Summary: Steve Rogers was the league leading home run hitter, a Golden Glove shortstop, and team captain, all of which made him very comfortable with his position on the Yankees. Until James “Bucky” Barnes was called up from the minors to take over for their injured center fielder. Now Steve isn’t so sure where he stands anymore, both professionally and personally. Who knew some young, cocky, annoying kid from Brooklyn would turn Steve’s life upside down?
Part 8: Bucky makes some decisions about his life and career
The Players: Eventual Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (Stucky), Thor Odinson, Pietro Maximoff, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Jarvis, Bruce Banner, Brock Rumlow, Sam Wilson, Peter Quill, Helmut Zemo
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 907 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. 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.
As soon as Clint walked into the classroom, Fury pulled Clint into his office.
“I’m not in trouble, am I?” Clint wondered, his nerves still frayed from the day before when he kissed Y/N.
“No, nothing like that,” Fury answered, rubbing at the skin around his eye patch. “It’s actually about Y/N.”
Panic swelled in Clint’s chest, making it hard to breathe. “What’s happened?”
Professor Fury gave a heaving sigh before saying, “There’s no easy way to say it, so I’ll just say it. Y/N is in the hospital.”
A man that Clint recognized from the pictures in Y/N’s apartment was standing outside of a hospital room, hand raking over his face. It was Y/N’s father and he looked exhausted, worried, petrified.
“Mr. Coulson,” Clint murmured, hoping not to scare him. “My name’s Clint, I’m in class with Y/N.”
“Call me Phil,” he said, his hand held out. “Y/N’s talked about you.”
After shaking Y/N’s father’s hand, Clint shoved his into the pockets of his jacket. “Good things, I hope,” he quasi-joked.
“Mostly,” Phil chuckled. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
Unable to help himself, Clint looked over Phil’s shoulder to find Y/N lying in a bed. From what he could tell, her eyes were closed and she was hooked up to multiple monitors, pumps, and an IV drip.
“Oh, my God,” he gasped, a hand coming to his mouth. “Is she okay?”
Phil let out a huff through his nose and shook his head. “Is she okay?” he deadpanned, his eyebrow arched. “No, she’s not okay. She hasn’t been okay for years.”
Despite the emotion clogging his throat, Clint asked, “What do you mean?”
“Oh, shit. She hasn’t told you She has cancer, Clint. Leukemia,” Phil explained gently.
Clint felt as if his heart dropped into his stomach, and his stomach plummeted through the floor at his feet. He swayed back and forth, his mind swirling, his chest tight, too tight, his lungs unwilling to work. The walls were slowly creeping in and, God, it was so hot all of a sudden.
“Ca- cancer?” he managed to sputter, a hand raking through his hair.
Phil grabbed Clint’s elbow to steady the younger man. “Let’s go outside.”
While the cooler air helped Clint catch his breath, it did little to ease the mounting pressure in his chest. “Ho- how long does she have?”
“Honestly? We don’t know,” Phil answered with a shrug. “Could be tomorrow or next year. Y/N was diagnosed when she was thirteen and, at first, she responded well to the aggressive chemo treatments. The doctors gave her a seventy percent chance of going into remission.”
“Then what happened?”
Phil sat down at the picnic table, elbows on the edge, and a hand scraping over his face. “She went into remission, believe it or not. She went back for countless follow-up appointments and testing, and it was starting to look really good.”
Clint sat down across from Y/N’s dad and waited until Phil was ready to continue.
“The cancer came back freshman year of college, and it was manageable, at first. But then, late into her sophomore year, she stopped responding to treatment.”
“Wait, she… she stopped responding to treatment? Wha- what does that mean?” Clint desperately needed to know.
Phil rested his hand over Clint’s shaking ones. “It means the cancer is spreading a little more every day.”
“Her migraines,” Clint sighed heavily as he fully understood the gravity of the situation.
“They started as soon as the cancer started spreading to her brain.” Phil sniffled loudly as tears spilled down his cheeks.
Clint blew out a stuttering breath as tears stung his eyes. “Oh, my God,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s the reason for the promise.”
“What promise?” Phil wanted to know.
“When she agreed to help tutor me, she made me promise not to fall in love with her. I blew it off, thinking it was just a joke,” he explained.
Phil watched Clint carefully, gauging every microexpression that flashed across his face, reading his body language, and listening closely to the weight of his words. “You’re in love with her.”
“I… I think so, yeah,” Clint stammered, the corner of his lips pulling up in a lazy smile. “I didn’t mean to, it just… it all happened so fast.”
“Does she know how you feel?”
Clint was shaking his head. “No, I haven’t been able to.”
“Why don’t you go in and see her,” Phil offered.
“I thought she was sleeping.”
“She’s been sleeping for almost twelve hours,” Phil admitted with a sigh. “She’s bound to wake up soon.”
The butterflies that took up residence in Clint’s chest every time he saw Y/N came flooding back. “You don’t mind?”
“Truth be told, I could use some coffee.”
Clint shuffled into Y/N’s room and took his time making his way over to her bed, and when he was finally by her side, the sight of her about drove him to his knees. Her skin was ashen, her hair was greasy and stringy, pulled into a thin braid that was placed over her shoulder, and the circles under her eyes were almost black, making her closed eyes appear to be sunken deep into her skull.
He dropped into the chair that Phil had no doubt been sitting in, carefully took hold of her hand, and waited until she woke.
TITLE: Dancing in the Dark WORD COUNT: 6110 WARNINGS: THIS IS AN AU; angst, emotional crap, sexual content, catch up with part 9 before this one to avoid spoilers, the big reveal (oh, make that two reveals)
You lifted your eyes from the test in your hand and looked at Bucky. He blinked, eyebrows raising as he waited for you to speak. You swallowed, looking back down at the test.
Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter. It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard. Word Count: 1,577 Warnings: Language, angst, blood, violence, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come. Author’s Note:
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
“God, dad,” you grumbled. “Why can’t you just listen to me? I don’t need a damn babysitter! I’m a grown ass woman. I can take care of myself.”
