Eddie survived the upside down, thinking that the days of weird shit was over he couldn't have been more wrong. who would have thought finding comfort in the forest would lead him to find something else?
A/N: helloooo!! so first off, I'm thinking of doing this little series instead of doing something for valentines day this year. this is also because I read some one-shot by @luveline on her Steve x Mermaid reader and was inspired to do my own! their writing is amazing and I could only hope be as good as them! This is on the shorter side but please enjoy, and if you like it and want more let me know!
Eddie Munson was a lot of things, loud and over exaggerative, imaginative, he could be scared but one thing he wasn't? Mean. he had his sarcastic quips and strange mannerisms, but the man didn't have a mean bone in his body- even though everyone who didn't know him thought he did. Eddie had his friends; a lot of them being younger than him but he liked feeling valued. He liked having friends who looked up to him the way they did. Things got harder after he got framed for things he didn't do, after he spent so much time in the hospital after nearly dying that night in the upside down, scars he now had to live with for the rest of his time alive. But Eddie was still Eddie.
It was a while before he stepped foot into the woods, being scared of what came with them, knowing what could be lurking in them brought him tremendous fear, but after months he finally found himself going there for comfort, when days were a little too much, he found peace in the rustling sound of the trees blowing, leaves scattering across the forest floor. He would light up a joint, perch himself against a tree, and let his mind wander. The mystical was not out of the realm for Eddie, obviously he's lived it. To be fair like all of the others he just wanted to live a normal life, continuing with his band, playing dnd and working as a mechanic which he found to actually enjoy.
One Friday, before hellfire is supposed to meet for their game, Eddie wanders to the forest, lighting up his joint, preparing for the long night ahead of him. His head falls back onto the tree, his eyes lulling shut, a faint smile splayed on his lips. “Good shit munson.” he murmurs, taking another hit. When he opens his eyes again, he notices the wind gusting around the tree, his eyebrows furrow. “Okay munson. You're high, congrats” he runs a hand over his face. Looking down at his watch he sighs, more time had passed than he thought. Standing up he balances himself. Stubbing out his joint, he brushes off his pants, making his way back to the van.
The night goes on, tension in the air thick, Eddie propped up in his throne as he leads the boys into their next trap. Eddie's hands sit flat against the table, his eyes peering at all the boys, as they shift in their seats.
“The forest calls upon you, luring you into the thick foliage, the rustle of the leaves, alas you can go straight through the forest, or make the trek around it, taking you into god knows what.” Eddie announces voice deep; he listens and waits. The boys begin to bicker.
“We should go around,” Lucas says firmly. Dustin sighs “I don't like any of this-” Mike looks at all of them. “Are you kidding? We should go in” the bickering continues for a few more moments. Mike shushes everyone “we are going in!” Dustin rolls his eyes “this is what kills us” he throws his hand up, shaking his head as if this is the most absurd thing he’s heard in his 16 years of living.
“The four of you push into the woods, leaves scattering the forest floor, vines drape from the branches, twigs snapping under your boots.” Eddie pauses looking around the table.
“Oh see i told you sons of bitches-” Dustin groans.
“You hear a shriek off in the distance, the sound of rustling, but you notice, there's no wind.”
“Oh what the f-”
“I check the bushes,” Lucas says.
“Oh yeah? Then you die??” Dustin grabs Lucas's arm.
“You check the bush, it is safe,” Eddie says.
He leads them further into the forest.
“Lucas, a vine wraps around your ankle, pulling you down hitting your head against a fallen tree, your vision swims. . The shrieks get closer, what is your move?” Eddie sits back once more, fiddling with his rings. Lucas picks up a D20. rolling it. Throwing the dice down, it comes to a 9, the party groans.
“Lucas, young Lucas. Seems as though you need a member of your party to help you "Eddie tsks, shaking his head, hair falling into his face. “But a gust of wind starts to sore around all of you, only getting stronger as the seconds tick by,”
“Lets help him and get fucking moving!” Mike says.
“Did you not hear the part with the wind mike?? Don't you think that's a little odd!” Dustin yells.
