marrying Loki instead of Thor. That was what had come in between.

“Wife?” Captain America questions, and everybody seems just as confused. But as you nod, they know your intentions aren’t as they had expected to be. Iron Man looks up at you with fading consciousness, and you wink in his direction.

“Indeed. The goddess of seduction and the god of mischief.” Loki announces, adding only more fuel to their fire. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you into his side.

“We should have known…” Banner mumbles, regretting how naive they had been at your arrival. You had come with lies spilling from your lips, and for some reason they trusted your words, purely based on your status. Loki finds this amusing and a chuckle slips past his lips, which only receives him more glares.

“That’s what’s wrong with humanity. You trust based on hierarchy, and not with common sense. You shouldn’t trust anybody in a world like this.” His hand removes from your waist and he walks around in the circle of flames, while noting each position of the Avengers.

“But my actions are in the past. I can tell you that I’m not here to cause any more destruction, merely to deliver something that will.” His eyes follow how Stark manages to remove the daggers, and he heaves as they leave bloody imprints on the floor. Banner speaks up for the first time in a while, and by the look in his eyes he know Loki only brings trouble.

“What did you take with you?”

“Nothing much, but you’ll find out eventually.” He smirks, then turns to you. You meet his eye and smile, feeling a certain pride as Loki seems pleased with your actions. Returning the gesture, he nods towards the ship, motioning that you were leaving and your plan was set in motion.

Unconsciously you lower the flames just a slight bit, distracted by his blue eyes and forgetting all about the fire. Loki’s eyes widen when you do, and he moves to the side in quick instinct, dodging one of Hawkeye’s arrows, which he was able to shoot through the fire. It grazes his cape and shoots past him. Loki narrows his eyes at the man, who only smirks back at him.

“You missed.” Loki snaps, but Hawkeye shakes his head with amusement.

“Did I?”

Loki’s eyes widen once more, and as he turn to you, his breath hitches. There’s an arrow, trapped into your side, and your hand clutches over it. It’s immediate payback for his attempt to kill Tony, and he regrets not thinking about you sooner.

But the thing that scares him is that you’re just as immortal as he is, but your face pales and your eyes start to fade, and he’s never seen you look like this. Ill. Close to dying.

“N-No, ___!” He exclaims and rushes over. The flames vanish, but when Steve goes in for an attack, he crashes into another forcefield, one even stronger than the flames. Loki had no meaning to let them charge freely at the two of you, and he creates another forcefield to protect you.

You almost fall to the ground, but Loki is fast enough to catch you, and he kneels while holding you against him. His eyes scan over you in worry, before darting towards the arrow still stuck within your body. “Loki…” You whimper, eyes widened and pupils dilated as there’s a strange sensation of weakness seeping within your system.

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats, swallowing thickly when your skin turns blue around the arrow, signifying that it was indeed poisoned. It was spreading quickly and he sees you holding back tears. You must be in so much pain right now.

“You like my new arrows, Asgardian? Got them made after New York happened…” Hawkeye mocks, but while he is amused by the situation, the other Avengers are awfully quiet. They all had lost people, some more important than others, so maybe they understood Loki’s pain, and maybe they even disagreed with Hawkeye’s actions, but Loki was still a bad guy, and they shouldn’t be affected by hurting him. But of course they did anyway, it was human emotion that forced them to feel sympathy.

At the man’s words, Loki glared back at him, eyes filling with a rage they’ve never seen before. Hawkeye grins, until he sees Loki’s eyes turn from blue to crimson red. Loki lifts you bridal style and turns towards the group of Avengers, skin fading into blue and symmetric patterns decorating his face. There’s unbelieve in their eyes as he grows even taller, and now he stands in front of them with intimidating presence.

“You’ll die for that.” Loki says, and their eyes widen. Stark curses under his breath, and whimpers at the throbbing in his back that forces him to stay down. Hawkeye sighs and lifts his bow once more.

“Not on my behalf.” But as he shoots another arrow, Loki allows it to pass the forcefield and straight at his face, He catches it with ease, and throws it back with twice as much force. Hawkeye dodges but feels it graze his cheek, leaving a scratch deep enough to impress. Natasha and Banner stare with wide eyes, and as Loki’s demeanor changes to an even deeper bloodlust, they retreat in fear, just now realizing how powerful the god is.

You see how his mood changes, and in order to calm him down you cup his cheek and attract his attention. His gaze softens as he meets your eyes, and he noticed they are as bright as they had been before, and maybe that was an illusion you created, but it was convincing enough for now.

“N-No, Loki. I’m fine… let’s leave.” He wasn’t even aware you were looking at his frost giant form, and he nods with a loving look in his eyes, before turning his back towards the Avengers. He walks towards his ship with you in his arms, and he only offers them a look over his shoulder before departing, meeting Hawkeye’s gaze and narrowing his eyes at him. He wasn’t done with him.

