Tony couldn’t seep. Sometimes he managed a few hours if he was tired enough, so usually he went to the gym and worked out until he was exhausted. Tonight, though, he found the gym already occupied: Barnes, with his hair tied up, working steadily at the heavy bag. Normally Tony would make an awkward comment and leave him to it, but instead he just heads for the opposite side of the gym. After setting up at one of the far treadmills, Tony worked his way to a easy run. Barnes was laying his fists rhythmically into the bag, and the quiet thumping was sort of strangely soothing. Between the running and the thumping, Tony slipped into a near-trancelike state.
And then Barnes let out an ungodly howl, drew back his left fist, and slammed it straight through the heavy bag with a roar of, “DIE A THOUSAND BURNING DEATHS!”
Tony fell off the treadmill, scrambled to his feet, and booked it to the elevator.
holy shit you guys there was a spider on my punching bag !!! thanks to my many years of combat experience & martial arts training things are okay now
fun fact: there are over 15 verses of insulting dirty lyrics to ‘star spangled man with a plan’ that the Howlies invented after steve beat everyone at poker. and i will be singing them all until steve gives my hoodie back
BUT THEN can you imagine Diana learning the concept of Valentine’s Day? In this alternate-WWII hellscape ive created, I can imagine Diana wanting to PULVERIZE Valentine’s Day for her loved ones, no matter who you ship
She would gift each as follows:
Peggy Carter: one (1) confiscated bottle of perfume (Shalimar)
Ronald Speirs: an assortment of vintage trench knives, minimum three (3)
Carwood Lipton: one (1) leatherbound journal with edelweiss pressed into its pages
Steve Rogers: one (1) copy of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man
Bucky Barnes: one (1) copy of The Saint
Dick Winters: two (2) lumpy hand-knitted scarf that he wears constantly and unquestionably
Lewis Nixon: one (1) 100-year-old bottle of he finest scotch (which the Howling Commandos marvel at; where does she GET these things)
For the first time in a while, normalcy, or the closest thing they could obtain to true normalcy, returned to the Avengers Tower. Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Clint were welcomed back after hours of debating with the Accords. Perhaps since Bucky didn’t return with them, it was easier for the government to forgive them, considering their acts of justice in the past.
Even when they returned, tensions were high between some of the Avengers. Steve could tell Wanda was still facing hardships and obviously Rhodey’s accident made the people who sided with Steve feel awkward, despite their apologies. Steve knew that it’d be a while until they felt like a true team again. It was understandable, after all. He just wished he could at least help with whatever Tony was planning, yet refusing to reveal.
He had no idea that the plan was involving you. Of course, he hadn’t seen you since his accident in World War II. You didn’t make yourself known if you didn’t have to. You couldn’t stand violence and only used defensive moves to stop someone. The British government contacted you to protect the country from time to time, but you tended to help people with a shadow to hide in. It was an amazement that Tony Stark found you. You did work with his father, so Tony took the information from his father’s things.
A box was waiting for you when you arrived at the apartment that you were currently staying in. You left Themyscira younger than your mother had wanted for you to fight in the war alongside the soldier that landed his plane on the shore. Regardless of your appearance matching one of a teenager’s, the government covered for you. Obviously going to school for the rest of your life would just be tiresome so you were jobless when you saw the box.
The familiar logo jumped out at you when you opened it. Stark Industries. You hadn’t seen any of the Starks since World War II, yet you heard that Howard and Maria had died. It must be from Anthony then. Inside was a picture that you forgot about. There you were, looking the exact same, standing among the soldiers from World War II. People wouldn’t believe that you fought with them, since you looked young, but there’s the proof. There was a little note. I found it among my father’s belongings. We should talk. - Tony Stark
Finding a flight to New York where the Avengers are located was less than ideal, but it didn’t stop you from booking a flight. The flight was particularly boring as you thought about what Tony Stark might want from you. From what you heard about the Avengers, they were just recovering from their own personal fight. Captain America, or Steve, was as passionate as he was in the war, although this time, his passion was not welcomed. Thinking about the possibilities, you looked out the window. The plane ride reminded you of what brought you to humanity in the first place.
When you landed, you weren’t entirely surprised how easy it was to find the Avengers. It had been a while since you were in New York and it was quite busier than you remembered, but you acted casual as you approached the Avengers Tower. It wasn’t everyday that people connected to your past requested your presence.
F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced in the kitchen, “Mr. Stark, a woman is outside, claiming that you invited her. Would you like to see who?” Steve looked at Tony curiously as Sam asked, “Who’d you invite?”
“No one,” Tony dismissed before responding to F.R.I.D.A.Y., “I know who it is. Let her up.”
Steve didn’t like being kept out of whatever Tony was planning. He asked, “Do we know her?”
Looking at him, he laughed a bit at his own inside joke. Steve looked at him like he had lost it until he turned to the elevator opening. Looking the same as you did on the battlefield, Steve was shocked to see Y/N Y/L/N standing in the Avengers Tower. Of course, you weren’t wearing your battle gear, sticking with casual clothes, but your golden tiara still rested on your forehead and your bracelets were peeking out under your sleeves. He was shocked at how casual you looked, since Steve remembered you from the war. You had led the rescue mission from Hydra with him. Despite all this, he did recall one nickname you were rather fond of.
“The Star Spangled Man with a Plan,” you stated with a small smile, “I did hear that you got out of the ice.” You talked to Agent Carter every so often, but you didn’t bring the sensitive topic up.
“Y/N of Themyscira,” Steve greeted with a respectful nod. You used Y/L/N, but it wasn’t your true last name. Of course, when Bucky left, another old friend looking exactly the same came back. “Always a pleasure.”
