Tag: i write things

Wreak Havoc: Four

Summary: Your lineage is a mystery and your powers can be downright scary. You had been on your own since you could remember; saving some lives, taking others, doing what needed to be done in order to survive. And then one day, a man with a metal arm saved your life. From that moment on, you worked with the Avengers, saving lives, not only on Earth, but in other galaxies as well.  
Word Count: 1,236
Warnings: Heavy angst, language, violence, blood, gore, there could be some smut, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: The main idea for this was inspired by this song by Skylar Grey. GIF credit [X] Sebastian GIF found on Google Images.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Steve was shouting, panic creeping into his voice. “They’ve got a cannon.”

“Of course they have a cannon,” Bucky gruffed.

“Get out of there, Cap,” Sam implored, the wind rushing into the mic as he dove out of the sky.

“You don’t think I’m tryin?” Steve ground out. His shield was flying through the room, taking out several enemy agents before returning to him.

You and Bucky were making your way through the other end of the warehouse, searching for the master switch that would shut the whole thing down. It was your first mission with the Avengers, and the last thing you wanted to do was let them down. They had taken you in, given you a place to stay, to lay your head at night, to call your home, no matter how badly Steve seemed to dislike you.

“Got a bogey on your six, Cap,” Sam announced, sounding out of breath and worse for the wear.

“On it,” you said without missing a beat. “Bucky can handle the master switch by himself.”

Without waiting for approval or rejection, you shifted your weight and tore off down a long hall that seemed to have a dead end. With a bit of concentration, you waved your hand and sent yourself through the wall, bits of debris falling to the floor a moment later. You kept going, making your own way to Steve, and killing anyone that stood in your way. The only thing that came close to making you stop was the sight of a large cannon, humming with electricity, glowing blue, aimed at Steve.

Steve’s shield was on the floor and his hands were in the air. “Killing me doesn’t ensure your survival,” he ground out, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

“The rest of your… people will be dealt with soon enough,” whatever-his-name-was sneered, his finger pulling the trigger a moment later.

Using your momentum, you kicked the shield up and caught it as you ran. You launched yourself through the air and passed in front of Steve just as the bright blue beam erupted from the barrel. It slammed into the shield, sending you full force into Steve. He may have been other-worldly strong, but there was no way he could have withstood the impact of your body hurtled into his thanks to a Tesseract-fueled weapon.

The pair of you were driven through the wall and flying through the air. Steve’s arms instinctively wrapped around you and held you to him as your hand shot out. Emerald-hued energy shimmered against the ground and your hand as you wielded it to slow your descent.

“We’re down,” Steve shouted into his comm once his feet were on the ground. “But, they’ve still got the weapon.”

“Master switch has been disabled,” Bucky chimed in. .

Sam was next. “I got eyes on ‘em. They’re loading up on the west side, gettin’ ready to head out.”

“Not on my watch. Let’s go, Cap,” you announced with a smirk.

Steve gave you a smile that actually reached his eyes. “On your left.”

Your muscles were sore, but in a hell-yes-you-kicked-ass kind of way. You hadn’t been able to stop smiling the entire ride back to the compound. Working with the Avengers felt good, it meant being able to use your abilities to save people, rather than being the one to clean up the mess.

Steve was waiting for you in the common room after you had showered and changed clothes. “I need to apologize.”

After taking a drink of beer, you shrugged your shoulders. “For what?”

“For acting like a jackass all this time,” he admitted. “You never deserved it, and there was absolutely no excuse for it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sighed heavily. “There was no need for it.”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” Steve chuckled wryly.

Pulling in a deep breath, you realized there was something you needed to do. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait… you’re apologizing?” He had this deer-in-the-headlights look that you found adorable.

“God knows I haven’t made it easy,” you acknowledged. “I just… I’ve been around a long time, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, so have Bucky and I.”

You shook your head before taking another drink. “The two of you are babies compared to me. I’ve been around for… fuck, it feels like forever at times. I’ve seen galaxies shaped and formed only to be destroyed by war. I’ve seen beautiful creatures ripped apart by disease and famine. I’ve seen… I’ve seen it all, Steve.”

“Do Bruce and Tony know this?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“I’ve told them everything I know,” was your breathy answer. The fear that you would one day die without knowing who you were or where you came from wasn’t as big of a secret as you would have liked.

Steve’s hand was on your shoulder and his eyes were soft as they met yours. “They’ll figure it out,” he assured you.

You gave him a gentle smile,unable to keep from  jumping when Bucky’s voice erupted behind you. “You guys aren’t going to kill one another, are you?”

Your emerald power shimmered over every inch of you, shocking Steve’s hand as it was still resting heavily on your shoulder.

“Shit,” the two of you hissed in unison.

“Damn it, Bucky,” you admonished the man approaching you from behind, sending a jolt of your power through him.

Steve let out a laugh as Bucky cringed, his hair standing on end for a split second. “I think you might be my new favorite person, Y/N.”

“Watch it, punk,” Bucky warned lowly. “And you -”

You whirled to face him, stepping back at the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people,” you interrupted him, a ridiculing tone to your voice.

“You really should respect your elders, jerk,” Steve added, shooting you a wink.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How much older we talkin’?”

“Higher than you can count,” you teased, setting the empty bottle into the recycling.

“I’ll have you know -” Bucky started, but you didn’t let him finish.

“Older than that,” you giggled.

Bucky stopped his advances, his brows furrowing together as his mind tried to figure it out. When you thought he’d be standing there all night, you jabbed Steve in the ribs.

“How long do you reckon we’ll be standing here?” you whispered.

“I can hear you,” Bucky snapped playfully. “Okay, but the two of us combined -”

Steve shook his head. “Not even close.”

With one brow arched, Bucky’s eyes roved over you in a way that made a chill slither along your spine. “You’re really older than that?”

Remembering the conversation from a few minutes ago, Steve got an idea. “Has Bruce mentioned anything about carbon dating?”

“I mean, he’s thrown around a lot of scientific terminology,” you mumbled, your thoughts swirling as you tried to remember anything like that.

“It’s mainly used for dating fossils,” Bucky noted, leaning back against the counter.

Steve mirrored Bucky, leaning against the other counter, his arms crossed. “Yeah, but could the same be done with… people like us?”

Your already swirling mind was sent into overdrive. “What, like, have Bruce draw my blood and carbon date it?”

“You really think Bruce can do that?” Bucky had a look of disbelief on his face, yet, he sounded genuinely curious.

You raked a hand through your still damp hair. “There’s only one way to find out.”

FIVE

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @badassbaker  @fatalcrossbow @sunriserose1023 @alyssaj23 @ssweet-empowerment @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie @palaiasaurus64 @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @nyxveracity @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @melaninmarvel @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @wildefire @capsheadquaters  @qnzdiamond104 @saharzek @speakinvain @diinofayce @mizzzpink @pebblesz892 @stevieang @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @jakaraannodine @lea—-b @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @moisttoas-t @nuggsmumreads @anotherotter @jobean12-blog @fireismysaftey @msshadowboxer @vechkinfan @prettybubblesintheair @kanupps06 @rainbowkisses31 @janeyboo @banlaochranda @ellie-bee242 @shieldsandsunsets @evanstandream @punkrockhufflefluff @winters-beauty @unlikelygalaxygiver @thirtiethnovember @sexyvixen7 @whope123 @mscaptainjones @awkward-walking-potato @memory-of-a-goldfish @somethingwitty-somethingsweet @minarawr @xserenax-13 @andiyholly @averyrogers83 @bionic-buckyb @princess76179 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @female-accountant @whitemoonstag @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake @nerdgirljen @everythingisoverrated @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87 @akamaiden @part-time-patronus @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @emmawatsonbelle @joannie95 @almighty-rogers @jamesbbbarnes-blog @buckysothiccbarnes @paintballkid711 @teafocus @cxptain-bxcky @letsdisneythings @buckystan-plums @gonnadiereading @nomadstevergxrs @kaliforniacoastalteens @brastrangled @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @xtina2191 @roonyxx

Bucky: @inumorph @eclecticninjapenguin @angryschnauzerwrites @me-a-hopeless-romantic @thinkwritexpress-official @sarahp879 @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @wecanburntogether @britty443 @barnesbestgirl @demonspawn2468 @nuvoleincielo @bexboo616 @prospathww @chrisevans1fan @slytherincoven 

Wreak Havoc: @dewy-biitch @kornerstone234 @lilypalmer1987 @encounterthepast @wecanburntogether @learisa @2s0uls @part-time-patronus @jfrank1048 @ramen-tically @storyteller-le @mummy-woves-you @gigiljoshler @issakiwi @fandom-addict-aesthetics @animegirlgeeky

Wreak Havoc: Three

Summary: Your lineage is a mystery and your powers can be downright scary. You had been on your own since you could remember; saving some lives, taking others, doing what needed to be done in order to survive. And then one day, a man with a metal arm saved your life. From that moment on, you worked with the Avengers, saving lives, not only on Earth, but in other galaxies as well.  
Word Count: 1,015
Warnings: Heavy angst, language, violence, blood, gore, there could be some smut, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: The main idea for this was inspired by this song by Skylar Grey. GIF found on Google Images, Latin translation used on Google.

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Even though several weeks had passed, and he had been putting everything he had into helping Y/N, Bruce was at a loss. He had been peering into the microscope, Y/N’s blood between two slides, for hours, and he was even more confused than before. He had no idea who – or what – Y/N was. Her blood cells were… weird, like nothing he’d ever seen before, and he’d seen a lot.

He sat back in his seat and pulled the thin-framed glasses from his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he blew out a harsh breath. He was tired, the kind of tired he could feel in the marrow of his bones, making them ache; he needed to get up and move around.