Phil was sitting behind his desk and shaking his head. “You seem to forget the amount of death threats that have been sent to you, Y/N.” The pinched expression on his face meant he was done arguing with you about it.
“They’re empty threats. Nothing more,” you said when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Phil instructed as he stood, fastening the buttons on his suit jacket.
“I apologize for interrupting, sir,” the new arrival apologized gruffly, closing the door behind him.
Your father was wearing his business only smile as he stood in front of the man whose name you didn’t yet know. “No apologies necessary. You must be Steve Rogers.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve responded, shaking Phil’s hand.
Phil started chuckling. “I like you already.”
Steve gave a tight-lipped smile in return, unease rolling off of him in waves.
“Steve, this is my daughter, Y/N,” your father said, motioning toward you as you approached the duo.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve greeted you flatly, a soft Irish lilt to his voice, his azure eyes sharp and attentive as they roamed over you in a purely professional matter.
You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Call me by my first name,” you instructed coolly.
“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that,” Steve insisted, the previously mentioned accent gaining momentum.
“Don’t tell the man how to do his job,” Phil chastised.
“I’m not telling him how to do his job, I just don’t like -”
Phil cut a glare at you that made the words die on the tip of your tongue. “I assume you’ve been brought up to date, Steve?”
“Yes, sir,” Steve confirmed, eyes lingering on you for a moment before landing on those of Phil. “There are a few questions I have, if that’s alright.”
“Absolutely. Fire away, as it were,” Phil chuckled at his own joke, one that made you roll your eyes again.
Steve cleared his throat at the flare of awkwardness in the room, emanating from Y/N. “I assume all other members of security have been thoroughly vetted?”
“They have,” Phil confirmed. He strolled over to a standing filing cabinet, unlocked the top drawer, and opened it, pulling out three very thick folders, which he then handed to Steve. “Please feel free to look them over. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
After accepting the files and tucking them under his arm, Steve didn’t wait to ask his next question. “Based on the nature of the threats, I assume ‘round the clock service will be required. Where will I be staying?”
“Twenty-four hours a day, that is correct,” Phil confirmed.
“Dad, you can’t be serious,” you groaned, arms crossed under your chest.
Phil went on as if he hadn’t heard you. “I have rented an entire floor of The William Vale.”
“For how long, sir?”
“As long as necessary, Steve,” Phile answered. “Now, if there is nothing else…”
Steve shook his head as Phil’s voice drifted off. “No, sir.”
You should have known better than to try and break into the conversation. “I have someth-”
“That’s good to hear.” Phil shook Steve’s hand once more before showing him to the door. “I’ve got a full day of meetings ahead of me. I expect a full report on how the first day went.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed, his eyes quickly finding you. “Are you coming, ma’am?”
Gritting your teeth, you grabbed your bag and stormed over to your father. “Have a good day,” you said before brushing a kiss to his cheek. You might have been unbelievably pissed off at him, but the man was still your father.
You were sitting in the backseat of the luxury vehicle, trying to focus on the task at hand; composing a speech to give at an upcoming fundraiser, but your mind was focused on the man in the passenger seat directly in front of you.
When you heard you were getting a bodyguard, you had expected someone middle-aged, soft around the middle, maybe even losing his hair, anyone other than Steve Rogers. He had a head full of dirty blond hair, eyes that could probably drill through cement if he stared hard enough at it, a jaw that flexed in a hypnotizing manner. The man’s shoulders were wide enough that he had to twist before walking through an open door, and you were sure you could hear the seams of his jacket and shirt screaming for help whenever he moved.
Nope, you couldn’t do that; notice the rough beauty of your new bodyguard. Besides, you hated having him around. You didn’t need him, you could go about your days and nights without having someone there at all times. Fucking babysitter.
His eyes met yours in the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, is everything alright?”
Shit, you hadn’t realized you were staring. “Everything’s fine, Steve. I’m just anxious to get to the office.”
Your office was across town, almost as far away from Coulson Industries as you could get without crossing the river. It was a non-profit that catered to the homeless. It wasn’t a shelter, though you had plans for the ground to break on one the following spring, but the center was a safe place, a place they could take a hot shower, get a haircut, find some clean clothes, toiletries, personal items that normal people wouldn’t think to donate, wash whatever items of clothing they wanted to keep. While it wasn’t considered a shelter, there was a room in the back full of beds and cribs. Overnight stays were legally frowned upon, but naps and times of rest were not. You knew you were toeing a line, but you didn’t care. These people and their families were suffering. If no one was going to help them, you would do everything in your power to step up.
Steve nodded before giving your driver instructions. “Take Park.”
“No,” you immediately disagreed. “Pietro has been my driver for the last five years. He knows where he’s going. Stay on the normal route, Pietro.”
“Yes, Y/N,” Pietro acknowledged.
Steve shook his head and repeated his previous instruction. “There’s a forty-five minute delay up ahead, ma’am.”
“You’re not my driver, Steve,” you ground out, rage simmering just below the surface.
He glared at you in the rearview mirror. “No, ma’am, I am not your driver,” he agreed, his accent thicker than before. “I’m your bodyguard, and anyone that is in your father’s employ, will do as I deem fit, as per your father’s instructions… ma’am. Take Park.”
Pietro flipped on the signal and quickly changed lanes, taking the route as directed. He had both hands on the wheel as he pulled off the main road.
Stormy eyes drilled into yours as if daring you to say another word. When you didn’t, he turned his attention to the passing scenery, watching for any kind of danger. Although, you didn’t understand how he could possibly see anything, what with Pietro cruising at a swift seventy miles per hour.
Thirty minutes later, Steve was escorting you through the building, insisting that he go through every door first and do a sweep of the room before allowing you to enter. By the time you got to your office, you didn’t really care if there was some kind of threat behind the door. You just wanted to get in and sit down behind your desk and get some goddamn work done!
Steve had just emerged from the bathroom when you stormed in. “I didn’t give you the all clear, ma’am,” he said tiredly.
You huffed in irritation as you hung up your jacket and scarf. “Believe it or not, I have a deadline to meet today. The time wasted on clearing each and every room I pass through -”
“Is time that you’re not dead,” Steve growled. “Ma’am.”
