#in my heart I feel Steve is blue. it’s a warm and comforting color and he is a warm and comforting character | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wroteclassicaly · 7 months

Text

For The Record

(Steve Harrington x Female Reader)

Summary: You have a surprise for your best-friend Steve.

Word count: 1,647

Warnings: Language, NSFW, creampie, vaginal sex, slight choking, slight breeding kink if you squint, and fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

A/N: Just a filthy little thing that I’ve been nurturing for a few days. No point to it, just showing Stevie some love! Haven’t written anything this lengthy in a while, but I hope y’all enjoy? ;P 💕❤️🥰♥️

Steve. Steve-fucking-Harrington. The heart of your group with a head of hair (that you’d washed, brushed, picked monster guts out of, and pulled, one too many times), a comforting smile that reminded you of Summer’s fading sunsets that give way to fall colors. All copper, rust, orange, mossy caramels swirling together, deep browns that look like cinnamon (smells like the gum he chews, or the breath spray he carries in his back pocket), sometimes even red in how his cheeks tinge on cold days, the way he makes your body warm. To his protective - fighter mode, like a crafted out of the finest marble guardian-angelic-god.

You’d worship at his temple. All day. Every single day.

His mouth has been in as many places as his hands. He knows every scar, just as much as he’s aware of spots, in which kissing you will cause goosebumps to electrify, sparking themselves known across your skin, or where his fingers will cause that high pitched whine to come from between your lips. You can’t really fathom that it’s been happening, especially for how long. There’s been no talk of labels, what anything means, it’s just been two friends crossing a line and fucking one another on it. You don’t know what you would’ve done, had it not been for Steve-the-hair-Harrington, King Steve, your extra heartbeat, your best-friend, your everything.

And that’s what led you to your current predicament, your planned leap of faith. Wrapped in a maroon colored mini gift bag, you had placed the packet. Steve arrived not long after, movies and pizza balanced in his massive hands, keys dangling from the middle finger of his left hand, a cheesy grin pressing into that beautiful mouth. “Hey, honey,” he had said. “Really missed you today, you know that?”

You’d taken in his appearance of dark Levi’s and a black belt, his signature Nike’s, and a low dipped white v-neck that he’d thrown a plain blue button over, leaving it open, his gold chain visible, nestled in that patch of chest hair. Salivating more at him than the food, it took you a second to help him inside.

You ate in avid chatter, watched one of the lamest, but most comforting horror films Steve could find on the shelves (that no one rented but he knew you’d appreciate), whilst being tucked beneath his bicep, warmed at his side. That’s when you’d retrieved the gift off your coffee table, his palm rubbing circles across your spine, kneading tension until you returned to your position. You handed him the bag and his bushy brows had pinched together, an adorable confusion clear. “For me? What did I do?”

“Just open it, Harrington. Before my nerves make me take it back.”

He cradled the parcel protectively, a pout forming as his watch strapped wrist dips inside. “No way, no how. Nope, not now.”

“Steve…” you laughed lightly, suddenly swallowing as he pulled the packet out, trying to make sense of the name.

“Contraceptive? I don’t… Isn’t this birth control?” He shook the packet before planting it in his massive palm.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, choking you like a vice, preventing you from answering in a full sentence.

“Yeah.”

“So, it’s yours? Why did you wrap it up and give it to me?”

“There’s a few missing already, Steve. I just wanted to get used to them before… Before I told you.”

“Told me, what?” He still looked puzzled, seeking out where you’d opened the package and taken a few tablets.

“That I just wanna use these from now on. Nothing else. If you, if that’s okay with you...?” You had felt the sharp claws of the butterflies, threatening to demolish your remaining courage. But this was Steve, you needed to remember that.

It took him a few moments, but then his pupils expanded within the enriching mossy flecks of his irises, at a rapid pace. His tongue licked at the five o’clock shadow above his upper lip. His voice, you’ll never forget how it sounded. Honey-hot and hoarse, raspy with bitten want, raw fucking desire. You’d clenched your thighs together, tongue eager to lick him… every-fucking-where — the burn of it felt on the muscle’s tip.

“Isn’t that something you do with a boyfriend, though? Not casual sex with a good friend, one of your best-friends?”

And you nod, vision swimming with shapes. Had you messed up? Fuck it. “It is.” Is what you’d responded with, taking the packet from him and tossing it with the bag back onto the table. The movie was rolling credits in the background and you were watching Steve’s dotted jugular as he swallowed, showcasing those tendons, all the way up to that stubble bitten jawline, dotted with freckles and moles.

“And who is your boyfriend, honey?” He had to hear you say it. If it’s what he thought it was, or you’d simply break his heart and move on to this guy. Could he really believe in a good thing again?

You leapt off that faithful precipice, years and feelings following, eyes locking, gaze unrelenting. “I was hoping it would be you.”

He was obviously choked up, orbs alight with mirth and excitement, among other things. “Funny that you mention that, because I’ve been hoping for the exact same thing.”And he’d fallen into your arms, seizing you with a kiss, noses nudging, tongues eager and messy. Clothes couldn’t come off fast enough.

The king sized condom lays unopened on your plush blush rug. Having fallen out of Steve’s wallet, that had also tumbled from his jean pocket in haste. Everything was out of control in the best possible way. You could’ve sworn you died a few minutes prior and came back as immortal — able to see through particles that floated on the air, hear cars, horns, music from houses all across town, smell the leaves that clung to the trees, damp with rain water and Autumn air. Your eyes roll back, perspiration damp behind the backs of your knees, where he’s got his current pinching grip, the fat of your thighs pressed into your tits, squishing them.

You realize in the moment, that you truly loathe condoms. Because this? Feeling that wet pre-cum smear down his shaft and around your opening as he pushed himself into you without a barrier for the first time, it was an indescribable experience. Each ridge, every vein, so hot, soft, and fucking, soaking wet. You aren’t sure where he ends and you begin. It hurts like hell, aches in the deepest parts of you, a place you know that he could easily put a child if you slipped up on your only remaining protection.

That thought makes you tighten around him, cream spilling out and further slicking back the curls gathered at his base. He drops your thighs, sweat-slick pelvis smashing into yours, stimulating your swollen clit. His chest hair scrapes against your pebbled nipples, making you arch your back and your toes curl, legs locking around his lower waist. He whines, palm coming up to grasp at your breast, calloused thumb strumming around your areola. “God, honey, your fucking nipples were made for my mouth to suck on.”

And he’s descending, his lips closing over one, tongue flicking and stimulating. You cry out, hand fisting into his honey streaked, chestnut locks. His shoulders work and bend, the dips and freckles and moles visible, glittering with the salt of sweat, his gold chain swaying out from his hairy chest and back again when he stops, nose bumping yours, hot breath on your mouth. “This pussy was made for my cock.”

And holy hell, his vocalizing focus doesn’t cease. “Who took your virginity, honey?” You both know it wasn’t him. But you are well aware what he’s getting at, and as he gives a harsh snap, those full and fat balls smacking your slick ass, you lose further coherency. “That’s right,” he’s speaking again. “They don’t matter, but I do.”

You weren’t aware that you could make the noises that you are. Only able to speak once Steve’s tugging himself and pulling out, stringing from your cunt to his shaft, a squelch echoing. You both groan, emptiness already jumpstarted. You plead for him. “Please, Stevie, need you! Put it back in —“

“Say it, say you’re just a hole for me to fill. That you’re only mine, baby.”

“I… Fuck! Stevie, all my holes are only yours, I’m only yours!”

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, before his jaw drops open and he whimpers. His hand leaves your breast and slides across your sternum, your collarbone, and settles at your neck. You nod to encourage, and those defined digits wrap around your throat.

“Tell me you love these big hands, sweetheart. Because they’re for you. They belong to you!”

“Want them all over me, Steve. All the time. Can’t get enough of you.”

He’s holding firm to his cock, stroking and teasing. You lick your lips as you stare at it, drooling. Reaching down, you tap his wrist (his arm, all muscles and tendons, thick and available to trace with your tongue), as he presses the thick red head into your clit, smearing the combination of you two all around. You mewl in appreciation, legs stretching so far apart that your muscles protest. He’s speaking next, panting out, “Like that? Hey, look at me. He grabs your chin, thumb tugging down your bottom lip. “Like. That?”

Your lip releases with a plop.

“Yes, yes! Don’t stop, Steve, never wanna not feel you again, baby boy!”

“That’s a good girl, that’s my girl.” He circles your sore opening and slips back inside with a loud, wet ease. You bite back the burning pain, welcoming the damp tears of pleasure along your lashes.

Your manicured nails cling to his back, his chest gliding along yours, heartbeat to hammering heartbeat. It’s frantic whispers and begging cries. And when he’s close to coming, you find his cheek with one hand, holding. “For the record, you’ve never been casual to me, Steve Harrington.”

// Eat me paragraph //

2K notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 1 year

Text

Truth or dare

Pairing: Mobster!Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader

Side pairings: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark x Pepper Potts

Characters: Sam Wilson, Sarah Wilson, Clint Barton, Peter Parker

Warnings: angst, Steve being an asshole, mentions of arranged marriage, strong female leads, crack, redemption

A/N: I wrote a hopeful ending. Not a fluffy one.

“Steve, why don’t you wear the blue suit? You know the one I bought some weeks ago. It’ll match the dress I’m going to wear tonight,” you look your husband up and down, smirking as he looks stunning in the suit he chose to wear.

“We won’t match,” Steve is grumpy tonight. He’s usually gentler and softer around you. “No ladies tonight. This meeting is about business and forming an even stronger bond. Things you don’t know shit about.”

“But-“ you frown deeply. “Pepper said she’ll be there. Natasha and Sarah will come. Darcy will bring her better half too.”

He sighs so deeply you fear he’ll stop breathing. “Fine. It’s a meeting for wives,” he waves you off with one flick of his wrists.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Steve?” you are confused as hell. “The ring on my finger means I’m your wife. I think I didn't get the memo we got divorced.”

“Our marriage was an arrangement to help your father out,” he bites back. His tone is filled with venom, and you flinch when he steps toward you. “Do you know why I agreed on this marriage?”

“My father was in trouble and had the money to get him out of said trouble. You wanted me in return,” you meekly reply. It’s the first time you don’t feel comfortable around your husband.

“No. I wanted to stop looking for someone I can fuck. I married you to have a warm place to put my dick. So, you can stop trying so hard to be a good wife. You are all I want. A warm body for me to use.”

You visibly flinch at the blow he just threw at you. That hurt. His words cut so deep you are not sure your heart is still beating.

Arranged or not. Your marriage was special to you. You cherished the bond you believed you have with your husband. Now he claims to not even love you.

It takes you a moment to push the tears away and keep the sob down your throat. You clear your throat and put on your best-faked smile.

“Well, then I can stop trying, Steven,” your voice is even, but inside you are dying. “You should’ve told me so much sooner. I wasted so much time on this marriage. What a shame.”

Steve watches you straighten the dress you are wearing. A dream of blue and silk. His favorite color.

You sigh deeply as you look down at your body. “This dress was fucking expensive, and I can’t return it. Maybe I can sell it on eBay or shit,” you shrug. “Some other women will kill for a second-hand designer dress like this.”

He swallows thickly as you kick off your heels and make your way toward the bathroom. “Have fun with your friends and allies. I hope Pepper is not too disappointed I’m not going to be around. We had plans. You know.”

You enter the bathroom and silently close the door. As you sink to the ground and cradle your face in the palms of your hands, Steve leaves the room.

He slams the door shut, and curses.

“How could I be so wrong? He only ever wanted to use me…”

“Hey, where’s your lovely wife?” Sam cocks his head to search the room for you. “Steve? Where is Y/N?”

“At home, where she can’t disturb business. She knows her place now,” your husband bites back. He scrunches up his nose and shrugs as Pepper and the other women gasp audibly.

“Punk don’t tell me that you took Rumlow’s comment to heart,” Bucky sizes his friend up. He frowns as Steve tells his best friend what happened tonight. “He said that you got soft to fuck with you. He was all over Y/N that night. She turned him down, you idiot!”

“Steve, no!” Sam runs one hand down his face, groaning loudly. “You got us in big trouble! My sister will murder you and me…maybe even all of us!”

Sam points at Sarah who already makes her way toward the other women in the room. Pepper’s head snaps toward Tony, and Natasha, well she opens her clutch to get a knife out.

“Oh-fuck! I won’t ever get laid ever again. Natasha will castrate all of us and make it look like an accident if she gets to know what you did,” Bucky almost whines when his wife and partner in crime stalks toward him.

Tony panics as his wife gets the gun she hides in her clutch out. “We are fucked guys,” he hiccups. “It seems like someone messed with Y/N!”

“It was him!” all men point at Steve. They take a step back and pray their wives won’t punish them for the shit Steve pulled. “We didn’t know.”

Clint starts sweating, he swallows audibly as his wife is ready to rip him a new one. “I swear, we didn’t have anything to do with this. Rumlow said that Steve got weaker and softer. He blamed Y/N for it.”

“Brock Rumlow is not one of us,” Natasha snaps at Clint. “What he says or does is of no interest to us. But—” she points her knife at Steve, “this bastard dared to hurt Y/N. So…we will hurt him.”

“Agreed,” Pepper smirks darkly. “Ladies…get him…”

“Do you remember when you married Y/N?” Natasha circles Steve like a lion waiting to pounce on their prey. “Didn’t she look beautiful in her wedding gown? All for you, you moron.”

“Yeah,” he splutters. “You have to understand, a man my stand can’t let a woman rule his life. I need to make sure no one damages my reputation. If not, people will think I'm easy prey. Just like my family and friends.”

“You’re not an easy target because your friends protect you,” Pepper snaps at Steve. “Because all of us are a family we protect each other. We welcomed Y/N into this family, and you hurt our sister.”

“Damn right,” Sarah slaps the back of Sam’s head. “Don’t you have anything to say to your friend, Sammy?”

“Steve…uh…maybe you should go home and fix things with Y/N?” Sam offers. “I bet she’s crying her eyes out right now.”

Tony rolls his eyes and groans loudly. “You’re not helpful at all, Wilson.”

“You may think you and your allies rule this world,” Natasha clicks her tongue. “You are dead wrong.” She sneers as Bucky, Steve, and Tony glare at her.

“We, the women behind all of you make sure no war breaks out. Do you know how often an afternoon tea with one of our enemies’ wives saved your ungrateful asses?”

Natasha slaps the back of Bucky’s head. “Because in the end, you are all just angry children trying to get a new toy. Rumlow’s fiancé will set him straight too. We called her, his mother, and every female family member we could reach.”

“Oh-uh…he’s fucked too,” Bucky chuckles. “At least he will go down with all of us.”

I’m going to experience a dry spell,” Tony sighs deeply. “Again…Thanks, Rogers. Thank you so very much for fucking with your wife.”

“You!” Sarah points at Steve. “You will go home and apologize to Y/N. If she sheds only one more tear because of you, you’re going to lose more than your reputation.”

“BALLS!” Pepper exclaims. “We will cut them off.”

“Along with your dick,” Natasha grunts. “Now, off and you better make things up to her.”

“Darling?” Steve silently tiptoes inside the mansion. He has a huge bouquet of roses in his arms. “Baby doll? Uh-I’m back home. Doll? Y/N?”

He sighs as you don’t run toward him. Usually, you would drop everything and run into his arms to pepper kisses all over his face. Or drop to your knees to get your hands on his dick. Depends on your mood.

“Sir, Mr. Rogers,” Peter, the youngest member of Steve’s organization stutters. “Mrs. Rogers retreated to one of the guest rooms.”

“What?”

“She said that you could have the bedroom and that you can visit her when you feel the need…” Peter’s face turns crimson as he must tell his boss about all the things you told him. “Marriage duties…uh…Sir…please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck’s sake, Rumlow,” Steve grunts. He pushes the roses into Peter’s hands. “Put them in a vase and bring them to my wife. Tell her to come back to the bedroom.”

“Sir. I think…”

“I don’t pay you to think,” Steve yells now. “She will come back, or I’ll make her come back. It’s up to her.”

“Sir…I think you should…”

“One more word and you can look for a new job.”

Steve storms off. He’s fuming. There he was, believing you lie awake, waiting for him to come home and make things up to you. But no. You moved out of your shared room to be a brat…

“Mrs. Rogers, good morning,” one of the maids' chirps. “Do you want to make breakfast for Mr. Rogers again?” She smiles softly.

In silence, you pass your husband sitting at the kitchen counter without even looking at him.

“No. Someone thinks that I should stop trying to be a good wife. I’ll go for an apple. You can ask Mr. Rogers if he wants breakfast this morning.”

You open the fridge to get a bottle of water. Steve flinches as you slam the door shut. He watches you grab an apple and leave the kitchen before he can even say a single word.

“Sir, do you want breakfast?” the maid meekly asks. She doesn’t know what happened between you and your husband. But she knows it’s better to duck your head and stay out of Steve Rogers’ business.

“No. I’m already fed up,” he grunts and gets up from the stool, knocking it over. “Take the day off. All of you. I need some time with my wife…”

Steve enters the living room, huffing as you pump up the volume. Lily Ellen yells ‘Fuck you’ at him, and he makes a face.

“We need to talk.”

You ignore his presence, even shy away when he sits next to you on the sofa.

“Doll, look at me.”

You don’t look at him. It hurts too damn much to look at the man you believed is an angel when in reality he’s a cruel demon.

“I want to talk to my wife,” he groans as you shut off the TV and get up from the sofa. You don’t speak, or at least look at him.

He’s left behind with fond memories of the last time you watched a movie together. You were seated on his lap and played with his hair.

Steve tried to convince you to watch the movie but you crawled off his lap to open his fly. You got his dick out to play with little Steve while he struggled to focus on the movie.

He closes his eyes, basking in the memory of your pouty lips when you insisted on sucking his dick. Steve gave in. As so often. You only had to bat an eyelash and he caved in.

“Sir, Mr. Rogers," Peter pokes his head inside. He feels his cheeks heat up as Steve cups his crotch. “Do you want me to drive Mrs. Rogers?”

“Drive…what?” Steve realizes what he was doing and drops his hand from his crotch as he stares at Peter. “What are you talking about?”

“She said something about lawyers."

Steve hurriedly steps inside the guest room, watching you undress. “What are you doing? Doll, I tried to talk to you and now you are…”

“What the fuck? Can a woman not change clothes without you creeping on me?” you snap at Steve. “Get out!”

“You love it when I watch you undress.”

“I made you believe I do,” you chuckle darkly. “I’m damn skilled at faking things. Aren't I?" you ask as you glance at Steve. “All these times I pretended you made me cum or turned me on? I should get a fucking Oscar.”

“Doll, don’t go there,” he warns.

“I had to play with my toys before you came home to get wet for you. I never wanted to marry you. And I never had feelings for you.”

Steve knows you are lying. The way you tend to his wounds after a fight, gentle yet determined tells a different story. You always worried about him.

After a particularly hard day, or rather after you tended to a deep gash on his lower back you wouldn’t let him out of sight for a week. You clung to him like you were glued to his hips.

“Why not? All you want from me is a dripping hole, right?” you wrinkle your nose to push the tears away. “I’m nothing to you.”

He steps closer to you and places his hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, I’m sorry for the stupid things I said. You know that I only tried to protect my reputation.”

“I will go on a short vacation with Pepper, Sarah, Darcy, Natasha, and Okoye. If you need to get off in the meantime, use your hand, Steven. I think you’ll remember how to jerk off by the end of my vacation.”

“Vacation…what?”

He gasps when you shove his hand off your shoulder. “If you would excuse me now, I need to pack a few things for my little getaway…”

Steve watches you storm out of the guest room. He huffs and curses his damn pride. If only he didn’t listen to Brock Rumlow.

“I didn’t have sex for three weeks thanks to you, Steve!” Bucky complains loudly. “Natasha and I do it daily. Now. Nothing. Not even a handjob!”

Tony nods in agreement. “Same.”

“Don’t ask me,” Clint grumbles. “I will never see a boob in my life.”

“Our wives are officially on strike,” Tony buries his face in his hands. “Pepper said they won’t do shit for us, or with us if you don’t make things up to Y/N.”

“Do something, punk! I want to have sex in this decade again!” Bucky threatens. “If not, I’ll make your life living hell!”

“How? She refuses to talk to me, Buck! I tried to apologize, and she decided to go on vacation with your wife and the others. I tried,” Steve replies.

“Try harder then, punk.”

Steve gives his friend a stern look before deciding it’s time to get his wife back. He won’t back down now. “I’ll get my girl back. No matter what!”

“Steven Grant Rogers! Why are you here, in my room covered in blood?” you put your hands on your hips as you drink your husband’s appearance in. “Why are you hurt?”

His tie hangs losely around his neck. Someone ripped his shirt open. Steve’s hair is a mess, and his face had to endure a few punches at least.

“I got into a fight with security at the spa,” he huffs. “They are damn tough for security guards at a spa! I told them I want to see my wife.”

“Well, it’s their job to keep creeps out of here,” you sass. “I see now they did a poor job of keeping you out.”

“I’m not some creep, Y/N.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives you a puppy dog look. “I came here to apologize again. You know I didn’t mean a thing I said that night.”

“You sure about that? Because it sounded like you are damn serious to me that night,” you quip and turn your back on Steve. “Maybe you should file for divorce. A hooker is cheaper than a wife.”

“I was wrong,” he moves toward you. Steve sighs as you shy away again. “One thing wasn’t a lie.”

You sniff, ready for another blow.

“You are all I need," he says as he wraps his arms around your waistline. “I would’ve helped your father a thousand times to get you, doll. You know that. Deep inside your fractured heart, you know that I love you.”

“I’m not sure about it.”

“How about I reassure you that I love you, Y/N?” he offers. “I’ll take a whole month off and we will fly to Paris just like you always wanted.”

“I’ll consider your suggestion,” you won’t give in so easily. Steve hurt you deeply. Even worse. He made you feel unwanted, unloved, and worthless. “For now, all I can offer is to fix the mess you call your face.”

He grins. “That’s a start…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mobster!steve rogers x fem!reader #mobster!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #mafia au

722 notes · View notes

espinosaurusrexex · 11 months

Text

All the Words I Can't Say

College!SteveRogers x Female!Reader AU

summary: Steve can't help it. He is just so enchanted that all he ever draws is you. Too bad he will never actually talk to you, though - that's too scary. But Bucky always says he has to face his fears some day...

a/n: I have a playlist for College!SteveRogers. It was originally for another fic I’ve written, but apparently I can’t not imagine him awkward and love struck in any college universe. So this serves as a general College Stevie AU vibe :)

word count: 2.6k

warnings: awkward, love-dazed Stevie, fluff?, swearing, and so sorry (but it's giving slight stalker vibes... it really wasn't my intention he's just so obsessed)

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒈𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ･

He dreams in color. They are the words he can’t say, painted on a canvas.

