#villain steve rogers

[meidui]

what is it about steve rogers that drives men crazy

[ronearoundblindly]

Time and Tines (2/3)

Reasons (see previous or series)

Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader

Summary: With the Winter Soldier on your side, Steve races against time to figure out why...and how to stop you.

Warnings for basically DARKFIC: talk of unspecified terminal illness, medical malpractice, gaslighting, revenge, gun violence, not overly graphic death but still death (not of Reader, Steve, or Bucky), and decidedly too-little editing. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this isn't for you! WC 5242 (which is, yeah, way longer than it was supposed to be)

Steve will do anything to avoid a fire fight with the Winter Soldier. There are too many people involved now, and he has to approach this situation delicately from all angles.

Steve just does not understand yet.

After hours waiting with agents in the dark of Doctor Avani’s house, convinced you’ve ordered Bucky to come right over and kill the man with brute force, nothing happened. There was no sign of anyone. Steve has to try something else.

A small army protects Salvatore while he searches your apartment. If the key to activating his friend is here, he needs to find it, destroy that information, and get a handle on why this is happening.

“This can’t be right,” Steve mutters, pushing past Agent Palmer (who drove) for a better look. “It’s too clean.”

Your one-bedroom would pass a white-glove test.

There’s so little…everything. It’s a far cry from the chaos Steve woke to find in the police station. His head throbs at the memory. He forgot what it was like to have his bell good’n’rung.

“Supe says she’s been selling off furniture,” Palmer calls from the doorway, “but he thought it was replaced. Boxes kept coming.”

Steve inventories a mattress with no frame, half a dozen hanging garments, no shoes. What were you buying? Where did it all go?

The desktop is bare. You’ve taken any laptop with you, it seems. That’s a small comfort. You clearly planned contingencies for your attack andor escape; it’s fitting you had the foresight to hide your research on the Winter Soldier.

Steve is still scared, however, because he sat with Bucky many times, listening to horrible tales of being trapped in his own mind, powerless, isolated in the midst of everyone, unable to control thoughts much less actions.

This one’s gonna take a few more beers for the friends to contend with, but with any luck and quick work, they’ll get through without bloodshed. He and Bucky will decompress somewhere peaceful. It’ll be okay.

He hopes.

Steve scans the lone bookshelf. The most curious edition is a history book about WWII, a few flagged pages open to reveal passages about Bucky’s service record, an underline beneath the location where the sergeant fell from the train, and a mail receipt for an address on Forsythe Avenue keeping your page. That’s all.

It’s not even a unique read. The book isn’t any more specific than an average school text. No other notes are made in the margins, so Steve turns the book upside-down and shakes, hoping for something to fall out. He rips the other books from the shelf and shuffles their pages until a picture comes loose—a polaroid of three women.

You’re on the right, fuller faced but it’s you. On the back is scrawled “the girls” with hearts on either side.

The book is handwritten, no label on the cover or spine, only an embossed mandala design. Steve’s stomach drops, but he opens to the front flap.

Property of Faith Williams

He swallows roughly and closes it, unable to step over that line of privacy. At the moment, he needs evidence of where you could have taken Bucky, and slow-reading someone else’s diary won’t give him that.

Forsythe Avenue might, but that’s just one tiny piece of the puzzle. 

Steve checks a different unlabeled book, but it, too, doesn’t have your name inside, just a ‘Z’ fancifully drawn amidst doodles.

Damnit. This is no help.

“Palmer, you finding anything?”

“No, Cap. Bills all paid. Nothing under the mattress. No mention of Barnes on any papers in the drawers. Not even a Cyrillic symbol.”

No trace, just like how you two disappeared from surveillance.

Steve shuts his eyes, head still throbbing from how hard the Soldier landed a blow to knock him out.

The agent wanders through the tiny kitchen. “Fridge is empty. Doesn’t look like she intended to come back here…if…actually, it looks like she barely ate. No condiments, no spices, nothing.”

“How long has she rented here?”

“Over two years.”

Shit. This is a dead end.

“Keep looking,” Steve orders, but he takes the two journals and heads for the car, pulling up your thin file again. You don’t hold any clearances or a government footprint. You were let go of from your last job with a severance package. Nothing overly generous. No medical leave mentioned. Benefits, including health insurance, would be intact. Based on your appearance earlier versus you in the photo, Steve chews on a few wisps of theories, but it���s not solid proof. Without more, Steve has no leads.

“Friday, any connection to properties on Forsythe?”

He adjusts to get comfortable in the back seat of the SUV alone, firing up a view screen.

There’s a low, sad sound that means the AI found nothing in your records.

"For her or him?"

Womp womp, it comes again.

Steve lets out a tense breath, “Where are we with bank statements?”

“Authorizations just came back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y chirps.

“What about medical records?”

“That one’s a lot harder, Captain Rogers. We have to—“

“Just analyze the financials first,” Steve sighs. His head throbs again, and he knows he needs sleep. There’s no time though. If he could just get answers…

Protections exist, of course, for good reason, but Steve feels the frustration of any detective. He’s trying to find a bad guy, and by 'bad guy,' he means you, not the man you’ve taken, not the man you are certainly going to order to kill for you.

Steve rests his head on the chilly glass and pinches his eyes shut. He’ll take a minute, review the money trail, and then interview the doctor. It seems a miracle that man was able to go home to his wife and sleep, even with security inside the room, down every hall, surrounding the house…Steve wouldn’t do it; he can’t even keep his eyes closed long enough for the dry sting to subside.

How could he be so stupid?

You weren’t staring at him from across the room; you were watching your mark, waiting for an opening. Sadly, it occurs to Steve that if he’d just let you inject Avani, Bucky would be fine, here by his side, and safe.

You are the threat, not his friend, but that’s a hard distinction. If anyone else sees James Barnes—who is the stealth assassin Winter Soldier, as far as they know—they’ll shoot. No questions. Steve has to find him first. He has to get to you first.

Bucky is compromised, but Steve won’t let it come to that. Buck shouldn't do anything he doesn't want to do just because some enemy hijacked his mind and body.

“Feel better?” You twirl in the chair as soon as the motel bathroom door opens, steam billowing out.

Winter’s face is shadowed, pointed to the floor.

“Or…at least, okay? Here—“ you offer the seat next to you at the tiny table “—sit. Eat. Let me—I’ve got bandages for your knuckles.”

“Heals,” he grunts, sitting easily but with stiff posture, “fast.”

You let out a heavy breath, muttering, “makes one of us.”

The soldier reaches out for the file in front of you, but your hand pins it down.

“Uh-uh. Food first, and palm up here, please.” You wait for him to flip open the takeout container then blot antiseptic on the split skin. “Does that hurt?”

He shakes his head, focused on the meal before him.

Several months ago, an article was published about Bucky Barnes’ affinity for this one particular deli in Brooklyn, a third-generation shop. It listed his usual order.

You’ve made sure the bread isn’t soggy. You kept the spicy mustard on the side.

He makes a strange face, looking around for your portion.

“Not hungry,” you assure him, “I’m rarely hungry.” You secure the bandage like boxing wraps and spin the file around.

“Eat your food—” The command is soft, encouraging. “—while I tell you the story of how we ended up here.”

Buried in the file you’ve put in front of the Soldier is several lifetimes of horror. Maybe not everyone agrees with you, maybe not everyone cares, but that bastard Avani has to atone. For the next hour, you explain what’s expected of him, glancing every so often at the fancier hotel entrance across the street from your motel room.

It’s too early; you’d be very impressed if the Captain had followed those bread crumbs yet.

You planned so carefully for every obstacle. You anticipated so many setbacks. Men like Avani go down like great stone pyramids, not houses of cards, because their lives are built with safeties.  For him to fall, a thousand others have to be damaged, and each one of them will put up a fight to remain untarnished. That approach—the truth, and nothing but the truth—has gotten you nowhere. Diaries aren’t enough proof. The placebo effect is not a crime. Two women are worth far less than a functional, marketable drug.

Plus, they’re two dead women. The pyramid is now their tomb. Nothing ever changes.

No.

You alone cannot topple a pyramid. You’re too far gone. You’re just one person. For justice, you have to go straight to the top, to the man himself. One on one.

Well, one on one-plus-one. Your addition is the sharp-shooter who can get you the top, the target, Doctor Avani.

Winter’s mission is very simple, but he’s thorough, asking all the right questions, thinking of all the right options. You knew he would be perfect.

“Now,” you clap at the end of your story, rubbing boney hands together, “a rundown of my meds. Sound good?” You grab a zippered case from the foot of the motel bed. “Nothing complicated, but here—“ nudging out a syringe and one glass vial “—this is the emergency one. Use 10 milliliters of this if I pass out. Got it?”

The Soldier takes an enormous mouthful of his sandwich and nods, eyes flickering back to that single bed.

You smile sadly. “I…rarely sleep. I’m keeping watch for now. You’re safe. You’ll need the rest.”

He chews and adds more mustard before his last bite.

“Okay? Good.” Your smile fades, fatigue and restlessness swirling in your empty gut as you remove another medication. “Next is this one. Every four hours, twent—wait, no, I’m up to thirty CCs now…”

“Sir,” Steve grits out with far less patience than he intended, pinching the bridge of his nose as if it will stop the throbbing inside his head, “you realize I am trying to save your life?”

Dr. Avani purses his lips in annoyance. “And you realize I am required to keep my patients’ confidence, right?”

Yes, Steve thinks, he’s said that several times.

“Are they current or former patients?” Steve tries to clarify.

So far, Salvatore slipped up only once. When Steve showed him the photo from your apartment, the doctor muttered something about ‘Faith’ and ‘Ziva’ knowing each other, looking confused, then immediately shut down.

Steve has to switch tactics. He doesn’t have time for this.

“Ok. We found over a dozen hotel reservations made with your assailant’s credit card, so look at this list—” Steve taps the smart screen to lay out a map with the names highlighted “—and see if anything stands out.”

“What have this crazy woman’s travel plans to do with me?” Avani bites out, rattling the tea his wife hands him.

A tremor. Not unlike how your hands shook at the table last night. Steve wonders if yours was because you are ill or because you were lying to him.

“Darling, your blood pressure…”

Steve sighs sympathetically to Mrs. Avani. “Thank you, ma’am,” he whispers, taking the next cup and saucer and clearing his throat. “Doc, please. I’m just hoping you can narrow this down for me. We still have no motive.”

“Insanity. Jealousy, maybe!”

“Jealous of what? Do you know what she might want?”

No answer, but Avani chews his cheek, eyes wide, while staring northwest on the map of hotels. Steve files that away in his mind.

The doctor returns to sipping his tea. “Do you know what they call people obsessed with finding patterns in chaos?”

His wife drops the plate of biscuits unceremoniously down on the side table between the men’s chairs.

“Salvatore,” she snips with the same frustrated fatigue wrapped around Steve’s neck like an albatross, “behave.”

“No. None of these are familiar,” the doctor grunts.

Steve can’t accuse the man of lying unless he wants to risk an all-out breakdown in communication during this active threat, but he’s running out of options. He needs real information.

Usually Steve would have more respect for a man staying within the parameters of his vocation, but this is a unique and complicated situation. This is Bucky on the line. Steve’s had enough of secrets and red tape.

“Any idea why she’d mail something to Forsyth Avenue? Do you know anyone there?”

“Forsyth Avenue? No, I’ve never been in that area before, as far as I know.” Though Avani wrings his hands together, no indicates that’s a lie.

Wonderful. Steve’s never been this unsuccessful at gathering intel, and Avani’s status as the newly-appointed Avengers’ lead physician makes it tricky to push harder.

So Steve recommends Avani and his wife consider staying in a more secure location before he sets off to personally check the hotels in the northwest quadrant of the map.

He takes Agent Palmer, riding in the SUV while the two diaries sit in his lap, knowing now—as sure as he can be—that ‘Z’ is for Ziva, and she knew you and Faith Williams. Those are ‘the girls’ in the photo.

Without Ziva’s last name, he can’t do a general search, but there is a death certificate on file for Faith.

Three women. One confirmed dead. At least two ‘former’ patients of the doctor. All visibly ill in either the picture or in person. One mourning the loss of person(s) and out to kill the doctor.

The pit in his stomach grows. Something very bad is happening, yet while Steve has anything else to go on, he will not be reading another’s diary.

He can only hope that your medical records are finally available once the hotel searches are complete.

There’s even a possibility he’ll find Bucky at one of these. Maybe he won’t have to concern himself with the rest at all. Maybe he won’t have to think so hard about your motives for activating a Soviet sleeper agent.

Steve does think, however. He thinks hard enough to spiral as each reception desk is questioned, as all security footage is combed, as every building is cleared. He has to make some assumptions to make the pieces fit.

You believe Avani is responsible for your friends’ deaths—both of them, since when Steve interrogated you, you accepted his condolences—and believe their cause of death was whatever treatment Avani administered.

It’s sad, of course, but it happens everyday. Experimental treatments are just that. If you’re concerned about gross negligence, the doctor could easily be reported to the Medical Board. Considering the amount of research, forethought, and planning required, the Winter Soldier is one of the slowest possible solutions to your problem.