“Look, you’ve got a job to do, I get it. But, you need to understand that I also have a job to do,” you informed him flatly. You pulled out the notebook and files from your bag with one hand, and flipped on your laptop with the other, your eyes already taking in a plethora of information.
Steve stood there, hands clasped behind his back, his jaw flexing. “I’ll be outside if you need me, ma’am.” His accent was heavier than before, and it made you wonder just how angry he would have to be to slip into full Irish.
After he left your office, Steve found a spot in the center of the large room, and stood there, his back to the wall, his eyes taking in everything that was happening around him, including you inside of your office, clearly visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. You fought down the urge to draw the blinds, to hide from his prying eyes. You had never once drawn them before, having told the employees, volunteers, and those seeking help that you were available at all times, no matter what.
However, with Steve standing guard and his piercing gaze taking in every inch of everything you were doing, following you whenever you left your office, no matter where you were going, it started to make the back of your neck crawl.
God, this whole thing was going to take some getting used to.
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 2,023 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. GIF found on Google Images with no source.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Y/N didn’t show up to class a week later. Or the next day, for that matter. Given the extent of her migraine on the previous Sunday, Clint wasn’t too worried by the time Monday was over. But, going into Tuesday, he started to grow concerned. To the point that he felt compelled to stop by her place, make sure she was okay.
He didn’t, though. Not because he changed his mind, but because Bucky was being an asshole. And when Bucky was an asshole, Clint was grumpy. He didn’t want to see Y/N and pick a fight over something stupid.
“You don’t get it, man,” Clint sighed. “She dropped to her knees.”
“It was just a headache,” Bucky said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Besides, you’ve been blowing us off a lot.”
It was Clint’s turn to roll his eyes. “Twice, Buck. Hardly constitutes a lot. Besides, if I don’t do this, study with Y/N, I’m going to fail.”
“Failing isn’t going to ruin your life,” his friend huffed.
“But hanging out with Y/N will?” he scoffed.
“Wait, since when are you hanging out with her?” Bucky demanded to know.
Clint groaned angrily. “Oh, my God, Buck. Studying, hanging out, it’s the same thing.”
“It’s really not,” Bucky argued. “We’re your friends, not Y/N. She’s just someone that took pity on you, man.”
“I’m not doing this with you,” Clint advised Bucky before storming out of their shared apartment.
When he walked into Fury’s classroom on Wednesday, the sight of Y/N sitting in the front row made his heart stutter in relief. He dropped down into the seat next to her with a smile.
“I was ready to send in a search party,” he partially joked. If Y/N hadn’t shown up in class today, he would have gone up to Fury after class and see if he knew anything. If Fury didn’t, then Clint would have gone to Y/N’s apartment.
She gave Clint a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I wasn’t feeling well,” she explained.
“Yeah,” he murmured in a concerned tone. “I can see that.”
Y/N groaned as her eyes fluttered shut, the dark circles more prominent than before. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you tonight, Clint. I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t explain the way his stomach dropped in disappointment. “I can come over, if that would help. Maybe cook up another amazing dinner,” he offered with a wink.
“Yeah?” Y/N breathed. “That would help tremendously.”
“Only if you’re feeling up to it.” Clint didn’t want to push her into doing more than she was actually able to do, and right then, she looked as if a good wind would knock her over.
“Tell you what,” she rasped. “Plan on coming over at four. If I’m not feeling up to it, I’ll shoot off a text.”
Clint was nodding his head in agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”
After class, you made your way home as quickly as you could. It was entirely too bright outside, there were too many people, and it felt as if there were a jackhammer inside your head. By the time you got inside, the rush of blood in your ears is so loud, it was deafening.
Your purse and bookbag hit the floor before you stumbled around as a nasty case of vertigo slammed into you. Using your hands, you maneuvered through the room, down the hall, and into the bathroom where your medication was. Even though the prescription said to take one or two pills, you normally took one. Not this time. You greedily swallowed two of the painkillers, gasping for air once you drank the water.
With your eyes screwed shut, you crossed the hall, hands held out in front of you. Once inside your room, you stripped out of the clothes you were wearing, turned on the fan, and made sure the blinds were pulled before dropping onto your bed.
It took almost a half hour before the raging inferno inside your head started to dwindle, and another fifteen minutes before you could get comfortable enough to fall asleep. And when you did finally drift off, you had strange dreams about Clint.
By the time quarter to four rolled around, Clint had probably checked his phone fifteen hundred times. He couldn’t explain the butterflies that were swarming in his stomach and chest at the mere thought that she would call and cancel. He wanted to see her, and it wasn’t because of the tutoring. He was actually looking forward to seeing her, like, really looking forward to it.
Unable to wait any longer, Clint left the apartment and hurried to Y/N’s place. He got there a few minutes after four, completely out of breath thanks to sprinting the entire way, and started knocking.
“Come on, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath.
When she didn’t answer the door, he tried the knob, but it was locked. He gave another round of knocks, louder than before, fear clogging his throat. He was absolutely convinced that something was wrong, that she had passed out and maybe hit her head, or worse. After knocking once more, the door was ripped open, revealing a disheveled Y/N.
“What?” she hissed, her eyes barely open, wearing only a tank top and a pair of underwear.
Clint gulped loudly and quickly diverted his gaze. “It’s uh, it’s four.”
“And?” Y/N sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Guilt rushed through him, quickly dousing the worry that had previously consumed him. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I did… I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just… you said that -”
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. “Oh shit,” she rasped. “Clint, I… I’m sorry. I fell asleep after I got home. Please, come in.”
“Are you sure?” He was working really hard at not staring at every inch of Y/N’s exposed skin.
She must have realized her lack of clothing, because a blush colored her neck and face. Without a word, she disappeared into the darkness of her apartment and slammed the bedroom door.
He was tentative to step inside, only doing so when Sam, a fellow classmate, emerged from his apartment down the hall. They exchanged a nod before Clint stepped inside and closed the door. He waited there, hands in his pockets, his head shaking back and forth as he waited.
“Stupid,” he chastised himself. “Shouldn’t have come.”
