#wxntersoldiers5kchallenge

[honeyhan-123]

Good Together

Summary: Peter tries to show the reader how good together they are. 

Warnings: Dark (OF AGE) Peter, drugging, kidnapping, mIf masturbation, smut

Word count: 4.7k

AN: This is my submission for the amazing @softhairbarnes and @wxntersoldiers writing challenges. I’m so sorry it’s a little late, my family life has just been such a shambles recently, but its finally here. My prompt for @softhairbarnes was love triangle and for @wxntersoldiers it will be in bold. 

My Masterlist

Reflecting back on all the times he told him you needed to close your blinds while you slept, Peter was very glad you always forgot as he sat on your fire escape, watching you through the glass of the of your window as you slept and the life of the city bustled around him. He didn't even know why he was here, he just had the shit beaten out of him as he tried to stop an armed robbery all the way over in Manhattan. Although he managed to web up the perpetrators he had taken a few serious hits, hits she should be having someone over at the Tower look at but instead as soon as he finished webbing the bad guys up, he had crossed the river, swinging from building to building without realising where he was headed until he found himself on your fire escape.

It wasn't the first time he had felt the insatiable desire to come visit you after a mission, but it was the first time he had been frozen, stuck outside your window, unable to move as he watched you. If it weren’t for the fact that he could hear your accelerated heart rate and the little breaths you let out every few seconds he would have thought you were asleep. But he knew better. 

You lay on your bed, your eyes closed with the covers pulled up to your torso, covering most of his view of your body that he longed to see. The sheets moved slightly as you rocked your hips into your fingers, swirling them in your slick, pushing them in and out of you.

Moans escaped your lips as the pressure started to build and they sounded like angels singing to Peter as he stood watching you, his blood flowing south. 

What he would give to throw those sheets from your body, preferably burning them so they could never hide you from him again. 

Hi palm twitched, itching to palm himself through his suit, his flushed skin a direct contrast to the nip of the brisk night wind swirling around him. One hand gripped the railing while his other spread itself over his cock. It would have been so much better if he could take his suit off and wrap his fist around himself, better still if he could go inside and join you, but for now he restrained himself to the feeling of his palm rubbing against himself. 

He was already hard, embarrassingly so, just from the sounds you were making and he found himself spilling into the suit before you had finished. Tony would kill him if he ever found out but the bliss running through Peters body was far too enticing to care at the moment. 

He continued watching you as his breaths slowed, watching the way your jaw slackened and your head tilted as you approached your high. He felt himself start to get hard again, despite only just finishing. He wanted you that badly. 

His hand returned to his cock, continuing to work it as he watched you, getting himself fully erect again. He was so sensitive that the pressure was almost too much to handle. With the way your breaths were egging shallower and faster, he knew you were close as well. He could almost pretend that you were doing it together if he closed his eyes, that the moans tumbling from your lips were his doing, that he was the reason for the blissed out expression on your face. 

‘Oh yes, I’m your girl. Yes, yes, I’m yours baby.’ 

Yes, you were his girl. The thought tightened the coil in his abdomen. He just needed one last push, he was nearly there. 

Even from this distance Peter could hear the sound of your fingers disappearing into your pussy, the squelch proving just how turned on you were. His heart beater in time with yours, pummelling in his chest as he chased his release. He tried to hold back, wanting to come with you and when you did, the bliss completely flooded his senses, making him nearly miss it. Miss how you moaned His name. 

‘Yes Captain, just like that. Oh god, I’m cumming Steve, I’m cumming.’ 

Peters eyes snapped open, cold dread setting in, taking over the warmth that had filled his veins mere moments before. 

Captain? Steve? As in his friend Steve? You had been thinking of him? Why? 

Ever since he had met you in freshman year Peter had wanted you, wanted you to see him as more than just a fellow decathlon teammate, more than just a friend. 

He had trusted you implicitly, finally revealing the truth that he was Spider-Man after he had saved your life when your train had been derailed. He had foolishly broken up with MJ for you, thinking that your distance from being his best friend had been caused by jealousy. 

And now he found out this. That while he was yearning for you, you were looking at someone else. Someone he had introduced you.

Jealously flooded through him. You were meant to be his best friend, his nurse when he got injured, his girl. Not Steve’s. 

Had you been after him this entire time? No, surely not. You had been best friends well before Peter had introduced you. Did Cap want you back? 

He only realised that he was still holding the railing when it snapped under the pressure, emitting a long groan echoing the feeling of Peter’s heart breaking. 

Your eyes snapped open at the noise, glancing around you but you didn’t see him, hidden by your window ledge, gazing out to the city. A hollow feeling crept through his chest as he tried to convince himself it was fine that you didn’t feel the same. He would get over you. 

+

But he didn't. He couldn't. Nearly a month had passed since that night and although it killed him more and more inside every time, he couldn't resist the pull of your windowsill. Sometimes you would just be sleeping peacefully, ignorant of his presence, other times he would get to watch you come apart again, echoing your orgasm with his own. 

He found his thoughts of you taking over his mind, infiltrating every waking moment, making it increasingly hard to get over you as he had said he would. Yet, despite his newfound obsession with you, your once perfect image started developing flaws in his mind. He found himself constant questioning your motives, were you friends with him purely for his connection to the Captain? Was that why you kept stopping by the tower? In a desperate attempt to catch sight of him? Rage surged through Peter whenever he thought of you and Steve, he had thought that night on the windowsill that he would be able to let you go but as time went on, he knew you were meant to be his.

You would be his. 

Steve didn’t understand you like he did. He didn’t know your ins and outs, your little quirks like the back of his hand but Peter did. He just had to make you realise you were so good together. 

+

It was a Friday night, and just like every other week You and Peter had headed over to the Avengers’ Towers for your weekly movie night, making full use of the surround sound home theatre that Tony had deemed absolutely necessary. 

It had been Peter’s turn to pick the film and just like always, he wanted a horror film, loving the way you would curl up into his chest whenever something even remotely scary happened. He had been so happy, so excited for the night, but now it was all ruined. 

Steve and Sam has been in the common room when you arrived and as soon as Sam realised Steve had never seen Rosemary’s Baby, he had insisted on joining them. It would have been fine if it were anyone else, or even if it had happened before that night, but now Peter couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that you were sitting next to Steve and not him. He knew deep down that you hadn’t done it on purpose, that was where you and he sat every Friday night, on the small little loveseat, preferring to squash up together. It was his fault he wasn’t the one sitting next to you. He had been placed in charge of the popcorn and Steve had nipped in first.

But surely you could have said something. Something to prevent the supersoldier from sitting next to you, if you truly valued his friendship. But no. Peter was forced to sit and watch as your body unconsciously shifted closer and closer to Steve’s. He thought he couldn’t take any more but it only got worse when half way through the movie, Steve wrapped his arm around your shoulders, resting on the back of the couch, earning him an unwavering death glare from Peter. That should be him. 

When the end credits finally started rolling, you realised you had barely been paying attention throughout the entire film, your attention completely diverted to the man sitting next to you, trying to sneak in glances through your peripherals. You hadn’t intended on it happening but sitting next to your favourite supersoldier had been your favourite kind of torture, feeling his immense body heat radiate into your skin, or the way his taught muscles flexed whenever he shifted in his seat. The things that body could do to you. It had been a common fantasy of yours, one that you planned to keep hidden until your dying days, but a girl can dream right?

The raw power his body exuded wasn’t the only reason the super soldier dominated your dreams though. For someone so powerful, so widely respected, he was so tender, so soft. You had always been interested in him, in the tales of Captain America before he was even rediscovered in the ice. But what fascinated you more, was the man himself, Steve Rogers. 

You thought you had hidden your fascination rather well, never staring at him for too long or trying to always see him whenever you and Peter at the Tower. You definitely didn't want to do anything that would jeopardise your friendship and make Peter feel uncomfortable. He was everything to you. Plus users in the famous Steve Rogers would probably never even think of you as anything but the girl that hung out with Peter. He was far too worldly, experienced and wise for you, and you were far too young for him. It broke your heart to think about it, but it would be okay. You would get over him.

+

It was well after midnight, when the second film finally ended, leaving the rain in darkness. You had been surprised that Steve had stayed the entire time. After Rosemary’s Baby had finished, Sam had insisted on watching The Shining, claiming it was the perfect film to follow Rosemary’s Baby. You didn’t quite understand his logic, but you hadn’t complained and Peter had merely shrugged his shoulders when Sam suggested it. 

Even though he had been so passionate about watching it, Sam zonked out about halfway through, his body sprawling along the couch and light snores coming from him. Although you didn’t understand why, Sam’s departure had left the room in an odd state of tension, Peter’s glare on Steve never ceasing. You didn’t know what was going on between them but you figured it was probably something to do with the Avengers and had nothing to do with you, Peter would have told you if it did. Oh how wrong you were. 

Steve glanced over at you, concern reflecting in his eyes in the darkened room. ‘Are you okay getting home?’

‘She's fine. I’m giving her a lift home.’Peter's voice barked out before you had a chance to respond but you smiled, grateful that you won't have to catch the subway late at night by yourself. ‘Do you mind waiting here while I go to the bathroom real quick?’ You nodded at him and watched as Peter left, leaving you alone with Steve. Nerves fluttered in your stomach and you chastised yourself. You were truly being ridiculous.  

The silence of the room, save for Sam’s light snores was eating you up inside. You had to say something, anything, to break it but you didn’t know what. Awkwardly clearing your throat, you tried. A simple how’d you like the film. That would suffice, surely. It seemed like an appropriate common ground.  

‘So uh…’ Your tongue didn’t want to work, the pressure of his eyes digging into yours was too much. You didn’t want to come off as an idiot to him. ‘How’d you like the uh, the films?’ You turned away from him, praying that in the dark he couldn’t see the cringe creep across your face. Why did you have to be so awkward?

‘Oh uh, yeah, I thought they were okay. Not really my style you know?’ His voice seemed hesitant, nervous even, drawing your eyes back to his.  What did he have to be nervous about?

‘Yeah I completely get what you mean. I am not a massive fan of horror or anything, but it's Peter’s favourite.’ The room fell back into silence, but you were determined not to let it stay like that. Clearing your throat for a second time, trying to clear away your awkwardness, you tried again. ‘I uh, I know Sam gave you some shit for not having seen it before but you know, even though you missed a lot while under the ice, not everything is worth catching up on if you know what I mean? Especially if it's not your thing.’ Your gaze was locked in your twiddling fingers, afraid that you had over stepped in the silence that followed.  

‘Yeah I know, it’s just  sometimes it gets lonely. That’s why I spend so much time here and not my apartment. I love it when you and Peter come round, you’re so good together.’ 

Together? You recoiled in confusion. Did he think you and Peter were together together? You opened your mouth to correct him. You knew it was a long shot but how could you ever expect him to show any interest in you if he thought you were with his teammate? 

But the words you had formed in your mind were interrupted by Peter reentering the room, swinging his car keys on his index finger and whistling a little tune, a broad smile on his face for the first time that night. ‘You ready to go?’ He asked, gesturing towards the door. 

Your head swivelled back to Steve, seeing him push up to his feet. ‘Well then, I guess I'll see you around, get home safe.’ As he retreated into the hallway you still longed to correct him, but the opportunity had passed. You resigned yourself to make the fact that you were single known to him the next chance you got.

You followed Peter out of the room, into the elevator and down to the underground car park. The fluorescent lights were the only source of light in the wee hours of the morning, making Peter - and undoubtedly you as well - look sickly in their cool glow. 

He held the car door open for you, a sleek shiny audi which had been a graduation gift from Tony. Ducking your head, you stooped into the car, barely noticing the sharp prick in your neck as you buckled yourself in and Peter shut the door, climbing in on the other side. 

The street lights flashed as you passed, reflecting in your eyes which were stooping closed on their own account, barely staying open for longer than a few seconds. 

You felt his hand on your thigh as he drove, his thumb rubbing circles on the exposed skin, drawing your eyes to him. The overhead lights danced against his skin as the car zipped through the city, illuminating his dark eyes, and his perfect teeth shrouded by a sinister smile that looked out of place on his boyish face. ‘Someone’s feeling a it tired hey? It’s okay, just close your eyes, I’ll let you know when we get there so we can get you into bed.’ 

Your head felt heavy, resting against the cool glass window as you tried to smile at him. You wanted to thank him for offering to give you a lift home but the words died on your lips as your eyes shut closed, the power of sleep overcoming you at last. 

+

Your head pounded as you awoke, your vision a blurry mix of colours, shadows dancing around the room. Even after your vision had cleared you didn’t recognise where you were immediately, but the old Star Wars poster for the Empire Strikes Back made you realise that you were in Peter’s old bedroom. It had been so long since you had been here, over a year now. He had moved out last summer to the Tower as it was so much closer to NYU. 

The room was only illuminated by the many tealight candles placed sporadically throughout it, casting the room in a soft amber glow. You felt him move before you actually saw him, brushing a finger across your cheekbone. 

‘You’re awake, finally. I’ve been waiting for so long. I was starting to worry that I gave you too much.’ He smiled lovingly at you, madness glinting in his eyes. You tried to shrink back, away from his touch, confused as to what was going on, but the small double bed gave you little room to move on and the pounding of your head prevented you from getting up. 

‘Uh, Pete? What’s going on? Why are we here?’ Your voice was heavy, thick with sleep, as you croaked out your demand for answers. 

‘It’s okay Honey, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re perfectly safe here with me. I just thought it would be better to do it here since Aunt May is out of town with Happy this weekend. That way we have the whole place to ourselves. We won’t have to worry about anyone barging in.’ He reached out again, running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp, attempting to lure you into a false sense of security, but you refused to fall for it.

‘Do what here Peter? I thought you were taking me home.’ 

‘Consummate our relationship of course. You know, you really made me question me feelings for you when I saw you that night, touching yourself to thoughts of Cap. It made me think you weren’t who I thought you were, a sweet wholesome girl who had been able to see me, even when nobody else could. I’ve wanted you for so long - since freshman year for crying out loud! and seeing you pine over Cap nearly killed me. But now we both know that’s never going to happen. He practically said so himself. We’re so good together.’ He shifted up onto his elbow, his hand easily pinning you back down to the bed as you tried to sit up, to get away from him. 

‘Pete I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re friends. Just friends. Please just let me go.’ Panic had well and truly started to set in, your heart palpitating in your chest. What had gotten into him?

‘I know that may be how you feel now, but it’s okay. You just need to be shown what we could be; you just need to be convinced of what is possible. I’ll be so good to you. I know what you like already, I know how you love to be stuffed full. The first time I saw you riding that pretty pink dildo of yours I came so hard, wishing it was my cock inside of you. I’ll be so much better than that toy. Just you wait and see.’ His hand on your shoulder trailed down, cupping your breast through your shirt, kneading it with his fingers as his mouth descended on yours. Your tried to twist your head away from him, his lips brushing against your cheek instead. 

‘Peter stop. What is going on with you? Let me go.’ Your body writhed, trying to force him off of you but he took it as encouragement, shifting to completely lean over you, his legs on either side of yours, his chest pressing against yours as his weight resting on his elbow beside your head. 

‘It’s okay Honey, just give in.’ He whispered into your ear, his voice echoing around inside your head, his lips trailing down your neck, to your collarbone, sucking and biting, marking you as his. 

Your hands raised up, pulling at his hair, fisting it in clumps, trying to pull him off of you. Was he seriously about to do this? This boy whom you had known for years, confided in with every little secret you had. How did you not see the darkness he held? That consumed him? Yes you refused to give up; refused to let him win. 

The scream that had been built in your throat was cut off, muffled by something, something that tapped your lips together, something soft and silky yet strong and unbreakable. His web.

‘I really didn’t want it to be like this Honey, I wanted our first time to be soft and gentle, so I could show you how much I love you but if you’re going to continue to behave like this, you’re not going to give me a choice.’ He pulled your hands from his hair effortlessly, holding them against the headboard as he webbed them to it, trapping them. Your eyes were open wide, your fear practically tangible as he railed his hands down your chest, lifting the hem of your dress up, above your body, letting it sit just above your head, still trapped by your arms. 

‘The things this dress does to me, god. When I saw you wearing it today I just knew I had to have you, I had to feel every inch of you.’ His hands dipped beneath your bra, relishing in the fact it had a clasp at the front, prying it open, your breasts spilling out into his hands. 

‘Seeing these from a distance just really didn’t do them justice. They’re so pretty up close.’ His mouth descending to your nipple, licking and sucking on the tender skin, rolling it in his mouth while one of his hands toyed with the other one. 

The moans that you swallowed tasted like betrayal. How could your body be responding to this? How could it like this? How could it be craving more?

His lips as soft as silk trailed further down your body, resting above the plain cotton panties you had worn that day, humming appreciatively as he pressed his nose against your still clothed mound, inhaling your scent. 

‘You smell so good Honey and I bet you taste even better.’ He liked a strip of you, adding to the dampness that already coated the cotton. ‘I can’t wait to devour you, imagining it has gotten me through so many lonely nights. The taste of your cunt on my tongue, the way I’ll draw orgasm after orgasm from you, ruining you for anyone else.’ 

He shifted back, tugging your panties down your legs along with your last shred of hope. There was nothing you could do to prevent it, he was far stronger than you and with your hands bound to the headboard and your mouth gagged you didn’t stand a chance. 

You hated the way his tongue licked your walls, tasting the juice that was already there, the way your cunt clenched around nothing, begging for something to fill it. You hated the way he worked his fingers in you, twisting and curling them, stroking against your sweet spot eliciting moan after moan from your lips that were barely concealed by the thin layer of webbing. You hated the way his tongue circled your clit, rolling it into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive flesh, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

The pleasure he was giving you was far too much for your body to handle, the coil in your belly tightening until you couldn’t take it any longer and with only final, gentle, nip on your clit, you came, all over his face, your slick drenching his fingers. 

Peter sat back on his haunches, staring at his fingers, glistening in the candlelight, in amazement. He took each finger into his mouth one at a time, moaning as he sucked the taste of you off of them, the bulge in his pants growing inexplicably larger. 

‘See how good I am for you Honey? How well I know your body, inside and out.’ His voice was thick with lust as he pulled his shirt over his head, his hands slipped down to unbuckle his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one go, giving his erection some much needed air and space. 

He didn’t fail to notice the way your pussy clenched as you caught sight of his cock, the sheer girth and length of it enough to make any woman mad with lust, no matter the circumstances. 

‘Oh you want this don’t you Honey? I can just tell. Such a greedy cockslut but that’s okay because you’re my cockslut.’ You couldn’t help the moan that stemmed from his words, living for the way they made your walls clench again, even more slick coating them, spilling onto the bed beneath you. 

You felt his tip prod at your entrance, coating his length in you, before he gently inched in, pausing every few inches as you grew accustomed to the stretch of your walls before he finally bottomed out, his balls pressing against you. ‘Fuck, you’re so fucking tight Honey. So much better than I thought.’ 

You loved the way he filled you so completely, even larger than your favourite dildo, making you feel every ridge and vein as he sheathed himself inside you. You loved the way he thrusted into you, gently at first but slowly increasing in speed and force, his hips rolling into yours, his tip hitting your g-spot with every stroke. You loved the way his lips were on your neck as he rutted you into the mattress, sucking and biting, adding to the marks he made earlier as he fully claimed you as his. 

You could feel your orgasm building with every roll of hips. His abdomen rubbing against your clit, bringing you even closer. 

Your breathing was laboured, your hips raising up to meet his every thrust, longing - no matter how fucked up the situation was - for a release, for more. 

You felt his fingers on your jaw, tearing away his webbing, freeing your lips as his descended onto them in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, pure possession. His tongue circled into your mouth, exploring every crevice, coating you as his, swallowing your moans just as you swallowed his. 

Peter leaned back, his pace never faltering as he shifted your legs over his thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he fucked into you, getting even deeper now. His fingers toyed with your clit, bringing you impossibly close as his hips started stuttering, his own orgasm creeping up on him. 

‘Comeon Honey, cum for me. Let go; let me feel your walls clench around my cock. I know you’re nearly there, just let go for me.’ 

You had no control over your body as it spasmed against him, pleasure filling your veins as you came, squirting all over his cock, loving the warmth that came from his own release, spilling into your cunt. 

He collapsed on top of you, his cock starting to soften inside of you as he caught his breath, his eyes staring into yours. 

He kissed you, slow and sweet this time, his lips pressing against yours, his tongue coaxing a response from yours. His cock twitched inside of you, hardening again as he pulled away, a bright smile on his face and a hazed, blissed out one on yours; his fingers trailing across your cheekbones, admiring you in the candlelight. 

‘See, I told you. We’re so good together.’

+

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My Masterlist

[kashimos-hajime]

come undone | q.b.

summary: “you a hero on this earth, too?” “is it bad to say that i actually prefer the term vigilante?” two months after the battle of earth, quentin beck meets the avengers-level threat he’s been dreaming of.

WARNINGS: endgame spoilers, manipulation, illusions, unable to tell what’s real and what isn’t, some not-that-explicit banging, lying, intense situations, gun violence, swearing, angst, unstable reader, trust issues, low self-esteem, etc. lmk if i missed anything pairing: Quentin Beck x fem!enhanced!Reader, past Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 15.7k

a/n: written for layla, my love @wxntersoldiers. my prompt was i’m a vigilante and you’re a hero. that never works out well. as always, i go the weird, unorthodox route. this is a post-endgame au. old!steve doesn’t come back. instead, he’s just gone. peter’s been with the avengers for a while (even though not technically an avenger until infinity war). there will be a prequel featuring this reader and steve rogers and how she got her powers!! it’ll be posted some time next week :)  prequel can be found here (x). for some vibes, the song undone by ffh 

gif credit (x)

Quentin’s read the tabloids, and he’s read government reports, and he’s read every little thing about her.

He knows exactly who the pretty thing sitting alone at the end of one of New York’s finest bars is.

The music is loud, deafening and the people in the room aren’t even dancing on the floor. Thrashing and jumping, they spill their drinks and grind in the heat and Quentin wonders how long it’ll take before the pretty one joins.

She doesn’t.

All night, she nurses some monstrously pink drink Quentin thinks is named Jersey Sunset. She doesn’t take part in the celebration of the return of the Blipped, and the only life in her face is when someone comes up to her, asks for an autograph or picture. Otherwise, she stares at the bottles of wine lining the walls as if she wants to drain every single one, and her eyes reek of grief.

He smiles.

Taking his scotch, he saunters along the bar and scans her figure, at the way her ankles cross on the foot rest of the stool, the hoodie and tight jeans she wears. If she had been trying not to catch attention, it had failed on him. In the strobe lights of the bar, the dark canvas punctured by red and blue and green, she glows.

“Do you want a picture?” she asks without even looking at him. His smile doesn’t waver as he slides into the stool beside her and sets down his scotch.

“No,” he says carefully, and she finally looks at him. Despite the sharp edge of her eyeliner and the blood red of her lips, she looks minutes from crumbling. Reaching over, Quentin brushes a loose strand of hair away from her cheek, knuckles grazing her skin, his thumb brushing over the rouge of her mouth. She’s perhaps one of the most stunning women he’s ever seen, and if Steve Rogers truly is missing, he’s missing a phenomenon. “You looked sad, and I wanted to make sure you were okay

She smiles, and it’s soft, tired, strangely charming. “That’s sweet, but it’s easier if you just ask for an autograph and photo and go.”

“I don’t want a photograph. I want to know if you’re okay.” His eyebrows raise when she doesn’t answer, and she turns back to her Jersey Sunset, pinching the grass-colored straw umbrella and twirling it between her fingers. In the dark light of the bar, he can barely make out the shadows of her face when she turns to her drink, and the only glimpses he gets are when the strobe lights spin their way.

She scoffs, smiles disbelievingly, and lets the umbrella fall sideways. It lands in the crushed ice of her drink. She holds out her hand and he notices her long slender fingers, calluses where she had grabbed a gun, and a healing cut along her wrist, disappearing in the sleeve of her hoodie when a red light runs darkly over her body. 

“I think we got off the wrong foot,” she says and he takes her hand, trying not to let his smile grow from his carefully constructed concern. “I think you know who I am, though.” 

Quentin knows she’s clearly expecting ‘Steve Rogers’ fiancée’ but he says, “You’re Viper, of course.”

“Right.” Her smile is small, stunning, gorgeous and Quentin frowns, hand limp in her strong one. A sort of feeling tumbles in his stomach and she withdraws her hand as he blinks. “And you?”

“Quentin Beck.” He remembers himself, and she doesn’t seem to think much. She’s probably used to starstruck fans, he thinks with a repressed scowl. But he’s always been one to stick out.  “Thank you for your service in the final battle. I heard it was a hard one.”

“Yeah, well, that’s war,” she says loosely, grabbing the black straw and sucking down the rest of her Jersey Sunset. Quentin flags down a bartender and gestures for another for his new partner. 

“And I’m sorry for the loss…” He pauses to catch her attention, and as soon as he gets it, he twists his lips into a sympathetic smile. “The loss of your friends and fiancé.” She laughs then, but it sounds hollow and it echoes in his chest. 

“He’s not dead.” She stabs her straw through the crushed ice just as the music switches, and Quentin’s gaze drifts, disinterested in the dance floor. Not dead. So Steve Rogers is still alive.

That puts a pin in his plan.

“At least, the Steve you guys all know. Steve I know?” She scoffs, her breath whistling between her teeth. “Long gone.” Her black straw bends under the force of her stab, and her lips have quirked into a deep scowl. Blinking, the Viper turns to look at him and she shakes her head to herself, as if embarrassed. “Sorry, uh, it’s just been hard without him.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just… uh, can I let you in on a secret?” he whispers, and she frowns, nodding. Leaning over, he twists his ring around his finger and swallows. “I… I actually approached you because there’s talk around here. I read that you can manipulate reality?” He feels every inch of her stiffen, and stifles his own smile. “That you’re the reason there was a tear between realities?”

She pulls back as if burned, and a myriad of emotions flickers over her face before she gives him a freezing glare. “No one’s supposed to know that. I… I fixed it as soon as I could.” Her voice trembles, and her finger traces the swirls in the wood. ”How did you know?” 

The corner of Quentin’s mouth quirks up and he drains the rest of his scotch. “Two months ago I was sucked into a multidimensional tear from my world and landed here,” he says and she smiles again, bitter sympathy twisting on her face. He can’t tell if she believes him yet or not. Quentin leans on his bar by his elbows. “I realized that your Earth is much different than mine.”

“Like?” She narrows her eyes but he can see the breaking in her eyes. The vulnerability — the guilt. Oh, how fragile she could be in his hands, and how powerful. Another startling pink drink is placed before her, an orange slice wedges on the edge and the empty glass is taken away as he swallows. “I’m sorry if it’s something you don’t want to talk about it.”

She grabs the drink and Quentin notices the distinct lack of the ring on her left hand.

Perfect.

“No, it’s - it’s okay. My Earth… my home, we call it Earth-833. Where I’m from, this is Earth-616.” 

“And… what happened on your Earth?” She sounds so tentative, so sensitive to his feelings, that Quentin knows he’s picked the perfect little hero to play his leading lady. Clearing his throat, he watches the bartender refill his glass. The liquid amber swirls in his glass in the dark corner of the bar as a red light causes it to glow in his hand.

“It got destroyed. I was… I used to be someone like you. A hero, I guess, but most would define me as a vigilante because of the methods I employed. I tried to stop the Elementals who destroyed my home, but… I failed and I was nothing more than a failure, too.”

“Oh, my god. That must be terrible. I’m so sorry.”

His smile wants to grow and it wants to sink its claws into his cheeks as Viper raises the glass and directs the straw between her lips to give herself a reason to look away from him. He instead nurses his drink, drains it away and lets it swim in his head.

“I mean, it lead me to you, didn’t it? And… there’s so much life here, even after such a terrible battle. It really is something else.” His smile softens as he places a hand gently atop of hers. “You are something else to bring me here.”

She sets the drink on the counter, but her fingers linger on the glass, and she turns to him, a glint in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. It changes the way the light plays in her face, changes her to look less like prey, more like the predator he knows she is.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Her smile is an endless bottle of rich red wine, and Quentin’s knifepoint grin carves into his face. “But maybe I could show you around, if you’re interested.”

“Becoming friends with you?” he asks like it’s an out of this world feat, and it is, but Quentin Beck has never been the one to be stopped by the impossible. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Oh, arranged, hm?” Her eyes spark with life, and Quentin’s smile grows impossibly. The black straw slips between her lips again, and her cheeks hollow as she sucks down that Jersey Sunset. Her eyes don’t rip away from his, and his smirk is hidden behind his glass of scotch as he tips it back. His glass clatters against the counter, and she waves to the bartender. “Another for the gentleman here and a line of shots.”

“Right away.”

“My treat.” She shrugs when he tries to protest, and her hand slips into her tight jean pocket, pulling out a hundred dollar bill pinched between her middle and index finger. “How many shots do you think a hundred dollars can buy?”

“What’s wrong with…” He gestures to that pink monstrosity, and she chuckles.

“My Jersey Sunset?”

So he was right. 

Quentin smiles sheepishly, trying to pretend it’s not an offense to the eyes and to the body, but the Viper simply chuckles and pushes it away from her. “Yeah, I’ve had three of these and they really don’t do the trick.” Shot glasses line the counter as the bartender fills each one up, alcohol overflowing. 

“Three?”

“Yeah. And it’s getting kinda revolting. I just need to get drunk,” she sighs and he watches as the bartender lines crystalline little glasses behind the bar, tipping a full bottle and running it over the ten — he counts — glasses. He overfills many of them, no doubt doing so for the Avenger sitting before him, before leaving to attend to other patrons. 

“Any occasion?”

“Besides the big traumatic battle and half the universe coming back? Uh, I don’t really have a fiancé anymore,” she says, and he knows it’s in confidence by the way her eyes flicker around for reporters or paps. He scoots closer and she sighs, leaning until their shoulders brush. If she realizes she did this, Quentin doesn’t know. “He left me for some other girl.”

Quentin nearly screams in elation, because this is better than he could’ve hoped for. Now this is perfect. A scorned lover, rather than a mourning one. Bitterness, anger, all much more powerful than grief, and a dashing hero to save the day and restore her faith in love — oh, how has life set him up to be a leading man in his own private drama? “That’s awful. Why would he ever do that?”

“Yeah, well, I want to say it’s not my fault, but you already know what my powers can do, so maybe he thought I was too much, or I was too hard to be with, or something. Maybe in the five years I was gone, he realized how much easier life was without me.” When she turns to look at him, he can taste the oranges she’s sucked dry hours before he’d joined her, and he wants to kiss the fruitiness off her mouth, taste it for himself. A drum pounds in his stomach when her eyes flicker to his lips, and his mouth curls into a sly smile. “Does it freak you out?”

“Not at all. In fact, I find you intriguing.” He’s honest, then, because he truly does find the woman sitting before him a mystery. A mystery he can’t wait to crack. “The powers you have must be difficult to control.” 

“They are, but I like to think that I’m doing well in keeping it under wraps. The press don’t know that I could literally end our existence as we know it, which I always count as a good thing.”

Quentin chuckles, unexpected but still welcomed, and he catches the slight curl of her mouth as he glances at her pink monstrosity of a drink. He nudges her with his elbow, nodding to the Jersey Sunset and she pushes it towards him. He braces himself for a moment before taking a sip, and a fruit cocktail explodes on his tongue, sweet yet tangy and brain-burning cold. “How about you?”

“What?” He doesn’t understand.

“The ring on your finger? You’re married, so why are you here chatting it up with me? Don’t you wanna see her when you somehow figure out a way to get back?” Her tone is fledged with a teasing note but underneath it all, he knows she accuses him. He looks down at his ring, forgotten since he’s arrived, and puts on the softest, saddest smile he can muster. And to the passerby, it’s enough to break someone’s heart. His eyes downcast, he twists the ring along his finger and sighs quietly.

“My wife died,” he says, barely audible over the pulse of the music. “I couldn’t save her from the Elementals, and I…” He swallows, and his eyes begin to burn as he looks up, the smile digging further into his cheeks like a grieving widower, a man trying to be strong for his new companion, a man wearing a mask. “I guess I wear it out of habit.”

“I get that. Sometimes I make coffee for two and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.” Her fingers wrap around his wrist, just underneath the sleeve of his shirt and, unadulterated, a shiver runs up his spine. When his eyes meet hers, he feels like he’s on cloud nine at the tender smile that curls her lips. “I’m so sorry, Quentin. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. It’s nice to know someone who understands. Even if it’s more bitter and resentful on your part.” He’s reaching to make her smile, and it comes through as a success when she chuckles. But then, her smile slips away and he twists his wrist to take hold of her hand, squeezing. Eyebrows knitting together, a sympathetic smile swells on his face. “And, maybe if you’re still in the habit of making coffee for two, I could help with that?”

She lets go of his hand, tucking hair behind her ear with a shy smile, and nods. “I’d like that. Really, I would.” She drags her Jersey Sunset back towards herself and takes another small sip. When she speaks, she sounds remarkably more somber. “It’s kinda weird, living alone again. I thought when Thanos was gone, things were supposed to be happy.”

“You’re awfully sad for a hero who saved the world.”

“Guess heroes can’t have any fun, but maybe you would know about that.” 