But…Bucky was just your contingency plan. You had an opportunity to kill Avani yourself, yet you still set other options in motion. You used a weapon theoretically deadly to only the doctor 

Steve still can’t understand, and it’s driving him nuts.

Finally, after the hotel reservations prove fruitless, Steve sees no other choice. He has to read the diaries.

He combs through the pages, growing nauseous as darker and darker layers of the situation reveal themselves, disturbed by everydetail except updates from the units on Forsyth Avenue or those stationed at the doctor’s house. Nothing is unfolding save the landscape in Steve’s mind.

He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y about the disease Faith and Ziva mention. He asks about the public records of the drug trial Avani lead and its results published just six months ago, after the last entries of the diaries. He notices the treatment was a huge success…for those not in the control group. Finally, he can’t continue.

His head pounds while his stomach churns.

In the early afternoon, Steve lays down to rest his eyes and reevaluate, but he’s met with only a blank  canvas and drifts to sleep instead.

He’s woken by a shrill ring of his phone.

“Yeah, Palmer, what’s—what? What do you mean he’s gone?” Steve jumps up, straps on his shield, and races to his bike. “The hell were you thinking letting him make a house call today? Where did agents—“

Steve’s foot slips right off bike for an instant.

“Avani led the driver to some suburban neighborhood. Forsythia Commons.”

It dawns of him just as the garage door squeals open.

Steve never showed Palmer the receipt. No one else saw the numbers to the address. Steve’s rattled brain finished the label with a street name he knew.

He was wrong.

Including battles in Germany way back in the day, he has rarely driven so recklessly, but Steve is nearly a half-hour behind now. He has to catch up.

Palmer tells him Avani went into the residence alone—for patient confidentiality—and after a while, agents couldn’t get an answer at the door. Upon forced entry, they found the woman who lived there bound to a chair with tape over her mouth and the doctor nowhere in sight.

Steve gets lucky.

On his way to exit the freeway, he notices a hole in the noise barrier wall past a slope of grass. He pulls over and asks Palmer what the backyard of the residence leads to, but Steve can hear the reverb of agent comms before anyone is visible through the brush.

“Friday, I need traffic camera footage from my location from thirty-five minutes ago. Were there any vehicles stopped on the side of the road?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers. A standard maintenance truck with the department’s logo shows up and leaves seven minutes later, based on ten second intervals.”

“The license plate, can you read it?”

“Quality insufficient.”

“The highway department, do they have any registered cars out here today?”

A long pause follows.

“Friday?” Steve barks.

“Negative, Captain. Inspection is slotted for the end of next week, not today.”

“Alright, follow that truck on the cameras. Tell me exactly where they went.”

He doesn’t bother to tell Palmer where he’s going because Steve doesn’t want them to know really. He needs a head start to find Bucky—to make sure it’s Bucky who is found and rescued, not the Soldier who is cornered and subdued.

The trail ends at a dilapidated office park near the river miles outside of the city. With his own, short fingernail, Steve peels away the Highway Department magnet slapped onto the white truck parked by one building.

Nobody else is in sight, and the truck cab is empty.

Across the nearest door is sun-shriveled lettering. “-alv—re Ava—, M.D” marks the third name in a list.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He can’t. He walks right in, eyes adjusting to a cave-like darkness without electricity.

The voices are faint behind another set of double doors, but he hears them.

“I don’t owe you anything, bitch. I hope you die like they did.”

There’s a sharp slapping noise and someone spits loudly.

“Admit it. Admit what you did and you won’t die today.”

You don’t beg him to talk. You don’t plead with him. You sound weak but sure.

“Rot in hell,” Avani annunciates, and Steve flings himself through the doors, knowing what comes after such a taunt.

You give him every opportunity to come clean. He could save himself, but Avani refuses while the camera records behind you. He calls you names. He calls your friends worthless. He says they were ’whores,’ but you will still send him back to the correct authorities if he tells the truth.

He doesn’t, he won’t, and you’re honestly pleased this is how it ends.

You don’t have a choice really; you must honor Faith and Ziva somehow.

Instead of the truth, Avani curses you, though not much could be worse than your current fate, even with Winter standing a few feet away, his gun drawn.

You have readied the syringe in your unstable hand and lift it to the doctor’s throat when—crash—Captain America bursts in and scans the whole room.

“Don’t do it,” he tries plainly. “You don’t have to kill him.”

You’re impressed. That’s faster than you expected, but Steve is looking at his friend to stop, not you.

“Shoot him, you idiot,” the doctor snarls.

As if Winter thinks the order somehow applied to him, he turns toward an open palm and a raised shield.

“SHOOT HIM!”

Winter doesn’t move the gun away from you and Avani.

Steve steps closer. “Bucky,” he starts slowly, “I’m not going to do that. I’m not here to hurt you. No one has to die.”

You need to buy more time.

“Soldat, show him.”

Only then does Winter lower his pistol and reach into a pocket at his chest, revealing the tuning fork that controls his own mind. Doing this will forfeit your exit strategy, but you’ll accomplish you mission. Winter’s mission is now secondary.

Steve’s eyes flicker from the fork to you.

After a tense breath, you give the command, confident the soldier will obey, locking your focus on Steve.

“Fetch.”

Winter sprints to the other end of the room and explodes through a wall and then a window to the lawn banking the river.

Cap makes a choice, his sad blue eyes full of pity, and it’s then you realize he knows.

He read the diaries. He understands what Avani did.

Steve bolts after the Soldier.

The doctor shrieks for his Avenger to come back, to protect him from his earned fate, but the hollow thuds of a vibranium arm and a vibranium shield colliding hum through the hole in the building.

The sound of fighting continues as you return the syringe to Avani’s neck.

Enough. Enough excuses. Enough lies. Enough time has been wasted on this man already. Enough is enough.

The end is more peaceful than he deserves. It’s quick and not nearly as painful as it should be. There’s no time left for suffering.

Salvatore convulses after collapsing on the stained industrial carpet, foam gently dripping from his mouth, a symptom of his condition when mixed with a common resuscitative cocktail, one you have to take frequently, one that spiked Steve Rogers’ adrenaline and nothing more. It kills Avani. His heart nearly explodes in his chest.

If there was ever a human that medicine should fail…

You only know he’s susceptible because Ziva knew. Heart conditions and caring for them are the sort of thing one knows about a person they love.

Avani promised to marry her, to leave his wife, to be with her after the drug trial succeeded. He promised she’d live, but he told Ziva she was taking the real medicine, ensured she took the placebo, and then gaslit her until the day she died.

Ziva spent the rest of her life loving a man who would make her happy and healthy, but instead, Avani made her life as short as possible.

He was not even that kind to Faith.

In her own words, Faith wrote how dying scared her, how she begged the doctor for the actual medication, how she offered anything to get it. Avani accepted. Faith did whatever that bastard wanted for months, all the while told she was healing.

Relief never came.

Faith was bedridden when a package arrived for her—a diary willed to her by a friend she’d lost touch with once you three weren’t gathering in the same hospital suite for the old treatments. That’s when she put it together, but Ziva had passed two months prior. Faith lasted only four more days, just long enough to bequeath the two journals to you.

The victory doesn’t feel as euphoric as you expected. You thought somehow you’d know that Ziva and Faith were proud and at peace, but you’re just empty and tired.

You stare down at Adani’s body, unfazed, when the tuning fork slams against a dangling metal doorframe and Cap shuffles through the rubble.

He’s scraped and beaten which isn’t what you ever wanted, just a necessary evil to fight evil. He watches as Barnes walks in from the grass.

“It’s me, punk. You can put that thing down.”

Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve, snatching the prongs right from his hands and tucking it back in his jacket.

There’s a moment where they almost hug before Steve remembers the doctor and rushes to the man at your feet.

“Call for help! I'm starting CPR.”

Barnes simply holds your gaze.

More sad blue eyes. It brings you hope that he will complete his mission.

You step away from the others to make for a cleaner shot, nodding that it’s okay, breathing a rough but weak “please” for emphasis.

“Buck?” Steve looks up as Bucky points his gun at you again. “What are you doing? STOP. It’s over!”

“His mission was never to kill Avani,” you hiss, unable to take your eyes off the perfectly-centered muzzle directly in front of you. “He’s here to kill me.”

“The hell—“ Steve climbs to his feet “—why would you shoot her?”

“I’m not going to jail!”

“You know what they’ll do to her, Steve.”

Both men take one step closer.

“There has to be another way.”

“I did this because it’s the only—“

“—can understand doctors who taking advantage and manipulating their patients better than anyone—“

“Put the gun down!”

“Pull the trigger! It'll be—“

“—told me he could do better than me,” Bucky barks. “Doc said, to my face, that he could make a better me. He wanted to make soldiers, Steve. More soldiers. Avani didn’t give a shit about what was right.”

You jump in. “If you found the diaries, you know what he was capable of.”

“That’s not how this works. We don’t condemn a man from—“

This time you step toward Barnes. “Just do it. Shoot me now.”

Steve lunges to take your wrist in his hand, your limb comically thin and delicate beneath all his enhancements.

“She doesn’t deserve to rot while they sweep this under the rug,” Bucky adds, voice low and serious.

“This is for the best.” You look at Steve now, and something heartbreaking swims in those morose pools, something unspeakable.

His head shakes, dirty, sweaty hair falling in his face. “What if there’s another way?”

“I don’t want to be saved, Cap. Let me go.”

You offer one final, soft smile, and Steve moves just as Bucky pulls the trigger.

Steve completes his testimony before the panel opposite him. None of the questions are a surprise.

They’ve painted you as completely insane, demented, psychotic, and he can’t argue. What would he tell them? Yeah, but she had kind eyes, so, you know, remember her fondly? No, he can only remain quiet until he has something pertinent to add which is very little. Bucky had far more to offer, and he already spoke.

When Steve steps out of the counsel chambers, Maria Hill is waiting for him.

“Shame she ordered the Soldier to dispose of her body. Took the coward’s way out.”

“You make her sound like a rabid animal that had to be put down,” Steve grit out. 

“No, you’re right,” Hill admits, “but it was lucky she left the sound thing for—”

“Tuning fork,” he snaps, “which I destroyed. No one should have that. No one should even know about it.”

Buck does his best to calm Steve down with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “S’okay, pal. The interrogation footage has been wiped and unless someone with perfect pitch was walking by observation--”

“You know that’s not reassuring, right?”

The two huge men look at each other.

Steve finally mutters, “what about Avani’s widow?”

“All the blackmail sent to his mistress in Forsythia Commons was removed before Gloria even knew Sal was kidnapped, and I think it’s fair to say that lady is so grateful her name wasn’t dragged through the press that she won’t be bothering the wife. Good thing the doctor put her car and house in her name, or legally, this would get ugly.”

“Yes. We’re very lucky he was such a skilled adulterer,” Steve quips dryly. He regrets handing over the diaries for evidence. They weren’t mentioned once in any of the hearings.

Bucky flashes Steve a warning glare that reads, don’t start.

Hill obliviously flips through the folder in her hands, nodding. “All in all, this report amounts to an incredibly long lead-in of ‘use that PTO, boys!’ You earned it.”

“Understatement of the century…and I would know.” Bucky is a much better liar than Steve.

Thank god, they are fleeing to the middle of nowhere indefinitely.

Hill heads back to her office. “We’ll be here when you get back. Keep in touch.”

“No,” Steve counters. “I don’t think I will.”

Bucky and Steve leave in an old truck the next morning. They can’t seem rushed or impatient to get to their destination.

Casually accumulating supplies, Steve loads their bags in the flat bed with space for all repair materials they are likely to need. The cabin needs some work; the guys need to get their hands dirty and live simply for a while.

The team is happy for Steve; it’s been so long since anyone saw him moving forward in life, and, of course, he and Bucky deserve some peace and quiet.

No one else has any idea how hard-won this vacation is.

The drive takes all day because they can’t be in a hurry.

Steve takes pictures at every scenic outlook. Bucky climbs up onto some rock ledges to take selfies which Steve is not into. This earns him being featured as a blurry grump in the background of all of them, purposefully.

Eventually, the GPS-free truck pulls up to the place, a large A-frame style cabin that should be plenty big for two super soldiers.

Parked on the gravel path, Steve is careful not to ding the other car when he swings open his door. As Bucky heaves two duffels from the trunk, he calls out, “got the meds, too” and heads inside. Steve gathers up the remaining bags and trudges over, smelling something hearty and delicious cooking, listening to the tinkling, copper-coin wind chime hanging somewhere above him.

He doesn’t stop looking at his feet until they hit the top of the porch, spotting two smaller bare feet on the welcome mat.

There you are, holding the door open, layered in warm knits, more tired before but better than expected.

“Hey,” Steve breathes finally.

“Hey,” you say, your mouth twisted to hide an excited smile.

“Yes, hello,” Bucky grumbles from the living room. “Now shut the damn door. I’m hungry.”

Steve steps inside.

[Last Part]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

a/n: Sorry this took so long a fucking year! Tags will be in a reblog.