“You say something?” she asked as she emerged from her bedroom, clothed, her hair pulled back into a braid.
Jesus. Even with the minimal lighting Clint found he couldn’t stop staring at her. “I just uh, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“It’s fine, Clint,” she assured him, her eyes screwing shut.
“You don’t look fine,” he noted softly, stepping closer.
Y/N pulled in a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I’m tired. Migraines really take it out of me,” she explained flatly, as if she had been saying it her entire life.
Clint wanted to believe her, but deep down, he wasn’t sure that he could. There was too much pain behind her eyes, her voice would crack just the slightest, she would wince when she thought he wasn’t looking.
It was weird, he may have seen her every day for the last four years, and she had started tutoring him a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t really know her. Yet, he wanted to help her, to make whatever pain she was feeling disappear, never to be heard from again. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her it would be okay, that no matter what, he would be there for her, to protect her from whatever life may throw her way.
She looked at him strangely as he raised his hand, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Clint?”
He hummed, his moss-and-honey eyes flicking over her face before settling on her lips. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her mouth, his heart racing, pummeling his chest. He brushed his nose against hers then he gently kissed her.
Y/N stood there, surprise radiating off of her, her hand on his chest. Time stood still, building and building until it snapped when she melted into him, her fingers drifting to the back of his neck, curling in the short strands of hair. She let out a small gasp as his mouth slanted over hers, their tongues tangling together, his hand falling to the small of her back, the other twisting in her freshly-braided hair.
Clint’s entire body was thrumming and he was pretty sure he could spend the rest of his life holding her, kissing her, loving her. And he thought that maybe she felt the same way, until both of her hands were on his chest and she shoved him away.
“What the -”
“You need to leave,” Y/N demanded breathily, her lips perfectly swollen and dark pink, her chest heaving.
Confusion twisted painfully in his chest and gut. “What are you… I don’t understand.”
She was shaking her head and there were tears in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have done that, Clint.”
“I wanted to,” he admitted, daring to step toward her.
“Clint,” she sighed, her voice cracking. “You promised.”
He scraped a hand over his face as his mind swam through the endorphin-induced fog. “Ye- yeah, I know. I… I just -”
“Out,” Y/N directed him, her finger pointed to the door. “I want you to leave.”
“You’re serious,” Clint scoffed. “What about tutoring me?”
She was holding the door open now, staring hard at him. “Find yourself someone else.”
“There is no one else that can help me.” Yeah, he knew how pitiful it sounded, but it was the truth. He was going to fail Fury’s class if Y/N refused to help him.
Way to fuck it up, Clint.
“Talk to Fury. He’ll find you someone else,” she rasped, her eyes downcast.
Clint stood in front of her, desperately wanting to take her hand in his, to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face. “Please, Y/N,” he begged.
She stood there, her knuckles turning white, unmoving, unwilling to meet his gaze. The only thing she did was open the door wider and waited for him to leave. She shook her head and sniffled, murmuring something he couldn’t hear over the rush of blood in his ears.
Rejection swirled through him, making him feel as if he were going to explode. “Fine,” he bit out a moment before storming out. He was swiping angrily at the hot tears that rolled down his cheeks when the door slammed closed.
Responding to the kiss had been a bad idea, but you hadn’t been able to help yourself. Before you could register what you had done, it was too late; your body was molded to his and you were kissing him as if your life depended on it. Good thing you got your bearings before things went too far.
After kicking Clint out and slamming the door, you leaned against it and tried to catch your breath, tried to calm down the anxiety bubbling in your chest, but your heart was racing entirely too fast. You screwed your eyes shut and fumbled for the phone in your pocket.
“Breathe,” you tried reminding yourself, but your lungs refused to listen.
It had been a while since you’d had a full blown panic attack, and this one came at you like a freight train, barrelling down on you. You dropped to your knees and worked with shaking hands to unlock your phone. You could call Clint, he couldn’t have gotten too far, but you knew how bad of an idea that was. Instead you dialed your next door neighbor.
Sam answered the phone after the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart.”
You gasped his name and fell to your back, a hand over your chest. “I ca- ca- can’t bre- breathe.”
“Shit. I’m on my way.”
The last thing you heard was the pounding of his feet as he exited his apartment and rushed down the hall.
Summary: Steve Rogers never imagined he’d be going on a date with his much older boss, Tony Stark. As for Tony, he was used to wining and dining his dates, moving fast and dumping them faster. So how did Steve manage to get under his skin without so much as a kiss goodnight?
Author’s Notes: I have no idea where this came from, but I needed to get it out of my head. I also had no idea who to tag, so I grabbed a few names off of the post I made about this. If you’re interested in a tag, let me know.
***My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.***
Summary: Steve came home from the war to a wife that could not deal with the emotionally, mentally, and physically changed man before her. Dealing with it the only way he knew how, Steve buried himself in his work. After saving hundreds of lives in one heroic act, Steve finds himself put on bodyguard duty. Also known as a glorified babysitter. It wasn’t easy being the daughter of insanely rich and successful businessman, Phil Coulson. After multiple death threats, your overbearing, worries-too-much father decides you need a bodyguard. Word Count: 943 Warnings: Language, angst, blood, violence, explicit sexual content, possibly more to come. Author’s Note: GIF Credit found on Google Images without a source.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites (AO3, Wattpad, etc.) without my express written permission. Reblogs are fine.
Steve’s back was straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, chin raised, eyes drilling into a spot on the wall above his commanding officer’s head. He had just been informed that due to his heroic actions the previous Friday, all of his current cases would be transferred to other officers while he went on protective duty.
His charge was Y/N Coulson, and apparently, her life was in danger. Her father, Phil, was a successful businessman, perhaps too successful for his own good. Success brought enemies knocking on the door, and with old man Coulson refusing to cooperate, to bend to his enemy’s whims, his daughter had started receiving threats of all kinds.
Everything Steve had heard about Y/N made him cringe. She was a spoiled rich kid that partied all night and slept all day. She was on the cover of every tabloid magazine in New York, drinking, driving while intoxicated, getting arrested, going to rehab. There was even a quickie wedding in Vegas, followed by an annulment less than a month later; all while Steve was overseas, fighting a war that claimed the lives of his best friends, his brothers. In fact, he would have died if it hadn’t been for Bucky –
“Did you hear me, Rogers?” Pepper demanded to know, yanking Steve from his thoughts.