“I find the answer is simply you’re just hanging around the wrong people,” he murmurs, fingers brushing over hers as he reaches for a shot glass behind the bar. The sharp smell of vodka bites at his sinuses and Quentin wrinkles his nose, tossing one back. It burns on its way down, and he clears his throat as she laughs. This one comes easier, lighter, and he fights back a smirk at his victory. Taking a shot for herself, she lets it go down as easy as water.

“Maybe I am.” 

“Well, let me see if I can fix that.” 

Glasses clink. Vision blurs, and heads spin as two lone figures stumble out of the bar at the witching hour. The moon is covered by grey satin clouds, the alleyway nothing but shadows and dark and everything that hides during the day. By the kitchen exit, there’s no paparazzi, no one in their tiny vodka glass of a world, and Quentin lists all the things he could do here in his head, everything he could.

“This might be stupid,” she whispers, and her breath tastes so delightfully sinful that Quentin barely holds back his groan. His hand trails along the bare skin beneath her hoodie, and he sighs as she tugs him flush against her. Her fingers dig into his neck, and her lips snag on his as he feels her pulse in her throat. It beats in her mouth, and his blood rushes to his head and feet, utter lava causing his head to spin — or maybe it’s the alcohol. 

In the darkness of the alleyway, he barely knows what she looks like drunk, but when a car drives past, her face flashes silver. Ironwire in her bones, stardust in her eyes, he has never seen a nebula quite so stunning. 

“You’re an Avenger. You can do whatever you want,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the waistband of her jeans and she inhales, a quivering little breath that steals from him. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks, his other hand following the curve of her neck. “You’re the most ravishing woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Instantly, the tenderness in her eyes melts and a strength floods her body, her smile becoming crooked. Quentin nudges her legs apart and and pushes every inch of his hips against hers, relishing in the gasp that escapes her lips. Her hands shoot through his hair and her lips seek his for a moment before he ducks down and finds the strong cord of her throat. The taste of sweat and sugar pushes into his mouth and he nearly bites down before fingers tug at his hair, rip him away from her neck and push him into searing lips.

“You said you could fix this,” she whispers against his sloppy mouth. His seeking kisses never falter, from her mouth to her cheeks and jaw and neck. His fingers pull her zipper down, spread her wide and he pulls away from where he is sucking a mark onto her neck to meet her eyes. Her pupils are blown, and her lips, once swiped with red, are parted. “You better be packin’, because I wasn’t expecting company.”

“You’re trouble,” he whispers, and her fingers trail through the roughness of his beard, brush over his lips. “Rogers was a fool to leave you.” She narrows her eyes, and he smirks, rolling his hips hard against her heat. The Viper merely crumbles in his arms, and she closes her eyes as his lips swallow her whole. He tastes her drunken sigh, feels it swirl in his own spinning head. 

Her hand searches for his wrist, and when he feels her gunmetal fingers wrap around his skin, he swallows down her plead for comfort, her plead to soothe the ache he knows festers in her heart. “Beck, please,” she cries into his mouth and she urges his palm flat against her stomach. Her other arm wraps around his neck and he smiles into her needy mouth as she trails his hand down her skin, his fingers brushing against the hem of his jeans before pushing past even that, and against the warmth of her. 

Everywhere he touches burns, and it is delightful. 

He has her open and panting and easy within moments, and all goes perfectly well.

That is, until his pants are barely shoved beneath his hips and he’s cock-deep in the Viper, and she whimpers out Steve. 

Hot-white rage fills Quentin to the point that he barely sees straight. The alcohol drowns out his senses, and he growls against her neck. Teeth grazing her tender skin, his hands grip bruises into her hips, and she whispers thank you, like it was merely a temporary lapse in judgement. Like she doesn’t even remember, and maybe she doesn’t, so Quentin merely smiles. Merely pretends he didn’t hear, pretends it never happened. 

It’ll only be a matter of time before Steve Rogers is nothing but a pile of ash in his wake, and if that means Quentin has to suffer his new lover calling him another man’s name, then so be it.

.

You are the Viper.

The tabloids would rather call you Mrs. Steve Rogers, and despite his many promises that it means nothing, that it’s not like that, you’re starting to feel like it’s more true with every passing moment. You may be a hero, but it was always up to Steve to convince you you weren’t the villain.

Steve, who didn’t love you anyway. 

Fucking whatever. It doesn’t matter that you’re basically the newest celebrity ‘widow’. No one except your colleagues know where Steve’s gone, and the media can speculate all they want. 

The truth will always hurt way more.

“Hey, you’re awake?” 

You drop your phone from where it’s been blasting bluelight in your eyes for the past hour as you scrolled through Instagram and look over at the man beside you. He twists in the darkness to switch on the lamp on his nightstand, and immediately you blink at how bright it is. The dottiness of your vision fades slowly, and you turn off your phone screen, sinking into the blankets beside him. Quentin rolls over onto his side and the soft smile on his face makes your own surface. He props himself up on his elbow, head resting in his palm as you turn to toss your phone onto the nightstand on your side of the bed.

You can’t remember the last time you smiled until now. One of his hands moves to touch you tentatively, and you offer your hand. His fingers lace with yours and he gently tugs your knuckles to his lips as you turn onto your side. With your free hand, you weave your fingers through his messy hair and lean over to snag his lips in a morning kiss.

“Good morning.” Your murmur is lost in another one of his kisses and you feel yourself smiling as his knuckles brush over his cheek.

“This is a nice way to wake up,” he chuckles and rolls away. Tossing off the blankets, he sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, the muscles in his back catching the golden light of his lamp. “What time is it?”

“Quarter past six. Way too early for a Sunday but you can use the bathroom through there.” You smile to yourself, unable to help the little victory fistpump your brain does when he grins in thanks. You note the ridges of his shoulders, the gentle slope of his back and the heat that seems to radiate from his very being as you nod your head to the adjoining bathroom in your flat. He turns to flash another grin before getting up, nude as the day he was born, and walking around the bed. He leans over to kiss your forehead, hand cupping your face warmly before brushing your cheek with his thumb. Reaching up to take hold of his wrist, you lean into his touch as his lips stay for a moment.

When he breaks away, you nearly melt at how gauzy and soft his blue eyes are as they meet yours. “I’d be happy for you to join me in the shower.”

“Noted.” 

He smiles then, and drags himself away, showing his figure without even trying. You cross your arms over your chest as your heart flutters in your throat. He was nothing like you’ve ever sexually encountered before. Kind and giving, yet he’d been insatiable, a predator hiding underneath his charming little facade, and nothing at all like Steve, who was nothing more behind what one saw. You got everything on the label. There were no secrets with Steve and— 

Steve.

Just the mere thought of him makes your tape-and-glue heart want to crumble again, and your smile fades.

Two months. He’s been gone for two months, and you’ve just started to let go of the hope that he might be back. Might come back to you. Might help you heal — heal with you. A sort of guilt weighs heavy on your shoulders and you throw off the blankets, disgusted. You don’t know whether it’s with Steve or yourself.

Had it somehow been your fault? 

The rational part of your brain wants to say no. It isn’t your fault the Snap took you. It isn’t your fault Steve seemed to forget you in those five years you were apparently gone. It isn’t your fault you, fiancé and girlfriend of five years, didn’t matter more to him than some woman from the 40s he knew for a year, if even that.

But maybe it is.

You want to sink into the earth and disappear forever, but you don’t. You’ve had enough with disappearing for what felt like forever. You’ve had enough with not existing. You’ve had enough. Feeling like a second choice, feeling like not enough, feeling sick with the thought that Steve never really loved you.

Your phone vibrates on the table and you move to grab it, letting out a tiny squeak when you feel something inside you tighten.

You’re sore. 

Quentin Beck really was the best lay of your life. 

Picking up your phone, you spot Bucky’s profile picture and sigh, picking up.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Missed you at the bar last night. Did you go home early?” Bucky doesn’t sound that concerned but you know it’s because he’s still reeling, too. No doubt the same doubts run through his head whenever he thinks of Steve, and with the paparazzi flashing in your face every moment you step outside the compound, neither of you are in a supply of patience. 

“Uh, yeah.” You can hear Quentin’s shower running and the thought of a steaming shower pelting your skull nearly makes you sigh. “I hooked up with someone, and I brought him back to my place.” Your thighs press together as a shiver runs down your spine. Hell, when did the room get cold?

When he left it, your battered heart teases, and you roll your eyes to yourself.

“Oh.” You can tell Bucky’s either not impressed or too shocked to say anything else. “You’re safe though, right? Do I need to come pick you up?”

“No, I’m fine. He’s…” from another Earth wants to spill out of your mouth, but instead you say, “a good guy. I’ll manage fine on my own.”

“Okay, well, we have a meeting so be at the facility by nine. Parker’s coming back for the first time today.”

“Really?” You haven’t seen Peter since the funeral, and although you've tried to reach out to him, you know space is what he might need. You’re more than aware that everyone who’s returned is fucked up, but you also know the kid took the worst of it. He’s only sixteen, coming back only to have Tony die. And Nat’s gone… You don’t want to think about what you’ve lost anymore. “Shit. Shit, he didn’t tell me. That’s really good.”

“Yeah, well, he’s taking it slow, so it’d be good if you’re there with him. You know, familiar face and all. I don’t think he’d want to see me after I tried to punch him in the face with my bionic arm.”

“Yeah, well, he thought your metal arm was cool.” Neither of you laugh, but you think you can hear Bucky’s tiny smile despite the silence. “I’ll be there.” You press your lips together and swing your legs off the bed with a slight grunt. “And Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it fucking stupid to ask if Steve’s triggered any of the markers?”

Bucky is silent for a long while, and you close your eyes, wondering what Steve is doing now. Enjoying life without you, no doubt, or maybe he’s trying to get back. It causes a vile taste to flood your mouth and your head aches at the thought. 

“You know he hasn’t. He’s gone for good, Vipe. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll see you soon, Buck.” Tapping End Call, you set your phone on the nightstand and plug it into a charger conveniently by the stand before standing up. Your whole body feels ravaged and a satisfying warmth floods your stomach as you get your legs to wobble over to the bathroom. For the first time in months, you feel like someone really wants you. 

Wants you. Not some rosy-tinted dream, not some utopia out of reach.

You.

“Quentin?” You knock on the bathroom door before pushing yourself in and the mist that hits you immediately coats your skin in wet kisses. 

“Hey.” His voice echoes against the tiles and you pull open the glass door as he turns around, his hands midway through his hair. “Glad you could join me.” Shampoo foaming in his fingers and his body shining with wet, he looks delectable with his half-hearted smile.

“Well, it was a tempting offer, Mr. Beck.” You take his proffered hand and step under the stream of bullet water as he closes the glass door behind you. He snags a kiss and you find yourself kissing back before remembering the phone call. “I’ve gotta head out after this. I’m sorry I have to cut the morning short.”

“You don’t have to lie, y’know? You could just tell me straight to my face that you find me strange and kick me out,” he drawls, and you chuckle, your heart stitching itself together at the sly curl of his lip. Looping your arms around his neck, you press a kiss against his mouth as shampoo foam runs over your skin.

“Well, in my case, I think strange is good.” Kissing his chin and jaw, you run your nose along his cheek. “And I want to see you again,” you promise, and his smile against your lips is everything. It’s addicting, kissing him like he’s the only man in the world. Something about Quentin Beck makes you feel wanted. Something about him pulls you out of whatever state Steve Rogers had left in, and although your gut twists every time Quentin touches you as if it’s wrong, you know in your heart that it is right.

“Really? A hero wants to meet me again? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“Yeah, well you’re pretty impressive.”

His smirk blinds you as he presses you against the cool tile. Goosebumps track up your arms and you shiver as he nudges your chin up and his breath whispers where tiny bruises litter your neck. His arm barricade you, one a dominance along your hip. His thumb runs soothingly over the bruised skin and your stomach pushes at his touch. You’ve nowhere to run, and you don’t want to run anymore One of your hands runs through his sopping wet hair, and you giggle when he kisses a trail up to your mouth, lingering around your lips but never quite meeting. 

“Say it again,” he murmurs, low in his throat and your stomach flips. Your heart slamming in your throat, you feel something curl inside you, something you always stomped down. You can feel yourself beginning to purge the thoughts and you sigh as Quentin shoves you against the wall. No matter how much you want to just break the chains barring you back, you can hear some voice in your head stopping you, some voice in your head that whispers no, do not unleash the monster. And so you listen, because it is all you know how to do. Listen to the voice in your head.

“You’re impressive,” you whisper and he chuckles, a sound that echoes deep in your chest as his hand runs down your slick skin, grabbing fistfuls of your flesh as his hips roll into yours. “I bet you like hearing that.”

“You have no idea, honey.” His beard brushes against the tender skin of your neck as he nips at the plane of your shoulder, and you smile, running your hands up his back, into his hair and holding on as tight as you can. His hips meet yours, every inch of him hot against yours as your knees begin to buckle. “Let go. C’mon, let go.” Your eyes slip shut, you can feel hot rain slip over your arms as more skin slides against the cold tile. His hands leave tracks of fire and he squeezes your hips teasingly as he slowly guides himself in between your legs, tantalizingly slow. “C’mon, nice ‘n’ easy, honey.”

His soft voice, deep, insistent, prys you open like a book, and you let out a soft whimper when he presses against the darkest mark on your neck with a kiss.

“Beck, I…” Your breath catches in your throat and you can feel the smirk against your collarbone as he hitches up your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your arms shoot around his neck, pulling him as tight as you can towards your chest. “I’ve gotta go soon.”

“No worries, darling. I’m somethin’ of a miracle worker myself.”

“Is that so?” you whisper, and he raises his head, slick rain trailing down his cheeks. His searing heat makes you light-headed and you suck in a hot breath as he presses a sloppy kiss against your mouth.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” The words push into your mouth and you let out a gasp when his tongue licks at the seam of your lips before pushing in. Your eyes close, and in the darkness, you see his porcelain blue eyes burning in the shadows like flames, unquenchable, hungry for more, and you are the forest fire he shall feed on.

.

The Avengers leave you and Peter alone in the rec room. You’re fidgeting with your phone in your pocket, the slip of paper Quentin had pressed into your hand before you left bending beneath your fingers, and Peter has calculus spread out before him.

You’re wondering if he’ll text first as you nurse your massive hangover. Peter’s pretending to do his work while he sneaks glances you pretend not to notice. It sounds like the beginning of an awful joke.

A Spider and a Viper walk into a room. The Spider turns to the Viper and says:

“So, how’s it going? A-around here, I mean.” 

You look up from your steaming mug of coffee that you’ve used to chased down some aspirin, and spot the boy sitting on the edge of the love seat he’s picked as his perch, pencil rolling over the textbook and onto the glass. Peter looks pitifully awkward and you want to reach over and hug him tight, but you feel like the boy before you craves something you can’t give him.

Tony.

Just the thought of your friend makes you feel it all over again. Your body aches, your head spins, and you suck down the coffee like it’s your lifeline. Letting the heat simmer behind your eyes, you close your eyes and set down your mug, leaning back as Peter pretends to work on some calculus equation you know he already knows the answer to.

“Peter, you don’t have to pretend like you’re okay. None of us are, anyway,” you murmur, leaning into the sofa and hugging a cushion to your chest as you regard the teen. He grabs the pencil, rolls it between his fingers, dark eyes not meeting yours. “And you’re just a kid.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” He closes his calculus workbook with a sigh, taking a sip of the glass of water you’d poured for him when he first arrived. “How… how are you doing?”

You smile softly, wearily at how tender his question is and you know he is far too kind for such a world. You still remember him, just nine and already braver than most men are staring down a Hammer bot with his plastic gauntlet — his little mask that was too big for his face.

How much you wish it was still 2010, you cannot even describe. You may not have known Steve then, but you wouldn’t know the trembling heartbreak that wrecks your body, the complete and utter shambles your mind is crushed beneath. It’s strange to think how young you felt then — just a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent partnered with the Black Widow. And now… now you’re something else. Stronger, broken, unstable, unbreakable, so many oxymorons and paradoxes you barely remember who you were before the Reality Stone altered every little thing that used to make you normal.

“I’m doing okay, Pete. Missing Tony a lot. And Nat. Feels weird without them but we’re getting by.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He doesn’t say anything about the absence of one name, despite it showing on his face for just a moment. He sets down the glass a little harder than you think he intended, and you squeeze the cushion to your chest. “I… I like a girl, though.” His words, timid and quiet, part the storm clouds nesting in your head.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Her name is MJ. She’s pretty, and smart, and she’s really funny, in a really twisted way.”

“Sounds like my type of girl,” you quip, scooting up against the couch and sitting straight. Tossing the pillow aside, you lean forward on your knees. Taking out your phone, you check it with a quick glimpse before setting it on the coffee table. “You should go for it. Do something normal for once, y’know?” Peter grins then, and you know that smile. It’s a smile of mischief, of a sixteen year old who’s being just a teen and in this moment, you don’t mind. “You have that school field trip coming up this summer, right? Make a grand gesture in Paris, the most romantic city in the world.”

“Yeah, but Mr. Harrington isn’t sure it’s going to go.”

“Oh, why?” 

“Not enough supervisors, and just a whole bunch of other stuff. I dunno,” he mumbles and you reach over to grab his arm, the warmth of him startling. It’s different than you remember, something stronger yet softer, a hearth that’s been burning longer than you realized. 

“Maybe I could chaperone, or pull a few strings. Just tell me if you need anything, okay? I think one of us needs a win.” His dark eyes meet yours and you grin, trying to pull his own smile out of him. “Come on. Can you imagine telling her how you feel on the top of the Eiffel Tower?”

“That would be pretty romantic.” 

“Yeah, it would.” Your hand slides down to take hold of Peter’s and you squeeze his palm. “Pete, you know Tony wouldn’t want you just… just living like a ghost.”

“Yeah.”

You let go of his hand and reach up to stroke at his cheek, your small smile growing when he ducks away from your hand like a tough little nine-year old. Letting your hand drop, you hear your phone buzz and two sets of eyes dart to your lit screen on the coffee table. Your eyes barely scan the notification before your screen turns off again, but you know who it is and you know Peter saw.

“Quentin? Who’s that?” Peter’s innocent question rattles in your skull, and you paste on the most sincere smile you can. Your mind scrambles for an answer, and underneath Peter’s stare that looks all too much like Tony’s in some respects, you fail.

“The guy I hooked up with last night,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. Unlocking it, you read his text as quick as you can and your thumbs hover over the keyboard, eager to reply. “Uh… what should I say? Oh, god, I never really dated anyone before.”

“Are you sure? Because you used to be engaged.”

Shooting Peter a dirty look, you elaborate, “Yeah, well, we bonded over work. This is a guy I met at a bar, and it’s different.” Turning off your phone, you tell yourself you’ll find a quiet time to compose a reply that makes sense. “He’s really nice, though.” 

Your phone buzzes in your hands again and it’s embarrassing how fast you go to check it.

Quentin Beck: Good morning. Sorry that you had to miss out on breakfast. I went to Starbucks and got a croissant.

Quentin Beck: Attachment: 1 Image

Swiping open the notification, you let out a sigh at the smug smile of Quentin Beck and his croissant of ham and cheese and a latté — breakfast that sounds undeniably scrumptious after a night of drinking.

“Anyway,” you mutter, clearing your throat, “it’s nice having someone outside of us treat me like I’m just a normal person. Most people are freaked out when they meet me because they think I might destroy their perception of reality or something, or they, like, ask me to do a tiny trick on them, and I don’t know which is worse. Because I really could just fucking destroy the universe, Pete, and I don’t even know how to stop it.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter’s voice is soft, quiet. You set down your phone. “I’m really glad no one knows who I am, because the things they’d do if they found out, I’d… I can’t imagine how it must be for you.”

“It’s okay. You’ve got a lot on your plate already without having to worry about me.” You think you smile, but it comes out uneasy. You want to cry, but you’ve no tears left, and you want to scream, but your throat bleeds at the thought. You want to shelter Peter away, but you know he’ll never listen. Curse a hero’s heart, you think bitterly, curse every single one’s. The world would be hell, but at least Tony would still be by his side. At least Nat would still be by mine. And Steve… “It’s fucking awful, isn’t it? Living with the world on our shoulders.”

Peter smiles, then too, and it’s a warrior’s smile. One forced to the surface, not quite meeting the eyes, and torn in all the wrong ways. One too old for such a young face and you wonder when it’ll be enough. When will the world have enough heroes so children won’t have to fight our battles? When will our battles stop being theirs? 

It’s later that night when the waves crash onto you as they have every night since the Battle. You hold a pillow to your chest again, another underneath your legs and one beneath your head as you stare up at the ceiling of your room in your flat. You never slept at the compound, not unless you had a reason to stay.

You don’t have a reason anymore. You’d driven Peter back to his aunt’s place and now, with nothing left to do except prepare for a new day, your mind wanders.

It’s the empty nights that make you miss Steve the most. It’s the darkness in your room, the laughter echoing against the walls, what could’ve been and what should’ve been haunting your every waking hour. But tonight, it hits differently.

Tonight, guilt sinks her teeth into your body and tears out your guts. Tonight, it carves you out hollow, makes your stomach deflate, makes you feel sick. Because Steve’s not supposed to be so ingrained in your head. You shouldn’t love him still, and you’re quite sure you don’t when the sun’s beating down on you and the morning wind kisses your cheeks, but at night, you can’t recognize being lonely from being in love.

You want to throw up.

Turning onto your side, your stomach slides uneasily into your lungs as you tug your blankets up to your chin. The smell of something cool stings your nose and you bring your blankets to your nose, inhaling deeply. Quentin. His smell still lingers in your room. It chases away the gut feeling and you bundle yourself, cocooning in the scent as your phone lights up.

Reaching for it, you squint at the blue light in the black of your room to see Peter’s text of thanks. You smile to yourself, typing out a quick response before exiting the conversation to the list of your texts. Right beneath Peter’s name is Quentin’s with an empty profile picture.

You’d replied earlier to Quentin’s texts with a simple ‘Wish I were there. I’m starving. Looks like today’s gonna be a bit busy.’ and left it at that to give you an excuse to reply late, but it seems like he’s had a busy day, too. Probably wandering around NYC, taking in Earth-616 in. He’s left read receipts on so you know he’s read it, but other than that, conversation has stalled.

Weird, since conversation never stopped until he fucked you in the back alley of a bar.

Just the memory sends a delicious pulse up your legs and you grab your phone, rolling onto your stomach. Fingers tapping away, you don’t give yourself time for second thoughts before you press send.

You: Is it weird to feel guilty over the stupidest thing?

His reply is nearly instantaneous.

Quentin Beck: About what?

You: Guess I’m still not used to sleeping alone.

Quentin Beck: Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to come over?

You: I dunno. It might make me feel worse. I feel like I need a vacation to like Paris or somewhere like that. Europe sounds fun and my friend is going with his school during the summer and I’m thinking of chaperoning.

Quentin Beck: That sounds fun.

Quentin Beck: Also not at all what you want to talk about so I’m all ears

You bite your lip, an urge in your chest telling you to keep going as your thumbs hover your keyboard. The fact that he can read you, even without hearing your voice, seeing your face, makes you feel both unnerved and warm inside.

You: It feels like I’m cheating on him with you, but it doesn’t make sense. 

You: He didn’t love me enough in the end.

You: Maybe I’m just an idiot.

Quentin Beck: You know he’s the idiot, right?

You nearly laugh, and it sounds thick in your throat as just the mere expression you can imagine so easily in your head the cock of Quentin’s eyebrow, the inflection in his voice. You can hear him so clearly saying it that it fills you up inside.

You: He wasn’t.

Quentin Beck: He was in leaving you, and I swear I will prove it to you no matter what.

You: You’re really sweet, but are you sure? Everybody wants to date a superhero until they date a superhero. 

Quentin Beck: Then, they’re missing out. I really enjoyed last night, and I was wondering

Quentin Beck How about a date? Saturday, Le Bernardin at 6.

You: Expensive. You think that off the top of your head?

Quentin Beck: It was what I was doing today.

Quentin Beck: I researched many, MANY top ten lists of attractions and restaurants to come up with a plan to see you again that didn’t seem too clingy.

You: Oh, really?

Your heart thuds in your throat as you try to imagine living a life without Steve Rogers. A life without your rock, the man who helped you learn to control your powers, the man who helped ground you when you were lost in your head, the man who told you you’re more than an atomic bomb waiting to explode.

And then your brain reminds you sharply that you’ve done it before, and that you can do it again. It’ll be different, new, and maybe Quentin….

Quentin Beck: Did it work? Or did I come on too strong?

Quentin could be your new anchor, if he’s willing to.

You: Not at all. Of course I’ll go on a date with you.

Quentin Beck: Great. I’ll pick you up?

You: Sounds perfect.

.

The date goes perfectly fine. And so does the next, and the next, and suddenly it’s been a month, and five dates in the past two weeks, and you barely remember the last time you’ve smiled this much. 

Peter certainly notices the difference. 

You’re in the middle of manipulating the massive illusion you’ve created in your flat for his plan to confess his feelings to MJ, and the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower is breathtaking. The magic flows warmly through your veins, fizzling easily between your head and heart.

Sitting next to Peter on the railing, you let your legs swing and twist your wrist, turning the bright morning to a dusky sunset. The boy beside you gasps, and you turn to him, the wind playing at your face. 

“Like it?”

“Yeah. This would be perfect,” he sighs, leaning back and suddenly the rail is wide enough for him to do so. You make a mental note to remind him to both a, not to sit on the rail of the Eiffel Tower’s balcony and b, not to lean back. “So, how are you and Quentin doing?”

“Oh, it’s been going good, actually.” You feel heat rush to your cheeks at the very thought. He’s much different than Steve, but at the same time, has the same qualities that make your heart melt, and just the very thought of him makes you excited. “We’re meeting up later tonight for dinner at my place. He’s shopping at Rockefeller and apparently he’s going to cook me dinner? I don’t know.”

“You’re inviting him to your place? It sounds fun,” he says, grinning from ear to ear and you nudge him with your elbow, staring into your lap.

“I really like him, Pete. How about you? How’s MJ?”

“She’s good, too. Caught her staring a bit, but I dunno if that means anything,” he mumbles and you laugh, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He leans towards you and you bend your arm, fingers running through his hair. “Maybe this is all stupid.”

“No. It’s not stupid, Pete. You’re just a kid. It’s worth it to try.” A bird chirps and you glance to your side to spot a little pigeon wobbling on the railway. Extending your free hand towards it, you let it hop onto your finger and transfer it to Peter’s lap. “And hey, maybe a pigeon will shit on you if things go awkward.”

Gawking, Peter raises his head from your shoulder and narrows his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s offended or relieved, but an impish smile curls your lip anyway. “You wouldn’t.”

“I could.” You shrug and snap your fingers, letting the illusion dissipate with a wave of red. The corners of the room start to appear, the TV and your couch and fridge coming into view. Sunlight streams through your glass balcony doors and you hop off your kitchen counter, checking your phone. It’s nearly lunchtime and May’s out with Happy doing…

Whatever May and Happy do.

“Wanna head out for lunch, kiddo?”

“Yeah.” Hopping off too, Peter walks over to the couch and grabs the hoodie he had tossed carelessly over the back. He pokes his head through the old MIT hoodie that you think Tony must’ve left in his lab once. Your smile softening, you watch as he fiddles with the hoodie strings, tying it tight in a simple little bow. Nat used to do that all the time, and you wonder if he’s picked that up from her. You let him fix his hair in the bathroom mirror as you begin to turn off all the lights in your flat. 

Grabbing your keys and wallet, you shrug on a jacket and head out to the balcony windows that let warm sunlight stream through your living room. Standing by the window and looking at New York skyline, you let your gaze drift off. 

In the distance, you can see Brooklyn and your smile slips away all together. 

You’re furious with yourself, but you can’t help how your body seems to react to any hint of Steve. You’re so tired of missing someone when you’ve met someone new.

Digging out your phone, you try to distract yourself from those thoughts. You scroll through your notifications as you listen to Peter mutter to himself about his hair from the bathroom, and you sigh as your phone buzzes, the banner at the top of your screen revealing a text from Bucky. Without thought, you frown as you read through the message.

Bucky Barnes: Shooter at Rockefeller. Unknown casualties. Weapon of mass destruction.

Rockefeller. Your blood turns to ice, and you feel like you might throw up as you stare at the message.

“Okay, do I look okay?” 

Peter’s voice jerks you out of your daze and you blink, typing your message, sending it, and pocketing your phone without a second thought. You push out the thoughts of what could be when you arrive at the tourist center, and instead swallow everything down. You lock everything you feel into a cage and throw away the key, trying not to imagine Quentin shot, Quentin dead, Quentin with a blood-soaked box of chocolates as he bleeds out on the floor of Jacques Torres Chocolate.

You: On my way.

“Pete, I need you to get me to Rockefeller.” You turn around to see him standing there with his hair all swept to the side and make another note to yourself to apologize for lunch as you throw off your flats and shove your feet into boots. Although you know how much it must break his heart, you can’t afford to delay. “There’s a shooter at Rockefeller Center. I… I need you to take me there.”

“Quentin’s at Rockefeller,” Peter whispers, and you let out a shuddering breath as you feel yourself short-circuit. Your whole body burns and Peter nods to himself, tugging the strings of his hoodie and pulling it off. He taps the watch containing all the nanoparts of his suit and it begins to spread over his skin as he flings the hoodie off in some random direction. “I can get you there.”

Nodding, you shove open the glass door to step out on the balcony, and you tie your hair back.  The wind buffets at your face and you breathe in as deep as you can until your chest aches. Bracing one foot against the railing, you tie your boots as tight as possible.

Quentin dead, another funeral, not enough time. 

The other shoe now, and you tie it tighter before you take hold of the railing, and push off the balcony. Balancing atop the edge of the world, you look towards Midtown Manhattan, stepping along the rail until you are at the corner of your balcony. 

Spreading your arms wide, you step off the railing, letting yourself fall as Spider-Man jumps after you, and together you swing through New York as you’ve practiced before.

You reach Rockefeller in a break-neck speed that would have made any citizens’ heart burst, but you simply unlatch from Peter and run towards where the NYPD Commissioner stands by the tape, hand on his radio. 

“Commissioner Kelly,” you greet shortly, nodding to Bucky who stands on the opposite side of the tape. He’s geared up in an NYPD vest and a pistol is gripped tight in his flesh hand. “What’s the status on the shooter?”

“We have no eyes on them yet.”

“Casualties?”

“Twenty racked up so far. Three officers.” The air squeezes out of your lungs and you sigh, taking the bulletproof vest an officer offers you and strapping it on quickly. “We’re ready on your signal.”

“Barnes.” You nod to Bucky who takes hold of a radio and walks off to gather the teams. You can hear his voice rallying troops like he must’ve done back in the War, and you turn to Peter who lingers behind. “Spider-Man, I need recon. Get me eyes on the shooter. This is a big fucking place.”

“Right away.” He fires two webs, catapulting himself towards the building as you duck underneath the police tape. Walking towards the building, you pull out the wireless comms unit and stick it to the backside of your ear, activating it with a simple tap. It latches onto your skin, and you hear it’s tiny beep telling you both the com unit and the tracker are online. 

Your magic sizzles at your fingertips and you suck in a breath, trying to calm down your frazzled nerves. The last time you were in combat was the Battle, and although you don’t like the nightmares that come with that day, it’s all you can think of now. You can’t remember what was a dream and what wasn’t as it blurred into one gaussian memory, and you can’t control your thoughts. They’re scattered, tipping you to one side or another, making your head spin.

What you can remember is worse than what you can’t, and it’s taken you four years to come to terms with the fact that your powers are very, very real, and universally dangerous. The world pulling apart in your hands, reality paper-thin, like clay between your palms, being barely able to distinguish reality from the illusions your head makes.

You wonder if it would’ve done the universe a kinder favor if you’d died alongside Tony Stark.

.

Red smoke curls over your skin as you step over the tile. Your heart in your head, you can hear almost everything — a pin dropping, the subtle shift of glass, the faint echo of movement. Your boots almost squeak at how slowly you roll through your feet, your eyes darting across the empty floor. You hear something topple and you turn with a slight scuff of your foot. Your eyes flicker over the dead body by the women’s restroom and you mouth a silent prayer before moving on.

“Hands up!” a rough voice pierces the ear-shattering silence and you raise your wrist to your lips. “Hands up where I can see them.”

“I have the shooter,” you whisper, falling into a crouch as you run towards a nearby column. “Converge on my position.” 

“I’m not going to listen to you,” another responds, and you furrow your brow, lips barely parting as you catch a flash of brown hair and blue eyes. The sunlight streams through the broken windows, shards littering the floor. The floor is sticky where you hide and you glance down at the spilled soda pooling around your feet. Shit. Pressing yourself against the column, you take a deep breath. “You know I can help you, Gargan.”

Quentin. Shit, what is he doing on this floor? Despite your hope that he could’ve evacuated, only now does his words the first night you met him ring in your head.

“I used to be someone like you. A hero…”

Shit, shit, shit. Your mind racing, you try to ignore the ache that begins to fester deep in the core of your brain. 

“Really? ‘Cause the Avengers ain’t fucking coming and you’re not some fucking hero.” 

“Think again.” Swinging around the column, you raise your arms before you. The voice that speaks is not yours and although you recognize it as the Viper’s, you haven’t heard it in so long that you almost want to stop talking. “Put the gun down, now.”