[rogerswifesblog-updates]

Bad girls are the sweetest

A/N: hi! I can’t believe that I’m still waiting for my shadowban to be lifted (on my main blog @rogerswifesblog ) it’s been a month!😩 anyway, here’s a little something for y’all, I hope you’ll enjoy reading! Read the warnings first! Leave some feedback and don’t forget to reblog!:3

Summary: The avengers are pursuing a new enemy. For months. But finally they manage to catch them.

Warnings: Blood, Injury, enemy!reader, Violence (choking, not in the nice way), Insult, SMUT, crying, Squirting, Fingering, DP, MEAN!steve, dom!steve, sub!reader, implied subspace

Pairing: mean!dom!Steve Rogers x villain!(sub)!reader

"left, left! Go left," you heard Captain America's voice carry through the corridors. He was right on your heels. You had no idea how this could have happened. You were always one step ahead. You always knew everything, what to do next, where to hide and where to go. Everything went according to plan. Always.

But how did it happen that they suddenly found your hideout?

Suddenly something knocked you to the ground. It was a hard hit right against your back. "Ah shit...", you whispered quietly as you tried to get up. But just then someone grabbed you roughly by the arms. "Let go of me! Let go!", you growled, trying to hit the person holding you.

Somehow you managed to get up.

As you stood, you hit the captain in the ribs with a fine elbow, causing him to gasp, but it wasn’t something that would bring him down. It probably only made him angrier than he already was. That started the messy fight between you.

Just a few moments later you were on the ground. Mr.America was sitting directly on your torso, his knees pinning your arms down as he pressed his shield to your throat. "Now show us your face nicely, you monster," he growled as he ripped your mask off of your face and tossed it aside.

"What...you're a…woman?" he muttered, visibly surprised. You took advantage of this to kick him in the back with your knees as he didn’t pay attention anymore. As he fell forward, you pushed his shield away and spun with him.

"Never heard of women being killers too? Let’s see…maybe I can have a chance...to kill Captain America?", you whispered as you pulled a blade from your belt. This you pressed to his jaw, drawing a bit of blood from a little cut.

"Too bad you have your helmet on...then I could see your face while I pressed the knife into their chest. Slow and agonizing," you whispered against his ear.

He could throw you off him. Effortlessly. But he didn't. Out of fear? Most likely. (Not really)

Just as you pointed the knife at his chest, something hit you in the shoulder. Then right in the torso. With a pained gasp, you fell off of Steve as electricity coursed through your body.

"I knew you had a very specific taste in women," you heard the blackwidow ay. But the next moment, your eyes fell shut as well.

"Yoo-hoo wake up," you heard someones voice, as if through cotton. Someone tapped lightly against your cheek. Which made your head fall to the side.

You were sitting on a chair. Your arms were bound to the backrests. So was your upper body. Your legs. Everything possible was tied to the chair. It definitely wasn't comfortable.

Slowly you opened your eyes. Your gaze fell on the table in front of you. On the hands, which were leaning on the table.

"Where...where am I...", you mumbled.

"Ah, not so cocky and sassy anymore, huh? I'm sure the electric shocks weren't the most pleasant thing," Stark mocked you.

"You know, everyone thought we were tracking another Hydra agent, but I had a feeling it was someone else. A murderous woman. How many kills were there? Fourteen? Fifteen?" he continued talking. The corners of your mouth twitched upward.

"Twenty-eight," you spoke quietly as you lifted your gaze and looked directly into Stark's eyes. You saw the startled, as well as frightened, twinkle in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide.

He slowly straightened up. "Hmm, anyway-if you're not Hydra, then why are you doing it? Who told you to do it?"

You remained silent.

You spent the next half hour in silence as well. No matter what questions fell from Stark's lips. For the last fifteen minutes, you didn't even look at him. (Which definitely frustrated him.)

"All right. Have a nice night then," with those words he left the room. The metallic grips around your body opened. Slowly, you stood up. The room was very...well, definitely not homey. There was nothing. Only the table, your chair and an uncomfortable looking, small bed. You thought Stark liked to show off his richness.

Apparently not in the cells. Or whatever that was.

Slowly you sat down on the bed, sighing.

That's how the next few days went.

Tony Stark tried to get something out of you, but couldn't. Nothing. At least they brought you fresh and comfortable clothes everyday. Besides that the bathroom was also amazing, the shower head had great pressure and the water was hot. After months of hiding it was like heaven to finally be able to take a hot shower.

"Okay, Stark, maybe she needs a woman-to-woman talk," a female voice sounded from the ceiling. After that, the red-haired woman came into the room. Romanoff.

Sighing heavily, Stark stood up. "I don't have the nerve for this anymore. You have her all to yourself," he spoke as he left the room and closed the door behind him.

You looked back at the table again. Natasha sat down on the chair in front of you. "Y/N, right?" slowly you looked up, Natasha had a small smirk on her lips. "It's not getting any better for you. Either you talk or you stay here-" "and if I talk I get put in another cell? Thanks, then I can stay here too. It’s actually quite nice," you shrugged and looked away.

She was silent for a moment. "No. They can help you. you just have to say why you did it-who told you to do it. I wasn't always an avenger either," she spoke quietly. "You were in the RedRoom, I know...I heard your name a lot. Everyone knows you, Romanoff. But now you can go. I won't say anything. I don’t give a shit about your sappy story"

Rolling her eyes, she leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She remained sitting like that. For twenty minutes, probably thinking she’d be able to make me talk with her sharp gaze.

"All right, have it your way," she too left the room and you watched her go.

Standing outside the room was Steve and Natasha talked to him for a moment. What about you didn't know. Nor did you hear their conversation. "She's really not saying anything, Steve. Maybe you should go inside?" suggested Natasha. He, however, shook his head.

"I don't want to talk to that psychopath-bitch. She tried to stick a knife in my chest-and explained how she’d do it, too. So I certainly don't want to talk to her," he countered, with a stubborn tone. "Besides, I don't think there's anything good in her. She seems really vicious. Not like you or Bucky. She did everything because she wanted to-" "Steve, we don't know. Maybe she was threatened, or maybe she really didn't have a choice. Come on. Give her a chance," Natasha interrupted him. Annoyed, he looked at her. His jaw still having the remains of a slight scratch, which was almost healed. Still, you could see that there had been an injury there.

Shaking her head, Natasha walked away.

The next day, Natasha came back to your room. "Do you need to go to the bathroom?" she asked. Every day they asked the same question a few times a day.

When you left the room you were handcuffed. A sly grin formed on your lips as you walked past Steven Grant Rogers. Most of the time he wasn't there when you left the room, not wanting to see you at any point. "I see your pretty face has recovered....by the way, you look much better without that helmet. Would almost be too bad to hurt that face...almost," you added quietly as you walked right past him.

Unexpectedly, Steve grabbed your arms and pushed you roughly against the wall. A painful escaped your lips as your back hit the wall, hard. Automatically, Romanoff grabbed his arms, as did Stark, who had been standing close.

"You better shut your mouth, bitch," he hissed close to your face. It was apparently a rare sight to see Captain America like that, as Natasha and Tony looked surprised and maybe even a bit frightened. "Anything else, Captain? Are you locking me up? Nothing new," you growled back, not wanting to give him any satisfaction by scaring you. Even though you felt like your heart was about to spring out of your chest. And Steve definitely heard your increased heartbeat.

One of his hands reached for your neck. "Hey hey Steve. Take it easy," Tony now interfered as he tried to pull him away, again.

You felt the grip tighten. It was hard for you to swallow, to breathe. "Trust me, there are a lot worse things that could happen to you, little one," he growled.

"FRIDAY just told me you needed my he-Steve!l what the fuck are you doing," the Winter soldier's voice rang out. He pulled Rogers away from you forcefully, as he was the only one strong enough who could actually overpower Steve.

Immediately you gasped for air and slid down the wall. Carefully you caressed your neck with your hand. Barnes pulled Rogers away with him, hitting the back of his head several times with his human hand. >>You're such an idiot, you know that? Really an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. She may be a killer but she’s still a lady<<

That day you were not interrogated, but instead moved to another cell/interrogation room. A more comfortable one. You definitely wouldn’t tell them anything.

The next day, Stark came to your room. "So, do you want to say something? Come on, we'll help you. I promise. Even Barnes is a free man now," he spoke as he sat down.

Silently, you crossed your arms and turned your head away.

"Alright...are you alright? About...you know? Yesterday?" he said more cautiously now. You scoffed. "Because of what? Ah you're talking about dear Captain America almost strangling an inmate? I'm fine. Now get out of here," you hissed.

Tony said nothing more, just nodded quietly, before leaving the room again.

You were alone until the evening. Only Natasha came by briefly and brought you something to eat. You didn't really talk, but it was relaxing not to be bombarded with questions.

After you had eaten quietly, you laid down. But you could not sleep. You felt like you were being watched. You were aware that there were cameras everywhere, but it was different. It’s like…you could feel a presence.

Slowly, however, your eyes fell closed-but not for long, as the sound of the door handle jolted you out of your nap.

It was too late for questioning. The light were off. What the hell?

"Who is it?", you asked into the darkness. No answer.

Suddenly, someone stopped in front of you. Immediately the smell of his aftershave filled your nose. warmth spread through your body "Rogers," you said harshly. "What do you want a-" before you could finish speaking you felt his hand around your neck again, making you gasp quietly.

It wasn't easy to intimidate you, but he managed. Especially since you were alone now. No one was here to hold Steve back.

Fuck.

"Not so smart anymore, huh? That's good...you should start being obedient…you're such a brat," he murmured close to your ear, his grip wasn’t as hard as the last time.

You tried to kick him right in his crotch with your knee, but he dodged.

"Brat, behave or you won’t like what’s coming," he hissed. You tried to back away from him, but this caused Rogers to press you tighter against the wall. You were still sitting on the bed, while he was towering over you. Using his strength and position to intimidate you.

"did you hear me?" he growled as he lifted your head a little. "I hate you," you croaked as hatefully as possible. As his grip grew even stronger, you whimpered. Now you were getting scared. You couldn't breathe. His grip was too strong. Painful even.

Your hand went to his wrist, causing him to hold it a little looser. "Behave." He hissed those words in your face. You felt his breath against your skin. Your lips. You felt goosebumps on your skin.

"Nev-never," you croaked.

Steve made an unexplainable noise. Similar to a growl. You felt hot. And cold. Both. A tension built between you two. "Someone needs to teach you some fucking manners," he growled so close to your lips you could nearly taste him. "You can try. Captain," you spit back.

He pressed his lips hard to yours in a bruising kiss-almost violent kiss, too much teeth, completely stealing your breath. His teeth came into contact with yours. It wasn't a gentle kiss. Not even close. It was hungry, desperate.

Your hands gripped his shirt, holding onto him like he was the last thing holding you above. His hand slid from your neck to your hair, grabbing it harshly.

Briefly, he let go of you, stepping away from you to look at you.

"Strip. Now," Steve spoke as he took another step back, crossing his arms over his chest.

You slowly stood up, but did nothing. A small smirk on your lips. "Fine...then I'll help you," with those words he grabbed your shirt, ripping it in two. Surprised, you sucked in a breath, while the two pieces of clothing fell to the floor. This made Steve laugh in satisfaction.

"Take your clothes off or everything will end up in two pieces," you hesitated briefly, but when he reached for your pants you immediately unzipped them and pulled them down as fast as you could, just leaving them on the floor.

"That's good…such a good girl. Very good," Steve spoke as he took another step closer. Gently, he caressed your cheek with his fingertips, then slowly down to your neck, along the bruise he caused days before. “I'm sorry my sweet girl, but you just…were such a brat…made me lose my temper...I didn't mean to hurt you, sweetheart," he spoke softly as he began to spread light kisses on your neck.

A gasp of pleasure escaped your lips. Then a soft whimper.

And Steve could get used to it.

"Now how about you get on your knees and do something useful with that mouth of yours?" he spoke in a deep voice that made your blood run hot. Slowly, you nodded. Your hands slowly stroked along his chest to the zipper of his jeans. You opened it slowly.

"And if I don't?", you murmured against his neck, letting your lips gently touch his skin. "That's what I was hoping for," with those words he slowly sat down on your bed. Not saying a single word.

Confused, you turned to face him, not understanding what he was doing.

You thought he’d maybe…fuck your face or something? Why was he sitting down? Would he ignore you now?

He pulled you closer to him, but threw you over his lap the next moment. Your cheek was buried in the pillow while he lightly stroked your butt. “If you say red, I’ll stop. Remember this,” “Okay, but why-“ Suddenly, a smack. "Ah-what-", the next blow didn't let me finish. “Count it sweetheart or we’ll start over.” You nodded quickly, counting the third slap, when his palm touched your ass. Fuck, his hands were huge. And he really wasn’t gentle with you.

Tears filled your eyes by the fifth hit, while your sobbed out your words. He didn’t go easy on you. Not at all. And you could tell he enjoyed it, by the feeling of his hard dick pressing against your hip. Your skin would probably be bruised tomorrow but…but it felt so good. You could feel your pussy throb. The pain only added to the pleasure. Fuck.