Blue fades in clear water. Like a feeling warming you for a second, a spark. It’s beautiful, Steve thinks. He loves it when his brush does it. He feels like a wizard when the pigment dissolves into the clear again - as if it had never been there before. Hidden in the masses of molecules, disguised only as long as it stays in its entity. Not too much - too much is never good.

Another drop lands in the water, but now it starts to taint in washed color. Steve still loves it - it’s still magical. But there is something he loves even more. And it’s right there in front of him - not really. But almost. Depicted in oranges and browns, purples and blues, yellows, greens and reds - your eyes stare back at him with adoration. And Steve’s heart skips. Then it clenches and stops. It always does that... when the admonition flashes in his mind.

It’s not real.

He has to remind himself too often. But he can’t help it. It’s too comforting to live in his fantasies - warm and safe - all he ever needed. Now it hurts with every stroke he dares. It’s not like he hasn’t done it dozens of times before. A notebook filled with sketches hidden beneath the mattress in his bedroom serves as proof of this. It never does anything other than remind him of what will never be a reality, though. You in his arms, you with love painted on your face for him.

His thumb strokes over the dried paint on the canvas but a part of his finger still smudges it. Damn it, he hasn’t checked his fingers. Now there’s purple on your face, out of place and destroying - but daring all the same. It looks quite beautiful beneath your eyes, makes them shine brighter, makes your smile softer somehow.

Steve sighs. The purple streak is going to stay for now. He washes his brushes out in the sink, recapping the bottles of paint scattering the studio he’s in. And before long, he flicks the lights off and locks the door. Professor Potts gave him the key for ‘when he needed to let it all out again’. He needs to show her some work soon.

It’s dark out when he reaches the path to his dorm. Stars shine as bright as they can against the unrelenting city lights. It’s hopeless. Just like Steve’s track of time when he paints you, the stars don’t stand a chance. It’s well over midnight when Steve unlocks his room. Bucky would be up. He has been out, drinking with Sam. But even if he would have stayed home, he probably couldn’t sleep... like always. So, Steve doesn’t bother being quiet.

“Another late-night date with the canvas?” The brunette peers over his phone, though his eyes hold concern for Steve. He has told him hundreds of times before. Go out. Meet people. Don’t dig yourself deeper into this hopeless crush. But Steve never listened. He likes his hopelessness. And, besides, even if he tried to get over you, he knows it wouldn’t be possible.

His smile finds the ground before he disappears into the bathroom where his sunken eyes stare back at him. He would be dreaming about you tonight - he always does when he paints you. And he looks forward to it, too.

❁ ❁ ❁

You pass by him once again. It’s weird, because Steve swears he’s smiling, but his mouth won’t listen. He looks like an idiot. If only he could talk to you - Yeah, no. that isn’t an option. Because just thinking about it makes his heart go crazy fast. It’s scary because you’re so beautiful. And he knows he shouldn’t size himself down to leagues and scales, but how can he not when literally all of college is all about it? Bucky says he should grow some balls and ask you out or leave it be. But here’s the thing: he can’t leave it be - and he can most definitely not talk to you. It’s too scary - too foreign.

His brush dips back into lilac. He embraces the smudge now. Hated it for a while - but then it grew on him. Now it needs more shades. His tongue darts out as he tries to precisely draw along the curve of your cheekbone. He gets a little excited and his hand wants to shake, but he can hold it steady, he has practiced it enough.

Now another stroke. And another. Steve finds amusement in the color pouring onto his canvas. The smudge might have been the best mistake he’s ever made. Then again, there are no mistakes in painting. Accidents are meant to happen. They show the painter what their mind wants to see.

“Is that... me?” Steve’s hands go flying and the brush throws purple all around him.

Oh no. Code red code red code red - that’s a fucking code red!

You just stand there as Steve flinches with the wooden brush hitting the floor, paint sprinkles covering your face - stunned, silent. This is a nightmare. He’s holding his breath. Really, there’s nothing he can do but hope he won’t pass out from the way your eyes bore into his wide and shocked. Though there is a softness in them still. You’re not angry - at least he doesn’t think so. Maybe, if he’s still a little longer, he’ll just disappear.

That doesn’t happen. Obviously. Because god hates him.

His mouth opens, but there is not a sound formed by his tongue. He should apologize - he needs to apologize. God, but your eyes look too pretty with the purple accentuating your skin. He’s not even mad about it. He could look at it forever, look at you forever. Not that he doesn’t already do exactly that for the majority of his day. But still.

“Are you okay?” You blink out of your trance and now Steve is panicking even more. “No need to apologize, by the way, I’m fine. Just got caught in a paint grenade.” Your eyes wander down your body and now Steve can see the fine blotches of lilac seeping into your shirt. It's white - shit.

“I-” He’s trying, he really is. But something isn’t working up there. He just short circuits - wires smoking and all. It’s a complete mess. No wonder he can’t talk. And then your pretty gaze - he just needs to feel it and he’s melting away and, oh shit did you just see the painting? There are several stages of disaster but on a measure from failing a test to your mom dying, this is a six on the Richter scale. Why can’t he just say something?

He opens his mouth again and a weird noise escapes his tongue. What the fuck was that? By the look on your face, he can tell you’re just as surprised. But then your shoulders sag and you sigh.

“I shouldn’t have startled you like that, that was my fault. But this,” your gesture towards your shirt, “this is yours.” He swallows thickly, you seem to be really mad about that shirt. “You really speared nothing but that canvas.”

Now his body turns to the project propped up behind him. The canvas, right. You stare back at him, and now that you actually stand so close before him, he’s impressed at how lifelike he made your portrait. He’s surrounded by you, staring him down, but somehow your presence calms him. One last look at the purple smidge beneath your painted eyes and the breath returns to his lounges.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says when he spins back to you.

A small smile is placed on your lips and it reminds him of the series of sketches he made while you were laughing with your friends the other day. “Oh, so you can talk.”

“Sometimes,” he mutters to himself but he’s sure you’ve heard it. He turns to look at the painting again as he curses his carelessness. He can’t even stop you when you step forward to have a closer look at the artwork yourself. It’s too late now, anyway.

You reach forward but halt just in time. Unlike Steve, you didn’t smear the paint on your fingers all over the piece. “It’s very good.”

Of course, it is. He puts everything in his paintings. All the things he can’t say. And, as he just noticed, that’s a whole lot.

“Thank you.” It’s small but it slips past his lips with ease. He never likes to accept compliments, but it’s different when you give them. He seeks your approval, especially now that you have caught him shamelessly reaping a piece of your privacy with his obsession.

Your eyes sway to him and then back to your portrait, and Steve is enchanted by the way your skin looks when the light hits it just right. He makes a mental note to draw you like this when he gets home - that is if you haven’t forbidden him to do so anymore. But who is he kidding? He’ll do it anyway, it’s an addiction.

His feet take him closer to you, and soon he’s gazing over your shoulder from a foot away, watching you watch the painting that’s looking right back at him. He’s trapped in the gaze he created and it’s taunting him: This is a mess. Then why doesn’t it feel messy?

Steve is so close to you, he can smell your shampoo, the faint remnant of the perfume you put on this morning, probably. It’s intoxicating, it draws him in and he can’t take his eyes off of you. His fingers are itching to touch you. He can imagine his hand moving your collar away to trail kisses from your shoulder to your collarbone - stop it, Steve. His face is heating up and his hands clench beside his body.

“How long have you been working on this?” You spin around now suddenly, those lively eyes stare back at him, more intense - more real than he’s used to. And Steve can’t handle it, but his body isn’t looking away either.

“Not that long,” he whispers as his focus lands on a moderate splatter of lilac beneath your eye. It’s not a lie, he’s memorized your features. Steve doesn’t even register your answer, he’s fixated on that little purple drop of color on your skin. It has a hold on him, he can’t do anything.

“Why are you staring like that? Do I have something on my face?” It’s a silly joke, but Steve can’t tell you that you do. It would risk you swiping it away. And he can’t have that. Not when he wants to do it himself. He can’t do that, though, the purple spot is mocking him. And then, suddenly, like a bystander, he watches his hand move towards your face. He can’t stop it, it’s like an accident - he just needs to look, but he can’t do anything about it either.

When his thumb finally makes contact with your skin, the world around him freezes again. There you are, so close before him, he’s touching your face, and it’s nothing like he thought it would be. He’s calm - so calm. Why is that? What is wrong with him?

Steve can hear your breath hitch when his fingers settle beneath your ear, his thumb resting next to the droplet of paint. He can finally feel his heart beating again, it’s getting faster now. He moves to wipe the lilac from your face, but he’s betrayed once again. The paint leaves a smudge beneath your eye and Steve is having flashbacks from the night before.

Now you look just like his painting - his vision mixed with the perfect reality presented before him and he’s not sure, he can handle it. The world seems to spin when you take his hand from your face and look at the color on his finger. Then your eyes flick back up and his gaze locks with yours. Is this really happening? It feels so surreal.

The moment takes over Steve’s brain. It’s like he’s in one of those movies Sam likes to watch. There should be some piano queued in a second and then the main characters lean in to finally kiss in the rain. This won’t happen here, this is reality. But somehow, Steve isn’t so sure about it as soon as he thinks it.

Your eyes are still staring into his, wide, and it’s as if you’re not quite sure what’s happening either. If you feel anything like him at the moment, you must be captivated by the atmosphere that has been built around you. Steve is sure it can’t just be his big fat crush on you. It’s something new, something that just happened - the moment you took his hand in yours.

Oh wow, you are leaning in. Panic surges up his spine. He can’t do it, not like this. This isn’t supposed to happen. You’re the princess and he’s the rat living in the peasant’s walls. But suddenly you're lips connect with his and it’s so simple, so effortless. He’s questioning everything at this point. Maybe you’re a witch and he’s a black cat. You are a little wicked, after all. And the way this feels - you and him - it’s like you belong together.

The hand that is still holding his guides him to your waist where it’s placed with promise. Steve can feel the paint transferring to the white cotton beneath his fingers but he’s too busy trying not to faint. He has done this before. He knows how to kiss, but he feels like a toddler with training wheels now that he gets to actually taste you. When your hand snakes around the back of his head, however, he regains consciousness. Your fingers press into his skin and he finally moves his lips in unison with yours. He can taste the minty aftertaste of gum on your tongue when he dares to explore it and he’s sinking into you like melted chocolate. Your breath tickles his cheek and when he pulls you a little closer to him, a surprised huff escapes your kiss.

Then your hand slips from his neck and pushes gently against his chest. He pulls back, dazed eyes staring back at you. He’s yearning for more, whatever this was, and he’s chasing to stay in the universe you catapulted him into for a second longer.

Your gaze travels over to the portrait again, then back to him and your thumb grazes over his sweater. “You owe me a new shirt.”

“Anything you want.” It’s a husky whisper in which his eyes stay fixated on the movement of your lips. He would say yes to about anything right now. His brain is mush.

“It’s a date, then.” It looks like you want to nod, but you’re still staring at him with those tranced eyes - Steve can’t get enough of it.

He swallows thickly. “Okay.”

And then you just smile and leave him standing there, longing for a second more of your presence. But you have turned the corner faster than he can register and that’s when reality is setting back into his brain. It’s like he is snapped out of a vivid daydream, but he can still taste the mint on his tongue and he still has the purple smear on his finger. This was real, this actually happened.

His eyes get caught on the painting once more. Intensely staring back at him with mockery: You’re an idiot. He knows that.

“Shut up,” he whispers to the drying paint on the canvas as he moves to pick up his brush again. But now that he has had the real thing, his drawings don’t do you justice anymore.

I know it's a little weird, but I like it. I hope you do, too. You are welcome to share your thoughts - reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 💙

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@fangirl-swagg @mi-amoree1111 @lastwandastan @royalwritersoftheuniverses @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @broadwaybabe18 @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @simpxinnie @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar

410 notes · View notes

angelbaby-fics · 5 months

Note

i was just wondering if you would do one with (little reader with cg!stucky) being sick with covid ? because i have it right now…fever, cough, horrible body chills, body aches, struggle to breathe….it would mean a lot 🤍

Sick Day

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: My darling, I'm so so sorry this took so long!! Hopefully you've gotten all better by now but for anybody who needs it I hope this can provide some comfort!

You woke up coughing, every muscle in your body contracting as you tried to catch your breath but to no avail. Steve and Bucky came rushing in as soon as they heard a change in your breathing pattern, their enhanced hearing tuned specifically to you. They were at your bedside and soothing you before you’d even opened your eyes. Bucky sat you up and rubbed your back while Steve fluffed the pillows up behind you.

“Easy baby, easy,” Steve whispered.

“We’ve got you doll, just breathe.” “I can’t!” You choked out.

Bucky held your arms up above your head, breathing deeply and encouraging you to follow his lead. Steve fished his phone out of his pocket and texted Bruce. Living in a big compound with all your coworkers definitely had its perks when it came to times like this. Your on-call doctor and beloved family friend was already in your room by the time your cough had quelled. Each breath you took was shallow, the hot air scraping through your lungs like sandpaper.

Bruce held a device to your head, some sort of Stark invention that scanned your body inside and out with a nearly magical ease. Your temperature was skyrocketing in your daddies’ very hands, and it broke their hearts. When your diagnosis came up on Bruce’s screen, he tried his hardest not to change his expression, but Bucky immediately noticed his facial features make the tiniest shift. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He asked, hoping his desperation wouldn’t scare you and make your breathing worse again. Bruce shifted the screen over to show Steve and Bucky, who were thankful you were too small to read right now. Even though it had been obvious to them what you were stricken with, the symptoms all too telling, they had naively hoped it would be something easier, something mild, a 24 hour bug you could power through with the aid of the best medicines money could buy. But the five letter word across the screen confirmed their fears.

You weren’t like Steve and Bucky. You weren’t genetically enhanced like them, you weren’t at the pinnacle of health like them, and you weren’t invincible like you believed they were. They felt that right now more than ever, with you shuddering in their arms, glancing between either of them with baleful eyes, suffering in the place you should feel safest. Bruce tried his best to calm their fears, and thus, yours.

“Hey don’t worry you guys. According to my chart here, we’re all up to date on vaccinations.” Then he turned to you, grabbing your warm hand in his. “Besides, you’re a tough kid. You’re gonna fight this off like a champ!”

You smiled for the first time that morning.

Steve looked down at you, mirroring your gentle smile. Bucky, however, kept his eyebrows furrowed. He’d spent his entire childhood helping Steve whenever he got sick, but he felt so helpless now.

“I’m gonna head back to the lab real quick and get the medicine, shouldn’t be more than two minutes.” Bruce said, getting up and leaving.

You started to suck on your thumb before Steve took it out of your mouth and replaced it with a pacifier. He smiled at you, his blue eyes crinkling, and looked over to see Bucky scowling.

“You couldn’t have stopped it, Buck. Babies get sick, that's how it goes sometimes.”

“I know,” Bucky replied, “that doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

A minute later, Bruce knocked on the open door as he reentered the room. He shook a bottle of pink colored liquid in his hand.

“A teaspoon of this at breakfast and another before bed oughta do it. You should start seeing a reduction in symptoms within the next 24 hours.” Your face scrunched up at the thought of yucky medicine twice a day.

“I know, right?” Bruce smiled at you. “They say it’s ‘strawberry flavored’ but I think whoever said that has never eaten human food before.” That cheered you right up. You always loved the way Bruce laughed and joked with you as if he were one of your peers instead of your daddies.

“Thanks, Bruce.” Steve said, and Bucky finally broke his scowl to give the doctor a tight smile. Bruce didn’t mind, he knew how protective your Baba could get, and that it wasn’t a reflection of the quality of his medical services.

“Always, Cap.” Bruce replied to the both of them, and he began to head towards the door again. “You know the drill, call me if you need anything.” Then he turned to you. “Get well soon, superstar!”

Now that it was just the three of you again, the excitement of a friend’s visit wore off, and you suddenly became aware of the deep ache in your bones. You slumped back against Bucky’s torso, and he snaked a protective arm around you.

“Don’t wanna be sick,” you mumbled, your energy draining by the second.

“I know, babydoll.” Steve replied. “The sooner you take your medicine, the sooner you’ll start to feel better.” “Don’t wanna take medicine either!” You said slightly louder, anxiety twisting your voice into a whine.

“Shh… I know, baby.”

“No you don’t! Daddies never get sick!” You cried out with a pout.

“That wasn’t always the case.” Bucky said, a mischievous grin breaking through his gruff mood. “Your daddy used to get sick all the time! And guess who used to take care of him.”

Bucky pointed a thumb towards himself.

“Really? Baba was takin’ care of Daddy?”

“It’s true!” Steve said. “Before we met Bruce, Buck was the best nurse I ever had!”

“And just like you, he’d have to take yucky medicine, even when he didn’t want to. Sometimes it took a lot of convincing.”

“How?” You asked, the discomfort in your body taking a backseat to your delight at being regaled with stories from your Daddies’ past.

“Well…” Bucky glanced over at Steve, waiting for an affirmative nod before he went on, “I would keep peppermints in my bookbag, so Stevie could always have one to get the taste of the medicine out of his mouth.” Just as expected, your eyes went wide.

“So if I takes my medicine I gets a candy?” You asked excitedly, making both the men smile and laugh.

“How about this,” Steve offered up, “Every time you take your medicine, you can have a piece of candy, as long as you’re honest and tell Daddies if it makes your tummy upset, okay? And when you’re all better and have no fever, we’ll take you for a special day out with just the two of us as a prize for being so brave!”

#little!reader #stucky x little!reader #agere fic #bucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky x little!reader #daddy!stucky #daddy!bucky #daddy!steve #steve x little!reader #cg!steve #cg!bucky #cg x little!reader #chloe's fic

223 notes · View notes

lovelybarnes · 2 years

Text

secrets and slip ups- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, steve rogers, wanda maximoff, natasha romanoff, tony stark

warnings: secret dating, started this so fcking long ago i kind of hate how i wrote it

about: secret dating

warm skin resides underneath your palm, tender fingers lightly rubbing shapes into bucky’s chest to get a glimpse of the striking blue underneath fluttering black lashes; his eyes are always so vibrant in the morning.

rather than saying his name in a careful whisper, you brush your lips against his sternum, kissing your way up to his neck, where you feel the gentle vibration of his hum when he begins to wake. you press a gentle thumb into the little cleft at his jaw, tilting his head down so you can plant a kiss on his nose. he blinks slowly, arms tightening around your figure as bucky accepts the love you’re peppering all over his face. his eyebrows tickle your cheek when you tilt to peck his forehead, tracing a nail over the cheekbones that nuzzle against the crook of your neck.

“good morning, honey,” you greet quietly, hesitant to break the near-silence of the comfort you reside in. bucky finally blesses you with his open eyes, the color you remember from the night before brighter in the way it always is when he wakes up. a subconscious smile tugs at your cheeks, moving to kiss his nose when he suddenly tilts his chin so your lips land on his instead.

you only hum against him, noses nudging when you begrudgingly pull away.

unwilling eyes flit to the clock next to your bed, and you hold back a small groan when you catch the time, leaning your forehead against his. you appreciate the heat of his skin, tightening your grip on him during the little time you can hold him. fingers thread in your hair, while others sink deeper into your waist, tugging you even closer.

“they’re gonna start waking up in an hour or something,” you let bucky know, observing the planes of his face as the sun hits him, adding a shine you don’t want to leave to his already lovely eyes. “and they’re executing us in three.”

“that’s plenty of time,” he mumbles, eyes already closing again as he settles himself in your arms, unwilling to let go. “‘m not in a without-you mood right now.”

you let a soft laugh bubble from your lips. “me neither,” you agree, running a finger along his eyebrow. “but they’re gonna get suspicious.” they as in steve and his random habit of waking bucky up to go run. it’s happened before that he arrives to find the room lacking its owner, and your excuse barely cut it.

“let ‘em.” bucky shrugs, kissing you again, the grip he has on you tightening as if he’s thinking about it, thinking about the possibility of this not being hidden away behind locked doors—holding you in public, loving you freely like he has all the time in the world, all the support, none of the restrictions.

you allow yourself to indulge in the possibility for a second, lids fluttering shut as you relish in what you could have, but reality looms over your hazy fantasy. “we can’t,” you groan against him, and he knows, slumping in your arms.

“how’s this gonna be when i ask you to marry me? ‘you gonna marry me at a courtroom and not tell anyone? live in my apartment without anyone knowing?”

it heats your cheeks to know that bucky has thought about a future with you in it, but you push it away. “by that time,” you start patiently, hopefully. “we’ll be free of this. no rules, no hiding.”

“‘don’t think you realize how not far away this is right now, dove,” bucky mutters, making your breath falter and your heart beat faster, a sigh falling from your lips as you kiss him again before he ducks his head and nuzzles into you.

“this is not for forever, buck, i promise.”

“i know,” bucky groans against your chest. “i know we have to. ‘doesn’t mean i’m happy about it. because i’m not.”

your lips kiss the top of his head. “i know. me neither, honey.”

you let yourself revel in the moment with him for a minute more, and, as if he was reading your mind the entire time, he stands when you’re barely about to tap a finger against freckled skin, kissing your forehead in a sweet goodbye before slipping on a shirt and sweatpants.

you sit up to watch him, bouncing to your feet when he’s about to leave to kiss him one more time. long, addicting like sugar in a way that knocks bucky off his train of thought, too preoccupied with the feeling of warm skin underneath his hands. he sighs into it, trying to not be too saddened by the thought that it’ll probably be the only one until nighttime—when he’s back in here after sneaking in, hands itching for you, lips tingling to feel yours—that isn’t a peck, where he hasn’t been pulled into closets, in the dark, in the silence, in secret. he’s blushed by the time you begrudgingly pull away purely because of the need for air, lips swollen and removed with a quiet pop.