“Yes, ma’am,” he ground out, Irish accent thick on his tongue. “When do I start, ma’am?”
“Tomorrow morning you will report to Coulson Industries,” she informed him. “Seven am, sharp.”
Steve dipped his chin in confirmation. “Yes, ma’am.” With his molars grinding, Steve turned, and walked across the room.
“And Steve,” Pepper murmured as Steve’s hand fell to the door handle. “Act as if you actually care about her safety.”
“Will do, ma’am,” he said with a tight smile.
“C’mon,” Steve grit out, a hand raking through his hair as the line continued to ring.
Sharon had never let it ring that long before. It had either been sent to voicemail or she had disconnected the call long before. Then again, Sharon had changed in the last eighteen months since Steve had come home.
“Answer the fuckin’ phone.”
Half a ring later, her breathy voice greeted him. “Steve? Wha- what time is it?”
“Shit, love,” he muttered, the digital numbers on the clock catching his attention. “It’s late. I’m sorry, doll.”
“What do you want, Steve?” Sharon huffed, irritation replacing the sleep in her voice.
“Nothin’,” Steve denied a little too quickly for his own good. “I just wanted to talk.”
Sharon gave a disappointed groan. “It’s late, Steve.”
“You don’t think I know that? I just apologized for it,” he snapped, his fingers tightening around the bottle of beer on his thigh. “I just want to talk is all. Can’t we talk?”
“It’s two in the morning,” she argued through her teeth.
“So? We used to stay up all night talking,” Steve remembered bitterly.
Sharon was shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, well, we were young and dumb,” she scoffed. “Goodnight, Steve.”
“No, Sharon,” he ground out. “Please don’t hang up on me. I just want to talk.”
“You’re drunk,” Sharon sighed.
Steve slid the beer bottle onto the counter. “Am not.”
“I didn’t say you were drinking. I said you’re drunk.”
“I am not,” Steve said a little louder than before. “If I were drunk, I wouldn’t be callin’. I’d be passed out in your bed where I belong.”
Sharon let out a heavy breath. “We’ve talked about this, Steve. We can’t… I don’t want -”
“To be with your husband,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I got that bit from the delivery boy you sent.”
“I’m not filing for divorce,” she groaned. “It’s just a -”
“Separation,” Steve scoffed loudly. “Still means you don’t want to be with me. Why not? Can’t you explain it to me?”
“I’m hanging up the phone,” she announced. “Don’t call back or I will call the police.”
Steve’s already-boiling blood surged through him even faster. “I am the police, love.”
“Are you.. is that a threat?”
“No, no,” he stammered. “That’s not what I meant at all, love. I would never abuse my power like that.”
“Goodnight, Steven,” she bit out before disconnecting the call.
“Just wanted to talk,” Steve hollered before launching the phone across the room, sending it into the wall. Bits of glass and plastic littered the floor, which Steve begrudgingly cleaned up, after he finished his beer.
He sat down on the couch, another beer in his hands, his mind whirling around like a tornado. God, he just wanted to go home and be with his wife. Why couldn’t he do that? Why wouldn’t she let him come home?!
Shaking his head, he scoffed irritatedly at himself. He knew why, he just couldn’t believe it.
Steve came home from a war that changed him, and not just physically. He had seen things nobody should ever see, heard things no one should ever hear. His brothers in arms had been blown apart less than ten feet from him, they had been taken prisoner and tortured, videos sent as proof and demands shouted in a language Steve didn’t know. He had seen the life drain from their eyes, he had heard their cries for mercy, and if he closed his eyes, he could still hear every single one of them. Steve was fucked in the head, and Sharon couldn’t handle it.
“For better or worse, my ass,” Steve slurred after finishing off his second six pack of beer.
He stumbled into the bedroom where he fell face first onto the bed and started snoring less than five seconds later.
Summary: As a senior in college, you kept your nose clean and never partied. You were at the top of your class, set to graduate with honors summa cum laude; unlike Clint Barton. In an effort to get a passing grade and graduate, he asked for your help. What could possibly go wrong? Word Count: 1,204 Warnings: Language, fluff, possible smut, heavy angst [I’m sorry] Author’s Note: I shouldn’t be this excited about how much angst there is. Something is wrong with me. 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.
It had been so long since you’d had dinner with another person who wasn’t your father that you almost forgot how to hold a simple conversation. The fact that the steak practically melted in your mouth didn’t help matters, nor did the fact that your company, Clint Barton, kept looking at you the way he was.
“What?” you finally asked, reaching for the napkin. “Do I have something on my face?”
Clint gave a chuckle and shook his head. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” you wanted to know, growing self-conscious under his gaze.
“Nothin’,” was his simple answer.
You didn’t believe it for one second. “Liar,” you mused, your eyebrow arched.
Clint grabbed his left pec with an exaggerated groan. “Your words hurt me, my lady.”
You gave a snorting laugh. “Sticks and stones,” you teased him before shoving a bite of steak in your mouth and moaning in appreciation. You hadn’t meant to let it slip out, but there it was, clearly audible and sensual-sounding.
One of Clint’s eyebrows rose and he shifted in his seat. “Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”
A blush colored your cheeks and neck. “Sorry,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “I just… this steak is really good.”
“My dad left when I was little,” Clint admitted, his eyes falling to his plate. “My mom taught me how to cook.”
“Oh, Clint,” you lamented, your heart clenching in understanding. “I’m so sorry.”
Clint gave a small wave of his hand. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the one that drove him away. He didn’t want to be a father, said my mother trapped him.”
You reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Neither of you deserved that, especially you. You were just a kid.”
“Thank you for saying that,” he murmured, turning his hand over, his thumb sweeping over your knuckles in a way that made a shiver roll down your spine.
You slid your hand from his and took a long pull of your water, which you then choked on when Clint asked a question.