Dustin rolls, hitting a perfect 20. Everyone cheers. But Eddie? He shuts his notebook.
“No man- you aren't leaving us here? Really?” Mike sighs.
Eddie nods. “I'm afraid so young ones, you will just have to see what happens next friday.”
A chorus of bullshits and sighs erupt between all of them. They all leave, Eddie packs up his things into the van, the sun has set long ago. He parks his van by the woods again, the feeling of the trees pulling back. He shakes his head, going to shift back into drive, sparing one last glance back into the darkness, only a small patch being lit by his headlights.
Genuinely is there an Eddie fic where there’s a super descriptive make out and quickie in his van and it’s one of those rainy days in Hawkins and the windows fog up and genuinely he’s like talking you through and everything… and then he drops you off home and then you lowkey leave in his jacket and when you walked towards your door your steps were staggered because of what yall were doing… or do I gotta do it… even better YOURE DUSTINS OLDER SISTER
𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Steve Rogers x feral!reader (enhanced!reader)
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!reader, fluff, angst, size difference, manhandling, touch starved!reader, clueless!reader, secondhand embarrassment, mentions of Pietro's death (I'm sorry), mentions of human an accident/experimentation, loads of exposition
𝗪/𝗖 | 6.6K
𝗔/𝗡 | well it's been a while !! this series is now going to be 5 parts, unless I bump it up to 6. and Pietro is not in this verse (anymore), I’m sorry everyone. Also, the Maximoffs were 10 when they were with Hydra. Reminder: I’m twisting some MCU canons to fit this storyline. all mistakes are my own.
Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series!˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!
𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
The silence draws on, making everyone shift uncomfortably.
Wanda is twirling a pen, scribbling on a sheet of paper, her green eyes locked on the table. Bucky is similar, tense and anxious, and without his metal arm. He looks up and locks eyes with Steve who quirks a brow in a silent question. Bucky just shakes his head, slumping in his seat.
When the doors swing open, Tony struts in, with Fury and Maria on his tail. The two men are carrying stacks of folders while Maria sets down a tablet. She taps on the screen as the lights dim and at the front of the room, the glass turns see-through, the black film disappearing as it reveals you. Perched in the plastic chair with your knees to your chest. A blanket around your skin is clean, your eyes are shut, and head lolled to the side.
Steve’s enhanced vision allows him to see the faint swelling of your eyes, and just like that, he’s reminded of your insistent crying when the doctors took you away.
“Say something, please.” It was a simple request to bystanders, but to the both of you, it was much larger than that.
You try and open your mouth, but another glance at the several people surrounding you, and you burrow in his chest again. Shyly hiding away.
Steve sighs softly, brushing a hand over your head. “She can actually speak very well.”
“Regardless, you have to wait outside, Captain Rogers.” The doctor steps back, watching Steve set you on the examination table. The tall blond releases your death grip from his shirt, with a touch as gentle as clouds. “She seems—odd, uh, will we need any sedatives?”
“No.” Steve denies firmly, keeping composure even though he wants to demand another doctor, preferably one who would allow him to stay with you, and not dare ask about sedating you. He cups your face, his heart aches as a fresh wave of tears stream from your eyes, “Sweet girl, I’ll be right at the door, okay?”
Your lips form a word, please, but no sound comes out.
“We can’t leave the door open, Captain.”
Steve presses his forehead to yours, acknowledging the slew of nurses with various equipment lingering across the room. “I’ll be outside in the hallway, even though you can’t see me, I’ll be there.”
Again, that could be nothing to observers, but to Steve, it was far more intimate. Woven into his will, along with the word always.
“How is she?” Steve questions. He grips the arms of the seat to keep from walking right up to the glass, the concern draped in a magnetic force pulling him towards you. “Is she all right? Healthy?”
“She’s fine—great actually.”
“Tests for all diseases and health conditions came back negative. Her fingerprints and DNA haven’t matched anyone in our system, facial recognition too—even altering her features to predict her appearance years ago, there was nothing.” Maria adds, her sophisticated demeanour slipping away as she glances at you.