“Mm, doing so good, sweetheart. Taking your punishment so well”, he mumbled after the ninth one. At this point you were crying. The tears were streaming down your face into the pillow beneath you, but Steve didn’t care about it. He even enjoyed it. Very much so, feeling as his hard dick was throbbing against your hip. Trapped beneath the tight material of his jeans.

Your ass felt sore and tingly everywhere. You wouldn’t be able to sit tomorrow. God, it was so painful. And yet you felt how much your pussy was dripping with need.

Then you felt his lips on the sore spot. A filthy kiss, which made you sigh quietly into the pillow. His fingers stroked along the wet spot of your panties. Lightly he pulled on it, watching your pulsing cunt before letting it hit your skin again, making you jump in surprise. You let out sounds of strangled pleasure: a gasping, keening, moan. You were losing control over yourself and Steve was enjoying all of it.

At this point Steve felt how his dick leaked pre-cum, dampening his boxershorts, while he rutted lightly against your hip. The damp spot getting larger with every second.

"Why do the prettiest ones have to be so…evil?" he murmured against your skin. A giggle escaped you. Why, you didn't know, but you felt your blood rush to your cheeks, making you blush an unbelievably deep shade of red.

He rubbed with two of his fingers along your pantie clothed slit, pushing slightly into your wet hole, making you whine into the pillow.

"Please."

As that one word escaped your lips he stopped moving his hand. "How quick you’re learning, sweetie. You’re my perfect sweet girl, aren’t you?" You could tell by the tone of his voice that he was grinning, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to feel him. Feel something.

He pushed your panties aside and let one of his fingers glide between your wet folds. You could hear your own arousal and the squelching sound while he rapidly pumped his thick finger inside your throbbing pussy. You moaned softly into the sheets, finally feeling him stretching your hole. "Fuck," you gasped. "Tz tz, language, you want another spanking?" immediately you shook your head, whimpering.

"Please-don’t- just…just...touch me...please...more," you continued to beg. This time you didn't care anymore. You wanted him. All of him.

Steve added a second finger and started stroking over your sensitive spot. A squelching sound with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the quiet moans leaving your lips. "Mmmm...you feel so good...I can't wait to fuck you," he mumbled, kneading your sore ass cheek with the other hand. His words elicited goosebumps on your skin.

For a moment he stopped moving his hand, just rubbing along your velvet walls. When he started rubbing your g-spot your whole body trembled, especially your thighs, while you tightly grabbed the pillow underneath you. The pressure sends a shock of heat through your system.

"Mmm...you're so ready for me already. I bet I could just fuck into you ...effortlessly…and even if I couldn’t…I’m sure you wouldn’t mind getting it a bit rougher, Hm?" he spoke as he massaged the spot inside you, making you mewl pleasurably. "Baby, close your mouth. you’re drooling," only now did you realize your mouth was open. Immediately you closed it with a >click< sound of your teeth. Once again you felt blood rush to your cheeks. You couldn’t believe how much control he had over you, just by using his finders. You should feel embarrassed by the lack of control over yourself but you couldn’t even think about that right now.

"I asked you a question" "Yes, please...please move...fuck me-just do whatever you want", you sobbed, trying to nice your hips against his fingers. At this point you stopped listening to whatever he was saying. The only thing that mattered was for you to get off, especially with him pressing against your soft spot.

"You have to promise me something, Sweetheart. Tomorrow at the interrogation, you will answer all the questions. You will talk, baby, yeah?", Before he had even finished talking, you were already nodding vigorously. You felt humiliated being this needy, but you hadn’t been touched like this in a while and Steve seemed to know how to please a woman.

A chuckle came from Steve. "Perfect," he began to move his hand quickly, fucking you with his thick digits, while your arousal leaked out of your cunt onto his lap.For a moment his fingers left your channel empty and he watched your pussy throb for a moment, before licking over his fingers. "How sweet an evil bitch like you can taste," he bummed as he took his fingers in his mouth, slurping loudly.

Steve let his spit slicked fingers glide over your tight rim. The wet finger at your hole made you twitch slightly. He started rubbing at your hole. Your whole body shuddered feeling him slowly press into you.

You looked back at him for a moment, feeling how desperate you were for your release. At this point you felt overwhelmed with everything that was happening around you. With what he was doing to you. While his hands roamed over your body, you couldn’t stop the moans escaping your lips.

Then you felt the other fingers press once again into your waiting pussy, hitting the special spot with a hard thrust. Especially when he stimulated your other hole you opened my mouth in a silent moan, clutching the sheets in your fists. Steve's gaze was drawn to where his fingers were disappearing into your holes, sucking him in.

"Please Steve, please...I...", you tried to say something, but nothing besides moaning left your lips. Then his other hand slid to your clit and this was enough for you. Unexpectedly a shuddering orgasm rushed over you, a blinding pleasure washed over you, making you sob out Steve’s name. Your release squirted onto Steve lap, drenching his pants.

You never had such an orgasm before. Never felt so overwhelmed like you did right now. For a moment you couldn’t even open your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed how much your legs were shaking.

"...Hey sweetie, come back to me...baby...", Steve's voice sounded like you'd have cotton around your head. You felt so incredibly light. Slowly, you stopped giggling. Giggling? Why were you giggling? "That was really hot, you know, my pretty girl?" he murmured into your neck. "Did you know you could do that?" he asked with a certain pride in his voice.

Slowly he laid you down on the bed. When he got up you saw the big wet spot on his pants. You felt heat rush to your cheeks, probably pairing them scarlet, not being able to meet his gaze.

But you heard his belt buckle being opened and falling to the floor, making you lift your gaze to watch him for a moment, while he pushed his jeans and boxers down. Enough for his hard dick to spring free. He was big enough for his dick not to curve upwards, it just hung down, even in a completely erect state. It looked as thick as his wrist, with lots of veins showing and glistening from all the precum he was leaking.

You licked over your lips, watching as he stepped closer right before you, grabbing his cock with one hand and stroking his length. The amount of pre-cum made his movements smooth while he pumped his dick, moaning quietly into the darkness.

“Come on pretty girl, on your knees”, he mumbled, already helping you sit up on the bed. You sat back on your heels, sliding closer to the edge, letting his tip rub along your lips, leaving the taste of his pre-cum behind.

He watched as you licked his taste of your lips, before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue to show him what you wanted. Please him. Let him fuck your face. Let him use you. Whatever he wanted to call it. You just wanted to feel him.

“You look so pretty like that…bet you’re even prettier with my cum all over your face”, moaned the man, pushing his dick between your lips and thrusting deep inside you, before slowly pulling away. He repeated this a few times, always hitting the back of your throat with his tip. He stopped for a moment. His heavy cock throbbed in your mouth, your tongue licking over the veins you could feel on the underside of his length.

Steve watched as you suckled and licked happily at his cock, like it was your only purpose. And maybe it was.

“My sweet girl. You just needed a cock to start behaving like a good girl, huh?”, he mumbled in a degrading manner, but you didn’t care. You probably should feel humiliated or some other kind of degraded but truthfully…you loved it. If you could stay like that, you would. Just being his good girl. His toy. His cumdump. Whatever he wanted you to be.

Shoving his dick once again deeper into your mouth, you moaned around him feeling so full. You tried to move your head a bit faster, trying to get him deeper into your throat but it only made you gag. Steve moaned, feeling your wet mouth, especially when you started fondling his balls. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting deeper into you, making you deep throat him.

You could already tell your jaw would be killing you tomorrow, but all that mattered was making Steve feel good.

Steve grabbed your hair roughly fucking harscher into your mouth feeling his climax approaching. Before he could shoot his load in your mouth, he quickly pulled out, starting to stroke himself quickly, till he was painting your face with hot ropes of thick cum.

After coming down from his high, he let go of your hair and also pulled his pants back up, tucking himself in. “Such a good girl. You just needed someone to take care of you”, he grinned slightly, before cupping your face with his hands and massaging his cum into your cheeks and smearing onto your bottom lip, repeating it after you licked it away, humming quietly. You seemed content and even somehow relaxed.

He liked seeing you like this.

Especially coated with his cum. Being marked.

“My pretty girl”, he whispered, making you nod unknowingly. He grabbed one piece of the ripped shirt and wiped away the remains of his release, while you looked at him from under your eyelashes.

He leaned down to you, pressing his Lips softly onto yours. The kiss was different from the one before. A little slower and gentle. Very intimate.

"Get some sleep. You need rest before tomorrow's questioning. And keep the promise or your next punishment won’t bring you to an orgasm," he breathed against your lips, a smirk creeping onto his face. He moved away a little to give you a kiss on the forehead, then pulled the blanket over your body.

Exhausted, you didn't even have the strength to protest, just nodding silently.

At the door, however, he stopped again. It was dark, but you saw him grinning. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart" "Night, Steve...", then he closed the door behind him.

The next morning you were taken to the bathroom by Natasha to get ready for the day.

When you came back you sat down in the chair and waited for Tony, who usually tried to question you.

The door opened and someone sat down in front of you. Somehow you felt a shift in the air. A tension. "Who hired you?", you heard the smirk in his voice.

Immediately you raised your head.

Since when did Steve question you?

[beheworthy]

Was Thor the only one who didn't look at Natasha romantically?

Wow I was about to say no one has been romantically involved with Natasha except Bruce. But then I realized:

She and Tony were pretty flirtatious in the beginning. Right in front of Pep, too (damn). (Wait, he was flirtatious w Aunt May, too. DAMN!!!!)

There is the whole thing w Clint.

And ofc Bruce.

She has something with Steve, too.

There is Bucky as well.

Holy crap!

My man is the only one who never looked her way. He just saved her life that one time.

But to be fair, Thor is never seen flirting with or looking at ANYONE. He fell for that Midgardian Maiden once and that was it for him haha.

We had Dr. Helen Cho specifically asking for him and he is seen talking to her at the party, sure. But that was it.

( Gif by @marvelgifs )

He straight-up rejects anyone getting close.

Don't come at me saying Valkyrie (Scrapper number 143) because the answer is Taika Waititi.

Coming back to Natasha, they are like Marshal and Robin from How I Met Your Mother or Phoebe and Ross from Friends. IYKYK. But he got her name tattooed, meaning he includes her in his loved ones. That's super sweet ❤️

(I mean, he didn't put the Warriors Three's name there! Yes, the answer is Taika Waititi.

There is no space for anyone else because he thought he doesn't have any one left to lose. But then he loses Jane lol *cries*. But I still say: there being no space to put her name means she won't stay dead. I don't take criticism.)

I wish we got more scenes with them. They could put a scene of her sister Yelena meeting him in one of the upcoming Avengers movies where he could say Natasha was a friend or something.

[steveandnatlover76]

Steve: Natasha, sweetheart, maybe you put them somewhere else.

Natasha: Steve, I‘m telling you. This is exactly where I put the freshly-baked peanut butter chocolate chips cookies for the meeting. And now they‘ve just disappeared.

Rhodey: Don’t look at me! I don’t steal from a Black Widow! I‘m not crazy.

On the second level of the Avengers compound…

Yelena: Did you get them?!

Ilya: Yes!!

Yelena: That‘s my favorite troublemaker!

Ilya: Ilya…cookie super villain!!

[holylulusworld]

G & CSP (4) - How to become a villain

Summary: After Steve messed up (aka talked to some other woman) he tries to make amends and get to know you better.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader

Warnings: implied smut, a little teasing/making out, idiots in love

Written for: Winter Break Advent: Day 7 - Close proximity

Catch up here: Blurb (3) - The first fight

Goddess & Captain Sassypants masterlist

“Don't you just want to let go and have the bad girl, a villain for once?" You purr and run your fingers through his hair to mess it up a little.

Your lips brush over Steve’s. You breathe against him but don’t touch his lips. If he wants a kiss, he must beg you for it.

He’s the one giving in first. Steve cups your face and presses his lips to yours. He devours your mouth, making you gasp against his soft lips.

Steve smiles at the memory. You opened up to him even more. And now, you crossed a line. Your flirty banter and all the teasing ended in a night of passion. (According to you.) Steve would call it making love.

“So,” Steve clears his throat. He’s still not back in your good graces. (at least not completely.) You took it to heart that he ruined your fifth date fight in the park. 

The bench you sat on that day didn’t make it out alive. The same goes for the woman’s car, her apartment, and almost her dog too.

The last one was an accident! 

You tried to rip her handbag off her shoulder only to watch her dog fly off the roof. Of course, you saved the poor dog just in time. 

She didn’t get it back, though. Let’s say Carl got the dog he always wanted, and the woman is missing an accessory she loved to carry around in a handbag. 

“Goddess, are you still mad at me?” Steve repeats the same line he said a hundred times already. “Please forgive me for messing our date up.”

You glare at him. “That wasn’t a date, Captain Sassypants!”

“Our epic battle then,” he grins when you melt against his warm chest. “So, do you want me to make things up again?”

You quirk a brow and lift the silky sheet covering his lower half. “You really are a super-soldier, huh? I didn’t think it comes with a mechanic dick.”

Steve chuckles at your comment. “It’s not mechanic, doll.”