The Avengers are left behind, wondering who Loki really was and suffering under the consequences of their own stupidity. Tony would need a lot of time to recover, and Hawkeye had began to doubt himself after Loki’s attack. But the most evident change was the one of captain America. Natasha caught him spacing out a lot, and Bruce mentioned his eyes often turning yellow. Steve laughs it off and shrugs, telling them he feels fine, not aware you still controlled him, even from a distance.

#loki #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki marvel #marvel imagine #god!au #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #imagine #tw: blood #worldofgods #wog

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elcorhamletlive · 6 years ago

Link

fandom: MCU (non-powered AU) ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Fluff and Humor, Bad Flirting, Meet Ugly

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony slurs into his phone, trying to enunciate every word properly. “Yeah, I’m great.”

On the line, Happy doesn’t seem convinced – damn, Tony thought he had that sober speech on lock—and, to be honest, he shouldn’t be, because Tony is not great. Tony’s right outside of this sleazy, terribly expensive strip club Hammer decided to rent for the night, and he’s very much not sober. He knows that because, when he turns off the phone and rests his back against the wall and pretty much slips towards the floor, he has way less control of the movement than he thought he did, and his head slams against the wall painfully.

“Shit,” Tony says, blinking through white spots of pain. In a second a large, solid shadow looms over him. He looks up.

It’s an angel.

Okay, fine, it’s the club’s bouncer, who just dragged Tony out of the party when Hammer decided he wasn’t welcome anymore. But damn if the guy doesn’t look like an angel, with those azure eyes and blonde short hair and the prettiest mouth Tony’s ever seen.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice sounding sincerely worried. Tony doesn’t answer, too busy taking in the way the man’s muscles fill out that otherwise hideously cheap-looking suit—his shoulders just go on forever, incredibly broad and apparently fighting to break through the fabric of his jacket.

The man crosses his arms, and, well, his biceps are fighting to get free too, very determinedly. Tony is rooting for them.

Angel/Bouncer keeps looking at him, and Tony realizes that, oh, yeah, that was a question, and questions usually require answers.

“I’m doing great.” He opens his arms and gesticulates towards himself. “This is not even in the top fifty of most unexpected ways I finished an evening.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him, as if he’s going to say something. He ends up just nodding, though, clasping his hands together in front of his body and eyeing Tony attentively.

“What are you doing here?” Tony tries to mimick him by raising an eyebrow, but he’s not sure if he manages or if he just scrunches up his face.

“Working.”

“Wow. Not a man of many words, are you?” Tony straightens his posture where he sits, laying an elbow on his knee to watch the man carefully. “Though, coming to think of it, why would you be? With a face like that, who needs a dumb little thing like human language?”

The man flushes, which, wow. If Tony dies and goes to heaven and it turns out that’s not what angels look like, he’s asking for a transfer.

“Come ooon, cherub, talk to me.” Tony stretches out his leg, nudging the man with his foot. “What’s your name? Gabriel? Raphael? Uriel? You look like a Uriel.”

“Steve,” Angel/Bouncer (apparently now Steve) says. “Steve Rogers.”

“Wow, that’s a terrible name. You really should consider changing it to Uriel.” Tony searches his pocket for a cigarette before remembering he doesn’t smoke. “Say, Steve Rogers, you don’t happen to keep a flask on you with something nice and strong to warm you up during these night shifts, huh?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh, of course you don’t. And especially not during work, I can imagine.” Tony tilts his head to get a better look at Steve’s face. “Do you own knives at home? Because you don’t need them, with a jaw like this. Anyway. I bet you’ve never had a sip of alcohol during work in your life. You take your job super seriously, I figure, because that’s the only way anyone can put up with the likes of me and Hammer sober.”

Steve’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, not a talker, we’ve established that. But I must warn you, talking is among the top three things I’m great at—number one is building stuff, and number three I’m gonna leave to your imagination.” He winks, enjoying the way Steve’s flush deepens. “God, you’re adorable. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, talking, yup, that’s my entire thing. I have a friend who tells me I say more words per minute than some people say during their whole lives. People like you, I imagine.” He nods in Steve’s general direction. “Point is, I’m gonna keep talking, so you might wanna head inside if you don’t want to hear it, sugar.”

Steve frowns. “I can’t just leave you out here.”

“Pretty sure you totally can, but this gentleman act is adorable, please keep it going.” Tony hugs his knees, resting his cheek on them as he turns his head to watch Steve. “Is that like, a thing you usually do? Look after the assholes they make you kick out?”

“You’re drunk.” Steve’s blue eyes find his, and his voice is firm when he says: “I’m gonna wait until your driver arrives.”