The shooter turns around and you stare into the face of the Scorpion.

As if the day hasn’t had enough surprises. Your arms falter for a moment, but then you catch sight of the gigantic silver weapon he holds in his scarred hands. It gleams in the sunlight, shifting with every move Gargan makes, and you let out a groan as the ache in your head grows.

“Oh, great, they allowed you out of prison?” you hiss, squinting your eyes against the pain.

“Who said ‘allowed’?” Mac Gargan smirks and the scar on his cheek stretches as he raises the weapon. He’s got a new nasty scar above his eye, and he looks like utter death — pale, with dark bags pulling underneath his eyes and all the meat scooped out from his cheeks. A hollow man. 

Purple energy hums in his hands, bathing the silver gun in a violet glow, and you take a step back at the wave of nausea that hits you when he points it at your chest. Narrowing your gaze at the Chitauri core, numbing cold begins to bite at your fingers as a cold sweat crawls down your back. “You wouldn’t believe what happens in prisons, Viper. Wouldn’t believe what they did to me.”

“I really would.” Your magic burns and you meet eyes with Quentin over Scorpion’s shoulder. Jerking your head for him to run, you widen your eyes. Blood is smeared all over his face, and his white shirt is stained maroon that drips down to his pants as you try to see if he’s hurt. He shakes his head minutely, and you let out a tiny sigh of relief before your gaze focuses on Gargan again. “Let Quentin go, and I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

“Go easy on me, huh?” Gargan adjusts his grip on the gigantic silver weapon. The more you look at it, the more it looks like a grenade launcher but from your angle, you have no idea what’s going to happen if he pulls the trigger. “So your little boyfriend can go free? What? Wanna save him from another incident?”

“Stop.”

“Come on, Viper. Your old boy toy couldn’t take it, so what makes you think this one’s gonna be different?” The nausea swirls in your head, adding to the knot of pain in the center of your head as you let out a shuddering breath. Your eyes burn and a red flash makes you squeeze your eyes tight as metal clacks. “There’s a lotta little tools on this bad boy here. I can make you suffer.” Prying your eyes open, you cradle your head in your hands, fingers digging into your skull as if you can rip the pain out of your head. Through your burning tears, you can nearly taste the energy that wants to sink into your flesh as Gargan pulls the handle on the side, whirling around to aim the launcher at Quentin. “Or should I force the truth outta Beck here instead?”

“What?” Quentin’s voice pierces through the muddiness in your head, and you reach his wretched blue eyes. Mouth opening, you try to force out a sound but it catches in your throat. You blink, another stream of tears tracing over your cold skin as red, blood-like mist spills out of your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t think I don’t know about your warehouse on Long Island?”

“You talk too much,” you breathe as the ache festers deeper inside your skull. It’s almost as if someone took a jackhammer and stuck it into the center of your brain. You feel the metallic taste of blood flood your mouth as you carefully bring yourself forward. If you can just get close enough, you’ll be able to disarm him as quick as you can. The edges of Gargan’s form flicker red and you pause. “What?”

“Having doubts too, Viper?” Gargan turns to look at you and you blink, lips pressing together as you reach forward. His image fizzles and you let out a sharp breath, eyebrows knitting together as another jackhammer stabs into your brain. 

“Stop, please—” Your voice cracks as you take another step forward, but with every step you take, you watch as everything shifts. You see doubles, red outlines of every little thing that it blinds you. Two Gargans grin back at you like the Cheshire Cat and you close your eyes tight, trying to push through what you know can’t be an illusion. 

Can it?

“I have nothing on Long Island.”

“Just like you don’t have a dead wife.”

“What?” Your eyes open, jerk towards Quentin and he tries to speak, but all that comes out is silence. “What is he talking about?” Quentin fizzles in and out of view like a faulty hologram and you let out a groan, your hands raking through your hair until they’re right before you, glowing with untapped energy. Red mist spills from your palms as you tear your gaze to Gargan. “What are you talking about?” 

“Your little boyfriend isn’t from another Earth. Like that fucking exists,” he spits, the words rattling in your skull, sucked into the vortex of agony that nearly pulls you to your knees, and you inhale sharply. Whatever is in the Chitauri core is causing the pain to multiply by tenfold and with every step you take, you can feel your skull breaking. “Isn’t that what he told you? Earth-833, his little sob story about being a hero. It’s his fucking fantasy, Viper.”

“Beck?” Your eyes dart to him and Quentin shakes his head, blood dripping down his cheek. “Is it true? You… you lied?”

“No. You don’t understand. Gargan is confused—” Quentin takes a step forward towards you as a rush of searing heat burns through your arms. You can feel the energy surging into your head as a shout echoes throughout the empty floor. 

“No, no, you’re not real.” The whispered words barely push past your teeth as you clench your jaw. Quentin moves to run towards you, his red shadow behind him crackling like a broken TV screen but Gargan whips around, his launcher pointed straight at his heart. 

“You don’t call the shots here. Stay where you are.”

“Let me reach her, or we’re going to die.” 

Lies, lies, lies.

“Was it all a lie, Beck?” You take another step forward. You watch as the image of Quentin seems to flicker in and out, the hologram of him breaking, and you let out a breath, blinking as hard as you can. Your hands trembling, you try to make sense of it all only for Gargan to point the launcher at you and pull the trigger. A purple beam shoots out of the weapon, bringing you to your knees instantly. A scream tears its way out of your throat, ripping it raw as you hunch over, tucking your head into your knees. Your hands take fistfuls of your own hair, nails digging into your skull and you can barely hear yourself think as a high-pitched ringing echoes in your head.

Everything hurts, it hurts, oh god, make it stop— 

“Gargan, we’re going to die if you don’t get out of here, and let her go!”

“She needs to know the pretty little lies you’ve told her, Beck. Come clean with her or break it off, ‘cause you know we can pull this fucking masquerade off without her. She’s a loose end.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gargan!”

Heat begins to blister in your head and you let out a whimper as the blood mist pools around you. The ground begins to tremble and you let out a gasp as it begins to split beneath your fingers, fissures spreading with every passing second. Slamming your palms hard against the tile, you desperately try to grab hold of the glossy floor.

“Shit!”

“Not my fault you got attached. Suppose you both deserve each other.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! Look what you made her do! Viper, honey, listen to my voice. You can do this, okay? Close that tiny tear and we can go home.”

“Cut the vigilante bullshit, Beck! You’re a fucking pyscho and you’ve gotta make a choice. You better make the right one, because one wrong move, she dies, and I’m taking all that tech with me.”

“Home. I want to go home,” you whisper, trying to usher the split close. A dark void stares back at you through the beginnings of a red seam split open and you feel a hand take hold of your wrist as it cracks wider.

“Hands up!” Bucky’s voice tears through your mind-splitting agony and you hear something clink just as you wrench your head up. “Hands where I can see them.”

Turning around, you meet his gaze and let out a cry as tears trace down your skin, slip into your mouth and fall into the void torn below you. “Bucky?” As you stare at the man, you sob at how his eyes — eyes you know are blue, eyes you know don’t look like a snake’s — flicker to yours, blood red and venomous.

“Hands up where I can see them now,” Bucky orders, tearing his eyes away from you, and you let out a pathetic sob, turning to stare back at the void you struggle to sew shut. The hand grabbing your wrist is alien, something that sends a wave of cold shock up your burning skin, and you rip your hand away, uncaring of the claw marks that drag over your flesh. Blood gushes forth, flowing warmly, thickly down your skin and you let out a harsh gasp.

“Don’t focus on them, honey. Focus on my voice, okay?” Quentin catches your attention again and you look at him, flesh colored and solid like nothing else. His very image, the eye of a hurricane, calms the storm that beats in your heart as you try to fight the urge to rip the seam wide open. You nod as another surge of tears crawls down your face. “You can do this.”

“Fuck you, Beck. You’ve fucked this up for the both of us.”

“Mac, do not shoot!”

“No, no, no.” You let out a desperate whimper as the tear widens and you grab uselessly at the tile as you wrench your head up to stare at Quentin. “I can’t. I can’t close it!”

“Yes, you can! Just focus on my voice. Trust me. I’m real, you don’t have to be afraid, okay?” Quentin forces a smile onto his face and you try to smile as Gargan switches the aim of the beam from you, to Bucky. Red smoke covers the floor and you let out a shaky laugh as the ground knits itself back together.

“Hands up, now!”

Something clicks.

You can hear the hiss, the sizzle of energy as it burns through the air and you look up from the split ground. Time seems to slow before your very eyes as a purple blast sends a shockwave of dust through the floor.

The Chitauri core spirals through the air as it begins to crack, burning azure and dark satin purple spilling from the cracks in blinding rays of light. Throwing out a hand, you grab at the air as red smoke shoots towards the ticking bomb in tethered cords, wrapping around it and snuffing out any kind of light. As soon as your magic coils around the energy core, time resumes its pace and you hear the frantic shouts, screams to take cover as you take hold of the rope.

Yanking towards yourself, you catch the Chitauri core and it sends spears of pure, frying energy up your arm before you look down into the void and throw it as far down as you can. Your veins burning beneath the surface of the skin, you dig your fingers into the tile and push the tear closed as the explosion rattles in your head. You feel as if you’re being blown apart, torn from limb to limb as blood, the same blood that gushes down your wrist and floods your mouth, begins to leak from your ears.

You hear the words of someone yelling ‘Get down’.

You don’t have time before you feel yourself begin to tear.

Everything goes black, and for a moment, it is silent. 

And then, someone takes you by the neck and throws you forward, and you can hear so many voices you can barely register them all. You hear Tony’s, Nat’s, Steve’s even, and other voices you don’t recognize. You watch as everything flickers like a hologram, like Tony’s last message to his family, like the fragments of reality you can barely keep hold of.

“Then again, that’s the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end.”

Your mind’s eye is knocked through portals of your own making and you let out a gasp as darkness surrounds you, then orange light, squirming cells and bacteria, the deep violet, and a face you can barely make out, a name whispered: Dormammu. You fly through golden cities, a planet like your own except you are nothing more than a ghost and you want to scream but the wind has been knocked out of your lungs as you plummet through the universes. Plummet through the multiverse.

The knot in your head unwinds.

Your arms are washed in ice, and you jolt as you’re thrown back into your body. The red staining your vision oozes into sharper, defined edges and colour and you blink, trying to get rid of the dots still blinking in your vision. You’re on your side, coated in ash and blood as you raise your head, only for it to fall heavily to the ground. Quentin is running away from you, tackling Mac Gargan to the ground and you glance down at your hands, black with smoke and still sizzling from red magic and blood and lilac energy. You hear soft groans and your eyes dart towards the sound as you reach up dazedly to touch your head. It pulses beneath your fingertips and you brush blood away from your ear as it trails down your neck. 

“Viper, hey!” Bucky, crouched beside you, reaches to grab your shoulder and you jolt back, blinking as you try to catch your breath and Bucky’s eyes, blue and round and wide, stare back at you like you’re a wild animal. Trying to push yourself into a sitting position, you feel pain lance up your arms and wince. “Hey. You’re awake.”

“Stay away,” you murmur, shaking your head. The pain in your head, although fading, comes back stronger and you let out a whine when everything distorts, breaks like static.

Pushing yourself to a stand only for you to stumble, you try to catch yourself as you fall back and you shake your head again. Your head swimming, dizzy, you lean against a column heavily as you try to make sense of the scene before you. 

In a pile of bodies atop of each other, Quentin wrestles Mac to his back, and where you tried to contain the tear is where there is a massive pool of ash, fire and blood. Bucky stands by the shape of where your body had left in the smoke, his face ashen.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter whispers in your head and you turn yourself wretchedly to look at the kid as he lands beside you. You’re sure you look quite like hell, just barely catching your reflection in the nanometal of his mask and you want to pull away, something primal inside you urging you to run. But you’re too tired, too weak, too pained. Everything hurts, and all you want to do is fall asleep for a century as his hand floats above your bicep. Like he wants to touch you, comfort you, but knows something will happen if he does.

Shit.

“Are you okay?” You look at him, and the sharp question of ‘How can you even ask that?’ pounds at the roof of your mouth. Blinking when the red melds with the metal of the Iron Spider suit, you shake your head just barely. You’re not even quite sure he stands before you as he lets out a sigh.

“My head really fucking hurts,” you utter and you watch the SWAT team swarm Gargan. He growls like a cornered predator, thrashing and screaming, spitting venom at you but you barely hear him as you try to remember what had just happened. His weapon smokes red a few feet away as you begin to sink into a sitting position, looking at the thing dazedly. It’s stained with soot, the silver sheen lost and dull. 

Peter hovers around you in case you need help to slide down to the floor before he heads over to the weapon, mechanical spider limbs deployed to pick up the black market grenade launcher. He comes back towards you then, the mechanical eyes widening and shrinking every few seconds. He inspects it in his hands, turning it over to get a taste of what it’s standard use was before telling Karen to scan it. 

“Pete?” You catch his attention immediately, voice faint and he crouches beside you. “Was… did anyone—”

“People took cover. No one died, but it was a pretty big explosion so maybe some people got hurt,” Peter whispers under his breath. “Then, you kinda got knocked unconscious, and no one could touch you for a while, except Mr. Beck, just like how it didn’t touch Steve? Uh, I don’t know but your… your, uh, trick, prevented anyone else from touching you, so you’ve been out for a couple of minutes. Mr. Beck sat by you in case you hurt yourself until Gargan started running.” Your breath rattles in your chest as Quentin walks over to you, the red holographic outlines of his face fading away immediately as he comes closer and you smile weakly. Staring up into his battered and sweat-slick face, you swallow and reach for him with weak hands. 

“Hey, you okay? Shit.” He collapses to his knees, wraps an arm around you, pulling your head to his chest as your arms fling around his waist. The sound of his heartbeat beats away the pulse in your head and you let out a whimper as he threads his fingers through your hair, gently shushing you. “Hey, okay, focus on my voice, honey. It’s okay.”

“Beck.” Your chest aches and your throat feels like it’s been choked within an inch of your life as you bury your face into his bloody shirt. “Oh, god. Why didn’t you just run?”

“That was the hero in me, I guess,” he whispers and you pull back, the blood in his shirt staining your cheek. He wipes away the tears tracking down your face as you let out a chuckle. He sits down and sends a nod to Peter who, still in his Iron Spider suit, lingers for a moment before you raise your face towards him.

“I’m okay. I… I think I’ll be okay with Quentin,” you murmur and Peter finally nods, following Bucky and Gargan out of Rockefeller. “Quentin, did I… did I—”

“You saved me. He would’ve killed everyone on this floor if you didn’t destroy the crystal, throw it into that multidimensional tear,” he whispers and you raise your head miserably to survey the scene. Black smoke, fires, blood and broken glass.

And you’re supposed to be a hero.

“Listen to me.” Quentin catches your gaze when he tips your chin up at him, and the warmth of him causes the tears to increase. Here he is, kind, gentle, when you’re nothing more than a destroyer. You turn away with a choked breath and he presses a kiss to your hair. With every second that passes in his silence, you note that the red fades away faster. “You feeling better? Just focus on my voice, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Does it always get this bad?” he murmurs, and you close your eyes, fingers digging into him as tight as you can. You need to know he’s real.

“Worse. Last time I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t, it took… it took someone close to me to get me to calm down.” You can barely stand to mention Steve now, knowing that this time, there wasn’t a surefire way to disarm you. Knowing that this time, it could’ve ended differently, worse.

“I can’t trust myself, Quentin,” you mutter, eyes shutting even tighter at the very thought of what could’ve happened, “and it’s… it’s hard for me to get close to people, so I’m asking if I can trust you because you’re why we’re still here.” You sigh heavily as your heart rate steadies. The pain is nothing more than a dull ache, and you open your eyes to stare at the burnt skid marks beneath your boot. “If Gargan didn’t fire that weapon, I know I could’ve closed the tear, because of you.”

“I’m honored.” He tilts his head and you turn to look at him, a watery smile working its way onto your lips as he grins down at you. It’s soft, fond, and he kisses your forehead. “All I am now is just glad that you’re okay. You got some nasty gashes and burns here, so you need to get that treated, okay?”

“Sounds like a hero talking, Beck,” you murmur and his smile grows as he cups your cheek. His thumb brushing away any stray tears lingering underneath your eye, he presses his head against yours and closes his eyes. “You a hero on this Earth, too?”

“Is it bad to say that I actually prefer the term vigilante?”

“No. Gives you more room to work in, I guess. Maybe I should start working within those means,” you whisper and he presses a gentle kiss against your lips before pulling away. Breathing him in, you wrap your arms up and hold his shoulders tight to you, lifting your chin. “Thank you for grounding me, Quentin. It could’ve been so much worse if you weren’t here.”

“I think I made it worse by being there, didn’t I?” he whispers, and you half-smile in sympathy at how guilty he looks. “I’m sorry I made you worried.”

“It’s okay. That’s just the hero gig, I guess. Worrying about things you care about.” Your heart flutters at how he seems to melt in your arms. “And I care about you, Quentin.”

“I care about you, too. A lot.” His lips curl into a shy smile as you card your fingers through his hair. “Do you mind my asking what you saw while you blacked out, or is that too insensitive?” he quips and you chuckle against his neck, curling yourself into his body. He cocoons you in his heat, a constant that sends a wave of drowsiness to crash down on you.

“The multiverse. I guess the reaction with the Chitauri core and whatever was done to me all those years ago made for a fucking massive acid trip.” Sighing, you’re simply content to just sit there in a broken building until someone forces you out. “What was he saying about you, that you were lying about the multiverse?”

“Nothing, honey. It’s nothing.” His response is quick and you frown, eyebrows knitting together as you unwind yourself from his embrace. 

“Then, what’s on Long Island?” You want to know. You want to know because Gargan — the Scorpion — doesn’t do throwaway lines. You know it means something and somewhere deep inside you, you think you know that nothing he said was a lie. “What was the tech Mac was talking about and… and the sob story you made up?”

“Honey, I—”

“Just tell me the truth, Beck, ‘cause I trust you,” you whisper, fingers clutching onto the front of his blood-soaked shirt. His eyes are soft, dark as the void and just as intoxicating as your eyes flicker from those eyes to his lying little mouth. All you can hear is lies, lies, lies and yet you’d give anything to hear him speak. “It’s not like I can ever get rid of you. I’m terrified of losing you, if you couldn’t tell earlier.”

“Well, don’t worry. Your hero isn’t going anywhere.” He runs his hand through your hair, takes a deep breath, and then lets it all out. The smell of mint on his breath doesn’t fit with the burning glass and blood and smoke, but it’s so delightfully him. Clean and fresh in the midst of chaos, not a hair out of place. A perfect hero. “And… what Gargan said, it’s a lie. I’ve been honest with from the start."

Lies, lies, lies.

“The weapons… he must’ve thought I was someone’s supplier? I don’t know. Maybe there’s a version of me on this world that used to do that but I don’t know. You know I’d never lie to you. Not like Steve did.”

Lies, lies, lies.

“Right,” you whisper, and he kisses your temple quickly before getting up. His hand slips into yours as if it’s meant to be and he pulls you up, hoisting you into his arms. “Thank you, Quentin. For being the hero.”

“I just wanted to save the woman I care about, even when I couldn’t save my wife.” His voice weaves between your ears and you loop your arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the cheek.

“So you’re basically the hero of every Disney movie ever?” you tease and he laughs, turning to look at you as you ride the elevator down to the ground floor. Nosing your cheek, he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I am, aren’t I? Oh, but, vigilante, remember?”

“Right, vigilante. Flynn Rider, then.”

“Who is… Flynn Rider?”

“You never watched Tangled?” you gasp and he chuckles, shaking his head. “What’s the last Disney movie that came out on your world?”

“We didn’t have Disney. I started watching them when I came here, and the last one I watched was WALL-E.”

“So what did you do for fun?”

“We had other movie companies a lot like Disney.”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter a ‘of course’ before explaining. “Well, Flynn Rider is this thief who is kinda a vigilante? I mean he does good but he’s selfish in the beginning, and Rapunzel is the hero. She has magic hair.” The elevator dings and he steps out. Your eyes cast to the destruction, you feel your smile begin to flicker, but then Quentin catches your attention again in an effort to distract you.

“A hero and a vigilante, huh?” He sounds amused, and you smile again, tired, but warm at his attempt to make sure you don’t see any of it. His blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and you lean forward to rest your heard against his neck.

“A hero and a vigilante,” you agree. You can hear the shouts of reporters, the clicking and flash of the cameras just outside the walls of broken glass. You’re not quite ready to face them yet, and it’s almost as if Quentin can read your thoughts as he stops just by the escalator, “like that ever works out well.”

“Well, we’ll be the first,” he promises and you smile to yourself as he lowers you to the ground. On unsteady feet, you manage to wrap your arm around his and walk into the view of the paparazzi. They call your name, ask for his, and your head spins at all the questions they ask, but you and your new partner merely walk through towards the rows of ambulances. 

“I’m just a ticking time bomb,” you tell him once he’s seated on the edge of the rig, the blood cleaned off his face. Your arms are wrapped up, blood barely seeping through the bandages and your own blood has been wiped off your face as you kick a loose pebble on the asphalt. “And… having that power to bend the very laws of reality makes me really fucking unstable.” He holds a towel to his face, wiping off the sweat and he smiles, almost charmed by your bluntness. “So… I know you never saw it before today, but if you decided to just ditch me now, I wouldn’t really hold it against you.”

“I’m not like Steve, okay?” He reaches to grab your fingers, and you lower your gaze to your intertwining digits. “I’m not going to leave you just because things get hard when you need me. I’d never lie to you. I don’t… there’s no one who has captivated me like you have, and your power has brought us together. Don’t ever think I don’t want to be with you because of who you are.”

And somewhere in your head, a voice whispers, Lies, lies, lies.

But out loud, you say, “Okay.” You smile and sit down beside him, resting your joint hands on his lap as you lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Of course. This new universe is terrifying, you know? What’d I do without my anchor?”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you let out a soft sigh, smiling against his cheek as he wraps you in a tight hug. “What would I do without mine?”

.

“Get some sleep, alright?”

“Yeah, I will.” 

Quentin pulls the covers up to her chin and brushes hair away from her forehead, planting a kiss between her eyes. Her burning, healing little fingers snag on his wrist and he leans down to kiss her rosebud mouth.

“G’night, Beck,” she whispers and he smiles, dragging himself away. Despite how much he wants to join her, sleep for months, he has work to do.

“Goodnight. Call me if you need anything, and remember to take your antibiotics.”

“I promise, Quentin,” she whispers and a genuine smile comes onto his face at how exasperated she sounds. Despite his original intentions, the warmth he feels, the rapid beating of his heart— 

It’s all very real, how much he cares, even if he must use her to his own ends.

Turning off the light, he double-checks to make sure her water is full before leaving the room. Dinner is in the fridge despite it being an already ungodly hour, and he makes sure that all the lights are turned off before he grabs his jacket and shoves his feet into his sneakers. He digs his phone out of his pocket as he exits the apartment and turns it on, walking to the elevator. Putting in Riva’s number, he steps out into the lobby and through to the fresh night air just outside and dials the number as he looks back and forth on the road. He still hasn’t managed to scrub the scent of smoke from his skin, and he needs to shower, but the red magic blasting in his head has yet to be an image chased from his mind. Picking at the sweater his new girlfriend had offered, he smiles at the mere thought of her. Her warm clean scent clings to the fabric, the smell of autumn, vanilla orchid and amber, flooding his nose on a spring night.

He is all smiles as he hails a car rolling down the street. Waving to the driver, he grins as he ducks into the front passenger seat and nods to Janice who barely stops before speeding away from the apartment building. Quentin grabs her phone to dial Riva, holding it between his ear and his shoulder as he fiddles with his own phone. Checking the news and media outlets, he smirks at every headline showing his face. 

“Hello?”

“Riva,” he greets cheerily, turning on the radio in the car. “Tell me the good news.”

“Well, they’re calling you a hero, sir.” Turning the radio volume up a notch, he listens as the news reporter, J. Jonah Jameson, sing his praises, recounting the day’s events like it’s breaking news. As his own interview plays over the news station, he rolls down the window and lets the cool night breeze steal into his lungs with a satisfied sigh. “Way to make the best out of a poor situation.”

Quentin sounds so grand, so official as he recounts his tale of the shooting on the radio and he can’t help the disappointment that nips at his stomach. Gargan could’ve been an asset to the plan had he not gotten so keen on his revenge on Spider-Man. He wanted his weapons too early, wanted to just jump into action. Well, Quentin knows all about patience, and if that means turning an unfavourable situation into an opportunity, then he’ll grab what he can get. Because he doesn’t want to destroy Spider-Man personally. 

He wants to destroy Tony Stark’s legacy.

“They want to know if you’ll be joining the Avengers soon, with very few who take the opposition.”

“Great. That is perfect.” Tapping his hand along the car door, he rolls up the window and glances at Janice, who sends him a look. “Meet me on Long Island, Riva, I have an idea.” On his phone, he opens up his messages and types a quick message to the woman he left in her flat.

Quentin Beck: Have a good night, honey. I’ll be back at your place in the morning for breakfast and to help with the burn dressings. Remember to take your antibiotics

Quentin Beck: And hey, I was thinking. You know how you’re thinking of chaperoning for your friend’s trip? Why don’t we go together like a vacation?

“What are you thinking, boss?” Turning off his screen, he looks out the window, at the night that whips by. 

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure all our drones are operational, because I’m thinking of a vacation.”

“Where to, sir?” Janice asks and he shoots her a lazy look, the beginnings of a sly smile curling his lip.

“We need to go global if I’m going to be an Avenger. And I found just the threat to match their level.”

“The Viper, sir?” Janice asks, uneasy. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too far?”

“We could literally meet the Queen, Janice. This isn’t the time for doubt.” Clearing his throat, Quentin continues, “How do you feel about Europe, Riva?”

“Well, I always wanted to go there,” Riva says and Quentin lets out a sharp laugh. Perfect.

“Good. Because you might not enjoy it once we’re done with her. Stay in touch.” “Will do, boss.” Hanging up, he slides Janice’s phone into a cupholder just as his phone lights up, and he grins at the text notification, at who it’s from.

You: That sounds fun! I just got the forms from the school, so I’ll ask Peter to get you yours. Maybe we can hash out the details tomorrow?

Quentin Beck: It sounds like a date. I can’t wait to see the rest of your world with you.

You: I can’t wait to show you.

You: I’m glad that you’re here, Quentin. Even by unorthodox means.

Quentin Beck: I’m glad that I’m here with you, too. Now go to sleep. We have a vacation to plan.

[saltybaltic]

Natasha Romanoff X Reader - GETTING SERIOUS

Natasha Romanoff / Black Widow X FemReader Fanfic

Synopsis: After dating Natasha for a while now, you suggest maybe it’s time you got a pet together.

Warnings: Language

Words: 547

So this was written for @wxntersoldiers writing challenge using the prompt “Adopting a pet with the love of your life”. Congrats on 5k, and thanks for letting me participate. Any opportunity to write a shameless soft Nat fic tbh. Hope you all enjoy this ✌️❤️

“No.”

“But Nat ...”

Natasha rolled her eyes and chuckled quietly at your whining tone, “Never mind the puppy dog eyes and the ‘but Nat’, you know we don’t have the time for a dog.”

“We so do have time.”

“When?” Asked Natasha, looking up from her plate and sliding a mouthful of food from her fork, “I already have to get up at sunrise every morning and I work all day. Now you want me to walk a dog on top of that?”

“I’ll walk the dog.”

Natasha snorted, “Cause you’re so much better at looking after things. What about that plant you killed last month?”

“Trial run!” you argued, throwing your hands up in the air and staring back at your girlfriend pleadingly from your side of the kitchen table.

“We can’t get a dog babe, it’s a terrible idea.”

The way she said it told you that the arguement was over. Partly because you knew she was right and you actually didn’t have time to look after a dog. The biggest problem with dating one of the Avengers was that Natasha could be gone for days at a time and even when she was home she was always busy. Mission reports. Strategy meetings. Training sessions. So many training sessions. And even though your job might not be quite as demanding, you certainly didn’t have the time to take on the commitment alone. Unfortunately the decision had been made and there was not going to be a fluffy addition to your weird, little family.

You dropped it for a couple of weeks after that until one evening when the pair of you had a rare moment to relax. Lay across the length of the couch, Natasha had her feet in your lap as she half paid attention to the television show on the screen.

“You know what I was thinking would be cute?”

At your words Natasha turned her head to face you, an amused expression on her face as she humoured your question, “No, what were you thinking would be cute?”

“Imagine this exact scene, but, sitting on your lap is an adorable little kitten just purring away.”

Natasha sighed dramatically and threw her head back with a small laugh, “No, not this again.”

“Just picture it!” you insisted, gesturing enthusiastically to where the imaginary kitten could be, “We’d have a little cat and it would be so cool.”

Running a hand through her hair, Natasha groaned and looked back down to meet your eye. The smallest curl to her lips told you that she actually didn’t hate your idea, “We talked about this. We don’t have time to care for a pet. And I don’t see why it’s so important we have one anyway.”

“It’s not important.” you mumbled unconvincingly, looking down at her feet and running your hands gently over the top of them, “I just think it would be nice.”

Natasha leaned an elbow against the back of the couch so she could rest the side of her head against her hand and study you properly, “What’s the real reason?”

“What?” you asked, looking up from your hands to frown at her, having not been expecting her question.

“Why is this so important to you? It’s obviously not just about an animal.”

“I ...” for a brief second you considered just blurting out the first lie that came to mind, but the look on Natasha’s face told you that she wasn’t going to let this go, “Nothing about our relationship is normal.”

Reaching for the remote on the coffee table, Natasha muted the sound before throwing it down again and turning her attention back to you, “Explain.”

“Okay... look, I love our life together. I love you. I love that you do all these amazing things and what you do for a living. It’s one of the many things that made me fall in love with you and you know that. But it gets hard sometimes, Nat.”

“Right ...” for once Natasha actually sounded nervous, eyebrows already knitting together in worry at what you might say next.

“I don’t want a normal life. Our life is exciting and different and it makes me so happy. But sometimes it would be nice if we had something normal every now and again. We don’t get to take normal vacations. We can’t go on normal dates. I dread to think what kind of things are hidden in our apartment.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise being with me was so difficult.”

There was no malice to her tone but you could hear that she was trying to hide her annoyance and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the predictability of it, “Don’t do that, don’t just focus on the negatives. You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“You’re saying that dating me is a pain in the ass.”

“God, you are a pain in the ass sometimes.” you scolded, slapping her leg gently, “But dammit if I didn’t still fall madly in love with you anyway.”!

Natasha wet her lips to try and hide a smile, “I don’t want this to be hard on you. I know I have a lot of baggage.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I don’t mind baggage, baggage is good. Honey we’ve all got it.” you reassured, reaching up to grab one of her hands and give it a squeeze, “I just thought ... we’ve been together a while now and it could be nice to mark it with something. Maybe something that shows we plan to be together for a long time.”

“I do plan to be together for a long time.” insisted Natasha, squeezing your hand back in return, “Let me think about it.”

A sound similar to an excited squeak escaped you before you could stop it and Natasha merely smirked at your response before picking up the remote to unmute the television, her other hand remaining linked with yours.

You hadn’t expected her to make the first move but if Natasha was honest your words had gotten to her. She didn’t like that you felt like your life wasn’t normal. She’d never wanted the fact she was an Avenger to have a negative implication on your relationship and the idea that you possibly felt like you were losing out on having a normal girlfriend was something she didn’t like the thought of. So naturally she had to do something. Of course it was in the most Natasha way possible.

Walking through the door to your apartment after work, you hadn’t expected to see your girlfriend already home. She was doing a good job of hiding it but you could see there was a kind of giddy excitement to her body language and the sight made you smile.

“You’re home early.” you observed, throwing your bag down by the door and walking over to press a kiss to her lips, “And obviously have something to tell me.”

“I did something.” stated Natasha simply, fidgeting with her hands as you gave her a curious smile.

“A good something or a stupid something?” you asked, pulling off your jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch.

Natasha shrugged bashfully, “Jury’s still out.”

“Okay, now I’m worried. Cause if even you think it might be stupid, it’s gotta be bananas.”

Swatting at your arm playfully, Natasha gave you a scolding look, “Do you want your surprise or not?”

“Well I’m not sure now.” you teased.

“Fine. I guess you don’t wanna know why I’m covered in animal hair then.”

Frowning at her words, you scanned over your girlfriends appearance to see that was was telling the truth and her black jeans and tank top were in fact covered with short, light coloured hair. Your eyes widened in realisation and you had to stop yourself from getting prematurely excited, “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what? Go to the animal shelter today and get crawled on by a bunch of needy little animals?”

“You didn’t!” you repeated, slightly louder this time as your excitement started to get the better of you.

Natasha couldn’t stop a smile, “Oh I did. And I’ll say this, it was loud.”

“Yeah, yeah yeah, cool. Why did you go there?!”

Her smile grew at your question, unsurprised by your obvious enthusiasm, “I thought about what you said a few days ago. And you were right. You should be able to have normal things and we should get to do normal stuff in our relationship.”

You went to interrupt her but she stopped you by raising her hand, pausing to make sure you would stay quiet before beckoning you to follow her with her finger as she started to walk towards your bedroom, “So the next day I rang up the local animal shelter and asked about any animals they might have that needed homes. I put in some references, I signed a few forms, I held a lot of cats and at 2pm this afternoon ...”