Tony looked between the two with an almost bored expression, before cutting in, “Now that the reunion is over, I’d prefer to talk with Miss Y/L/N.” He looked at the small group who had gathered and added, “Cap, since you know her, you can stay.” The group dispersed at the mention, some looking at you curiously before they left. Steve glanced at you and nodded with a knowing smirk about what would happen.
Turning to Tony, your eyes weren’t necessarily angry, but they were ablaze with passion as you spoke in a tone commanding respect, “If you wish to be formal, call me Princess Y/N of Themyscira, daughter of Hippolyte.” You hated being called Miss, since that wasn’t your title. Although your preference is no formalities, if people are adamant about using a title, you will not settle for anything less that who you truly are.
Tony was shocked for a couple of seconds before appearing casual about it. Your appearance always threw people off, but Tony appeared to be reminded. You didn’t want to add that you knew his parents before he was even thought of, since it made you seem like a bitter old person. Your stance was like your tone. It demanded respect. You learned that people wouldn’t listen to you unless you didn’t give them the option of ignoring you.
After your conversation with Tony Stark, you had quite a lot of consider about your future. Not that it looked different from now. The only thing that could change would be whether or not you accepted his invitation to join the Avengers. Personally, you knew Tony’s emotions could make him fight first and talk later, if the fighting between the Avengers proved anything. You also knew of the benefits of actually being an Avenger.
You’d have to uproot your life and leave behind your background in England once the soldier took you from Themyscira. When you arrived at England with him, he was the one to convince the others to let you fight. You thought of him as your closest friend. He had been dead for many years and, whenever you visited his grave, you realized how much you were forgetting about him slowly. To leave England would be as if you were officially letting him go.
In order to give you time to think, Tony and Steve let you be, giving you some places in the tower they thought you might enjoy. That’s how you found yourself floating in an indoor pool. Technically, you could swim with your tiara and bracelets, yet you took them off. After a while, your hair fanned around your head as you floated on your back.
The water was slightly heated, reminding you of the water in Themyscira. You closed your eyes and it all came back. The forestry and buildings. You could almost hear the training and smiled sadly when you remembered your fellow Amazons fighting for goodness in humanity. Your mother, Hippolyte, looked over the community with pride.
Then the memory changed to the water you dived in to save the soldier who crashed his plane into the ocean. He had began to close his eyes as he lost all oxygen by the time you got to him. Your mother was wary of the stranger, not willing to send anyone to help the humans in the war. You tried to sneak out with him, only to be caught by your mother. She looked at you, her greatest joy in the world, and let you go, to save humanity. What you were told Amazons did.
The war was truly terrifying, yet you charged to stop the cruel enemy. You led soldiers with the soldier that crashed on Themyscira. There were times that he doubted the full extent of your powers, but you earned his trust regardless. You found out your true lineage after the war, when you discovered that aging didn’t effect you like it did other people. That’s when the government decided to protect you and you continued your mission as an Amazon at night.
Your recollection of past memories was interrupted by someone entering the room. You immediately stood up in the pool and faced whoever walked in. It was a boy, probably a teenager, with a backpack and school books in his hand. He seemed just as shocked to find himself there. “Mr. Stark told m-me to welcome the guest t-t-to the tower,” he stuttered slightly before clearing his throat, “You’re Wonder Woman.”
You felt complimented by his awe and only nodded. His eyes wandered to the table where your tiara and bracelets were placed. He immediately went to them and hesitantly touched a bracelet. Getting out of the pool, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stood by the boy. “I’m Peter, by the way,” he stated, still looking down. When he looked up to see you beside him, Peter jumped out of shock and rambled, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to-I mean, it’s not that you’re scary- I’m not easily startled, but-”
He stopped when he saw you put on your tiara so he picked up a bracelet and began talking again, “Bracelet of Submission, huh? I always wondered why you wore these. They’re great deflectors, but why not a shield or something with a larger surface to block?” Peter tried to put the bracelet on you before you quickly pushed him back so he couldn’t fasten the bracelet on you. “Oh, am I not supposed to do that? I’ll just put it down.” He hastily placed it on the table.
“We wear them to remind us of our slavery under Hercules. They’re to lower our ego,” you explained carefully, not wanting him to think you didn’t like the boy you had just met, “Aphrodite made them indestructible with metal from the Aegis, making them have the surface area of a shield.” You looked at him cautiously as you fastened on the bracelets to your own arms. “I pushed you away because our strength is lost if a man fastens our bracelets.”
Peter stuttered a bit more, “Y-y-yeah. I won’t touch those t-then.” You were even more of a legend then the Avengers to Peter. The demigod has been a constant for Europe long before the Avengers formed. You had survived through so much. He expected you to be stoic so he wished that he’d stop being a stuttering idiot around you. “I’m Spiderman, by the way!” His outburst slightly shocked you so Peter continued in a calmer tone, “I mean, it’s pretty cool.”
“Oi, Spiderboy,” Tony called as he walked past and stopped at the door, “I sent you to say hi, not scare our guest.” He turned to you with more respect than he had originally presented you with. “Y/N, we’re planning a patrol at nighttime. Would you like to join us?”
You nodded firmly. “If I can be of any assistance.” Tony nodded back and left the two by themselves.
“It’s not Spiderboy,” Peter meekly called after him. Of course, he met one of his favorite heroes and looked like a complete fool throughout the entire meeting. “I have a bunch of homework,” he excused himself, “That I have to get done before the patrol. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”
“It was nice meeting you, Peter,” you replied politely, planning to swim once he left. When Peter left, he couldn’t help but wonder what it must have been like. Your true age is hundreds of years old and you were stuck in a teenager’s body. He wondered if you ever acted like a teen.