Keeping an eye on Y/N as she used her power to easily cut through the thickest sheet of steel Tony could provide, Bruce walked the circumference of the office several times over. It was borderline hypnotising, watching Y/N. She was not just stunning to look at, but she had this grace about her; every move she made was with purpose. It was exquisite, containing this otherworldly essence that brought a sense of familiarity. Just not enough for Bruce to figure out.

Bruce wanted to know more about her, but not in that way. He saw the way Bucky looked at her, knew the look all too well, because he used to look at Betty that way, like he wanted to spend the rest of his life telling her how much he loved her, how brilliant and elegant she was, how he would lay down his life to save hers.

“What’cha got, Banner?” Tony asked as he strode in, a protein shake in one hand, his cell phone in the other.

Bruce managed to keep the shriek of surprise contained, though barely. “Nothing,” was his simple answer.

Tony peered at the smartest man he knew. Scratch that, the second smartest person he knew. “It’s been three weeks. How do you not have anything?”

“It would probably help if you weren’t out on every mission you can manage to find,” Bruce bit out, his blood pressure elevating.

“Hey,” Tony purred, his eyebrow arching playfully. “Iron Man is in high demand right now.”

“We’re all in high demand right now,” Bruce argued.

Tony rolled his eyes as he moved to the other side of the room where Y/N was now carving life-size unicorns out of the steel, a snort leaving him at the sight.

“Run the numbers by me once more,” Tony instructed, pulling a drink from the shake with the next breath.

After spending another long day in the lab, showing Tony and Bruce what you could do, you travelled up to the roof of the compound and stretched out on the floor. Once the muscles in your lower back started protesting, you used your power to form a chaise lounge. Next to a bed, it was the most comfortable thing you could think of. Besides, if you concocted a bed, you’d be asleep in several minutes.

You gazed at the stars and, using your finger, you moved them about, changing their positions, laughing at the borderline obscene images that twinkled down upon you.

“We’re going to be the first place NASA calls, you know,” Bucky chuckled from behind you.

Without a second thought, you formed a seat to your left, keeping your attention to the stars.

“I’ll put them back,” you promised, amusement coloring your words.

Taking his seat, Bucky pushed his head back to gaze at your works. “Now that’s an interesting constellation. What will you name it?”

You hummed softly as you thought about it. “Sumens illud a tergo,” you finally uttered a handful of moments later.

“And for those of us who don’t speak Latin,” Bucky deadpanned.

“Taking it from behind.”

He couldn’t help it, he started laughing, and God, you loved how rich it was. “That’s amazing.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Buck,” you declared happily.

You flicked your wrist, moving the stars to one side, giving you ample room to work. Moving your fingers as if you were typing, you maneuvered a multitude of stars around, wearing a wide smile, until you were happy with the results.

You were struggling to keep from laughing when you made your announcement. “May I present the only thing bigger than Tony’s ego; Steve’s ego.” Despite being Steve’s best friend, Bucky snorted in laughter at the massive replica of Steve’s shield, which only made you laugh harder.

“Steve’s not that bad,” he said through the tears that were now rolling down his face.

“To you, he’s not.” With another flick of your wrists, the stars were back in their original positions.

Bucky turned to look at you. “I thought you guys were getting along.”

“Getting along, no,” you chuckled wryly. “We have an… understanding,” you explained cryptically.

“Oh, yes. I remember now, you guys are tolerating each other until -”

“Bruce figures out what the fuck I am,” you finished, your tone flat and unamused.

“Hey,” Bucky ground out.

Your head lolled to the side and you let out an unamused huff. “I ain’t normal, that’s for sure.” As if to prove your point, you held your hand out and brought forth a large black weapon. You then twirled it around expertly, narrowly avoiding the man sitting next to you, the man that didn’t flinch.

“I just watched you rearrange the stars, Y/N,” Bucky mused. “And I hate to burst your emo bubble, but no one here is normal.”

The weapon in your hand turned into flames before disappearing completely. “But you know who and what you are, Buck. I have absolutely no idea.”

“And you will,” he assured you, his eyes cool and calm. They reminded you of the ocean; a place that could be downright scary at times, but also a place that brought you comfort.

You didn’t argue with him, nor did you agree with him, you just sat there and stared at the stars until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore.

FOUR

Everything: @captain-rogers-beard @because-imma-lady-assface @badassbaker @fatalcrossbow @sunriserose1023 @alyssaj23 @ssweet-empowerment @supernatural-girl97 @thefridgeismybestie  @palaiasaurus64 @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @nyxveracity @breezy1415 @titty-teetee @melaninmarvel @crazy-little-thing-called-buck @wildefire @capsheadquaters  @qnzdiamond104 @saharzek @speakinvain @diinofayce @mizzzpink @pebblesz892 @stevieang @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl @iwillwakeherinthemorning @jakaraannodine @lea—-b @redqueen1221 @brittyevans @moisttoas-t @nuggsmumreads @anotherotter @jobean12-blog @fireismysaftey @msshadowboxer @vechkinfan @prettybubblesintheair @kanupps06 @rainbowkisses31 @janeyboo @banlaochranda @ellie-bee242 @shieldsandsunsets @evanstandream @punkrockhufflefluff @winters-beauty @unlikelygalaxygiver @thirtiethnovember @sexyvixen7 @whope123 @mscaptainjones @awkward-walking-potato @memory-of-a-goldfish @somethingwitty-somethingsweet @minarawr @xserenax-13 @andiyholly @averyrogers83 @bionic-buckyb @princess76179 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @female-accountant @whitemoonstag @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake @nerdgirljen @everythingisoverrated @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87 @akamaiden @part-time-patronus @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes @emmawatsonbelle @joannie95 @almighty-rogers @jamesbbbarnes-blog @buckysothiccbarnes @paintballkid711 @teafocus @cxptain-bxcky @letsdisneythings @buckystan-plums @gonnadiereading @brastrangled @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica @tsukuyomi011 @xtina2191 @roonyxx

Bucky: @inumorph @eclecticninjapenguin @angryschnauzerwrites @me-a-hopeless-romantic @thinkwritexpress-official @sarahp879 @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers @wecanburntogether @britty443 @barnesbestgirl @demonspawn2468 @nuvoleincielo @bexboo616 @prospathww @chrisevans1fan @slytherincoven

Wreak Havoc: @dewy-biitch @kornerstone234 @lilypalmer1987 @encounterthepast @wecanburntogether @learisa @2s0uls @part-time-patronus @jfrank1048 @ramen-tically @storyteller-le @mummy-woves-you @gigiljoshler

A Long Time Coming: Seven

Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.
One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.
You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.
What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?
Word Count: 1,490
Warnings: First and foremost, domestic violence; emotional, verbal, & physical. Language, heavy angst, insecure female reader, PTSD, no cheating, possibly more to come.
Author’s Note: A huge thank you to @captain-rogers-beard for allowing me to steal some of her thunder. Your unwavering support has left me speechless. GIF credit [X]

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Two days after filing the report, James showed up at the diner; drunk, hurling slurred obscenities your way, coming well within the five hundred feet restraining order. You threatened to call the police, but he just laughed in your face.

“They can’t protect you,” he sneered, his whiskey-laden breath making you gag.

You narrowly managed to avoid his vice-like grip on your upper arm. “Go home, James. This is your last warning.” Your voice was shaking, but you were glowering at him as if he were the last man on earth. You knew he could feel the hatred radiating off of you in waves, and you couldn’t help the burn of satisfaction in your chest as he took a step back.

“Mark my words, Y/N,” he started, finger pointed in your general direction. “You’ll remember who you belong to.”

“I belong to no one.” It had taken you years to finally realize that, and once you did, there was no turning back. You weren’t an object, a thing to have; you were a flesh-and-blood person, and you deserved to be treated as such.

There were flashing red and blue lights that made the diner feel like a rave. All that was missing was the obnoxious music and the crowd of people that pulsed with the beat.

“You fuckin’ cow,” James snarled.

Frank was at your side, a large and comforting presence, a phone in his hand, wearing a smirk as the police officers started to arrest James. You watched as the two men dragged James out of the diner, obscenities spat at you even as he was forced into the back of the squad car.

One of the officers came back in, asking, “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” you sighed, tears threatening to spill.

“Thank you for coming out so fast,” Frank said, his hand held out to the young officer.

The officer turned his gaze to you. “He’ll see the judge in the morning. You don’t have to be there, but it might help.”

Frank wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the squad drove away, waiting until it was out of sight before saying anything. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

Without even thinking about it, you wrapped your arm around his waist and turned into him. “I would like that very much.”

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“Forty Eight hours,” you huffed in frustration. “That’s all?”

Marge was seated at the table, a beer in her hand and a scowl on her brow. “Listen, I hate the bastard as much as you do, but -”

“No, don’t say it.” You were shaking your head, a hand raking through your hair as you paced around the kitchen.

“I don’t even wanna think it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” her voice trailed off as she took a drink.

Your eyes fell to Marge, a woman who had become so much more than your manager in a short time. She had done more than walk a mile in your shoes when she was younger; your relationship with James was a mirror image of how her husband had treated her.

“There’s no history, just rumors. I should have come forward sooner, I know that, but… it’s not fair.” The tears you had miraculously held at bay started falling.  

Frank came into the room, a set of keys in his hand. “I think we should get your stuff out of there while he’s locked up.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marge agreed. “That way you know where he is and he can’t do a damn thing to stop you.”

You were nodding and wiping away your tears. “Will you come with me, Frank? I… I don’t want to go alone.”

He gave a reassuring smile and reached out for your hand, which you took and squeezed. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go there alone.”