Natasha paused as she pushed open the door to your bedroom with a grin, “We became just another lesbian couple with a cat. Welcome to normal.”

You were torn between wrapping your arms around your girlfriend in a hug or just bolting forward to get a proper look at the small, black cat that was curled up on the foot of the bed. Eventually you decided on the latter, dashing forward and squatting down by the mattress as she stroked a thumb over the top of his head, “What’s his name?”

Natasha shrugged, “I figured we could pick a new one. He’s only a kitten.”

“He’s amazing..”

Heart warming at the sight of how pleased you looked, Natasha walked further into the room and sat down gently at the foot of the bed next to the cat, “You’re happy?”

“So happy.” you answered, looking up at the other woman with a fond smile, “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” chuckled Natasha, reaching forward to play with a strand of your hair, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

“I know that, Nat.” you insisted, resting a hand on her thigh, “And I don’t want you to worry ... I love you and I knew what I was getting myself in for. I wouldn’t change anything, I promise.”

“Good.” answered Natasha, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips with a grin, “Because the adoption fee is none refundable so we’re stuck with him.”

You laughed, “Like I’d let you take him away! He’s mine.”

“I think you’ll find he’s ours.” teased Natasha.

With a laugh, you stood from your crouched position so you were able to reach forward and kiss her, a wide smile on your face at her words, “Even better.”

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home [1/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Some language here and there, guns and gunshots but only mild descriptions, a teensy bit of angst :)

A/N: Here we are! Gosh, you don’t know how excited I am for this one. The first of four parts to released over this weekend. Please, please, please let me know what you think of this one and any theories you might have, haha! And of course, this is my entry for the lovely @wxntersoldiers‘ 5k challenge. Layla, you are one of my favourite people on tumblr and I know I speak for at least 5000 people when I say that I am so glad to have you around. Here’s to the next 5k! Love and hugs to you all <3

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the next parts over the weekend, drop me an ask!

---

“Lieutenant Rogers?”

You look up from your desk and heave a sigh, fixing your interrupter with a withering glare.

“Steve, we’ve been married for two years.”

“And you told me not to let that affect our working relationship.”

“Okay, well, I revise that statement; it means you can at least refer to me by my actual name,” you explained carefully and Steve rolled his eyes at you before letting them soften as he smiled just a little.

“Fine. Y/N,” he began, tone altogether different and you pressed your lips together in a dire attempt not to melt, “Could we have a chat before this morning’s briefing? It’s pretty important.”

As a detective, you’d become pretty good at reading people. It was practically part of the job description, being able to suss out a lie before somebody had even told it, being able to see the truth shining behind someone’s eyes as they poured their heart out. So the way that Steve’s eyes shifted slightly to the left as he spoke, and that he was twirling his wedding ring around his finger and the slight bite of his lip when he’d finished speaking told you that this really was serious.

“Of course, what do you w-”

“No, no,” he hushed you, leaning over your desk slightly more in order to shield your conversation further and your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Meet me in the closet on the fourth floor in twenty minutes.”

You nodded seriously at him, placing a comforting hand on his own that was on your desk for just a fleeting moment, recognising the flash of something in his eyes as just a tiny spark of fear. It was definitely readable on you now too as he squeezed your shoulder as he left, walking away and into the depths of the precinct before you could say another word.

If he’d wanted to talk in private, surely he could have done it before work?

The next twenty minutes felt long and arduous, hardly getting past the current page of the paperwork you had been sailing through previously. As it was, now all you were doing was chewing on the inside of your cheek and glancing at the clock every thirty seconds.

It got to eighteen minutes and you lost composure, reliving the worried look on Steve’s face and you stood from your desk as nonchalantly as you could, brushing down your uniform and making your way to the closet.

“You’re early,” Steve commented as you shut the door behind you and hurried in.

“And you worried me,” you said softly, reaching out a hand to grip his forearm gently, feeling the tense muscle beneath your fingertips. Your brow furrowed, “What is going on Steve?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his other hand and sighed, deep and resonating, a sigh that clearly let out a lot of breath that he’d been holding.

“You know The Suit?”

You let go of him to fold your arms.

“The serial killer we’ve been attempting to track for four months? Yeah, I think I’ve heard of them.”

“They’re-They’re someone from the precinct,” he said lowly, ignoring your sarcasm in favour of just getting to his point. You paused. Blinked.

“How do you know?”

“Found a bug in my uniform yesterday.”

“You found what?” you said incredulously, eyes blown wide and Steve nodded but then you gasped and clapped your hand over your mouth, looking down at your own uniform. He shook his head.

“I checked your uniform this morning and I’ve spent the last twenty minutes searching this room. We’re safe,” he assured you and you sighed in relief.

“That’s why you were out of bed so early this morning,” you whispered, slowly letting your hand fall back down to your side, “How do you know there’s someone on the inside? It could have been someone you passed on the street?”

“No, it’s someone on the inside, I used the bug to trace the signal back to its source and it’s coming right from this precinct.”

“...Could be somebody in the holding cells?”

“Y/N…” he said, tone soft and understanding and you closed your eyes with a deep inhale. You just couldn’t believe it. One of your own helping out such a horrific murderer? You prided yourself on knowing every single face in this building, top to bottom, telling yourself it was part of your job as a lieutenant but really, it was above and beyond the call of duty: you just wanted to be the best lieutenant in the building.

Correction: part of a team of two best lieutenants in the building. Both of which just happened to have the last name Rogers. Such a coincidence.

“You do believe me, right?” he said suddenly, breaking you from your thoughts and you snapped your attention back to him, noting his expression of slight doubt. You realised that this secret must have been weighing heavily on him for the past few days whilst he worked out the safest way to tell you and, without much hesitation, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into you. One hand splayed across his back, the other playing with the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, you gave him your reply.

“Of course I believe you, honey,” you said kindly as his arms encircled your waist and he rested his chin on your shoulder, temple just bumping gently into yours. Both of you closed your eyes, savouring the comfort that you had always derived from each other. Since the very beginning, “I will always believe you.”

“I know,” he said truthfully, squeezing you a little tighter before letting go, pulling back just enough to look at you, “I know.”

“I just can’t believe it. I believe you, I just can’t believe it,” you tried to explain and he nodded, hands still delicately placed on your waist, rubbing slowly up and down, your fingers still wandering at his neck.

“I’ve been battling with this for days, sweetheart,” he admitted then, “Wondering how to possibly tell you, whether to even tell you, what to fucking do about it?”

“It’s the first lead we’ve had in a month,” you said, trying to steer around the emotional side of it that Steve had introduced. There was plenty of time for emotion later, when you got home and inevitably collapsed into a tangled mess on the sofa, but for now, at work, you needed to treat this like any other lead you might get on a prolific murderer, “We have to start investigating, however hard that is. You know that, Steve.”

“I do. But we can cry later, right?”

“Oh my god, yes,” you agreed, with a small humourless chuckle that he joined you in, “We can cry later.”

“We need to get back to alleviate any suspicion,” Steve decided, beginning to turn away to leave the closet when you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into you.

“Hey,” you said lightly, a smile creeping up on your lips as you dropped your voice to what you hoped was an enticing whisper, “Any suspicion will only be about whether or not we’re making out in here. So why don’t we confirm that suspicion and alleviate any others.”

You took the opportunity to slide your hand up his arm and onto his chest, bringing your other hand up to the side of his neck.

“Well, you have a point,” he murmured, looking down at your hips as he placed his hands carefully on either side, massaging with his thumbs that just drifted up and underneath your shirt.

“I do have a point.”

“But the case…”

“Can wait for five minutes,” you finished for him quietly, bringing the hand that was on his chest up, up, up and around his neck, both clasping there and tugging his forehead against yours, “So would you please - please - let me kiss my husband for five minutes and forget about this nightmare.”

A lengthy pause. Breath mingling together, slightly accelerated, thumbs now rubbing numb little circles against your waist. Steve closed his eyes.

“I guess I would quite like to kiss my wife right now,” he muttered before gently guiding you to his lips and eliciting a sigh of relief from you.

The case had to wait for fifteen minutes.

---

7pm. Poodle Doodle Diner. Two burgers. One extra large sides of fries. Two shakes. And a whole lot of whispering.

You and Steve had gone out for dinner after work, knowing that if your uniform was bugged then there was a high chance that your home was bugged too. Unfortunately, the ‘two best lieutenants in the building’ had held a housewarming party a week or so ago when they’d moved and almost everybody had come. If they’d gotten to your uniform then they’d be stupid not to bug the house.

The clothes you were currently wearing had been thoroughly checked and you felt 75% safe.

“It is not Carl, Steve.”

“What do you mean it’s not Carl? It could be!”

“No, it couldn’t be, and you’re only saying it could be because he flirts with me,” you said, exasperated, because you’d already had the ‘Carl’ talk fourteen times. In the past few months, pretty much any and every crime was a possibility for Steve to try to pin on Carl somehow.

“Carl was looking quite shifty yesterday, you know.”

“Well, this neighbourhood is only five blocks from Carl’s, Y/N.”

“Look, babe! A sandwich wrapper dropped at the scene of the crime...Carl had a sandwich for lunch three days ago!”

He had flirted with you at the Christmas party two months ago and seen the rise he had gotten out of Steve, and ever since had been determined to continue to get the same rise again and again and again. He’d flirt with you every chance he got, and you would act just as cold as usual towards him until he buggered off. Steve’s scowl seemed to etch deeper lines into his forehead each time.

“Wha…? That is...preposterous...and also...not correct-” he stuttered and you shook your head as you laughed at him, and he rolled his eyes, “Look, you can’t rule him out.”

“But he’s not any more likely than anyone else in the precinct,” you said pointedly. Steve paused for a moment before folding his arms across his chest like the petulant child he was and falling back further into his chair.

“No.”

“Good. Glad we cleared that up,” you smirked as you stole a couple of fries from the plate in the middle of the table and shovelled them into your mouth, “Now, seriously, any suspects?”

“Other than Carl?”

“Steve-” you warned and he waved you away.

“Okay, okay, seriously? I would be inclined to say Grant, Kelsey or Josh.”

“Oh wow, okay, you actually have suspects,” you said surprised and Steve shrugged.

“I’ve had a day or two’s headstart on this, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and a lot of watching. They’re the ones that stick out to me.”

You pondered the information.

Grant was, quite frankly, an asshole. He walked around the place like he owned it, at least when he was in the precinct, he had so many days off. This was all because his daddy was Police Crime Commissioner and he could get away with murder around the precinct. But you weren’t sure if he could actually get away with murder; he’d never been the sharpest tool in the box, you couldn’t think of a good motive for him and he didn’t have his gun license so means would be trickier too. He had opportunity.

Kelsey was sugary sweet. Annoyingly so if anyone asked you, but thankfully nobody did. She was always asking people personal questions and batting her eyes at anyone above her rank in an attempt to climb the ladder. Steve had been on the receiving end more than once, much to your disappointment. She had her gun license, which surprised you all, but again motive escaped you and since she was in the precinct constantly trying to get to the top, opportunity was slim. She had means.

Josh was nice. Kind of ‘nothingy’ in personality if anything, but you’d always assumed that was simply because he kept himself to himself. He was at the bottom of the precinct ladder and you’d had a significant talk with Captain Fury recently about checking up on him due to his difficult financial situation. Everyone who had died had been stinking rich, so there was a possible connection there, but with no gun license and every waking hour spent working overtime to pay his bills, it wasn’t enough. He had motive.

“I assume you’re coming to the same conclusion I did that one had opportunity, one had means and one had motive, right?” Steve’s voice cut effortlessly through your thoughts and you snapped out of your reverie, turning your head back to him with furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“Bingo. Unless we’re missing something, we have no real clear suspects and a pool of about 1000 true possibilities,” you murmured and yours and Steve’s simultaneous sighs echoed throughout the cafe.

“There’s no way we can-”

He was interrupted by your radios going off in tandem. You looked at each other in alarm, before Steve took his out of his pocket.

“We’ve got a hostage situation at the 99th precinct, suspect is on the roof with an officer. Suspect is believed to have a gun. Says he’ll only speak to the Lieutenants Rogers.”

Your blood ran cold. You didn’t even hear what Steve was saying in return, until Steve was shaking your arm and you looked up at him. Saw the fear in your eyes reflected back at you in his.

“We’ve got to go,” he said firmly and finally you snapped back into police officer mode, grabbing your bag and joining him as you ran out of the door. Steve handed you your helmet and you put it on with shaking hands, just about managing to buckle it up as you sat behind Steve and wrapped your arms around his waist. He wasted no time in speeding off into the increasingly dark streets of New York.

You indulged and rested your cheek against his back, closing your eyes for only a moment and pretending that you were simply headed home, to a glass of wine and a sitcom that you wouldn’t find that funny, to kisses on the sofa and tracing patterns onto Steve’s arms with steady fingertips.

All too soon, you opened your eyes and were met with blaring lights of ambulances and patrol cars and the silhouette of a man holding a gun out in front of him on the roof.

You gulped.

You and Steve took the stairs two at a time, listening for any further updates on the radio with strained ears.

“If he’s holding an officer hostage-” you paused for breath as you continued running up the stairs, “-and he won’t talk to anyone but us-” another breath, “-then it’s The Suit. Right?”

“That is the most likely outcome,” Steve muttered back from ahead of you. You knew that voice. That tone. It meant that he had fully transitioned into work mode, left any emotion that wasn’t useful at the bottom of these stairs. He was focused. Sharply focused.

On the last few flights of stairs, you tried to get yourself into the same headspace.

“Lieutenant, Lieutenant,” one of the cops at the top of the stairs nodded to each of you in turn as you reached them, “Suspect is still out on the roof and has an officer at gunpoint. He has shouted multiple times that if anyone except you two go out there, he’ll start shooting.”

“Brilliant…” you murmured, nodding gratefully at the officer who was handing you your tactical gear during the briefing. You pulled on the bulletproof vest, holster and helmet, cursing yourself for choosing to wear a dress to dinner this evening. There was certainly no time to change.

“Lieutenants, we don’t know who this guy is. Just- be careful,” the officer looked at you with worried eyes, as did the rest of the officers surrounding the door to the roof. You smiled as Steve clapped the briefing officer on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Officer Simmons, all of you. Hold your posts.”

Steve looked back at you and you nodded once, pulling your gun from the holster and joining Steve at the door. You kicked it open and Steve went out first, gun raised, you following soon after.

“Finally. It’s cold up here.”

The voice was male and familiar, not that you could put your finger on who it belonged to. But, more importantly, a quick scan of the scene found only one person on the roof, no hostage, gun pointed directly at you, ski mask firmly in place on his head.

“Where’s the hostage?” you called to him over the wind that jostled the skirt of your dress and you had to fight the instinct to smooth it out again.

“Hostage? Oh, no, there’s no hostage. I just said that so they would definitely send you two out here.”

“What do you want with us?” It was Steve that spoke this time, and although the suspect’s head turned toward him, his gun was still trained on you and the beating of your heart elevated slightly. You were clearly the target here.

“You worked it out. At least, some of it,” the voice paused and the man took a step towards Steve, “You know I work here. I suppose bugging your home and your clothes wasn’t the most sensible idea I’ve had but I had to know how your investigation into The Suit was going, since you wouldn’t let me on the case.”

“Answer his question,” you demanded, taking a step forward, gun still in the air, “What do you want with us? Why are we here?”

“I’m getting to it, Mrs Rogers,” his tone was silvery and spiky all at once and you wanted to slap the ski mask right off his face - that was Lieutenant Rogers to him, “You’re here because I want you to give me your word that you’ll stop investigating this case.”

“And why the hell would we do that?”

“Because, if you don’t,” the masked man took another step towards Steve, and lowered his voice to whisper only he would hear, “I will definitely, most certainly, undoubtedly...kill your wife.”

And on those words, a gunshot went off and your eyes widened at the clear sound ringing through the air and in your ears. You blinked. And then you felt it. The pain. The warmth. You looked down and saw the dark stain on your sleeve that hadn’t been there before.

You dropped harshly to one knee as your hand slowly came up to touch the stain. And then your fingers were red. Dark, deep, deafening red.

Though vision blurred with the beginnings of tears, you saw a figure vault over the railings and down onto the fire escape and a different figure running towards you.

“Y/N!”

Hands on either side of your face. Frantic eyes moving up then down then up again. He was talking into the radio, something about urgent attention that you didn’t have the attention span to work out right now. You reached a hand out and bunched it in Steve’s vest, grounding yourself, grounding him.

“Steve,” you murmured loosely, eyes flickering closed before you forced them open again, “Fire escape. Go.”

“Not a chance,” he shook his head, and you saw his eyes were watery like yours as he ripped a sleeve from his shirt and began wrapping it far too tightly around your upper arm to stop the bleeding, since there was a lot of stairs for the paramedics to climb. You cursed under your breath.

“Lieutenant Rogers,” you spoke more firmly this time, or at least you tried to, not knowing that your voice was slightly slurred and didn’t sound remotely authoritative, “That is an order from a fellow Lieutenant and the lead officer on this case. Fire escape, now.”

“I said no, Y/N.”

His voice was harsh and almost came out as a snap and made your eyes open wide again as you stared at him, dumbfounded. Before you knew it, the paramedics had burst onto the roof and Steve stood back from you to let you be treated. With nothing left to say and nothing left to do, you let your eyes flutter closed as they wanted to and let the worried voices surrounding you fade into nothingness.

[wildmoonflower]

Love in the World of Death

Avengers Apocalypse AU

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary:

Zombie Apocalypse AU, where Y/N saves an Avenger from jaws of death and joins their group, finding more than just her brother  

Warnings: Gore, injuries, mentions of death and rape, some swearing, minor fluff and some smut (slightly dom!Steve x reader) at the end

A/N: This is my piece for #wxntersoldiers writing challenge with Apocalypse AU. Thank You for letting me join and congrats again on the milestone, Sweetpie

PS: I'm sorry, but I'm a slow-burn writer, I can't help myself and write under 10k words…

With a wet squelch, an arrow pierced through the skull of the undead man in front of you, watching as his body crumbled on the ground, slight twitches raking it’s body. Death of one of their own diverted the attention of three others from young redhead, whose foot was stuck in a net of roots, sticking out of the forest ground, leaving her vulnerable, armed with a small army knife.

Hooking the bow on her back, Y/N drew out her machete, sound attracting another undead from other woman, leaving just one creeper staggering to her.   'Why do I do this to myself?' Y/N growled under her breath, taking a quick step towards the closest creeper, beheading him with a swift slash, kicking to the left, hitting hideous dead woman in the knee, sick pop making her topple to the ground. Her head landed on a big rock, now soft-half rotten flesh caving in, almost exploding, her body not moving anymore. The sight made Y/N shudder, even after a week, when dead bodies flooded the streets, she couldn't help the horror creep in her body at bloody sight. Y/N's breath hitched in her throat as last two undead divided, almost as if planned, closing in on her from both sides. 

Movements of those two were faster, bodies looking too normal, probably recently turned. Dead man on Y/N's right charged at her, teeth clattering as he reached for her arm. Cutting down, machete severed the arm from the body, injury ignored as undead man continued his attack, body-slamming into hers. Dead weight was crushing Y/N's body, she was struggling to keep deadly jaws away from her shoulder where they tried to reach to chunk the flesh out and infect yet another victim. In the peripheals, second undead came closer, in Y/N's desperate eyes, almost victorious look on it’s pale face as it suddenly stopped, body twitching as a knife was stuck in it’s neck. Jabbing her heels into the ground, Y/N arched, body on top of her falling over her head, giving her enough time to turn around and stab in it’s head. Shuffle behind her made her body turn around, rolling to side as undead woman’s body fell crouched down, using the opportunity to grab the knife and twist upwards, this time grazing the spine and hitting the brain, body going limp next to her.

Y/N didn’t allow herself the breather her body demanded, pushing herself up to look at the woman, still half-laying on the ground, dead body next to her forgotten as she watched you with big eyes, worry etched in face, pretty even beneath the layer of dirt on it. 

"You okay?" Both women asked simultaneously. Chuckling, Y/N took a step closer and stopped as red head eyed the machete in her hands. "I won’t hurt you. Can I take a look at your foot?" Y/N sheated her weapon back in her hip holster and yanked the knife out the body, holding it with handle towards her, kneeling in front of her. 

"I got stuck when these things appeared. And it won’t budge." She said, slightly pulling her foot up, only to hiss from the pain, rough wood scratching her skin. "Don’t do that, you will hurt yourself. I will get it out. "Y/N said and pulled out machete, to which red head pulled her own knife, hand trembling. "I’m gonna cut the roots off, not your leg, don’t worry." Y/N held her hands up and looked into tired eyes. "If I wanted you dead or hurt, I would let them do that for me, don’t you think?" The argument seemed to put other woman more at ease as she lowered her weapon and looked away as her savior slashed at the wood, careful to hit the main root holding the net together. After a few minutes of hacking, the wood gave up and released it’s hold. Pulling the net apart, woman slowly pulled her foot out and rolled away, picking up small bag Y/N failed to notice in hazy fight. 

“Thank you," she breathed nervously, freed now she kept the distance again. "I’m Wanda." She smiled and after a second, she reached with her hand. Grabbing it, Y/N nodded her head, "Y/N. Nice to meet a living soul. I don’t mean to pry but why are you out here alone?" Y/N asked, taking a step back to collect her own bag, which she threw away as she charged to save the trapped woman. "I was separated from my group, we were on a supply run." She answered hesitantly. "I tried to go back to our camp but I panicked with those things behind me and now I’m lost." She said, Voice hesitant but honest. "Why are you alone? Did something happen to your group?" She inquired, taking in Y/N’s dirty and tired look. 

"I didn’t have one. I travel alone." Y/N answered, and kneeled down again, pulling out bandage and a small red-tinted bottle from her bag, motioning for Wanda to tuck up the jeans she had on. "Is there anything special around your camp? Weird looking tree, rock, anything? I can take you there." Y/N offered, patting her foot with disinfectant, supporting her not to fall as she started to hop around from pain. "I worked in forestry, I know my way around these woods."

"Explaines the bow." She hissed behind gritted teeth. "It was slightly uphill, a small clearing, there was a half-moon shaped rock to the west. And a tree-house, there is a small tree-house, with blankets inside."

Nodding her head, Y/N knew the place she described. "I know where that is. You strayed quite far from the place. It is a day away if we go now."

They were lucky, Wanda’s injury was not too bad to hinder from walking. It was nice to have a normal company, even as a lone wolf, spending a whole week alone after shit hit the fan, Y/N found the presence of Wanda nice, calming even. Pretty red head was not chatter-box either, silence between two woman was peaceful as they trecked through the green vegetation. 

"If I can, why do you use bow? Isn’t crossbow stronger?" Wanda broke the silence as they took a break, taking a small gulps of precious liquid. Y/N chuckled, shaking her head, "It is. But it also have slow-ass reload. This is enough to pierce in the head. And it’s not mine bow, it belongs to my brother. Archery is his weird hobby, well, my too." Y/N’s voice faded, lump in the throat clogging it. She wasn’t aware of her brother’s fate, as she wasn’t in the city when the outbreak started. 

"I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to-" Wanda started to apologize, Y/N waving her hand stopped her, she couldn’t trust her voice not to break. "We should find a tree on which we can sleep. It’s not safe to walk in the dark forest, we can continue after dawn." 

It didn’t took long to find the right tree, with it’s branches high enough not to be reachable from the ground and thick enough to hold the weight. Using the rope, Y/N tied their bodies to the trunk, not the most comfortable sleeping position but better than falling down in the middle of sleeping. 

The forest was restless as night came, rustling of leaves beneath the animal feets much louder in eerie silence of night. Wanda was not asleep, Y/N could feel her body occasionally twitch at the louder sounds, she could hear her soft mumbles which sounded like a prayers, fear and nervousness was apparent. Hesitantly, Y/N reached next to her, gripping her small hand, steel grip she received back was reassuring to both and soon, their bodies relaxed, using one anothers warmth. 

Morning came too fast and too slow at the same time, as gold-pink color shined on Y/N’s face, waking her up with a groan. Her body was stiff, neck painfully crooked as she was leaning on Wanda, who stirred awake too, groaning too as she stretched her hands in front her.

"Don’t move too much, or you will be upside down soon." Y/N chipped in too late as with a loud sqeal, Wanda slid to the side, rope stopping her fall as she dangled around, looking as very clumsy bat in her oversized black sweater. The sight made Y/N burst out laughing, painful cramp shooting in her side as she propped herself, catching Wanda’s flailing arm and pulled her up, face red with all the blood, panting from her squeaking. As soon as she saw Y/n’s face she snorted, another round of laugh vibrating around them. It was an alien feeling, laughing after such a long time. "Ready to go down?" Y/N untied the rope and threw down their bags, listening if their little outburst attracted some unwanted attention. The forest around them was calm, morning lights covering everything in red, pink and orange with golden undertone. It was beautiful sight, unfit to the world that was there.

The scenery was getting more and more familiar, even Wanda was looking around more and more often. It was good to know they were near as water was quickly disappearing, early fall was still somewhat warm, even with sweaters and jackets tied around their hips. "You know, you can stay with us. We are normal group, I swear." Wanda panted, she grabbed Y/N’s hand as she stopped to breathe, eyes honest. She could see Y/N’s hesitation, she gave off the feeling of a lone wolf, more open to idea of solitude surrounded by fauna and flora than to hang around with a group. But she had to ask, some pull in Wanda telling her to ask, make her think about it. The woman in front of her was silent, calm and more than capable of taking care of herself but the aura of sadness was breaking her heart. "Just give us a chance, we won’t force you if you will want to leave." Wanda smiled as Y/N slowly nodded, glad that she was willing to try. Silent woman grew to her, not only because she saved her, but her whole demeanor was somewhat familiar, she couldn’t put her finger on it, her mind was restless and stressed ever since the horrors filled the streets of every big city. 

Another half an hour of walking, Y/N broke the silence, her voice even more quiet. "I joined a small group, on the second day of outbreak. It was pure chaos and it didn’t felt right, the people around felt…wrong. But I was desperate, afraid" She looked at the red head next to her, her features hardening. "My hunch was right, the biggest pieces of human shit gathered. In a time without any law and order, they thrived. I tried to warn others who seemed normal, didn’t listen. I woke up to gunshots, they were shooting men and children, forced themselves on women. I was sleeping on the tree, saved my life when infected came. After that, I strained from any possible human interaction." Y/N’s eyes were ice cold, knuckles white from the grip, drops of blood falling on the ground from the punctures from her nails on her palms. 

"Then why save me?" Wanda asked, earning incredulous look. "I’m no monster to ignore a single woman armed with knife only about to get eaten by some creepers. And you also helped me, even though your knife-throwing skill could use some improvement." Y/N added and jumped aside to dodge Wanda’s clumsy kick on her bums. "We should arrive in less than ten minutes." Y/N lowered her voice, recognized the area they were in. Forest around was quiet, bad feeling settled in Y/N’s stomach. Turning around, she noticed Wanda stopped, holding her leg while crouching. "Wanda?" She asked, kneeling beside her, blood freezing as Wanda looked up, suddenly, she could feel the presence of other person, just a few steps away from them. Her hand itched towards the gun, hidden on her hip beneath the shirt she wore as a deep voice growled from behind.

"Don’t move. Hands up and step away from her." Y/N froze, shooting furious betrayed look at shocked Wanda, who limped next to her, shielding her with her own small body. "Steve, stop it! She is fine!" Another male voice sounded, little bit more to the left of Y/N, she could see dark outline of a big man, pointing a gun at her head. "You don’t know that, Wanda. Step away from her." "Yes, I do, Bucky! She saved my life yesterday!" Wanda spit, her voice strong and unwavering, followed by silence that left Y/N uncomfortable, who still didn’t turn around. She didn’t survive this long alone just to be shot in the head like that. "Wanda, just go to them." Y/N said, using her elbow to prod small woman towards the bodiless voice behind her back. 

"What weapons do you have on yourself?" Man to the left asked, taking a step closer. Circling the shoulder, Y/N moved the bow on her back. "Bow, machete on the hip and gun in the hip holster." She answered through gritted teeth, she felt that they were not going to kill her but to give away all her weapons was still against her taste. "Hand them over." "Hell no."

"Y/N, please, I swear, we won’t hurt you, they will give them back." Wanda came in front of her again, eyes pleading. Her body was slightly shaking, giving up her weapons meant letting herself be completely unguarded, even with her fighting skills, two large men was too much to handle. "Don’t shoot." She muttered, her hand slowly made a big circle to her hip, showing exactly what she was doing. Man behind stepped in front of her, quickly grabbing sheated machete and gun in the holster. He eyed the bow on her back as she handed him the quiver, earning a huge scowl. "Not giving you that." Y/N’s voice was resolute, she stood strong against the man who towered above her, she was right about their height and muscles, she looked almost tiny, even with her taller form.   "Are you done?" Wanda hissed at the man, Steve, and grabbed Y/N by her forearm, "and I just told her you guys were normal." Her anger was tid-bit funny, it made Y/N’s lips twitch despite the not-so-pleasant situation. "You said you will give us a chance. Do you want to leave?" Wanda asked worriedly, to which Y/N laughed, with a very sardonic laugh. "Doesn’t seem I’m welcomed, Wanda." Looking to her left, men were deep in conversation, glancing at her now and then. It gave her chance to look at them, now that they were not standing behind her. Both were tall, strong-build, one sporting a light stubble and hair down to the shoulder, other one with a few weeks old beard and bit longer hair that fell in his eyes. Both were covered in dirt and showed same weariness as Wanda.

Noticing she watched them as a hawk, the one with darker blond hair, Steve, stepped closer: "Sorry for the rough handling but we can never be too sure." He said, now that he was barking orders, his voice was nice, but it didn’t make Y/N drop her guard. "Look," he sighed, brushing his hair out of his face, "we can go to our camp but I wanna check you up for weapons myself. There is not lot of us, I won’t allow another loss." His eyes were telling the truth, he believed what he told. Y/N was hesitant, did she really want to risk seeing people possibly die again? But the soft hand on her shoulder, Wanda’s warm hand, reminded her of the nights she wished to feel presence of others, not just rustles of animals around her. 

Y/N closed her eyes, sighing. "Fine." She rised her hands slightly, right next to her head and parted her legs, nodding at tall man to do his thing. His touched surprised Y/N, it was firm and yet, somewhat gentle as he patted her clothed arms and waist. When the pat on her thighs wasn’t coming, Y/N opened her eyes, surprised to see a pink hue on his face as he hesitated, a snort coming from other man. "Just get to it, Stevie, she doesn’t bite." He teased his friend and Wanda giggled, faking it as a cough when Y/N looked at her with creased brows. Fast few taps landed on her hips, thighs and calves and Steve quickly stepped back, nodding his head at other man, Bucky. "Let’s go to the camp." He huffed, "Sorry, doll, I will give this back later." He swung her weapons under his arm. "I’m James, but call me Bucky." His demeanor was puzzling, as his speech went from guarded to relaxed and back again, his eyes still guarded. He pulled the bag off Wanda’s back and gently shoved her gently to the right direction, asking her about her leg. Y/N stood there, unsure of what to do, jumping a little as a hand brushed her shoulder, it was Steve taking her bag from her. "I’m Steve, nice to meet you. Sorry again for this." Y/N brushed him off, following the forms of Wanda and Bucky. "You said it yourself, one can’t be too sure anymore. But I expect to get my bow back tomorrow." Y/N answered and turned around again, looking at the blond man, "I’m Y/N."

Y/N was right, the camp was not even ten minutes away. There were other people, creating a circle around Wanda, even though Y/N didn’t know them, she get the feeling they were close, more than just bunch of friends. They were a family, a man with goatee cupped her face while a pale man, who looked really nervous kneeled beside her, checking her scratched foot. "And who is this?" A dark-skinned man came to Y/N and Steve, curiously checking her out, same wariness in his eyes.

"Sam. Another survivor, Y/N, she saved Wanda." Steve introduced the silent woman beside him as others came closer. Looking at them, Y/N silently thanked Bucky that he took her weapons, she knew her resting bitch-face was not exactly putting people at ease. "What about others? Tony?" Steve asked and goatee-man shook his head, shadow passed his face.

"Legolas and Red are still not back, they do not answer their walkie-talkie. Last contact was yesterday before the sunset, they were still looking for Wanda." "Where exactly did you went for the supply run?" Y/N asked suddenly, looking at Wanda but before she could open her mouth, Tony interrupted, crossing his arms on his chest. "Why? It won’t help if another person gets lost in the forest and bow will not save you, Merida."

"First of all, a headshot is still headshot, even with bow. And second, I worked as a ranger, I know my way around these-" Y/N snapped back and stiffed as a voice from behind the group shouted, her mouth opened in shock. "We found a couple of footprints and bunch of dead bodies. Two sets of footprints left the place, one must have been Wanda’s." A very familiar man appeared between the trees, red head woman right beside him. "What are doing?" He asked as his eyes fell on the newest addition to the group, stopping in his tracks, same shocked expression on his face. "Y/N/N?" He whispered, taking a step back. A strange nasal noise, something between laugh and sob, escaped Y/N’s mouth, who took running towards her most important person in the world. "Clint." Y/N whispered as Clint hugged her, kissing the top of her head. She used to hate that but now, she just clung to him, to her brother she thought dead. A warm, small hand landed on her shoulder, peeping to her right, Natasha stood there, smiling, her eyes suspiciously shiny. Y/N tried to move towards her, finding it impossible to move.