The stories revolved around a fun loving Amazon helping humanity from itself. Years of wars and helping certainly wore down on a person. While you lost the reputation of carefree, you helped humanity time and time again in countless wars and battles. You’d sometimes hear the parting words uttered by your mother as you gave up your life on Themyscira.
My hands sting and I can already feel the bruises beginning to form.
I sit to catch my breath, in the deafening silence I hear a drop of my blood hit the scuffed wooden floor.
Looking back, not wrapping my hands was a bad idea.
I get onto my feet and hook another bag up. This time, being careful to wash and wrap my hands.
Letting out years of pent up anger felt good after a long day of dealing with idiotic people.
“You should probably take care of that first.” Steve comments just as I knock the bag off its chain, accidentally spilling sand across the floor.
“If it isn’t the star-spangled man with a plan, why are you here? What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything -” he says obviously finding humour in his joke. My patience is running thin and I shoot him a glare.
He clears his throat, regaining his composure. “Fury wanted to see you.”
“Fury? Nick Fury, the one that relieved me of my title as field agent?-” Steve tries to cut me off
“-All because yours truly made one little mistake-”
“You almost got us killed.” He cuts in
“But I didn’t! I came in and saved your ass, again!”
“You wouldn’t have had to save us if you stuck to the orders!”
“It was my brother! What would you have done! I fixed my mistake, but Fury didn’t give me my second chance, why should I give him his?”
“Y/N I-” he sighs “I need your help.”
I shoot him a questioning look. “My silence is your cue.”
“Do you remember Bucky?”
“Bucky. Barnes?…The Winter Soldier? Yeah, why?”
“S.H.E.I.L.D wants to recruit him”
“Why? He tried to kill us. You were his mission-”
“I was his friend.”
“Steve, Bucky was your friend, the Winter Soldier, he’s your enemy. You can’t save him. He’s long gone. And he tried to kill us.”
“He remembers.” Steve argues “H-he’s still the Bucky I used to know, deep down.” He clears his throat again.
“Fury said that if you brought him back successfully-and alive- he’ll give you your job back.”
“Fine, but I’m doing this for me, and only me, not for you or your issues with your broken boyfriend.” Steve barely contained his excitement as we walk to the jet waiting outside. After a short flight to Stark tower and many questioning glances, we’re sat around a table discussing the terms of the mission.
“There are tracking devices in all the weapons in case you decide to go rogue.”
“Stark, I take my job very seriously.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just a precaution.”
I glance over the weapons layed out in front on me and pick a few, stuffing them in my duffle bag. I pause when I see an unfamiliar weapon. “Hey, Stark, what’s this?”
“Turn it away from you, press the green button, it vaporizes whatever its aimed at.” He demonstrated on a vase sitting on the table and it turned to a pile of ash.
“Woah. That’s awesome!”
“Tony, if only you were as big as your ego, maybe you’d be able to reach the top shelf.” Although he was a few inches taller than me I still liked to tease him about his height compared to the others.
I sat back down looking over the Winter Soldier’s case file once again, taking in all the details, adding them to what I already know. In his military picture he looks young, determined, sweet, definitely handsome, probably a ladies man with his hair neatly cut and gelled.
In the other two he looked different. There’s one of him in cryo. Even in his frozen state you can still make out the crease in his brow, he looks like he’s… in pain. The one of him in action, a majority of his face is covered by a black mask, his hair long and messy. His metal arm stood out against his black uniform. The vibranium caught the sun and made the red star stand out even more. The way I recognized him best, as the Winter Soldier.
“What?” I say snapping out of my stupor
“You spaced out, it’s time for us to leave, you’re headed to Shelbyville, Indiana, that’s where the target was seen last.”
“He’s not a target.” Steve yelled from down the hall, slamming the door.
“Actually, Sam? Wilson, right? Alright bird-boy. I say we head to Washington. I was thinking metal-man grew up in Indiana, maybe he went looking for answers he couldn’t find. If you’re a fossil who doesn’t know how to properly use a computer, where would you go to search for the past?”
“The Smithsonian.” Bruce chimed in when we walked past him lab. I shot him a smile, seeing as he was the only one who sided with me when I almost got them killed, he’s one of my favorites. Him and Natasha that is. Agent Romanoff was always one of my favourites.
“Exactly, there’s a big plaque dedicated to Barnes there. I say we check it out. I don’t think Barnes would stay in one place too long, he knows he’s wanted.”
“You really think he’s there?”
“Wilson, I’m a spy, its my job to know where people are.” I send over my shoulder on my way into the quinjet. I’m met with a light chuckle from Mr. Patriotism himself. “What’re you laughing at?”
“You know, you’re quite funny, agent Y/L/N.” I’m slightly startled by the title, not being used to it anymore. Does he just have that much faith that I’ll succeed? Although, I’ve only failed one or two missions. “Alright Rogers, we’ve got three hours on the jet, try to behave.”
Three hours later I’m dropped off at one of Stark’s safe houses a few blocks from the Smithsonian.
“Call when you’ve got him, we’ll send a jet. And Y/N, please, don’t hurt him unless you absolutely need to.” A quick nod and a small smile from the Captain is my parting, from here I’m on my own. I head into the small rundown house, it’s bigger on the inside, cleaner and brighter too. There’s a bed to one side and a bathroom on the other.
“There’s no place like home.”
I drop my duffle and slip a gun into the waistband of my pants. I also grab a knife and slip it into the holster in my jacket, you can’t be too careful.
I decide to take the small ‘getaway’ car in the garage. Its not as great as Steve’s bug though.