“God, that’s so—okay, I might swoon a little if you do that again, so let’s keep the noble act under control, ok?” He crosses his legs, the asphalt feeling cold through his pants. “Tell me about you. What do you do during daytime? Are you a model? You should consider modelling. Like, any type of modelling. I know what you’re thinking, and, yeah, definitely Calvin Klein, give them a call when you can – but, also, you could be the star of one of those motivational videos. Like, the guy who looks at the camera and talks about how important it is to have an exercise routine and healthy sleep? You’d be perfect for that. I’m looking at you now, and I already want to get my life together.”

Steve seems off-put, but then his lips curl into something that Tony vaguely recognizes as a repressed laugh.

“I’m serious. You could sell those green smoothies people post on Instagram. Or quinoa. I bet you like quinoa.”

“I hate quinoa,” Steve says, and Tony raises both of his eyebrows.

“That makes you ten times hotter,” he announces, and Steve’s flush deepens and his mouth curls further. “Also, no need to answer if you don’t want to, but, by any chance, are you gay? Because, I’m gonna be honest, this mouth of yours, it’s just, just, well, let’s be real, Steve, it was made to suck on something, and I’m not talking lollipops.” Steve’s eyes widen, and he lets out a shocked laugh. “Sorry, I’m kind of just thinking out loud, here. Am I making you uncomfortable? Feel free to pepper spray me at any moment.”

Steve laughs again. “No, it’s—It’s fine.”

“Great. Coming to think of it, you probably get this kind of thing all the time,” Tony makes a gesture towards where he thinks the door is, though he doesn’t look away from Steve to check. “Working here and all. No doubt some of those sleaze balls have tried to slip their numbers into your pocket. But you’re too nice to tell them off, just like you’re doing to me now. You’re such a nice guy, Steve. Also, by the way, when did your life go wrong?”

Steve’s laugh falters. “What?”

“Well, you’re working here, and you’re not a model despise looking like one, and you’re listening to me talk as if you’ve got nothing better to do, so I assume you don’t have anything interesting waiting for you at home. Besides, let’s be real, I doubt you dreamed of being a bouncer when you were little.”

Steve stays in silence for a moment, more serious than he’s been until now, until he answers: “I need money. To… to help a friend.”

“Oh, wow, how mysterious. Is your friend on the run from the law? Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“He needs a new prosthesis,” Steve says, and now his voice sounds colder.

“Oh. Oh wow.” Tony blinks at the sobering information. He’s definitely not in the right state of mind to look properly embarrassed, but that’s how he feels, deeply ashamed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m rambling over here and making jokes like…” He drags a hand over his face. Christ, what is he doing? Sitting on the street, chatting up a guy who’s working, and now probably offending him, too. He can fix this. Tony takes a sharp breath. “Where does your friend live?”

“What?”

“Ok, come to think of it, you don’t need to tell me. Just tell him to drop by the nearest Stark store. Have the manager call me and I’ll make sure he gets one exemplar of our newest line.”

Steve seems startled, blue eyes blinking and mouth opening and closing very quickly. “You can’t—Uh, Mr. Stark, you don’t need—“

Tony raises a hand. “Seriously. I know it sounds like drunk talk, and, okay, technically it is drunk talk since I’m drunk and I’m, you know, talking, but I mean it. You don’t have to believe me, but at least tell your friend to give it a shot.”

Steve looks at him for a moment in silence, and Tony imagines he might still not be certain he’s serious. Well, whatever, Tony thinks. He will see it’s true if he tries. “We can’t afford any of your models.”

Tony makes a flippant gesture. “Consider it payment for not suing me for sexual harassment. And also, for your delightful company and this enriching talk we’re having.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twists upwards in a smile. “I haven’t really said much.”

“Exactly! My favorite type of talk.” Tony snaps his fingers and tries to finger gun at him, but the shape doesn’t come very naturally, so he’s pretty sure he just points two fingers randomly in Steve’s direction. “Plus, you’ve got a calming presence. You should be a yoga instructor.”

It might be the alcohol, but Tony sees a glimpse of cheekiness in Steve’s smile. “Do you think I’m flexible enough for that?”

“In my dreams you are, very much so, yes,” Tony answers immediately, and Steve laughs. “So, I’m here finding tons of new careers for you – model, life coach, yoga instructor -, but you haven’t told me what you do for a living yet.”

Steve eyes him for a moment, seeming to think.

“I teach.”

“Oh, my God.” Tony dramatically lays his hand on his chest. “No way. Like, in a classroom, wearing glasses, closing the door and going let’s see how much you want to improve those grades teaching?” Steve lets out another laugh that’s half shock and half amusement, and Tony likes it. “If you say you teach math, I might swoon.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Math turns you on?”

“Math is the hottest thing in the universe and should turn everybody on.”

“…Okay.” Steve stares at him with an amused smile. “I’m an art teacher. Only extracurricular classes, though. Mostly for kindergartens.”