"Clint," Y/N tapped his side, man not moving, even tightening his embrace. "Clint, I can’t breathe." Y/N gasped as he let go of her. She was immediately hugged by smaller woman, who squeezed her even more. "Nat." Y/N hugged back, so glad for her privilege of doing so, she knew Nat was not touchy-feely person, let alone a hugger.

"When the hugging party is over, can someone explain? Is Legolas and Katniss together ‘together’ or what?" Tony broke shocked silence, ignoring the jab in his rib by a blond woman next to him. Clearing his throat, Clint waved his hand to Y/N and Nat: "Guys, this is Y/N, my younger sister. Yes, that introvert sister who likes animals more than people-OW!" He exclaimed as Y/N kicked him in the back of his knee, making him tumble down.

"I’m not giving you back your bow, asshole." Y/N crossed her arms across her chest, people around them chuckling at stupid interaction. "Well, now we have another weirdo in this group. You will fit in this group of misfits. I’m Tony, Stark." Tony stepped up and finally introduced himself and others. Strawberry blond woman was his wife, Pepper Potts, who smiled at you kindly. Other unknown was Bruce Banner, nervous looking man who was currently disinfecting Wanda’s ankle, and Sam Wilson, the pleasant of the trio, Bucky Barnes being the careful and broody one and Steve Rogers, the polite one, if you are not seen as a threat.

Night came sooner than Y/N expected. Getting Wanda to her group, fighting with Bucky and Steve for her weapons and finding out her brother was alive took a lot of energy from her and she found herself doing something she never did before: nodding off among relatively unknown people. Sure, now that Clint was there, she remembered his stories with his cop buddies, his patrols with Nat and Sam, the constant war between Bucky and Sam and Steve, being the proper police captain, trying to make them stop and immediately being sassed by Tony, who worked as forensic scientist, often accompanied by Bruce, medical examiner. From their late-night calls, she knew them but meeting them in person, her social insecurities tended to make her seem cold, uninterested while her insides were in turmoil. And yet, sitting in the circle around the fire, she felt calm. For the rest of the day, Clint followed her like a puppy, her assuring falling on deaf ears (I’m sorry). Clint was always protective of Y/N, even after teaching her fight and shoot.

"Where have you been when this all started, Y/N?" Nat asked, question silencing the conversations around. Sudden silence made her nervous and shifted her weight on the log she sat on. "At the farm, I was getting ready for work. I had no idea what was happening, when a family of three banged on the door, their kid was bitten. I should have known something was wrong, Kiki was going crazy outside." Y/N answered, her stomach churning at the memory of a married couple and their small daughter, who laid in father’s arms, unconscious, blood soaking through pink dress with cloudy pattern, ripped on her side with hideous bite mark. "Who is Kiki?" Tony asked as he sat on the ground, disassembled gun in front of him. 

"Y/N’s favorite sheep." Clint answered, watching the crackling fire. His voice was dull, distant. He already knew the horrors his sister have witnessed, while others seen her face unchanging, he could see the pale color on her face, her hands now clenched in fists non-stop. Y/N was strong, he knew that but more she tried to put distance between her and reality, more affected she became, guilt and pain consuming her from within, never sharing her worries and thoughts, hiding them behind sarcasm and coldness. 

"They were in shock, couldn’t tell me what happened. I went for a first aid kit when kid changed. Her father had his head right next to her, I just heard the screams when I came around. Father changed quickly and the woman just sat there, looking at them and screamed. I couldn’t move her." Y/N balled her hands, wanting nothing more than to push them in her eyes, to try pushing the images out of her head with brute force. "I only grabbed the bow by the back door and my backpack and got out. I didn’t even notice when other infected got close to the house, suddenly, they were there. And so I ran." She finished, silence was deafening as they processed what they heard.

Looking across the fire, Steve was watching Y/N. He could read between the line and her expressions, her seemingly expressionless face was same as Bucky’s when he didn’t want to talk about his time in Iraq, beneath the surface boiled pain, insecurity and self-loathing. The woman in front of him was tough, her stubbornness and spunk rivaled those war veterans he met and yet, there was something vulnerable about her. The way she let others talk, how she kept her eyes trailed down on the ground and small gestures towards Clint and Nat to assure them, both acting like her older siblings. She’s been hurt, she has seen things that made her wary of others. 

"How does night watch work here? Two people are on lookout whole night or do you rotate after few hours?" Y/N asked as she reached into her bag, pulling out a bag of beef jerky, passing it around, punching Clint in the ribs when he hogged almost half to himself. "One person is enough, they wake next lookout after few hours. Every night different lookout." Clint said with his mouth full which earned him a scolding look from Steve and a laugh from Bucky when he choked on a water which sprayed out of his nose. Y/N and Nat shook their heads, occasional piggy-manners no longer made them react, only Y/N smacked his back a few times, eliciting a moan of pain from Clint. 

"In that case, I can take first half of the night." Several people opened their mouth to oppose when Nat scowled, forcing a silence to fall. "Let her, she wouldn’t fall asleep for a few hours either way." 

"But I want my quiver back." She looked at Bucky who rolled his eyes and reached behind him, throwing her weapons carefully. "I think this is the cue to hit the night, all of you." Pepper stood up and silenced Tony who seemed not ready to do so. 

Sleeping arrangements were not most comfortable. Beds for men consisted of layered up clothes in a circle around the fire, Wanda and Pepper getting only two rolled-up sleeping mats and climbed the small tree-house. All supplies they had now consisted of what they found on their escape from the city or what they had on them.

Y/N sat by the fire, poking burning logs with a stick. It took a while for everyone to lay down, they were noisy, conversations were dying down and flaring up again, just to be shushed by the people next to them, occasional groans and giggles escaping. Y/N was surprised, despite the situation they were in, ‘Avengers’, how Clint jokingly called them, referring the time when they relentlessly chased and destroyed biggest drug cartel called Hydra, behaved like a kids on a school trip, not like most feared and efficient police team in state. Tranquility finally fell when Y/N stood up and looked around. The clearing where group was camping was in a good spot, an uneven circle was blocked from south by big rocks, making it impossible to go on them without making ruckus or breaking a leg between the gaps in the rocks. Eastern and western side was a clean space, trees growing sparsely, Y/N would see and hear anyone or anything, would they try to sneak up on them, dry leaves littering the soil preventing of doing so. That left her with north, trees growing bit thicker, giving her a good spot to perch herself, easily looking over the sleeping group, tree-house and the darkness that lurked outside the warm light of the campfire. Stepping softly between sleeping bodies, Y/N bent down to pick up her bottle when a hand gripped her wrist. A strange strangled sight slipped past her lips as her knees buckled, her face now close to Steve’s, his shocked eyes almost shining in the shadows.

"What the Hell are you doing?" Y/N hissed, her heart beating somewhere in her throat, face slightly pink, which she hoped will passed unnoticed sue lack of light. She thought he was asleep already, as his eyes were closed, breath steady and face still. She couldn’t help but notice tall man that have sat opposite of her. When he was not scowling at her with gun in his hand, his face was handsome. But the attraction went beyond that as she saw him interact with others, the way he joked with Bucky and Sam for one minute and the other he was serious captain, the leader that had no intention of losing anymore of his people. He was pulling her eyes to him, his serious face while planning what to do next, his kind face when he talked to Pepper or Wanda when the fear or nervousness got the best of them, even his embarrassed face when Nat whispered something to him, his face turning pink. 

"Sorry." Steve whispered, his thumb unconsciously stroking the soft skin inside of Y/N’s wrist soothingly, she could feel the warmth spread on her cheeks and ears, hoping the darkness around them is enough to hide it. "Just wanted to say to wake me up when it’s time to switch. It’s my turn today." Somehow, Y/N doubted it was his turn, eyeing the dark circles under his eyes that seemed almost inked on the skin. Y/N nodded her head, ignoring the wrinkles forming on his forehead on dodgy answer and stood up. She felt his curious eyes on her back as she went up to the tree and began climbing quickly as a squirrel, soon sitting on a thick branch, one leg bend in the knee, back pressed against the rough bark, scratchy feeling putting her on ease.

Night was dragging on but Y/N didn’t mind. It gave her time, time to think of what happened, what could possibly happen next, forcing her thoughts not to go apeshit negative. Forest was calm, fortunately, no living beings appeared, just occasional ruffles of leaves from small animals disturbed the peace of silence. To keep anything bigger away, Y/N had to keep the fire burning. She was surprised she hadn’t waken up anybody as she shuffled around them, pushing wooden locks around the pit to make criss-cross pattern to keep fire burning as long as she could. 

Drowsiness finally took over when the sky began to show first signs of dawn. Running her hand down tired face, Y/N climbed down, her muscles quickly turning stiff. Yelping in surprise when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, she whipped her body around, swinging her fist in drilled instinct. Her eyes widened at the sight of Steve, who had a strict look on his face, but she couldn’t stop the punch as it connected. Thankfully, not with his face but a palm of his hand, as he caught her hand and pressed her in the tree with his weight, stopping her knee from shooting towards the place where sun doesn’t shine.

"Can you stop sneaking up on me?" Pinned woman snapped, ignoring the knot forming in her stomach. He was closer to her than any man for a long time and her reaction towards him scared her. His stupidly handsome face was close to hers, he was towering above her even when he was bending down a little, the look in his eyes almost… feral. He smelt… like a man, obviously but the smell of dirt, sweat and a hint of leather made Y/N’s hair stand on the back of her neck and her mouth dry.-

"I said to wake me when it’s time. That was three hours ago." Steve said, his voice low,  his hand still gripping hers as he raised them above her head, breath hitching in her throat.

‘Pull yourself together.’ Y/N reprimanded herself as she blinked fast, trying very hard not to look down. "I was not that tired yet and it’s calm either way. And I was on my way to wake you up now." Y/N retorted and tried to push him away discreetly but it was like trying to push again the wall. 

"There is a reason we set some rules, if we all start to ignore them, chaos will take over and that usually means people get hurt." Steve answered, either ignoring or not noticing Y/N’s growing tension. "Okay, I’m sorry." Y/N lowered her gaze, the authority and reason in Steve’s voice too strong to ignore. Heat flooded Y/N’s cheeks as his hand raised her head up to him. "I didn’t hear you, Y/N." His eyes were of that dark blue color and the way he said her name made Y/N panic.

"I said I’m sorry. Can I go sleep now?" She squeezed out of herself, looking in those damn eyes that were so darn hypnotizing. Her high-pitched squeak snapped Steve of his trance and he felt his face turn pink. His hand let go of hers and stepped back from her, giving her chance to slip past him from little cage he put her in. It has been a while since he let himself slip, Barton’s younger sister did things to him he hadn’t felt for a long time, her strong manners hiding her vulnerable, kind soul made him want to strip that façade down. ‘Calm down, Rogers, it’s Clint’s younger sister. Stop it or you will get an arrow in the eye.’ He coughed and looked at the smaller woman, who seemed to wait for just one word to bail. She noticed, she felt that side of him just now, her eyes appearing bigger as they looked everywhere but not in his eyes. "Of course, sorry for making you wait. Sleep tight, Barton." ‘So suddenly it’s Barton. Very smooth, Rogers.’ Steve said, forcing his sight from her flushed face, looking around the camp, his heart skipping a beat when he noticed a smirk on Natasha’s seemingly sleeping face. 

Muttering quick good night, Y/N almost sprinted towards her sleeping bag she hogged to herself. Her legs felt like a jelly, even trembled like one. The place where Steve’s hand gripped her wrist was on fire and still was nothing compared to the feeling in her stomach and southern regions. Y/N seldomly reacted so strongly to close proximity of men but the warmth, the smell and the dominance that lurked behind that calm face made her breathless, her heart beating so hard even snoring Clint must’ve heard it.

In her hurry to lay down the sleeping bag between Nat and Clint, Y/N failed to notice a smirk on Nat’s face, her green eyes slightly open, mischievous spark hidden in the light of sunrise, closely watching her friend laying down while other stood guard by the same tree, blue eyes watching her every move.

A series of giggles pulled Y/N slowly out of her sleep, her ears registered a single shushing sound, followed by more, louder giggles. She was hot, no, she was almost swimming in sweat and her body was heavy, she couldn’t move her arms and legs. She started to wiggle, her attempt to shake free met with only more laughter. A light erupted from behind her closed eyes, making her wince and open her eyes, just a small gap. There were two sets of boots just in front of her, one boot moved back and somebody kneeled next to her. It was Steve, his face was bright from the sunlight that shone on his face, amused look on his face as his hand softly pushed the hair out of Y/N’s eyes. 

"You okay there, Barton? Do you need help?" He asked, smiling at sleepy, dumb-founded face. "What?" She asked, her voice raspy and dull, trying to wake up. "Why can’t I-?" She wiggled again and looked around, her eyes widening at the comical sight she and Clint offered. Sometime after she fell asleep, Clint rolled from his pile of clothes and on top of her, his body sprawled, pushing her body down into her sleeping mat. His leg was thrown over hers, trapping Y/N in her sleeping bag, cutting off any cool morning air that could reach her, slowly raising temperature causing her to sweat profusely. "Clint." Y/N groaned, wiggling one hand free and patted backwards, hitting his side, his groan made people around them burst into an open laugh, Y/N’s face burned at the image they must have made. "Clinton, get off me, you prick," she doubled her effort but dead weight of her brother was too much.

She turned to Steve, her face once again burning. ‘Number of times I have blushed in front of this man…’ She sighed in defeat and looked up, not noticing how his breath hitched: "Can you get him off, please? I’m hot."   ‘Yes, you are.’ Steve’s brain was boiling. His eyes was glued on the woman in front of him, helplessly lying on the ground with pleading eyes, making his thoughts crazy with indecent thoughts while his Neanderthal side of brain wanted to throw Clint away. ‘It’s her brother, Rogers, stop being an idiot.’ He growled at himself and forced his hands to roll Clint away, calmly. God, what that woman was doing to him. He hasn’t felt that way about a woman since Peggy and that being long time ago, his patience was thin, almost non-existant, just the manners his Ma tought him and respect towards Clint’s friendship hold him back from what Tony called aggressive courting. So his smile was visibly forced as he grabbed Y/N by her hands and stood her up, the muscles tensing as he caught her smell, subtle sweet scent of mint and soil and sweat. 

"Whaaa…" Clint whined on the ground, covering his eyes in the crook of his inner elbow. Crouching down next to him, Nat ripped the mat from underneath him, nudging him in the side with her foot. "Get up, Clint, we will not pack your things while you snore and bother Y/N." She nudged again, smirking at the whining sound Clint eluded. "Y/N slept too and you are not kicking her." He complained as he threw his stuff around like a pouting kid, earning a slap on the head from passing-by Bucky. 

"She had a night-watch, birdbrain. What’s your excuse again?" Tony sassed him, pushing his little tinkering set in his bag. "My heart and soul was with her all night long." "Heart and soul my ass." Clint rubbed his head, "I want my coffee." Muttering under his breath, he noticed Y/N still standing, with absent-minded face. "Earth to Y/N, sit your ass down and start packing." "What? Oh, yea, sure." Y/N flinched and started packing, wiping the lack of sleep from her eyes. "Clint, how did you get out of the city?" She asked. Army and law enforcement were usually called in first to the very epicenter and with the number of bodies, littering the neighborhood streets, it must have been a Hell on Earth. 

Stopping for a minute, Clint‘s eyes glazed over, getting lost in the past. "We got out because of Rogers and Stark. Even whole police department and army couldn’t stop the infected, they changed too fast. We were almost instantly overwhelmed but as soon as most of the civilians got out, Steve ordered to fall back. Thanks to Stark and his cameras, he got us out of the city without meeting some huge resistance." He rolled Y/N’s mat bit more aggressive, punching it to make it slip in it’s cover. "We still lost a lots of our people. Hill, Fury, whole Alpha and Omega team, we saw them get down and up again." His voice was strained, hands balled into fists, knuckled turning white from the tight grip. Without missing a heartbeat, Y/N pulls Clint to her side, ignoring the stare she felt from Nat or whoever was behind and pressed her cheek on top of his head. She knew Fury too but he was not as much of a father figure to her as he was to Clint. "Nat and I tried to get to him and Hill but…"

"Clint. It’s okay. Do you know what Fury would say on that, risking your life carelessly?” "It would be a stupid-ass decision." Clint’s voice intertwined with other, Nat kneeling next to Y/N, the light in her eyes dull, eyes rimmed red. She positioned her body the way that nobody but Y/N and Clint saw her hand squeezing Y/N’s for a second, sending a quick thought for her friends. They both took a second to collect themselves, Clint cracking his knuckles as Nat checked her gun.

After a short peptalk from Steve and some less serious quirks from Tony about their next moves, group was on the move again. If the situation wouldn’t be so grave, it would be almost funny to Y/N: Avengers were certainly not good at sticking together. Soon, Tony and Bruce fell behind the group, both arguing about the virus or whatever caused the outbreak, throwing around words like: patient zero and incubation period. Wanda stuck to Bucky and Sam, who were leading the group, bickering above the map they both held, occasional shoulder push followed with a hiss or a certain finger raised. Clint and Nat disappeared somewhere but nobody worried that much, both could track and Nat would make sure Clint wouldn’t do anything too stupid. 

That left Y/N and Steve, walking in silence. Y/N felt the eyes burying in her back as she walked a few steps ahead of tall Captain, trying her hardest not to quicken her steps. Short hair on the back of her neck stood, the feeling of being watched like a prey was making her nervous and yet, everytime she glanced back, his face was calm and collected, sometimes starting a pointless little talk about weather, their next best possible camp or if she is not tired or thirsty. He was getting under her skin, not even a full day after he pointed his gun at her, low-key threating to shoot her. She felt the pull, that morning when he surprised her by the tree, or when he helped her get Clint off of her. 

Y/N’s mind wondered to the latter, remembering how Steve picked her up, his hands firm on her hip and other hand on the small of her back. Sure, she was sleepy but there was undeniably possessive aura around him for a second, his sky blue eyes turned stormy blue with supressed emotion Y/N couldn’t quite put her finger on. The sound around them seemed to stop when his stare shifted from her eyes to her lips, leaving her breathless. And suddenly he let go, Bucky passing by slapping Clint’s head brought her back, knees wobbly, her mind desperately trying to think of something else than the raw need she saw flashing through Captain’s eyes, the need she felt in her lower stomach.

“Don’t!” Y/N thought, shaking her head, “This is no time for stupid crushes. Concentrate on the situation you are in, stupid.” She berated herself and with a final tap on her cheek, that turned little harsher than she wanted, she pushed intruding thoughts and deep blue eyes out of her mind.

**Few days later**

"Okay, people, you know the drill. Stick together, keep low. Grab everything you deem necessary and we will meet here in two hours sharp.” Steve ordered to the people around him standing in pairs, Nat with Clint and Y/N with him.

Situation got desperate when Pepper fell ill and basic anti-inflammatory pills had no effect, driving Tony almost crazy. It took Bruce and Rogers almost two hours to dissuade him from going to city by himself, Bruce wrote bunch of possible meds for others to find, also adding quickly disappearing water to the list, due to high temperatures and no rain, only small pond nearby that was way too murky and muddy to be safe to drink from.

Mood got considerably worse, laughter and chatter reduced to almost nothing as Pepper coughed and somewhat distant, almost cold stare Y/N were giving to Steve did not go unnoticed. Her mind was focused on surviving and helping the group. So when Rogers asked for volunteers to the most possibly a death trip to the city, she didn’t hesitate to raise her hand, earning a scowl from Rogers, Nat and Clint Y/N ignored. Even Bucky and Sam were against the idea but were shot down with her reasoning. After all, she alone, even with help of Tony, wouldn’t be able to defend the camp if infected were to attack. 

And so now, Y/N was kneeling down next to Rogers, Nat and Clint, city streets still littered with shredded, rotting bodies literally around the corner. Theoretically, their mission was simple. Find the nearest pharmacy, look for useful medicines, the best while not crossing path with no undead monsters. Practically… it was already doomed to be harder as street before them was already occupied with death on legs. 

“What now?” Nat asked, her face rid of any emotion, unlike Clint and Rogers who gritted their teeth at the sight of occasional dead cop walking around. “We could take them on, there is not that many of them,“ Clint suggested, “even without using any firearms.“

“That’s dumb idea.“ Y/N shook her head, interrupting blonde Captain. “We don’t know how they behave. What if half of the bodies that lies there are just in some dormant state, waiting for the sound to wake up? And how many can be inside of the stores and houses? We could easily go from ten freaks to hundred freaks.“

Steve raised his hand to silence everyone. “We don’t really have much of a choice. We need to get past this street and then split up to cover more ground.“ “Or, Clint and Nat can take first backalley and distract some of them. There should be fire escape ladder to the roof and avoid fight and give us enough space to get to the other side. You could check the shop nearby, it has that small overpriced pharmacy inside.” Y/N pointed towards the small backalley. It’s entrance was half-ass barricaded with debris and junk, it would offer a good hindrance to undead and no problem to jump over for Clint and Natasha. “We could go towards residential area and scan some smaller shops for first-aid kits.” With a slight hesitation, Y/N looked at Steve, giving him a chance to voice his opinion. 

“Shouldn’t we check the big mall right in front of us too?” He asked, with slightest sarcasm in the voice. “Where do you think most of the people went when the panic started? And how many of them died inside?” Y/N raised her brow, “that place must be a graveyard and I’m not risking that something will bite my ankle.”

“That’s fair.” He nodded, all snark gone, “okay, we have a plan. We meet just outside the city in an hour. If we are not here, wait for twenty minutes and then go back to camp.” He noticed three mouths opening, ready to backtalk. “That’s an order! We are not losing any more people!” He snapped, something dark flashing behind his blue eyes, shutting everyone up effectively, younger Barton and Nat visibly irritated.

Things went relatively well. Other two crossed over the barricade quickly, just a few undead trying to follow but too slow to actually keep up. Quickly signing they’re okay from afar, it was time for Y/N and Rogers to go, blowing into a full sprint while trying to not make a noise and Y/N found out she was not really that fast as she thought as she tried to keep up with Steve, losing quite miserably.   They were lucky, they crossed path with freaks only once but with kinda terrifying speed, Steve got rid of them, his knife stabbing fast, his irritation clear when he snapped a neck of one of the approaching undead. There was not much to do for Y/N only to keep up, hissing warning when some staggering corpse got too close. When two finally stopped, rows of houses spread before them. Tugging Y/N aside, Steve jumped over the short fence, slowly stalking over to the first house, front garden surprisingly clean, no dead bodies in sight, what couldn’t be said about the neighbour’s garden, three bodies lying there, rotting in the hot sun. 

Inside of the house was not pristine clean anymore, blood spills and marks covering the walls, bloody footprints leading towards the back alerted Y/N and Steve into a fighting stance once more just as a thump and a moan from the kitchen sounded, painfully loud in almost soundless world. Sneaking towards the sound, another gruesome sight waited for them. As if the scene from Evil Dead franchise, a corpse half laid-half sat by the counter one hand cuffed to the lower cupboard, a meat cleaver covered in dried blood was next to it, forgotten when death claimed another victim, other hand half-sawn off, sickly green skin covered by festering bite marks. Almost every part of the lower body was gone as another undead monster crouched down munching on the dead meat, oblivious to two new possible victims. With pained expression, Y/N quickly grabbed feeding monster by the back of the shirt and yanked sideways, her military knife striking the skull quickly, killing the abomination. Sitting back on her heels, Y/N turned her head towards shocked Steve, inhaling, she opened her mouth but screeched instead when cold, wet hand clutched her shoulder.

Poorly balanced position Y/N was in caused her legs to buckle, her back slamming with a disgusting splotch into messy, bloody remains of now alive corpse’s lower stomach, twitching hand tangling in Y/N’s loose hair, using it to pull itself towards her, teeth clatting in desperate need to spread the infection. "Y/N!" Steve shouted and rushed to her side, young woman struggling from being bit, pushing both hands in creeper's face, panic clogging her throat from screaming. A strong muscular hand sneaked around her middle and yanked backwards, her back slamming into sturdy chest as Steve stabbed undead, it's hold releasing instantly. Backing a few steps back and falling down, Y/N landed in Steve's lap, panic and shock still overpowering her senses, making her squirm and try to get away.

"Shhh, it's okay. Y/N," Steve cooed, dropping his knife and put his hand at Y/N's forehead, turning her face to side and push it under his chin, "Y/N, look at me doll. You are alright. Listen to my heartbeat." His words slowly pushed through the haze in Y/N's mind as he felt her hold her breath, ear pushed in his chest and hand scrunching the shirt on his left arm. After agonizingly slow minute, Y/N looked up, her Y/E/C eyes boring in his blue ones. "You okay?" Steve asked, cupping her cheek in gentliest way possible. For a second, Steve thought he saw her eyes flicker to his lips but before he could react, Y/N pushed herself up. "Yeah," Y/N cringed at her raspy voice, "thank you. I didn't expect it to be still alive." She wobbled a little and ignored how Steve jumped up and reached for her, her eyes glued at his front. The front of his grey shirt was drenched in dark blood, now she realised her back was soaking wet and her hair felt dirty from being touched by undead's rotting skin. "We should find some new shirts for us and quickly search this place. We don't have much time." Nodding his head, Steve picked up both knives and carefully headed upstairs, tapping the handle on a few doors, waiting to hear a growl or other sign of 'life'. They were lucky, no other infected was inside and some spare clothes were thrown around the bedroom, as if previous residents tried to pack in hurry, unsure what to pack. "Did I do something?" Steve asked as he took off his shirt, his back turned to Y/N, who followed his lead and quickly discarded her ruined shirt, catching her out of guard with sudden question. 

"Sorry?" She asked turning around, catching a glimpse of muscular back disappearing under new black shirt that was a size too small. Distracted by the sight, she didn't notice when Steve turned around and stepped closer, his calloused hand under her chin snapped her back. Once again, the feeling of being trapped seized in as she noticed his blue eyes darkening, like a mouse looking in cobra’s eyes, hypnotized, tiny voice, voice of reason, telling her to step back or push him away, silenced by gray haze that seeped in her brain. Steve's face was stern and yet soft, dominant aura around him told her he will not accept lies or simple distraction, his blue eyes burrowing in her soul, baring her to him.

His voice was octave lower, sending shivers creeping up her back. "You keep your distance from me. You barely look me in the eyes. And I know you feel something too." He took a step closer and now he was impossibly close and brought his hand on Y/N's throat, his thumb caressing her pulse, from his fingertips, what felt like electric pulses quickened her heartbeat and blood rushed in her cheeks. "So," he bent down a little, their faces on the same level, "what is going through that head of yours, Barton?"

You couldn't do it, you couldn't lie anymore, not when deep in his eyes, you saw lust, need, but also something very fragile and soft. "I'm afraid." Y/N answered, her voice coming out as a soft whisper. "I'm afraid to lose any more people." Her whole body shuddered when Steve's eyes softened and his thumb stroked the soft skin of her cheek. "Creating a bond, caring about another person in this kind world, it's like waiting for something inevitably wrong to happen, to either me, or you or anybody else. I already worry about Clint and Nat and everybody back at the camp. I can't-" Y/N voice broke and she took a step back, wiping away unshed tears with the back of her hand. "This is not time and place to discuss this. We should move on."

Opening the door to the bathroom, Steve looks back at Y/N, his face set with determination. “When we get back, we will continue.” Not waiting for any response, his demeanor changed into one of a Captain and went inside, the creaking of cabinet doors was only thing Y/N heard. Taking a deep breath, Y/N fell on her knees beside the bed, lifting the covers to look beneath it. She couldn’t help the small victory smirk when she heard an irritated sigh from bathroom as she reached for bright red first aid-kit, put on the stack of books. YN smiled softly as she opened the kit, revealing brand new packages of band aids, bandages, some antiseptic wipes, hermetically sealed and among the basic painkillers, a pills of Tramadol, one of Bruce’s top choices. It was hard to believe they hit the mark at first try but Y/N knew better than to ponder about if’s and when’s.

“Got something.” She called and proudly shown her treasure to Steve, who carried more bandages, one bottle of Advil and Hydrogen Peroxide. “It’s a good start but we still have time to look for more. Let’s hope Nat and Clint had better luck.” Y/N stuck the kit in her backpack.

“We still have half an hour left. If we hurry, we can cover bigger part of the neighborhood.” Steve took Y/N’s bag unconsciously, slinging it over his shoulder, handing her his empty bag, making Y/N roll her eyes and blush slightly at the same time. Rolling because it made her feel underestimated again, latter for the ‘gentlemanliness’, the softness Y/N was not shown that often.

Luck was once again on their side as those few freaks that roamed the street didn’t notice them and some of the houses were almost untouched, clearly abandoned in haste as the first one. Leaving the last house, Y/N and Steve both carried some canned food, more bottled water, bandages and disinfectants. As much they were calmer now they had what they wanted, they still had to go back and Y/N’s mind was occupied with thought of Clint and Nat, worried about them, even thought they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. They were like a siblings to her, well, Clint literally and mere thought of losing either of them made her stomach churn painfully. 

“We have all we need. I’m sure Barton and Romanoff also found something useful.” Steve looked around, taking in the area around, assessing the best way to go back without drawing the attention to them. They were quite far from ‘rendezvous point’ and he worried about Y/N, woman beside him growing more and more nervous, checking her watch every two minutes, her muscles twitching the second they stopped moving. He didn’t want her here, out in the open in danger zone, not after what happened in the first house, the possessiveness he didn’t know he had in himself growing stronger each minute.

"Hey, they are okay. They will either wait for us the or back in the camp." Steve clasped his hand on Y/N's shoulder, trying his best to give her reassuring smile. Nodding her head, Y/N flashed a clearly fake smile and gripped the door handle, creaking the door slightly open, more than ready to make sure of Clint's safety with her own eyes. 

"Dammit!" Y/N hissed peeping outside, seeing the number of freaks multiplied a bit, some now staggering around the lawn and front porch and as if that wasn't enough, sun was slowly setting down, casting the street in deep shades of orange and red, adding to the horror atmosphere. "We can't fight through all of them, we will have to outrun them." She mumbled as she closed the door again, feeling Steve's broad chest almost flush against her back as he peeked through the small window next to her, his hot breath fanning over the nape of her neck.

"We are much faster than them, even jogging should do the trick. We can't tire ourselves in the long run right at the beginning." He whispered in her ear and Y/N couldn't help but shudder at the feeling. Ever since she confessed her worries, spilling her fears and vulnerabilities to Steve, Y/N reacted to his presence, always aware of his closeness, aware how much closer he was keeping to her, supporting hand on the small of her back, his eyes trailing her movements, watching her like a hawk, ready to lend a helping hand.  

‘Focus, Y/N. First, get back to camp alive,’ Y/N stopped her rampaging thoughts, ‘he wants to talk later, you can panic then.’ She shook her head slightly and strapped the bag on her back tightly also around her stomach and chest, leaving her hands free for defense. 

"Let's get this over with." Y/N clenched her jaw, readying herself for a long run, Steve nodding his head, raising three fingers in short countdown. "Three." Exhaling, Y/N gripped the door handle again, slowly pushing it down. "Two." Steve gave Y/N one last look with determined face. "One." Y/N really hated this new world.

***********

"You are back!" Tony exclaimed, hastily getting up, barreling towards his friend, almost sending Bruce flying, who sat next to Pepper, who looked more was passed out than conscious, only her blinking eyes showing her struggle. Abruptly stopping, Tony looked at the coming group, raising his eyebrow: “Do I want to know what happened?”

Run back was not fun by any means, especially for Y/N. Just as Steve predicted, outrunning the staggering monsters was easy but the anxiety Y/N was feeling worsened with each step, reaching it’s peak when two arrived at the meeting point and Clint and Nat was nowhere to be seen, making Y/N sprint forward, only to yelp in surprise as Clint Natasha jumped from behind the big tree, knife in hand, her foot quickly stretching forward. Shock and fright causing Y/N’s reaction to slow, her own foot tripping over Nat’s, sending her down on the dirt, face-planting in small puddle, maybe only one in the whole forest which was rustling with dryness. 

All sounds of life around them seemed to cease as Y/N slowly get up on her four limps, mud and water covering her whole face. Dripping down her neck and staining the new shirt, Y/N turned her head around, her eyes almost dead when they landed on shocked faces of her three companions, who just stood there almost motionless, only Clint’s shoulders showing a slight shaking which turned into full-blown snorting when his sister opened her mouth, pieces of mud and clamps of grass rolling out. 

At this point, Y/N felt dead inside as she stood in the middle of the dark camp with dried up mud on her face, counting how many times she made a fool out of herself ever since she met the blue-eyed captain. In the corner of her eye, she noticed Bucky and Sam almost crying from laughter, discreetly sending them middle finger which even worsened the situation. 

"I'm going to wash myself." Y/N muttered, turning to grinning Wanda, who handed her her spare shirt. BY the time they got back, sun has set and the forest around them was dark and mysterious but the need to clean up was stronger. Looking over her shoulder, Steve was crouching next to Tony, Bruce and Pepper, taking out found medicine, Clint and Nat handing out the bottles of water they found. "I'll holler if something happens." "Holler if you need help washing your back." Sam whistled after her and laughed at Y/N's face, both completely oblivious to Steve's clenched jaw and hard eyes, drilling a hole in his friends head. 