The first few days go by with no sign of the infamous soldier. I’m caught off guard to finally see the one and only sporting a baseball cap, jeans and a sweatshirt. He has gloves on too, it seems. Its not too cold, it’s only late October, he’s most likely trying to hide the metal that could set civilians into a panic and most certainly give him away. He’s standing near the plaque dedicated to the one James Barnes of the 107th.
I stand and observe him for a little while. He reads the words over and over again. Its a good ten minutes before I finally walk over, careful not to startle him. I stand next to him and read the plaque for myself.
“Bucky seems like he was a great person, definitely someone you’d want to befriend.” He seems caught off guard by my words and he takes a second to comprehend my sentence.
“Yeah I bet he was a great person.” He says. “Was.” He says. I don’t comment on it because I know I wasn’t supposed to hear it. After another few minutes of silence I start again.
“You know, Steve really misses you.” His head shoots up and his eyes are dark and guarded. He recognized the name.
“He remembers.” Steve’s words play over in my head.
“Who sent you?” He questions obviously ready for a fight.
“S.H.E.I.L.D.” the look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe me.
“They want to recruit you.” No response.
“Bucky-” recognition crosses his features, but is gone almost immediately and his eyes soften, barely. He looked like he was thinking hard, remembering.
“-Steve wants you back, he wants you to remember and I can help.” I show him my S.H.E.I.L.D badge for proof
“Let’s go because that guard hasn’t stopped watching you since you came in.” We head towards the street making our way to my car.
A tall man blocks our way. I pull out a gun and shoot. I clip his shoulder and he gets my leg, I collapse, but shoot again, this time its a head shot. The car’s gone and I can’t walk.
“How’d you get those through security?”
“Same way you got your arm through. Can you carry me, I can’t walk.” He picks me up as if I weighed nothing while I made a makeshift tourniquet.
I call Steve and then Romanoff and Banner, but none of them answer. He sets me down in a chair when we reach the safe house.
“Well, Earth’s mightiest heroes aren’t answering, I guess we’ll spend the night here. I’ll take first watch. You rest.” He hesitates, obviously not trusting me.
“If Steve trusts me, you can too. I promise.” He gets up and heads towards the bathroom. I hear the water start to run. I decide to make something light to eat for us, assuming he hasn’t had much lately. I hear the door click open.
“Hey, I made us dinner-” he standing in the doorway with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “I uhm, left my clothes.”
I hand him his clothes and try to keep my gaze from wandering. The door clicks shut again and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding in. I sit on the bed and begin eating my sandwich. Bucky comes out, fully clothed with his hair neatly combed. I hand him his plate.
“You know, if there’s anything you want to know about yourself, I could try to answer, the basics at least. You’ll have to ask Rogers on the rest.”
“You know, that wasn’t me. None of it was me, I killed… So many people b-but, it wasn’t me.”
“I know Bucky.” I say taking his plate as he lays down.
He tosses and turns for hours. And when his breathing finally evens out I’m relieved to know he’s at least resting. I know what torture can do to a person. He sleeps for about an hour before he wakes up, immediately on guard. He wraps his metal hand around my throat
“Кто тебя послал?” Who sent you?
I’ve never been caught like this before, I could get out easily, but that would only make him more nervous,
“Bucky.” I choke out. “Its me, no one sent me.” His eyes soften and he drops me.
“I’m so sorry.” He says softly, glancing at the forming bruises.
“Its okay, I have them too, you know.” He looks surprised,
“Mm.” He looks at me for another second before going and sitting on the bed. He mutters quietly in Russian, but I can’t make out the words. I sidestep my bag and go to the sink.
“Drink.” I say handing him the glass. “What were you just mumbling?”
“Пытки равна прочности.”
“Torture equals strength.” We say together.
“ It was written on every surface back at Hydra.” I sit on the bed next to him, a bit closer than necessary.
“Все это будет нормально.” It’ll all be okay
He looks up at me and for the first time I see the ghost of a smile grace his features.
My phone rings interrupting our conversation.
“I’m sorry, we had a mission, I’ll come out to pick you up now.”
Thanks Clint, see you soon.“
“Katniss will be here soon, just throw your stuff in my duffle, I got it.” He does as he’s told, obviously confused, and goes back to his spot on the bed. It kind of set me off that he was trusting me. I knew well enough that it was an act. That he would try something. It was almost too easy.
Bucky became my new partner on all my missions and he’s remembering more and more.
With the help of Steve of course.
Its been about 2 years. I’ll fill you in on the details.
I was right, when Clint came, Bucky tried to escape. To kill us. He didn’t succeed. He was locked up for a while, with only minimal visits from me or from Steve. Steve helped him to remember, I was like a therapist. Maybe it was because I didn’t remind him, maybe because I was, in a sense, a stranger, but nevertheless, we grew closer. Eventually, I got Fury to agree to let Barnes roam, with me as an escort. Once he was stable enough, he began training, which, in my opinion, he didn’t need. And then he was recruited.
“Hey, Buck, we gotta go, we’re on our way to Vegas, remember?”
Finally, a mission in a nice place. We drop down and check into a nice hotel, that’s a new one. There’s a Hydra base under one of the abandoned casinos in town and its our job to take it down.
“Hey Buck, we’re in Vegas, we should do something fun.”
I say as we walk away from the burning building, cliché am I right?
“Why don’t we go back to the hotel and order room service? Watch a few movies, I’m still not caught up with the 21st century.” I laugh and nod my head in agreement.
I collapse on the bed and bury my face in the pillow.
“Are you tired, Мой ангел?”
I feel a rush of warmth at the name. Did he just call me his angel?
“No, just getting comfy.” I reply, my voice muffled my the pillow.