“i love you,” you tell him, smiling at the repeated words before you let go of him, watching him silently open your door, soundlessly heading back to his room as if he’d slept there for the night, as if his sheets weren’t cold because he was wrapped in yours, in you.

you settle back in your bed, trying to ignore the fact that something is clearly missing underneath your covers.

your arm goes to bucky’s side of the bed when you blink yourself awake for the second time, a frustrated sigh slipping past your lips when you remember he’s gone. you let your head fall against the pillow, hating how unfair your situation is.

whining for one more second, you force yourself to leave the comfort of your bed, spying the clock and realizing you’re going to be late, but you don’t really care. they deserve it, you think bitterly.

you’re lazy in your movements to get ready, not feeling particularly motivated to get ready today, when your day is overflowing with boring meetings that have old white men whining about things they have no idea about. you want to roll your eyes and crawl back into your bed. you’d rather be on a mission, bullets whizzing past your head instead of doing this.

but you agreed you’d do it for bucky, who was already on probation for breaking an executive’s wrist.

after your shower, your fingers find the necklace on your dresser without your permission, a soft smile making its way to your face as you put it on. you shouldn’t be wearing it—maybe you’re being too cautious, but you live in a tower full of spies and nosy avengers who will ask who gave it to you with waggling eyebrows, refusing to accept any of the easy lies you slip to them—-but the locket is gorgeous and simple and when you look at it, you can feel the cool touch of bucky’s vibranium fingers on your neck as he clasps it closed, his other hand holding your hair back. his bright smile is projected in your vision when the pads of your fingers reach the intricate details of the necklace. it’s a genuine antique he’d found at some antique store, nearly identical to the one his father gave his mother back in the twenties.

you finger it in silent thought, eyes drifting up to your mirror. tilting your head at yourself, you close your fingers around it before tucking it into your shirt collar.

you imagine the feel of the engraved words underneath your fingers as you step out of your room, heading down to the main lobby, and thinking of lies to respond to the questions that could be asked. you test one out the moment you step out of the elevator when you find wanda on the other side.

you’re quiet as you open the door, planning on sneaking into your seat with no fuss, but it’s not your first time dealing with the avengers, and tony is standing at the conference table with his hands at his hips, a long, colorful—and unnecessary—pointer, a white plastic hand with an extended pointer finger extended loose between his fingers.

“you’re late.”

you blink and then no., “yeah. i just came back from a mission yesterday and these meetings are ridiculous. you have a stick to point at things, tony, come on.”

bucky snorts from the other side of the table, not even bothering to hide it in the way that steve tries to conceal his smile with a hand.

tony narrows his eyes at you. “it’s a hand pointer and these meetings are important. attendance required and there is an absence next to your name.”

“yeah, required for those who jump out of airplanes without parachutes and throw cars like crumpled tissues.” you look pointedly at steve.

“also for those who jump in front of their teammates when they’re getting shot at like they’re bulletproof,” tony reminds, pointing at your seat with his hand pointer. “sit.”

rolling your eyes and subconsciously rubbing at the bullet wound on your thigh, you slip into the chair next to bucky, shooting him a look when he shrugs as if to say he’s right. “shut up,” you whisper at him.

“you got in trouble,” he teases quietly.

“your fault,” you argue, shutting up when tony flips to self-sacrificial idiots and why they don’t survive on his powerpoint. you’re sure someone in hr spent time on the stupid presentation and tony decided on some creative changes.

he moves on to protocols fury left in a file on the table, and you bite back a yawn at tony’s droning, impact lost each time tony scoffs and scrunches his nose when he’s done reading and just flips away from the page. it finally turns interesting when warm fingers begin to crawl over your thigh, quickly meeting your hand.

you sneak a look at bucky out of the corner of your eye, unsurprised to find his attention falsely on tony, his real concern the feeling of your fingers as they thread with his, the heat of your thigh comforting beneath his hand.

the both of you hold hands in the same room you found out your relationship was forbidden, pushing the thought down with tender circles pressed into your skin.

it’s a few hours after the meeting and since you last saw your boyfriend, only having been able to sneak brief glimpses of each other between the day. you’re unable to help the smile that curves your lips when you finally spot his form, only resisting the urge to wrap him in a hug because it is absolutely ridiculous how much you missed him in the hours he wasn’t with you. he makes his way over to you with an easy smile, curling a “friendly” arm around your waist because he just can’t help it.

“hey doll,” he greets, offering only a look towards sam in front of you. sam’s eyes run over the both of you, making a smirk quirk at his lips, and the urge to annoy bucky strong as he pulls you back to him.

“don’t go stealing her now. i was talkin’ to her first,” sam warns, making you laugh and bucky scowl. you pat sam’s arm around you and send a subtle glance at bucky.

“she’s not yours,” he informs sam, biting back the taste of possessiveness that resides on his tongue and makes his skin tingle for your touch. it’s the most he can do.

“she could be,” sam winks at you.

you shake your head, spouting the guidelines you’d read continuously in attempt to find a loophole that didn’t exist. “not according to avenger rules or whatever. avengers can’t date each other, not after the disastrous nat and bruce relationship.”

“nah, but we would be good together,” sam argues. “we’d be a power couple,” he insists. “a power couple.”

you nod your head sadly. “too powerful. it’s why we can’t date.” bucky feels guilty at the satisfaction that runs through him, although the tinge of annoyance is streaked across his face.

just as sam is about to speak again, steve calls him over, and your eyes finally meet bucky’s without any restrictions. “hey,” you smile, moving closer to him with your hands twined together behind your back.

“hey,” he says back, edges of his lips beginning to turn up as you come closer. you look at him through your lashes, biting your lip. “yeah?”

“i think i’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell him. “the one upstairs, next to that abandoned conference room.”

bucky chuckles. “oh, doll, i think you’re confused. there’s no bathroom there.”

“oh, really?” you ask in faux surprise, shaking your head at yourself. “seems like i still get confused around here. do you mind showing me what i’m actually referring to?”

bucky agrees easily, following you into the elevator, letting you go inside first, and standing silently next to you as someone gets off. the moment the doors close, your eyes drift over to him, and in a split second, your lips are against his.

“‘missed you,” you murmur against his mouth, humming when his hands pull your hips closer.

“i’m really starting to not care if we break the rules or not,” he says between kisses.

it’s like honey how dangerous it is that you’re beginning to not care either.

it’s a while after the meetings are over and done with, and the avengers are free for the night—meaning the obligatory movie night so the super soldiers catch up on popular media and the others can throw popcorn at each other. everyone is scattered in their designated spots; wanda and vision are sitting together on a small couch next to clint, bruce is sitting on a lonely couch at the back next to an eager thor, steve and tony are across from each other with some of the others, and natasha is draped over an entire empty couch that you used to occupy with her until you moved—gradually, because you might be overly cautious, but knowing natasha, it may not be enough.

you’re on the carpet beside bucky’s legs, bent with his feet set on the short table in the middle of the room. your excuse is that no one is going to get up and walk over to you to steal yours or bucky’s snacks, and you can splay out to paw at bucky’s legs above you like a cat if you feel like it. it’s your new seat—at least until it gets dark and you can crawl up to lay on top of him, anyway.

you’re at the table, separating candy into little bowls, a suggestion made by tony after a scary movie that had him finding a month-old gummy worm in the sofa and pitching a fit; bowls are safer, he claims, and none of you feel like arguing with him seeing as he buys the candy and the couches.

as the avengers settle in, bucky alternates between looking at you and paying attention to the brewing argument about which movie the group should watch. you poke bucky’s calf to ask him if he wants skittles as tony mentions the movie he continually insists on watching no matter if no one liked it the first—or second—time.

natasha is observing the debate with interest, her brows furrowing at the absurdity. “we’re not going to watch the bet again,” she states after a while.

you nod sympatheticallyy. “come on guys, you know nat’s a little sensitive about bets after losing three to me two days ago.”

some of the avengers chuckle, and you look up to meet natasha’s eyes as she squints at you. you pause before getting on your hands and knees to crawl your way to bucky, ducking underneath one of his legs to sit between them.

bucky pats your shoulder in comfort, and the others ignore it as they get back to arguing.

you don’t bother finding a reason to move out from between him, choosing instead to settle in and watch the movie leaning against bucky’s legs. it’s a movie and a half after, when it’s dark and everyone is distracted, when bucky taps your shoulder gently, shiny blue eyes meeting yours, cold fingers finding the ones that wrap loosely around his calf. you peek out at the others, smiling when you nod at him and he carefully pulls you up until you’re nestled between him and the couch, low enough to be hidden from view.

you grin at him, pressing your lips to his nose before he tilts his chin up and your lips are on his. you hum lowly, pulling away after a second to look at him, the joy of simply being with him dulled by the soft sadness that lingers at the fact that your love had to be behind closed doors, under covers, in the dark, nonexistent to anyone else.

in that moment, you don’t care, caring only about the constellations you can see in bucky’s eyes and the glitter in his smile. it’ll be back soon, you know, but you’ll revel in the feeling of unapologetically being his for as long as your fear lacks.

bucky is warm underneath your cheek, his smile unbridled and the comfort drowning both of you until the scenes of the movie have blurred into background noise, fingers tangled together, noses nudging, settling into each other until the both of you are lulled into sleep.

it’s hours later that you open your eyes again to the sound of voices arguing. it barely registers that the noises should be further away, muffled by walls and doors when you can feel bucky’s chest rising and falling underneath your jaw and his thumb lazily wrapped around your pointer finger. you can feel heavy sets of eyes, but you aren’t startled, knowing that bucky would be able to feel them too, and if he wasn’t alarmed, you shouldn’t be either.

but then you remember the pride that burst in your chest when you finally got bucky to be completely comfortable in your presence; it took a long time to convince him that he needn’t be so alert and cautious when it was just you and him, in hidden domestic bliss.

all of his tendencies would never go away, but they were lessened enough now that he might have disregarded the conversations and the staring, so you open your eyes, hoping for the image that you’re expecting to not be the sight you actually see.

however, the avengers are staring at you, whispers cut short when they notice your eyes on them. you freeze, tensing on top of bucky as your eyes catch natasha’s, a glint in her eye that tells you you might not have been as discreet as you thought and a lifted brow that shows she’s amused.

“oh no,” you mumble softly, lifting your head up to them and trying to think of a way out of this, but what they saw was too raw, too open for someone like bucky and someone like you to be an accident.

“it’s not what you think,” you settle on, voice still hushed in order to not wake up bucky, but you can feel him beginning to stir with the gentle way you try to detangle your fingers, pulling you back sleepily. tony raises an eyebrow while steve purses his lips.

“someone owes me fifty dollars,” sam laughs, looking around at the crowd. “i don’t remember which one of you fools said he wouldn’t make a move, but you owe me fifty dollars.”

“i’m surprised you were able to hide it this long,” natasha quips. “or tried to. always no concrete proof, y/n, i have to say i’m impressed.”

“what?” you blurt, searching their faces confusedly until you land on tony’s and steve’s, cocking your head at them. “what?”

bucky wakes up then, blinking at you until he looks at the avengers, removing his hand from yours. “uh—”

“don’t even try, robocop,” tony cuts him off.

“are we fired yet?” he asks you.

“i don’t… i don’t know, i am so…” you reply, squinting at tony. “are we fired?”

“i would love to, but i don’t see a reason for that,” tony mutters.

“the… the no dating rule,” you clarify. “after nat and bruce—avengers can’t date each other.”

bruce blinks at you. “that hasn’t been a rule for a while.” his eyes dart to wanda and vision. a few features mold into surprise.

you laugh in shock. “you mean we’ve pretended like we haven’t been together for—for over three year for no reason?”

“three years?” bruce repeats, “wow, that’s kind of impressive. i think we need to update our training.”

“i thought it was one year.” natasha shrugs.

you groan in annoyance, a hand settling on bucky to help you sit up when you catch sight of steve, who has been uncharacteristically quiet on the situation, avoiding your eye. you look back at bucky, who is staring at steve, who is staring back.

you narrow your eyes at steve in suspicion until he notices and clears his throat, “i, uh.” his eyes flit back to bucky’s. “no idea,” he admits.

but you continue to observe him until you realize it, gasping. “steve knew the whole time?” you ask bucky, “i held myself back from telling natasha for the entirety of our relationship and—”

“told wanda,” bucky interrupts knowingly. “you knew natasha would find out at some point but told wanda.”

wanda bites her lip.

“i lasted longer than you did,” you point out.

“doesn’t matter anymore,” bucky sighs, throwing an arm around you. “because now, no one can tell me not to do this.” he grins before pulling you into a kiss, making the others groan around you and turn away,

“this is why we let you guys think you can’t date!”

874 notes · View notes

spicyspiders · 2 years

Text

sickly fluorescent

this probably won’t be my last story for 001, he’s so fine. if you have any requests for him or any guys from stranger things (really steve or eddie) feel free to send them! spoilers for stranger things season 4

Living at the lab sucks. It really fucking sucks. Living with a group of little kids, having a number of experiments done on a daily basis, and being surrounded by the same four walls every single day was miserable.

From the three reasons listed, being experimented on was the worst. Having to extend and push your powers everyday to the point to where your nose was bleeding and your head ached made it that you dreaded when they would come pull you out of bed every morning.

They. The workers at Hawkins. They varied. Some were mean, some were nice, and some would always have a look of pity in their eyes that would make you squirm. Mr. Ballard was different, but so was Mr. Brenner. Papa, that’s what all the other patients called him, but you refused. For one, you were an adult, and didn’t want to call a man other than your father papa. Second, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of calling Dr. Brenner by that name.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Ballard asked, pulling you from your thoughts. “You look angry,” your bedroom door shut with a soft click as the worker stepped deeper into the room. You weren’t sure if the workers were allowed in your room like this, but you didn’t really care to follow by their rules. After you found out about your powers, you learned about this facility, almost as if through magic, and voluntarily joined. Even though you joined on your own fruition, something was forcing you to stay. Every time you thought of leaving, you would begin to feel bad, like a poison had entered your system.

“I’m fine, Mr. Ballard.”

The other man chuckled softly, “I told you to call me Peter,” his voice was soft and comforting. When you entered the facility, his voice quickly became a comfort to you. It had been months since you had been physically touched that wasn’t an aggressive handling from one of the other workers, so you would take all the comfort you would get.

“Peter,” you looked up into his eyes, the hue a sickly blue color under the ugly artificial light of the facility, “I am fine.”

He smiled softly down at you before reaching into his pocket. You didn’t expect him to pull out a white handkerchief, which matched the stark witness of the color he, and what most of the other workers wore. The cloth was soft against your skin as he rubbed it under your nose. The realization of what he was wiping hit like a truck when he pulled the cloth away, now stained red with your blood.

“You let me walk around like that?”

Peter chuckled again, this time louder, the sound almost filling up the entire space of your room. “Not anymore I’m not,” he responded. You watched as his delicate fingers folded the cloth into a small square.

You felt your heart suddenly pick up in your chest. You licked your lips, your eyes still on his fingers, “do you think It’ll be different?” You weren’t sure what you were truly asking, but the question left your mouth before your brain could catch up.

Peter wrapped a warm hand around your arm before running it down your arm. You felt the hairs on your arm stand up in the wake of the other man’s hand. He lifted your hand up into the air between your bodies before he pressed the folded cloth into your open palm.

“It will be,” Peter said fiercely, “because you’re special.”

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked your lips again, Peter’s eyes tracking the movement, “when will it be different?” You whispered.

“Soon. You must be ready,” Peter’s gaze was intense and it made you shiver under the intensity of it.

Peter left quietly. His words plagued your mind for a long time after he left. It lasted days. The only thing that broke the cycle of thought was when an alarm began to blare throughout the facility. It made you feel like a little boy again as you pressed yourself into one corner of your room, hoping that whatever was happening would seemingly pass you by.

You could feel your powers expand around you without your control, it made the room feel heavy with a weight that felt like it had you anchored to the floor. You held your breath when you could hear your door-handle rattle, your powers pressing out in front of you in defense. Your breath then left you all in a quick gasp when the door opened to Peter.

“It’s time,” he held his hand out in front of him.

You pulled yourself up on shaky legs and laid your hand onto his. “Whose blood-” you tried to ask, noticing the blood that dotted the front of his uniform.

He cut you off before you could get the question out, “No more experiments, no more doctors,” he was suddenly in your space, closer than he had ever been before, two warm hands cupping your face, “I’ll never let them touch you again.” The kiss stole your breath when his lips pressed down onto yours. It was a bruising, intense kiss that made your head spin. “It’s time to go,” he whispered when the kiss ended.

#x male reader #stranger things x male reader #001 x male reader #peter ballard x male reader #henry creel x male reader

472 notes · View notes

indouloureux · 2 years

Note

augie !!

thinking ‘bout steve being in love with the new girl in town <3 she’s a loner and painfully shy but she gave el a flower from the shop she works at and el was smiling the rest of the day <3 max says she was given the coolest ring with a pretty rock on it that the new girl made for her <3 the new girl is cute and giggles (a lot!!!) and blushes every time steve so much as looks at her <3 he tries to make her feel comfortable whenever they bump into each other to ease her anxiety <3 max and el love her so she becomes a familiar face to the gang <3 she wears flowy skirts and flowery dresses and soft sweaters and ‘alice in wonderland’ shirts <3 she skips instead of walking sometimes so her hair flows back and forth <3 town gossip says she’s either too childish or a devil worshipper because of her witch-y vibe <3 because of her tarot cards and crystals and because she often talks to herself and to animals <3 but steve thinks she’s an angel every time she cutely tucks her hair behind her ears when he says something sweet to her <3 she braids her hair with little flowers intertwined in it <3 she wears lipgloss on her lips and shimmery white powder on her eyelids and pretty dangly flowers earrings <3 to steve she’s a woodland fairy <3 her hands are adorned with rings and she gives steve her favorite one that he wears on his left ring finger!!! <3 she makes steve a cute necklace that has his birth flower pressed in it and he kisses it before bed <3 she reads sci-fi and loves horror movies and is obsessed with myths and can talk about true crime and the original fairytales for hours <3 and steve loves her voice so he doesn’t mind just listening to her <3 steve briefly wonders if maybe instead of a fairy she’s a siren ‘cause her voice hypnotizes him almost <3

one day steve and his fairy are at a fair and go to a photobooth and steve just has to use the excuse of limited space in the bench to get her to shyly perch herself on his lap and the pictures capture her pressing her lips to his and giving him her first kiss and and how surprise steve was for a second before kissing her again. and again and again and again. until dustin bangs on the booth to get them to leave.

they consider that their first date.

HARMONIA why'd u do this to me :(

she had a complexion that put those colorful flowers to shame; had that sui generis beauty that was incomparable to a rose, and she bloomed effervescently in the field of up the hill, the sun shining above her that names her breathtakingly angelic.

she's the girl in his dreams and she's the girl of his dreams.

luckily for him, she stood behind that monotonous counter with a smile that paints everything livelier; the sunflower in her hand was the epitome of her charisma, with her novelty mien and lovely smile.

you grinned brightly at the two girls— el and max, who both came with matching scrunchies that tied their hair and clothings that make them, well, them—and it made steve's heart swell. he stood outside the store, hands in his pockets to fiddle with his change, mustering up all his courage before he sauntered and pushed the door open.

you had looked up from the bell chiming. And like always, you'd beamed at him, warm and welcoming. you wore that dress with ruffles on the sleeves, baby blue with white forget-me-nots, lipgloss a shine coat of pink, hair clamped halfway with another forget-me-nots on the ends. you looked lovely as you'd always been.

"hey!" you quipped, making el and max turn to look at their beloved babysitter who's smiles had then turned into mischief, knowing how in denial steve had always been when it came to his feelings. "lovely seeing you here, steve-o,"

he chuckled at the moniker. "you know me. i always need to stop by my favorite shop,"

max snorted. "favorite shop, or favorite person?"

el laughed out of her nose, looking away from max to look up curiously at steve. "yeah. shop or person?"

"can't it be both?" he raised a brow, feeling triumphant when he smiled. and there it was, the way you bashfully tuck your hair behind your ears, the stone ring that glinted from the sun that adds light to your small little shop. steve rubs his pinkie on the matching ring you'd given him, feeling up the soft, silver stone. "i'd like to ask if you're still up for tonight? with us, i mean. dustin and the kids."

a roseate cherubic glow coated your plump cheeks when he looked at you, and he could sense how your anxiety had returned to bang against your heart. all steve could do was offer you a smile, and you're relaxed.

"wouldn't miss it for the world," you leaned against the counter, forearms side by side. when steve stared at you longer, he doesn't realize that the two girls had giggled their way out of the shop, whispered to each other like they would when they found something so amusing.

you frowned when you realized you hadn't even said your goodbye, but your smile returned immediately when you looked back at him, as if he'd been one of the flowers waiting patiently to be plucked by you.

steve observed the crystals aligned at the desk before he spoke up again. "there's a new shipment of horror movies," he told you, chuckling at the way you perked up. "and i managed to snatch up hyperion from henderson for you to read."

"really?" you beamed, rocking on your heels. "oh, god stevie, thank you!"

he tried not to stare too long when your eyelashes fluttered at him. "no problem," steve nodded at her, hand nervously coming up to fiddle with the necklace you made him and god, how is it he's still nervous around you? "alright, sunshine, do you have those- um, hooker's lips?"

"what for?"

"robin wants one," steve's got his lips pursed when he searched for the money in his pocket.

you smiled at the thought of robin. "yeah, we have those."

you returned from the back not even a minute later, a heavy pot on your hands with the plant robin's been yelling at his ear about. steve smiled, carefully taking it from you.

"thanks, sunshine," he slid the money to you.

"steve- this is too much,"

"oh, right!" he balanced the plant in one hand, turning around to pluck a daisy from one of the stalls and handed it to you. "this one's for you."

again, you blushed. "thank you. i'm breaking company rules by letting you pluck one out without any staff assistance, but thank you for the gift,"

suddenly he's embarrassed, with his face ignited up to flames. he walks backwards, with robin's plant hugged tightly against his chest, his back smacking against a shelf that poked at the bottom of his spine, toppling over a fridge magnet that clattered loudly when it fell to the ground. you both winced.

"shit, sorry," he bent down, sticking it back to the metal plate. "i'll just- see you later!"

"and then they found foot prints in the flower beds. you know what the shoes were? avia sneakers. they also found the bullets there from the previous attack."

you like how steve heeds your words like they're the most important news in the world. the way he nods his head, looks at you like you painted the speck of stars in the sky and hung the sun that makes his gloomy days bright, gasps and reacts to your scary little stories because he likes them.

you rant about the night stalker. one of the active murderers going on about right now, and steve has a handful of cotton candies with a variety of colors, a pocket heavy with change and his keys, and an ear perked to the kids who run around to play with robin and eddie.