Pond was not even two minutes walk away, area around secured with strings with attached pieces of cans, softly clanging in the breeze. Being this dirty, even slightly murky water felt divine, it's coldness refreshing Y/N's mind but reminding her just how tired and tense her body is, after all the running and her close encounter with death. Y/N shuddered remembering and abandoned washing the shirt, straight diving into the pond, scrubbing roughly at her skin, groaning at the memory of unnaturally cold and soft hand gripping the nape of her neck. A snap of a twig brought Y/N's mind back to reality as she turned and crouched down until the surface of the water reached just under her clavicles. "Wanda?" Y/N called out, squinting in the darkness that surrounded her. 

"Sorry, it's me. I came to check on you, you are gone for a long time." Steve stepped from behind the tree, his eyes trained up on the outline of the moon. "I heard a splash then you groaned, I got worried." 

"No, I just remembered that first house." Y/N trudged slowly towards him, still keeping everything hidden even if he were to look. Silence stretched between and despite the warm breeze, cool water started to seep in Y/N's bones, feeling goosebumps erupt all over her body, shaking like a leaf. " Can you turn around or go back behind the tree? I kinda wanna, you know...." Y/N's clanking teeth didn't escape Steve's attention as he quickly turned and mutter a quiet apology. Splashing behind him was tempting him to take a peek, the image of Y/N in the water reminded him of the stories his Ma told him when he was little, of women born in the water, nymphs, beautiful creatures that bathed in the light of the moon, taking their beauty and power from it's soft glow. That is how Y/N looked there, her wet hair plastered to her face, pale shine on her skin making her look out of this world. 

Clenching his jaw, Steve shift his feet, discreetly trying to ease the slightly tightening pants, the sound of the fabric brushing against the skin painfully loud in the forest stillness. Focusing on his breath, Steve failed to notice Y/N trudging towards him, wet washed clothes hanging on her hand. "You look horrible. I think you need a good sleep without being on a watch tonight." Y/N stood beside him, her big eyes, glossy from exhaustion trained on him.

"Yeah," Steve cough, looking down on slightly smaller woman, "we both need that. It was a long day."

"Mmmhm, but I'm glad we found what we needed. We did good." Y/N smiled at the image she saw before exiting the camp: Pepper swallowing the pills with some newfound strength, Tony kissing her temple, holding the bottle to her lips as Bruce nearby started sorting out all the pills and medicines. Raising her eyes to Steve's, Y/N gave him the brightest smile, tired lines on her face and dark circles beneath her eyes seemingly disappearing: "We will make it. We will survive this together. Everything-"

She doesn't get to tell him everything will be okay as she got spun around and lifted in the air, her back suddenly pressed against the bark of a tree, Steve's lips pressed tightly in hers, making her moan in surprise. Guttural sound allowed Steve to lick her lower lip and slip inside, gently proding at her tongue. His hand were on her thighs and one muscular thigh between her legs, keeping her boisted up. With a wet squelch, Y/N's clothes fell on the dusty ground as she wrapped her arm around his neck, other one cupping his bearded cheek, feeling of cold water forgotten as now her skin was flaming hot with each swirl of Steve's tongue, making her shudder stronger and stronger, whimper leaving her lips as Steve pressed his body tighter to hers, trapping her between him and the tree as his hand left her hips and grabbed her own hands, raising them above her head, locking them in his one big palm.

"Steve-" Y/N gasped in Steve's mouth, gulping at the air as his lips traveled south, peppering her chin and throat with kisses and gentle bites, his hand squeezing her side, his thumb caressing the skin on her hip bone, sending molten lava in her Y/N's stomach.

"Steve." This time Y/N's voice was stronger as she wiggled her hips in attempt to snap him out of his mission to explore her body, but the movement only made her aware of the situation in his pants, blood rushed to Y/N's face furiously. "Steve,stop." She whispered in Steve's ears, her voice purposely low and hoarse. 

That did the trick as he froze, slowly looking up, his eyes rid of almost all the blue, pupils blown in big black orbs with all the emotions seeping through. "We wanted to talk, Rogers. Calm down, I'm not going anywhere." Y/N breathed in his ear, feeling the shiver run through his body, power she had over this man made Y/N bite her lip. " We have all the time now to talk. I'm not going to run anymore." She slipped her hand out of his grip and cupped his cheek again, her thumb on his lower lip. "Let me down." Almost immediately, Steve lowered her down, sliding along with her as Y/N's legs gave out, her back still pressed into the bark of the tree but still basically sitting in Steve's lap.

"Sorry." He murmured, his warm breath fanning Y/N's face. "I just can't- the pull I feel towards you. I'm sorry for rushing this." His eyes, still clouded and yet so sincere made Y/N lean over and press a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "Shh, it's okay. I didn't make it exactly easy for you, did I?" Y/N laughed out quietly. "We Bartons are horrible at these feelings things." She nuzzled her nose to his. 

"I can leave right now if I make you uncomfortable." Steve tried to get up, only to be dragged back down by Y/N who looked in panic. 

"No! I'm sorry, it just- just give me a minute to collect my thoughts." She said, vulnerability taking over her features, making Steve kiss her forehead and then both eyelids.

"What you said back in the house, about losing people you care about-I understand that." Steve squeezed Y/N's side. "I too, don't want to feel it again but feeling nothing and then blame myself later, I don't want that too. That pain, those feelings makes us alive, they are what differentiate us from them. I like you. I know it's early but I do."

Y/N lips trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. "You can't promise me you will be alright. We don't know what will be in three days. I already care too much, I'm afraid. I don't want to lose you." Y/N pressed herself against Steve's chest, her words proof just how much she really cares. "I like you too."

Kissing the top of Y/N's head, he muttered to himself, "To live is to suffer," and smiled as he felt Y/N's hand sneak around his middle, finishing the thought: "To survive is to find some meaning to the suffering."

It would be a lie to say Y/N wasn't afraid, or nervous, tense. In her life, seven new people appeared who took place in her heart, which, with Clint and Nat already there, felt too full at the time. Love in the world of death is risky and painful, leaving you both vulnerable and strong, protective and forgiving.   But love is worth of all the pain and you just have to find the right people to accept it.

The End

[peaky-shelby]

full house

Pairing: Steve Rogers x oc

For the 5k challenge of @wxntersoldiers

Summary: is dealing with aliens easier than dealing with kids? Steve is about to find out.

Prompt: My kid has locked him/herself in your apartment and I can’t get them to come out.

Words: 2.227

Warnings: fluff, domestic!Steve,

Author’s note: alright so maybe I will write more parts. But for now this is enough. As started this is for @wxntersoldiers challenge! Happy 5k btw! And I hope you will like this! I wanna write more but I’m not sure yet! Sending all my love 😘 I also made a moodboard to her you all more in the mood yay!!

Steve Rogers was a simple man. As simple as a man his age can be anyway. After work and missions and saving the world he’d go to his apartment, stay there and watch TV. Simple. And that’s what he wanted for the day something simple, to go and lay on his bed and relax but another kind of battle waited for him at home.

When he reached his floor, he found a woman with her head on her knees in front of his door. He was confused and worried but walking closer he recognized her red curly hair as they fell on her knees. It was Sophie, the girl that tony sent every month to help clean his house. Steve hated the idea of having a maid, he thought it was wrong but tony kept sending her anyway. After some time they even became friends of some kind. She always seemed to have to right advice and she was always cheerful, something Steve admired about her. She was one of the little simple parts of his life. “Sophie?„

The redhead raised her head and quickly got on her feet, stumbling a little as she tried to keep herself steady, Steve reached for her arm to hold her. “Is everything ok?„ he asked worried. Sophie nodded, letting go of him and searching in her mind for the right way to explain the situation.

“It’s lily!„ she started explaining, her cheeks already turning red. Steve knew that lily was her 6 year old daughter, she had met her a couple of times, she was a lovely girl that had been through a lot for her age, Having lost her father very early on. She was always happy when she met Steve, they were like buddies. Sometimes Sophie would worry that lily was being a pain in his back but Steve would always reassure her that it was ok. He never had a bond like that with a kid before.

“Is she ok? Did something happen?—„

“Oh she’s fine trust me!„ Answered Sophie, a bit sarcasm in her voice. Steve was even more confused now, he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Sophie knew she would have to explain but she was emberassed and worried of what his reaction would be. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and in one long sentence started explaining what happened “so I was cleaning and then I was done. Everything was fine but she found your old notebooks with all the drawings and started looking at them and then wanted to take it with her and then said that she wanted to see you before we go and I tried explaining that we have to go but she wouldn’t listen and she started whining but then I walked out of the apartment and told her to bring me the keys but instead she locked herself in your apartment and I can’t get them out and I tried I promise, I tried, I’m so sorry— mr. Stark will be so mad I don’t know what to—„

“Hey hey hey Sophie! Soph! Take a breath, ok? Breath. It’s ok, it’s all good. I have keys remember? We can get her out.„

Sophie tried to catch her breath, her heart racing, her cheeks blushing more and more by the second. This was the worst possible thing that could happen to her, she wished earth could swollow her. Where were the aliens when you needed them?

“I’m so sorry Steve... it’s your house and she—„

“And she’s a kid.„ Steve added in a very comforting way, giving her a smile of understanding. He reached in the pockets of his blue leather jacket and pulled his keys out. Sophie smiled and mouthed ‘thank you’ to him. Steve, opened the door, with Soph following behind him but the young girl was nowhere to be found. “Great shes gone hiding now. God I’m so sorry—„

“Stop apologizing.„ he said, looking back at her. “We’ll find her.„ Sophie nodded and started looking around the leaving room. While Steve went in the bedroom, first place he looked at was under his bed and then his bathroom. “Lily?„ he called in a low voice and then heard a little giggle, he followed the pretty noise until he reached his closet. He stood on the other side of it smiling and knocked on it a couple of times “anyone there?„ he asked. The giggle got a little louder. Steve sat down, with his back against the wall, looking at the closet and waiting for Lily to come out “manager told me we had a problem with mice this season, I didn’t believe him—„

“Hey! I’m not a mouse!„ echoed her little voice from inside the closet, causing Steve to laugh. There weren’t many things that could make him laugh but a kid’s innocence was always entertaining.

“Now am I a crazy old man or did my closet start to speak?„

The giggle got even louder. “You’re old but you’re not crazy!„

The soldier pretended to be offended letting out a deep breath and placed his hand on his chest as if his heart had broken. Right then Sophie walked in looking more desperate than before.

“I can’t find her anywhere!„ she exclaimed, Steve quickly raised his finger on his lips signaling her to be quiet and then pointed at the closet. He thought that if she was here, there was little chance that lily would come out so he waved for her to go outiside and mouthed ‘I got it’ letting her know that he’d handle it. Sophie was an anxious mess but trusted the soldier and walked out as he instructed, waiting for them on the living room.

“Is she gone?„ asked lily in a whisper As soon as she heard the door to Steve’s room closing.

“Yes you can come out.„

“You promise?„ she questioned with her cute little voice. Steve looked at the closet again, smiling.

“I promise. Uh how do you kids call it these days... pinky promise?„

The door to the closet opened wide, lily looked at the Captain with her big green eyes, like she was interrogating him and he had been interrogated many times before but this was definitely the scariest one. “Pinky promise is a sacred bond Captain! You have to be honest!„

“I am!„ he assured her and then streched his hand out to help her get out of the closet. She sat next to him, as close to him as she could and leaned her head on his shoulder— actually his elbow, she wasn’t tall enough to reach his shoulder even if they were sat down. He didn’t say anything for a while, he just let her sit there, breath and calm down, he kinda liked it. There had been times he dreamt of kids and a family, this was nice even if it was for a short time.

“You wanna tell me why you were hiding in the closet?„

Lily shook her head negatively, her little curls moving left and right, making her look even more adorable. Steve tried again. “Your mama told me you were waiting for me.„ lily nodded, this times her curls moving up and down with her. “Well then Ms. Pond, tell me what can I help you with?„ he raised his eyebrows, looking down at her with adoration. Lily huffed like she was an adult coming back from work and looked down in guilt. Her reaction got the soldier a little confused, he could sense there was something wrong in her mind. He nudged her gently with his elbow, making her look up at him and narrowed his eyes “what’s wrong monkey?„

“Kids at school don’t believe me when I tell them you’re my friend and they call me a liar and make fun of me.„ she explained in her tiny voice that was occasionally breaking, Steve’s eyes softened, he found it adorable but also a little sad. “So I came with my mum today and I wanted to take your notebook with me so I could show it to the kids but my mum wasn’t letting me take it and said that I should ask for it so I stayed here to..ask for it.„

Rogers nodded in understanding. Of course he wasn’t mad or anything like that but he was a little worried for the girl. Lily looked down again and with her two tiny arms hugged his arm, snuggling closer to him and closing her eyes “I’m sorry.„

God she was just like her mother. Apologizing for everything and always worrying. Always cute. With his free hand he stroked her little curls away from her face, uncovering her rosy cheeks. “It’s alright monkey.„ he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You can have the sketchbook.„ he added. Lily raised her head quickly, smiling so big at him her lips reached her ears. She was beaming with happiness, melting his old heart.

“Really??.„ she said, getting up on her feet and started jumping up and down, clapping her hands in excitement. Rogers watched her dance around his room, laughing at her sudden outburst and then she fell on top of him, wrapping her hands around his neck and leaning her head on the crook of his neck “thank you Stevie!„ He hesitated at first but slowly his placed his hands on her back, holding her close. There was nothing more beautiful than the hug of a child, nothing more awarding than their love. He held her tighter, imagining what it would be like, to have a kid of his own and caring for it.

“No problem kiddo. Maybe one day I can come talk to these kids that make fun of you.„

“Will you beat them like you did with the Germans?„ she mumbled on his neck. He chuckled, stroking her backs.

“I don’t like bullies.„ he answered “I don’t care where they’re from.„

After a while lily stopped answering, and althoughth Steve fully enjoyed the silence, he remembered that the kid’s mother was outside waiting for them and he had to let go eventually. “Monkey?„ he called in whisper. That’s when he realized her breathing had calmed down, her strength around his neck was weaker and when he looked at her, he realized her eyes were closed. “Lily?„ he tried again but got no reply. He scoffed, a part of him wishing he could fall asleep like that too at nights but instead he was always hunted by nightmares of the past.

He pushed himself up on his feet, taking her with him and holding her tight so she wouldn’t fall. Sophie wanted to start crying when she saw them coming out like that, she was worried her daughter made a mess again. Steve was quick to explain the situation.

“Steve im so sorry!„ she whispered, looking at him as he held her daughter.

“It’s ok, we’ll just put her in your car, it’s like it never happened.„

Sophie chuckled, pushing her hair behind her ear “but it did happen and it will keep happening. I should stop being her here, I would if I had somewhere to leave her on the weekends.. you shouldn’t have to deal with this.„

“I kinda like dealing with this. Believe it or not it’s easier to deal with than Aliens.„ he smiled.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say it’s the grandpa side in you taking over.„ she joked, making Steve laugh as well.

“But you do know better?„

Sophie paused, trying to find the right answer and looking in his blue eyes, she smiled nodding “yeah I do and I know that it’s just you being you. Kind, like always. A good man.„ she paused again, looking deeper in his eyes, her cheeks getting a little more red “I know a little more than that but maybe we shouldn’t talk about that now.„

Steve nodded. He knew exactly what she meant. Sophie was always able to see right through him, she had a talent of understanding people and she knew that Steve wasn’t only doing this because he was kind, he was doing it because he loved Lily, because he hated the fact that he had missed his chance in getting a family with the one he loved. “Yeah that’s probably for the best.„ he agreed. “I’ll help you get her down in the car, ok?„

Like he said Steve, put Lily on the back of the car, making sure he wouldn’t wake her and he had left his sketchbook on her bag. Soph got in the front and started the engine. He lowered himself to her window, balancing himself with his hands.

“Again I’m sorry and thank you Steve.„

“No worries.„ he smiled “when are you coming again?„

“Next month.„ the redhead looked down, her hair hiding her face as she said “maybe earlier if you need me.„

He smirked. There were many woman than flirted with captain America, that liked him, but there were only a couple that had met him, Steve Rogers and he was always filtered when woman liked him, or flirted. Even after 90 years he wasn’t used to it and he had no idea how to act. “Maybe I will.„ he cleared his throat “hopefully I will.„ Sophie looked at him in surprise. Then her eyes softened,

“Hopefully you will.„

[underatedcharactersunite]

The Delay

Summary; Frank has been away for the past three weeks. As his best friend, you’ve done nothing but been worried sick about him. One phone call in the early hours of the morning changes everything... Prompt; “Our Plane has crashed and now we’re stuck here until further notice”  Pairing; Frank Castle X Reader For; @wxntersoldiers Writing Challenge.  WordCount; 1,253 Warnings; Mentions of a plane crash, slight Angst, Fluff, Strong Language, Mentions of violence and injuries. 

                                                   ~~~~~~~

When you met Frank, you quickly became accustomed to the dangers and the twists and turns that came with him. The two of you quickly gained a strong friendship. Frank trusted you, and his trust wasn't easy to earn.

Frank had been gone away for the past three weeks. You were worried about him. You knew that he could handle himself, and although you knew he could protect himself.  It didn't stop you from worrying about him. He was one of your closest friends, and no matter how many times you've witnessed him beaten, bloody it didn't stop you wanting to hear from him.

In the meantime, you went on with everyday life. There had been things you had forgotten to do, for example, a restock of your first aid supplies. You tried to make yourself as busy as possible. Unfortunately, it didn't stop you from worrying about him when you laid in bed at night.

Saturday's were your day to relax. You had no other commitments. You didn't have to go to work, so you could spend the day as you wish. However, someone didn't want you to have a lay-in. You groaned as your hand reached for your home phone, searching around you knew it was around there somewhere.

After finally locating the phone, you lazily answered the phone. Ready to give the caller hell for calling you this early.

"Hello." Pushing yourself up on the pillow, you ran your hands through your hair tiredly.

"Good morning sweetheart, did I wake you?" Frank's thick accent woke you. You hadn't heard from him in so long it was electricity to your system.

"Frank, it's four o'clock in the morning, are you okay?"

"I'm okay Sweetheart. Can you do something for me?" Frank never asked for favours. When he needed first aid, he never asked you. When he needed a placed to lay low, he never asked. So when Frank asks you for a favour, it's serious.

"Sure Frank. What is it?"

"I'm going to need you to fly out here. I'm pretty beaten up, and these Fuckers won't let me on my flight unless someone's accompanying me with knowledge of first aid." If the airlines wouldn't let him travel alone, then just how bad of a condition was Frank in. Sliding out of bed, you pulled a small carry case out from underneath your bed.

"Okay, I can come and meet you. Frank just how injured are you if they won't let you fly by yourself." Walking over towards your wardrobe, you gripped a spare set of clothes. Nothing fancy just something you could change into in-case your clothes got too uncomfortable.

"Baby girl, I've been worse. But you know people, they take one look at someone with injuries they expect your dying or something." You knew Frank was playing his injuries off. You'd known him too long to see through what he was saying. That's why you headed towards the bathroom to grab some supplies to place in your carry case, just in-case you needed to patch any injuries he might not have done himself.

"Frank, what you think is nothing and what is nothing are two completely different things."

"Don't get sassy with me. I've sent all of your information to your phone. You've not got a lot of time. So get your ass dressed please." Rolling your eyes, couldn't he give you time to get ready? After all, it was four in the morning.

"I'll be with you soon. Try and not kill anyone whilst your waiting." Ending the call, you stood there for a moment trying to wake up before you proceeded to rush around so you could go and save Frank.

Getting off the plane, you were more awake and alert as you walked through trying to find Frank.

"Sweetheart!" You knew that accent anywhere. Searching the crowd of people that surrounded the gate, your eyes abruptly stopped when you glanced at the man you were looking for. Of course, he was hanging back away from everyone else.

It was apparent why the airline company wasn't going to let him on the plane without some sort of medical assistance. He was battered bruised his arm looked dislocated. That was just from what you could see visibly. As you got closer, so did Frank crossing the long-distance. You didn't expect Frank to wrap his arm around you tightly, attempting to wrap his arms around him gently, his spare hand cradled your head, rocking the two of you side to side.

"I'm sorry, I've just missed ya. I didn't realize how close we were until I spent three weeks without you with no contact. We've not got a lot of time before our next flight." Your heart fluttered at the contact, knowing that Frank missed you just as much as you did him.

Before you knew it, you were sitting on a plane right beside Frank. The flight began relatively simple Frank's stiff body posture gave you an insight to just how uncomfortable he was.

Sometime later the journey took a dramatic turn, as passengers settled down to attempt to get some rest the aeroplane began to shake. However, the shaking didn't last long as it very quickly manifested into violent trembling.

People's thoughts suddenly shifted from slumber to fear in an instance. You didn't blame them as after everything you'd been through in your entire life you never once pictured your life ending by going on a flight.

The plane's turbulence got worse, now strapped in there wasn't much either of you could do.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you" Your head turned to Frank who you hadn't realised was holding to your hand tightly.

"Okay?" You tried to focus on what Frank was telling you, but with everyone screaming and terrified for their lives, it was difficult.

"I love you. I know this is probably the worst time to say something, but I can't die without telling you. " Frank always had bad timing and now moments away from death, he decides to tell you how he's feeling.

"I love you too." As the two of you braced for impact, you closed your eyes. The aeroplane tilted forward, people began to screaming and praying. The plane crashed into the ground with a resounding thud, several bumps caused passengers to lurch forward.

It wasn't until the plane finally came to a halt did you open your eyes. It was a miracle. Everyone was alive, except for a couple of cuts and bruises.

"Our Plane has crashed, and now we're stranded until further notice." Announced a voice over the radio. Turning to look at Frank, the two of you burst out laughing. It was no doubt the weirdest thing someone could have ever said.

Frank lifted the arm on the chair, unbuckled his belt and gently took your hand. Taking the initiative, you scooted closer towards Frank, both taking time to look at each after almost plumbing to your deaths. Without so much as a second glance, the two of you came together in a passionate embrace. The moment your lips touched each other, it was almost as if everything was alright with the world once more.

"Do you know what? I don't think I mind being stuck here for a while. When we get home, I'm taking you on a date, and I'm not taking no for an answer." So the two of you settled down in the uncomfortable plane seats, waiting to be rescued.

[19mrs-barnes17]

The Undertow

                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Wanda and you take time to relax at the beach, which gives you time to think about your relationship

Part:1/1

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: none?

Word count: 809

A/N: This is my submission for wxntersoldiers 5k challenge, enjoy!

~

Love is like the ocean, its unpredictable nature to the untrained eye could lead to catastrophe. But even an experienced eye can be misled, slipping under and away. It may seem cheesy or cliché, but isn't that how most things surrounding the word feel? Like it couldn't possibly be true? Either way, it is a rather messy cliché. And yet, we all seem to seek it in one form or another. 

You had sought after it for years to no avail, one failed relationship after another. Just when you had stopped looking, she found you. Wanda. With her chestnut hair and radiant smile, those beautifully bright green eyes and those leather jackets of hers. It was practically game over from the moment your gazes met in a café on a sunny Saturday afternoon. 

“I miss moments like this more than anything.” Glancing to your left, as you are shaken from your thoughts, you notice that your girlfriend wasn’t even looking at you. Instead she was leaning back on her elbows, head tilted back to soak in the rays of sun as a smile danced across her lips. 

“Like what?” Her head tilts to look at you and her smile only grows as she raises a brow.

“Oh, you know what I’m talking about. Moments alone, of peace, where we can just sit and be worry free.”

“Like a wave just passing by.” A smile tugged at your lips.

“Exactly.”

You push up and off the towel, sinking it further into the soft sand before holding out a hand. It's a race into the cool water as you both sprint across the sand. Laughter gently carried off by the breeze as sand is kicked up behind you. Wanda is quick to begin a water war that ends with you lifting her up, wrapped in your arms with her legs around your torso and spinning her round. Her arms are outstretched as if to feel the air as she turns. 

As her arms lower and hand loosely around your neck, there’s a moment of bliss. One that does not come often in the state of the world. Suddenly you realize something while lowering her back to the sand, as you look in her eyes and there’s a faint tug at your heart. She is your bliss. She, she is that moment when a wave comes crashing over your skin and you have that feeling of unadulterated joy as laughter escapes your lips and you momentarily forget your problems. 

God, you love her so much. More than anyone. In the year you’ve been together, something in you simply changed. You felt happier than you’ve ever been and your life was somewhat on track. Maybe it's just impulse, maybe it's so much more. In that moment of clarity you had never been so sure of a decision. Wanda’s gaze became curious as you opened your mouth to speak, however, a large wave had something to say about the idea as it crashed down on your heads.

You coughed and spit out the salty water as your eyes did their best to adjust, locating Wanda as she burst out laughing. You couldn’t help but smile whilst you attempted to regain your balance in the sinking sand.

“What timing! Haha!” Wanda made her way back to you with an expectant look plastered on her face. “Now, what was you were about to say love?”

“It’s going to seem crazy.”

“I can manipulate reality with my mind. I think I can handle crazy.” You chuckle and shake your head, nerves beginning to spike as you lead her to shore.

“I know that a year is not a long time.” You begin as you get down onto one knee. “However, I’ve realized something in our time together. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time and I owe that to you. You showed me to own my mistakes, to own who I am. In the past year, I’ve fallen deeper in love with you with every passing day. Every laugh, every smile, every tear, every nightmare thrown our way has brought me closer to you than I have ever been to anyone in my life. I don’t have a ring to give, not yet. All I can give is my promise to love you, and only you, for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

With tears cascading down her cheeks Wanda slowly begins to nod ‘yes’, a smile beaming brightly as she throws her arms around you. A smile forms on yours lips and a light laugh escapes your lips while your hold her.

“Boy is Stark going to have a field day with this.” Wanda chuckles as you roll your eyes, but it was certainly true. 

“Maybe we’ll hold off on telling him until after I’ve gotten the ring.”