“I can make you comfy.” He says climbing in beside me and pulling me to him. He trails kisses up my neck to my jaw. I turn over to face him and give him a puzzled look. I’m not denying my feelings, everyone knew they were there, we’ve just never… confronted it, or even talked about it. And he’s never this carefree.
He smiles and captures my lips with his, a soft, yet hungry kiss, like he’d been waiting to do it. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he instinctively put his hands on either side of my head to hold himself up. I tuck my hand up under his shirt and he pulls away only long enough my me to slip his shirt off and throw it across the room. I trace the skin where the metal meets, its still red, but not as bad as when I caught him watching his own reflection. As if he were a monster, a few weeks after I brought him to S.H.E.I.L.D. he slipped my shirt up over my head and trailed kisses down my neck, to my chest and onto my stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He brings his mouth back up to mine and his tongue skims my bottom lip. The moment ends when my phone rings insanely loudly. Bucky curses under his breath.
“What?” I snap at the person on the other line.
“Did I interrupt?” Comes the snarky voice of Tony on the other end.
“Why are you calling, Stark?”
“I sent Natasha to come get you guys, she’ll be there in a few hours.”
I end the call without a goodbye and look to the soldier piercing me with his blue eyes.
“I’m sorry.” He just chuckles and places a light kiss to my forehead.
“We’d better get dressed.” He muses a playful smirk on his face.
“To be continued, Кукла.”
Happy Birthday Stevie *Steve Rogers x Reader* NSFW
Summary: It’s Steve’s Birthday and you decide to plan something special, just for him. Only it ends in some of the giggliest sex you’ve ever had.
Warnings: Explicit (+18) smut, oral and unprotected sex.
July the Fourth, the most celebrated time of the year in America- not counting all the other festivities. The national day of independence and freedom. The time when friends and family get together to eat meals, have street parties and let off a few fireworks in America’s honour. You had celebrated this holiday throughout your life, never really actually celebrating your country’s independence but more so using it as an excuse to drink, excessively. This year was different.
July the Fourth is Steve Rogers Birthday, uncanny and unironic, you should have seen it coming really. Of course, Captain America, the first Avengers, Birthday is also America’s national holiday. Considering the Star Spangled Man with A Plan Birthday is today, you decided to dedicate today just to him. Whilst everyone is out celebrating July the Fourth, you’re gonna be celebrating the fact your boyfriend is only year away from being one-hundred.
You had the whole evening planned out, you cooked a nice meal, his favourite; burgers and cheese fries with a chocolate milkshake to wash it down. You also had his favourite bakery make an all American apple pie, he isn’t too fond of cakes and sweeter things. His present, the main event of the evening, you! You had discovered Steve’s rather innocent kink with lace lingerie and decided to get something special for tonight, you also took awkward advice from Nat on how to strip sensually.
The lingerie set was a soft red lace halter set; the top tied around your neck in a little bow, intricate flower patterns danced over the lace and it was sheer, very sheer. The panties were more so, boy-shorts, the same red lace and flower pattern also sheer. You had debated on the whole American flag theme or colour scheme but decided against it. This was for the man behind the shield, Steve Rogers, who enjoyed looking at you in the morning sun in just his t-shirts and boxers. Cap will always be part of his life, who he is, but this is Steve Rogers Birthday!
You pulled on some nice, navy jeans and a dark, red blouse. You styled your hair elegantly but left it down, minimal make up, leaving it light because of tonight’s activities.
When the door finally opened and you heard your lover’s voice call for you, you had just finished serving and setting the table. Dining room softly lit by candles glow, red wine poured, his favourite too. You grinned when he entered, eyes darting around the room, trying to focus on everything at once till his baby-blue eyes landed on your own.
“Happy Birthday, Stevie.” You softly smile as he strides over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, smiling softly at you. “Figured we can celebrate by ourselves, since America is busy celebrating.”
Instead of answering you, he leans down and presses his lips to yours. His lips are soft and gentle, moulding against your own. He rests his forehead against yours and pulls his lips away, his eyes still closed for a second before he finally blinks at you.
“Thank you,” you shrug and smile, pushing him to sit down and eat with you.
The dinner is filled with loving silence, Steve holding your left hand across the table as he ate, not wanting to let go of you. Even when you got the apple pie he insisted on you sitting in his lap and sharing a piece instead. You kissed his cheek as he swallowed the last bite, smiling cheekily at the upcoming events that Steve has no clue about.
“Time for your present!” You grin excitedly, causing Steve to raise a curious eyebrow. “Go to the bedroom, sit on the bed and I’ll be right there.” You jumped off his lap, pulling him up and pushing his big body out of the room; he looked over his shoulder at you with a smile and you shooed him away.
You were nervous, you had never strip teased before and you didn’t want to disappoint Steve, especially today. You wanted to make him feel special because he is, and yet, you were scared of making a fool outta yourself. You pushed the bedroom door open, Steve sat against the headboard, looking up from his folded hands on his lap to you, his grin melting your worries and making your knees weak.
“So, what’s my present.” He smiled excitedly, for a guy that tells people to not buy him anything, he sure does get excited for when they do.
You smile coyly. “Me.” He smirks but also blushes, the epitome of Steve Rogers really. “I brought something very special for you, it’s under these clothes,” he raised an eyebrow, “but you don’t get to undress me.”
“I know I’m kinky but I’m not having a threesome on my birthday, babe.” You laugh lightly, shaking your head.
“No, silly.” Turning on some soft music, “I’m undressing myself and you’re gonna watch, that okay?” He sighs with relief and nods, leaning back to get comfortable and grins watching you. “What do you want me to take off first?” You asked softly.