“Oooh. So, no hot detention threats, then.” Tony tilts his head, giving him a thoughtful glance. “You’re an artist. You probably spend most of your time in your cluttered apartment that smells suspiciously herbal, agonizing over finding the perfect shading for your half-done painting that takes half of the room.”

“Yeah. Exactly. That’s exactly what I do.”

“On your breaks, you write poetry. Shirtless.”

“Yup. I also used to have dreadlocks, which I shaved off,” Steve deadpans. “You’ve never met a teacher, have you?”

“Not really. Please, enlighten me about your regular schedule.”

“There’s not much to tell. I teach my class three times a week. The rest of the time I spend setting up activities for the kids. I also draw for a couple small comics, but nothing that pays much. Most of the kids’ families aren’t very well-off. Sometimes they can’t afford to pay for a few months, so I take bouncer jobs when I need extra money.” Steve puts his hands in his pockets, shifting a little under Tony’s gaze. Tony gets the feeling he’s not used to being stared at, which, wow, talk about something unacceptable. “I share my apartment with the friend I told you about. I do most of the cleaning, Buck’s a slob.” He shrugs. “That’s pretty much it.”

“I’m just gonna imagine you doing all of that shirtless, too,” Tony says, mostly just to get Steve to smile again, which he does. Score. “So you work as a bouncer to get your friend a new prosthesis, and to teach impoverished children for free?” Saying it makes his heart rush, so he needs to add, in a lighter tone: “What else do you do, multiply bread?”

“Not really,” Steve says, not missing a beat. “But sometimes I draw political cartoons. One of them went viral last month, maybe you’ve seen it.”

It’s Tony’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I don’t really spend my free time on twitter, sweetheart. What was it about?”

“Punching nazis.“

Tony nods. “Cheerful.”

“It’s an instruction manual on the right way to do it,” Steve adds, and he seems proud of himself. “How to close your fist properly so it doesn’t hurt your hand and etc.”

Tony laughs. Man, he thinks, shaking his head. Humanitarian artist by day, bouncer by night, fighter against fascism in his free time – Tony wonders, not for the first time this evening, if the man he’s talking to is actually real.

“That’s hot,” is all he manages to say. “I mean, it’s an important political stance, but also, it’s, well – it’s very hot.”

Steve smiles. “Thanks. What about you?”

“Me? Oh, well, regular stuff.” Tony waves a hand in the air. “Run a billion-dollar company, go to parties for complete jerks, get thrown out of said parties and chat up the bouncer – these sort of things.”

“Right,” Steve says, but he doesn’t seem fully satisfied. “You really annoyed Mr. Hammer.”

“Did I? I barely remember what I said. This will shock you, I’m sure, but I say a lot of things without thinking them through.”

“Well, you brought up his lawsuit right after he offered to buy you a round,” Steve says, not sounding at all disapproving. “Also, you kept calling him Jack.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs. “Maybe if he paid his employees a tenth of what he spent just with strippers tonight, I’d bother remembering his name.” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling very tired. “I didn’t even want to come tonight. But Pep – she’s my P.A., so she kind of rules my life – said it’s important, that I need to keep good relations, especially now that we’re changing directions and yadda yadda.”

Steve looks at him with an expression Tony can’t quite figure out. “I read about that.”

“About the worst business decision of the decade? Yeah, you and the entire world.”

There’s a beat, and then Steve asks: “Do you regret it?”

“Not having any more dead people on my back? No, not at all,” Tony says immediately. It’s an easy answer. They could go bankrupt, and he still wouldn’t regret it. “The board freaked out, but, honestly, this doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, they need me to make the things they want to sell, and I’m not making weapons. I don’t care how much Dad loved them, I just won’t.”

Steve stays in silence for a moment. Then he turns towards Tony entirely, hands coming out of his pockets and hanging in fists at his sides. “I think it was a really brave thing to do.”

His eyes are incredibly blue, reflexing the dim light coming from the club’s windows, and, God, it’s like an attack of earnestness. Part of Tony wants to run away, and the other part wants to propose.

“Thank you?”

Steve smiles. Then he flushes, apparently realizing his strong reaction, and rubs the back of his neck. “So, why is your driver so late?”

“He’s not. He was supposed to come pick me up at three, and he’s probably catching up on his TV shows now, I don’t want to interrupt him.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “So you just sit here?” He takes his phone off his pocket. “It’s—it’s still two o’clock. You’re just going to… Sit here and wait until he comes?”

“Yeah? Sounded like a good idea, like, fifteen minutes ago,” Tony says. He yawns, his drunkenness apparently reaching its sleepy stage. His eyes feel very heavy. “No offense to our wonderful talk, but I think I might take a nap. I’d say feel free to come inside and do something more fun than standing here watching me snore, but by now I already know you’re too nice for that.”