“Oh, definitely.”

~~~

Taglist: @wxntersoldiers @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes

[avintagekiss24]

Magic City [2/2]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x black!stripper!reader

Word Count: 3843

Warnings: smut, sex, language, Avengers: End Game spoilers, canon divergence

Summary: Your apartment is usually empty when you get home after a long shift. Not tonight. 

A/N: Here’s the finale to my submission for @wxntersoldiers 5k writing challenge! Again, congrats on 5k! You deserve each and every one!

----

You hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers as a smile creeps onto your face. Johnny shoots his eyes up toward yours and rolls them playfully, before slamming a stack of cash into your hand. You start counting your intake as he leans back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs as he watches you.

“You don’t trust me?”

“Of course not.” You say curtly, keeping your eyes on the green paper as it shifts between your hands.

He chuckles and so do you as you finish counting. You’ve cleared your rent for the month and then some, and it’s only Friday. Tomorrow’s shift will be for those Louboutin’s you’ve been eyeing. You shove your nights pay into your purse and wink at him, before turning on your heel and exiting the office. You say your goodbyes to a few of the girls before pushing out into the parking lot.

You tap the key fob in your hand, bringing your white Audi to life in the back of the parking lot. It hums quietly and unlocks as soon as your close, the lights on the door handles illuminating softly. You sink into the seat as the radio pops on, auto connecting to your phone as soon as you close the door. Within minutes, you’re on the highway, weaving in and out of traffic on your way home. This is why you love Atlanta. It’s two AM and the night is just beginning for most. 

You pull into The Bishop apartments and navigate through the parking lot until you find a space closest to your door. You yawn as you move through the parking lot and up the stairs, stopping once you reach your door to pull off your heels. You slide your key into the door but pause as you realize it’s already unlocked. You lean into the door, pressing your ear against it, picking up the faint sounds of music. 

He still has your key.

You close your eyes and let out a breath as you drop your head back on your shoulders. You’re not in the mood to fight. You can’t call the cops, he’ll just toss them around like rag dolls if they get squirrelly with him. Maybe if you just let him talk, he’ll get the guilt out of his system and he’ll fuck off back to New York with his wife. 

You wrap your hand around the door handle and push into your open living room. You close the door softly behind you as Frank Sinatra flows from the Echo dot in your kitchen. It’s dark, only the light from the moon splashing in through the windows, covering your furniture. The french doors to the balcony reaching off of the living room are open, the soft, warm night breeze shuffles the long, white curtains that hang in front of them. 

You move further inside and toss your purse on your cream colored couch as your finally lay eyes on him. He leans against the railing, his hands gripping the black cast iron as he rests his weight on it. A half empty beer sits on the small table in the corner of the balcony. He was never much of a drinker. What was the point? He couldn’t feel it anyway. You stare at his back, opening your mouth to speak, but close it quickly. You know his instincts have already told him that you’re there.

He hear him inhale deeply and push it out through his nostrils as he tilts his head up toward the sky, “I’ve always loved Atlanta.” He says slowly, “It’s quiet here.” You cross your hands over your chest, dragging your eyes along his back, “You don’t get skies like this in Brooklyn.”

“Is there a reason that you still have my key?” You ask bluntly, “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t like that.”

He drops his head, but doesn’t turn around, “I came and saw you, you know.”

You roll your eyes and take a breath, sucking on your teeth as you squint at him, “What are you talking about?”

“You still exist in that timeline. I was curious, about ten years ago, and I came back and I saw you.” His words fade away as he tilts his head back up to the moon, “I shouldn’t have.”

“Why’s that?” You ask quietly as anger and sadness brim in your eyes.

He turns to face you. He smiles but it’s sad, “Because I kept coming back. I meant what I said. I thought about you every single day for sixty years.”

You turn from him as emotion suddenly fills your chest and eyes. You blink furiously as your lips and chin quiver, staring into your kitchen all the while. You’d seen him. The old man that sat in the corner of the club until you came onto the stage. Then, and only then, would he move closer - but not close enough for you to recognize him. 

“You were so beautiful.” He says, “You have always been the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Then why did you leave?” You spit angrily, spinning around to face him. Your face is wet with tears as they roll down your cheeks, smearing your makeup, “If I’m so beautiful, and you thought about me for so long, then why did you leave me?”

“I had to.”

You laugh as you turn toward your front door, closing your eyes, “Get out. I don’t want to hear this.”

“Listen to me,” He says, his voice trembling, “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to understand!” You shout, “Get. out.”

He moves into the living room but keeps his distance from you, “I woke up to a world that had forgotten me. I woke up to a world that I didn’t understand. Do you know what that feels like?” He hisses, causing you to cut your eyes toward his. 

They’re cloudy, full of so many emotions that you wouldn’t be able to decipher them if you had to. They’re watery as his own tears threaten to spill onto his smooth skin, “Cell phones, automatic cars, all of the noise, it was -” He stops, dropping his eyes to the floor, “She was all I knew. She was the only thing that made me real. When I found out she was still alive, it all flooded back. She kept me going until she died, and I lost her all over again and I felt like I died, all over again.”

You focus on your breathing as the two of you stand within feet of each other, you facing the door, him facing you, “That’s touching.” You whisper angrily.

“Will you just stop and listen to me, goddamn it!” He snaps, “I lost. Everything that I believe in, everything that I’ve fought for, I lost it all when Thanos snapped his fingers. I lost.” He says forcefully, his chest heaving, “I don’t lose.”

“I don’t care.” You snap back.

He covers the ground separating the two of you quickly, grabbing your arm to whirl you around, “And then I met you. And suddenly, my days had meaning again.” You do everything you can to keep from looking in his eyes as you whimper, “You mean the world to me. What can I do to prove that to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe not throw five years down the drain.”

He nods slowly, “I was wrong, I’ll admit that until I’m blue in the face, but you don’t understand. When I found out that I could have a chance at a normal life, I jumped. I didn’t think, I just took it, because that’s what I thought I wanted. Peggy and I had a date that I never made it to.”

“Yeah,” You smile angrily, “Bucky told me all about it.” You finally settle your eyes on his, letting them bounce back and forth between his, “We used to dance too.” You whisper. 

He drops his eyes from yours in shame. You stare past his shoulder and out into the night sky as Frank Sinatra fades into Nat King Cole. You gasp as Unforgettable starts to play, instantly flooding you with old, fragmented memories. Steve spinning your around in your kitchen on late Saturday nights, your laughter filling every square foot of your apartment. You held onto him as he pressed his cheek to your forehead, your giggles subsiding as the silliness faded away.

You and Steve would lose the night to the early sunlight as you slow danced. He’d lay you down in your soft bed as the gentle morning sun flooded into your room. He’d make love to you all morning long, invading every inch of your mind, your body, your soul. His fingers would caress your skin, his lips and teeth nipping and biting at you as he fucked you slow and deep. He whispered his love for you as you came. He held you until you fell asleep, rubbing slow, light circles into the small of your back...

You woke up to a knock one day; a long haired man standing at your doorstep, “I’m Bucky. Steve asked me come.”

You snap back to the present as Steve lifts your chin with his finger. His eyes are red, his cheeks blotchy, “I came back for you, doll.” He whispers, “I couldn’t stand it, not one minute longer.” He takes a breath, “I found Bruce and told him to send me back… I told her that I couldn’t stay anymore. That I need you.”

He drops his forehead to yours, dragging his nose along yours, “I know you still love me, sugar.” He mumbles, “I know you do, and I love you baby. I’ve always loved you, every minute. I’m sorry,” He pleads, panicking slightly as he tries to convince you further, “I’m so sorry baby. I shouldn’t have left you.”

He crashes his lips to yours and you accept them greedily. You raise to your tiptoes as his lips massage yours and slide your hands around his back. He lifts you from your feet effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he moves through the living room and to your bedroom. 

He detaches his lips from yours to drop them to your neck, pushing your head up toward the ceiling as he nips at your sensitive skin. You squeeze his body to yours as you moan, your body igniting in flames as his warm lips caress your skin. You’ve taken lovers since he’s been gone, but none of them could satisfy you the way he does. Just the feeling of his lips on your body again is enough for you to want to risk everything you have.

That’s why he’s dangerous.

After only one kiss, you want to give him everything.

He tosses you to the bed, watching as you bounce on the mattress. You keep your eyes on his as he stands at the foot of the bed, dragging his eyes along your body. You get shy quickly under his gaze. You pull at the hem of your baggy grey shirt and cross your legs, sliding them along one another. He sets his eyes back on yours as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. 

You bite your bottom lip as your eyes skip down his broad chest and flat, sculpted stomach. You sit up on your knees and place your hands on his hips, dipping them into his jeans. You press your lips to the center of his chest and let your eyes close as you kiss his skin. You raise your hands to his back and squeeze his flesh as your lips move around his chest. He moans softly as he pops the button on his jeans and undoes his zipper. 

You watch as his jeans fall to his feet, leaving him in nothing but his black boxer briefs. You tilt your head up to his, your chin resting on his stomach as your fingers skim through his happy trail. You cup him in your hand as you blink up at him, your lips parting as he stares down at you. You run your fingers along his cock, massaging him as he hardens from your touch. His erection presses against the thin material as you grope him and return your lips to his warm skin. 

He grabs your hair, pulling it up into a ponytail with his hand as you kiss a hot trail down his abs and through the hair that collects at the base of his stomach. You bite his side, drawing a quick hiss from him as he flinches from the sting. He releases your hair and pushes your shoulders to make you fall back on the bed again. 

He pushes his knees into the edge of the mattress as he places his index finger on your bare ankle. He drags it, slowly, up your right leg, curling it around your calf and up your thigh until it stops at the apex between your legs. He palms you, heat radiating from you and warming his palm. He can feel the wetness slicking your pussy - your thin leggings sticking to your flesh. You gasp as you push your hips into his hand and push your head against the mattress, arching your back from it. 

He pushes his fingers against your clit through your leggings as you start to roll your hips. He climbs onto the bed to lean over you, his lips parting, his warm breath washing over your face. He leans down and kisses you hard, stealing the air right from your lungs. He pulls back with a smack, but his fingers don’t stop. He continues to tease you until you’re soaking - aching - for him. 

He pulls away for only seconds, just long enough to hook his fingers underneath your waistband to yank your pants and panties away from you in one fell swoop. He pushes his fingers into you as soon as you’re free of your clothing; the intrusion causing you to spring forward. You pull at your shirt, discarding it off the side of the bed before your fingers fumble with the clasp of your bra. Your breasts fall free as you toss it, and your pride, to the floor before you fall back to the mattress. 

He fucks you slowly with his fingers. He dips down to splatter kisses at the base of your neck and along your full breasts, nipping at your nipples with his lips. He cups your left breast with his free hand, kneading your flesh gently as he sweeps his thumb over your thick nipple. You gasp as his fingers curl inside of you to stroke your sweet spot. You cup his face in your hands and pull him down to you, moaning loudly as you slam your lips against his. 

“Steve, please.” You groan heavily, “Please baby.”

He withdraws his fingers from you as soon as the words leave your lips. You spread your legs as he settles between them, the tip of his cock brushing lightly against your sticky cunt. You sink into the mattress as his heavy body flattens on top of yours. You’ve missed this so fucking much; his heavy body nearly crushing yours. You wrap your long legs around his waist and flatten your palms on his back as he presses his cock against your opening. 

He slides through your folds, teasing your clit before he pushes inside of you. You gasp, your eyes slamming shut as you raise up from the mattress, pushing your chest into his. Your pussy spreads for him as he occupies your warmth, stretching you in the most familiar way. You take him all, every glorious inch of him until his hips are flush against yours. He doesn’t move right away. He just lays there, his breath heavy and warm on your face, his eyes closed, those long, dark eyelashes splashed against his cheeks. 

He’s missed you too. 

You drag your hands down his muscular back and push your hips into his, encouraging him. I’m right here. He cups your face in his large hands, his fingers digging into the edges of your hair. He pulls his hips from yours - agonizingly slow -  withdrawing from you completely. He pushes back into you immediately and releases a ragged breath, followed by a low, guttural moan.

“Fuck,” He mutters to himself, releasing another breath before inhaling sharply, “Feels so good.”

His words are slurred and jumbled as his hips start to move faster. He nuzzles his face into your neck, his hot breath sending chills down your spine as it splashes along your skin. You dig your fingernails into his skin as he fucks you deep and slow. Just like before.

Tears start to well in your eyes, blurring your vision. You didn’t think you’d be here again, with him, feeling so full and loved and vulnerable and free. You almost don’t want to be here, no matter how much you missed him, no matter how many nights you cried for him. This is what destroyed you. Moments like this, these feelings for him. You swore you wouldn’t do this again, and you meant it. 

You cover your face with your hands as the emotion starts to take over. He grabs your fingers, trying to pry them away but you hold them there, not wanting him to see you completely break. It’s useless. A sob breaks through, and you try to choke it back to no avail. Within seconds you’re a mess, crying hard and unabated. 

Steve pries at your hands again, this time pulling them from your wet face. His eyes search around your face as he takes stock of the damage he’s caused. There’s nothing to say. There’s no words he can construct that will ever take this away. You were collateral damage in his quest to try and find a life, a home, a purpose other than punching and kicking and fighting and killing. You were ruined because of him. He sees that now.

He can’t take it away, but he can help push it down, deep down inside, if only for a moment. He pulls out of you and tucks his hand underneath your back to lift you from the bed. He flips you onto all fours and flattens his hand on the small of your back ad slides his hand up the length of your spine. He pushes down on your back, positioning you to where your head and chest rests on the mattress. 

You lunge forward as he fills you with his cock again. You grunt as he starts a punishing pace, squeezing your ass in his hands. He just wants to make you feel something other than pain. You ball the white sheets in your hands as your lunge forward with his thrusts. The tears quickly subside as your orgasm starts to build in the pit of your stomach. His slips his fingers between your sticky, wet folds and massages your throbbing clit, sending flashes of electricity through your body. 

His skin slaps against yours as you start to fill the room with high pitched moans and unintelligible words. You slam your eyes closed, your wet lashes splaying against your cheeks as he fucks you senseless. His fingers are relentless against your clit, his cock stroking your G-spot, teasing that sweet, long awaited release. Your walls quiver, tightening around him and then releasing him as he pushes you closer and closer to an explosion. 

He pulls his fingers from your clit and pushes them through your asscheeks. He circles your puckered hole with his index finger before he pushes inside. You grunt loudly at the new intrusion, clenching your pussy around his cock in approval. He adds another digit and you inhale sharply, the fullness almost becoming unbearable.

Just when you don’t think you can take anymore - his pounding hips, his devilish fingers pumping and circling your insides - you cum. Hard, fast, deep. You cry out as you reach for your clit, rubbing furiously as it contracts and jumps up and down from your orgasm. Steve’s moans grow louder with yours as he trips over the edge of bliss with you. Soon, your insides are coated with his seed, spurting relentlessly from his slit as he slams into you with every ounce of strength he has in him. 

You bury your head into the sheets as your release consumes you entirely. It feels like forever. It’s sweet and palpable. It’s sad and refreshing. It’s everything you needed tonight. It’s a culmination of everything you’ve thought and felt and wanted and hated since he’s been gone. It feels right. It feels wrong. It brings happiness and fear. As your breathing steadies and Steve’s hips slow, the fog in your mind starts to clear. That’s when it clicks; that’s when you finally get it. 

You’re feeling again. You’ve been empty since he was gone; alone and angry. He had numbed you, made you cold to the world, and only now, in this moment of carnal connection between man and woman, do you know that he and only he could breathe the breath of life back into you. No matter if he’s there in the morning. No matter if he goes back to her. He’s freed you of him -  the old him, the Steve that left you all those months ago. 

Hours pass. You roll over onto your side, scrunching up your face with the sun splashes onto you. You bring your hands to your face to rub your eyes, groaning loudly as you try and join the living. You drop your hand to the mattress and roll over onto your back, stretching out your arm to the other side of the bed. It’s empty, kind of how you expected it to be. 

You sit up and glance at the disheveled sheets beside you. You grab the pillow and bring it to your face to take a deep breath of him. He always smelled so good. You sigh, and drop the pillow before reaching for your phone. A slip of paper floats to the floor as you lift the sleek iPhone from the side table. You stare at it, not sure if you want to read his apology or just let the night before be what it was. 

You decide on the latter. 

An unfamiliar shadow on your nightstand catches the corner of your eye. You turn toward it, squinting at the rusted gold, circular object. You pick it up and look it over, feeling the heft in your hand. You use both hands to pop it open and lose our breath as you recognize what it is. Steve’s compass. But, there’s one stark difference. 

He’d replaced the picture of her, with a picture of you. 

You snap your head toward your bedroom door as you hear the front door push open. Steve appears seconds later, two coffees in his hands, a soft smile on his face, “Morning baby.”

You smile slowly.

The blip is finally over.

It’s a new day.

[wxntersoldiers]

Congrats on the 5k! Can I join your challenge? Specifically prompt “I’d rather eat glass than help you out.” I'm debating between bucky or matt murdock. And I'll be posting it to my writing blog @littledarlinwrites thanks so much!

thank u bab! i’ll add you to the main post x

[honeyhan-123]

I’m so glad you enjoyed it and are getting into Peter x Reader fics, they’re so much fun! And yeah reading good smut is honestly the best way to wake up 😫😫😫

Good Together

Summary: Peter tries to show the reader how good together they are. 

Warnings: Dark (OF AGE) Peter, drugging, kidnapping, mIf masturbation, smut

Word count: 4.7k

AN: This is my submission for the amazing @softhairbarnes and @wxntersoldiers writing challenges. I’m so sorry it’s a little late, my family life has just been such a shambles recently, but its finally here. My prompt for @softhairbarnes was love triangle and for @wxntersoldiers it will be in bold. 

My Masterlist

Reflecting back on all the times he told him you needed to close your blinds while you slept, Peter was very glad you always forgot as he sat on your fire escape, watching you through the glass of the of your window as you slept and the life of the city bustled around him. He didn’t even know why he was here, he just had the shit beaten out of him as he tried to stop an armed robbery all the way over in Manhattan. Although he managed to web up the perpetrators he had taken a few serious hits, hits she should be having someone over at the Tower look at but instead as soon as he finished webbing the bad guys up, he had crossed the river, swinging from building to building without realising where he was headed until he found himself on your fire escape.

It wasn’t the first time he had felt the insatiable desire to come visit you after a mission, but it was the first time he had been frozen, stuck outside your window, unable to move as he watched you. If it weren’t for the fact that he could hear your accelerated heart rate and the little breaths you let out every few seconds he would have thought you were asleep. But he knew better. 

Keep reading

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home [4/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Language, as you already know, 

A/N: Here we are! The final part of Close to Home, I do so hope you enjoy and ket me know what you think regardless. As before, this is my entry for Layla’s (@wxntersoldiers) 5k Challenge and I can’t thank her enough for her support on this series! I know that most of you just kind of want to read this now so I’ll stop rambling and just leave you to it ;)

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the next parts over the weekend, drop me an ask!

---

“Back inside,” he said, his tone low and unforgiving and you saw a look in his eyes that seemed sadistically playful. He was enjoying this. The smirk that appeared on his face when he saw your fear-stricken eyes proved that point.

“Carl, you don’t have to-”

“I said, back inside.”

His gun moved ever so slightly left of Steve’s shoulder and pointed instead at you again and it was enough of a warning for Steve to wrap an arm around you, still facing Carl, and slowly walk you backwards and back inside the apartment. He’d called for backup two minutes ago - you probably had another two minutes to wait for it. Time to stall.

“I thought shooting you would be enough to steer you away from this case, Y/N. Or at least for poor little Steve to steer you away. I guess I was mistaken.”

“Steve knows I can handle myself,” you said confidently, proud when you couldn’t hear the wobble in your voice that you’d anticipated, “It takes more than a shot to the arm, Carl.”

“Maybe this time I’ll make it a shot to the chest then,” he said matter of factly, face void of any and all emotion, “And before you say something heroic like “You’ll have to go through me”, save it Rogers, I will happily go through you.”

Steve closed his mouth. You wondered, just for the briefest of moments, whether that actually was what he was going to say. You didn’t let your mind wander for long.

“Why are you doing this Carl?” you said, stepping out from behind Steve in a move that shocked the both of you and had Steve’s eyes screaming at you to get back behind him.

“Killing people? I’m only killing the people who deserve to die, Y/N, you should relate to that. Each stupid fucking business man in a suit that I’ve killed is a no-good criminal that’ll never be caught. I’m just teaching them a lesson.”

Steve seemed to catch onto your stalling tactic and butted in.

“So why shoot Y/N? She’s an upstanding citizen, does everything by the book, tries to do right. Which is what you’re trying to do, right?”

You could tell it pained Steve to even suggest that what Carl was doing was anything close to doing the right thing, and it only made you all the more proud of him when you thought about it later. But in the moment, all you could focus on was the barrel of Carl’s gun pointed at your chest and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

“You two just keep getting in my way. Following leads and getting closer and closer to finding me out,” he was spitting his words out of his mouth, “I was hoping that by flirting with wifey here I might be able to derail your stupid fucking holier-than-thou marriage and therefore derail the case but no such fucking luck there. So if I have to kill you to continue my life’s mission, then so be it.”

He was clearly not in his right mind as he spoke and his reasoning certainly wasn’t making sense but suddenly all the over the top flirting did.

“You were trying to ruin our marriage?” you asked incredulously, not thinking about how he might react to your tone and just in disbelief that he ever thought that might work. The idea would have been laughable, had this been a situation where you could breathe properly.

“Thought maybe you’d realise this tall tower of righteousness was so up his own ass that you could do better but apparently I misjudged how up your own ass you are, Y/N,” he said, a fake and frankly cruel smile on your face that made you desperately want to take a step backwards. It was almost as if he sensed the urge, because in one fell swoop he had stepped forwards and wrapped one arm around your throat, the other pressing something cold into your temple.

You let out a whimper and cursed your weakness.

Steve was frantic, you could see the darting of his eyes, but he stayed vigilant, gun pointed directly at Carl and hands only visibly trembling to the sharpest of eyes.

“Detective Peterson, it does not have to come to this. Let her go.”

His voice was calmer than you’d expected, so perfectly mediating, but you knew there wasn’t much time. Now, with you in this position, you were desperate for backup to arrive because without it you weren’t sure what would cause Carl to hesitate. You had the faintest worry that Steve might shoot him, but looking into his eyes told you that he was wracking his brains for any other possibility right at that moment.

Shooting him didn’t mean he wouldn’t shoot you.

“Carl,” you croaked, good hand holding onto the arm that was wrapped around your throat, bad arm resting uselessly by your side, “Please.”

He laughed then, a throaty chuckle that held no weight and you felt the cold metal press harder into your temple, enough to cause an ache.

“I’ve always hated you, Lieutenant Rogers,” he was talking to Steve now and you closed your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to stop panicking so much, “You had everything that I didn’t. The money. The nice house. The perfect job. The doting wife. And now, I finally have the opportunity to take away one of those things.”

Steve didn’t say anything, and you opened your eyes to see the panic and pain as his eyes flickered over to you instead of Carl. There were the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he looked at you, almost a cry for help, a cry for you to tell him what to do. You could feel your heart breaking for him.

“Don’t-” Steve’s voice cracked and his shaking hands were far more noticeable now and you felt anger bubbling up inside you when you glanced at Carl’s face beside yours and saw the joy there, “Don’t you dare.”

Carl opened his mouth to say something else, milking this moment for all it was worth, but before he could there were shouts from outside. Backup.

You felt the gun leave your temple. Saw your opportunity. Took it.

You reached around with your right hand, your good hand, and snatched the handgun that you had hidden at the base of your back, flicked off the safety with one thumb.

A shout from Steve. From Carl. A gunshot rang out.

But this time, you weren’t on the receiving end.

Carl cried out as his legs buckled and he fell to the ground, a steadily growing path of blood blossoming on his leg and Steve had enough of his senses about him to run forward and kick the gun out of his hand, letting it skid across the floor to the other side of the room. As you watched on, gun still held in a death grip in a shaking hand, Steve was suddenly cuffing Carl and officers were pouring through the door, taking over from Steve and taking Carl out of the room, presumably to the hospital, as he screeched and screamed about you having shot him.

When the commotion had gone there were just a few officers left milling around, conducting a final search of the apartment, cordoning off the site and listening to Steve’s instructions on where to find the ski mask evidence.

You were still frozen in place. Hand and eyes trained on the spot where Carl’s leg had just been.

You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, head snapped towards whoever it was, eyes wide and somewhat manic. You blinked and let out a shaky breath you’d been holding when you were met with a worried Steve.

“Just me, baby,” he said soothingly, running his hand down your arm and gently taking the gun from your hand. Your fingers didn’t move, stayed in the shape that they were stuck in, that you were stuck in, “C’mere.”

His arms wrapped around you slowly, scared about how you might react, almost scared to break you. For a moment you just stood there, arm still out as if holding the gun, Steve’s head in the crook of your shoulder and arms around your waist. Eventually, after several moments where Steve thought he was going to have to pull away, you broke out of your trance and your arm finally wrapped around Steve, tightening in the collar of his shirt as you buried your face into it.

You could feel his tears soaking into your neck and you were sure there were a few strays of your own making their mark onto his shirt. The smell of his aftershave and the sound of his heartbeat kept you sane.

“Steve, m-my neck,” your voice was muffled and he pulled away just enough to be able to hear you, but you clearly weren’t allowed out of his tight hold yet - not that you would complain about that anytime soon.

“What was that?” he wiped his face with the back of his hand and you released your grip on his shirt to help him, with soft hands and cautious touches.

“Just, you were resting on my neck a little and-”

You gestured to your neck in lieu of explaining and sure enough there were already faint bruises forming on the skin where Carl’s arm had been wrapped around your throat. Steve faltered, a finger coming up to trace the marks with a feather like tenderness and you savoured the contrast.

“God, I’m so-” a crack in the voice, a fresh wave of tears, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Shh,” you hummed softly, letting the hand that had been wiping his tears rest on his cheek as you had done so many times in the past, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He paused and cast his gaze downwards for a couple of seconds like he was gathering the courage to say what he wanted to say next and you gave him as much time as he needed, patiently waiting.

“I can’t protect you. I couldn’t three weeks ago and I couldn’t today. I-” he paused with a turbulent sigh, still attempting to talk through his steady tears, “What kind of police officer am I if I can’t protect people?”

“Steve-”

“What kind of husband am I if I can’t protect my wife?”

The last few words were strangled and hoarse and your own tears started up again at the sound. Urgently, you pulled his face forwards and rested his forehead against yours, closing your eyes to focus entirely on his touch. His eyes fluttered closed out of sheer instinct.

“You don’t need to protect me, honey. I never want you to feel like you have to protect me,” your hand lay on his neck and you let your thumb rub loving circles into his jaw, “And anyway, you stalled for long enough that the backup came and I could make my move.”

“It was such a badass move,” he chuckled and you joined him a little.

“Well, we both know I am a badass.”

“An insanely hot badass who happens to be the best wife in the goddamn world,” he said sincerely and you smiled against him.

“Whatever ever floats your boat, mister best husband in the goddamn world.”

He leaned in first, or maybe you did, or maybe it didn’t matter, because as soon as you kissed him, you finally, finally, felt safe. Overwhelmingly so.

---

Paperwork had never seemed more menial. That’ll happen to you when you get shot once and then nearly killed.

It was as if you had to get used to the mundanity of ordinary life again after your ordeal, which was taking a while but not longer than expected. It had only been about a month, after all, and through both you and Steve going to workplace provided counselling that Fury had basically insisted upon, you were getting past it. You helped each other more than you could ever thank each other for.

You couldn’t help but glance at Steve as you thought about him, how good he had been during the whole thing. Taking care of you with your out-of-action arm, taking care of you after the incident, letting you take care of him when he needed it. Never failing to remind you how much he loved you, sometimes a little more than was necessary. It only served to remind you how much it had shaken him.

Currently, he was staring at his computer with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, which flicked back and forth as he read through what was probably another boring document he didn’t want to read. Occasionally, he would reach down for his coffee and take a sip and you had to stifle a giggle when he reached without looking and accidentally hit himself in the head with the mug.

All of a sudden you were back in the academy.

You were watching Steve. Again. It was a pretty common occurrence for you, though it just so happened that the days on which you decided to have a little glance-fest at Steve didn’t coincide with the many days on which Steve decided to have a little glance-fest at you. It was almost as if fate wasn’t quite ready for you yet.

He was jogging around the perimeter as you had your break, being in a different group to you today. As you relaxed back on your forearms on the unforgiving concrete, your eyes were drawn to the hair that flopped into his face and then downwards to his flexing calf muscles and all the way back up again.

The way your chest was heaving was due to the difficult exercise you’d just been doing. Of course. Nothing else.

It was as if he felt you watching, or perhaps, you always thought later, fate decided to have a little tease, but he glanced at you at just the right moment to catch you staring. You didn’t look away, despite every nerve in your body screaming at you to do so but held his gaze in a thrilling exchange that had two hearts beating in frantic unison.

And then he ran right into the basketball post.

He staggered backwards from it, all his previous momentum lost and clutched his head and before you knew what you were doing you were up and racing over to him on the other side of the tarmac.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

He turned to face you slowly and looked at you like he was surprised you were talking to him. For a few moments he just stayed like that, the look on his face equal parts confused and slightly - was that awe? Then he shook his head and cursed like he just realised you’d asked him a question.

“A-Am I okay? Yeah-Yes I am...um...fine. I’m fine,” he winced as he stumbled over his words like a complete idiot. You’d only spoken a few times before, when you’d been partnered up or during drinks with a few other mutual friends in the academy too. Each time, he fucked it up. He would be having serious words with himself in the mirror later.

“Are you sure? You might be concussed,” you held up three fingers in front of his face, still struggling to keep your cool in front of him but the worry about him helped with that one, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three. I promise I’m- I’m actually fine,” he assured you finally finding his voice again.

“Okay. Well, that’s good.”

There was an awkward pause. He was now sure he’d imagined you staring at him and felt idiotic. You were now sure he had caught you staring at him and felt embarrassed beyond belief.

“Anyway,” you stretched the word out to its fullest extent and stepped a safe distance away from him, one where you didn’t think you were about to jump into his arms and ask him to hold you, “Take better care of yourself, Steve.”

As soon as you said his name you cursed yourself, because why the fuck would you know his name unless you were stalking him and he’d obviously think you were weird now and why oh why did you have to-

“See you around, Y/N.”

The elation the both of you felt deep in your chest as the exchanging of names really should have been a sign of what was to come, but for that moment it only served to fan the flame of a crush to span a lifetime.

Falling in love was easy when it felt like this.

You had always maintained that it was that moment for you when you knew you were completely done for when it came to Steve, but he claimed it happened to him far earlier. You’d always been sceptical of that.

The thought of him from years ago, all fresh faced and stuttery had you watching him at his desk with a renewed loving gaze. Not many people got this lucky.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You picked up a few case files and stacked them together and pushed yourself up from your desk with purpose.

You walked tall as you made your way over to Steve’s desk in the precinct, pushing past busy cops walking this way and that, a certain swish in your walk that you couldn’t quite shake and a permanent smile set into your features.

“Hey.”

He looked up and the smile that involuntarily lit up his whole face at just the sight of you still made your heart flutter like the flustered young girl at the academy with a crush on the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. He still possessed that same ability to make you lose your cool and you still possessed the same ability to turn him into a stuttering mess, when you decided to utilise it. Some things never changed.

“You’re sure we shouldn’t keep it formal?”

“Nah,” you said breezily, coming round to his side of the desk and pushing yourself up with both hands to sit on the edge of it, still thanking your lucky stars that you finally had the use of both hands. You’d only been cleared for field work last week and so far hadn’t been put to use, but you were itching to get back out there, “We’ve been married for two years. Together for eight. I think we can accept we’ve never had much of a work relationship.”

“You think?” he asked teasingly and you stuck your tongue out at him, revelling in the loud bark of laughter it gave you, “What did you want anyway?”

“I was just going to drop off these-” you dropped the case files on his desk, “-for a second opinion, if you don’t mind. I could do with a partner on a few of these cases that I seem to be stuck on.”

“No murderers?”

“No murderers,” you confirmed happily and he smiled, looking practically grateful it seemed.

“Good,” he murmured, “I don’t think I can take another murderer anywhere near you for a while.”

“That’s sweet and also, very fair,” you said honestly and then, remembering your actual reason for coming over, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder to check nobody was truly watching you. Coast seemed clear, “And speaking of accepting the nature of our working relationship, there is actually a second reason for coming over here…”

“Oh yeah? And what would that be, sweetheart?”

He said it like he knew exactly what you were going to say next and you reasoned that he probably did. You crossed one leg over the other and gently touched a foot to his calf, slowly dragging it up his leg as you looked at him through your lashes and bit your lip as you asked-

“I was just reliving our days in the academy where we fell madly in love,” you loved watching his face flash with memories as he recalled the same feeling of hopefulness you just had, “And remembering how much of a distraction you were.”

“Not my fault you enjoyed the view.”

His interruption made you chuckle but you narrowed your eyes at him in fake warning anyway.

“Anyway, in the spirit of reliving those days - wanna go makeout in the fourth floor cupboard?”

“You know we have done that since the academy babe.”

“You’re either in or you’re out, Lieutenant,” you said matter of factly, taking your foot away from his leg and pushing yourself to stand, beginning to walk away with just that extra swing of your hips that you knew the effect of.

He caught up with you instantly and his mouth beside your ear as he whispered sent a jolt of electricity through your spine. “Oh I am in,” he said teasingly, as he wrapped an arm around your waist and snuck you off down a back corridor towards the cupboard, giggling like teenagers, “I am most definitely in.”

Staying in love was easy when it felt like this.

[avintagekiss24]

Magic City [1/2]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x black!stripper!reader

Word Count: 3936

Warnings: stripping, strip club atmosphere, language, nudity, Avengers: End Game spoilers, canon divergence

Summary: It’s Friday night at Magic City. The drinks are a plenty, the smell of money is in the air, and the man you never thought you’d see again just paid for a private dance.

A/N: This is for @wxntersoldiers 5k followers challenge! Congrats on 5k followers! The prompts were so great! I had a blast writing this one!

----

You lean into the mirror, puckering your lips as you apply your favorite shade of stunna lip paint. You rub your lips together, squinting as you check every inch of your flawless makeup before leaning back your seat. Girls move around behind and beside you, all of them mimicking the same movements - changing outfits, primping hair, applying makeup. The bass of the music thumps against the wall as the catcalls and whistles of drunk, stupid men occasionally float to the back room. 

“Yo, Candy,” Johnny, the club owner calls, poking his head around the corner. 

A few girls throw their hands to their chests, covering their bare breasts as they begin to berate him, “What did we say, Johnny? Don’t fucking come back here! Pervert!”

“Shut up.” He spits, clicking his teeth as he turns his attention back to you, “You up next, mama.”

You nod, not even taking your eyes off of your reflection in the vanity mirror. You toss your new, long, stark straight hair over your shoulders before rolling your head in a slow circle. It’s Friday night at Magic City. The DJ is on fire, the drinks are flowing, and the men are rowdy. Since the blip ended, your clientele is at an all time high. You are easily bringing home anywhere between one to two thousand dollars a shift; and that’s a light night.

You slide your feet into your 8” ankle boots and tie them up as the DJ’s voice sounds over the music. Loud cheers and claps for the previous dancer swallow the music entirely as you stand and run your hands down your black, cupless corset. Time to make some money. 

You move toward the door and slip your hand into Johnny’s so he can help you up the staircase, “Next up,” the DJ says into the mic as he switches to your song, “It’s your favorite piece of candaaayyyyyyy.”

Dangerous Woman starts over the speakers just as you step on the stage. The lights are down as you grab onto the pole and spin around it slowly. The light rise slowly, the whistles and hoots of the men growing louder as you finally come into view as Ariana starts to croon. You close your eyes and let the music seep into your bones as you start to move, grabbing the pole and holding your weight as you effortlessly lift your legs into the air.

A smile creeps onto your face as you spread your legs, exposing your barely covered pussy to the room full of men. Green bills of all denominations start to float through the air, landing like feathers at your feet as you move. The whooping and hollering has died away - every man in the room in awe of you. You love that, you always have; the effect you have on them. For the other girls, the men are rowdy and rough - reaching out, grabbing and groping even though they aren’t supposed to. But once you take the stage, they don’t even want to blink. They just want to watch you. 

You take a few steps away from the gold pole and lunge for it, hooking your ankle around it above your head as you spin around slowly. You gasp mid-spin, grabbing the pole with your hands as you slip slightly when your eyes link with an all too familiar pair of blues. You drop to your feet and hug the pole as your lips part. You glance to your left again, and again find that pair of eyes on you, blinking at you slowly as a smirk spreads on his lips. 