"he doesn't really have a sequence. he just randomly kills people and it's insane and it's complex and it's so appalling. it's scary and it's interesting at the same time."

steve eyes your dress — flowy, white and pretty that hangs above your knees. the flower clip above your ear that locks your hair out of your face and your plump lips glistening from the vibrancy of the carnival lights. your eyes wide and move excitedly, pupils dilated, and they flicker between his and the surroundings.

he can't decide if your voice was a siren or a harmony. it hypnotizes him — takes his attention by a single swipe of a finger and suddenly he's tethered to you and only you; he wonders why no one else felt this way, why they thought you were weird or some devil worshipper if you were merely being yourself confidently, unbridled with harsh judgements of those insecure and bigoted.

mid story, you take his vacant hand and start fiddling with the stone being harbored proudly by his thick finger. steve blushes, chuckles at the way you don't realize at what you were doing as you continue to talk about blood and gore.

"hey, steve!" dustin yells, a light lisp from the blue braces hugging his teeth tightly. "a photobooth!"

while lucas takes the blue cotton candy and gives it to max who holds tightly at el's hand, steve lets eddie take the cluster out of his arm when he eyes the small box with a curtain for a door. you stop talking, finding your attention snapped to the booth, and you both look at each other knowingly.

but before you even know it, you're being shoved inside by a very eager robin — her hand on you soft and her hand on steve's back hard and almost painful. steve berates her, pressing his hand on the slope of your back and guides you in.

he ducks, bending above you when you settle on the small bench. but oh, it's a one seater. it could barely fit the both of you. you're both bent awkwardly inside the booth, his back hunched and he feels immediately a slight ache right above his spine.

"we don't fit," you pout. but steve — thank heavens for the small bench.

"you can sit on my lap," he pats his thigh, neck aching. "i don't mind, babe,"

and you don't, either. steve settles down in the middle of the metal bench, watching you nervously put all your weight on his fat thigh. he grunts lightly, ameliorates your anxiety by rubbing your back as you fix yourself and straighten your shoulders, the bright square of light making your eyes ache as it beams above the small camera.

steve's other hand fiddles with the necklace tickling his chest — one you've also given him that he can't help but kiss every night. it's the closest thing he has of you, practically beside his heart.

"we've got four pictures," you tell him. "you ready, steve-o,"

"ready when you are, sunshine,"

you press on the button, and you're startled by a sudden loud countdown. steve chuckles behind you, placing his head beside yours with his chin on your shoulder before he mimics the ever bright smile that etches itself on your blooming face.

snap. then a camera flash. the second picture comes next with steve wrinkling his nose, teeth glinting when he parts them and hovers his mouth above your plump cheeks, your hand coming up to squeeze his own with your mouth parted to copy him.

then the third, unexpected when it comes. steve had looked at you suddenly, smile fallen, faint but genuine when his pupils dilate and gloss over adoration as you tuck his hair behind his ears, pushing all the mightiness of his tresses behind him.

you like steve. how couldn't you? he's nice and he's charming. he's the king of your heart, you think—you know. he's wearing the ring you gave him, for fuck's sake. he listens to you ramble about murder like you've stained your dress with blood yet somehow you were the rarest flower in the meadow. and he looks at you the way no one else did.

and he likes you, too. but he wouldn't admit that. not yet, at least.

okay, maybe he would. but only because suddenly, after his doting stare that lingered even after the third shot, you kissed him.

you kissed him, his face in your hands, rings pressing up on the scattered moles on his face, your lips slanted against his. and shit, it's your first kiss and you don't even realize it even when you breathe in his boyish musk of cedar wood and fabric detergent with a hint of plastic from the vhs tapes that lingers on the back of his neck.

steve's surprised at first, a noise in the back or his throat that makes you unsettled, but you're back on your feet when he wraps his arms around you and kisses you with just as much fervor.

breaking away with a small click, he follows you, kissing you once more through short pecks but long enough to let you know how he feels through the gentle graze of his tongue. he's kissing you — steve harrington's kissing you. he's not making out with you.

he's kissing you; softly, delicately, lovingly. the clicks of your mouths overwhelming the sound of the camera.

when he breaks away, finally, he's got a silly smile on his face, rubbing his hot nose against yours and rubbing his palms on your waist and he says, "you've got soft lips, sunshine. like a petal,"

you giggle, twirling his hair in your gem-clad finger and kiss his nose. "you don't need to charm me, stevie. i already kisses you."

he kisses you again and again, even though the booth whirrs and your photo slips out the small box outside where the kids could see your photographed first kiss, lips collided while etched in a smile, eyelashes that tickle both your cheeks, and hearts thumping one another.

and steve still kisses you even when dustin bangs loudly on the door, telling you to get out and that mike and will wanted to try it too.

harmonia, baby, i'm sorry it sucked :(

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #stranger things

254 notes · View notes

justalonelyslytherin · 2 years

Text

Nursing Our Hearts Back to Health

Pairing: dragon!shifter Steve Rogers x female witch!Reader

Summary: What else is there to do when you stumble upon a badly hurt shifter than to help him?

Warnings: mentions of blood and a serious wound, mentions of pain and fainting, otherwise fluff

Wordcount: 2k

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging. I don't allow for my content to be copied, translated, or reposted on other websites/apps. Please don't steal my work.

A/N: Monster Mash-up request by the lovely @nana1000night, her prompt was 'dragon!shifter steve and his witch + "Show me where it hurts". I still take request, feel free to send something in from >>here<< I want to give a shoutout to TheRebelHunter (ao3) who helped me come up with the name for this! Dividers are by @/firefly-graphics

Birds chirped in the distance, their songs carried on by the soft winds that shook the colored leaves. Fallen ones crunched softly under every step she took. The woods were empty, or at least they appeared so. They never truly were empty.

She could feel the presence of life and magic all around her, hiding in the underwoods, shying away from contact with humans. Even if they usually didn’t venture this far into the woods, they avoided the denser and darker parts of the woods. It was the home of magic and creatures far too dangerous for them.

But she felt at home here. The deeper she could venture, the more comfortable she felt. Where the pulls of the magic thrumming through every leaf and every plant was so clear. She wandered through the foliage with attentive eyes, looking out for herbs and other magical plants she could use for potions and other remedies. She had already found some small groupings of herbs and gathered some of them into the leather bag slung over her shoulder.

Then she spotted a small group of mushrooms nestled under some plant leaves. When she crouched down to take a closer look she noticed something.

There on the leaves, that she wanted to push to the side, was something. It wasn’t dewdrops as the liquid was dark. Almost as black as the night sky, it shimmered red and violet as she shifted the leaf under the light. Carefully she dipped her finger into it, finding it warm and gooey under her touch.

Blood.

No normal blood. Not human or animal. That she could tell. She wiped her finger on a small cloth she carried with her and started to look around. It was intriguing to her. Quickly she spotted more blotches of it, sprinkled around the forest floor and the plants. What must have happened to the poor creature to have been hurt so much? The blotches formed a path, one she didn’t hesitate to follow. As she did, it showed her the way to a clearing in front of a rocky hill.

On the clearing, she came eye to eye with a dragon. A hurt one.

The leaves crunched under her feet as she carefully stepped out of the treeline, alerting the big creature to her presence. Its eyes opened and icy ocean blues were revealed as its head turned towards her. The creature was alarmed, snarling at her and bearing its teeth. His sounds were loud, his tail angrily whipping about and creating a small gush of wind that made the grass around him dance.

She was surprised but not scared to see a dragon there. The area usually didn’t see many of them, too close to humans for their liking. Humans in turn were too frightened of their presence. It never lasted long for them to coexist before the humans thought to chase them away. That must have been what had happened to this fellow.

In slow and careful steps she approached the alert creature, hands held up in front of her both to soothe and to show her harmlessness. “It’s okay.' I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him. Its big blue eyes never wavered from her, watching every step she did with eagle eyes.

“I want to help,” she started, her eyes dipping from the watchful eyes to its body. There was blood on its belly and on its side she saw a deep cut. “I can help.” She said with determination, her glance jumping back to those hypnotizingly blue eyes. The dragon lifted his nose, nostrils fluttering as she sniffed in her direction.

She could see the dragon relax, its shoulder slumping and its head leaning back onto the floor. The dragon let out a deep huff, a noise that reminded her much of the heavy sighs humans tended to make when relieved.

Before her eyes the dragon started to change, the body shifted. As the dragon slowly transformed his huge build was replaced by that of a man. A heavily wounded one. He was in worse shape as a human, weakly clutching his torso. The linen shirt was stained red and sticking to his skin. He stumbled, collapsing against a rock, barely able to stand on his feet.

Quickly she rushed forward, all caution thrown to the wind to aid him. Her hands steadied and helped him to half sit half lean against the boulder. His skin felt cold and clammy to the touch, coated in a layer of sweat. With concern she eyed him. Next, she turned toward his wound, her magic wouldn’t be able to heal it entirely but she could stabilize him, and buy some time. Mumbling the enchantments to heal him she hovered her hands above the wound.

Steve watched her in disbelief. He was used to being alone and having no one help him. Shifters like him were lone wolves, often living a life of solitude. The humans held grudges against his kind and in return, his kind was distrusting of them.

She wasn’t a human though. Humans couldn’t heal, so she must be a witch, he concluded. A very pretty one. He wasn’t even sure she was truly there. His vision fizzled at the edges, growing smaller and smaller. It felt hard to think even one straight thought. His brain was muddled as if his mind was wading through thick and dense cotton. Maybe his lonely mind had made her up as his strength and life slowly left him, bleeding out of him.

Her beauty caught him off-guard, real or not.

It was the last thing he could wonder about before black overtook his vision.

When Steve woke up he wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. It was only when the pain started to break through the drowsiness that he knew he was still alive. His senses came back to him in slow waves. After the pain ebbed away to a constant but not overwhelming throbbing he became aware of the soft mattress he lay on and the feeling of an even softer blanket covering him. Thick bandages were tightly wrapped around his otherwise bare torso. He turned his head to the side, slowly taking in the small but cozy hut he was in. In the corner, a fire was burning in a furnace.

When he tried to sit up he snarled in pain, a new wave rushing through his torso as he clutched his side. His breathing turned rattled and fast. Faintly his ears registered rushed footsteps. As he glanced up he saw her approaching with a concerned look in her eyes.

Gently she helped him lay down again. The pressure across his chest decreased and air once more filled his lungs, but the pain was still there. It was intense, quickly overtaking all his senses and burning through his every fiber. He writhed in pain. Every new wave was like being stabbed over and over again.

“Where does it hurt?”, she asked him. Steve opened his mouth but no words came out. Only a rattled, choking gasp. Furrowing her brows, her fingers ghosted across his cheek and forehead. He faintly heard her muttering under her breath words he had never heard before. The pain made everything turn, made him delirious and dizzy. Her eyes lit up with a golden glow.

Soothing. That’s how it felt to him then. For a brief moment, the pain lessened, which was when he heard her talk, this time clearly, “Show me where it hurts.” Showing was much easier for him than talking. Steve managed to point towards his torso.

Her hands descended down on the bandages, a stern and concentrated look on her face now. Once more he heard that foreign tongue slip from her lips. Words he had never heard before as her eyes once more glowed. Steve peeked down towards her hands, surprised to see them too emit a faint glow as they swept across his bandaged chest.

The pain started to ebb away, and the heavy weight previously across his chest was dwindling. With it, clarity returned to his mind, accompanied by a fluttering feeling in his chest. It was his heart that beat quickly as he thought of her kindness and help.

Once she was done with the incantation she looked up from his chest to see him already watching her. The intensity with which he stared at her made her cheeks light up with warmth. She couldn’t hold his glance, these bright blue eyes made her stomach flutter.

Steve slowly pushed himself up again, this time managing to sit up without excruciating pain. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, his legs bumped against hers. Her hands fumbled with the blanket covering him.

“Thank you,” he roused. His voice surprised her. It was the first time he had spoken. Its velvet softness and the deepness like a rumbling bass shook her to the core.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes no matter how much he tried to catch them. So Steve gently took her chin between thumb and forefinger and pushed it upwards. He smiled down at her, relishing in the doe-like innocence flitting across her features.

With a faint shake of her head, she spoke up, “No need to thank me. I couldn’t have left you there.” Steve thought differently as a rumble sprouted from deep within his chest.

“Everyone else would have.” He watched her brows furrow deeply, clearly conflicted about the thought. “Why did you help me?”

Her eyes grew big in surprise as she raised her chin upwards. “Why shouldn’t I?” She asked him defiantly. He laughed. The noise sent another wave of fluttering through her belly.

“Because I am a dragon.”

“You are a shifter,” she corrected him and he smiled down at her. She was right and he was content about the fact she emphasized it. “It’s a difference,” she mumbled. Steve hummed, softly as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“Not to the humans.”

“Well, I’m not a human. So I don’t share their views.”

“You don’t?” He sounded genuinely surprised, even more so as she nodded her head in confirmation. A groan left Steve as he shifted in bed. Immediately she acted, her eyes glowing once more. Fascinated, he watched as a pillow flew through the air out of a hallway he hadn’t noticed before. She propped the pillow behind him, guiding him gently to lean against it.

“Better?” She asked. Steve studied her, thinking long before he nodded.

“What are yours then?” He asked her and as she looked at him confused, he added, “Your views on my kind?” She bit on her plump bottom lip, the view made Steve rumble quietly again. She tempted him, he wanted nothing more than to lean forward and be the one to nibble on her lip.

“I don’t…” she started, clearly thinking hard, “I’ve never met one of your kind before so I never had the opportunity to form my own views. How could I have left you there? You were hurt.”

“Oh sweet little thing, such a big heart,” Steve mumbled softly, letting his thumb wander from her cheek to her lip. He drew his finger over her bottom lip. The way her breath hitched when he did made him smirk.

“Let me reward you for your kindness and help.”

“No. I don’t want anything in return.” Shaking her head she denied him, brows furrowed once more.

“I insist.” These intense eyes of his gave her the feeling that he wouldn’t back down and that he wouldn’t take her no.

“Since I don’t have much of any possession currently all I can reward you with is an offer.” “An Offer?” Curiously she watched him as he nodded.

“Protection.” He watched her huff and bristle, her feathers ruffled by the simple word.

“I don’t need protection. I can protect myself.” Steve chuckled, causing her to huff even more. She looked deeply offended at his insistence. “What’s so funny about that?”

“Nothing. But you will need more protection now.”

“And why would I?”

“Because you helped me and the humans always find out if someone helped someone like me,” Steve pushed away from the pillow again. With a small groan, he leaned forward, coming closer. His breath brushed against her lips, their noses almost touching. Then, in a low voice that sent fireworks straight through her entire body, “And because you are my mate.”

#sly's 300 #monster mash-up #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine

116 notes · View notes

passivenovember · 2 years

Text

Autistic!Billy fluff for my good friend Soph, who “feels seen and finds comfort,” when I write him. I’m glad I can do this for you 🖤

It’s not his heart beat running away from him, painting the world in broad strokes of pinks and reds to match the way he always seems to feel these days, caught up in love.

It could be, but it’s not. Can’t be, because the words slip out at the foggy end of the longest day they’ve ever had together.

Propped back against the lumpiest pillow on his mattress, counting the bumps in the ceiling while Billy washes the lake smell from his skin, Steve wonders how one of those ‘circled in red,’ calendar days can end so poorly.

With slammed car doors and silent car rides back to Hawkins, Billy feeling so overwhelmed by the ridge of his seatbelt that he won’t even let Steve touch him. Hold his hand while Billy Joel sings softly on the radio, and.

It hurts.

Billy always lets Steve touch him, but Steve knew this could happen because it does, sometimes. And that’s alright, but.

Still.

There’s a voice twisting and twirling around a pool of lake water in Steve’s mind, whispering that Billy doesn’t feel safe. And why would he, after today?

It was supposed to be perfect, but.

Steve forgot the sunscreen.

Steve packed the swim trunks that have elastic in their waistband and not the ones that have a drawstring, and that’s. The easiest thing to remember. Of all the things Billy needs to feel safe, that’s the one Steve can control, always.

Elastic. Overstimulation. Burnout.

The swim trunks could’ve been top of his list, should’ve been, because they’re discernable and obvious and aren’t even the same color.

But Steve failed, today. And the voice that twists and twirls in the back of Steve’s mind grows to a dull shout. Insisting that Billy doesn’t love him. Because love, for Billy, means safety. And Steve used to be that. A lifejacket, a flashlight, a warm meal at the end of a long day, but Steve fucked up.

Today was supposed to be perfect, but today was shit.

Steve punches his lumpy pillow into place and listens, straining to hear the shower turn off, but the door is already open, and Billy’s there.

Overstimulated. Sunburned, dressed in a pair of Steve’s sweatpants that pool a little at the feet because they’re too long for him. His springy curls hanging limp around his face, tangled and unbrushed, and he’s chewing his nails again, or. What’s left of his nails.

Gnawing at the skin around his cuticles, chest angry red and cheeks apple pink and blue eyes stormy. Annoyed.

“Hey, Bills,” Steve says. He sits, feeling like he has to make up for the way this afternoon fell apart like a cheap camp tent. “Are you. Are you okay? I can drive you home, if--”

“I can’t, uh.” Billy drops the hands from his mouth. Clenches his eyes, gears rolling behind that smooth, perfect forehead. “The legs. The pant legs, they’re--”

“I know.”

“It’s just that they’re too long,” Billy says sheepishly. “Thank you, for letting me wear them.”

“You don’t have to, if they’re uncomfortable.”

“I get cold,” Billy answers simply. He fiddles with the waistband, tucking his chewed-raw fingers so it looks like they’re waiting in bed, and.

Steve wants to kiss him. So he says, “Come here,”

And Billy smiles. It’s small and wavy around the edges but it’s there, and it lights Steve up on the inside. Starts a fire in his chest.

Billy pads across the carpet at a snail’s pace, sticking each foot too high in the air as if unsure of how to walk with all the extra fabric.

Steve moves his lumpy pillow out of the way. “Can I help you?” He asks, grinning at the poke of Billy’s tongue from the corner of his mouth.

“No, I’ve got it.”

“I’m not doing anything else, let me help you. Be your hero.”

“I just think you want an excuse to touch me,” Billy quips, grinning as Steve pads toward him.

Steve has to resist the urge to get his arms under Billy’s knees and around his back, to pick him up bridal style.

He takes Billy’s hands instead, proving the asshole right.

With teamwork they make it to the mattress. Steve pulls Billy to him, then. Tucks the curls behind his ears and asks, softly, “Is it alright if I kiss you?”

And Billy looks so sweet, then.

Pink from the heat of the shower, soft curls starting to dry in some places where they catch on Steve’s hand.

Billy nods. Says, “Yes, you can kiss me,” looking nervous like he always does, like this is the first time they’ve ever kissed, and Steve swallows the equally soft noise he makes when their lips slide together.

He’ll never get tired of this.

Of having Billy, like this, open and sweet and trusting him, and.

Steve has to pull away, grinning in spite of himself when Billy leans forward, chasing his heat.

“I’m sorry about today,” Steve tells him, “I wanted our afternoon to be perfect--”

“And it was,” Billy says quietly. His expression grows thoughtful, then, rifling through snapshots of their day together. “I always like being near the water, even if it was just the lake outside of town. I liked the pieces of driftwood on the beach, they looked like little fairy houses. And the sand wasn’t too hot, or spiky, and the book I finished as really scary but I didn’t feel scared about what I was reading because I had you there, sitting next to me in your ugly camping hat.”

“Hey, that hat is so rad,” Steve says in mock annoyance. Billy squirms lightly in his arms but not to get away, Steve doesn’t think, but to get closer. “You’re sure this wasn’t the worst lake day in the history of the world?”

“I’m sure,” Billy says, “There have been a lot of people to exist in the entire history of the world, and they’ve had a lot of boyfriends. There’s gotta be one out there who’s worse than you.”

Steve laughs suddenly, loud and bright.

“Maybe Henry the Eighth,” Billy says, mouth scrunching adorably. “He cut the heads off his wives just because they were women, that was probably worse--”

“Alright, you little fucker, sit down so I can fix your sweatpants.” Steve nudges Billy gently until he does as he’s told, thumb rising to his mouth once more. Steve tugs it away. Kisses the pink, angry skin. “None of that.”

“I can’t help it,” Billy says miserably, blue eyes tracking Steve where he sits between Billy’s legs, pulling one foot into his lap to start rolling the sweats. “All day long I felt like shit because I knew I was being weird--”

“You weren’t being weird, baby, you were being you.”

“No, I was being weird,” Billy exclaims.

Steve looks at him, then, brown eyes huge and worried.

Billy swallows, throat clicking painfully. “Steve, you created such a pretty day on the beach for us and you looked so handsome and happy and I had to go and be so fucking. Weird and neurodivergent, and--”

“--Hey, hey, woah--”

“The ‘tism,” Billy says, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Sometimes I. Sometimes I just wish--”

Steve rolls the second pant leg and kisses Billy’s foot before climbing to sit behind him on the mattress. They tuck into each other, around one another, for warmth.

“You’re perfect,” Steve decides.

“People can’t be perfect,” Billy reasons, voice wet. “That’s evolutionally impossible--”

And Steve knew that was coming, deserved it, so. He kisses Billy behind the ear, says, “I don’t give a shit about what is or isn��t evolutionally possible. Because you’re perfect, Billy. You smell like apples and you’re cranky when you wake up too early in the morning. For someone who looks like they were made from sunlight you hate it when it wakes you, and you’re beautiful. You make me laugh. I want to take care of you, Billy. I like everything about you. I love everything about you, I.”

And it’s two o’clock in the morning.

And this has been the longest day they’ve ever had together, but Steve has to say it.

Because he means it.

“I love you,” He says, arms wrapped tight around the boy in front of him.

Billy tenses for half a breath.

His muscles jump, his heartbeat thunders so loud Steve’s sure the whole of Hawkins can hear it, and then--

“I’d like to look at you, when you say it,” Billy says quietly. “I wanna see you, so I can say it back.”

And that is something Steve can make happen.

#harringrove #harringrove week #2 am conversations #autistic!billy #for my friend!#love you soph soph

198 notes · View notes

nightowlwriting · 2 years

Text

summary: stack my ammunition, be ready when you come

you who thirst for action, i will give you some

when the smoke dies down, you can rest assured

we will know who kept his word

steve's back in that damn ice field, back in the past, back in the places he didn't want to be in for the rest of his life. at least this time steve has bucky by his side.

word count: 1.7k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used

warnings: mention of flashbacks, mention of ptsd, brief allusion to homophobia, description of drowning

note: this is the prologue of an ongoing series, find the series masterlist here.

title & summary credit: the mountain goats

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

“There’s unusual activity near where we fished you out of the ice, Cap. We need to go check it out. Are you up for it?”