Steve seems shocked for a moment, then he smiles slowly. “You really think that?”

“Um, yeah? I mean, come on. You're like an actual angel and you’re still somehow bashful about it. Your mean streak is apparently reserved for nazis. You’d stand there and watch over me to make sure nothing happens. Plus, you listened to me rant and hit on you endlessly, despite the fact that you probably meet about a dozen different guys exactly like me every day.”

Steve’s face softens. “No, I don’t,” he says, but it’s low enough that Tony thinks he might be imagining it.

“Anyway,” Tony yaws again, resting his back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Nice to meet you, Steve. Good talk.”

When Tony blinks his eyes open, the first thing he thinks is that he’s feeling great. Which is an unusual feeling to get after a night of drinking and sleeping on the sidewalk.

The second thing he thinks is that this is one hell of a comfortable sidewalk.

“Mr. Stark?” A voice calls. “Uh, Tony?”

He opens his eyes slowly, and realizes he’s not on the sidewalk anymore. He’s on a couch, a very comfortable one, with a very large and warm blanket – actually, it’s a jacket—over him.

A man—a very handsome man—is hovering over him.

“Uh, sorry to wake you up. It’s just, your driver is here.”

And then it hits him.

Wow, that’s a terrible name. Number three I’m gonna leave to your imagination. This mouth of yours, it’s just, just, well, let’s be real, Steve, it was made to suck on something. Math is the hottest thing in the universe. When did your life go wrong?

Tony drags a hand over his face, mind going through the litany of terribly embarrassing things he had said.

“Kill me,” Tony thinks aloud, and Steve raises his eyebrows. Tony turns around, doing his best to not stare at Steve’s face – Jesus, he talked about his mouth, that’s just… “Where am I?”

“In the break room,” Steve says, and that only makes Tony’s face flush with more embarrassment, because, God, Steve was working. He was having a regular night until Tony swooped in to be entirely inappropriate and freak him out. It’s an actual miracle, and a testament of Steve’s niceness, that Tony didn’t wake up in a police station with a restraining order.

Then Steve takes the jacket off him, slipping it over his own (very broad) shoulders.

It’s—It’s his jacket. That he gave Tony to keep him warm.

Tony’s face is burning.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, when Steve tries to help him stand. “God, I’m so – so, so sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. That’s—shit, ok, I wish I could say that’s so unlike me, but it’s not unlike me at all, to be honest.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Still, you didn’t deserve that.

Steve just stares at him and then smiles. “It’s okay,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I had a nice time.”

He sounds so sincere Tony’s mental self-flagellating stops for a moment, and there’s a beat as they stare at each other, before Steve coughs.

“Uh, your driver,” he says, and Tony stands up suddenly.

“Of course.”

“Don’t forget your phone.” Steve turns to pick it from a table, handing it to him. “It fell out when I was carrying you.”

He probably means carrying Tony like one would regularly carry a drunk person (i.e. practically dragging them), but of course Tony’s stupid head has to imagine a bridal carry or something, and it feels like a bunch of engines twirl happily in his stomach. God, he’s pathetic.

“Right,” he says, taking the phone and placing it in his pocket. “Thank you, and, again, I’m so sorry.”

Steve nods, his face flushing strangely, but when Tony turns to leave, he grabs his arm.

“Actually, I’m—“ Steve stammers, seeming more nervous than he looked all night, even when Tony was waxing lyrical about his dick-sucking lips. “I might, uh, have programmed my number in there.”

It feels like the world shifts at Tony’s feet, for a moment. “What?”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, smiling bashfully. “Like I said, I had a nice time. It was really fun.” His smile grows, and he shifts a little. “I’d really like to see you again. But, uh, if you think maybe that’s too forward—“

“Too forward? You think you may be being a little too forward?” Tony says incredulously, trying to fight the huge grin that’s threatening to slip out at every word. “Did you hear a single word I said last night?”

Steve laughs. His laugh sounds even more amazing when Tony can hear it without the mist of alcohol. “I liked hearing it,” he says, shrugging. Then his smile gains that cheekiness, and, damn, it might be the first time in his life Tony met someone who looks better without alcohol goggles. “Wouldn’t mind hearing some more.”

“Well,” Tony says, a little high-pitched and less suave than he’d like, but he doesn’t really care. He slides his hand into his pocket, playing with his phone, fiddling with it as if it’s the most interesting object in the world, because, with Steve’s number in it, it totally is. “I’m never one to refuse talking.”

Steve’s smile is large and brighter than the sun. “I figured.”

#stony #stevetony #superhusbands #stony fic #happy steve bingo #my fics

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redfoxwritesstuff · 6 years ago

Text

Clover and Lace- Chapter 2

Welcome to chapter two! Chapter one can be found by doing a quick search for “Kit’s Masterlist”. Want in on the tag list? Let me know. As always, we’ve got a big thanks to @winterisakiller who has been a major source of support for this series from well Chapter two on.