“What about you? I noticed there were only pictures of you with your dad. At least, I assume it’s your dad,” Clint chuckled, a tinge of pink coloring his neck. “You don’t have a secret older boyfriend, do you?”
After you got your coughing under control, you gave him an answer. “No, no, nothing that salacious. It’s just me and my dad, nothing exciting or crazy.”
“We’ve got more in common than I thought,” Clint admitted. “Me without a father, you without a mother.”
Grief clogged your throat and made your heart stutter painfully in your chest. “Yeah, look at us,” you muttered sullenly before pushing away from the table. The rest of your food was dumped into the trash with a loud scrape of the fork against ceramic. You were rinsing off the plate when Clint approached the island.
“What happened there?” he wanted to know. “What did I say wrong?”
Tears sprang to your eyes whether you wanted them to or not. “No- nothing. I’m fine,” you lied.
He murmured your name with something that sounded like pity. “You can talk to me, you know. I know I’m only here because you agreed to tutor me and because of earlier. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”
You gripped the edge of the counter, groaning at the bite of it in your palm. “I was six when she died. She went into town to get some more fruit juice. She got hit by a drunk driver doing seventy through a red light. The doctor said she didn’t feel a thing, that she died on impact.”
“Jesus,” Clint hissed, a hand scraping over his face.
“It’s my fault she’s dead,” you choked out, your head falling forward.
Clint was at your side, a large hand smoothing up and down your back. “I know that it can feel like that, but it’s not your fault.”
“It was my bir- birthday, Clint,” you managed to say. “And I threw a damn fit because she didn’t get the juice I wanted.”
With a heavy sigh, Clint pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, comforting you as the overwhelming grief and guilt took hold, spilling over as the dam holding it at bay shattered to a million pieces. You hated how all it took was one question for you to fall apart. It had been almost twenty years, and there you were, crying in the arms of a man you hardly knew as if she had died only yesterday.
Clint didn’t say anything, just stood there and held you until you gained your composure, which took entirely too long, in your opinion. When you pulled back, you wiped the tears from your face with a paper towel and wouldn’t look Clint in the eye.
“Look, I really appreciate you helping me home and cooking me dinner -”
“Yeah, no, I’ll get out of your hair,” he sighed, disappointment glittering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Clint.” God, you hated apologizing all the damn time.
Clint was shaking his head. “You don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. You’ve had a hell of day. God knows I didn’t help matters.” He grabbed his jacket, slipped on his shoes, and gave you a warm smile before he left.
The guilt you were feeling before made your stomach roll. “Way to go, Y/N.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, you took a quick shower, slipped into your pajamas, and called your dad. It had been about a week since you had talked to him, and after the intense migraine earlier, you knew he’d be pissed if you didn’t tell him.
“Hey, kid,” your dad greeted you warmly.
“Hey, old man,” you joked, settling into bed.
Phil muted the television before asking, “How ya been?”
You really didn’t want to tell him, but even if you tried lying, he’d call you out on it. “Today wasn’t the greatest.”
“One of your headaches.” It wasn’t a question.
“It came out of nowhere,” you tried to explain. “I was helping a friend study -”
“Y/N,” he sighed heavily. “You’re doing it again.”
“I am not, dad,” you argued.
“Yes, you are,” Phil shot back, not in anger. “You’re taking on too much. Again.”
You swiped a hand over your face, barely able to suppress a yawn. “If I don’t help him, he won’t graduate, dad.”
“Kid, it’s not your job to help everyone, all of the time. You’re not a superhero.”
“Helping Clint isn’t going to kill me,” you snapped, grunting in frustration in the next breath. “I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t… I’m just tired.”
Phil blew out a shuddering breath, and if you closed your eyes, you could see his eyes grow teary. “Get some sleep, okay? And do me a favor, kid.”
“What’s the favor?” you asked, even though you already knew what he was going to say.
“I know helping people is ingrained in your DNA, just take it easy, okay?” he begged of you.
Despite having cried your heart out earlier, tears pricked your eyes. “I can do that.”
Summary: Thanos’ dark magic and influence has spread farther than anyone dared imagine. While he terrorized the magical world by destroying communities and families, there was one group – The Avengers – that did everything in their power to hunt him down, to destroy him before he came into ownership of all six Infinity Stones. Who knew the answer to their prayers would come in the form of a teenage boy; Peter Parker. Word Count: 2,765 Warnings: Magic, language, fighting, angst, fluff, alcohol, talk of death, talk of torture, explicit sexual content. These warnings will be a staple throughout. Author’s Note: Inspiration for this fic came from this amazing GIFset by @mamalaz. I also wouldn’t have been able to write it without @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree. Their unyielding support and assistance has been invaluable. 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.
Peter was bouncing on the balls of his feet nervously, chewing on the string of his hoodie. “I don’t get why we have to come here,” he pouted, nodding at the pillar between platforms nine and ten.
May looked at her nephew with a brow arched. “If you didn’t keep getting kicked out of school,” she began, voice tight, irritated. “We wouldn’t have to keep moving.”
“I didn’t do it,” he insisted.
It consisted of spray painting the ceiling of Headmaster Phillips’ ceiling with SPIDEY RULES THIS SCHOOL. Spidey just so happened to be Peter’s nickname, a name he earned almost immediately after mastering a spell that gave him spider-like senses, reflexes, and abilities, a spell that no one had been able to duplicate since. No one, that is, except for Peter.
“I know, sweetheart,” May cooed, her gaze turning sweet. “You just… you’re too damn smart for your own good sometimes.”
Peter was confused, his aunt had always said to never stop learning, never dumb himself down, not for anyone. “So… I should pretend I’m something that I’m not?”
“Oh, God, no,” May chuckled. “I’m just… I’m just saying that… God, I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
May was tired, so very tired, and not just from the fourteen hour flight. Taking over the role of mother to her nephew was life-changing, for all parties involved. Peter was just a child when his parents died, struck down in the middle of the night.
They were up late, watching a movie, a movie that Peter had picked out as a reward for getting top marks in his class. He squeezed himself between his mother and father, a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn in his lap, their hands grabbing at the buttery morsels. Try as he might, Peter was asleep twenty minutes later.