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It was late the following afternoon by the time Frank brought you to the house you shared with James, and it was an utter mess; shards of glass littered the floor, beer bottles were overflowing from the sink, the garbage had started to rot, and everything you owned was strewn about the bedroom and living room. The sight of it, the place you had lived, had tried to make a home, made your heart drop.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to start cleaning up the mess.

Frank’s hand was on your wrist. “No, that’s not what you’re here to do.”

You went to apologize again, that feeling of never being good enough overwhelming you, as if everything were your fault, that you needed to make everything perfect. Frank was shaking his head, his crystal eyes gently probing into yours.

“Let’s get your things.”

As you were shoving your belongings into a large garbage bag, you kept peering over your shoulder. You were scared that James was going to come home. He would be enraged, having spent time in jail, having been… embarrassed by you, by your refusal to tuck tail and run to him, that you rejected him.

Frank was in the bedroom, grabbing some of your more personal items; the plain gold cross your mother gave to you for your sixteenth birthday, your parent’s wedding rings on a silver chain, and a set of earrings from your grandmother when you realized someone was behind you.

“You stupid cow,” James snarled, wrapping a hand in your hair and yanking you off the floor. Your hands were on his, nails digging in as you tried to break free.

Frank stormed into the room, confusion and anger in his eyes as he took in the sight before him. “Let her go, James,” he requested, his voice oddly calm.

“You,” James accused, his eyes dark and dangerous. “This is my home, my bitch. Get your own.”

“That’s no- not what’s hap- happening,” you stammered, praying you could lie your way out of this.

James whirled you around to face him. “You’d do best not to lie to me.” When he wrenched your head back, you saw Frank react, taking a step closer.

“I’m not, I swear,” you insisted, working hard to keep your voice calm. “Fra- Frank offered to help me clean up the place. That’s all.”

You could see that Frank didn’t like what you were doing but, he knew it was better to try and diffuse the bomb rather than burn the wick faster. Frank’s hand disappeared into his pocket for a quick moment, and that was all the time James needed to make up his mind.

“Nah,” he grunted, a dark gleam in his eyes. “I don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

Frank took a step closer, his hands out, his head shaking, but James wasted no time. It didn’t matter that you were bigger than most other women, James was strong, and he knew it. He shoved you away from him, sending you careening into Frank, and the two of you tumbled to the floor, grunting at the impact of both your body against his, and his against the wall, where you slid to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Frank gasped, his eyes scanning your face.

There was no time for you to answer. James was there, ripping Frank away from you and throwing a punch that connected with Frank’s jaw. You gave a scream, a plea for James to stop, but you should have known better; your protests had only ever fueled his aggression. Frank was seeing stars, shaking his head, his fists coming up to defend himself. If only James wasn’t so goddamn fast.

The back of Frank’s head hit the wall and his body went limp, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. You scrambled over and put yourself between Frank and James’ foot as he swung it towards Frank, slamming into your shoulder, making you cry out.

“Shut up,” James screamed, unadulterated rage thrumming through him.

His hand was in your hair, yanking you from the floor, but you didn’t go quietly. You kicked and you screamed and you punched him in the chest and sides, screaming like a banshee, hellbent on making sure James knew you weren’t going to take anymore abuse from him. You were driving James back, his hands held up, trying to block your fists. The man might have had more muscles than you, but hell hath no fury…

With a shrill scream, you put your hands on his chest and shoved him with every ounce of strength you had, and it was as if everything went into slow motion. James fell back, his feet catching in the mess he had made while destroying the place. His dark eyes went wide with panic and his mouth was open, probably calling your name, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

The second the back of his head hit the edge of the counter, the bubble popped, and James’ lifeless body fell to the floor.

EIGHT

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Heartbroken

Summary: Peter overhears a conversation between you and Mantis.
Word Count: 1,595
Warnings: Angst, fluff, language, confident Peter, sensitive Peter,
Author’s Note: Requested by anon. I’d like to make a request, a Peter Quill x reader fic where the reader and Mantis were talking about “Peter.” The reader confessed to Mantis that she had feelings for “Peter,” that she thought “Peter” was cute and all. Little did they know, Quill overheard them. being overconfident, quill confront her and she decided to tease him by saying, “but i meant the other peter (parker)!” thanks babe x
So, this went a bit… angstier than I thought it would. I hope it turned out okay. GIF credit [X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

“I feel it,” Mantis cooed, her tentacles glowing bright, her hand on your arm. “You like him. A lot.”

You were blushing, the scarlet flaring across your chest and neck. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

She was giggling at the sight of the heat of your skin coloring her fingers. “You can try. It appears that humans like to keep their feelings a secret. Why is that?”

The air in your lungs left you in a rush. “Wow, that’s a deep question.”

“Deep…? I do not understand.”

“Okay,” you drug out the word as you struggled to come up with an answer she might understand. “There are small questions and big questions.”

Mantis shifted closer to you and nodded. “Big and small questions.”

“A small question would be something along the lines of, what’s your favorite color?”

Her large eyes sparkled with excitement. “Green,” she gasped.

“That’s good,” you chuckled.

“Now, a biiiiig question,” Mantis urged, her hands flat on her thighs.

Groot caught your eye as he raced through the grass, trying to snatch bugs from the sky, Rocket close by, keeping an eye on the sapling, making sure he didn’t take on anything that could kill him. Drax was sitting by the fire, not because he was chilled, but because the embers crackling against the damp wood was confusing him.

“Once fire touches it, it should be dry,” he was murmuring to himself.

As you and Mantis were seated on top of the ship, the large moon overhead, that left Peter. He had disappeared into the vessel hours ago, probably listening to the mix tape his mother had given him. Having lost your parents at a young age to Ronan, you knew what Peter had been going through, but nothing prepared anyone when the truth about how she died. Planting that tumor in her brain; Ego was one sick son of a bitch, and you thanked the gods that Peter had not inherited that part of him. Peter hadn’t been his light-hearted and joking self since killing his father.

“Y/N,” Mantis purred curiously.

Your eyes snapped into focus and you huffed out a breath through your nose. “Sorry, Tis.”

“You were thinking about him, about Peter,” she stated, those large eyes of hers drilling into yours. It made everyone else uncomfortable when she did it to them, but not you. You didn’t know if it was because you were used to everyone staring at you, or if you liked the attention. Maybe it was both.

With a wry smile, you nodded. “Anyway, big question. Why don’t I tell Peter I like him?”

Mantis scooted even closer to you when you held out your hand for her to take. You pressed it to your chest, where she could easily feel the hammering of your heart. Her brows furrowed and her dark eyes filled with tears.

“You are scared,” she breathed, the words hitching in her throat. “This man hurt you badly.” In letting Mantis experience everything, you had let your guard down, opened your healed wounds, baring your soul to her.

You were crying, fat tears streaming down your face. “I loved him with everything I had, Tis. Everything,” you gasped at the cool air.

“How did you… I do not understand how you are still alive. Your heart, it was broken,” she wondered softly, those inquisitive eyes staring at your chest.

“It was extremely difficult,” was your answer. You closed your eyes and forced yourself to think about your friends, the love and support they provided, the all-night crying sessions they attended, the group hugs that lasted for hours… all of it rushed through you and into Mantis. And then, without meaning to, your mind went to Peter.

“You feel the same way about Peter as you once did that man.” She pulled her hand away, her head tilted to the side awkwardly.

Pulling in several deep breaths you wiped away the tears, nodding as she continued to peer at you. “Please don’t tell him, or Drax, or… or anyone else.”

Without waiting for an answer, you pushed yourself up and made your way to the ground, jumping and yelping when Peter announced his presence.

“Tell anyone else what?”

“Son of a bitch,” you panted, whirling around to face the man you had just been talking about. He was leaning against the ship, one foot crossed over the other, thumbs hooked into his belt, and all you wanted to do was march over, bury your hands in his hair, and kiss him breathless.

Peter was smirking and his eyes were sparkling mischievously. “You know, in a space like this, voices tend to carry.”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” you muttered as you walked onto the ship, your legs shaking with nerves.

“Sure do,” Peter chuckled, following you closely. “I might have even heard you say that you liked me.”

This can’t be happening.

“I’m positive you heard nothing of the sort,” you lied, heading down the corridor to your room, praying silently that Peter would stop following you.

Peter tapped the metal modification behind his ear. “I ain’t deaf, sweetheart.”

With your hand on the door handle and a sly smile on your lips, you spun around and set your hand on his chest, which, in hindsight, was a bad idea. “Oh, honey, no,” you hummed. “I was talking about Peter Parker.”

“Wha-?” Confusion swirled in his green eyes as you opened the door and disappeared.

Once inside your room, you leaned against the door and blew out a heavy breath. That was a little too close for comfort. Telling… showing Mantis your feelings was one thing, but to have Peter find out? You couldn’t go through the amazing, thrilling, chaotic, feeling-like-you-jumped-off-a-building-while-blindfolded emotions of loving someone.You’d done it once, and it almost killed you.

You could hear Peter on the other side of the door, his feet shuffling, muttering under his breath. Needing to put more distance between you than the door, you marched into the bathroom and took a shower. Though the water felt amazing on your aching muscles, it did little to clear your mind. Showing Mantis everything had taken more out of you than it thought it would, and now that those wounds had been opened and your blossoming feelings for Peter had been admitted, your mind was a flurry of activity.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, wet hair or not. After drying off, you tugged on an oversized shirt and had just turned off the light when there was a series of knocks on your door.

“Go away,” you groaned wearily.

The knob turned slowly, but the door remained closed. “Y/N, can I come in?”

Tears you weren’t expecting filled your eyes. “Peter, please. I just want to go to bed.”