Chapter warnings: Some mutilated bread.

Chapter two:

“So, figure out where you are going to take the mystery girl on Friday?” Tony asked as he leaned against the wall of the jet. Steve was happy to ignore him until Tony asked three more times.

“No.” He finally admitted. “I don’t want to drive two hours to get to her, drive another two to bring her into the city and spend two more hours driving her home.”

“Get a room? Take her back to your place?” To Tony it seemed simple, a good reason to have her stay the night.

“As if. He’s going to wait 70 years before he makes it that far.” Clint joked from where he sat.

“Not going to wait that long.” Steve protested. “Just not on the first date. Or the second.”

“Or the third.” Bucky added, earning a glare from Steve.

“Or the fourth.” Natasha added from the cockpit and Steve threw his hands in the air.

“Any other ideas from the bleachers?” Steve fishes, wanting to change the topic and maybe even manage to get some real help.

“What is there to do in Arkon anyway?” Bucky asks.

“I’ve never heard of the place but online it says the cafe is good.” Clint offered as he looked up the town on his phone. “Tiny town.”

“Been to the cafe already.” Steve sighed. “And nothing. There is nothing in Arkon. No where for a proper date.”

“Italian restaurant?” Sam offered.

“You can’t go wrong with Italian.” Tony nodded.

“There isn’t even a pizza place.” Steve actually sounded bitter and Clint gasped in what could be actual horror.

“Why would anyone live there?” Clint clutched his chest and dramatically fell back.

“Weather is pretty nice in the area this time of year.” Natasha commented from where she sat. “Pack a picnic and bring some music. Find a nice spot- eat, drink some wine and maybe twirl her around.”

“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.” Sam laughed at the idea.

“No, that’s actually perfectly lame.” Tony defended. “It’s him. I mean, if she somehow doesn’t know he’s Cap than he’s got to sell her on the whole being a century old thing somehow. An old fashioned date like that could do it.”

“Is that really such an old fashioned idea?” Bucky questioned as Steve looked at his hands. The idea crossed his mind but it hadn’t felt like it would be nearly enough to win a girl as pretty as her.

“It’s classic.” Tony corrected. “Cap is classic. She’s a small town girl. It fits.”

Steve didn’t even look up as the front door opened and two bodies came in laughing. He skipped his morning work out and took the day off the office. No missions were scheduled and for once, he didn’t feel like going into the compound to search up something to do. Two peaceful weekends in a row seemed like a good idea.

“What the hell did the bread do to piss you off?” Bucky was honestly offended at the state of the bread.

Steve got an old fashioned loaf of rye, unsliced because how hard could it be to slice bread? Turns out, when you don’t have the proper knife, it could be very hard. Steve had decided that when he was on his way home that night it was time they buy a proper set of knives of the apartment. They couldn’t keep using their tactical knives for everything.

“Did you cut it with a chainsaw?” Natasha picked up some slices too mutilated to be used in the sandwiches he was making.

“No.” He sighed.

“Just an army knife?” She challenged, eyeing the knife on the counter. “you do know those are for killing, not cooking- right?”

“I washed it first.” Even Steve knew it sounded shitty when said aloud. “I’m getting a knife set this weekend, alright?”

“Why is there mustard on the outside?” Bucky asked as he sat at the kitchen island.

“I got some on my hand. Will you two just buzz off?” Steve was trying, right? His friends were not making him feel any better about this mess of a plan at all.

“Okay, okay. But Steve, really? This-” Bucky waved his hand at the sandwiches, sad and patchy on the counter. “isn’t going to work.”

“What the hell should I do then?!” Steve slammed his hands down on the counter in an unexpected show of frustration.

“Nat?” Bucky turned to her as she was already slipping her coat back on.

“I’m on it. Those were intended to be pastrami on rye, yes?”

Bucky picked up a lump that was intended to be a sandwich and took a large bite before reporting, “Yep.”

With Natasha on mission ‘sandwich’ that freed Bucky up to first finish inhaling the sandwich that at least managed to taste mostly right and set about making potato salad.

“You can’t just take sandwiches, Steve.” He lectured.

“Why not?” Bucky didn’t answer, rather he grabbed his phone and sent off a text, probably to Natasha to request her pick up something more for the date.

Steve was on mission Pie and all things considered, he thought it came together pretty well. The top crust went on pretty enough and when Natasha returned with sandwiches, bottles of water and chips it was time to pull it from the oven.

It was also getting far too close to time to leave. Steve sent up a silent prayer and opened the oven.

“No.”

“What?” Bucky sounded concerned.

“No, no. No. No. No.” The most helpful answer he could provide as he pulled the pie out of the oven and set it on the stove top. A large portion of the top crust had broken somehow and was sank a good ways down into the bubbly cherry goo.