No, no he isn’t up for it. But Steve has to be so he sighs and nods his head, suiting up for the flight. He’s Captain America and the face of the Avengers. As much as he doesn’t want to go back to where he spent seventy years having the life he rightfully was owed pass him by, he will. He has to. This time he has Buck by his side, softening the blow. It makes it nicer, just a little bit. The last time he was there, disappearing under the water, he’d thought Bucky was dead. Steve was drowning in the grief and he remembers wondering if when he drowned in the frigid water if it would feel the same. Having Bucky by his side now, so many years into the future (becuase it is the future, no matter how many fucking times people tell him it’s the present) keep Steve’s chest warm when he wakes up from nightmares in his lovers arms.

They don’t hold hands in front of the team, not yet, but everyone knows. It’s hard not to know when they’re joined at the hip like they were in the Before. It’s almost like he’s small and sickly again, back when they were kids and they both knew in their hearts they were meant for each other but couldn’t do a fucking thing about it. Bucky turns over in bed at nigh and is startled, sometimes, because Steve’s big now. He’s broad and tall and sleeps without his breath stuttering to a stop and kicking back up at random intervals. They’re so comfortable around each other, and so in love with the people that they’ve become with each other now, it’s hard to remember that they’re displaced out of time and in a bed that’s not pressed up against their couch in a shitty Brooklyn apartment.

Steve had one thing to thank the ice for, then. The progression of time also came with a cultural progression, and he’s benefited from that more than anything. Maybe it’s different for him and Buck because of how In The Public they are, but Steve loves to see people on the streets of New York holding hands when they’d have had to hid in the shadows back in the ‘40s. He tries to keep his mind on that - how more people are out and happy and allowed to be that way - as they survey the ice field that once held him prisoner. It’s better to focus on that, and how he’s going to make Bucky take the warmest bath when they get home, than the fact that he’s standing on what had been his grave for decades and decades. Tony hadn’t said what they’re looking for, just that The Burning Staff, a neo-Hydra organization, has been scanning the area more frequently and whatever they wanted the Avengers would get first. They have to. Even if it was nothing, it would be better in their hands than in the hands of the Hydra-wannabes.

It seems fitting to Steve’s inner turmoil that Bucky is the one to find the strange tunnel down into the ice. He calls the rest of the team over and they stand around the hole, peering down as the tunnel drops but then curves away - like it’s a burrow made by a huge animal - or a drill maybe? The walls of the tunnel are smooth and a terrifyingly serene shade of blue from what Steve can see. The color tickles something at the back of his mind but he ignores it. There’s air rushing out of it, enough to ruffle his hair, and he shivers. It cuts straight to his core, curling a soft hand around his brainstem and tugging memories to the surface. The cold is settling into his bones, making his hands and feet stiff and achy. Steve just wants to figure out what the hell Tony thinks is here and beat it. He knows Bucky is feeling the same way just by the sounds his vibranium arm is making; it whirs and clicks faintly, and the only reason Steve can hear it is because of the serum enhancing a hearing that had once been muffled and cloudy.

“Well,” Tony says, his mask peeling back so they can see his face, “Who’s goin’ down there?”

“I vote for you,” Natasha says dryly, crossing her arms, “You’re the one that dragged us all the way out here and you’re the one with the heated suit.”

Both Steve and Bucky whip around to look at Tony, eyes narrowing. “That thing’s heated?” Bucky scowls, “I asked if we could put a heating plate in my arm and you said no, but the suit gets a full heater?”

“The suit is different,” Tony defends, holding his hands up, “You’d be a walking fire hazard with a heating plate in your arm.” He sighs and peers down the hole, “I’m not sure how far down it goes, and the fact is while I can fly - I’ll melt the whole tunnel. Probably collapse it.”

“So what?” Steve grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, “We call for Sam and send Redwing? Or are you expecting one of us to jump in?” The thought of slipping underneath the ice is turning his stomach. He’s afraid that he’s going to grind his teeth to dust at this rate.

“You jump out of planes without parachutes.” Tony replies easily, crossing his arms to mimic Steve, “And Tin Man here could easily climb his way out with his arm. Don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve seen Natasha scale walls to get to an enemy operative-”

“If I go down there will we get the hell out of here?” Steve doesn’t care that he’s cutting Tony off, because he doesn’t particularly care about what Tony’s saying. Bucky opens his mouth to argue but Steve just sighs, shakes his head, and slips down into the tunnel before he can overthink it too much. Gravity draws him over the ice easily and the rush of wind and the accompanying chill sends him falling, falling, falling.

He remembers the initial impact of the jet, the way he was jostled and disoriented but couldn’t see anything but the water rising up to cover the cockpit. He had scrambled out of his seat, scooping up his compass and shield, and made for the exit. Panic had welled in his chest and clamped around his windpipe, then, because comms were out and the tail end of the jet was inching closer and closer to the sky. Steve felt sick, and in his panic of trying to flee, wondered if that was how the folks on the Titanic felt. The door wasn’t opening because the electricity in the jet was out and - fuck, who designed this thing?

The water was rising, too, nearly to Steve’s knees as he tried to figure a way out. The jet was sinking fast and, sure, that was his plan but there was a little bit of hope that he’d be able to make it out - that he wouldn’t drown. That he could go back to Peggy, that he could go look for Buck’s body and lay him to rest, that he could live his life now that he was given the power to help people. Hell, maybe he could even end the war. None of that would happen if he fucking drowned and died.

So, Steve did what he was born to do: he fought. He fought until the water was up to his lips, blue and shaking. He fought until he couldn’t hold his breath anymore. He fought until his body gave out and he sank to the bottom of the jet, lifeless and limp.

When he finally pulls himself out of his thoughts he’s shaking. It feels just like the water in the jet despite the tunnel having spit him out in a wide, airy cavern. He sits for a heartbeat more, trying to convince himself that he’s not lost to the world again, and then gets to his feet. Steve’s chest is heavy and tight and he focuses on breathing and scanning - slipping into Captain Rogers more than Steve. He’s standing in what’s almost like a cave, the walls high and smooth and coming to a rounded top. He shivers again, even though the numbness is starting to spread through his fingers and toes. It's more of a phantom pain than anything life-threatening, with his suit and his serum the risk of hypothermia is amazingly low. It’s the memory of a life long past, long dead curling around his circulatory system. Steve takes a few timid steps forward and finds traction so that he can look around, comms crackling to life in his left ear. It's Tony. "Find anything?"

"Give me time to look around at least," Steve replies tersely, scanning the cave around him, "It's just a cave. Looks about like the tunnel I came down in."

"Huh," Bucky's voice joins the conversation, making Steve calm just a little. He's not back on the jet, Bucky's not in Hydra's hands, it's not the '40s. Not anymore. The world has moved on and Steve hopes that he will, too. "Wonder what made it."

"I’m not sure that I do. Doesn't look natural." Steve turns and looks for another tunnel, anything else, but it's just him and the smooth, blue walls. "Looks like it was carved-" His breath hitches as his eyes catch something in the walls. Something decidedly not blue, something covered in shadow and floating and not moving, something that anyone with sight will recognize instinctually.

His team is calling his name, asking if he's okay. Bucky's voice is the loudest, and most panicked, but Steve can't breathe. Can't breathe, can't think, can't stay on his feet. He falls to his knees and comes face to face with a human, curled up on the side in a fetal position, frozen into the wall in front of him. The ice crawls up his chest and squeezes his heart, his lungs - he’s struggling to breathe or think around the fact that there’s a person there, in the ice and curled around themselves just like he’d been.

Just like he’d been.

Just like he’d fucking been.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #stucky/reader #stucky x reader #dark in here

55 notes · View notes

samingtonwilson · 2 years

Text

my little love

summary: there is a difference between hiding the grey of falling in love accidentally and shining in the brightness of choosing to grow in love purposefully-- so you’ll choose him as many times as you can.

pairing: bucky x reader

warnings: language, some angst, a lot of pining, very tiny sex mention. it’s me so there’s a lot of fluff and jokes.

a/n: no tag list because i couldn’t compile one lmao. this is just a former-fwb to friends to lovers fic that i started writing before wandavision or fatws came out so let’s pretend those shows don’t exist for the sake of this story! shout out to my best friend @allcaps1928 for the text “IDIOT!BUCKY RIGHTS” after she read this.

also yes i know what the adele song i took the title from is about but it’s also about feeling love in a time of loneliness.

The sip of coffee turns to ash on your tongue— acrid. Caustic when you swallow.

You smile, though. Bright, it convinces Bucky.

He grins around a sip of his latte. Cinnamon, brown sugar— something warm and sweet which sticks like glue to ribs gone brittle under decades of ice burn. His tongue sweeps over his lips, still smiling.

You could keep it up for that. Hide the grey and let your smiles radiate every color he needs.

Blue like ice when he’s on fire, green like sycamores when he needs to breathe. Something yellow to keep him warm, white to guide him home. Pink and red crêpe paper hearts, roses and boxes of chocolate— Valentine’s Day grins glowing with love.

There’s something purple about this one. Velvety and comforting. A promise in the curve of your lips, in the twinkle of sleepy eyes. Lavender aromatherapy turns to smoke when he looks away. Soot in your lungs, you cough.

It burns, doesn’t it? Singes your tongue with every breath? Maybe that’s why you can’t speak.

Maybe it’s why you haven’t spoken for weeks now, the extent of contact lying in a wave to say good morning across the line of treadmills and ellipticals, a nod to say good night as elevator doors slide shut.

He’d asked about it. Had the good manners to not blame you entirely with a soft concession that he hasn’t been around much lately anyway. Not good enough manners to leave you be as you’d gotten up to walk out of the conference room, though. Not good enough manners to just let some things go with a shrug— manners rotten enough to demand coffee in the name of playing catch-up.

The café is a familiar space.

It began as a place of refuge from missing the echo of Steve’s voice in the quiet halls of the Tower. A place so different from Tony’s labs where Peter and Morgan would spend hours tinkering with suits left behind for no one in particular while Pepper handled business. Somewhere you wouldn’t find Natasha’s hair ties or those pastel pink plates and mugs which she knew would be met with questions only to preemptively decree that she likes pink, okay? Sue me.

It hosted the two of you after a mission in Kolkata and withstood the degradation of its lukewarm, overly spiced chai in comparison to the sweet, piping hot doodh cha in clay cups you’d snuck out of the hotel for at four in the morning, sleepy Sam in tow. The mustachioed chaiwala had made no comment of your black eye, the bump on Sam’s forehead, and the limp in Bucky’s step and instead offered striped packets of Parle-G. The café walls didn’t hear the end of that for the hours the two of you spent huddled in the corner.

It kept the two of you cool in the summer of 2024 when a teenager in cork sole sandals and a light blue mesh top with cloud print told anyone who would listen— and yelled at those who would not— about how you are all so fucked, how climate change is gonna get us all because of the oil companies and the fucking government. You think the fires and disease are gonna stop? Get a goddamn clue, New York! You’d nodded along, applauded by snapping your fingers in agreement while Bucky glared down anyone who even contemplated opening their mouths in opposition.

It calmed the fire behind your ribs after nights— and sometimes afternoons— marked by urgency, a solution to loneliness and a-far-from-guaranteed tomorrow. Iced green tea with a squeeze of lemon and a brown sugar latte with a touch of cinnamon, a shared slice of apple crumble. Shyness in the colliding of your forks despite the bareness of only a small while before, unacknowledged and ignored intimacy beyond physical forcing your silverware apart. An echoing of the promise to maintain brick boundaries, words unsaid aching in the hand you want him to hold, the lips you wish he’d kiss outside the darkness of your bedroom.

It’s your space. Yours and Bucky’s. Holy perhaps to no one, but sacred to the two of you.

And it feels ruined now. Under snowfall and ash, frostbitten noses, your fingers burnt from desperately clutching the few remaining embers of wasted emotion, the café feels ruined. Your crumbling Parthenon.

He smiles at a tricolored corgi seated on the floor a few tables over. His question takes a sledgehammer to one of the remaining pillars, “Fuck the sneezing. I should get flowers anyway, right?”

“Flowers?” an attempt at a nonplussed expression, a casual sip of tea. You aren’t sure of your success.

“Yeah, my ma would make a big stink about it whenever I’d take a girl out.” His smile is fond, nostalgic. Only a little sad— he’s been working through it. “S’a li’l old-fashioned, I know. But it’s been three months. Feel like it’s the right time to get a little cheesy.”

You’d thought about calling it off. The bricks had fractured, grout eroded from love which burnt like acid.

But he’d beat you to the punch. Something about a third date. Something about going steady. Monogamy. He’d smiled, too, as if the words tasted like candy. Perfect white teeth bearing down on your heart as you could only grin along. Yellow with warmth even as you felt yourself freeze over.

Was it all his responsibility?

Or was it your palms, blistered and sore from pushing, pushing, pushing?

“Flowers are nice.” You draw the number 8 in your drink with a paper straw. “A little cheesy is nice.”

He returns your smile with one of his own, flicks a finger against your knuckle. “Tell me what’s goin’ on with you.”

You shrug. “Nothing to report.”

“Find that hard to believe. I can hear you an’ Sam getting back late at night, you know?” He taps the curve of his ear. “Super soldier hearing, remember?”

Eyes rolling, you skate a fingernail around the rim of your tall glass. “I’m coming back with Sam. What could I have to report if I’m coming back with Sam every night?”

“Fair enough,” he says after a moment of thought. There’s laughter in his voice, bright and happy, and, though you know he isn’t taunting you, there's the pang of an insult in your stomach. “Just thought something— someone— outside the Tower might be keeping you busy.”

It’d started on a Wednesday. Rainy and so windy you’d watched a woman lose her umbrella from your window and hissed sympathetically through your teeth. After one of those dinners Sam arranged on a night most of you were free, smiling over Doordashed gnocchi in an attempt to keep the few of you who were left together.

Wanda, green eyes dull and haunted, had spoken for the first time in ten days. Told Sam he should be proud she’d dragged a brush through her hair for him, stared at her plate with sight blurred by tears when he said he was.

Peter had dropped a can of soda and screamed at the burst, apologized with his hands over his ears.

Sam, for the first time since you’d known him, had looked defeated. Something so profoundly fractured deep within him rose to the surface. The shield comes with a lot, he’d once said after a mission went south. Just gotta find the right stance to balance it all.

During the mission he’d smiled, but that night over dinner you’d seen beneath it.

So, since that Wednesday night, you’ve taken up more missions. Carried more responsibility. Played Mother Goose to Wanda and Peter. Become Sam’s sounding board for strategy. A lap for him to lay his head in on nights in and a shoulder for him to lean against in cab rides after nights out.

If he needs reminders, you’ll paste Post-It note affirmations to his mirror. If he needs to forget, you’ll take him to his favorite bar and match him drink for drink.

He’s healed since that night. Found a stance which favors balance, set the fracture and let it mend under a cast wrapped in red, white, and blue.

Yet, because of the nights you drink more than he does and the nights you cry into a bowl of popcorn at movie scenes meant to bring warmth, he lets you imagine you’re stitching his heart together when your fingers really work to keep together the walls of your own.

You held his hand through it so he’ll hold yours. No matter whose benefit you think you’re doing it for.

“Work things,” is your explanation to Bucky. You smile then. “Saving the world is more time consuming than I thought it’d be.”

“S’a real shame they don’t cover that in orientation. I went into this thinkin’ it’d be a straight-forward nine to five.”

“Those ‘out of the office’ emails just don’t work the way they used to.” Before he can smile, you sit up straight with an apologetic frown. “So sorry.” You slow your speech, raise your volume, and make large gestures, “An email is electronic mail. It’s sent via this thing called the internet through, like, electronic devices—”

“Christ’s sake,” he laughs, loud and happy. Rolls brightened blue eyes. “You think you’re a real fuckin’ riot, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you say through laughter of your own. “Why? You gonna tell me I’m not?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sits back, grin firmly in place. “Who am I to tell you the sky ain’t blue?”

“Wow, don’t give out compliments too freely now. I might start to think you missed me.”

He hums out a sigh. There’s a gentleness despite the intensity in his stare. “You wouldn’t be wrong if you did.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I know,” he nods. He drains what remains in his cup and smacks his tongue against his lips. “Work things.”

An uneasy silence seems to set over the café. Something unsaid and ignored in the skepticism of his voice is a suffocating blanket spread over words which, free of context, are innocent enough. You think you could scream under the heavy blanket and go unheard, struggle with all of your strength and remain tangled. Fleece in your fists, fleece in your lungs, fleece between your teeth. It may be easier to lay there, may be more difficult to struggle.

It’ll all go unseen anyway.

An incoming notification brightens the screen of your phone.

Two hours have passed.

Two hours in asking if he should go with the grey button-down— it’s smart, brings my eyes out, too— or the black sweater— I like black, always have.

Two hours in wondering whether the restaurant Pepper suggested is a good option— Stark took her there n’ I’m no fuckin’ Stark; that Depression frugality stuck— before he settled on Sam’s suggestion— Wilson knows a good plate-a food, I’ll give his dumb ass that.

Two hours in thinking about some chocolate— hell, I could use some chocolate myself. Maybe flowers— is sneezing unattractive? Because roses fuck me up fast.

You sit in the ruins, temple pillars reduced to dust and rubble at your feet, and remind him, “You’re gonna be late.”

He shakes himself from the daze of expectation. “Right.” A drag of his hands down the lap of his jeans and he gestures vaguely toward the exit. “Come on—”

“Sam’s actually my ride. Pepper signed us up to build sets for Morgan’s play.” Setting your chin in your palm, you look up at him as he stands and smile. Shake the snow from weeping willow trees to make it reassuring. “Have a nice time tonight.”

It’s interesting to inspect the damage to the temple once he leaves. To see the debris of delicate stone deities and the spilled wax of burnt out candles. To hear the echoes of prayers once whispered and laughter once sung like hymns. To feel Earth stop its slow spin in mercy. And to be the only one to experience it.

The barista still places cardboard cups under the espresso machine, her manager coaches himself into presenting customers with rehearsed smiles. A family of three sits by the window, two smoothie glasses and three straws between them. A girl in a tennis skirt places a kiss on the pouted lips of a girl in tight black jeans, eyes wide and loving. Small temples of Pentelic marble. Complex, but sturdier. Foundations of intention, rather than accident. In their golden age while you sit, Athens fallen around you in a loss against Sparta.

Sam orders a three-shot oat milk latte, extra hot— to go, even though he moves to sit for a couple-a minutes. Murmurs something about having a long night ahead of him when he takes the seat Bucky had occupied. There’s concern in the deep brown of his eyes as he appraises you.

Frowning, he means to ask but twists his mouth in a grin instead when the café manager— rehearsed smile in place— sets a slice of reine de saba in front of him.

“On the house, Cap. I mean, Mr. America,” the manager, a tall short man with a mop of brown hair, pauses as he registers what he’s said. “Mr. Captain Wilson, sir.”

Sam has enough manners to only smile. You, however— forced to cover your lips with your hand to laugh quietly— seem to have forgotten the concept of manners.

“Thanks, man,” Sam says, digging a fork into the slice. “S’why we do what we do. The free cake.”

Sam wastes no time once the manager walks away. Scooping up what should be a decent mouthful of cake and slivered almonds, he asks, “Wanna tell me why you look like that?”

“Like what?” you take the fork he offers you and cut a small piece for yourself. Eyes narrowed, you drop the mere morsel and cut a bigger portion. “Keep in mind that I’ll suffocate you in your sleep if you say anything other than ‘ethereal’ or ‘radiant.’ I know where you live, Mr. Captain Wilson, sir.”

“I was gonna say ‘like shit,’” he tells you. He laughs when you hold your fork up to threaten a stabbing. “I’m sorry. Like radiant, ethereal shit.”

“Sleep with one eye open,” is your response, accompanied by a glare. To answer his question, though, “I didn’t get much rest last night.”

“Why’s that?” You shrug. “Those melatonin gummies are a damn lie. S’just shitty candy.”

He doesn’t buy it. Skeptically, “You sure?”

“Yeah, it just sticks in my teeth. And what kind of flavor is ‘midnight berry’ anyway?”

He says your name. In that low, sighed way. Pushes what remains of the gateau in your direction so he can focus more directly on his coffee. “If you’re—”

“I’m fine,” you say with a laugh. You poke at the cake. “Gonna try that Sleepytime tea nonsense tonight and if that doesn’t work, I’ll come to your room. One of those painfully boring stories of yours and I’ll be out like a light.”

“Boring, huh? I think you might be mistaking me for Barnes.”

“As if. Look how handsome you are,” you reach across the table and roughly pinch his cheek, grinning when he slaps your hand away. “Barnes doesn’t even compare.”

“Don’t think flattering me is gonna get me to stop worrying,” he warns. “I’m persistent.”

“I think what you mean to say is ‘a pain.’”

He rolls his eyes but otherwise drops it. The sip he takes of his latte is long and slurped, the sound drawing a laugh from you. “Tastes better that way.”

“Yeah? Does obnoxiousness bring out the notes of chicory?”

“Molasses, actually.”

A fond shake of your head and you rise when Sam does, waiting as he stuffs a small bundle of bills into the tip jar on the counter.

“Did you ever find out what play they’re putting on?” he asks when you walk ahead of him to the door. He reaches around you to pull it open, holding it as you pass through.

“Jack and the Beanstalk.”

He frowns in consideration as the two of you reach where his car is parked. “Do we know which character Morgan is playing?”

“Not yet. Auditions are tomorrow. She’s gunning for the bean saleswoman.”

“The what?”

“Bean saleswoman,” you repeat just a little louder, laughing when Sam exaggerates his confused expression further. “She’s the one who takes Jack’s cow and gives him magic beans.”

“I thought that was supposed to be a scary old man.”

“Morgan thought about all the characters and their motivations and decided she liked the bean seller’s motivation the most.”

“Which is what?”

“According to Morgan, ‘the bean seller has lots of beans and no cow. And she really wants a cow.’ Morgan likes cows.” Grinning when Sam snorts, you sit back against the plush passenger’s seat.

“Why isn’t Barnes helping?”

“He has a date tonight,” is your sighed reply. It earns you a brief look from Sam. “And with the way his relationship’s going, probably his wedding next week.”

“He’ll have to postpone holy matrimony.” Sam shrugs when you glance at him. “There’s a situation in Kyiv and I’m sending you two on Saturday.”

“You were sitting on that in the café?”

“The car’s a secure location, right?”

Shocked laughter is fractured by a nervous tremble. The world turns slowly once more. Your mouth opens, shuts, and opens again until you land on, “But the play—”

He offers you a strange look. “It’s only three days. You can build sets when you get back.”

Your movements feel slow, as if you’re moving through syrup. You feel each aching centimeter of your stomach falling, each flexing and stretching muscle when you nod. “Okay. What’s the situation?”