“This will only take a minute,” he insisted gently, the door pushing open a crack.

You stood there, your eyes fluttering closed, your heart double-clutching in your chest. “One minute.”

The creak of the door made your eyes fly open, and even though it was dark, you could see Peter’s large frame move through the room, coming to a stop just outside of your personal space. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, and it made your fingers itch to touch it. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I know you weren’t talking ‘bout the kid,” Peter admitted, his breath warm on your face.

“Tis told you,” you scoffed, raking a hand through your damp hair.

He sighed softly as he took a step closer. “She didn’t have to, darlin’.”

“Peter, don’t.” Your throat was thick, the emotion threatening to choke you. “Besides, there’s no way… I mean… you can’t possibly -” Peter’s lips were on yours, silencing the words that were dangling on the tip of your tongue. It wasn’t much of a kiss, just a firm press of lips that made your heart stop beating.

Pulling back, Peter rested his forehead to yours and murmured, “I’ve been wantin’ to do that for a while.”

“I can’t… I can’t do it… this again.” Those damn tears were back again, streaming down your face and the side of your neck.

“You can, Y/N,” he insisted, pulling you into him, dropping a kiss to your crown. Even though you struggled to get away, Peter held you tight, making sure you didn’t hurt yourself.

Through your tears and protests, you heard him tell you that, “The one thing Mantis did tell me was what you went through. I’m sorry that jack-wagon treated you like shit. I ain’t him, darlin’. I won’t do to you what he did. I won’t.”

As Peter’s words sank in, every muscle that fought against him suddenly switched gears. Where you had been pushing him away, you were now desperately clinging to him as if your life depended on it. You were on your toes, your arms around his neck, sighing in defeat at the way your bodies molded perfectly together.

“You promise?” you asked timidly, scraping your fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

“I promise.” Peter hooked a finger under your chin, gently forcing you look at him. Even in the dark, you could see the shift from playful to serious in his eyes.

There would be no turning back from this, no do-overs, no take-backs, and you were okay with that. You gave him a soft smile before kissing him.

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Clean & Sober: Five

Summary: After years of struggling to overcome his seemingly endless list of addictions, Steve Rogers has been clean & sober for one year. In an effort to remain clean, to prove to himself that he can overcome his demons, he takes on the responsibility of becoming a sponsor. It’s wrong for a sponsor to feel a personal attachment to the ones they are sponsoring, but apparently Steve didn’t get that memo.
Bucky Barnes’ downfall was cocaine, he couldn’t keep his nose clean if his life depended on it. After overdosing for the third time, a judge ordered him to ‘get clean, or go to jail.’ Narcotics Anonymous wasn’t really Bucky’s thing, that was until he saw the blonde haired, blue eyed God that was going to be his sponsor.
Will Steve be able to separate his feelings from the addiction? Can Bucky overcome his primal urges and keep things professional?
Word Count: 1,316
Warnings for series: Illicit & casual drug use, explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual language, male receiving anal sex, male receiving oral sex, explicit sexual content, heavy angst, masturbation, possibly more to come
Author’s Note: This is going to be strictly a Stucky fic. There will be no reader involved. I wouldn’t be writing this without the unwavering support of @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree I love you. 

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My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

Steve hunkered down in his apartment for the next week. He called in sick to work, even went so far as to skip the weekly meeting. He should have felt bad about it, but he didn’t, not with his hand around his leaking dick. In his mind’s eye, Bucky was the one that was stroking him, swallowing around him, gagging, tears streaming down his face, begging for more.

He shouldn’t get rock-hard just at the notion of seeing Bucky again, or hearing his gravelly voice, let alone if Bucky were to say his name. Christ, he would lose it right then. Although, would it really be so bad?

Bucky had been calling Steve, leaving a string of text messages, asking if Steve was okay, if Bucky had done something to upset him. Steve should have answered straight away, he was being a shitty sponsor by not doing so. Only problem was, he couldn’t bring himself to have a quasi-normal conversation with the chestnut-haired man.

Then there were the phone calls from Clint.

“Something’s going on, man,” Clint insisted. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

“I’m fine, brother,” Steve gasped, the breath tearing in and out of him from yet another round of masturbating.

“Uh huh. Why are you out of breath?” he demanded to know.

“Just got in from running.” The words were out of him before he could even think of what to say.

Clint scoffed loudly. “You know I don’t believe a goddamn word you’re saying right now.”

“You really think I care?” Steve groaned, disconnecting the call.

That was three days ago, and Steve still hadn’t left the apartment. Well, that’s not entirely true. He left to get smokes and more laundry detergent. He had both of the small machines going shortly after returning. Two minutes later, someone was knocking on his door.

“Go away, Clint,” he snarled, a cigarette notched between his lips, his eyes rolling back.

“Steve?”

That was most definitely not Clint’s voice. Clint’s rasp never made Steve shudder in anticipation. No, this was a much deeper voice that Steve knew all too well. Steve’s heart was in his throat as he approached the door, his hand shaking as he reached for the door chain lock. Another round of knocks made him jump back.

“Just a sec,” he ground out. Steve ran his hands through his hair and risked a glance in the mirror. Shit, he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. Whatever, it was what it was.

Bucky was on the other side of the door, his eyes full of worry. His hair was pulled back, the strands damp from the rain. “Jesus, ‘bout time you let me know you ain’t dead,” he huffed as he pushed his way into the apartment, seemingly on high alert, his eyes scanning Steve’s dark apartment.

Steve pulled in a deep breath that was full of Bucky, and fuck, it made his mouth water.

“I ain’t using,” he said for the hundredth time. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“I know what usin’ looks like,” Bucky said, turning to face his sponsor, eyes dark, jaw tense. “And you don’t look clean. What are you on?”

Steve raked a hand through his tousled hair and shook his head. “Nothin’, man. I swear.”

Bucky stepped into Steve’s airspace and glared at him. “Do I need to find a new sponsor?”

“Please don’t,” he murmured, the words falling from his mouth before he could even think of stopping them. Steve sucked in a shuddering breath, hoping that words would come with the rush of air, but they didn’t; they hung there like dust particles, shimmering in the rays of light, swirling about as you pushed your hand through them.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Bucky wasn’t asking because he was accusing Steve of anything, not really.

The truth was, Bucky was tired of hiding his feelings for Steve. Sure, they had practically just met, but Steve was intoxicating to be around. He was funny and smart, he didn’t take himself too seriously, there was no giant ego, and good goddamn, he was built like a shit brickhouse. Bucky wanted to get his hands on the man and explore every inch of his body.

When Steve didn’t say anything, Bucky stepped into his personal space, the air between them thickening. “Tell me, Steve,” he implored, his fingers twitching as he struggled to not reach for Steve.

Staring into Bucky’s azure eyes and decided at that very moment that he could no longer give into his fantasy, Steve gripped the back of Bucky’s neck and kissed him, hard, urgently, as if his very life depended on it. Fearing he had read the minute signs from Bucky all wrong, Steve wasn’t expecting Bucky to return the kiss. So, when he did, Steve let go of the moan in the back of his throat.

Bucky pushed himself into the kiss, grabbing onto Steve’s narrow waist, tugging him close. Shoes and clothes were discarded as Steve directed Bucky toward the couch, his desperation to taste Bucky was becoming too much, threatening to consume him from the inside out. Before he could blink, he was on his knees, between Bucky’s thighs, sucking Bucky deep into the back of his throat, the bittersweet pre-cum tasting like heaven on his tongue.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Bucky praised, his voice gritty, his hand in Steve’s hair.

The blood in Steve’s veins surged at the words, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was all-too-happy to oblige to Bucky’s hand on the back of his head, urging him down further until his nose was buried in Bucky’s chestnut curls.

“Yesssss,” groaned Bucky, his head falling back as Steve’s throat constricted tighter than before.

Bucky had gotten head many times, but nobody really knew what they were doing, and then he met Steve. The talent that lay in Steve’s lips and tongue was unparalleled to anything Bucky’s experienced. It was as if Steve was psychic and knew exactly what Bucky liked.

He spread his legs and pistoned his hips, thoroughly fucking Steve’s mouth, encouraged by the way Steve was furiously pumping his own cock. Bucky hadn’t wanted to cum in Steve’s mouth the first time they fucked, but he couldn’t stop himself. With a low and heavy grunt of Steve’s name, his cock pulsed as he jammed it down Steve’s throat one more time, holding him there until Steve had swallowed every last drop.

With a weary grin, Steve sat back, gasping for air, his thick cock weeping, a blush coloring his skin under the intensity of Bucky’s gaze.

“Look at you,” Bucky purred, sliding off the couch and onto Steve’s thighs. “You’re ready to burst, aren’t you?”

Steve couldn’t bite back the obscene moan as Bucky’s hand took the place of his. “Fuck yes.”

Bucky gripped the back of Steve’s neck, his hand working over Steve’s cock, smearing the fat beads of pre-cum, his lips brushing against Steve’s. “Come on, baby,” he urged, rocking their bodies together. “Show me what you got.”

As their bodies moved together, Steve gripped Bucky’s ass as they kissed, as Bucky’s hand glided along, pushing Steve closer to his release. Steve ripped his mouth away to watch himself get fucked. The breath was tearing in and out of him, mingling intoxicatingly well with Bucky’s.

“Shitshitshit,” Steve panted, his shoulders shuddering, thighs flexing.

If it was possible, Bucky stroked him faster, rocking their bodies harder. “Cum for me, Stevie.”

Steve’s head fell back as he came, bursts of light blinding him, the air in his lungs held hostage, every muscle going taut. Bucky dipped his head down and sucked a dark mark onto Steve’s pulse point, nipping at it in a way that made Steve’s hips jerk and his nails dig into Bucky’s ass.