He takes a few seconds to think, eyes roaming over your soft body. “Uh- your shirt.” Cheeks tinting a pink, “please?” He adds softly, you giggle and nod.
You sway your hips lightly, fingers deftly undoing the small buttons to your silk blouse, fully aware of Steve’s lust filled gaze on you. You turn just as the last button is undone, letting the shirt fall off of your shoulders, you look over your shoulder to Steve who is somewhat amused with your performance. The shirt falls to the floor at your feet, still not turning around you undo the button and zipper to your jeans; realising that skinny jeans was a bad choice in order to act sexy.
You bend forward, giving Steve a long, and full, display of your ass that’s covered by the red lace. Still maintaining somewhat a sensual elegance as you take off the denim, you stand, slowly turning sound and noting that Steve didn’t even realise your struggle because his eyes were slowly dragging up and down your body. His lingering gaze sent shivers up your spine making your whole body blush.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mutters to himself. You blush, brushing your hair to the left side of your neck.
You tug at the bow on the back of your neck, the lace straps falling down, you hold the lace to your body not ready to fully reveal yourself just yet. Steve gives an innocent smile, watching your hands as they move and pull the red lace over your head, throwing it at his face; he chuckles and keeps ahold of it. You coyly toy with the waistband of the matching panties, biting your lip as Steve does, his fingers flexing; the need to rip them off you growing. Finally you drop the remaining piece, fully exposed, you kick the panties away.
Your foot gets stuck as the other one stands right on the garment, a soft rip fills yours ears as you also slip on your silk blouse that’s by your feet. You fall with a loud ‘thud’ to the floor, a soft groan leaving your lips as you collided with the wooden floorboards. You half expected to hear Steve’s concerned voice or feel his warm hands holding, yet, his loud rumbling laugh echoes through the room. You push yourself up seeing Steve rolling on the bed, tears going down his face.
“It’s not funny,” you grumble.
He stops and peeks over the end of the bed, eyes crinkled, still snickering to himself as he looks down at you. “Up until that point you were doing perfectly, princess.” He assures you. You stand up, fully aware of how naked you are, and the bruise forming on your hip. “Awe, c’mere. I’ll kiss it better,” he reaches out for you, warm hands pulling you to the end of the bed. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your hip bone, you smile running a hand through his blonde locks.
Then with little strength and effort, on his part, he pulls you and throws you onto the bed and straddles your hips; a surprised squeak being cut off by his lips. You feel his erection that’s concealed by denim brush against your inner thigh, his mouth leaves trails of wet kisses across your jaw, neck and collarbone. Nipping at your hot skin playfully, you let out a soft moan. His body starts shaking above you, you look at your boyfriend who is laughing, again.
“I’m sorry but you went down so fast, faster than I did going into the Atlantic.” He breathed through his laugher, you sighed and rolled your eyes, pouting at Steve who kissed your lips and resumed where he left off.
You helped undress Steve, smiling at how eager and ready he was. “Steve, you don’t have it’s your birth -Oh! Fuck!” You groaned as his mouth worked you quickly, slipping a finger into wet heat, you tugged harshly on his hair when he sucked hard on your clit.
He groaned against your cunt as you tugged. Another long finger being pressed into you, scissoring lightly with the other, pressing slowly and gently at your g-spot; leaving you whimpering into the bedroom, moaning his name loudly. His lips closed around your clit but a different sensation shot through your core, a rumbling vibration from Steve… he was laughing again. You cried out as an orgasm rippled through you due to his excessive laughing being directed on your clit.
“Still not funny,” you panted as you tried to catch your breath.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, kissing you once lightly with a smug smirk. You were about to make a snarky comment when you felt him enter you in one swift thrust, leaving you choking on your air. One of his hands holding the headboard and the over cupping the back of your neck, his hips pumping into you steadily, and fast. Your nails scratched down his back, his whole body arching down towards you, his body stimulating your clit with every thrust.
He leant down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all tongues and soft grunts. “Y/N, shit.” His head fell into the crook of your neck, groaning your name onto your skin.
Then you heard it, and felt it, his chest rumbling against yours and his hips stuttering. He was laughing about it again, he pushed himself up, a shit eating grin and sweat slicked hair and torso. You short him a glare, you couldn’t believe that throughout this sex he had been laughing. He leant back on his hunches, pulling you up by your waist, still deep inside you. Settling you on his lap, a little chuckle leaving his lips as he stared into your eyes. He looked like he wanted to make a comment but bit his lip, rolling his hips up and continuing without a word.
You softly gasp, gripping the hairs at the back of his neck and staring into his hooded eyes. The giggly, smirky, lust filled Steve gone and replaced with this loving, soft moans, Steve. No words spoken just your pants for air, plus skin on skin, and the little soft whispers of how beautiful you look; which you don’t agree with, sweat slicked body and messy hair it wasn’t a good look for you, in your opinion. After what seemed like a blissful forever of being held on the precipice of pleasure, you both finally came, Steve holding your body locked to his as he kissed your neck sweetly.
“Happy Birthday Steve,” you whispered into his ear and smoothed his hair waiting for when he was ready to let you go.
After a clean up and you throwing on one of Steve’s shirts, you laid back in bed, holding one another and listening to all the fireworks going off; eating the leftover pie too.
“I still cannot believe you fell over and ripped those panties.” Steve muttered, you rolled your eyes. “That was my present and you just ruined it.” He playfully reprimanded.
You look up at him. “I still can’t believe you kept laughing about it during sex,” you teased and he shrugged, getting up to put the plate in the kitchen sink, he came back and turned the bedroom lights off. “Watch out for the be-”
“FUCK!” You turned the bedside lamp on, watching as Steve stood cradling his foot that he stubbed on the bed. “Jesus, fucking, Christ.” He slipped on your red blouse and landed on the floor, you laughed so hard your sides hurt, pointing at the grumpy Steve. “You’re gonna pay for this!”