“I don’t know,” you move your hand to his crotch to feel him up. “Litte Captain Sassypants is hard as steel!”

He grabs your hand to place it on his chest. Steve wants to talk about a few things with you.

“You never told me why you became a villain,” he softly says while you are busy running your right hand over his naked chest. “Every infamous villain has a backstory. Don’t they?”

Crap. You’re not prepared to give him a good lie. The truth is, you had a huge crush on Steve and started to commit smaller crimes to get his attention. One thing led to another, and you ended up with a whole bunch of crazy minions, a huge mansion, and a name everyone fears.

"A villain is in control. I had enough of feeling helpless. All my life people walked all over me. I got treated badly because of my powers. I belonged nowhere. Not even Shield wanted me. So, I became a villain and embraced my powers and being different from others,” you say. 

It’s not a complete lie. Your life sucked, and you got used to being an outcast. Everyone overlooked you until you decided to impress a certain hero with your powers and the crimes you committed.

“I see,” Steve wraps one arm around your body to hold you close to his warm chest. “Every villain has a backstory then.”

“What about you?” You lift your head from his chest. “Aren't you tired of being the golden boy and perfect minion to Shield, the Avengers, and everyone else out there?" You rake your nails over his chest, causing Steve to shudder. “Don’t you want to break out and run away sometimes?”

“With you?” He smirks and looks at you in his arms. “Imagine, the mightiest villain and Captain America run off for their honeymoon.”

“Whoa, slow down!” You grunt. “I conquered your body to weaken your resistance and make sure my minions can wreak havoc while you are busy with other things I never agreed to marry you.”

“You will,” he shrugs. “I know you want to be a good person. You only need someone to help you see you’re not evil.”

“I enchanted you,” you hum to yourself. “I’m even mightier than I thought. I made Captain America lose his mind!”

“That you did.” Steve agrees to not lose the chance to hold you in his arms a little longer. 

You’re a good person, he just knows it. Every time you take care of one of your minions or save someone standing in the line of fire he sees your true self.

Sadly, no one before Steve saw the light in you. They tried to extinguish it or turn it into a raging fire.

“Good thing I live in close proximity to the Avengers Tower. This way, I can keep an eye on you, Captain.”

“You’re still mad at me,” he sighs deeply. “Doll, I told you this woman meant nothing to me. She didn’t stand a chance against you.”

“Damn right,” you click your tongue. “I gave it to that bitch good. She will never try to get her greedy hands on someone else’s man-” You cough and try to play your slip-of-tongue cool. “I meant enemy.”

Steve poorly tries to hide the smirk creeping across his face. He nuzzles your hair and sighs again. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Goddess.”

“I kinda stole her poor dog. Little fart is much happier with Carl.”

“Little fart?”

“I didn’t name the dog,” you grumble. “Carl did.”

“You know stealing is illegal. Right?” Steve tuts, letting the hero and goody-in-two shoes show.

You chuckle darkly. “Oh, I did more than steal her dog. Do you want to arrest me now, Captain?” While you straddle his lap and place your hands on his chest, Steve watches you with adoration in his eyes. “Hey, stop looking like a love-sick puppy. We are not here to make love! You are my prisoner for the time being.”

“Oh, please don’t chain me up in the cold cell again,” he plays along. Steve knows you don’t like to give up control or admit feelings. Weakness is not an option. You had a hard life and won’t be weak ever again.

Well, maybe you allow yourself once in a while to be weak when you are in his arms. “If you are a good prisoner, you can stay here.”

“Phew, good.” Steve watches you lie back down on top of him. “I feared Tony must come to my rescue. You know him. He’ll call you my girlfriend again.”

“I dare him!” You exclaim loudly. “I’m your master and made you my willing slave. Nothing else.”

“I know, doll,” Steve runs his hand over your back. “I’ll tell him so. Promised.”

“Good. We don’t want your little friends to come over and believe they’ll get my cookies or shit. I won’t share my technology or minions with them.”

“Goddess, I need you to tell me what you did with that woman.” Steve already knows you wrecked her car and apartment.

“She had it coming,” you lift your head from his chest to grin at Steve. “I think she learned her lesson. No one touches my archenemy.”

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[sweetiebarnes]

Are you a fan of villains? Do you love dark!fics? Then you would love the Discord server The Basement Spouses. 

The Basement Spouses was originally created as a space for villain lovers to connect and make friends. It has since grown into a fun (dark) community. 

It is a community created for those that are 21+ ONLY. 

Our main focus is on Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan characters, but please don’t let that deter you. Is there a different villain you love? Chances are you’ll find someone who loves them as well. 

Some things you’ll find in the server:

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& so much more!  If this sounds like something you may be interested in click here.

[avengerthoughts]

When The Sky Falls - Pietro Maximoff x Reader

-

Authors Note: Hello! I honestly had a lot of fun writing this, and it's been in my drafts FOREVER, so I hope you like it ! At first I intended to write this into just a single shot, but then I got carried away with actually writing it, so it'll have to be a multi-part series. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Non-Graphic mentions of past torture, general sad backstories that comes along with villain origins. Tony's kind of an ass in this, I'm soRRY !!!! kind of star-crossed lovers ????

Pairing: Pietro x Reader

Prompt: Like the twins, you were a HYDRA experiment; your powers focus mainly on healing and wound transferring. Your past is a dark secret for Tony, and what happens if he finds out when it's too late?

Words:  4,783

_______________________________________

War.

That's what united the three of you. Having not only Ultron in common, but also HYDRA as well. You had arrived at Hydra first, but the memory of how you wound up there, or anything predating, was nothing but a dark abyss. The only memories that managed survival were early memories of experimentation. Injections, tests, so many that there isn't even a number anymore.

The twins arrived at the same facility years after you had, and since they were kept in the cells next to you, friendship was inevitable. You never got to see them while you were kept captive by HYDRA scientists, but you had little things. Small cracks in the walls, holes that were barely big enough to fit a finger through and sometimes even smaller than that. It may not have been much, but it was enough, and the happiness it provided was nothing like you had ever felt before.

You'd never really had a friend before, then.

Naturally, those within HYDRA weren't too fond of the yapping you three did, and you had found out the hard way the first time they overheard a conversation between you and Wanda. As a consequence for disobedience, they had punished you harshly as a result, despite the pleas and the apologies that left your mouth as they dragged you off.

They had done such a number that you couldn't see properly for a week straight after, and could barely move enough to retrieve your daily food rations. After that, you three learned to only talk when night fell. While no one kept prisoner within HYDRA's walls were ever privy to the beautiful night sky, it was easy to tell when night had fallen. The staff would thin out, and what staff remained would be more focused on their 'important work' than three measly prisoners in the corner.

Still, on their first days you managed to give them a quick run down on things before they had caught you that day. When the best time to sleep was, what to look out for in their meals in case they tamper with it, and how if they ever got hurt too badly all they had to do was sit beside one of the finger-sized holes in the wall and you'd be able to heal them by just touching them. Your first punishment though is what prompted them to ask why you couldn't just heal yourself.

Truthfully? It was the one question you could never answer, and neither could HYDRA. Whatever powers ran through your veins went completely null whenever you used it on yourself, except for the psychic shields. That was the only thing, so it sort of balances out, in a way, but after that they felt a bit more protective of you. The three of you have been inseparable ever since. Along with your healing abilities came an ability to, of course, use psychic shields (or force fields as they're more commonly known by), but also light forms of telekinesis, and an ability to transfer a persons injuries to your own body.

HYDRA was currently training you in the ability to provide a cloak of invisibility to another person within your psychic shield, something that was proving a little more challenging to learn. Transferring wounds, however, is something you often did with the twins when your healing magic wasn't working right that day or you couldn't muster the energy for it, and they only figured it out when Wanda noticed a slight difference. When you actually healed them with magic, your hands would glow white, like an angel, and when Wanda had caught notice of it she was sure to ask you.

After that, she only let you heal her if you could with magic. In part because she couldn't stand the thought of you taking on her injuries, but also because she knew her brother was worse off, and that there was no way in hell that she'd be able to talk you out of transferring his wounds, not in a million years. However, it wasn't a one-sided friendship either, the three of you were there for one another in a way that nobody else could. Not even Bucky; even with his own experience in HYDRA, it still wouldn't be the same.

Wanda, Pietro, and yourself all lived it together, and that set the foundation for an unbreakable bond. It was no surprise when they broke you out of the facility after being released themselves, and it was even less of a surprise when you had followed them and joined forces with Ultron. Their own trauma was separate from yours, and while you may not know what it's like to sit three feet from a bomb for two days straight, but you knew rage.

You knew anger.

And you were angry for them.

When they finally broke you out of the facility, it was the first time you had actually were able to see their faces, and them your own. It was also then that Wanda had granted you with memories of the past, and the memory shards she had when she uncovered a bit about your past on her own (lots of face-punching got her those memories). Pietro was gentle with you then, giving you the biggest of hugs. While Pietro already had a special spot in your heart, your time together with him solidified it.

You knew you were in this together with them, no matter what. You fell for him, and you fell hard, but you always focused on giving your friends the revenge they deserved.

What you didn't know, is that Pietro knew.

Well...

Kinda.

He's not exactly the smartest guy around when it comes to dating.

He thought your crush was more superficial, like you didn't REALLY like him, like you just thought he was hot and that you were just looking for fun.

Did that make any sense? Did you even show any signs that you were even interested in that kinda stuff?

Absolutely not, he's an idiot, but, ya'know, he's your idiot.

He makes up for being an idiot by being a fucking gremlin (read: he makes it a personal hobby to tease you a TON, and to see just how much he can make you blush like an idiot in a day. Shared idiocy, if you will, just a town over. Idiotcity, and idiotvile.)

Wanda has tried many (many, please just pay her for her matchmaking services at this point) to explain things to the both of you; explain to her brother that you like him for more than just his stupid biceps, and explaining to you that her brother is an idiot (but a sweet idiot. Most of the time-).

The thing is he likes you too, more than he lets you see, more than he's even told his sister, and every single day he fights the urge to just sit you down and spill everything to you even though he thinks you won't return his feelings to the same degree. And everyday you do the same.

A weird love limbo (that sounds weird, maybe not a limbo, maybe like....love purgatory??).

It got worse when you had fallen into a style you liked; practical in nature, for all the fighting you'd be taking part in, except for all the white. White leather pants so you could move without worrying about anything showing that shouldn't be, but you kept your top small and skin-tight, because running raises body temperature, and you're more of an agile, keep-dodging-swings-like-a-roach-you-can-never-kill person than someone who drenches themselves in combat.

And boots that actually were practical boots and not New York Fashion Week boots. Your sleeves were detached from your actual top; starting at your elbow in a silver cuff, translucent fabric hugging your forearm comfortably to a tie around your finger, while the other part of the sleeve billowed down to your side, sort of medieval royalty style, and boy did you look like fucking royalty to him.

Even now, he still can't help but stare at you, captured by how beautiful you look. In all white like an angel, but decorated in silvers and blues like an elf.

Elf angel?

Heavenly elf?

He doesn't know, all he knows is that you're drop dead gorgeous, and he loves the way you look so divine, and the way your top hugs your--damn it. Don't look there Pietro, are you a fucking idiot? (yes.)

That being said, he flirts with you.

A lot.

Sometimes just because he can, but mostly because he really really (REALLY) likes you, and can't help it. Naturally, you actually flirt back.

That's how your damnation into the love limbo purgatory was birthed, really. It put the both of you in this odd place of no PDA has actually been exchanged, but you flirt often enough that Wanda has to make fake throwing up sounds to get you two to stop half the time.

The thought of you actually being in love with him never actually crosses his mind with any substance, not even when Wanda tries to explain it, he's always thought it was more of a superficial crush because....well, frankly, he doesn't think he's good enough for you.

It sounds crazy, he knows, The Amazing Pietro (cue muscle flash here) insecure?? Feeling something more than just thinking you're cute, more than just....liking you as a friend. It's a strange feeling, strange enough that it's not like anything he's felt in the past. It's real, this love he feels for you, and maybe....just maybe....he's scared of losing you if he says anything.

It shows prominently when The Avengers meet the four of you in the Salvage Yard. Since you didn't have that excellent of offensive powers, you had hidden in the shadows, kept a psychic field on Wanda to make sure nothing hurt her, and just when Ultron was giving a speech from a place of deep seeded hatred, Tony had showed up just in time. Cracking witty jokes, as if everything was just peachy.

"This is funny? It's what, comfortable?" Pietro had questioned as he stepped forward, and you kept a precautionary field around him, "Like old times?"

"This was never my life." Stark had defended, and you narrowed your eyes as you stepped forward in turn, but stayed behind Pietro.

"No?" You questioned, "But you supplied it, you funded it; took black-tie pictures next to the military officials that were peddling the devastating weapons you created; caring more about the girls around your arm than the families you were killing." You tilted your head, knowing you were getting into his.

It didn't take like for all hell to break loose, and in the chaos Captain America had sent his shield flying at you when you had made a move to use your psychic shield around Ultron. While Wanda was quick to use her own powers to take him down, it wasn't in time to prevent the shield from crashing into your abdomen and breaking a rib or two, and the subsequent piece of metal you crashed into as a result of the shield's velocity.