The two men rolled to the floor, tangled together, and all Steve could think was, Jesus, what a fucking rush.

SIX

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I am Groot: Three

Summary: When you and Peter Quill started dating, nobody expected Groot to be so attached to you.
Word Count: 809
Warnings for series: Fluff, language, light angst, implied smut, possibly more to come as series continues.
Author’s Note: Who can resist baby Groot? I know I can’t. GIF Credit [X]

Series Master List

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

image

You were snuggled into Peter, his arm around your shoulders, your head on his chest, his heart pounding rhythmically against your cheek, your hand on his firm stomach, one of your legs draped over his, his large hand resting on your thigh. It was perfect, just the two of you – and Groot – for a handful of hours. Drax and Rocket were out, having a few drinks and gambling in the small town several miles from the ship.

Peter had suggested watching a movie. “A classic on Earth; Footloose.”

“I’m from Earth,” you snorted, slapping him playfully in the chest. “You don’t need to keep explaining things.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dropping a kiss between your eyes.

Situated comfortably on your bed, Peter had pressed play, and from the moment his hand fell to your leg, Groot had glared at it, his little fingers drumming on your other thigh, close to your knee. You weren’t paying attention to him, not really. Your eyes were on Kevin Bacon, dancing in the barn, putting everything he had into it.

Right at the end of the scene, Peter huffed, “What the hell, man?”

“I am Groot,” he ground out angrily, putting everything he had into shoving Peter’s hand off your thigh.

“I’ll put my hands where I damn well please.” As if to prove his point, he put his hand a little higher than where it had been.

You gave a snorting laugh when Groot tried to push Peter’s hand away again. It would have worked, too, if only Peter hadn’t increased the pressure. Groot was grunting with the effort, his little feet slipping on the blankets.

“I am Groot,” he roared, putting everything he had into getting rid of Peter’s hand.

“Stop it, Groot,” you chastised him. “You, too, Peter. That hurts.” They both apologized at the same time, but continued to glare at one another.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the two of them, glowering at one another, trying to get the other to break or give in. It was comical. At six feet, two inches, Peter towered above – just about – everyone he met. Groot, as a sapling, was ten inches tall. Just by looking at them, someone would think that Peter would be the victor, and they would be sorely mistaken.

To your surprise, Peter sighed and moved his hand out of the way. Groot was smiling in triumph as he climbed onto your thigh and sat cross-legged.

“I am Groot,” he requested, staring in awe at the large screen.

“But we just watched it,” Peter protested, his hand already reaching for the controller.

You snuggled closer to Peter and pressed your lips to his ear. “Please, Peter.”

Peter shifted on the bed as he punched the button with his thumb. “Anythin’ you want, darlin’.”

“I am Groot,” he asked curiously as Kevin Bacon started dancing.

“Yes,” you giggled. “All men from Earth dance like that.”

Groot spun around on your thigh and started jumping up and down. “I am Groot, I am GROOT!”

Peter was shaking his head. “No, absolutely not.”

“Come on, baby,” you urged playfully. “Show him your moves.”

“I am Groot,” he laughed, his little hands in the air above his head, doing his best to mimic the dancing he had seen.

“You’ve got this, bud,” Peter assured him, all out laughing when Groot jumped off your leg and landed gracefully on his knees.

The movie was almost forgotten as the two of you watched Groot. He was thoroughly enjoying himself for several minutes before stopping all of a sudden, going completely still.

“Why are you laughing?” It was Drax, and he sounded very confused.

Your hand was over your heart. “It’s Groot,” was all you could say.

“He’s trying to dance like Kevin Bacon,” Peter added, completing your sentence.

Drax stared hard at Groot. “He does not dance.”

“Come on, Groot,” you urged, your fingers brushing against the side of his face. “Show Drax, he’ll love it.”

His eyes were the only things that moved; quickly, from side to side, indicating that no, he would not show Drax his dance moves.

“Show me,” Drax all but demanded, his tone heavy and authoritative.

“I think it’s something he doesn’t want anyone else to see,” Peter said gently, trying to diffuse the situation.

“He showed you.”

You managed to slide off the bed without knocking Groot over. Once standing in front of Drax, you gave him a warm smile. “Come on, show me your winnings.”

Drax was a simple creature and couldn’t stop from grinning when you paid attention to him. “How do you know I won anything?”

“When haven’t you won anything?”

Hooking your arm in Drax’s, you turned him around, knowing without a doubt that Groot would start dancing again. It was only confirmed by Peter’s chuckles following the two of you down the corridor.

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Peter Quill: @tyferbebe​ @raven-ur-mum​

I am Groot: ​ @serpentbaby​ @holding-on-to-francis​ @pocmarvelworks​ @woodworthti666​ @sthorgestavenger​ @metalarmlover​ @flame-justakitsune​ @encounterthepast​ @my-personal-ocean​ @littletinyblog​ @little-big-mac​ @smallfryalixa​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​ @horsesreign

Thunder Thighs

Summary: You find out one of the side effects of Asgardian mead.
Word Count: 720
Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, explicit sexual content, plot if you squint really hard, slight Stucky.
Author’s Note: Requested by @marvelhasmyheartandbrokeit Bucky or Steve or both 😉 smut “my thighs create more thunder than Thor does.” Also, this serves as an apology of sorts for the heavy angst I’ve been posting lately. I hope you accept this token, and can find it in your hearts to forgive me. GIF credit [X][X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Your body was warm; from the roots of your hair, to the tips of your toes, and everything in between. The Asgardian liquor you managed to steal from Thor was indeed potent, but that wasn’t what surprised you about it. The god had never told you about the way it heated the blood that was surging through your veins, burning it with raw lust that left you writhing on the bed like a cat in heat.

“Look at her, Stevie,” Bucky purred, thick cock in his hand, stroking himself languidly.

Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, thick, throbbing, and crimson. God, you wanted to taste it so bad, to feel it deep in your throat, plunging in and out of your pussy. The thought alone made you clench around Steve’s curling fingers.

“She looks good enough to eat,” Steve praised, peering at you between the valley of your heavy breasts, a wicked gleam in his lust-blown pupils.

His mouth was on you in a flash, his full lips sealed around your clit, his tongue flicking it, his perfect teeth scraping over the bundle of nerves. Your thighs were shaking, cellulite and all, against Steve’s head, holding him there as the orgasm washed over you, pulling the name of both men out of you in gasps and moans.

Bucky was on the edge of the bed, his mouth on your breast, sucking dark marks into your skin, leaving bite marks around your pebbled nipple, sending a zing of pain straight down your spine. He did it to your other breast, burying his nose in the plush tissue, breathing you in. You laced your fingers through his hair and gave him a searing kiss, one that had him seeing stars.

Steve came up for air a moment later, your slick dripping off his chin and fingers. “Fuck, baby girl,” he growled, spreading your arousal along his thick shaft. “You’ve soaked the sheets.”

You couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest. “And we’ve only begun.”

“Indeed,” Steve agreed with you and settled between your thick thighs, notching the wide head of his cock just inside of you for several heartbeats, and then, with one swift thrust, he was buried to the hilt.

Bucky’s mouth fell open as he watched you take his best friend’s cock, at the way Steve was driven breathless, and it only made him harder. “Fuckin’ hell,” he hissed, your hand finding his cock and squeezing.

At your invitation, Bucky’s cock was in your mouth and down your throat. With every contraction of your throat, he snarled and pistoned his hips faster, matching the thrusts of the man between your thighs. Steve had one of your thighs over his shoulder and his legs were spread, using the bed – and your leg – for leverage, driving your ass into the mattress as he fucked you. With one hand, you were fondling Bucky’s balls, massaging them, scraping your nails against the taut skin of his taint. Bucky shivered and groaned your name, winding his fingers tight in your hair. Your other hand was on Steve’s ass, your nails digging deep into the firm globe, pulling him into you harder, deeper, helping to drive yourself toward your release.

The wet slap of skin on skin drowned out the grunts of desperation, the moans of praise, the snarling of both men as your body thrummed, pulsing around them, as your orgasm stole your vision. Bucky spilled himself on your tongue and down your throat, gasping and shaking as you swallowed every last drop. Steve’s hips stuttered as he ground himself against you, his pelvis digging into your clit, sending another wave of euphoria through you.

Later, when the three of you were lying in bed, panting, slick with with sweat, sharing passionate kisses and terms of endearment, you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of you.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky wanted to know, his metal arm cool against your curves.

“My thighs create more thunder than Thor does.” The words were out of you before you could even stop them, the Asgardian mead still working its way through your system.

Steve slapped a hand to your thigh, the skin and tissue rippling at his touch. “Better hunker down. I hear we’re in for a hell of a storm.”