You snap your head to the right and clear your throat, collecting your thoughts quickly. You slide your hands down your body as you sway your hips back and forth and down to your knees. You lay out on the stage and roll your head toward the first row of men, bestowing a slow, sultry smile. Money starts to rain down on you from above, and shoved into the band of your panties before you sit up on all fours.

You pop your ass up and down, smiling and biting your bottom lip as you twerk. You catch those eyes again - those piercing, deep blues, and you nearly lose your breath. All of the memories between the two of you rush back instantly. The first time he ambled into Magic City, your first private dance for him, the first time you invited him back to your apartment…

Stop it. 

You curse inwardly as you shake your head and try to get back into your groove. You move your hands back to your corset and start pulling at the strings, letting the leather and lace fall away from you to reveal the rest of your body. Loud whistles overtake the music in the room as your flatten your back on the pole and slide down to the floor, hooking your fingers into the sides of your thong to pull them down slightly. 

You find his eyes for a third time. 

They bare into you, almost as if he’s staring right through you. Your lips part as your eyes drop to the floor. You saunter toward the edge of the stage and prop your leg on the small square table in front of you. Your mind races as someone slips a fifty into the thin band of your thong. You can’t believe he’s back. 

What some are calling the blip, is now officially over. Five years after the snap, millions of people reappeared out of thin air days ago, all thanks to the Avengers. Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Dr. Bruce Banner aka The Hulk, and many more of our favorite heroes battled Thanos and restored the world back to its original state, giving hundreds of millions of people a second chance. 

But war, often comes with casualties. Former Russian Spy, turned Avenger Natasha Romanoff, and billionaire philanthropist Tony Stark both gave their lives in the fight to stop Thanos. America’s first super soldier, Captain Steven Grant Rogers is still MIA. Newly crowned Captain America Sam Wilson maintains that he is unaware of Rogers’ whereabouts, and the government is remaining tightlipped about the disappearance. In a formal statement released this morning, the Chief of Staff of the United States Army stated that Rogers is considered inactive, and will soon be declared dead. 

Next up, we have your weather forecast…

You remember the newscast as if it were yesterday. You remember the parades, the moments of silence at sporting events, the memorials that played on TV for him. It pissed you off. It pissed you off because you knew better. He wasn’t missing. He was with her. The small, round, black and white picture in the compass that he never left home without, haunts you, even to this very day. He chose her - and it pissed you off. 

Anger flashes through you as you roll your hips in the face of an eager customer. He shoves a twenty into your panties before you move back toward the stage, your lips pressed in a hard line. You glance over your shoulder, connecting your dark eyes with his and let out a deep breath, having to literally stop yourself from sneering. The music starts to fade, and you plaster a smile on your face as a thunderous applause erupts for you. You wave seductively and make a brisk exit as the stage hands start sweeping the stage to collect your earnings. 

Once backstage, you plop down at your station and bury your face in your hands. Bastard. You tuck your hair behind your ears roughly before lifting your eyes back to mirror. You are not going to let him ruin your night. There’s money to make. He doesn’t matter - just like you don’t matter to him.

You take your time changing into your White Fee Bodysuit, knowing that requests for a private dance with you are climbing by the minute. You look yourself over, your breasts on full display in the sheer material, before heading back to the main floor to grab a quick drink. 

The bartender smiles at you, grabbing one of the small, rectangular glasses and pouring a quick vodka and cranberry. He slides it in your direction and you lift it in your dainty fingers, bringing it to your lips to sip it slowly.

“Room 2, doll.” Johnny announces in your ear as he slides up beside you, “He’s booked you for the night.”

“Oooh,” You shimmy your shoulders, downing your drink, “Big spender, huh?”

Johnny winks at you, “He must have been a victim of the snap, poor prick. Probably ain’t had any pussy since he got back.”

“Where’s my money?” You ask, setting your glass on the bar and quirking your eyebrow toward the ceiling.

“You know the drill, baby. You deliver the goods first, cash later.”

You roll your eyes but push away from the bar, scanning the crowd as you move. You push through the heavy velvet curtain and smile seductively at the man sitting on the black leather couch in front of you. A Yankees cap is pulled low over his eyes as he sits straight up, his hands on his thighs. He’s dressed simply, wearing a dark blue jacket that covers a plain white t shirt, and jeans, not at all giving the impression that he’s capable of dropping three thousand dollars for a night with you. 

An ice bucket with a full bottle of Dom Perignon sits on the small table in the corner of the room, two long stemmed flutes sitting on either side of it. You move over to him and sit in his lap, swinging your legs over his as you slide your hand over his shoulder, “Hi baby.” You coo, tilting your head and biting your bottom lip, “I’m Candy. Why don’t you take that hat off so I can see that handsome face, hmm?”

He chuckles, but obliges you, grabbing the bill of his hat and removing it. You roll your eyes heavily as his face comes into view and push your hands in his chest to try and stand. He tightens his grip on you, “Just wait a second.”

You purse your lips as you stare back at him, unenthused, “Let me go.” You say sternly.

You only have to ask once. He drops his hands and you stand, heading straight for the curtain, “I already paid for you.” He calls, causing you to stop. You turn on your heel and cross your hands over you chest, “That’s not very nice.”

“I’ll get you a refund.”

“Baby-”

“I am not your baby.” You say coldly, ice dripping from your words. 

He drops his head again, nodding slowly, “Okay.” He takes a breath before lifting his eyes back to yours, sincerity and sorrow flooding through them, “Can I get one last dance then?” You take a deep breath, “You can keep whatever is extra.”

You suck your teeth and send your eyes toward the champagne in the corner as the wheels turn in your head. You should keep walking, leave him high and dry without a second thought like he did you. The business woman in you doesn’t want to show him any sign of weakness - or that he hurt you. Just think about the money. It’s always about the money. 

But, you know that’s not true; especially when it comes to him. 

You turn on your heel as the music being piped into the room changes. Blac Youngsta fills the room, Cut Up flooding your ears. You can’t help but smile. It’s perfect. You’re gonna make him regret this. You saunter to the small, round stage in front of the couch and step on it. Steve leans forward, pushing his way to the edge of the couch. You turn and squat down, peering at him over your shoulder. His eyes are wide and hungry as he stares back you and then slowly drags his eyes down your back to your plump, round ass. 

Just like old times. 

You stand and place your hands on your knees, bending slightly as you start to bounce your ass to the beat. You pop your ass and wind your hips as you twerk for him. You snap your head to cut your eyes back at him, biting your lip to heighten your allure. You turn to face him and throw your arm around his neck, pulling his face so close to your toned stomach that his nose brushes against the thin material of your body suit.

You hear him moan as his hands snake up your sides, “God, they don’t have girls like you in the fifties.”

You laugh lightly as your roll your body, “I bet they don’t.”

You push your fingers into his hair, grabbing and pulling before you push his face into your cleavage. You shimmy your shoulders, jiggling your breasts as he nuzzles into you, a long, gravelly groan scratching at his throat.  You pull his head away from you and roll your hips into his face, letting his nose brush against your pussy. He takes a breath, taking in a deep whiff of your natural, carnal scent. You feel him shiver - just like old times. 

You drop to your knees and lean forward onto the tips of your fingers. You spread your legs wide as you start to twerk again, pushing your hips and ass back into his face before moving forward away from him again. You feel his finger hook under the thin belt of your body suit, and then the familiar feeling of money scraping along your skin. That’s one thing you always liked about Steve, he was always a great tipper. 

He lets his fingers linger on your brown skin, pushing them along your hips as you move, and then down your thighs. There are only two types of people who you allow to let touch you; deep pockets and Steve Rogers. You always liked the way his fingers felt against your skin. Rough, but always gentle. Firm, but soft. Nobody else could touch you like that. 

You roll over onto your butt and bring your knees toward your chest. You cock your head and smile slowly at him. His eyes are wide, pupils almost blown, the brilliant blue damn near black as he’s filled with lust for you and your body. You let your legs fall open, the thin see through material putting your pretty pussy on full display. He inhales sharply as his eyes drop to your sex. He bites his lip and reaches out to touch you, but you slap his hand away quickly, watching as he recoils with a smirk on his face. 

“I’ve missed you so fucking much.” He offers.

You return his smirk as you sit up and crawl toward him. You reach for him, prompting him to grab your hand and help you into his lap. You place your knees on either side of his thighs and rest your hands on his shoulders as you push your breasts into his face again. You sit down into his lap and bite your lip as you feel his hard on through his jeans. You roll your hips into his dick and then slide his dick in between your ass cheeks, groaning slightly. You miss that dick. You didn’t realize just how much until this minute. 

Steve slides his hands up your sides as he glances up at you, “So you do miss me.”

“What makes you think that, Captain?”

“I heard you just now.” He says, his voice heavy and full, “You miss this cock, don’t you?”

You take a breath and unconsciously tighten your grip on his shoulder. He chuckles as he drops his hands to your ass for a quick squeeze before jiggling your flesh, “Yeah. You miss Captain’s dick.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder and lean down, grabbing his earlobe into your teeth, “I bet she missed your dick too, hmm? Seventy years is a long time to go without.” You lean back slowly as he cuts his eyes toward you. You smile sweetly. Two can play this game, mother fucker, “I bet that pussy was boring though.”

“Stop.” He says firmly. 

You shrug, tossing your hair over your opposite shoulder, “You said so yourself. They don’t make girls like me in 1950.”

You feel his eyes follow you as you shift your weight and lean back, your body still moving as the song changes, “I thought about you.” He says quietly, watching as you avoid his gaze, “I thought about you every day.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, trying to get back into your zone. When you don’t respond, he leans forward, “I get why you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You say shortly, “Now stop talking so I can finish this dance.”

You untie the small bow that sits on your hip to loosen your sheer bodysuit. You push at the shoulders with your hands, letting the material fall away from your top half to let your breasts fall free. You’re distraction works. Steve drops his eyes to your dark areolas, your thick nipples budding proudly as the cool air tickles them. He takes two full handfuls of you, squeezing lightly as he groans inwardly. He leans forward and pushes his face into the warmth of your breasts, shaking his head into them as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

You circle your arms around his head as you drop your head to his, burying your nose into his hair. You roll your hips and then dig your hips into his as your fingers slide into his blonde hair again. He tips his head up to yours, his lips parting as he stares up at you. You push your chest into his as you roll your hips into his, biting your lip as you drop your eyes to his. 

He cups your face in his palm, sweeping his thumb across your cheek. His eyes bounce wildly between yours, then dip down to your lips, where they stay. His chest bumps into yours as his breathing deepens. He flicks his eyes back to yours quickly, but focuses back on your painted lips within seconds. He pushes upward, his lips brushing against yours as he tries to kiss you. You pull back at the sudden contact; a gut reaction. 

You stare down at him as his eyes widen slightly. That was the first time you had ever rejected him. His eyes bounce between yours as confusion washes over his face. He’s hurt. It’s takes you aback a little. 

“Wow.” He says after a moment, his hands dropping from your sides.

You clear your throat, suddenly irritated, “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly, never taking his eyes off of you.

You shake your head, “I don’t care Steve.”

“I should have come to see you. I should have told you face to face.” You drop your hands from his shoulders and cross them over your chest as you stare at the wall behind him, “I’m sorry.” He says sincerely - earnestly - as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours, “There was too much between us for me to have left you that way.”

You push off of his lap angrily, pulling your outfit back up over your chest, “There wasn’t shit between us apparently.” You snap back, tying the belt at your hip angrily, “You can leave now.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t make me call security.”

He scoffs at the notion, “Like I won’t put them right through the fucking wall. Talk to me.”

“There is nothing to talk about, Rogers. You left, that’s it. It’s over.” You growl, “I know what I am, and I know what you are.”

He squints his eyes at you, shaking his head, “What does that mean?”

You laugh, tossing your head over your shoulder as you move back toward the thick curtain. You spin around on your heel to face him, “Go back to Peggy. Or, is she dead by now? You know, again.”

He takes a deep breath as his jaws tighten, “There’s no need to be nasty.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“I fucking told you,” He shouts, standing from his spot on the couch, “I thought about you every day. Every single fucking day.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” You shout back, “That you thought about me while you went and lived out your whole life with her? I was there for you when no one else was. You used me to drown your sorrows, not her.”

He drops his head, “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t have to understand,” You spit angrily, your voice full of venom, “You made your choice. Don’t come back here, a hundred fucking years later to now try and eat your cake.”

He places his hands on his hips and closes his eyes, unaware of what to say, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

It comes out in a whisper, so low that you barely catch all of the words, “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

He snaps his eyes to yours, his lips parting as your words wash over him, filling him with even more regret. You turn and move out of the room before he can see the tears slip down your cheek. You move back to the bar and snap your fingers to grab the bartender's attention. He slides you another stiff drink and you gulp it down without a second thought before slamming the shot glass on the bar. You ask for another, cutting your eyes toward room two as Steve steps out, pulling his old Yankees cap back down over his eyes. 

You two link eyes quickly, reading each other like there is no one else in the club but the two of you. He doesn’t want to do any more damage. You’ve made it plenty clear. He’s hurt you. He drops his head and moves past you without even the slightest acknowledgement. You watch him move through the crowd of people, before he disappears through the front door. You throw your head back, swallowing the dark liquid before you close your eyes to push the intrusive thoughts away. 

Focus. You need to focus. Don’t think about him. 

“Candy!”

You sigh loudly, expelling a breath before turning back toward your insufferable manager, “Johnny?”

“You done already? Homie paid for the night.”

You shrug, “Ended early. Where do you need me?”

“You look like you need a break?” He half asks, half states as he raises his eyebrows slightly.

You shake your head, “I’m good.” You lie, tossing your hair over your shoulder, “Get me another private dance.”

“Room 4. I’ll send him in.”

You smile quickly as you saunter past him, swinging your hips and wiggling your fingers toward other clients as you move through them. Your mind races, flashes and fragments of you and Steve’s five year whatever it was, plays out in front of you. You push through the curtain and roll your head on your neck before stretching out your shoulders. 

It was nothing. You were nothing.

Just focus on the money. It’s always about the money. 

You step up on the the round stage and grab onto the pole, spinning around it slowly as a tall man walks through the curtains. You smile seductively as your heels click against the stage as you move, “Hi,” You coo sweetly, tilting your head as he moves to the couch, “I’m Candy. What’s your name?”

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home [3/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Language, as ever, a murderer on the loose and some serious suspense! Honestly though with these two its mainly just a soft marriage and some protective babies A/N: Here we are, the penultimate chapter! Thank you for such wonderful comments on the last one, it may not be quite as big a series as some of my previous ones but the response has nonetheless been so amazing to read. I loved writing this too and am just so glad that’s coming across. As before, this is my entry to my love Layla’s (@wxntersoldiers) 5k Challenge!

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the last part tomorrow, drop me an ask!

---

It had been three weeks since you’d been shot. Apparently, The Suit had been laying low, or planning his next attack, because there had been no activity whatsoever. It was killing you.

Now, at 2am, you felt it killing you more than ever.

Sometimes, you and Steve pulled all-nighters in the precinct to solve cases. There was something about it that made you think more, consider different possibilities. It wasn’t exactly healthy, but you seemed to do it nonetheless. It worked.

“We can cross off anyone that was on the case!” Steve suddenly announced, launching himself from his chair and over to the whiteboard, “The Suit said that he hadn’t been allowed near the case!”

He said it as if he’d just had an epiphany and you sighed, rolling your head back to loll against the back of your chair and hang looking at the ceiling in despair.

“Steve, honey, we realised this three hours ago.”

“We did?”

“We did.”

He grunted, clearly stumped once more and slowly trudged back to his chair, staring at the board with too tired eyes and head held up by his hands.

“We’ve got nothing else?”

“We’ve got nothing else,” you groaned, spinning the chair left, then right, then left again, “We’ll never have anything else. The Suit will kill everyone on the planet and we’ll be the only ones left and we still won’t be able to solve this case. That’s how much shit we’re in.”

Steve tore his eyes away from the board and to you.

“That’s some deep shit, doll.”

You held your hand out in front of you in a pseudo-shrug, one that said you knew how deep the shit you were in was, and that he could stop reminding you whenever he wanted. He took the hint.

You got up from your chair with a sound that somewhat resembled a strangled cat, as stiff muscles adjusted to new movements and you could only push yourself up with one hand, the other still in a beyond annoying sling. You began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth. It had to be someone who wasn’t allowed on the case. Perhaps someone who specifically wasn’t allowed on the case, judging by The Suit’s tone.

“...since you wouldn’t let me on the case…”

It was a man, you’d gathered that much. And that voice. It was a voice you recognised but it was so much more difficult than you would’ve thought to put a voice to a face when you weren’t looking directly at that face.

“...we still have no idea who he is and what he wants…”

Carl’s words were suddenly stuck on repeat in your head, to the point where you could hear him saying them. You could hear him.

And suddenly you could hear him saying other sentences too.

“Holy shit, Steve!”

You stopped pacing and looked at him urgently, getting slightly exasperated when he didn’t even look up at you. His head was now on the desk, pressed down hard, chair swivelling from side to side.

“What is it? Do you want me to get more food, because honestly, I think it’s your turn to-”

“It’s Carl!”

He stopped talking and his head lifted from the table in a matter of moments, eyes scanning the entire floor of the precinct laid out in front of you.

“Where? Where is he, the jerk?”

“No, Steve,” you said softly, grabbing a case file and flicking to the appropriate page, placing it in front of him on the desk with a triumphant thump, “It’s Carl.”

He read the subsection that your broken nail was pointing to.

“The details of the identity of the suspected serial killer colloquially known as ‘The Suit’ are to be kept within the team of investigating detectives only and not shared with those outside the investigation. Variables such as vocal tone, build and gender, for example, must be kept within the investigation.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Carl knew it was a man. And he’s not part of the investigation, because we - well, you - deliberately didn’t choose him,” you said pointedly and Steve’s eyes widened as he fully woke up again, standing from his chair all in a rush.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he said softly, almost under his breath, in a voice a mixture of awe and terror, “It’s Carl.”

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” you said, a sort of joke that didn’t hold too much humour, and held just the slightest tinge of reality in it. The amount of times you’d told Steve to stop being a jealous little boy when he moaned about Carl was now embarrassing for you, not him.

“Oh come on,” he said kindly, taking you by the shoulders, “We both know I had no evidence and a significant grudge against the guy.”

“But you got the vibe.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I did. I always knew he was a secret creep...but this?”

You looked down at the floor in disbelief for a moment, a failed attempt to collect your thoughts in a nice, neat row to be dealt with in order. Nothing was that simple, though, and this definitely wasn’t.

“What do we do, Steve?”

Steve sighed. Bent down just a little so that you were at eye level, hands still firmly gripping your shoulders and providing an anchor most welcome. He knew you far too well.

“You cracked it. You’re the lead on this case. It’s your call.”

You nodded. It was.

“Do you think we can get a warrant to search Carl’s apartment?”

Steve looked thoughtful for a moment, biting his lip as he considered your proposition.

“I’m not sure. With the verbal evidence alone, no, but perhaps if we cite the numerous bugs we eventually found in our house and on our clothing and the fact that they all traced back to the precinct as well...we might be able to.”

“Then that’s our first step,” you announced, finally feeling some semblance of control seeping back into your sleep-deprived brain, “We have to do this one by the book. Carl will know every way of getting the case against him thrown out if we don’t do it right.”

“You’re sure it’s him?” Steve asked suddenly, and you knew it wasn’t because he doubted you, but because you both needed to be 100% on this one - if you got a warrant and it wasn’t him, there would be consequences.

“I am,” you said confidently.

And you meant it.

---

Your footsteps on the wooden flooring seemed unnecessarily loud in the quiet hallway of the apartment block, but there was nothing to be done about that. After about 4 hours sleeping on the precinct sofas together, you and Steve now stood outside Carl’s apartment, glad that he had a full shift today and wouldn’t be in your way.

“You really think you can break down this door? By yourself? With your shoulder?”

Steve turned to you from where he had been studying the lock, pout prevalent on his features.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough?”

“Babe, you know I think you’re plenty strong enough,” you said appeasingly, seeing his eyes light up at your words and trying not to laugh at him, “But that’s a door. A locked door.”

“It’s all about finding the right pressure point…” he murmured as he pressed his hand against different points of the door, then pressed his ear against it and looked at the join between door and doorway. You quickly scanned the corridor to check nobody was watching.

“This is meant to be a pretty covert operation, Steve,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “Stop pissing about with the door and get it open!”

Without warning, Steve reared backwards from the door and took a mini run up and slammed his shoulder against the door. You let out a little squeak and your hand came up to cover your mouth in anticipation of the pain that your husband was bound to be feeling but were shocked to see the door open, the lock broken and Steve only slightly rubbing his shoulder.

“You should really have more faith in me,” he whispered from inside the apartment and you finally managed to regain your focus, knowing that you’d be having a conversation about just how hot that was later.

You entered the apartment, scanning the area instantly for any obvious irregularities. Nothing stood out. It was messy, but that was to be expected for a bachelor in his late twenties living on his own. There was half-eaten sushi on the table along with a couple of empty wine bottles. You’d been expecting pizza and beer.

You set to work on looking around, searching the kitchen drawers and cabinets while Steve did a more thorough check on the living room area, since he had both arms to use in disturbing the couch cushions. There was nothing out of the ordinary. A quick nod to Steve had you both exiting the main area and heading to the bedroom instead.

Here, everything seemed different. There was nothing out of place, no mess, no clothes lying on the bed or on random chairs as they seemed to be in your house. A quick swipe of a finger over the dresser told you what you’d been expecting.

“This room’s been cleaned recently,” you said carefully, watching as Steve poked around in his bedside table, “Properly cleaned.”

“I know,” he said absently, rummaging in the right bedside drawer with furrowed brow until he found what he’d been looking for and held it up in celebration, “Aha!”

“Are those...condoms?”

“An unopened box of them,” Steve said smugly, placing them back in the drawer and closing it with his hip as he smirked at you with tilted head and playful eyes, “This guy’s not getting any.”

“Steve!” you protested, walking over and hitting him on the arm lightly, “You do realise you’re excited about having a better sex life than a murderer right now?”

“Was jus’ sayin’,” he mumbled and you shook your head with a lengthy exhale, turning to continue your search. You knew it was the slight jealousy he’d harboured over the past months that was talking, so you didn’t lay into him too much for it.

“Unbelievable.”

You carried on in silence, the only sounds in the room the rustling of clothes in drawers or the sliding of wooden drawers against each other. Nothing was coming up out of the ordinary and you guessed that was probably because this room had been so thoroughly cleaned. Too thoroughly cleaned.

There was a large window stretching from floor to ceiling, but the curtains were still drawn, so you went over and pulled them aside, pushing them all the way back to the wall. The window was actually a glass door, as it turned out, leading onto a modest balcony that overlooked some of the not so nice areas of the city.

You slid the glass door open, glad it wasn’t locked, and stepped out onto the balcony, the cold morning air of a February morning hitting your face instantly. You shivered in response and checked the balcony around you. Nothing under the potted plant. Nothing under the chairs. Nothing under the table.

Wait.

Something under the table.

You ducked down yet again and looked upwards this time instead of at the floor and there, taped to the underside of the table, was a black ski mask and a gun that matched the one that had you in a sling right now.

“Steve!” you called out softly, beckoning him over with rushed gestures when he lifted his head to look at you. When he was beside you, you ducked down and pointed upwards and Steve followed your gaze to find the evidence. You were so close, you could hear his tiny gasp of surprise.

“I married a genius,” he said in awe, kissing your temple with force, and before you were able to form a coy response, Steve was on the phone to your Captain.

“Captain, arrest Detective Peterson, we’ve found the evidence we need.”

“Rogers, we’ve been trying to get ahold of you for ten minutes. Carl hasn’t come into work today. Nobody’s seen him,” came Fury’s voice on the other end of the phone and you blinked. Processed. Stared at Steve in shock.

He’s here!

You mouthed urgently at him, Steve simply staring at you in shock before he turned off speakerphone and brought the phone to his ear.

“Bring backup, Fury.”

He’d only whispered it but even that felt too loud. You shushed him and he nodded gravely. He gestured over his shoulder as he mouthed -

We need to get out of here. Now.

You nodded silently, letting him help you up from your crouched position. He took the lead as you made your way back through the bedroom and into the kitchen with tiptoes and held breaths.

Inwardly, you were kicking yourself. You’d had to beg Fury to let you go with Steve to carry out the search, due to your sling and inability to defend yourself. It was only after you convinced him that nobody would be at the apartment and there would be no risk of needing to defend yourself that Fury had allowed you to go. Now you knew that Steve would be feeling wholly and completely responsible for you and that was a position you’d promised each other you’d never be put in.

It was terrifying.

Steve’s gun was raised and you were practically shielded behind him as you took careful step after careful step towards the door. He had to be in the bathroom, that much you knew and it was probable that he knew you were here too, because you hadn’t exactly been quiet. So why wasn’t he coming after you or threatening you with a gun like last time?

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Steve,” you whispered into his ear from behind him, so quiet even you didn’t hear yourself say it. Steve responded by reaching back with one hand and squeezing your shoulder, a silent reassurance and a promise all at once. It only made you feel more sick.

After what felt like an eternity of creeping, you reached the door and Steve pulled it open gingerly.

And there he was.

Carl.

With a gun.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home [2/4] - Detective!AU

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Again, language, a scene in a hospital, some arguing angst but I’ll tie it all up in a big fluffy bow, I promise :)

A/N: Here we are already, chapter two, half way through! Thank you so much for your kind words, especially after such a break between posts, I was half expecting nobody to even read it! You’re all the bestest and I love you lots and lots. I’m going through some super stressful life decisions at the moment and writing for you guys has been a somewhat salvation! As before, this is for the beautiful Layla’s (@wxntersoldiers) 5k Challenge!

masterlist is in my bio and the series masterlist can be found there! if you fancy being tagged in the next parts over the weekend, drop me an ask!

---

When you next woke, you were in a hospital bed, in a disgusting hospital gown that instantly gave you a million itches to scratch. You then noticed one hand was warm and clammy and you slowly turned your head towards it, trying to ignore the stiff neck muscles that told you not to.

Steve was in the chair next to your bed, both hands holding one of yours, head resting on the join of your hands. Explains the temperature. His hair was unkempt and body was hunched over and you knew without seeing his face that he’d been crying. He only ran his hands through his hair enough to do that to it when he cried.

You tried to squeeze his hand to let him know you were awake, but he was holding it so tightly that you couldn’t actually feel it properly anymore, so that wasn’t an option. You attempted to lift your other arm instead, intending to run it through his hair gently to rouse him but as soon as you moved your left arm just an inch, you cried out in pain and Steve jolted upwards.

Well that was one way to get his attention.

“You’re awake! Jesus, Y/N, don’t move your arm, you got shot for fuck’s sake.”

You turned your attention to the left arm in question and saw the bandages around your upper arm. You gently rested it back against the bed with a wince and turned back to your husband again with a sigh.

“Yeah, I forgot about that part.”

He scoffed lightly at you, and you took the opportunity to snake your hand out of his vice like grip, flex your fingers a few times to reawaken the muscles and then placed your hand on his cheek. It was only slightly damp, and the tear tracks were still prominent, eyes bloodshot just enough that you would notice but nobody else would. He leaned into your touch and placed his own hand atop yours that was so gentle on his face.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t do that shit,” he said suddenly, a bite of anger in his tone, “Asking me if I’m alright to deflect from this. You got shot, Y/N.”

You didn’t rise to his bait. You knew how worried Steve was in general, so you couldn’t imagine what the last few hours must’ve been like for him. He deserved leniency.

“Saying I got shot again and again isn’t going to change anything, Steve. What do you want me to say?”

“Oh I don’t know maybe, ‘My gunshot wound really hurts.’ or  ‘This sucks.’ or ‘Man, I wish I hadn’t just been shot in the arm.’ Any of those would be fine.”

His voice cracked on his last impression of you and you smiled at him sadly. You chose your next words carefully, knowing they could either calm your husband down or send him into a meltdown.

“This sucks. Man, I wish I hadn’t just been shot in the arm,” you said sincerely, receiving just an upward curl at the corners of Steve’s lips, “But I’m okay, baby. I’m okay.”

Steve paused. Searched your face. Then he nodded and his lip quivered slightly.

“You’ve never been shot before, I didn’t-” he took a shaky inhale, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m pretty sure I would have been wailing like a newborn baby if you’d been shot, so I’d say you coped well,” you said jokingly, letting your hand slip from his face and back down onto the bed, still tangled up with his.

“Does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt? My gunshot wound? You’re asking if my gunshot wound hurts?”

“Okay, yeah, stupid question,” he muttered lowly, and you chuckled at him before you seemed to suddenly realise something and you whined aloud, “What is it?”

“I’m gonna be on desk duty! Desk duty is shit!”

“Desk duty is also safe, Y/N, so I’m sorry, but I’m glad you’re on desk duty, just this once,” he said, all cocky and suave and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Fine,” you conceded, patting the pillow beside you and smiling as he scooted closer and rested his head on the pillow, forehead pressed to yours, two sets of eyes closing in blissful relief, “But you’re bringing me my coffee.”

A squeeze of a hand. A kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

---

You stormed through the halls of the precinct with a scowl on your face and a fire in the eyes that had the crowds parting to let you through. Your memory of the standoff on the roof had been a little hazy, but now, two days later, you’d remembered something about it that had your pace quick and your face set in stone.

“Lieutenant Rogers.”

At the sound of your voice, Steve’s head snapped upwards from his laptop and he gave you a lazy smile.

“Y/N, we’ve been married-”

Just as he was about to repeat your words back to you from when he had addressed you so formally, you cut him off with an icy tone.

“Cut the bullshit. Can we talk in the break room, please,” at Steve’s bewildered look, you huffed indignantly, “Now!”

A couple of heads turned at your raised voice and you hurried off into the break room, knowing that a certain somebody wouldn’t be far behind.

“So much for being professional…” Steve muttered as he walked into the break room and closed the door softly behind you, but you ignored the snide comment and whirled to face him, finger raised in an accusatory point.

“Why didn’t you listen to me?”

A pause.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me. This is a work conversation. We will behave like colleagues!” you were saying all this in a manner that certainly wasn’t workplace friendly and Steve raised an eyebrow that told you so. You sighed and took a deep breath. When you spoke again, your voice was level, but still had that cold undertone you couldn’t quite shake, “Lieutenant Rogers, I gave you an order as the lead officer on the case of The Suit and you decided you weren’t going to follow it. I would like an explanation.”

Steve was looking at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“You’d just been shot, Y/N! What, you wanted me to go running down the fire escape and leave you to bleed out on the roof?”

“I was shot in the arm, Steve, not the chest. You could have gone after him, or told officers on the radio to corner him at the bottom of the fire escape at least. But you didn’t, because you let your emotions get the best of you.”

The look in his eyes seemed to change, and all at once, you knew this had become a serious argument for him. You glowered at him. It couldn’t be helped. This was serious.

“You know what? You’re right. I did let my emotions get the best of me, because I just watched a man shoot my fucking wife-” he noticed his voice had become louder again and stopped himself, looking up at the ceiling to collect him self as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared him down, the slightest incling of guilt creeping into the back of your mind, “If I have to watch you get shot again, then I will do the same thing. I would ignore the order of the Commissioner if it was anything other than running over to you. Are we clear?”

“No,” you rebuked harshly, “We’re not. When a lead officer gives you an order, you are to follow it. Otherwise, I’ll write you up.”

Steve laughed at you a little, the sound empty and hollow and nothing like the sound that you loved so much.

“Please, Lieutenant Rogers, be my guest.”

He shook his head as he turned to walk out of the break room and you realised he was slipping away. Panic set in.

‘Steve!”

You practically shouted his name and your voice was crackled and just a little broken, enough to make Steve stop in his tracks and turn to face you. His face softened a little when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“Steve, I-” you took a deep breath in an attempt to speak properly, “It’s my fault. It’s my fault that we let him get away, because I just fucking stood there and let him shoot me and then you came over and I needed you to go and chase him because otherwise it was all- all-”

You couldn’t get the words out as you covered your mouth with your good hand and tried to stifle the sobs. Your eyes were screwed shut and the tears were squeezing their way out and down your cheeks, though you desperately tried to wipe them away as soon as they came.

All of Steve’s previous anger dissipated as he realised the reason for yours. You blamed yourself. He’d seen you like this before, after failed missions, reliving the moment over and over and placing all the blame at your own feet even when it had nothing to do with you. But never like this. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be to relive the moment you were shot over and over and feel as if somehow, in doing so, you’d let everyone down.

And he knew now, that the reason you didn’t want him to stay with you is because you saw yourself as a burden. That if he didn’t love you, he would’ve gone after him. That you’d held him back, ruined the investigation’s only opportunity. His face fell.

His arms had engulfed you in a few short strides and you welcomed the embrace, sobbing into his chest with gusto. Minutes came and went, with soothing words whispered and gentle patterns traced onto skin and tears soaking into shirts.

“It’s not your fault.”

“But-”

“No,” he affirmed, “It’s not your fault. And you’re not going to believe me now, but in a few weeks when that screaming in your head lowers it’s voice to a whimper, you remember then that it was not your fault.”

You reared back from the warmth and safety of his chest and looked up at his face, the sincerity held in his eyes, the love painted heavily on his features.

“You’re sure?”

“Sweetheart- can I ‘sweetheart’ you now?” he asked cheekily and you hit his chest in retaliation, causing him to laugh, the one that you loved so dearly this time, “Sweetheart, the son of a bitch shot you. How is that your fault?”

“I should’ve done something-”

“Like what? Some Matrix-style dodging?”

You snorted. He had a point.

“Okay,” you finally said softly, allowing yourself to at least believe what he was saying for now. You knew he was right, and that it would take you longer than it would most to realise it hadn’t been your fault, since you had always been too hard on yourself, but you could stop constantly beating yourself up about it now.

“Good.”

“I love you,” you said happily, hands still resting on his chest, and then added, with a teasing grin, “So much. I’m glad he shot me instead of you.”

“I swear to god, Y/N-”

“I’m joking,” you laughed, leaning in and kissing him just quickly, just because you could. He shook his head fondly when you pulled away again and let you go, wiping your face of any remaining tears one last time, “Back to work?”

“Back to work.”

As you both eased out of the breakroom as quietly as you could, you noticed a few glances in your direction and felt a heat at the back of your neck at the thought of everyone hearing your loud argument. Or, worse, your loud sobbing.

Steve returned to his desk near the Captain’s office and you made your way to yours at the other end near the elevator. On your way, however, you had the misfortune of seeing the one person you wanted to talk to least right at that moment.

Carl.

You walked past him as quickly as you could, but heard footsteps rounding the desk to follow you and cast your eyes upwards. Could you catch a break?

“If it’s any consolation, Y/N, I completely agree with you, Steve really should have gone after that stupid Suit guy. Now we still have no idea who he is and what he wants.”

You stopped in your tracks and turned on your heel. He’d walked far closer behind you than he’d realised and you fought back a grin as he stumbled backwards to compensate.

“Detective Peterson. Please refrain from discussing a case that you are not a part of,” you said curtly and then, quieter so that only he could hear, “And please refrain from ever badmouthing my husband again. Got it?”

You didn’t wait for his reply before you turned back around and sat down at your desk, logging into your laptop and refusing to look back up at Carl. He was insufferable. After a few moments, you did risk a look at Steve, however, and found him staring at you, looking somewhat smug and...something else? Was that a spark of lust?

You chuckled lightly at him, sent him a mini wave and got on with your paperwork. Couldn’t let him distract you like you did so many times in the academy.

So. Many. Times.

[ciarawritesmarvel]

Close to Home Masterlist (mini-series)

Pairing: Police Detective!Steve Rogers x Police Detective!Reader

Summary: When Detectives Y/N and Steve find out that the serial killer they’ve been trying to track down for months is one of their very own, they find themselves all alone in a race against time to find the murderer and bring them to justice. Written for the show stopping queen @wxntersoldiers’ 5k Challenge!

Warnings: There is some language in this I’m afraid, overall a simultaneously fluffy and angsty mess, with some mild description of people getting shot, a whole lot of hurt/comfort and the hot piece of ass that is Steve Rogers as a detective ;)))

Chapters (posted at 7pm GMT):

Chapter One - Who’s the Suit?

Chapter Two - Where’s the Suit?

Chapter Three - There’s the Suit!

Chapter Four - 26th August

A/N: Finally, I’m back! You might be thinking, “Ciara, why in the seven realms are you starting another series when you can’t finish the ones you’ve already started?” And you would be right to ask, but you can rest easy in your beds because I actually have this mini-series all written out so there is no chance of a sudden disappearance. I actually really liked how this one turned out so I hope more than anything that you guys like it too, especially since its been a while! I’ll be posting a chapter once a day for the next four days, because I don’t like to wait or to keep people waiting and I think it heightens interaction and excitement surrounding the series! Lots of love and as always, I’d love to hear what you think of the series, even just from this premise! <3

Please drop me an ask if you want to be tagged or if you have questions - I’d love to hear them!