A broken rib and a gash in your side might be enough to take a normal person down, but HYDRA has done worse to you. Still, Wanda helped you up and made a mental note to check back in on you when all this mess was said and done. Thanks to your time with HYDRA you'd grown used to tuning out the pain for small waves of time, and combined with the adrenaline rushing through your veins, you had no problems putting a psychic bubble around Pietro as he fell to the floor below, just to be sure he wouldn't get hurt.

When Wanda left to do her mind tricks on the Avengers, you jumped down to a slightly dazed Pietro, and Cap giving him blow and telling him to stay down. A strong emotion of protectiveness overcame you and the next thing you know, you're encasing him in a psychic shield and flinging him across the room.

"Pietro!" You exclaimed, rushing to his side, "Pietro, are you okay?"

"Ah," Pietro sighed, shaking his head a little to try and center himself again, "Yeah, yeah I'm good." It wasn't until he had actually moved his head to look at you that he saw the blood staining the white of your attire, and his eyes widened in both worry and fear.

"Princessa," He uttered out, moving closer to you, hands already at your side to inspect the gash "What happened? How bad are you hurt? Which of them did this?"

"I'm fine, silly boy," You shook your head, placing your hands on top his, "When the shield hit me, I fell onto something sharp, that's all. I'll be fine. A rib is definitely broken, but Hydra has done far worse to me, it's nothing I can't handle. I am a tank, very strong." You jokingly flashed your arm muscles to lighten the mood.

Pietro had looked at you skeptically, not fully believing that you were as okay as you were making it seem. There was a good amount of blood still staining your otherwise white top and he couldn't help but question whether or not you were telling him the truth, and the little jump of fear in his heart got the better of him. He held eye contact with you as his grip got just a bit more firm.

"Promise me you'll watch out more, okay?" Pietro practically begged with puppydog eyes that tugged on the strings of your heart just right, "You cannot heal yourself, but you can still use your shields. Care for yourself as I care about you, I've lost a lot, I can't lose you too, okay? Just...promise me?"

"Hey," You spoke softly when you noticed his eyes pooling a little, even as he tried to blink them away, and you moved one of your hands to cup his cheek, "I promise, okay? I'll be more careful."

In all the time you'd shared together, he'd never actually saw you injured before, not even in Hydra. Sure, he could hear it, hear your screams from down the hall, hear your groans of pain when they threw you back into your cell, but he never actually saw anything, and seeing that large cut in your side and all that blood staining your top? It struck a chord in him, and he realized he couldn't live without you.

He also realized he couldn't live without getting to punch Captain America in the face for that whenever he got a chance to.

Which he did, after you two had both gotten up to help Wanda make sure she could spin her webs of fear.

It's a good thing that HYDRA managed to successfully train you in that invisibility thing before you were broken out, because it came in handy when cloaking Wanda from Thor after she had finished putting her spell on him, and Natasha so she wouldn't hear her coming, but you weren't there in time to protect her from Clint. Pietro got there first, literally flinging him across the room after seeing him hurt Wanda (and winning a Best Brother Of The Year Award), and quickly took Wanda to safety to recover.

What Pietro didn't know was that you had lingered behind to bend down to Clint and let him know that it was very mean to electrocute unarmed foes.

"That wasn't very nice of you," You scolded with furrowed brows, "Were you just going to electrocute her to death? I believe that's illegal in what, at least 20 states."

"No offense, but I'm not taking lessons on morality from back alley Shee-Ra." Clint groaned, "Maybe next time if you got the cape on."

"Shee-Ra?!" You nearly screeched with excitement, "You really think so?! I love Shee-Ra--wait, old stuff or new stuff?"

"What?"

"The old Shee-Ra or the new Shee-Ra?" You asked before sighing, "Whatever, it doesn't matter, old man. I'm the original Shee-ra and you, my not-friend, are healed."

What are you-" Clint questions as you put your hands on him, healing the rib he was recovering from. "What?"

"There. That wouldn't have healed on it's own, not properly," You explained calmly, standing back up, "I don't want people dead, I just want my friends to have justice. Please do not do that brain thing again, we are not prisoners on Death Row."

You moved to leave the office you both were in, ready to leave a very confused Clint questioning your motives and true nature, when darkness hit you. Ultron had decided to take you out himself when he saw that you had healed the enemy. From there you were taken onto the jet with the rest of the team; in part to question you, but also to do you the same courtesy you did Clint. If you'd been left there, you would've been killed by Ultron himself.

Clint had explained the whole....encounter to the team, and while they were all wondering why you were really with Ultron then if you'd been so willing to heal Clint, they still kept you in handcuffs. But they put the seatbelt on you too. When you woke up, it was the next day and while everyone had already emptied into the 'Safe House', you were kept in the jet. Naturally, being the enemy is reason enough, and there was no hope for release until one of them came in and started the interrogation.

Wiggling out of the restraints was pointless too, and it hurt. Now you were reminded of your wounds, and as a result their pain now that you didn't have the adrenaline to help. They even parked the jet so they could leave the door open without you actually seeing the house. Nothing but sticks, grass, and branches as far as the eye can see. In the silence, you wondered if your friends made it out okay, if they completed their plan, if they were missing you, what Ultron would tell them both.

Would they forgive you?

Would they kill you if they saw you?

Would Ultron lie?

Was what you did truly so awful?

If you don't get out of here soon you'll never know, you'll die from an infection first. And you were hungry, starved (quite literally). Would they even feed you? Probably not, right? I mean what's the reason to? You're the enemy, allied with people actively trying to destroy them, if anything they should kill you after interrogating you. That's not the style of The Avengers, though. They'll just let you rot either in prison or in a SHIELD cell, where you'll probably be experimented on like you were at HYDRA.

Thor was gone, Natasha was pretty much out of commission, and Tony had been sent to fix a perfectly working tractor, it was left to Steve to question you. Thankfully, Steve came with lunch though, so it made it less anxiety inducing to see him walking up to jet's ramp to set the plate in the seat beside you.

"I know you must be hungry," Steve speaks, releasing you from your handcuffs so you could eat, "When we're done talking, there's a medkit inside, whether you go inside to get it or it's brought to you, depends on you."

You eyed him suspiciously, quietly, wary of his kindness when you should be held prisoner right now. What angle was he working? Was this something that was going to be held over your head later? That's what HYDRA would do. Then they would kill you. Or they would kill your family in front of you, maybe pluck out an eye, and then kill you. The polite smile he offered didn't help either, and you couldn't help but slowly put the plate into your lap, eyeing it for any suspicious activity before returning your gaze to him.

"Why?" You question, not taking a single bite of food until you know for sure it isn't poisoned, "You're being kind. Nice. Why?"

"You don't want to hurt people. I mean sure, you're with the bad guy," Steve shrugs casually, eyeing you, "but...you don't do what the bad guy does. The only time you engaged in combat was when I had hit that guy, and Clint hit Wanda, you were only on defense because you care about them. You weren't hitting to kill."

"You could've thrown me into a sharp pole, or killed Clint when he was down, but you healed him, helped him. Why?" Steve continues his questioning and you look down, pushing the broccoli around.

"You may not have hurt me, mister Rogers, but my friends are angry with you....so I am angry with you," You had begun, "We shared time together, in Hydra."

"Hydra?" Steve questions, and sympathy is written on his features.

You nod.

"Yes. Wanda and Pietro joined of their own accord, but....I didn't." Your brows knitted together, setting the plate back on the seat it was previously on, "They put....things, in me ran tests on me, experiments, I was their Guinea Pig. A rat in their maze. Then Pietro and Wanda joined, and we just...bonded. We went through everything together."

"So you feel obligated to help them?" Steve questions, but you shake your head.

"No." You begin, lifting your head to gaze at the trees, "I mean yes and no; we're friends, so of course I do, but it isn't my only reason. Do you know how horrifying it must be for two kids to sit mere feet from a bomb? Children. Children never deserve to experience that kind of horror, and Stark funded the military's selling of weaponry on the black market for so long, whether he knew it or not is a different story."

"Then what's the other reason?" Steve asks, and you're silent for a moment.

"It's....complicated." You tried to reason when faced with the idea of unpacking everything.

"I was alive during the second World War, and I don't look a day over 30," He spoke, trying to lighten the mood a little before looking at you a bit more sincerely, "I promise, no matter how complicated it is, I've got you."

"Well...Truth be told, for the longest time I didn't have memories before being in Hydra," You confessed, turning your gaze back to the trees, "I couldn't remember who I was, where I came from...who I came from, nothing. All I could remember was Hydra, and all the pain they've caused. I still don't know how long I was kept there, you could tell me I was in there for a thousand years and I'd believe you." You offer a soft chuckle, looking back down at your hands.

"I'm sorry," Steve says sincerely, voice stern, brows knitted together, "You didn't deserve that, I'm sure your family will be happy to know you're okay."

"That's the thing, mister Rogers," You paused for a moment, tears stinging your eyes as a sudden wave of emotions flooded you at the memories you'd been trying hard to forget again this whole time.

It's a bit ironic; you'd been wishing for years for even just a small fragment of a memory from your past, anything before your time in HYDRA. Anything, even just something as simple as a playground in summer, a sandwich made from your mom, anything. You would've killed for it. And now? Now you'd do anything forget them. When you wished for your memories back, you didn't think they'd come with so much pain, so much sorrow.

You were thinking you'd get happy memories; ones of getting an ice cream with your mother on a hot day, or a high school graduation, your mom taking you dress shopping for prom, attending a holiday dinner with family...Instead, what you got were memories of why you were taken in the first place; your mother spending most of your childhood trying to keep you in hiding, and the memory of hearing her screams as you were dragged off into a van before a gunshot was heard.

"Wanda--the witch, when her and Pietro had managed to secure my escape, she..." You took in a deep, shaky breath, "She has many powers, and she's not evil, she's not bad, she's so sweet," You nodded, mostly to yourself, as you looked back up at him, "She helped me remember, gave me my memories back with a single touch, and then shared with me the memories she had when trying to dig up information on my past for me."

"That was...awful nice of her, I'm glad you could get them back." Steve said quietly, hanging onto your every word.

"It was, it is," You nodded again, blinking back tears, "Can you imagine how much it hurts, to wait so long to remember your family, wait with the hope that if you ever escape you can see them again, just to find out they're dead?"

Steve was silent, but his gaze flickered down to his lap for a moment, taking in a breath, before looking back up at you, "I'm sorry, really, I wish it were different for you."

"Me too," Your tears fell freely now, "My mother spend my entire childhood trying to hide me from the men of Hydra, worked herself to death to move us so often, to keep me fed and clothed, and you know who my father was? The person who could've stopped it all?"

Steve was silent for a moment, trying to do the math himself, "Who?"

"None other than billionaire, playboy, philanthropist himself, Tony Stark." You finally confessed.

"You mean-"

"Yes. I mean." You took in another breath, "She tried to talk to him in person, and you know what he did? He had his security throw her out. She tried calling, sending letters, even emails, and guess what the genius of our time tells her?"

Silence fills the air as Steve simmers in shock, trying to take in everything, trying to reason his way through things like he always did to come to his own conclusion. He didn't think you were lying, he's too kind-hearted for that, and your tears of pure agony told him you were truthful. What he was trying to do was figure out if Tony really would do all that, or if maybe it was just a series of misunderstandings.

Steve has a habit of trying to see the best in people who aren't actively trying to destroy the world, and Tony was no different, even despite their differences. He knew HYDRA was serious business, and by extension he knew how difficult it must've been for your mother to keep you hidden from them for so long, and how incredibly strong and intelligent she must've been for doing so.

His brows furrow together as he thinks. No matter what the case is, misunderstandings or not, that's a horrible thing for a kid to live through and an equally horrible thing to be told. He couldn't imagine how it must've felt to be a single mother, trying desperately to keep her child safe from those maniacs, just to be thrown out by the same man who helped bring that child into the world in the first place.

"What does he tell her?" Steve asks, and he almost doesn't want to hear the answer.

"He comes to the apartment we were staying in and tells her that she's crazy and needs serious help. He tells her to stop contacting him, hits her with a restraining order, and then he takes one look at me and then look my mother dead in the eyes and tells her that there's no way a kid like me could've come from him. Says 'that thing isn't my problem', and that if she calls contacts him again he'll have her thrown in prison."

Steve is silent.

"My mother died trying to protect me, to save me from the horrors of that place. She never contacted him again. Stark never bothered to take a DNA test either. So my family is dead, and yes, I have my own motivations for wanting to see the his fall."

"That...That wasn't right, I'm sorry, for everything." Steve says, and steals a glance outside before returning his gaze to you, "Look, you're free to leave the jet, okay? Med-Kit is on the dining table, and Tony's out working on a tractor or something right now so you should be able to dodge him for now. I'll make sure the team knows you're good, okay?"

"Thank you." You speak quietly, returning the smile he gives you before leaving the jet himself.

Leaving you questioning many things, but most of all, what will you do now?