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Everything: @captain-rogers-beard​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @badassbaker​ @fatalcrossbow​​ @sunriserose1023​ @alyssaj23​ @stevergxrs​ @ssweet-empowerment​​ @supernatural-girl97​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​ @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​​ @nyxveracity​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @melaninmarvel​​ @crazy-little-thing-called-buck​​ @wildefire​​ @capsheadquaters​​  @qnzdiamond104​​ @saharzek​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @mizzzpink​​ @pebblesz892​​ @stevieang​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @jakaraannodine​​ @lea—-b​​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @moisttoas-t​​ @nuggsmumreads​ @anotherotter​​ @jobean12-blog​ @fireismysaftey​​ @msshadowboxer​​ @vechkinfan​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @kanupps06​​ @rainbowkisses31​​ @janeyboo​​ @banlaochranda​​ @ellie-bee242​​ @shieldsandsunsets​ @evanstandream​​ @punkrockhufflefluff​​ @winters-beauty​​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @thirtiethnovember​​ @sexyvixen7​​ @whope123​​ @mscaptainjones​​ @awkward-walking-potato​​ @memory-of-a-goldfish​​ @somethingwitty-somethingsweet​​ @minarawr​​ @xserenax-13​​ @andiyholly​​ @averyrogers83​ @bionic-buckyb @princess76179​ @carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @female-accountant​ @whitemoonstag​ @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake​ @nerdgirljen​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87​ @akamaiden​ @part-time-patronus​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @emmawatsonbelle​ @joannie95​ @almighty-rogers​ @jamesbbbarnes-blog​ @buckysothiccbarnes​ @paintballkid711​ @teafocus​​ @cxptain-bxcky​ @letsdisneythings​ @buckystan-plums​ @gonnadiereading​

Plus Size Reader: @angryschnauzerwrites​​ @akfonkin​​  @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @nissametanatural​​ @onecatshort​​ @arrowswithwifi​​ @sixweekcure4dreams​​ @raychic26​​ @rubynationwins​​ @supernatural508​​ @lilacprincessofrecovery​​ @missmeganrachel​​ @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy​​ @mizzezm​​ @sophster1881​​ @halcyonrogers​​ @hufflepuffle97​ @barnesbestgirl​​ @jemmaisokay​​ @anemetz​​ @tyferbebe​​

Stucky: @itsstillnotwhatyouthink​​​ @autoblocked​​​ @its–fandom–darling​​​ @eshia16​​​ @daiiybuugle​​​ @delicatecapnerd​​​ @phoenix21love​​​ @natcad​ @chrisevans1fan​ @lillwindmill​

Ghost of You

Summary: Steve finds a way to make it through every day without you.
Word Count: 897
Warnings: Language, heavy angst, Infinity War spoilers I guess [is that still a thing?]
Author’s Note: Requested by anon. Can I get a Steve x Reader based in Ghost Of You by 5sos? GIF credit

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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It was the light that woke him, the sun peeking through the blinds he had forgotten to close last night. The rays were intrusive, prodding at him, pulling him from the dreams he wished were real. First a finger twitched, then an eye, several toes, the muscles in his back rippling as the last bit of slumber wore off.

There was a hair on his face, long and silken, tickling his nose with every pass of the oscillating fan at the end of the bed. With a yawn, he swiped at his face, ridding himself of the irritating strand. There was no denying it any longer; Steve was awake.

With his eyes open, he stared at the empty space next to him, the space Y/N had once occupied. It had been over six months, probably closer to a year by now, and he had just gotten to the point where he could sleep in the bed he once shared with her, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he could bring himself to sleep on her side of the bed.

The pillowcase and sheet still smelled like her; fresh-cut grass and lilies, baby powder and sunshine. He could stay there all day if everyone else would let him. There was no time for grieving when you were Captain America. He had a job to do, people to save, bad guys to kill.

A heaving sigh tore out of him as he scraped a hand over his face, her empty coffee cup with a crimson lip print was the first thing he saw a moment later. The color had started fading the moment it was created. Where once it was an exact replica of Y/N’s plush bottom lip, it was now faded red lines, disappearing an iota more with every setting of the sun.

There were boxes in the corner of the room, half-filled with Y/N’s clothes and shoes. Steve would have finished the job had he not found the faded and threadbare Zeppelin shirt that had been her favorite. It had been Steve’s favorite at first, a shirt that was a little too tight across his shoulders, the stitching threatening to come apart with the simplest of movements. Y/N had swiped it one day, using it as a nightshirt, and it had been hers ever since.

“Goddamn it,” he ground out as he slid to the floor, the shirt in his hand, soaking up the tears as he held it to his face, breathing her in.

She had worn it the night before going to help save Wanda and Vision, strutting around the room, her thighs bare, a peek of pink lace panties, music blasting from the speakers. Steve couldn’t help but watch, completely entranced, a smirk on his lips, lust surging through him, desperate to feel her body against his.

Steve rolled to his back, his eyes falling closed, his forearm draped over his face. If he could just fall back to sleep, everything would be alright. With sleep, came the dreams, and with the dreams, came Y/N. He found that if he could dream long enough, she would tell him everything would be just fine.

”You’ll be just fine, Stevie,” she purred, nails scraping through the hair on the back of his neck.

Naturally, there would be tears streaming down his face. “Not without you,” he choked, desperation thick on his tongue.

“It’s too late,” she insisted, her eyes bright and shining, unlike the day Thanos snapped his fingers and took her from him. “I can’t come back.”

Y/N was right, he knew that, but that didn’t stop him from carrying the ghost of her with him wherever he went. Steve wanted… needed her with him. She was his lucky charm, the only one that made every-fucking-thing matter, the only one that made Steve enjoy life. Fuck, Y/N was the love of his life, and she was gone, drifting through his fingers like dust, her name thick and heavy on his tongue.

There was someone knocking on the door, probably Tony. Steve knew better than to ignore the set of insistent knocks. So, he pushed off the bed and was opening the door a handful of seconds later.

“What do you want?” the super soldier wearily demanded to know.

“Daddy,” came the soft voice of his three year old daughter. Her arms were held out, fingers flexing and relaxing quickly, indicating she desperately wanted to be held by him.

Tony gave a small smirk as he handed Steve his daughter. “Sorry, Cap. You know how those Y/L/N women are.”

Steve was smiling and patting his daughter’s back as she latched her arms around his neck. “It’s okay, Tony. Really,” he insisted, earning a smile from his friend.

“Where mama?” she asked, peering over Steve’s shoulder once again, hell bent on finding Y/N.

Tony’s face fell and he clapped Steve on the shoulder. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

“Mama,” she called out, sniffling loudly, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

Despite his daughters protests, Steve closed the door before consoling his daughter, hand on her back, moving in slow circles, his cheek on the top of her head, her hair tickling his nose.

“It’ll be alright, sweetheart,” Steve assured her, following Tony down to the common area. “You’ll be just fine.”

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Everything: @captain-rogers-beard​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @badassbaker​ @fatalcrossbow​​ @sunriserose1023​ @alyssaj23​ @stevergxrs​ @ssweet-empowerment​​ @supernatural-girl97​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​ @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash​ @palaiasaurus64​​ @buckybarnesappreciationsociety​​ @nyxveracity​​ @breezy1415​​ @titty-teetee​​ @melaninmarvel​​ @crazy-little-thing-called-buck​​ @wildefire​​ @capsheadquaters​​  @qnzdiamond104​​ @saharzek​​ @speakinvain​​ @diinofayce​​ @mizzzpink​​ @pebblesz892​​ @stevieang​ @thatgirl-xx-thatgirl​​​ @iwillwakeherinthemorning​ @jakaraannodine​​ @lea—-b​​ @redqueen1221​ @brittyevans​​ @moisttoas-t​​ @nuggsmumreads​ @anotherotter​​ @jobean12-blog​ @fireismysaftey​​ @msshadowboxer​​ @vechkinfan​​ @prettybubblesintheair​ @kanupps06​​ @rainbowkisses31​​ @janeyboo​​ @banlaochranda​​ @ellie-bee242​​ @shieldsandsunsets​ @evanstandream​​ @punkrockhufflefluff​​ @winters-beauty​​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​​ @thirtiethnovember​​ @sexyvixen7​​ @whope123​​ @mscaptainjones​​ @awkward-walking-potato​​ @memory-of-a-goldfish​​ @somethingwitty-somethingsweet​​ @minarawr​​ @xserenax-13​​ @andiyholly​​ @averyrogers83​ @bionic-buckyb @princess76179​ @carryonmywaywardcaptain​ @female-accountant​ @whitemoonstag​ @xxashy999xx @coffeewithjake​ @nerdgirljen​​ @everythingisoverrated​ @angelsofalliteration @walkingtravesty97 @jbarnes87​ @akamaiden​ @part-time-patronus​ @slytherin-in-hufflepuff-robes​ @emmawatsonbelle​ @joannie95​ @almighty-rogers​ @jamesbbbarnes-blog​ @buckysothiccbarnes​ @paintballkid711​ @teafocus​​ @cxptain-bxcky​ @letsdisneythings​ @buckystan-plums​ @gonnadiereading​ @brastrangled​ @jessica-bones-winchester @iamthemaskhewears @wheresthekillswitch @chonisberonica​ @tsukuyomi011​ @xtina2191

Steve: @mjdoc90​​ @blxcksoulsanddxrkflowers​​ @hides-in-the-shadows​ @cherrysfandom​ @lxdyred​​ @jemmaisokay​​ ​@phoenix21love​​ @xingareum​​ @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @patzammit​ @chrisevans1fan​

Snapchat

Summary: You’re travelling by bus one night and send your friend a Snapchat during your journey. She calls you in a fangirl panic, convinced that Chris Evans is sitting several rows behind you.
Word Count: 2,015
Warnings: Language, slight fangirling, talk of domestic violence, no details given
Author’s Note: Requested by @woodworthti666 Could you write a Chris x Reader where they’re on a bus at night? While the rest of the people are sleeping, reader takes a Snapchat photo and sends it to your best friend, and the friend calls you, freaking out because you got Chris in the photo. Up until then, you had no idea Chris was even on the bus. For the purpose of this fic, Chris Evans is 100% single. Y/BF/N = Your Best Friend’s Name. Picture found on Google Images.

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Even though it was the middle of the night, and everyone else on the bus was sleeping, you were wide awake. You could never sleep while travelling; whether you were flying, taking the train, or a passenger in a car or bus, and you absolutely hated it.

You finished the Words with Friends requests and checked the time. 2:15 am. There were still a handful of hours until your destination, and all you wanted to do was take a shower and crawl into bed.