It was the silence that woke him, the eerie kind that follows death around, driving chills down the spines of everyone it touched.
There was a blanket over his head, one that smelled anything but clean. It fell to the floor with a wet smack, a sound that Peter only heard after a bath or shower, when his towel was soaked. It didn’t belong, that sound.
Then there was the smell. It turned his stomach, filled his mouth with saliva, pushed bile into the back of his throat. It was thick and overpowering. It was the blood of his mother and father, and it was everywhere. It was tacky, yet it soaked into his socks as he went searching for his parents, it was thick between his toes, rubbing them together with each step.
He found them at the bottom of the steps, the front door in shreds, blown from its hinges, wood splinters pushed into the walls. They looked like they were sleeping, trapped in a nightmare, their eyes pinched shut, hands thrust out in a futile attempt to fight off whoever had killed them.
Whoever it was either hadn’t known Peter was there, or they didn’t care. What Peter did know was that his mother and father had died in order to save him. He would find the witch or wizard and show them the same ‘mercy’ his parents had been shown.
“It’s okay, aunt May,” Peter sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
She pressed a kiss to her nephew’s forehead. “I know you will.”
Steve was standing there, at the head of the class, his hands completely engulfed in flames. Several of the students gasped, hands over their mouths, eyes wide with curiosity. He couldn’t keep from smirking. First years were always easily frightened.
“It’s about control,” he continued. “Not allowing your fear to seep through, otherwise -” the wall that he had built up over the years had started to crumble, just enough for the flames to start flickering.
With a shuddering breath, he clenched his hands and the flames disappeared completely. He could feel their eyes on him, wondering what had happened, what was going to happen. In the blink of an eye, his entire body was on fire, and the students started screaming in terror. Several of them rushed over to Steve, asking what they needed to do, but Steve said nothing.
After one minute, the flames went out. The students circled around him, watching with wide eyes as the angry scorch marks tarnishing his skin and clothes started to fade away.
“Control,” he ground out as he stood. “It’s a pain in the ass to learn, but it can be done.”
The end of class alarm sounded and the students scurried away, harshly whispering about what Professor Rogers had just done. Bucky was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, and a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You enjoy that too much,” he laughed.
“Do not,” Steve scoffed, a hand raking through his longer strands.
Bucky rolled his eyes as he walked through the room, the heels of his boots scuffing on the aged floor. “We’re headed out,” he announced as Steve started sorting through several parchments. “Thought you might like to join us.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve mused. “Sounds fun. Nat gonna be there?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
Steve arched a brow as he looked at his friend. “You talk to her since the other night?”
“Not really,” was Bucky’s answer. “Why, what happened?”
“She went off on Wanda about Loki,” Steve informed Bucky as he cleaned up his desk. “Again.”
Bucky sat down on the edge of the first row of desks. “You know how she is.”
“I do,” Steve lamented, a hand on the back of his neck. “But at the same time, she needs to back off of Wan. None of what has happened is her fault, and Nat, she’s like a dog with a bone.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to her,” Bucky sighed. “Are we good for tonight?”
“Let me talk with Wanda first.”
Even though she still seemed a bit rattled from her encounter with Natasha, Wanda agreed that a night out was a good idea, for everyone involved. Tension had been running high since Steve and Wanda encountered Loki, and not just between the normally tight knit group of friends; it was all over the place.
Attacks on the magical – and non-magical alike – had risen drastically; no one was being spared in the wake of Thanos’ rage. He would do anything, kill anyone, destroy everything if it meant he was in control of the Infinity Stones.
It was confirmed that Thanos was in possession of two; the power and space stone. Being a Titan, Thanos was extremely powerful, but with the power stone, he was damn near unstoppable. If he got his hands on the other four, their world, as they knew it, would be over.
So, drinks it was. Drinks, and good company. For the most part.
As soon as Natasha laid eyes on Wanda, her demeanor changed. Her shoulders straightened, her eyes rolled before turning her back to the couple, and she ignored them for the rest of the night.
Steve pressed a kiss to Wanda’s crown. “Let’s ignore her right back, okay?”
Wanda agreed with a chuckle, her hand on Steve’s chest as she turned, looking up into his cerulean eyes. “Go and sit by the fire. I will get us something to drink.”
Steve did as she directed, headed toward the fire where his friends were seated. Out of the group, Clint saw him first.
“‘Bout time you got here, Cap,” he called out, wearing a giant smile.
Steve gave the man a quick hug before saying, “Good to see you. How ya been?”
“Busy, man,” was his answer. “Just got in from Romania where we had to fight off some poachers.”
Bucky growled and shook his head. He hated dragon poachers with every fibre of his being. Just the thought of someone hunting down the beautiful creatures made his blood boil. “Tell me no dragons got hurt.”
“We only lost two,” Clint informed Bucky solemnly. “The rest we were able to bring back to the reservation.”
“And the poachers?” Steve asked.
Anger flickered in Clint’s moss eyes. “A handful got away, but I have a good idea of where they’re headed next, and who’s in charge.”
Wanda appeared at Steve’s side, drinks in her hands. “Who is it?”
“Ulysses Klaue,” Clint answered darkly.
The drinks fell from Wanda’s hands, the bouncing of the metal glasses silent due to the roar of blood in her ears. Her hands started shaking, flickering with red energy, embers dancing along her skin. It couldn’t be, not Ulysses. She had to have heard wrong.
“Fuck,” Steve muttered as he turned to his girlfriend. “Wanda, breathe, doll. Just breathe.”
“What’s happening?” Clint wanted to know, peering around Steve. “Is she okay?”
Steve stayed focused on Wanda, on trying to get her to calm down, but it didn’t appear to be working; she was panicking, too far gone to be able to pull back.
“Klaue was the man that took her and Pietro,” Bucky answered as he shoved out of his seat.
“Shit,” Clint ground out. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”
Steve ignored Clint as he cupped Wanda’s face. “Baby, come back to me.”
Unbridled rage flooded through her, white-hot, like a live wire, desperately looking for the man she held responsible for the monster she had become. Her entire body was thrumming with power, no doubt lashing out at the man in front of her.