[the-girl-from-another-time]

Many of today’s most beloved superheroes were created by Jews, many of whom were children of European immigrants, during the height of Nazism in the 1930s-40s. They had relatives in Europe, they heard what was happening to their fellow Jews, and they used fiction to fight back.

During the Holocaust, Jewish men created Superman to be a champion of the oppressed and a hope for a better tomorrow. Captain America was created to be explicitly anti-Hitler and to encourage the USA’s entry into WWII. They are now some of the world’s most recognizable characters, and they’re the living legacy of Jewish creators who used art and storytelling to fight Nazism.

So, modern-day writers turning those characters into Nazis and totalitarian dictators is deeply disrespectful to the legacy of the Jewish creators who shaped the superhero comics industry.

[itsagentromanoff]

Steve: But, Tony, why would you be abducted on our wedding day and end up in Thailand?

Tony: Worst bachelor party ever?

[femslashspuffy]

It sounds like a bit but I really do like parts of the mcu I just happen to despise every single thing that is everyone's favorite part

[ronearoundblindly]

Time and Tines (1/3)

Plans (see series)

Steve Rogers x Villain!Reader for @sweeterthanthis's Bittersweet Symphony Writing Challenge

Can’t change the way we are, One kiss away from killing. —Bishop Briggs, River

Summary: Steve meets the mysterious woman staring at him from across the room.

Warnings for vague injuries, mention of needles, manipulation/brainwashing, SEMI-DARK fic (like I've read worse but it ain't sunny, folks). MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. This work has heavy themes unsuitable for minors. There is plenty else to read on my Light Masterlist if this is not your cup of tea! WC 3.6k

The event isn’t overly loud, but the lights are lower and he is surrounded by people. Steve isn’t fond of crowds, not when he’s not working, not when the event is actually meant to be fun for him. He isn’t Captain America right now. He isn’t the center of attention. He isn’t bothering to mingle. Instead, he’s chosen to humor a long-winded medical rant from the Avenger’s resident doctor of the past half-year.

Salvatore Avani enlightens Steve on several ways he can assess and replicate Erskine’s serum without taking a drop of any super soldier’s blood. It would be an interesting project if Steve hadn’t heard it all before, over and over, from every hopeful doctor and scientist to cross his path. At least Steve gets to be out of his suit for a while and…in another suit, though this one is significantly more forgiving to his stance and skin.

“You see, Captain, your strength can be wielded for so much more than fighting. It could give safety and security to people working unmechanizable jobs,” Dr. Avani points out.

“Not sure that’s a word, sir, but I understand.” Steve swirls whisky around in his tumbler, ice long melted, and wishes—not for the first time—that alcohol still had an effect on him. “A certain amount of modernization does protect those same workers from danger…and no one had to be dosed with anything,” he concludes before emptying the glass in hand.

As Avani opens his mouth to retort, a weight lands on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Doc,” Bucky interrupts, “just a quick word.”

“Of course, gentlemen.” The doctor turns back around to the bar to order himself another cocktail.

Bucky leans to whisper in Steve’s ear.

“So, punk, we got a situation at three o’clock.”

His whole body tenses, which doesn’t look all that different because Steve has excellent posture, but he deposits the finished glass on the counter and looks over his right shoulder past his friend.

Eyes. Intense and focused eyes meet his before darting down. A few people meander in the space between but you’re all Steve can see for a long moment.

“There it is,” Bucky mutters in recognition.

“Did you just make me look at a dame across the room?” Steve runs a hand over his freshly shaven law and hisses. “Jerk.”

“Uh, that dame’s been staring at you for a solid twenty minutes, but you weren’t noticing. You’re welcome.”

Steve lowers his head, suppressing a grin as best he can and glancing again to his right.

You’ve turned away. You’re fiddling with a glass of clear, bubbly liquid. Vodka soda? Gin and tonic? Those are Steve’s first guesses, but he can’t tell which since both lemon and lime wedges float above the ice.

“Two of whatever she is having,” Bucky asks the bartender helpfully, clapping a pat of encouragement on Steve’s back.

The man behind the bar gives a quizzical look and then shrugs.

Buck winks at him as Steve heads for your high-top table. No one else stands around you. No rings on the hand beside your drink. No way you don’t know he’s coming over even with your eyes down.

“Hi, mind if I join you?”

You smile without looking up. “Only if you brought gifts.” Your voice is small, a little shyer than Steve would expect from someone brazen enough to watch him that long from afar, but he sets his offering on the table anyway.

“I do,” he replies softly, matching your tone, “although what it is is a mystery to me.”

Still smiling, you drain your original glass quickly and confess, “Sierra Mist.”

Steve sucks air through pearly white teeth. “Yikes. More of a 7-Up man myself.”

“Go figure. Captain America has brand loyalty.”

He fails to stop the burst of laughter punched from his chest. It doesn’t scare you though. He’s actually pleased it seems to relax you. He sets his own hand on the table approximately an inch from yours. 

“Touché.”

A faint tremor rolls through that hand but stops after you make a fist and release it.

Steve just starts saying random things that come to mind, and shockingly, it works.

Conversation flows for while as he notices that your dress straps don’t stay put very well and there is a barely visible seam at your hairline. Why you would need to wear a wig, he has no idea. He finds himself almost compelled to say your natural hair is perfect, just like you.

And this is why Steve doesn’t let himself out much.

During one comment regarding the other guests, he sneaks a peek over at Bucky—still beside Avani—and is flashed a thumbs up which he immediately hopes you did not see.

Chatting continues.

Steve isn’t a good flirt, but it seems he’s getting lucky with little lines tonight. He’s willing to push his luck.

“Well, after all this sweetness, maybe we should dance off some energy.” Yet sugar, like alcohol, has no discernible effect on Steve Rogers.

“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I’m a miserable dancer.” You lift your bejeweled clutch up alongside your lemon-lime soda. “Besides how would I carry it all?”

“Well, if they’d make dresses with fuller skirts like they used to,” Steve teases, pushing his half-full glass aside, “you wouldn’t have that problem. The world regressed that way. Real shame.”

“Not a fan of form-fitting gowns?” you cock your head with wide eyes.

Steve’s gaze snaps to his shoes, hoping to choke off the heat rising in his cheeks. It only chokes his words. “Oh, oh god, no. They’re lovely. I meant, ya know, pockets and…I just—I didn’t want anything to stop you.“

“Me neither.”

You take him in with warm assessment and one last evaluation of the room, tucking your lip between your teeth briefly. “You’re in luck,” you add with a laugh. “I’m about to blow your mind, Captain.”

He watches you open the clasp, fish around inside the tiny bag—barely an envelope, really, but Steve learned from Natasha that ladies can hold a scary amount in those things,— and pull out a silvery length like a party trick from the minuscule confines. The new strap allows you to toss the purse over your shoulder.

You present the transformation like it’s a superpower.

“Nifty,” Steve coos.

You nod an acceptance of his awe. “I am nothing if not prepared.”

“And now—“ he offers his hand again “—out of excuses. Bucky tells me I am ‘a sight to behold’ and not in a good way. Shall we prove him right in solidarity?”

You head to the open floor, guided by Steve’s lead. “Not gonna try to prove him wrong?”

He swings you around to face him. “How would I always win as Cap if I bet like that?”

You hum while Steve settles a hand over the satin at your waist. “Picking your battles, huh?” Free and delicate hands land at his shoulders before one smooths down his sleeve, your eyes never leaving his. “And I’m a fight waiting to happen?”

He gets lost for a few bars until he shows his true colors and winces.

“Well, my toes are fighting with yours, clearly.” 

But you simply laugh.

Steve’s brain turns over the steps and his apologies and then finally lands on a good line way after the fact. “Or, no, wait, I’ve got it now.” He squares his shoulders a little more and deepens his voice, comically.

“You’re worth fighting for.”

The snort huffed in his face is perfect, the grin that splits your painted lips over shiny white teeth blinding and well worth his efforts.

“Oh wow. See!” He earns a featherlight slap to the chest. “You do have your charming moments, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve, please—“ he fakes leading you off the floor “—and could we go repeat that in front of—“

“—the extremely grumpy man gripping a beer bottle?” Your sights land across the room toward the bar. “I don’t know, Steve. Your critic looks pretty…something.”

Steve frowns when he sees Bucky. As his friend speaks with Dr. Avani, Bucky’s face pinches solid as stone, overly serious beside the doctor’s casual body language. Buck indeed looks pissed for no reason. 

Steve squints in apology. “He’s not—that’s just—I promise he’s not like that—“

Where’s that teasing joy from a minute ago?

He contemplates that still when your hands release him, and his focus snaps back.

“I need to use the ladies’ room anyway,” you shrug, rubbing a palm up and down your bare arm.

“And then fireworks?” Steve inserts hopefully, almost removing his suit jacket right then to drape over your shoulders. He sounds like an excited schoolboy, and he’s again glad that Bucky is far enough away not to know how obvious he’s being.

You smile, a graceful tug at the dark, matte lipstick sculpted over your full—Rogers. Then a little nod is all you offer before turning to the hall, bag bouncing at your hip on its magic chain.

Steve watches you go, meandering over to Bucky while glancing in your last known direction, until his friend grunts to get his attention.

Avani is gone, but Buck’s face remains sour.

“What on earth did Doc say? Some intel for a mission?” Steve’s only half-curious and fully-distracted though.

His friend just waves off the mood. “Where’s your girl?”

“She’s not…” Steve shakes his head.

“Fine. Where’s your girl for the night?” Bucky raises one eyebrow.

“You know that sounds even worse now than it did back then, right?”

“Well?” Bucky looks around inquisitively.

“Powder her nose—” Steve smirks with rosy cheeks “—then watching the light show.”

He gets a solid smack between his shoulders and a proud nod.

Steve tries to remain patient, he really does, but after a few minutes and nearly every guest settled into their own viewing spot across the long balcony, he checks back over his shoulder.

Nothing.

He excuses himself from Bucky’s side and wanders toward the hallway.

Yes, he knows he’ll look too interested and a bit stalker-esque, but he doesn’t want to miss the show—he doesn’t want you to miss the show with him. There’s gonna be this beautiful display in the sky and you’ll be engrossed enough that he can just look at the changing colors glow across your…

What?!

Around one corner of the wall, Steve sees a foot, one shiny, brown men’s dress shoe, and then another. Someone’s kneeling—shaking if rolling toes are any indication—and then there you are standing over him.

“Doctor Avani?” Steve croaks, watching you raise a syringe and needle high over the man’s head.

You ignore Steve’s arrival.

The doctor’s eyes don’t break from you as he shrieks, “Captain, she’s mad. She—“

“How dare you? Bastard,” you bite out, heaving your weapon at the doctor’s exposed throat as Steve lunges forward.

It punctures the thick, luxurious navy fabric of Steve’s suit, and he feels the slight swelling pressure of liquid entering his forearm.

You release your grip, eyes wild and teeth bared. Gone is the sweet and serene woman with whom he shared a drink and danced.

The syringe stays lodged in Steve’s flesh as he pushes the doctor aside to shield him, but it’s too late for you.

Bucky followed behind him and now wraps your arms behind your back while you struggle to inch toward Avani, spitting insults.

“What was it?” Bucky demands. “What’s in there? What poison?”

Steve rips the needle out, checking it for any clues.

With a scowl, your fierce gaze stays on the doctor.

“Ask him. It’s his brand of suffering.”

Steve watches behind the two-way mirror for a while, deciding how to approach you. After chatting with you for the better part of an hour at the event, he still knows absolutely nothing about you. Every single piece of your preliminary file is news to him. He has to start from scratch, which is, ironically, what you are trying to do to the seam of your wig when he finally enters the interrogation room.

“Tea or water?” Steve sets down the cups.

You stop fidgeting for a beat. “Water is fine. Thank you.”

Polite. You stabbed him with a needle, injected him with an unknown substance, and you’re polite about it? He doesn’t understand the nonchalance. If you meant to kill Dr. Avani, then why aren’t you upset that you failed?

With your hands cuffed and the chain laced through a handlebar built into the table, it’s an awkward strain on your neck. You shove your shoulder high and pulse your head back and forth. Your wrists are thin, thin enough that one good, hard pull might actually snap one.

Polite and uncomfortable. Steve figures showing some courtesy might loosen your tongue.

He unlocks the cuffs and places the water in easy reach, keeping the tea for himself.

He sits and you sip. It’s peaceful when it shouldn’t be.

Avani has no clue who you are or what you want, but Steve couldn’t get many answers during the chaos that ensued after your attack. His own heart rate skyrocketed for a few minutes before normalizing. Otherwise, he’s fine.

He tilts the tea in your direction.

“Here’s hoping you didn’t waste truth serum on me,” he cheers. “Might be the only drug completely useless both after and before Erskine’s formula.”

You’re amused, a smirk lifting fading, dark lips. “Ah yes. Good, honest Captain America.”

“To a fault.”

“No.” Your seriousness stops him cold, and Steve’s smile fades. “It’s not a fault. You’re just rare.”

You value honesty. He can work with that.

“Is that why you chose a drug specifically for the doctor? You didn’t want to harm anyone else, even by accident?”