In an effort to keep yourself occupied, you opened Snapchat and took a selfie, the dim lights in the bus doing nothing but casting shadows across your face. Before sending it to your best friend, you captioned it with, Why can’t I sleep like everyone else?

Before you could even start scrolling through your Facebook feed, your phone was ringing.

You rolled your eyes as you answered, your voice low to keep from waking anyone up. “You could have just snapped back.”

“Oh. My. God,” she screeched, making you wince and pull away from the phone.

“Keep it down,” you hissed. Several people around you made noises in their sleep as they shifted. “There are people sleeping.”

She gave a heaving sigh. “Girl, did you see who is on the bus with you?”

“There are lots of people on the bus with me, Y/BF/N. Why would I care about one of them?” Yeah, you were being a little bitchy, but God, were you so very tired.

“Y/N, listen to me closely,” she rasped, her hand around her mouth so it echoed in your ear. “Chris Evans is on your bus.”

“Shut up,” you scoffed louder than you originally intended. The woman across the aisle glared at you after her eyes popped open. You apologized quietly before turning back to your friend. “He is not.”

“I’m tellin’ you, he is,” she insisted, her patience wearing thin. “Here, I’ll send you a screenshot of your snap.”

The picture came through about fifteen seconds later, but you still weren’t seeing it, or him, in this case.

“You’re losing it, girl,” you chastised, rolling your eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

“No, no, no,” she argued once again. “I’m telling you, it’s hi -”

“Goodnight, Y/BF/N,” you grumbled, disconnecting the phone without another word. You fully expected her to call you back, so when she didn’t, you decided to take a closer look at the screenshot of your snap.

It was too dark to be able to confidently say that it was, or was not, Chris Evans that you had accidentally captured in your selfie. Whoever it was had a dark hat on their head, the bill curved, pulled down, obscuring the top part of his face. His stubble-kissed cheeks and jaw looked vaguely familiar, but then again, he could just be a normal guy that had been blessed with amazing bone structure.

Groaning in annoyance at yourself and your friend, you clicked out of the text message, and started playing a card game. You tried to pay attention to the hand of rummy, but you couldn’t. You kept thinking about it, the possibility that Chris Evans was on the bus, your bus. But, if it was actually Chris, why was he taking a bus in the first place? Hundreds of questions swirled about your brain, confusing you, coming up with out-of-this-world scenarios.

“Excuse me,” someone said, their voice gruff and irritated. “Do you mind if I sit here?” It was the guy that your friend was convinced was Chris Evans.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You grabbed your bag out of the seat and held it on your lap, watching the stranger closely.

He gave you a kind smile. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have asked, but the guy next to me has sleep apnea or something, and it was driving me crazy.”

It was impossible not to smile back. “Man, that would suck.”

“How’d you get lucky enough to sit alone?” he asked, his eyes sparkling in the passing lights.

Could it actually be him?

Shaking your head, you brought your voice down to a whisper when you said, “It’s a secret. I could tell you, but then -”

“You’d have to kill me?” he finished, his voice low and gritty. There was a tingle that slithered down the back of your neck and wrapped around the full length of your spine before settling low in your stomach. “What if I promise not to tell anyone?”

The breath you were holding rushed out in the form of one word. “Okay.”

“That was easy,” he chuckled. It was really hard for you not to shiver as his laugh washed over you like velvet.

Swallowing heavily, you crooked your finger at him. Your heart did a double-beat when he leaned in, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I told them I was waiting for someone.”

The stranger gasped playfully. “You mean, you lied?”

“Hey, it got me an extra seat,” you argued with a smirk.

“Which I am very grateful for.” He stuck his hand out in the small space between you. “I’m Chris.”

Well, he’s got the same first name, and it does sound like him.

You introduced yourself and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“We can thank the guy in back,” he joked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re much better company.”

Blushing under the compliment, you waved away his compliment. “Hey, can I, uh, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he huffed as he turned at an angle in his seat. “What’s up?”

You pulled out your phone and pulled up the screenshot your friend had sent you. “I had sent my friend a Snapchat selfie earlier, and I accidentally got you in it.”

Chris took a look at it and shrugged his shoulders. “Not the best lighting for a photo shoot.”

“You’re not wrong,” you agreed before continuing. “My friend called back and said that, see… she uh, she’s convinced that you’re this famous actor.”

He gave this uneasy chuckle and squeezed the back of his neck. “Do you uh, do you believe her?”

“I didn’t, at first,” you started, turning off the phone and slipping it back into your bag.

“And now?” Chris raised the brim of his hat, allowing you to see the rest of his face. His right leg was bouncing and he was gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Shit, it is you,” you gasped, your hand coming up to your mouth.

When Chris’ lips pulled into a tight line, you swallowed down your inner fangirl. “You don’t want anyone to know, I get it. I won’t say anything,” you promised.

“Thank you,” he sighed.

“Why are you on a bus?” you blurted out.

Chris chuckled as you blushed. “It’s a secret.”

“Really,” you deadpanned. “That’s what you’re giving me? That’s so unoriginal.”

His chuckle deepened and grew louder until he was laughing loudly, his head tipped hack, a hand over his left pec, disturbing several of the passengers. All they did was glower at him and roll their eyes before turning their attention to the other side as they fell back to sleep.

After calming down, he looked at you with twinkling and amused eyes. “I mean it,” he insisted. “I’m secretly doing research for an upcoming film. Rather than fly back and forth, I thought I’d go for a long-ass bus ride. It helps me get into the character’s head.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” you hummed. You were actively trying not to stare, it wasn’t like you had a crush on the man, or anything. He was just so damned gorgeous.

“What about you?” Chris asked. “Why are you on this long-ass bus ride?”

“Nothing as fancy as you,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m actually headed home.”

That seemed to interest him, though, you weren’t sure why. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, just finished my lease,” you answered vaguely, shrugging a shoulder as if it were no big deal.

Chris cleared his throat at the slightly awkward silence that settled between you. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it? You don’t have to, I just, you look like you need someone to talk to.”

The last thing you wanted to do was unload everything onto someone you didn’t know, let alone a celebrity that you had a crush on. But, your brain had another idea. You were verbal vomiting all over Christopher Evans, and he didn’t seem to mind one little bit.

It was your boyfriend. Nope, he was now your ex-boyfriend. When the two of you had been friends, you got along amazingly, everything was great. Then, you started dating, and he got real possessive and violent, called you vile names, broke you into a million pieces. Sure, it took you a lot longer to get out of the relationship than your friends and family wanted but, you did get out, and you were safe, that was the bottom line.

Chris’ hand had found yours during some point, and he was squeezing it gently. When you were done, you wiped away the tears, sniffling as you watched his thumb sweeping back and forth against the inside of your wrist.

“I am so sorry that you went through that,” he lamented.

“It’s not your fault,” you dismissed his apology quickly.

Chris huffed out a breath through his nose. “You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

You shrugged your shoulders but said nothing, you just sat there with Chris holding your hand, his silent support doing more for you than the hours you spent with a therapist, or the many phone calls with your parents and friends. You hardly knew the man but, you he was bringing you a sense of peace that nothing and no one else had.

When the brakes started to squeal, you stole a glance at your watch. “Wow, that time flew.”

Chris gave your hand a final squeeze before reaching up to situate his hat. “Give me your phone.”

“Why would I do that?” you asked with your eyes narrowed, your phone already in your hand.

With a smirk, he said, “So I can put my number in it. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

I’m dreaming, that’s what this is. It’s all a dream.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you conceded, handing over your phone.

Chris made quick work of adding his contact information, then sent himself a text. “Since I’ve never been here and this is your hometown, would you like to be my tour guide sometime?”

Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Yeah, I mean, I would love that,” you stammered, watching as he added your name to his contacts.

“Great,” he muttered as he stood.

After everyone had gotten off the bus and was stretching their aching and weary limbs, you sidled up to Chris and grabbed his attention after he hung up.

“I uh, I was just… this is… see…” you were stumbling over your tongue and couldn’t stop blushing.

Chris watched you play with your phone. “A proper selfie?”

“God, yes,” you said, the words coming out in a rush.

With one arm draped over your shoulder, Chris moved the hat up on his head, took your phone and opened the camera. You turned into his side and casually placed your hand on his stomach, putting on what you hoped was a relaxed smile. The picture was taken and your phone was back in your hands a moment later.

“Send it to me?” Chris requested, tugging the bill of the hat lower in an effort to keep people from recognizing him.

Gnawing on your bottom lip, you sent him the picture, and couldn’t keep from grinning when his phone beeped. You didn’t know why you were sure he gave you a phony number. Before you knew what was happening, Chris pressed a friendly kiss to your cheek and was bidding you goodbye.

“My ride’s here. I’ll call you,” he promised.

And then, he was gone, leaving you standing there, your phone clutched in your hands, and a grin on your face.

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Toxic

Summary: You and Steve get into an argument while on a mission, putting your lives in jeopardy.
Word Count: 2,121
Warnings: Language, angst, heavy kissing
Author’s Note: Requested by @natalienicole12347 The reader and Steve hate each other. They go on a mission where a crazy HYDRA scientist was working on a gas that, when inhaled, was supposed to kill. However, it seems to do nothing until they get back to the tower. GIF credit [X]

My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.

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Making your way through a HYDRA base, trailing behind Steve Rogers, Captain friggin’ America, wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend your day. Despite the fact that the two of you were eerily similar, you couldn’t stand each other. Being in the same room usually meant that you were in each other’s faces, yelling until you were red in the face, while someone – more than likely Nat or Bucky – kept you two from tearing each other apart.