You grinned. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”
(this was edited and uploaded by my phone, so excuse any mistakes, don’t have my laptop back yet. Also, this could have been better but I wanted to put something up for Steve’s birthday!- Rosalie.)
He’d had so many names over the years (many years, far too many years). The Fist of Hydra. James. The American. The Asset. Jerk. The Winter Soldier.
Once, he had even been Bucky.
He still is, according to Steve. Steve who has lived too long, and has his own string of names trailing in his wake. Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. Stevie. Star Spangled Man with a Plan. Punk.
Steve is still Steve, he may even be Stevie. He’s not Captain America anymore, not since the Winter Soldier appeared at his window, metals fingers pressed to the bullet wound in his stomach, scratching at the glass to be let in, like some kind of stray animal.
Steve, Stevie, still had no sense of preservation. He should have closed the blinds and left the thing that had tried to kill him months ago bleed out on the fire escape. But no, he wrenched open the window and dragged the assassin into his home (for fuck’s sake Stevie).
The Winter Soldier had bled all over the bedsheets, and as far as anyone was concerned died there, leaving a ghost.
The ghost of James Buchanan Barnes.
Steven Grant Rogers, Stevie, Dumb Punk, gave up his shield. He had picked it up to save Bucky once, and put it down to the same ends.
They didn’t so much live as warily co-exist in the apartment, on the corner of a street both familiar and strange. They had lived there before, Steve told him, but the building got torn down and they built a new one. Best thing for it, Bucky had said. The old one was a death trap. His mouth did that sometimes, opened up and words spilled out, unexpected and sweet and bitter. Like a head full of firecrackers, memories popping and snapping and if too many went off at once it made him flinch. Made him shiver and tuck himself into the smallest. darkest corner of the apartment, like a stray animal.
So Steve filled the refridgerator with the kind of things the ghost used to eat. Filled the shelves with books that the ghost used to read. The apartment was never silent, a radio in the kitchen, the volume turned low, played big band and swing and jazz, things the ghost used to dance to.
Steve was always so damn stubborn.
Baby steps, the therapist said. Small victories.
He’s killed presidents, and now he’s supposed to feel pride when he walks downstairs to get the mail. He’s brought down governments in a single night but barely manages three stops on the subway.
But it’s worth it, worth all of it and more to see the way Steve lights up when he comes back upstairs with the mail and announces the mission suffered zero casualties. When Steve’s hand wraps around his on the crowded subway and squeezes.
So he walks down to the corner store for milk when they run out, and eats at least once a day, and all the other little things that keep the furrow in Steve’s brow from running too deep.
And he doesn’t punch through the metal side of the dumpster when it starts rustling.
He had managed to pick up orange juice from the store. Not the nearest one just across the street from the apartment, but a bodega two blocks away. When he walked past the dumpster down the nearby alley (old habits die hard and he’s more likely to enter Steve’s apartment by the roof than the doors on the ground floor) it rustled at him and let out a pathetic whine.
Bucky had lifted the lid and found the cat.
The thing was not much more than a scrap of fur and fleas. He had no idea what colour it was, its coat dingy grey and matted. It still had a mouth on it, giving him a half-hearted hiss as he pulled it out of the garbage by the scruff.
The Ghost stared at the cat, and the cat stared back. Then bit his finger.
He offered it a metal fingertip and it bit that too, not even slightly dissuaded by the way it’s teeth skidded over the metal plates.
For the first time in seventy years, Bucky smiled.
The bodega stocked catfood, though Bucky had no idea if the cat preferred the wet stuff in cans or the dried kibble in boxes, so he bought both, the cat safely zipped up in his jacket, it’s flat little head poking out. It’s oversized ears swivelled back and forth as Bucky held out a can of chicken chunks in gravy in one hand and salmon pieces in aspic in the other and told the cat to make up it’s damn mind.
“Mrrr,” the cat said finally, which Bucky chose to interpret as ‘both’.
He pays for the items and walks back out onto the street. The cat makes itself comfortable, borrowing down into his jacket and going to sleep. It’s needle-like claws prick at his thin shirt, digging in whenever he turns too sharply or moves any faster than a walking pace. Since Bucky doesn’t want to be completely perforated he walks slowly down the street rather than take to the rooftops, and anyway he has a bag of catfood.
Steve didn’t look up from his spot on the couch when Bucky slipped through the apartment door and kicks off his shoes, though Bucky would bet good money that he’d spent the whole of Bucky’s absence at the window, quietly worrying.
“Hey Buck,” Steve muttered with a forced nonchalance that fools no one. “You get lost?”
“Mowr,” the cat answered.
Steve’s head snaps up, “What-”
“I founds it in the trash,” Bucky blurted out. “It’s greasy and cranky and smells like crap but…” he falters at the complicated run of expressions that passed over Steve’s features. “You seem okay with taking in strays,” Bucky finished weakly.
Steve frowned silently, and Bucky tensed up, one hand curled protectively around the lump of fur under his jacket. Something in Bucky’s expression seemed to settle him though, and he dropped the book he was reading on the coffee table.
“We’re gonna need more stuff,” Steve announced and pulled out his phone.
He wasn’t Captain America anymore, but that didn’t mean Steve couldn’t get things done when he put his mind to it. Twenty minutes later a harassed looking SHIELD agent dropped off several boxes of random crap that were supposedly essential for cat ownership.