“Ukraine’s got parliamentary elections coming up. Prime Minister Shmyhal is worried about what the Svoboda and Batkivshchyna parties have planned.” He takes a slow sip of his coffee and puts the cup in the holder again. “There are rumors of a repeat of 2012 and 2013 when Svoboda and Batkivshchyna deputies accused MPs of voting for absent colleagues. It escalated to fist fights and xenophobic chants during a televised speech, and the Batkivshchyna stormed the podium in parliament to prevent swearing-ins. These guys have attacked members of the press, allegedly killed four national guardsmen, and constantly threaten violence if they don’t get their way. All the rumors are made worse by the new president dissolving parliament during his inauguration.”

“Can he do that?”

“Court said it was legal when the last guy did it and called for snap elections. The Svoboda hate this guy and the idea of losing whatever seats they managed to hold onto during the Blip. So it’s not a good scene.”

“And all of that is only gonna last three days?”

He shakes his head but keeps his eyes on the road. “Fury’s had his agents in place since the presidential election. They noticed Svoboda party members flyin’ in from Lviv and getting rooms near the Verkhovna Rada building two days ago. Timing’s off, need to do some recon to see what it’s about.”

“You can’t come with me instead?”

Another strange look. “Barnes can speak Ukrainian, spent a couple months there when he was on the run so he knows his way around. You gotta talk yourself into some places, blend in in others. You can’t do that with both of us knowing fuck all about the language.”

Sam watches as you attempt to burrow into the seat further, your arms crossing over your chest. “Fine.”

A brief pause, thick and lingering like smoke, floods the car until, “Is something goin’ on?”

“Huh?” You watch the light change from red to green. You ignore the burning feel of Sam’s stare. “No, not that I know of.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You sit in the glow of five bright screens.

Eyes narrowed beneath a pair of thick glasses, your fingers are sticky with grains of sugar and citric acid. One leg rests on the dining table, one is bent with your knee at your chest. A tablet sits unsteady on your thigh, blueprints of the hotel suite and floor digitized with X’s marking the areas covered by a camera, their scope accounted for with dashed-line borders.

Bucky winks into the camera he’s set up. The leaves of a fern— which sits in a corner of the living room— cover part of his left eye, blur the cockiness of his expression. He grins when your scoff rings through the comms. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Buck.”

“Got a good view?”

“Wouldn’t know,” you reply, popping another Sour Patch Watermelon into your mouth. Bucky can hear the smile in your voice. “Your giant head’s in the way.”

“Oh, that’s the best view, honey.” Your poorly suppressed laughter receives a small smile in return, more to himself though it’s captured by the camera. “Can you see both couches?”

“Not really. Turn the pot about 30 degrees clockwise.”

“Come on, it’s been 15 minutes of turning the damn—”

“We can argue later. Agent H said their session wrapped as of four minutes ago and they’re heading back.”

Sighing, he crouches out of sight and the view shifts. You have a clearer view of the desktop— not clear enough, however. “S’better,” you say. “There’s a leaf in the way.”

Vibranium fingers struggle to tuck the leaf aside and a handful of too-long seconds pass this way. You watch as his frustration grows. Exasperation shines over his features until he rips the leaf from its branch, the force of which moves the camera a few inches. “Fuckin’ stupid—”

“If you’re done fighting a leaf, you just moved the camera.”

His eyes meet the lens. Pleading. You almost feel bad. “I can’t just stick this shit on a table?”

“This is a better vantage point. The tables are too close to the center of the room.” You glance at the other screens. “Okay, slide the pot two inches to the right.”

He crouches again. Once the view shifts very slightly, “That good?”

It’s fine. Yet, “Not really. Slide to the right.”

You hum when he complies. “Now slide to the left.” The plant is moved less than a few centimeters to the left, leaves rustling. “Take it back now, y’all.”

The plant is scooted barely half an inch back before Bucky stands and glares at the camera. The chill of ice is felt through the screen.

Nonetheless, “One hop this time.” A pause. “Right foot, let’s stomp.”

A roll of his eyes.

And he stomps his right foot.

“Left foot, let’s stomp.”

He stomps his left foot.

“Cha cha real smooth.” Drumming a beat against your thigh, you attempt to beatbox along with it, not deterred in the least that he is standing entirely still. “Turn it out.”

Bucky— long-suffering expression, long-suffering tone— asks, “Can you see the whole room?”

“Can you do the Cha Cha Slide?” When he only glares, you sigh. “It was fine before. Move it up half an inch and to the right half an inch, buzzkill.”

“Is that right? I’m a buzzkill?” He rights himself once the plant is in place. “Who was it that told Sam about my plan?”

“You wanted to tie these guys up in our room until the elections were done without evidence of wrongdoing. That’s kidnap.”

“It’s incapacitation, you li’l tattletail.”

“Incapacitation by kidnap.”

A dismissive wave of his hand. “Semantics. Besides, I wasn’t gonna charge ‘em ransom.”

“You don’t have to ask for ransom money for it to be a kidnap.”

“Yes, you do. Otherwise it’s just hangin’ out. And a spectacular waste of time.”

A less than attractive raspberry bubbles past your lips. “Your legal knowledge is changing my life, Bucky.”

“And it’s free of charge. You struck gold when you met me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming message from Agent H: Entered hotel lobby, heading toward elevators.

“They’re headed to the elevators.” You check each screen, note the perimeters. “The cameras are fine where they are. You should—”

The door to your room clicks shut.

Bucky— much too casually in your opinion— makes his way to you as he removes his gloves. He snorts at your gun still pointed in his direction, his jacket landing in a pile on the couch as you flip the safety back on.

He doesn’t notice your incredulous stare until he’s beside you, checking each camera angle for himself. He returns your stare with one of his own, brows lifted. “What?”

“What ‘what’? I could’ve shot you.”

You receive a skeptical look in return. “You aren’t rash enough.”

“You don’t even wait for my signal? You just stroll back?”

“You said they were headed to the elevators,” he shrugs. His hands are set on the table, one on either side of you, so he can stare at the monitors comfortably. The warmth rolling from his chest seems to thaw the tension in your shoulders. “Don’t worry. I checked if the hall was clear.”

“What if the camera angles were still off?”

“I prioritized not getting caught,” his voice is now an absentminded mumble, chin set on top of your head.

He slides the hotel service folder toward himself and flips through the laminated pages with vibranium fingers. There’s a faint scritch scratch of his stubble against your hair when he asks, “How do you feel about dessert for dinner? They’ve got medovyk.”

He pumps his eyebrows twice when you tilt your head back to look at him. He grins wide in an attempt at persuasion.

The person who boarded the Quinjet just two days ago was resolved to maintain a modicum of professionalism. A certain strength of boundary. That person sat far from the cockpit. Played music loud enough to ache the eardrums below shaking buds. Cracked open a book which had gone unread for eight long years.

It took one conversation for that person to vanish. Just a casual question about exfoliation and you set your book aside. After all, should one really break an eight year pattern?

You and Bucky fell into your usual rhythm over those two days. You shared looks across Verkhovna Rada chambers when you posed as security guards. You hid your laughter behind cups of coffee as you met with Agent H and Agent L for morning briefings. You took half of his deruny at dinner and he took half of your varenyky. No pillow border divided you at night, nothing to stop your toes from burying themselves in the warmth of his legs or his nose from nudging your forehead.

You wave a dismissive hand and use the tablet to disable the looped footage you’d sent to the hallway security camera feeds. Both of your legs now rest on the table, crossed at the ankle. “Order what you want. I’m not too hungry.”

He straightens and shakes his head in disappointment. “How can you be when you fill up on junk?”

He scoops a handful of tiny sugar-coated watermelon slices from the bag of candy and tosses it all into his mouth. He wags his finger in your face as he chews, nearly striking your nose. “Shit’s awful. You’re gonna pass out one day from malnutrition.”

You hum and watch as he takes another handful. Your lips curl in playful anger. “Yeah, maybe I’ll adopt your diet. What’s it called? The ‘everything in sight’ diet?”

“Are you saying I eat a lot? That’s rude, sweetheart, and I’m sensitive.”

He rolls his eyes at the pout of sympathy you offer him while you set your hand under his chin, guiding his head to the left, then the right. Eyes narrowed, you inspect his features and place your fingers against his pulse point, concluding seconds later with, “You’ll live.”

His sole response when you laugh and sit back, thoroughly satisfied with yourself, is a sarcastic smile.

A sarcastic smile which shifts seconds later into something genuine. Something soft.

Two days of stepping in that old rhythm and Bucky’s taken a dive into familiarity. Headfirst. Nothing graceful, not at all coordinated. He’s sure he’s going to bash his head against concrete soon enough, yet he kicks and kicks hoping it’ll get him there sooner.

It’s sadistic, isn’t it?

Craving the pain of it. The crimson blood stains going brown against the sidewalk. Everything inside of him— all the sadness, the devotion, the love— spilled at your feet only to be scrubbed away moments later so your steps aren’t given a chance to falter. He’s prepared an apology for the marks on your shoes, for the heart your heel goes right through.

It may be for the feel of the fall. The floating when his legs ache from kicking, the soaring when he spreads heavy arms. A smile and wordless conversations over morning coffee, a laugh if he’s lucky. He would spill his blood all over the pavement, let you tear his heart to shreds under your soles, for that.

“You got time for the café when we get back?”

“You’ll have to ask Morgan.” Your voice comes muffled, head in the minifridge in the search for a cold bottle of water. Bucky has a plain look over his face once you stand. “She’s in charge of scheduling for the play staff and has taken all of my free time. If I want time off, I have to file a request at least 48-hours in advance. She has forms and everything.”

“Christ, is this a Broadway production? Is she in charge of that fuckin’ John Adams show?”

Water bottle at your lips, you pause. “Do you mean Hamilton?”

“I guess,” he shrugs.

“No,” you snort, “but she’s taking her job very seriously.”

“Play hooky,” is his simple suggestion. He pushes the menu aside, determined to order all three entrées he finds appealing. He then attempts to level you with a wide-eyed look. “C’mon. It’s a post-mission tradition.”

A frown pulls at the corners of your lips. “I made a promise. Besides, don’t you have to go see a certain someone when we get back?”

He scoffs away the playful lilt of your voice. “I’d still make time for you.”

You smile. Warm as the sun. You watch him melt in it. “Well, that’s sweet but I’m sure she wants all the time with you she can get. I’ll make you a latte with brown sugar for the debrief with Sam, though. I’ll even write ‘Bunky’ on it and it’ll be like we’re right there in the café.”

His own smile is brief. “S’not just about the latte, you know?”

If you tell him the temple has been leveled under ash and snow, that all the candles have been extinguished and all the hymns have come to an end. If you tell him deities you’d sculpted from delicate clays and sands have fallen to dust, if you tell him the sight of the ruins breaks your heart all over again, would he hear you?

Has he seen it?

Has he felt the universe pause in mercy?

He stands on a foundation of intent now. Not like the foundation the two of you built in search of something else. Can he feel the difference?

“I know.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“You wanna hear my Cab Calloway impression?”

Passing him the plain black duffle you’ve spent nights begging him to replace, you receive a sideway glance from Bucky. It lingers for a beat too long, even as you avert your gaze to the tear running parallel to the struggling zipper. “You have a Cab Calloway impression?”

“Locked and fucking loaded.” You’re emptying your weapons locker into your own bag intending to clean the guns later, sending him a smile over your shoulder. “You know the Betty Boop version of Snow-White? From 1933?”

You start humming St. James Infirmary Blues in an attempt to jog his memory, giving him your bag, too. You gesture with your hands, widen your eyes as you walk down the jet’s ramp to the helipad. “You know?”

Bucky stops even as he’s several steps behind you, stopping you as well with a simple, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to see him staring confusedly, brow furrowed at you. “How the fuck do you— Are you older than what you’ve been letting on? Because if you’re from the fucking thirties or forties, too, —”

“No,” you say once you’ve laughed sarcastically. “Turns out some of the nonsense from those racist, anti-Semetic, awful times manages to be great now, too. Some of the music, some of the movies, —”

“Some of the people,” his smile growing as his voice trails off.

You tilt your head. Features twisted in question, you blink. “What people?”

You can’t help your laughter when his teasing stare slowly fades into a glower. “Like Cab Calloway, you mean? Yeah, he’s still cool.”

His sigh is heavy, lips struggling against another smile.

“Do you mean Steve?” you ask, voice higher pitched as it pinches in withheld giggles. “Miss that guy.”

A step in your direction. “No, I don’t mean Steve.”

“One of the other Commandos then?” you punctuate your question with a wink, a nod in sly understanding. But his budding grin falls as soon as you say, “That Gabe Jones? He was hot. Drew hearts all over his picture in my history textbook and everything.”

Your laughter grows louder as he walks right up to you, a dark look in the grey-blue of his eyes. “You’re such a fuckin’ little punk, I swear to—”

His name is hollered behind you. Voice higher than yours, lighter than yours. There’s an effortless joy to the way she says his name, to the way she races up the ramp to meet him halfway. She stands a few inches shorter than you do, but her smile stretches miles wider. She’s uncorrupted and bright, stares up at him with an unrivaled openness. Just like he deserves.

You don’t notice the way he continues to watch you, don’t notice the halfheartedness in the hug he barely manages to return.

But you smile at her when her eyes find you. She’d hesitated looking away from him. Didn’t want to tear her eyes away for even a second. It’s sweet as honey, and you hate her for it. “It’s good to see you.”

She says something back— something kind— and Sam approaches the three of you only to throw an arm around your shoulders, but Bucky’s only focused on your outstretched hand. Your eyebrows lifting when he only gapes back. “I can take my bag. You two probably wanna catch up.”

“No,” Bucky answers even as you manage to wrestle the bag away. He notes the narrowed look being sent to him from his left, but keeps his attention on you and Sam. “No, we have to debrief and—”

“I can handle it.” The reassurance he finds in your smile feels like a cold breath to aching lungs. A forest the morning after rainfall. It shifts to something tighter when your eyes lower to his left. “Have a nice night, you two.”

Sam and Bucky nod at one another as the latter passes. Soft fingers thread through those of vibranium, and their departing steps come with the low hum of hushed conversation. Bucky’s eyes meet yours before the elevator doors shut and cut the thread between you, and you exhale a burning breath from your tight posture and slump onto Sam’s shoulder.

Knowing, he asks, “Have a good mission?”

“Incredible,” your gaze is still fixed on the elevator, voice strained. Sam notices. He’s always noticed.

“In love with Bucky?”

You nod and meet his eyes. Deep brown— coffee-hued, coffee-warm. “Yeah.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

You used to find an empty gym blissful. A quiet space in a Tower that always bustled enough with laughter, and arguments, and life to echo in memoriam for months.

Those echoes began to linger like ghosts. Waiting for you behind every corner, refusing to be drowned out by the hum of a treadmill or the smack of a fist against a punching bag. So you played your music as loud as you could, you laughed at Sam’s jokes with all the joy in your body. Pulling it from your limbs, your fingertips, your toes.

In the morning it was as if you could see them in thick rays of carmine yellow when the sun shone in through the long wall of windows. And at night they rode along the sparkle of city lights. Often you asked FRIDAY to roll down the panels of blinds Tony never expected anyone to actually use, often you asked the AI to keep the overhead lights as bright as they could go. Hiding from shadows, from the sun like the moon and from the moon like the sun.

But you refuse to hide now. You refuse to muffle the echoes that sound like home. The sun shines on your back, your shadow dances against the wall.

Your heart aches in your chest, but it beats. Full and rhythmic.

“Haven’t heard from Peter in a while.”

Sam is sent a few centimeters back with the strength of your punch against the bag, shoes sliding over the smooth floor. He braces the bag tighter. “I know. It’s great.”

You level him with a plain look, lowering tired arms. “Sam.”

“Keep going,” he says. He waits until you assume your stance again to continue, “Happy’s keepin’ track of him.”

“Is anyone looking out for Wanda?” The angle of the next punch you throw is off, an ache splintering along your wrist. “She hasn’t called me back in a while.”

“She’s—” he sighs, allows you to relax for a minute when he lets go of the bag. “She’s hard to find if she doesn’t want to be found.”

You catch the roll of tape Sam tosses you, unraveling the mess around your knuckles. It’s an easy task, sweat wetting it loose. “So it’s just us three on the roster?”

“For most jobs.”

“Which means, hypothetically,” you begin— slow and easy, “if I said I was benching myself for a little while— that’d be a pretty big problem, huh?”

You meet gentle eyes when you look up. Watch him smile something adoring. “I don't know how long I’ve been asking you to take a break and now that you finally wanna take one— Ain’t a problem at all.”

“You sure?”

“Barnes and I can handle the field.” He catches the tape you throw to him easily. “Did you attain enlightenment overnight?”

“In some ways,” you laugh. Shaking out your shoulders, you find your stance. “I’ve wanted to take a break for a while now. Since Berlin, maybe. I just kept waiting for the world to calm down enough or for something to force me into it. But then we got snapped away and— I need to do the things I want. Wanting them is a good enough reason to.”

“The world’s never going to calm down.”

“It can’t. And trying to make myself less of a person won’t ease the pain of that. I need to heal, which I can’t do if I keep acting like I’m not hurt.”

Sam stares at you silently for several moments. “Should we start paying your therapist more?”

Snorting, you throw a hard enough punch to force him into a stumble. “Make the check out to yourself. Your little support group’s been helping.”

“I’ve never seen you at—“

His mouth screws shut when you smile at him. “Baby, I’m a spy. You only ever see me when I want you to see me.”

“You creepy shit.”

You drop your stance to laugh, hands on your knees before you take a short leap and flick your fingers against Sam’s forehead. Screaming when he springs into action, you spin around immediately and run across the gym as fast as your feet can take you. Your words and laughter jumble together, “You called me creepy!”

“You fuckin’ are!” he shouts back, chuckling, too.

You face him once you’ve rounded the long line of treadmills, shifting from side to side just as Sam is. There’s a teasing glint in the brown of his eyes, his usual warmth omnipresent as the machines divide you. “Still shouldn’t say it! I don’t point out how— how—“

“How what?” he asks. He’s grinning as he takes off in the direction you decide on. “Can’t find jack shit to say. S’what happens when you’re fuckin’ perfect.”

“If you’re perfect,” you start, coming to a slow stop when Sam is only a few feet from catching you, “then I really did attain all enlightenment last night and am now Buddha.”

You emphasize your point by placing your hands in abhayamudrā and shutting your eyes for less than a second. You open them in time to see him lunge for you and are only able to whirl around before he wraps a strong arm around your waist to lift you from the ground. Your gasp easily fades into a laughing scream, breath knocked from you.

“Is this kinda workout not available for anyone else, Sam?”

Sam sets you down, still chuckling as the door comes to a slow close behind Bucky. “I’d throw my fuckin’ back out trying to pick you up.”

Bucky, short hair damp from a long run, snorts but nods a moment later. “Yeah, fair enough. Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Buck,” is your grinned response. It glows in pink and red, loving and bright. He can almost taste chalky heart-shaped candy.

“Haven’t seen you since Kyiv.”

Sam leaves the two of you to gather his water bottle, phone, and headphones from the bench closest to your punching bag and you shrug, smiling at Sam when he nods, supportive. “Yeah, I’ve—“

“Been busy?” Bucky guesses. He lets his eyes run along your profile. The slope of your nose, the length of your eyelashes. The smile still comfortably on your lips, reaching the subtly creased corners of your eyes.

You shake your head and meet the curious blue watching you. “Not really. I’ve been around. Doing paperwork, training, —“

“Being creepy as hell,” Sam interjects, passing you to the door. His eyes are narrowed.

“Building sets,” you amend to Bucky. Door shutting behind Sam, you call, “I’ll see you in your dreams tonight, Sam. There’s no hiding.”

You can hear his laughter even as he walks down the hall, smiling to yourself at the sound.

“What’s that about?”

“Apparently hiding in the shadows during his support group meetings is frowned upon,” you snort. “Go figure.”

“He just doesn’t know how to take a compliment.”

Sighing, you nod. “You always get me.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at his chuckles, his small grin.

Going to Kyiv felt like coming home.

Riding alongside Bucky in the Quinjet, laughing and holding his stare a little too long, felt like home.

Seeing him now, smiling at you with that same playfulness in his eyes and comfort easing his posture, feels like home.

“Bucky.”

A home with a foundation you can strengthen by acting purposefully. Intending to choose Bucky and doing so over and over.

He nods. He’s rolling tape onto his knuckles, placing his phone on the bench as you sit. “Hm?”

You pick at the tape around your own hand, peeling it slowly. “I kinda— I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Okay.”

It’s silent for a few beats. Long enough that he looks over his shoulder, eyes kind and questioning, before he turns to face you completely. He smiles and whatever bricks remain of that terrible wall your heart had spent months clawing at crumble away.

He’s so handsome. So sweet, so kind, so understanding—

“What’s—”

It pours from your mouth on the notes of a quick exhale, “I love you.”

His smile falls and that little wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens.

“I’m in love with you. And I know you’re— That you have someone and I think she’s great. I’m really so happy for you.” You hope your smile is as green as you intend for it to be. “And I don’t want to blow it up by saying something I probably have no right to say but— I've been losing my mind holding this in. I need to do right by myself and by you and finally be honest.”

He’s still silent, still staring. He looks like he’s expecting you to say more. Unmoving, unsure.

You stand, thick band of orange tape hanging off your palm. “That’s all.”

“I don’t—“ his voice stutters as miserably as the heart in his chest.

“You don’t have to say anything.” You jab your thumb in the direction of the door. “Morgan’s got me on a tight schedule so— So I’m gonna go.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

Bucky’s pacing. Cockpit to his locker, his locker to the cockpit. His boots barely make a sound, steps so light Sam is scared out of his mind every time he hears a heavy sigh just inches away.

It’s been days of this. Watching Bucky pace, hearing him sigh like the weight of the world is compressing his lungs. He’s lost several slices of pizza to Bucky’s insistence that he’s not hungry only to practically inhale everything Sam’s ordered for himself. He’s lost hours of sleep to knocks on his door at three AM, because Bucky needs to ask about the plan again.

What’s the strategy? Who’s rescuing the hostages? How much are they willing to negotiate? Are they willing to negotiate at all? Is it true a cat took Fury’s eye?

Frankly, Sam’s had enough.

But he’s resolved to not interfere. It’s not his business.

But it’s been three fucking days. “If you sigh one more fucking time, Barnes, —”

“Sorry.” Nonetheless, Bucky sighs again. Falls into the co-pilot’s seat, leg bouncing and thumbs twiddling. “Sorry. I wasn’t— I thought we had another two days before coming back. It’s throwin’ me off.”