“Well, that’s pretty.” Natasha commented over his shoulder earning a glare.

When the food was finally packed, Steve was sent down the stairs to the far too fancy car Tony was insisting he take. Opening the trunk he found a wicker basket that looked much nicer than the grocery bags he was using to hall things in.

Unloading the bags into the basket and in the process finding a very expensive bottle of wine and much better plates and glasses than Steve had packed, he couldn’t help but be thankful for his friends. Yeah, the meddled and involved themselves in his business. Yeah they pushed and had loud opinions but each and every one of them was rooting for him.

Rosemary puttered about her apartment that whole Friday. Outfits were tried on, discarded and the process repeated until she finally went into the shower where she proceeded to take as long as she could. Everything that could and should be shaved on a proper lady was. She scrubbed, lotioned and polished her skin into silky softness as soft orchestral music played in the background. A few notes played from her office informing her of a fresh notification and she ignored it for now. It could wait.

It had been a long time since she had a date. It was risky to get attached to people and her brother was less than pleased when she had called him to gush over the attractive man she had met. Rather than be pleased for her he made sure she was reminded of the dangers, the risks and of who she was.

If she kept to herself for much longer, people would start to ask questions anyway, she rationalized. At first she hadn’t wanted to tell him at all but safety won out. He had to know if she wasn’t going to be home. Have a tracker on you, he said as if she didn’t already keep the little specialized earring back on her favorite pair of earrings.

It didn’t really matter, did it? It was just a date. Her brother asked for the man’s name but she refused to provide it. If she wanted to know more about him, more then he was willing to tell her, she had her ways and would be far better at pulling the information then he ever would be. Information was her specialty, after all.

All Julian would find was if he had any public records, arrests or been in the news. Social media accounts he could normally find as well. No, Julian wouldn’t be able to find anything material about the guy. Rosemary could know everything there was to know about him, if she wished.

Rosemary wanted the handsome man with kind blue eyes to be a mystery to her. There were far too few mysteries in her life. Mr. Steve Rogers with his vaguely familiar name would be allowed to continue to be one, right alongside how long she got to stay in this tiny town and if she would ever be called to her dear brother’s side again. It was always better for them to be apart. Really this was the closest they had been to each other in many years, just a few hours drive away. But she did not have a car. It was better that way.

Being alone was hard and she was always alone. There was a knock on her door, drawing her out of her thoughts. Absently, her hand fell away from the necklace she had been fingering. That’s right, this time she wasn’t always alone. Mrs. Jones was always around and checking up on her.

“Sara?” The hearty voice of Mrs. Jones called through the door and she winced at the name. She had always hated the name Sara. More than likely that was why her brother picked it for her this time. Such a childish action, to saddle her with a name she hated even if it was only to be for a few months or a few years. He was still childish. She stuck her tongue out at the thought as if somehow she could stick her tongue out at him.

“Come in.” She called through the door, knowing with the thin walls the old woman would hear just fine.

“Don’t you just look sweet.” She cooed as she shuffled into the room. “Spin for me, Honey?”

“You think so?” Sara did a little spin to humor the woman. The skirt of her dress flaring out and her hair dancing around her shoulders.

“When does he get here?” Mrs. Jones sat at the small dining table.

“Should be here in another 30 minutes.” Sara shrugged, taking a seat across from the old woman.

“It is so good to see you stepping out with such a fine man. Or any man at all for that matter.” Mrs. Jones didn’t waste any time getting to the point not that Sara hadn’t expected it. Mrs. Jones had tried to set her up with nearly every single man within ten years of her age within 100 miles of her home.

“It’s just a date, Mrs. Jones. Nothing serious may come from it.” Nothing serious would come from it. It wouldn’t do to get attached. It would however be nice to have some company. To have a handsome man call her pretty and maybe kiss her. She was after all nearly 26 and hadn’t had a proper kiss.

Knocking on the door drew them out of their conversation before it could really start. Sara was thankful for that in all honesty. It was a conversation that could call into question her past.

“He’s early?”

“Go, on! Answer the door.” Mrs. Jones ordered as if Sara wasn’t already rising to her feet. “I’ll just busy myself on the balcony. I’ll lock up on my way out. Don’t mind a little old lady. Oh and remember, if he says late- wrap it up Honey. I’ll just put the condoms I brought you on your nightstand, just in case.”

Sara rolled her eyes as she took a deep breath and peeked through the peephole in the door. She tried to calm the blush already burning bright on her face thanks to that old woman. Condoms, really? Sara had been thinking of maybe a kiss. Hell, she’d never even purchased condoms before. With another deep breath she focused on trying to make out who was outside her door.