That shuts you down instead. Steve’s jumped too far, too fast. He’s not allowed to use the same easy tone as before this mess. Maybe he should have found some 7Up…

Silence descends until broken by your heavy swallows of water.

You’re staring down at your reflection in the table’s surface.

“I love stainless steel,” you mutter to no one in particular. “It’s like diffusion. I almost look normal.”

“You mean because you look different?” Steve pulls out your ID found in that small purse. “Why don’t you look ‘normal?’”

You shrug, finally dislodging the precarious strap and it dangles down your arm. “Lost weight.”

“And the hair?”

He was right. Your natural hair in the photo is beautiful. Why the hell are you wearing a wig? If it were obscuring your identity, he imagines you would know not to carry around a real ID.

“Time” is your only answer.

You’re skirting around the truth, lying by omission, waiting for the exact right questions which Steve doesn’t know yet, so he asks something for peace of mind, something that will tell him how long to play this game. “Are you gonna be honest with me?”

Your answer comes easily enough. “Are you gonna be helpful to me?”

Simple. Straightforward. Cutting. It’s said with sorrowful eyes.

He can’t promise anything when he doesn’t know why. “If your purpose is to kill a man then, no, I can’t help you with that.”

Your empty cup lands on the table with a light tonk.

“Maybe I’ll wait until someone who can help walks through that door.”

“In this situation, I believe I’m what’s known as the ‘good cop,’” Steve sighs. “Don’t think you want to dance with the ‘bad cop.’ He’s pretty annoyed he didn’t peg you for an assailant first.”

Nothing about your demeanor changes, not a flinch, not a blink. “Good thing I don’t want to dance with him.”

“He’s not much of a talker either. I’d be a better—“

“I didn’t say I’d talk to him either.”

Steve leans on his elbows, splaying wide across the table. “Just tell me your story. I am here to listen.”

“That makes this sound like a first date.”

“Bucky would likely agree—“ he snorts “—and he’d make a point to say this is going about as well as any date I’ve been on this century. Please,” Steve tries again, “ talk to me.”

There’s a long pause. Your intense gaze remains steady. Whatever your reasons, they don’t strain your moral fortitude. You are a believer, faithful to this unknown cause.

Carefully, quietly, you respond. “It’s not my story to tell. Ask your doctor.”

“If it’s not your story, where are the others? Can they tell it? Are they alive?”

Steve is more perceptive than you counted on judging by your slight head shake.

You flop yourself backward in the seat.

Steve was right. It’s not a what you act for, it’s a who. And they are dead.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says earnestly.

This—that simple sentiment—gets the greatest reaction so far. Your lip twitches, and you shimmy against the hard chair. You scratch at your wig again, before your focus returns to the table. There are tears welling in your eyes.

No one has said that before now, he realizes. How long has it been since they passed? Why are you the only mourner? Why aren’t you moving on?

Suddenly, irritation stirs in Steve, and he can’t believe how stubborn you’re being when he is your best option. He is the only one that will have this soft spot for you, the only one who truly wants to help because he truly wants to know why.

“So you’re avenging,” he bursts, tossing his arms out, dramatically looking around the bland room. 

Protocol dictated they take you to the nearest precinct for questioning. Only if you were enhanced, only if you had special abilities would you be transported all the way to the compound. So on his night off, while attending a party that actually entertained him for once, you’ve shown up with a syringe that doesn’t do anything and made him miss the fireworks. You’ve made him lose time being content, a rare gift in his line of work.

Steve is frustrated, to say the least. He stands to pace his side of the table.

“Avenging, huh? Gosh, I wish I knew anything about that… anyone in this building even… wherever will we find someone who understands?”

“You don’t do sarcasm very much, do you?” you snip, energy level remaining low compared to his spiked bluster. “I’d like to tell ‘bad cop’ what a terrible dancer you are now. He’s not going to be surprised you made me cry, is he? That’s probably normal, too.”

“Surprised? No.” Steve knocks on the mirror, sick of playing, sick of being wrong, sick of choosing unwisely. “How could he be when he’s been listening this whole time?” 

You’re trapped, but you aren’t acting like a caged animal. Something is…off, and Steve realizes he’s too close to the situation—ridiculous as that may be—after just two hours of knowing you. His best friend will have better luck.

Bucky opens the door a few seconds later, armed to the teeth as an intimidation tactic.

It’s disconcerting that your expression brightens once a man sporting three guns and—counting the hidden few—eight knives enters the room. That’s got Steve’s attention.

“So she’s giving you trouble?” Bucky mutters.

He’s grateful Buck doesn’t go the ‘you sure can pick ‘em, Rogers’ or ‘better luck next millennium’ route. Steve shakes his head.

You itch at your wig, face twisted, and glance up at Steve.

“May I take this off?”

Still polite. The niceties are actually making his blood boil at this point because he does not get it yet.

“Fine,” he snaps, rolling his eyes when Bucky purses his lips at Steve’s tone.

“Listen, doll, I think the best course of action is to let you stew in here for a while. When you’re ready to tell us what you know, then—“

“Oh, I can tell you what I know now,” you say casually, pulling out bobby pin after bobby pin to tuck between your teeth. “I know the protocol for a low-level threat like myself is the nearest local law enforcement facility, I know that—due to an unfortunate instance of food poisoning from a birthday cake earlier today—most of this precinct is empty. I know that all three of you would prefer to incapacitate your targets rather than kill them.”

You set the little pile of pins down on the table by your undone chain, pulling a hair comb from the back of your wig to finally release it.

“There’s only two of us here,” Steve says in confusion.

“No.” You point the forked hair comb at Bucky and push yourself out of the chair. “Winter’s in there.”

Before the words can even register, you slam the tines of the tuning fork against the edge of the steel table. The noise is piercing and specific.

Steve covers his ears, but Bucky doesn’t move. He can’t turn away from you.

“Restrain him,” you order, “and get me out of here.”

“Buck, wait—“

The vibranium arm threatens to crush Steve’s windpipe as the force slides him up the mirrored wall.

The Winter Soldier’s cold, vacant grey eyes watch as Steve’s vision fades to black, and Steve wonders how the hell he could be so wrong.

Then it’s quiet and he wonders no more.

A/N: This story is a doozy, gang, but I promise, explanations are ahead!

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[pascaloverx]

As It Was (S2)

Chapter Thirteen

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Author's note: Dear readers, I will be writing this fanfic again. This second season will have shorter chapters and it will probably take me a little longer to update the fanfic but I hope you like it!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS STORY, there may be adult content and verbal and physical violence.

The day of my wedding with Bucky arrived faster than I had anticipated. The reality is that James Buchanan Barnes is both the only one not involved in the wedding and the groom. I simply couldn't get that stubborn head to change his mind. Okay, I didn't even try to get him to change his mind. Every new day in your life is another terrifying day in your head, not knowing if Killian or Steve will show up and end you or someone you love. So, this fake wedding is my last chance to end this nightmare. If Barnes doesn't see it that way, too bad for him.

"You look magnificent in that dress, Melisa. I'm sure Barnes would be the luckiest man in the universe if you two were really getting married. But my best friend is as much of an idiot as he is handsome, you know." Sam says, entering the bride's room that was specially prepared for me to get ready. To be poetic, I rented the hall where they killed my father and almost killed me. Here, they have a special wedding banquet hall. And it's a place I already know.

"Thank you, Sam, for the compliment and for being here. I can't believe this day has finally come, and that I may have spent money and time on something that will go wrong." I say breathlessly, thinking about the possibility of setting up an obvious trap and not being able to capture the criminals.

"Actually, that's exactly what I came to talk to you about. Yelena was talking to some of her contacts, and it seems Steve was seen around here yesterday. Dave is checking nearby cameras to confirm. But don't get discouraged just yet. This whole team is here to support you, even though it may seem dangerous. We won't let any of them hurt you." Sam says, hugging me gently. I'm relieved to know they're here with me. Whatever happens, we'll face it together.

"This time I'm prepared too. So, let's put the plan into action. The guests should already be in their places, waiting for the groom to arrive. The music for the bride's entrance will play in a few minutes. I'll walk in with Wanda as if everything is fine, and you guys put on a show pretending that Bucky is missing. I'll create a scene, cancel the wedding, and ask everyone to leave. It'll be the perfect moment for them to attack me. The rest is up to you guys." This plan was designed with every detail in mind. There are more cameras in this building than there were before; Dave is taking care of surveillance, Sam and Yelena are handling defense in case of a surprise attack, and Wanda will be nearby in case I need help if something goes wrong. Everything is carefully planned.

"Then I'll go there in case you need anything; remember, you have an earpiece. Just say 'red' in any way possible, and we'll come to your rescue. Good luck, bride." Sam touches my arm lightly and leaves, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I look at myself in the mirror, analyzing the wedding dress I'm repurposing. It's the same one from my first wedding, just adjusted. I thought this time a veil would be more of a hindrance than a help, and a long train would be an obstacle.I hear a noise behind me, almost like a step, and automatically grab the gun hidden on the vanity where I did my makeup. I point the gun at whoever is behind me not even five seconds after hearing the noise. Of course, I could have died because five seconds is a good amount of time for someone to kill another person. If I hadn't been distracted, I would have noticed someone entering this bridal room and known it was my ex-husband, the idiot.

"Great attack plan, but I suggest aiming the gun at the head next time. It would also be good not to get distracted, but your reflex was quick. By the way, you look beautiful. I like the changes to the dress." James Barnes says, smiling shamelessly at me. I'm torn between anger and surprise. What does he want here?

"Barnes, I don't remember inviting you in or asking you to be here in general. Before you ruin my plan, go away, and take that smug smile with you." I say, trying to sound serious. I lower the gun and turn around, ignoring the fact that Bucky hasn't budged despite my request for him to leave.

"Funny. I don't recall proposing to you or accepting one from you. Yet, everyone in this building came to see you and me getting married. I hope you liked the outfit of your future husband. I'm wearing the suit you gave me on our first anniversary." He looks handsome, but I don't want to give in. I wanted him by my side, and he abandoned me. Now that I made a plan without him, he shows up here. Son of a...

"Barnes, save my time. What do you want?" I don't have much patience on a regular day, let alone when I'm about to be bait to capture not one but two dangerous men.

"I want to marry you. I want to be by your side while you do the stupidest thing ever seen in the world, and most importantly, I want to apologize for being an idiot. I realized too late that loving you means accepting your plans that will undoubtedly cause unimaginable havoc." He speaks, getting closer and closer to me. Then he holds my waist firmly, looks into my eyes, and kisses me. It's a kiss full of passion and at the same time, longing. Truth be told, I missed him, and well... he certainly missed me too.

"I can offer you a second honeymoon filled with reconciliation sex, what do you say?" Barnes says in a playful tone, and I lightly smack his arm.

"Try not to ruin the plan. Figure out a way to leave me alone during the ceremony. They won't show up with you around, and I need to be the bait. Are we clear?" I know he won't like it, but whatever he wants. He's been married to me before; he should know that when I have something in mind, I do it my way. The problem is, he's the same way.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll let you do what you want without getting in your way," he says, giving me another light kiss. I smile, knowing he probably isn't entirely serious.

"Do you promise?" I ask in the middle of the kiss, my forehead resting against his. My god, how I love this man.

"No. Now get ready because I'm going to my groom's spot to wait for my beautiful bride." He gives me a peck on the lips and leaves before I can react. I then prepare to go to the hall to fake getting married.

"Nice pathetic plan, Melisa. Beautiful. You just forgot that I was a partner with all of you while you played the united little group. I smelled a setup since I knew you were going to marry Barnes again. Who in their right mind makes the same mistake more than once?" Steve speaks behind me as I head towards the hall where the guests are waiting. I smile because I did get what I wanted.

"You, you arrogant jerk." I turn around, plunging a sharp and likely lethal knife into his chest. Poor guy, he had no idea this time I would be prepared for him. The loud thud of him hitting the ground was startling. His look of desperation mixed with the anguish of pain, simply cinematic.

"Let me guess, you thought you would come here, and I would be frightened. You'd kidnap me, and I would cry in desperation. Then, it would be a remake of the last time we were together, but this time I wouldn't survive. That way, you and Killian would go unpunished. My question is, did you underestimate me so much that you didn't even bring a weapon to threaten me?" I say, watching him writhing in pain. Poor Steve, caught off guard. 

"If you think this is all, you're totally..." He tries to continue speaking, but I yank the knife out of his chest, and he's too busy feeling his blood leave his body to insult me. Oops...

"Dave, I think you can hear me. Ask Sam to come deal with Steve, near the bride's room. I'll continue with the plan." I compose myself, somewhat perplexed by what just happened, but the show must go on.

"Dave can't talk right now, but I'll pass the message to Sam. After all, Melisa... you were waiting for me, weren't you?" I get nervous hearing Killian's voice on the earpiece. Damn.

[idk-bruh-20]

"I spent most of my life trying to do the right thing and live up to expectations, but it turned out I was being used to cause harm. I just don't want to be used anymore."

Tony 🤝 Steve

^how CA:CW could have ended if they'd had even one (1) empathetic conversation

[ijustreallylikecaptainamericaok]

Hell And Back, part 11