“We need to get her out of here,” Bucky grit out.
The other patrons were staring and pointing, some even reaching inside their frocks for their wands. The last thing anyone needed was for there to be another incident.
Steve ripped his hands away from Wanda, hissing at the electrical spark that snapped painfully against his fingertips. “It ain’t gonna be easy.”
Out of nowhere, Wanda’s body was jerked away and sent flying out the front door.
“Problem solved,” Nat sneered.
Steve strode over, murder in his eyes, hands balled into fists at his sides. “Don’t ever do anything like that again. You hear me, Natalia?”
The woman who had earned the moniker of the Black Widow glared up at Steve. “I just saved everybody in here.”
“You don’t touch her,” he warned. “Or so help me, I’ll -”
“What? You’ll what, Steve?” Her dark eyes roamed over Steve’s face, his features contorted in anger.
When Steve didn’t move or say anything further, Nat gave a knowing smile. “That’s what I thought.”
Steve gave a growl low in his throat before turning away and heading toward the door, but Natasha wasn’t done with him just yet.
“What would Peggy think of what you’re doing, of who you’re doing?”
He stood there, flames licking at the surface of his skin as his anger stormed out of control. The only reason he didn’t turn around and unleash hell upon the bitchy redhead was Bucky. His friend had come up behind him and clapped him on the back.
“Let it go, brother,” Bucky suggested. “Go make sure Wanda is okay.”
“She better not be here if we come back,” Steve seethed, flames dancing in his eyes.
“She won’t be,” Bucky vowed.
Steve strode outside just as Wanda was pulling herself out of the water. Her teeth were chattering and her skin was pale, her eyes appearing sunken and dark.
“You’re okay. I got you,” he murmured, tearing off his jacket and wrapping it around her shaking form.
“Ta- take m- me ho- home,” was all she said.
They disappeared from the oceanfront with a loud crack, one that echoed throughout the village, one that scared some of the birds, appearing less than a second later in their cozy living quarters within the castle.
Steve set Wanda in front of a roaring fire, one that snapped and popped to life with a flick of his wrist. While she sat there, her head cocked to the side, her mind folding in on itself, Steve set about making her favorite tea, the one she drank when she couldn’t stop crying about Pietro, or when the nightmares got too bad to sleep, or when she was convinced she was having prophetic visions about a desolate future.
He was by her side five minutes later, wrapping an arm around her, making sure she drank the brown liquid that shimmered in the light of the fire. Wanda would make small noises of appreciation when she drank, though her eyes remained fixed on the dancing flames.
Steve removed her boots and socks, setting them on the hearth. Turning back, he moved slowly as he approached her, and started removing her soaked garments, wrapping her in a thick blanket once she was naked. Knowing how much she loved skin-to-skin contact, he worked quickly to rid himself of his clothes, joining her within the confines of the blankets several short moments later.
Wanda could feel Steve’s heart on her cheek as they lay there, on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows. With his hand drawing nonsensical patterns on her back, she tipped her head back and scratched her nails through his beard. Steve gave a hum of contentment as he looked down at her.
She pushed up, using his shoulder for leverage, and smeared her lips against his. Steve let out a stuttering sigh, tangled a hand in her hair, and pulled her body flush against his as their lips met. As their tongues danced, Wanda slid a hand down Steve’s chest and stomach, and scraped her nails through the short curls before palming Steve’s half-hard cock. Her power skittered along her fingertips, up and down his shaft as she worked him, until he was achingly hard, throbbing and red.
Steve’s thick fingers scraped and tickled her breasts, sides, and stomach before dipping between her legs. He couldn’t stop from moaning when his fingers slid easily between her slicked folds, or the way her body tightened around his two digits when they pushed into her heat.
The two were a writhing, moaning mess by the time Wanda straddled Steve, lowering herself onto his weeping and throbbing cock. Steve gripped her hips as their bodies started rocking together, as they pushed and pulled, their moans and grunts filling the room, echoed by the sounds of wet skin sliding together.
Wanda was close to shattering, a flicker of red squeezing and circling her clit, using her power to catapult herself over the edge. She came with a strangled cry of Steve’s name, back arched, head thrown back, hands gripping Steve’s thick thighs. His feet were planted on the floor as he pounded up into her tightening pussy, falling over the precipice himself moments later, her name gruff and dark on his tongue.
Completely sated, Wanda felt boneless as she rolled to Steve’s side, leaving her leg draped over his thigh.
“She does not like me very much, does she?” Wanda asked hoarsely.
Steve pulled in a ragged breath. “Natasha’s never been much of a people person,” he tried to explain.
Truth be told, Nat was an untrusting bitch that had started second-guessing everything from the moment Wanda escaped Thanos’ clutches. The woman was damn near paranoid, and for good reason. There had been many double, even triple agents in Hogwarts’ battle of good versus evil.
Steve was absolutely positive that Wanda wasn’t like them, she would never betray her friends, the people that she had grown to love. He couldn’t say the same thing about Nat, his friend since their first year at the wizarding school.
Curling his finger under Wanda’s chin, Steve’s eyes scanned her face. “Whatever Nat thinks about you doesn’t matter.”
“But what you think of me does,” she whispered, tears clouding her vision.
“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured. “I love you, Wan. Ain’t nothing that can change that.”
“I was a weapon, Steve. I ki- killed people, good people.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed away her tears. “That’s not you anymore, doll. You’re good.”
“What if I -”
“No. There is no ‘what if’,” he interrupted sternly, nudging her nose with his. “You won’t go back. I won’t let you. I won’t, I can’t lose you, too.”
Wanda choked on a sob at the desperation in his voice, at the love shimmering in his eyes. She knew that no matter how long she was away from Thanos, from Loki and the Death Eaters that she would be scarred, mentally and physically, that she had a hell of a long road ahead of her. But, if Steve was at her side, she knew she could do it.
“You won’t lose me,” she vowed before kissing him.
A/N: Hello, hello! This chapter really got away from me and got extra long but I really like where it ended up! Flashback is in italics. Let me know what you think! You can find the series masterlist here and my main masterlist here. You can ask for a tag here!
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