Bucky couldn’t understand the need for a litter tray and unscented, clump-forming, biodegradable whatever-the-fuck to go in the tray (cat’s went outside, right?), or the twine-wrapped wooden kitty adventure playground thing. The collar, okay, fair enough. The shampoo and the flea drops, fuck yeah.
Steve read the instructions on the bottle carefully and gave the cat a wary look. “You’ve got the vibranium arm, you can hold it.”
They covered the bathroom floor with towels, and Bucky placed the cat carefully in the bath, where it gave him an unimpressed look and sat down to wash itself.
The disdain might have been more effective if the cat didn’t stop every time it licked itself to twitch and flap it’s tongue.
Bucky poured a little shampoo into his hands and coated his fingers before rubbing them into the cats matted fur. It gave him a curious ‘Prrrp’, but didn’t freak out until Steve turned on the showerhead, checking the water temperature on the inside of his elbow.
The cat hissed and yowled and bit Bucky’s metal thumb, sending half the tub water onto the floor in its thrashing. Bucky pressed his hand between the cats shoulders and it flattened itself on the bottom of the tub while Bucky rinsed off the soap. Underneath all the grime was silky black fur with white paws and chest and a splodge of white on his nose.
Bucky wrapped the cat up in one of the towels until it was a damp and squirming burrito, it’s nose poking out of one end. Bucky cradled it in his arms, murmuring softly as he carries the cat out to the living room and sits down on the couch. The cat bites his wrist half-heartedly, teeth skidding over metal plates. Steve watched silently from the doorway as Bucky carefully dried the cats fur, working through the tangles with his fingers until it curled up in his lap and falls asleep.
Bucky glanced up when Steve sat carefully on the couch beside him, silently waiting for permission before reaching over to stroke the cats still-damp fur.
Bucky thinks of his first night back, when the Winter Soldier bled to death on Steve’s white linens. It had taken days to heal, the bastardised version of superserum that crawled through his veins forcing out the bullets and knitting flesh and skin back together.
Steve had carried him, bridal style, to the bathroom and placed him in the tub. It hadn’t mattered, ghosts couldn’t feel the washcloth passing over bruises and scar tissue. Ghosts didn’t lean into the touch of hands in their hair, carefully rinsing away shampoo. Ghosts didn’t sigh at conditioner being massaged into their scalps, large, gentle fingers teasing out the knots and tangles.
Ghosts didn’t fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in towels and blankets, half listening as their failed mission made endless phone calls in a hushed voice, pulling apart the pieces of his life and putting them back together again with a ghost shaped hole in the middle. In the heart.
The cat purred in it’s sleep, it’s claws flexing rhythmically, leaving pinholes in Buckys jeans.
Piece by piece, everything falls into place
“He needs a name,” Steve murmured.
The cats head was pillowed in the palm of Bucky’s metal hand, fingers curled loosely around it’s fragile skull. It had one paw wrapped around Bucky’s wrist, holding him in place. As if he could even consider leaving.
Such a fragile little thing, and yet it trusted him. Trusted him to keep it safe and warm and alive.
Bucky glanced at Steve. “He?”
It’s not the thing he wants to say. There aren’t words in any language for that. There isn’t time enough in their artificially extended lives to explain it all.
“I got a, uh, eyeful when he was thrashing around in the tub,” Steve mumbles. “Definitely he.”
Ghosts don’t have names. They have identities - The Weeping Woman, The Headless Horseman, The Winter Soldier. Not names.
Bucky isn’t a ghost’s name.
Bucky shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Steve knows him too well to fall for it. “You pick.”
Steve takes a long moment to consider the cat. Bucky watches him from the corner of his eye. The lines of Steve’s face, the curve of his jaw. Things that ice and time and mind-wipes couldn’t erase.”
“He’s your cat, you choose,” Steve says finally.
Bucky huffs. “I’m bad at names. You’re the one who came up with Bucky. You pick.”
Steve lights up, and for a moment Bucky can’t look at him. It’s like staring into the sun.
“You remember that?”
Bucky bristles under Steve’s look of surprise. “Yeah. ‘Course I remember.”
Steve turns his face to Bucky’s neck and has to take a deep, shuddering breath.
Bucky waits for Steve to pull himself together, Steve’s breath, hot and damp against his skin raising goosebumps.
Really, it’s frankly embarrassing. A former spy and a decorated military tactician, and neither of them had figured it out yet.
You don’t go against your commanding officer and damn well walk into enemy territory in a stage costume for a friend. Seeing an old friend doesn’t break seventy years of Hydra programming.
You don’t hand over your shield to a guy dressed like a bird for a friend.
“Tom?” Bucky asks.
Steve snorts, still hiding in the collar of Bucky’s shirt. “That’s not very creative,” he mumbles.
Bucky shifts and turns to Steve, pressing his lips to the top of Steve’s head.
Steve’s head snaps up, and he meets Bucky’s eyes. “What?”
The corner of Bucky’s mouth ticks up. “I went out to get orange juice.”
Steve coughs out a laugh. “Seriously?”
Bucky gives him a mock glare. “You gotta problem with that?”
Steve shakes his head, his eyes bright.
“You want to keep him?” Bucky asks softly.
“Yeah,” Steve nods.
“You want to keep me?” Bucky murmurs.
Steve frowns. “You’re not a thing, Buck. How many times do I gotta explain-”
Bucky leans forward and kisses him, soft and brief. Steve falls into a shocked silence.
“I mean…” Bucky whispers against Steve’s soft, warm lips. “Do you want to keep me?”
For a second, a heartbeat, Bucky thinks that he’s made a terrible mistake. Steve lets out a soft breath and kisses him back.
“Yes,” he chants between sweet presses of lips. “Yes. Yes.”