“Thought it was a good thing to wrap shit up early,” Sam mumbles. His gaze remains focused beyond the windshield. “Get a nice break. I can make it to Morgan’s play, you can see your girl. Maybe take a fuckin’ nap.”

“We—” another sigh. Sam might put his foot through the jet’s damn wall if this keeps going. “I ended that. I couldn’t pretend to be available to her when— when—”

“When the girl you love said she loves you.”

Humorless chuckle, and he shakes his head once. He should’ve known you’d tell Sam. “Well, yeah. But I ended it the night we got back from Kyiv.”

The way Bucky says your name— like something so soft and precious, almost intimate— makes Sam think it’s wrong for him to even hear. “It felt too good to be around her again, felt like I was cheating. And that day in the gym, when she said she— I didn’t know what to say.”

“I don’t think she expected you to say anything.”

“Sam, she ran off last time. When shit started to get real, she pushed me as far away as she could and ran off.”

“I can’t promise you anything. But the change I’ve seen in that girl,” he shakes his head. So much for none of his business. “She’s takin’ a break from work, letting herself be a person. She lights up at someone even mentioning you and brings you up whenever she can. She’s different now and wouldn’t have told you what she did if she was plannin’ on running off.”

Bucky’s leg stops bouncing, but his thumbs still knot together. The vibranium plates of his left palm pinch his delicate skin. Voice rough as gravel, “Still fuckin’ scary.”

“Yeah. Shit works out sometimes, though.”

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁

“You know, there’s no shame in saying ‘no.’”

“Yeah? Did that get you here?”

You look up from the student in the seat placed before yours and meet Pepper’s gaze. Her eyes sparkle in humor, her smile poorly hidden. She nods toward your hand, covered in stray flecks of face paint and makeup, and then at the sponge you’re using to spread white paint.

“I don’t count,” you press. You get back to work, holding Keith’s face in one hand to get the white paint as close to his ear as possible. “I’m not her mom. And I like doing makeup. Especially Keith’s.”

Keith grins at you, chubby cheeks blown wide when you wrinkle your nose at him. Dipping a thin brush into a pot of black paint, you nod at him. “Okay, no more smiling. Your spots will look weird if you do.”

He nods back and immediately drops his smile, letting loose a single giggle at his own abruptness. He peeks at you with a teasing green eye and looks away as soon as you gasp.

You smile to yourself as you outline a series of black spots. One or two on each cheek, one around his right eye. “You can’t let Morgan throw an after party. She’s a kindergartener. You can’t start letting them throw after parties until, like, third grade. Gotta set boundaries.”

“And you know this from all the kids you’ve parented.”

“I don’t have kids,” you reply, tongue poking through your lips in concentration as you fill the spots using a new sponge. “None that I know of, at least. I’m just a genius. Keith, I need you to hold still if you want to be the cutest little cow this school has ever seen.”

He stops wiggling and Pepper snorts. “He looks like a dalmatian.”

“A cute dalmatian.” Once the spots are filled, you paint on a small pink nose and allow him to place the headband with floppy cow ears into his chestnut hair. “Those beans better be worth their weight in gold.”

He straightens the white and black crewneck sweatshirt he wears and turns to the mirror, grinning at his reflection and bursting into laughter. “I’m a cow!”

“You are!” you cheer back, laughing with Pepper when he moo’s as loud as he can. He hops out of the chair and onto his feet. “Be careful, you’re not fully dry yet! How much you wanna bet he’s gonna fuck up his makeup before the show can even start?”

“I’ll put more on you getting caught cursing before the show can start,” Pepper says with a roll of her eyes. She sits in the seat Keith had occupied, the wood creaking under an adult’s weight, as she helps you clean the sponges and brushes. “I know Morgan hasn’t said it yet— she was planning on making a speech at her after party— but we appreciate how much you’ve been helping.”

“It’s no big deal.” You look to the mirror and take a cleansing wipe to the streak of white on your forehead. “I’m trying to take a break from avenging and haven’t really found other things to do yet. This was a nice way to get out of the Tower.”

Pepper hums. “Morgan’s got a whole thing about how her favorite Auntie Avenger saves the day and the show.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Maybe you should let her have this party.”

She barks a sarcastic laugh and stands when she hears a shrill “Mom!” shouted across the backstage area. “Try to hold the ‘fucks’ in.”

“No promises!”

One more swipe across your forehead to fully clear it of white paint, and you sigh to yourself at the creaking of the chair. “In those five seconds, I managed to hold the fucks in—”

Blue eyes— so soft, so gentle and kind— watch you expectantly. He waits for you to focus on him, pays little attention to the relaxing of your grip and the package of wipes which falls to the floor as a result. A small smile, one he can’t help, begins to pull at his lips. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Buck.” The silence which settles over the two of you is comfortable, broken when you reach to pick up a brush. “Did you need your makeup done?”

He shakes his head.

“Well, backstage is cast and crew only,” you pout playfully and grin when his shoulders shake in a silent chuckle.

“I guess I don’t have long to say this.”

He sits up straighter, drags his hands— metal and flesh alike— down the lap of his dark jeans. He rehearsed what to say on the drive over, asked Sam if what he wanted to say was too blunt. Asked if he should add a preamble of some kind, maybe a disclaimer that he hasn’t had a grip on his mind or heart for months.

He can’t remember any of it now that you stare at him from that canvas and wooden chair, blinking owlishly and looking at him with so much love it steals the breath right from his lungs.

“I— I forgot everything I wanted to say.”

“That’s okay. Take your time.” You lean in and he feels himself pitch toward you as well. At your smile he feels the softness of velvet, the comfort of lavender. “If anyone tries to kick you out, I’ll fight ‘em. I’ll fight a kindergartener.”

He laughs, loud and bright. “Fight a kid, huh? You must really love me.”

He watches you sober, he watches you choose him.

Your grin shrinks to something pink and you take as deep a breath as you can. You nod. “Yeah, Bucky, I do.”

He hums, he chooses you, too. “So do I.”

“What?”

“I love you. And I’ve wanted to tell you everyday since you took me to that café.”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

636 notes · View notes

buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

wakanda

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Steve gives you Bucky's dog tags for a reason.

word count: 2.4k (lol, sorry)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being a cutie.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

“Welcome to Wakanda, agent (Y/N)”.

A second after you crossed their airspace, you were courteously greeted. The views from your ship were indescribable. Peace invaded you just at the sight of the open fields and the warm colors of autumn. You could get used to that place too. To live in calm, work hand-to-hand with Shuri, and have time to spend it with Bucky. The reason why you were flying there. Removing your right hand from the control and grabbing in a fist the dog tags hanging on your chest, you took a deep breath while closing your eyes before getting ready to land. T’Challa was waiting for you at the entry of his kingdom, accompanied by his excited little sister and some of his guards.

Pressing a sequence of buttons above your head, to pull the control back, the ship went down slowly folding its wings. As you landed and turned off the engineers, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and the huge headphones to step out. Shuri received you with a friendly hug, breaking protocol and being just Shuri. You built a strong relationship since you met a year ago, when you brought Bucky to that beautiful and magical place, to let him recover. To let him rest.

“Your highness”. You uttered to T’Challa crossing your forearms in the traditional salutation of Wakanda.

“Agent (Y/N)”. He corresponded walking closer. “The white wolf asked me to let you know he wouldn’t want to be… bothered with visits today”.

You couldn’t help but frown. The last time you saw him was around three months ago. You usually interchanged letters from week to week, being one of the fewer persons he trusted in. And it wasn’t just a question of trust. Steve told you about his feelings, his shyness, and insecurities, his fears. What Bucky didn’t know, again, it wasn’t a question of trust from you either. That’s why the Captain gave you the dog tags, after more than thirteen years under custody. You wanted to see him, to know if he was happy there as he wrote you in his letters one million times.

“He doesn’t wear his arm here”. Shuri clarified, taking a position close to his brother.

By the look on their faces, you were aware of two things. One, they noticed too that something was growing between Bucky and you, and that it wasn’t a simple friendship. Two, they weren’t going to stop you. Oh, quite the opposite. They’d bring you to him on a golden platter and a big red bow on your head. The king beckoned a hand to urge you to follow him to the inside of the building and use one of their ships to fly above the place to the white wolf’s location.

You were nervous. You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours last night thinking about him and how he’d react to having back his tags since the forties. Your eyes were focused throughout the window on your left, watching different citizens taking care of animals and plantations, children running from one side to another, playing and having fun. Oblivious to the horror of New York, where you resided. One of the cities in the world with the highest rates of street violence. Serial killers or simply killers, rapists, kidnappers, drug dealers (...). It was a minefield and Wakanda seemed and felt like Heaven.

“Did you think about the offer?” Shuri nudged you to push you back to reality, turning your head towards her.

“Since you dropped it to me”.

“So?”

“I…” You needed to put away your gaze again, focusing on the blue opened sky in front of them. “I want… to consult him first if you don’t mind”.

“Of course, (Y/N)”.

“I don’t want to put his world upside down, now that he’s not the…” You couldn’t finish the sentence. You couldn’t pronounce that detestable nickname and the pain beneath it.

Shuri nodded in silence, not needing your explanations. She knew how you felt. She understood you. The talk didn’t continue, stretching your right hand on your lap to calm your nerves and make you comfortable with the situation. The flight didn’t last longer than five or ten minutes, losing the track of time deep in your thoughts. The pilot indicated to you through the headphones that you were about to land, glancing at a complex of small houses in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and wilderness.

You were the last one jumping outside with your hand grabbing the tags on your chest, trying to find the encouragement there to follow T’Challa’s hand pointing at a man working with goats and collecting hay for them. Licking your lips and assenting with your chin, you guided your steps towards him. Slowly. As if you wanted to turn around at some point. But you knew it was too late when he was the one turning at the sound of your heavy boots cracking the grass under them.

Bucky didn’t look annoyed for your visit, nor the lack of attention to his petition. Although there was something in his pale blue orbs you weren’t able to decipher, until he bowed down his head unconsciously to his left shoulder covered by a dark fabric matching his eyes. You had to do your best to not roll yours, shortening the distance setting you apart. You had been dreaming about that encounter since the last time you were there before Shuri accessed the darkest place of his mind and cleaned it from any trail of HYDRA. Now, he was free. And he looked in good condition as the bags under his eyes had disappeared and his hair was almost tied with a bun. His cheeks seemed a little more chubby and you just wanted to pinch them. But it’d be weird and out of place. For the time being.

Bit by bit, a sweet smile widened in your lips, curving them as Bucky stared at you again when he was conscious that you didn’t care. With or without a metal arm, your feelings were exactly the same. You couldn’t admire him more than you were admiring him at this point. You couldn’t love him more than you loved him already. And God was a witness of how many times you practiced to confess to him and tell him that the only thing you wanted in life was to be by his side. Bring happiness to his days, bring him peace and harmony.

“I'm sorry…” “I brought you…”

You two spoke at the same time, breaking in a soft giggle that jumped your hearts in complete sync.

“You first”. He let you, waving his hand.

“I… brought you something”. You susurrated, loosening the grip around the metal hanging on your chest to take off the necklace.

You noticed the way his eyes widened in surprise and confusion. Why did you have them? Who gave them to you? Why now? Bucky gulped watching you stretching the dog tags between your fingers towards him. He didn’t know what to do, taking a second before he was able to react. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he saw them, and the amount of memories they gave him overwhelmed his whole brain.

In slow motion narrowing his eyes, Bucky held the chain with two fingers to hang the necklace from it. You thought he was about to wear them, but he destabilized you as he directed his hands to above your head, to place them where they were an instant before. You didn’t understand. Didn’t he want them back?

“I want you to keep it”.

“But…”

“I want you to have something mine”. Bucky recognized with a shy smile decorating his lips. “Those tags and my arm are the only things I have from my past. And… I won’t give you my arm…”

“Well, I bet it’d look good hanging from my neck”. You jocked tilting your head.

In his gift, you found the encouragement you needed to talk about T’Challa’s job offer. It wasn’t as if you were proposing to him, in the end, you were just friends even if it felt quite the opposite. You licked your upper lip, kissing your teeth after it, earning more than his attention.

“Shuri said, uh… I could come here, work with her. We’d do great things together, not only for Wakanda but for the world”.

Bucky’s gesture didn’t change a single inch, focused on the nervousness you were trying to hide from him and reading the reasons beneath.

“So T’Challa offered me to stay here”.

“Permanently?”

“Yeah… Permanently”. You assented pressing your lips, breathing through your nostrils.

“Did you accept?”

“Not yet. Not until talking to you about”.

He nodded then a couple of times, turning to the goats behind him coming closer. “Got to finish some stuff… Maybe we can talk later about it unless you have to leave”.

“No, no. I, uh… asked for the day off. Banner didn’t need me at the lab today”.

“Okay, good”.

While the king was showing you the new level for research and investigations, Bucky took the advantage to go and find Shuri without your knowledge. He found her in the surroundings of the main building, working on your ship as you said it made some kind of random noise that put you out of your nerve during the flight.

“I need my arm”.

The princess squatted close to the left wing, turned at him without standing up. Pulling her sunglasses to the top of his head, she raised an eyebrow.

“For what”.

“You know for what”. He clicked his tongue, placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“No, I don’t”. She lied while cleaning the grass and oil in her expert fingers.

“I need to have two arms”.

“You’ve been working the last months with one arm only. Why do you need it now?”

“C’mon… Argh…” Bucky rubbed his face with boredom. “I want to hug her, okay? Can you just… give me back my damn arm?”

“Not enough reasons, you can hug her using your right”.

“I want to have two hands when I kiss her”. He finally confessed in a hiss, provoking a triumphant smile growing on Shuri’s lips.

“If you lie to me, if you don’t kiss her, Sergeant Barnes… I’ll code it to punch your face”.

“Wait…” Bucky wrinkled his nose drawing a horrified gesture on his face, as he turned his blue eyes towards his left shoulder. “Can you… do that?”

“Try me”.

No, of course she couldn’t, but he didn’t know. Which were a good push for him to not go against her and her petition.

“C’mon. I’ll set it up and help you to put it on”.

Your eyes were traveling from one picture to another. He put some of them around his small house and it looked better now. More like a home. A place to stay. And for a second you felt a twinge straight in your heart when you noticed one photograph of the two of you, close to his bed. It was after your first mission together. Steve insisted on taking it, after noticing the sparkles between you. But you didn’t know he brought it to Wakanda with him, as your copy is on your nightstand too. And you used to fall asleep every night looking at it.

The curtain being moved and some steps in pulled you out from your thoughts, turning to find Bucky staring in silence at you. Your orbs landed on the metal arm. It was different too since the last time you saw it, with golden strips forming between the silver ones. You couldn’t help but sigh.

“You didn’t need to…”

“Yes, I did. I did need it”. He interrupted you, breathing through his parted lips and his heart about to fly off from his chest.

“Why?”

“Because, otherwise, I couldn’t do this”.

You were about to ask what he was referring to, watching him breaking the distance between the two of you in three fast strides. You closed your eyes at the moment his hands held your neck and Bucky slammed his lips on yours. The kiss, the contrast of cold and warmth on your skin, the everlasting longing for it to happen… All of this caused you to gasp, tangling the tunic at the height of his chest in your fists, not wanting him to take a step back. Your mouths fit perfectly without looking for it, made for each other, as he secured his fingers on the back of your neck. And you felt your knees weak when he pecked your lips one more time, before caressing your nose with his, not being able to open your eyes. Neither of you.

“I don’t have the right… to ask for anything”. He babbled. His insecurities coming afloat even if you hadn’t pushed him away. “But… I want you to stay here. With me. I… I don’t have much to offer you, but I promise to make you happy”.

At this point, your eyes were filled with tears, strongly closing your eyelids to not let them fall. You swallowed a sob, moving your hands from his chest to his middle back, embracing him tighter as you could.

“You’ve been making me happy since we met, Bucky”.

He chuckled breathless, intuiting he was too at the edge of his crying because of that affirmation.

“Every Tuesday, I wait at the stairs of my apartment for the mail, for your letters. I’ve… read them so many times I can recite them… by heart. Every word you've written to me”.

“I will continue writing them for you, even if you stay with me”.

Your voices were low, barely audible out of his place. Like secrets. Bucky kissed you again, bending enough to raise you by the back of your thighs and urge you to surround his waist with your legs. The dog tags on your chest clicked against the other, as you moved your arms to his shoulders and neck, and you were unable to stop kissing him. You two could die right now and not be bothered because you were finally together, and that was all you deserved in life.

“Tell me you will stay… please”. His beg brushed your lips, still pecking them between syllable and syllable.

“I will…” You replied without hesitating as you could, eager to correspond to every gesture from him. “I will stay with you”.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and/or reblog it.

tag list: @mystic-232 @homesicam @theresnoplatypus @i-love-scott-mccall @slutfornat @thewilloesapphire @goldielocks2004 @whatrambles @the-mystery-spot @multiyfandomgirl40 @purrrrfect @gemini0410 @nikkixostan @spidergirla5 @amethyst-butterfliess @mariska0610 @wanniiieeee @fanofalltheficsx @goldielocks2004 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nocturnalherb16 @jointhehunt67 @the-witty-pen-name @valenquei @golden-hoax @hunter-of-baker-street @missusstark

@mayans-sauce @peoniarose @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @skits90s @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @greeneyedblondie44 @phoenixhalliwell

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader

3K notes · View notes

bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 3 years

Text

Unanswered Letters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

I saw this on Twitter today, so here we are.

Please message me with any questions, comments, concerns, or suggestions! 💜

Warning: just hella angst

———————————————————

It had been almost 3 months since you’d last seen Bucky.

Moving into the Avengers compound had proven to be a little much for him. He was always surrounded by people and everyone seemed to nag him about how much time he spent alone. He never went out for drinks or karaoke with the team, and getting him to watch a movie or eat dinner with the group was like pulling teeth. He’d always leave halfway through the movie or eat his dinner extra fast so he could excuse himself from the table.

He was uncomfortable around everyone, everyone except you. Of course he was comfortable with Steve and Sam, but they were always gone on some world saving mission. Being the newest member of the team, you were around all the time. You’d been given the room right next to Bucky’s and your friendship began at 3am on your first night at the compound.

You’d been up late that night unpacking all of your stuff and organizing your new room in the Avengers compound. It had been a long, tiring day of moving and you wanted nothing more than to get some well-deserved sleep. You’d checked the clock and saw that it was somehow already 2:45 in the morning. You hopped in the shower to rid yourself of the sweat and grime of moving day and changed into some pajamas. You made your way to the light switch and raised your hand to flick it off when you heard something strange.

It sounded like…screaming? You’d thought at first that it was probably just Bucky’s tv, but then you heard his voice. It sounded like he was pleading with someone, saying “STOP, STOP” over and over again. You’d rushed into Bucky’s room and found him in his bed, writhing around and clearly in the midst of a nightmare. He’d kicked all of his blankets onto the floor and was covered in a thin layer of sweat. You’d barely met this man, but your heart broke at the sight of him. Before you realized what you were doing, you were at his side. “Umm, Sargeant Bar-I mean, Bucky? Hey, are you okay?” you whispered. You’d placed on hand on his cool, metal shoulder and gently shook it.

He’d woken up with a gasp. His head snapped in the direction of the hand on his shoulder and he’d looked scared. “Hey-hi, sorry. It’s just me. I’m pretty sure you were having a nightmare…” you said in a gentle voice. “I heard you screaming from my room.”

He was silent for a moment, clearly feeling a little embarrassed. “Oh…uh, hey. I-I’m fine, thank you.” You caught yourself gazing into his beautiful blue eyes and had to actually tell yourself to stop staring. “Yeah, um, any time. You sure you’re okay?” A small smile flickered across his lips and he nodded his head. “Great. Um, I’m right next door if you ever need anything” you promised as you left his room.

He’d wandered into your room about five minutes later, looking a little awkward and out of place. His nightmare had been particularly terrible and he’d just wanted someone to sit with. It had been quiet between the two of you at first at first until you starting asking him questions. You didn’t ask about his capture or his abuse or his years as the Winter Soldier. You’d just asked him about his favorite color and what kind of food he liked and the last movie he watched. These simple conversations had lead to deep talks about life. You shared your hopes, fears, and life stories with each other. These late night talks became the thing you looked forward to the most each day.

And then he was just gone. He left in the middle of the night 11 weeks ago and hadn’t been back. He left a short note on your nightstand, apologizing for leaving and saying that he’d miss you. And then he was just gone. His absence left you feeling empty. You missed his low, gravelly voice, his surprisingly joyful laugh, and his big, warm hands that would always brush your hair out of your face.

You tried getting in touch with him everyday. You’d call, text, and email with no response. All you cared about was whether or not he was okay. You just needed to hear from him, but there had been nothing for almost three months and it was killing you. You worried about his state of mind. Was he taking care of himself? Was he safe? Everyday you’d ask Steve if he’d heard from Bucky and everyday he’d say no.

The others in the building noticed how Bucky’s absence effected you. You’d spent the first few days without him alone. You’d sit in your room listening to sad music that only made you more sad. Wanda was kind enough to check on you, bring you food that you didn’t eat, and coax you out of your isolation every few days. You eventually started joining the group for dinners and movie nights, but never stayed the whole time. Your sadness consumed you and you just wanted to be alone.

Sometimes you’d hang out in Bucky’s room, just to feel like you were with him. He’d left some of his things behind and his scent still remained. You didn’t realize that you were in love with him until he was already gone. You kicked yourself everyday for not figuring out your feelings sooner and your heart ached more and more each day. You wondered if Bucky was thinking about you, if he missed you, if he loved you too- but his absence and lack of correspondence gave you a resounding answer: No.

Every night before bed, you’d leave your door open just a crack. In case Bucky came back in the middle of the night, you wanted to make sure he knew he was still welcome in your room. You felt stupid doing it and you knew everyone else in the building felt pity for you when they saw your open door, but you couldn’t help it.

And then one night, you felt a cold metal hand gently shaking you awake. You’d had this dream a million times since Bucky left and it always left you feeling empty when you woke up. But when you woke up this time, the metal hand was still there. You heard your favorite, gravelly voice whisper “Hey, doll”. Desperately, you felt around for the lamp on your nightstand until it was turned on for you.

Bucky’s deep sapphire eyes stared back at you. His sharp jaw line was covered in a layer of stubble and his hair was a little longer now. He was beautiful. You’d almost forgotten how beautiful he was up close. You felt hot tears fill your eyes and spill down your cheeks.