“Would you keep it down?” Steve hissed, glaring at you over his shoulder. “We can’t retain the upper hand if they hear us coming.”

You stuck your tongue out at the super soldier, rolling your eyes once he looked away. It wasn’t your fault there was debris everywhere. “Not everyone has our super sonic hearing, Steve.”

“It’s a good thing they don’t. If they did, we’d be dead. Now zip it.” His head shook once in frustration. “Maybe if you worked on your stealth, you wouldn’t need to be told to keep it down.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you snapped, your voice a harsh whisper. “You’re pissed because I ditched your class. Get over yourself, Rogers.”

Steve sighed heavily, stopping so fast you almost slammed into his back. “It’s mandatory, Barton,” he lamented as he turned, towering over you. “Fury said -”

“It’s just a class,” you groaned, your arm falling to your side, weapon slapping against your thigh.

“A class that could keep you alive,” Steve insisted slightly louder than before.

“Oh, my God. Fine, I’ll go to your fucking class,” you snapped. You had promised Natasha you wouldn’t pick a fight on this mission, and what’s the first thing you do?

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like a child, Y/N. It’s unprofessional and inappropriate. If you don’t want to be here, go, leave. Don’t let the door hit ya.”

“And give you what you want? Fat chance,” you laughed.

“Staying out of spite is only gonna get you killed,” he said, his tone dark and gritty.

You were prepared to launch into a tirade, but there was movement off to the right. “Get down,” you screamed at Steve, raising your weapon to defend yourself, but whoever it was had the upper hand and used it to their advantage.

Noxious gas surrounded the pair of you, filled your nostrils, made your lungs squeeze, made your mouth water. You were bent at the waist, covering your mouth and coughing, your eyes filling with tears. You were getting lightheaded and it felt as if the floor was shifting underfoot.

“Come on. We can’t stay,” Steve rasped, his arm around you, half-dragging you out of the facility.

Once outside, you dropped to your knees and gasped at the cool, smoke-free air. Your lungs were still seizing, working to rid themselves of the toxic substance. Steve was next to you, in the same condition you were, his eyes filled with panic. Thank God for the serum flowing through your veins.

There were shouts and a stampede of footfalls headed your way. Knowing you probably wouldn’t survive a bullet to the brain, you and Steve hauled ass to the quinjet and flew away just as the men in pursuit broke through the treeline.

FRIDAY was at the helm, driving the quinjet, going into stealth mode. “Everything alright, Captain?”

“Mission aborted,” he coughed harshly, ripping the cowl from his head. “Alert medical, two inbound, gas inhalation.”

“And Agent Barton? Is she alright?” the AI inquired.

You were fumbling with the knobs on an oxygen tank that was secured to the wall. “I’m here,” you gasped, raising the mask to your mouth.

Steve followed suit but, instead of sitting next to you, he pressed a hand to the wall, hunched his shoulders, and bent his head as the oxygen hissed softly through the tube. It was hard enough to read him on a normal day, let alone when there was toxic gas in his system. So, rather than saying something stupid, you kept your mouth shut – figuratively – until after the quinjet had landed and medical staff was rushing up the ramp.

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“Quarantine?” you hollered, hands balled into fists at your sides.

Bruce gave you what he considered a reassuring smile. “Just until the toxins are out of your systems.”

Steve gave an annoyed huff and was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, Banner, we’re perfectly fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Bruce argued. “The two of you inhaled some pretty nasty stuff out there. You’re lucky it didn’t kill you.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” you grumbled under your breath.

“Fine,” Bruce quasi-agreed with you, pulling off his glasses. “Thanks to the super serum pumping through your veins, you won’t die. Unlike the hundreds of millions of people that will when the gas is released.” Without another word, he turned around and walked out, the door slamming behind him.

With a grunt, you slapped the wall, hissing as pain erupted in your palm. “Son of a -”

“The serum is busy trying to get rid of the gas,” Steve explained.

You rolled your eyes as you rubbed your hand. “I know that.”

“Plus, the walls are lined with vibranium,” he added, his tone flat and unamused.

“I know that, too, Steve,” you snapped, turning to storm away.

“We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t -”

You roared in frustration and tears stung your eyes. “I know that, okay? Jesus, Steve.” You punched the wall with everything you had. Agony, white-hot and searing, exploded in your knuckles. You gave a pain-laced scream and dropped to your knees, tears streaming down your face.

“I fuck everything up, Steve,” you murmured. “It’s all I know how to do. I’m the pain-in-the-ass-relative that nobody wants to be around or go on a mission with, the one that can’t shut the fuck up, the one that everyone hates. I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry I fucked it all up.”

Steve was on his knees in front of you, his shirt off, the thin cotton pressed to your bloody knuckles. You tried to pull away from him, to find the nearest corner and sit in it, to shut yourself off completely. He wiped away the blood that oozed from the wounds, shaking his head, his eyes dark, his jaw tight.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, so softly that you were sure he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Then tell me why you’re always on my case. Explain why nothing I do is good enough. I may look like a fucking teenager, but you seem to forget how old I really am.”

You had been married at the age of eighteen, kept the house while your husband worked, and as of three weeks prior, you had a bouncing baby boy; Harold Barton. Sure, money was tight at times, but your husband always made it work.

And then one day, he came home early, a somber expression on his face, a letter in his hand. He had been let go, the company was bankrupt, and you barely had two nickels to rub together. So, you scoured the papers, looking for anything you could do to bring in the money needed to keep your son alive, to keep clothes on his back, and a roof over his head. 

WANTED: Women, ages 18 – 22, in excellent health.
Want to get paid hundreds of dollars for a week of your time?
Helping the Youth Dream and Remain Active has developed a new health regime, and are in need of volunteers.
Please call the number below.

“I should have known better,” you ridiculed yourself, your eyes finally lifting to meet Steve’s. “I lost my husband and my son, and now… now I have a grandson. Jesus, Clint’s older than I am, and he has kids, and one day, they’ll be older than me. I mean… I just…”

Steve pulled you into his arms as your voice trailed off, a hand on the back of your head, the other at the small of your back. “You did what you thought was right, Y/N.”

“How could I just leave them?” you sobbed. “I should have stayed, been a better wife and mother.”

“Hey, no,” Steve argued gently. “Don’t do that.”

You pulled in a breath that made your shoulders shake. “It’s the truth, Steve, and there’s nothing you can do or say to make me think otherwise..”

Sighing, you untangled yourself from Steve’s arms and pushed up, using his shoulder for leverage. Your uninjured hand was about to fall away, but Steve’s hand shot out and gripped it tight. He whirled you around and looked up at you, his eyes swirling with emotion.

With your hand on his jaw, you asked, “Steve… what are you doing?”

You knew what you wanted him to do, you wanted him to kiss you, to claim you, to show you the dominant side you knew he kept hidden. It wouldn’t happen, but that didn’t stop you from wanting it.

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” he rasped.

In the blink of an eye, his hand was on the back of your neck and he was surging up to kiss you. He was still on his knees, but even then, you were almost face-to-face with him. Your hands were in his hair, nails scraping along his scalp, fingers squeezing the back of his neck, your tongue sliding along his as he deepened the kiss.

Steve moaned in the back of his throat as he stood, his arms tight around you, your legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord. He pinned you to the wall, rocking his body against yours, driving the both of you crazy with desire. Your nails were digging into his skin, marring it with red welts, making him hiss as he pulled away.

Your mouth was on his pulsepoint. “The serum is busy trying to get rid of the gas”

“I know,” he huffed, his neck stretched out, giving your tongue and teeth ample room to roam, his hips jerking forward, your ass bouncing off the wall.

“Plus, the walls are lined with vibranium,” you gasped at the delicious way the bulge in his pants rubbed against you.

“I know that, too, Y/N,” he snarled in a way that made your body pulse.

“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t -”

Steve groaned loudly at that. “Jesus, Y/N. If you won’t shut up, I’ll do it for you.”

When all you did was wink at him, Steve kissed you savagely, pulling needy and desperate moans from you. One of his hands slipped beneath your shirt and skimmed along your side and stomach before covering your breast, massaging it, your pert nipple rubbing deliciously along the black lace.

“Are you guys okay? Oh, shit,” Bruce yelped, a hand flying up to cover his eyes.

“What the hell, Banner?” Steve growled, his grip on you loosening. You slid down, barely biting back a moan as your body moved against his. You fought the urge to rip his pants off and take him in your mouth whether Bruce was in the room or not.

Bruce peeked through his fingers. “Elevated heart rates,” he said, pointing at the sensors on Steve’s chest.

“Shit,” you muttered, reaching out to touch them. You had honestly forgotten all about them. His skin was so smooth and warm, you wanted to lick it.

“Besides,” Bruce announced loudly, snapping you out of it. “I got some test results back.”

With his full bottom lip trapped between those amazingly perfect white teeth, Steve’s hand was on the side of your neck, his thumb tracing the swell of your bottom lip.

“And?” he asked, his voice heavy with lust, his pupils completely blown.

Bruce’s eyes darted between the two of you. “It appears that when the gas and the serum met, they formed a sort of…” he was struggling to put it into layman’s terms, something they could easily understand.

“Spit it out, Banner,” you ordered, sidling closer to the soldier towering over you.

“It makes you guys tell the truth,” was his answer.

Steve was smirking down at you. “Good to know. Can we leave?”

“I mean, I don’t see why not. But don’t leave the com -”

You were draped over Steve’s shoulder and headed out the door before Bruce could finish.

“I could get used to this view,” you giggled as you grabbed his ass.

“You ain’t the only one, doll.” Steve slapped your ass that made you wince, that sent sparks of electricity dancing along your skin.

Less than a minute later, you were lying on the bed and Steve was locking the door.

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