Safety was always a concern for her but she could just make out Steve’s face too close to the door as he shifted from foot to foot. It was cute to see a sign of nerves from someone so handsome when he didn’t know she was looking. With one last deep breath, she opened the door.

“Sara. Sorry, I know I’m early.” Steve scratched the back of his neck and glanced down before pushing the flowers in his hand toward her somewhat forcefully. “I ah- I got these for you. I hope-”

“They’re perfect. Thank you, Steve. Please come in.” Sara took the flowers from him and opened the door wide enough for him to come inside before shutting it behind him.

With a deep breath she took in the scent of the flowers. Daisies, carnations and lilies mixed together for a warm and colorful arrangement that seemed to embody the summer season. She couldn't help but smile warmly as she placed them in a vase that normally sat empty on her small dining room table.

“I should have called…” Steve ran his hands down his thighs, clearly a ball of nerves and Sara couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from her throat as she turned to him.

“She wasn’t doing anything anyway.” Mrs. Jones called from where she sipped coffee she at some point helped herself to perched on the balcony chair. Somehow the woman could move fast and silently when needed and it was one of the world’s greatest mysteries as to how she did it.

“It’s fine, Steve. Really, it’s so good to see you again.” Finally, he looked directly at her and smiled. Rosemary could have died happy with the way his smile lit up his face.

“God, you look beautiful.” Steve breathed the words and Rosemary couldn’t stop the blush that rushed to her face as he took the sight of her in.

Standing next to the flowers, he found her to be a vision of classic beauty. Her auburn hair was free flowing in loose waves that seemed to dance as she moved. Again she wore a dress but this one took his breath away. It was a simple classic cut that would have almost been appropriate even in his time but the thin fabric cling to her as she moved.

It was easy enough to tell how thin it was as she moved about he could see the ever so subtle flexing and shifting of muscle hidden under the fabric. Steve wondered if it was as soft as it looked. She paired the forest green dress with simple black heels and a delicate chain around her neck. Simple earrings hung from her ears. A vision of classic beauty.

“Thank you. You’re not half bad tonight yourself Steve.” She hoped her face wasn’t nearly as red as it felt when her words jerked him out of his thoughts. Steve wore a simple white button up shirt that hugged his frame and a pair of dark wash jeans that clung to his thighs. Just a bit dressed up from their first meeting but perfectly delectable on his own.

“So, where are we off to?” Rosemary smiled at Steve as they made their way down the stairs that would spit them out into the cafe. Mrs. Jones would lock up at the end of the night but she had a key and codes to get in at all hours and the trust to use them.

“It’s a surprise.” Steve fidgeted and dearly hoped that listening to the team wasn’t going to bite him in the ass.

“Fancy car.” Rosemary whistled as they stepped outside earning a laugh from Steve. “What do you do?”

“Oh just some security work.” Steve smiled and hated how he didn’t want to tell her right then what it was he did.

If she didn’t know he would get to know her as just Steve for a bit longer yet. If he told her now he worried that she’d think he was just using it to get her to sleep with him at the end of the date or at least that was the excuse he gave himself.

“Must be some security work if you’re driving this.” Rosemary laughed and cringed internally, hating how materialistic she sounded. The car was nice, yes. It was also very expensive. She knew this because Julian drives a similar car.

“I ah-” Steve laughed awkwardly and tried speaking again as he opened the door for her. “It’s actually my boss’ car. He insisted that it wasn’t proper to take a lady out on a Harley.”

“Oh.” The door shut and Steve rushed around to the driver’s side. “Well, I wouldn’t have minded a ride on the Harley.”

“Yeah?” Steve glanced her way and she hated how she blushed seemingly instantly.

“I’ve never been on one before.” She shrugged and watched as the small town passed by her window.

“I’ll be sure to bring it by next time.” Next time?

Could she let there be a next time? This was risky enough. If they got along well and there was a next time leaving would hurt more.

“I’d like that.”

He took them into the hills just outside of town. The sun was bright and warm. It was a perfect summer day. Leaving town however was something she didn’t expect. It was also something she knew Julian would frown at. She’d probably have to hear about it later.

Rosemary decided she regardless of what pain was going to come- and this was surely going to result in pain- it was worth feeling a bit more normal. When Julian asked why she was indulging she would just tell him it was for her cover. People were starting to ask questions, she could say. Leaving so soon would just raise more questions.

It occurred to her that for the first time in her life, she was considering lying to the only person she’s always had. Glancing over at Steve, his bright blue eyes on the road and sun playing off the blonde highlights she had wondered about the weekend prior. She hoped he was worth it.

Tag lsit: @bambamwolf87, @dangertoozmanykids101, @sweetbeary713, @0-0-0-0-0-0-0-7, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @j-u-s-t-4, @missaphrodite23, @princess76179, @fairlightswiftly

#@steve x oc #steve x ofc #steve x original female character #steve x original character #steve rogers

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