“Bucky?” you whispered in disbelief. His hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek as he wiped away some of your tears. For 11 long weeks you’d hoped that this exact thing would happen and now that it was, you had no idea what you were feeling. Relief flooded your brain as you realized that he was okay. You were overjoyed to have him back, but sadness and anger found their way into the mix as well.

You bolted upright and wiped the tears from your eyes. “Bucky, I- where the hell have you been?! I was so fucking worried about you.” You were angry, but couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping him in a hug. Feeling his huge frame against yours for the first time 3 months was exactly what you needed. But you broke the embrace to look him in the eye again. “I called you and texted you and even emailed you- everyday! Everyday, Buck. And you never answered. I just wanted to know that you were okay. To know why you left. I didn’t…”

His head lowered and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I’m sorry. I just…I had to get away for awhile.” He finally met your eyes with his own and you saw the sorrow in his face. “I needed to try to get my mind right. Moving in here was…a lot. I was overwhelmed, I guess.” You saw his expression change from sadness and guilt to a kind of confused anger. He stood up and slowly paced next to your bed.

“I didn’t have my phone on me and-wait a minute,” He muttered. “I never answered?You never responded to my letters! Not one! I wrote to you. I wrote to you every week, and you never wrote back…” He was clearly upset, wondering why the person he’d become closest to had been ignoring him.

You got out of your bed, slowly making your way over to him. “Buck…you sent me letters?” you whispered. It felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs, “I never…I never got any letters.” He whipped around and stared at you in disbelief and his anger quickly melted into disappointment. “What do you mean? You never got them? Doll, I…” He covered his face with his hands for a moment. “Did you think I’d just leave and never talk to you again?”

You let out a small sigh, “I mean, kind of! You never answered my texts or called me back and I clearly never got any of your letters, so…” He slowly took a few steps toward you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He tentatively reached toward you and wrapped you in a hug. “I missed you so much, doll. I should’ve talked to you…”

You broke the embrace and took his face in your hands. “Buck, you had every right to leave. I know you’ve been through a lot. I just wish I’d gotten your letters”. He let out a low chuckle, “yeah, me too”. He looked deep into your eyes, brushing you hair out of your face. “It was a lot easier to tell you in writing, but I guess I’m here now so…I love you, doll.”

381 notes · View notes

demonsandmischief · 3 years

Text

106 (Soulmate AU)

Marvel - A Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

1K Words

Soulmate, Endgame AU

-106-

In which your soulmate's age shows on your wrist.

----

106.

It was the number written faintly on your wrist.

The number was beautiful to you, but people made fun of you for it. When you were born, the number was 81. How could a newborn baby possibly be mates with an old man?

"Probably a pedophile."

"He has to be dead by now. I do feel sorry for the poor girl."

Everyone thought it had to be a mistake. It wasn't a mistake to you, you loved them already. You understood you would probably never get to meet them, and that was painful, but it was still a gift to be treasured.

The world was a mess. You had just woken up from being dusted. Your life was in shambles. Your job had since replaced you, and you struggled to find a new normal.

You volunteered at nursing homes a lot. Just once did you want to see your wrist glow. You didn't have to be with them romantically, but any indication of who they were and their story would give you peace to finally move on.

One thing you knew for sure was that they were still alive. The number would fade completely if they were dead. Oddly, it was still a strong color compared to those you have seen.

You had heard stories of people meeting their soulmates. Your mother told you she knew immediately - that her soul called out your father's without having to see the glow of her wrist. You envisioned a magical moment as a child, but maturity dulled the fantasy, especially with such a strange number.

Others said that their wrist brightened as soon as the distance with their mate shortened, and continued to brighten right up to meeting.

You were in New York City for a job interview. The city was still hustling, maybe a bit more chaotically after the global extinction/alien invasion issue.

"I'm sorry. You're underqualified. Additionally, my company does not tolerate the lack of professionalism in which you left your last job."

"I was blipped," you said softly, desperately wanting to scream with frustration. "My position was filled while I was gone."

"Half of the world blipped. It is no excuse," the lady folded her hands on her desk, not looking the least bit sympathetic. "I just can't hire you."

You thanked her and left the building. This seemed to be the pattern for the past month, interview after interview. It wasn't like you dropped off the face of earth by choice.

It was moments like these that you truly longed for another person to confide in.

You took in a deep breath, choosing to walk down the street. The disappointment was just as suffocating as the city and you were thankful for the little park that appeared.

It was pretty busy despite it being early afternoon, but your eyes immediately went to the bench tucked further in the trees away from the winding paved paths.

As you sat, you noticed a tingling in your wrist. It was the same static that happened when your hand fell asleep.

You drew back your sleeve to rub away the sensation, only to notice the number resting there was slightly brighter, and it continued to brighten.

The hope that bloomed in your chest was inevitable. You looked up, expecting to see a very old man, but you didn't see that.

Instead, you saw honey blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Captain America.

Your heart thudded gently in your chest as his large frame moved closer.

"I see you've found my spot," he smiled a soft smile that showed his pearly teeth.

You noticed his eyes going to your glowing wrist, but his was facing away from you. You moved over and he sat beside you.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he said, finally holding out his hand so you could see the glowing 25. You bit your lip to contain a giddy smile.

"Y/N," you whispered, clasping his hand with yours.

Instead of giving it a shake, he held onto it.

"What a beautiful name," he turned his attention to the people walking on the path. "You know, everytime I visit Brooklyn, I have to stop here. It puts things in perspective. This is where everything good in my life started." His lips turned upward, and he glanced back at you.

"I thought you would be an old man," you blurted. "I was looking for canes and walkers. Hundred and six is no joke."

Steve chuckled, "I am a bit of an old man. Before I went into the ice, I didn't even have a number. I can understand what you went through."

That was comforting, and a warm silence settled over the two of you.

"Imagine my surprise when I wake up with the number twelve on my wrist," he shook his head.

You took in his appearance. He was wearing a dark leather jacket that highlighted his fair skin tones and bright features.

"Do you want to maybe grab a coffee or lunch or something?" you asked hesitantly.

"I'd love to," Steve said. "And I know just the place, if you don't care?"

He still had his large hand holding yours as he helped you up. He was gentle with his movements, handling you like you were the most precious thing.

"I don't mind at all," you watched your hands in wonder. A feeling of contentment you had never felt before covered you like a warm blanket. "I'm not from around here."

"Oh really? Where are you from?" he asked curiously.

The conversation was effortless. You both had so much to say. It was like you had known each other your whole lives. You hadn't been more grateful to not get a job, because maybe you wouldn't have wondered down the street, and maybe you wouldn't have met a certain Captain.

Part 2

----

A/N: I can start a taglist if you guys like. I'd love to know your thoughts.

Buy Me A Coffee to support my writing.

#captain america x reader #captain america imagine #captain america #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers soulmate #marvel imagine #marvel soulmate #marvel one shot #steve rogers imagine #soulmate au #captain america soulmate #avengers imagine #avengers endgame

643 notes · View notes

raineydays411 · 3 years

Text

Ember

Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

Warning: Child neglect, swearing, angst, death

Summary: After being kidnapped by Hydra, Y/N does some reflecting on her home life. Especially her relationship with her father

italics = past pov

Bold= thoughts

Italic bold= ghosts

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

You never thought your life would end like this. Alone, trapped in a Hydra cell, full of anger and resentment for the one man who was never supposed to break your heart. Of course, up until now you had been pretty optimistic your father would realize the error of his ways and miraculously spend years making up for years of missed recitals, ignored achievements, and multiple other offenses. You always forgave him because, hey the man was a member of the Avengers, what should you expect having Tony Stark as a father?

But right now, as you lay on the cold, damp floor, writhing in pain from whatever glowey nuclear shit those assholes injected you with, you can’t help but remember the mistreatment and neglect bestowed upon you by your father.

It was, it was September Winds blow, dead leaves fall

You’ll always remember that September day. The day your entire life had changed

You were only eight when Loki tried to take over New York. You and your mom were coming home from the store when all of a sudden, people around you started to panic. Looking up, you saw a large portal in a once clear blue sky. Creatures appeared out of no where, destroying anything in their way. Your mother, terrified, took you by the hand and headed for a near by building. But, it seemed that others had that idea as well. Before you knew it, your vision was overwhelmed by the bodies of citizens trying to escape the chaos outside. After a few seconds, you found yourself in a crowed parking garage and no idea where your mother was.

You never saw her again after that.

After three days of searching, the police declared her dead and you were sent to live with your godmother, Pamela Isely.

She was good to you. She held you through nightmares, told you stories about how your mother and her met, and even taught you how to take care of plants. The only complaint you had was that she would usually leave you alone every once in a while and come back with a lot of money, and occasionally, a loud blonde woman in a clown costume would come through the window and pinch your cheeks too hard. Other than that, you got adjusted to your new life quickly.

Four months passed and your life changed again. It was a cold September day, and you had just got home from school. As you walked into the apartment, you immediately felt a tension in the air, and you saw a man at the table with your Aunty Pam, who looked extremely uneasy and pale. They stared at you until your Aunt spoke.

“Y/N...you’re going back to New York.”

Those words alone made the floor fall from underneath you. You had just settled down. You finally felt comfortable without your mother in the world and now this?? Then the man cleared his throat, causing you to snap back into reality.

“Y/n, my name is Tony Stark”

You knew that name, he was the man in the metal suit who helped save New York. You didn’t care at the moment though, you just wanted to know why you were leaving your aunt.

Ignoring Tony, you looked at your aunt and whispered,

“ Did...did I do something wrong?”

Immediately, Pams eyes filled with tears as she quickly gathered you in her arms and responded with a loud,

“Oh no, darling of course not”, She then proceeded to tell you the uncomfortable looking man at the table was in fact your father, who up till now you had never met. In fact, you never even fathomed the idea of having a father as your mom had always told you that you were a gift from some fairies she helped. You turned to the man who quietly sat at the table and looked over the man who was said to be your father.

He was definitely a handsome man. He wore a fancy looking suit and some tinted glasses even though he was inside. His hair was dark brown and messy, as if he was tugging or running his fingers through it. His skin looked to be am olive color but it was hard to tell as he looked kind of pale in the light of the small apartment you called home. You thought it was odd he hadn’t said anything other than introducing himself.

“ Is it true? Are you really my dad?” You asked in a quiet voice.

He finally spoke, “Yeah kid, I’m your dad”

To you, I did surrender

Two weeks, you didn’t call

It’s been two weeks since you were taken by Hydra. Two weeks since you were injected with that mystery substance. You didn’t die, at least you don’t think you did. But you didn’t exactly feel alive either. You were colder than usual, like your body temperature lowered. You slept longer than normal especially the first three days after you were injected. The guards had to wake you up just to get you to eat. But the most worrying symptom of all is that your eyes were the same shade of neon blue as the liquid that was injected into your body. And everytime your eyes turned blue, something weird would happen.

For example, the first time you noticed your eyes were blue, you woke up from the first long sleep.The second time, you thought you heard voices, screaming in agony and despair.This was odd because you were the only one in that cell block. As you came back to reality, you realized that you could see other ghostly figures in the once empty cells, and that you were floating three feet above your bed.

Within the two weeks you were in that cell, you learned that that day you were injected, your heart did stop for an hour until you miraculously sprung back to life with a loud gasp, scaring the absolute shit out of the Hydra guards that were tasked with disposing your body. That would go through physical changes as well. Your once brown skin would change to a pale ghostly blue. And your black kinky hair would change to a shocking neon blue to match the color of your eyes.

For two weeks, you learned the ins and outs of your newfound powers. Two weeks of being pushed to your absolute limits by power hungry scientists. Two weeks of learning the names of the dead around you in those cells.

It took two weeks, to realize that your father truly didn’t care about you.

And looking back on it, you should’ve known

Your life, goes on without me My life, a losing game

It had been a year since you had moved into the Avengers Tower with your father. It had taken you a while to warm up to the team and for the team to get used to having a child around. But once you all got to know each other, it was like having multiple aunts and uncles. Especially because you were around them more than your own father.

Unfortunately, once you had settled in and gotten to know everyone, Tony had locked himself away in his lab. Tinkering on a new project for weeks on end, ignoring his responsibilities as a new father.

Now, this didn’t really affect you till you started school. Tony had forgotten to pick you up multiple times, causing you to wait for hours on end till either Steve or Pepper realized that you hadn’t come home and rushed to the school , only to see you waiting on the front steps talking the ear off of the unlucky teacher who had to stay behind to wait with you.

Of course word got around that Y/N Stark was being forgotten at school everyday, thus prompting the kids at school to taunt you everyday after school.

“Where's your daddy Y/N??”

“I bet he leaves you here so you can get kidnapped so he doesn’t have to look at you”

“Your own dad doesn’t even love you”

Once you got to middle school, you joined as many after school clubs to hide the fact that there was no one to pick you up. And a small part hoped that it would be enough to gain your fathers attention. But it didn’t happen.

“Daddy! I made the volleyball team!”

“hmm, oh that's great kid, can you pass me that wrench”

“Dad! I’m in the robotics club”

“Y/N I’m really busy right now”

“ Hey dad...can you help me with--”

“Not now, go ask Pepper”

No matter what you did, you could never get his attention long enough. Nothing you did was good enough. You never got so much as a “welcome home” or a “ have a good day at school kiddo”. And you were fine with that. You were, because you knew that even though he didn’t show it, Tony Stark really did love you.

But you should, you should not doubt me You will remember my name.

After learning the extent of your powers, which included; flying,the ability to talk and see the dead, energy blasts, floating through walls, and the ability to shut off your powers at will. You decided it was time for you to make plans to escape.

You’d like to think that you were really good at pretending.

You did it on a daily basis, really. You pretended to be happy, not to notice Tony’s neglect, like you didn’t see the pity glances the rest of the team gave you. So convincing your captors that they finally broke you down wasn’t really a challenge.

“....fine..i’ll help you” You said in a tired weak voice.

The two guards were startled at first, not expecting you to speak so suddenly

“You..what?” The younger of the two asked in a suspicious tone.

“I said I want to help you” you repeated a little louder.

The first guard looked to the second, obviously confused at your sudden change of heart. They had a silent conversation with their eyes, as if debating on whether this was a trick or not. Finally, the older of the two turned to you and said,

“This better not be a trick, Stark.”

And with that, he started to unlock the door to your cell.

“Okay, now I can either fight them now and make a break for it, or I can wait till i get to the--”

Your thoughts were cut off by a loud wailing, piecing your ears and automatically giving you a headache. Wincing in pain you look around the empty cell blocks and try to locate the spirit that’s making all that noise. When you see it, your heart breaks. It’s a young boy, around your age. The first thing you notice about him is that he had white hair, kinda Danny Phantom. As you continued to stare at the boy, his head suddenly turned and you both made eye contact, the movement startling you enough to make you jerk in the hold of the guards

“ HEY, eyes forward!” shouted the older guard. “There's no way out, if that's what you're looking for’ He said in a smug tone.

“I said I wanted to join you, why would I want to escape?” You reply, irritation dripping from your words.

“Just don’t pull any tricks kid.”

God does he have any other lines, you think to yourself mentally rolling your eyes. Sounds familiar.

Oh Ember, you will remember

Oh Ember, one thing remains

“Y/N I’m busy, go as--” “I know, go ask Pepper”

“Oh kid, I’m sorry I forgot” “ yeah, I know”

“You’re on the volleyball team” “ yes dad. For four years now”

“Y/N! I’m gonna be in the lab with Peter so try not to bother us.”

“Y/N me and Peter--”

“Good job, Peter”

“Hey Peter--”

God were you tired of that name. You never ever felt the feeling of envy and anger as much as you did when Peter came into your life.

In fact, you were still healing from almost losing your family you found in the Avengers. Your dad didn’t want you around the “traitors” as he privately called them, so you were secluded. Watching them from afar and yearning for the comfort of hearing Steves pre-war stories, helping Clint pull off the most ridiculous pranks, helping Wanda teach Vision how to cook, and most of all you missed talking to Natasha. She reminded you of your aunt Pam, mainly because they both had red hair. You hoped that your father would understand this loss and step up now that you really needed a connection, but no. He decided that Peter Parker deserved all his attention. So you stopped trying as hard.

Oh Ember, So warm and tender You will remember my name

You walk into a room with a singular table and no windows. Sat at the table was a bald man writing in a notebook. The two guards lead you to the table and make you sit opposite of the bald man. He looks up at you and smiles.

“So, Ms. Stark has finally decided to comply?” He asks in a smug tone. You roll your eyes and answer back in a sarcastic tone,

“Yeah yeah, just cut the crap and tell me what you want me to do.”

The bald man just smiles and looks at you, as if trying to read your mind to figure out your motives.

“Well”, he says, leaning back into his chair. “Lets get down to business.” He then proceeds to talk about the process of join his team and what you will be doing. But you don’t hear a word of it. Because you were going to escape this hell hole one way or another.

“Well then, lets get you changed.” said the bald man. “Yeager, Jennings, take our guest to to her new room.

“Huh so they do have names.” You think, as they pull you out of the chair and into the hallway. Walking back into the cell block, you make eye contact with that white haired boy again. He’s quiet as he watches you walk back to your room, then he disappears.

You finally get back to your cell and notice a pair of black spandex, black halter top, grey boots and some black gloves on the floor. Changing into them, you take your hair into a pineapple with a hair tie they had given you. Looking into the piece of metal you used as a mirror, you changed into your ghost form. Suddenly, you hear a male voice behind you.

“Don’t let them know you can do that.”

You startle and turn around, only to see none other than the white haired boy. He looked equally as startled as he realized you can see and hear him.

“Why not?” you asked, changing back to your normal self.

“Because, they won’t ever let you leave.You’re already the first one to survive the injection. If they realize you can go ghost, they’ll do everything in their power to control you.”

Your mind flashed to Bucky. How Steve told you that they kept him. Brainwashing him over and over till he just became a weapon. You were not going to let them do that to you. You looked back at the boy.

“Can you help me get out of here?” you asked hopefully. The boy looked at you and said,

“Well I’ve got nothing else to do.” You let go a sigh of relief. You were about to say something when you heard Yeager and Jennings walking down the hallway.

“They’re coming” You whisper, “ what do I do?”

“This base is small. All the people here are the only ones who know about it. They’re all going to be in the training room you’re being taken to. Wait till you get there, phase into the floor to the basement and blow up the heater. That should cause the whole building to cave in”

You again don’t get to respond, as the two men finally get to your cell and unlock it. You walk out of the cell, head held high and allow them to lead you to the training room. Despite the look of confidence, you were dreading the next few moments.

“So how come I’m the only one here?” you ask, even though you know the answer. The older guard looks at you and says

“You’re the only one who survived.” You fake a look of shock and look forward as if the news made you uneasy. And it did. It made you mad that these people didn’t care that they were murdering innocent people. They couldn’t hear the cries and the wails of agony these poor trapped souls emitted. In a way, it was ironic. Back at the tower, you were the poor soul nobody could see. And now you were surrounded by them.

Your heart, your heart is rendered Your loss, now bear the shame

This was the last straw. There was only so much you an take before you broke and this was it.

Tony didn’t intend for you to hear it, but god did it hurt all the same. One phrase shattered your whole world.

“You know Spiderling, your kinda like the kid I always wanted to have.”

An tense silence filled the common room. The first time in months you were able to see th eteam and they had to bear witness to this. Of course they did, who else would give you that stare full of sorrow and pity. You barely even noticed though. You were too busy looking at the “heartwarming scene.”

“that's such bullshit” Oh, how you wish you had a camera if only to capture the look of pure “oh shit” painted on Steve's face.

“What..what was that kid?” Asks your father. You turn to him, a fury in your eyes that nobody has ever seen.

“THAT IS ABSOLUTE BULLSHIT.” You scream. “ FOR EIGHT YEARS I HAVE TRIED SO HARD FOR YOU TO LOVE ME. EIGHT YEARS I JOINED CLUBS, GOT THE HIGHEST GRADED IN CLASS AND FOR WHAT?”

Tony and Peter look at you in shock “Y/n..wha..what are you talking about?” Peter asks in a baffled voice.

“Oh eat shit Peter! You know exactly what I’m talking about! Do you not find it weird, that your new mentor spends every single second of free time he has on you and not with his daughter?? Or are you so needy for some sort of parental validation that you don’t even care??”

Deep down you know it’s not Peters fault. Hell, you two probably could have been good friends if your dad wasn’t such a tool.

“Hey kid, I don’t know what's gotten into you, but that was way over the line.” Said Tony in a stern voice. Your eyes harden.

“Oh, did I hurt your poor little spiders feelings?? I didn’t even know you cared about other peoples feelings Tony? Or is it just your daughters that you ignore ?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t ignore you, stop being so over dramatic.”

OVERDRAMATIC?? DO YOU REALIZE THE ONLY THING YOU KNOW ABOUT ME IS MY NAME??” You are now sobbing. “ Do you even know my favorite color? How old I am?”

Tony looks at you, eyes wide.”Y/N...” You cut him off

“Just forget it. I understand now. I will never be important to you. Not like Peter apparently is. I just wish it didn't take me eight years to figure that out.” And with that, you run out of the room, tears running down your cheeks and ignoring the calls of your father, the team, and Peter.

You run for a few blocks and cry in an alleyway. not the smartest idea but you were too upset to care. And as you cry, you don’t notice the dark shadow behind you before its too late and the world goes dark.

Like dead trees, in cold december Nothing but ashes remain

The hydra base was now engulfed with flames. Your body was tired from phasing through the walls, and your head hurts from those energy blasts. But one thing brings some happiness in your heart as you watch all the souls that were trapped there realize they are free. All but one, the white haired kid. He walks up to you.

“So you did it.” He says with a smile. You smile back.

“Yeah I did. Thanks to you.”

“Blue suits you.” he says with a blush. You squint at him for a second and let out a chuckle.

“Thanks” ,You’re both silent for a few seconds, watching the souls leave. You speak up again.

“Why aren’t you leaving like them” You question him.

“I don’t know, I guess my time here isn’t up.” he says looking out at the horizon. You nod and look at around trying to figure out where you are.

“So, what are you going to do next” he asks. Your body stiffens as you are filled with resentment.

“I’m going to visit my father.” You say, eyes glowing a neon blue.

You will remember my name.

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

A/N: HI!so this is my first ever fanfic! i hope anyone who reads this enjoys it!! Let me know what you think and what i can improve on!💕

#tony stark x daughter!reader #danny phantom #fanfic #marvel #marvel x reader #reader insert #tony stark #tony stark imagine #peter parker x stark!reader #the avengers #poc reader #avengers x teen!reader #x reader #danny phantom x reader #steve rogers x reader #crossover #poison #poison ivy

2K notes · View notes