“She basically doesn’t exist—to us, to the outside world, but can’t say the same for Hydra. Since most of their documents are encrypted, Wanda was able to share some things she remembers to fill a few of the gaps.” Fury concludes, walking around the table and handing out the folders.
“She’s sitting right there, can’t she hear us talking about her?” Clint quips, seemingly the only one trying to lift the gloomy spirits.
“Well, not right now. And she, ladies and gentlemen, is as close to a ghost you’ll ever see.” Tony pipes, “If you count ghosts as feral, young, and pretty women.” He finishes his trip around the table and takes the tablet from Maria.
The lights in the interrogation room brighten as your head snaps up. Your eyes dart across the small table as you tighten the blanket over your shoulders with gloved hands.
“And now she can see and hear us. Wave, everyone.”
Awkwardly, everyone lifts their hands in greeting and offers you a strained smile while you nearly tuck into yourself again, but then you see Steve.
He sighs in relief when you perk up and your solemn expression lifts, “If Bambi is okay, then–”
“Bambi?” Sam and Bucky say in unison. “That’s her name?” Sam asks.
“The folders so graciously handed out are not just for decoration or because we want to be fancy.” Tony is quick to answer. “We don’t know her name and she hasn’t spoken to anyone since she arrived.” He nods towards the supersoldier, “And, now, feel free to tell me if I’m wrong but is she called Bambi because you found her in the forest, she’s clumsy like a fawn, and eats strictly plants and berries?”
The blond opens his mouth, then shuts it again before nodding. “Pretty much.”
Tony grins, “Thus, she is literally Bambi. Frankly, there is no other name that would fit her.”
Bruce agrees from his seat at the front of the table, glancing up from the manila folder in his hands. “Until we figure out her name, she can be Bambi.”
“And it wouldn’t be very kind to call her the subject. Even though I’m a genius and have a vast vocabulary, science talk around vulnerable people or people who don’t know what I'm saying makes me uncomfortable, even if it’s just two words.”
“—Bam-bi.” It’s spoken so softly that Steve, even with his heightened senses, has to strain his ears to hear it. All eyes zero on you through the glass. Twiddling your fingers, your gaze shifts between everyone’s, from Natasha, Wanda, and Clint then Steve. Sam, Bucky, then Steve again. And finally, Bruce, Fury, Maria and Tony, only for your eyes to land on Steve a second later. “Sad, scared…” You repeat, slightly louder this time.
Steve stands so fast, his chair bangs against the wall and leaves a dent.
“Now hold on, Rogers. We haven’t even started.” Fury’s gaze hardens, “Sit down, that’s an order.”
There’s an awful weight hanging in the air, a piping hot attitude on the tip of Steve’s tongue, I don’t take orders from you or anyone else—he wants to say it, but several headshakes from his friends make him surrender.
You gnaw on your lip, curiously watching Steve retrieve his chair and sink into it again. His posture is rigid, and his fists clenched on the table. He’s not coming? You wonder, picking at the cotton gloves the nurses made you wear. They weren’t mean or cold, but they were wary. You didn’t blame them, with your memory loss and your uncontrollable abilities, you were unpredictable.
You don’t want to hurt anyone. If anything, ever since you were off the flying aircraft, you’ve been in a constant state of fear and confusion about the inevitable harm to come. The unfamiliarity, the abrupt change in surroundings that have flung you to the sun and back. From the deep greens of trees and bushes, the moist dirt beneath your feet, and the songs of birds echoing around you—to sterile white walls, glass, sharp corners and slippery floors under your shoes, these things on your feet were called shoes, you knew that.
If you think too much, you’ll hear the blood rushing through your ears and a tinge of pain striking your heart. You feel so out of place and worst of all, you can’t help but feel that you don’t belong here.
Not with the people in white or blue, with fluidity in their demeanour, and language skills far beyond your current comprehension. To you, everyone moved and carried themselves as if they were born to do what they were doing—while you couldn’t even remember your name.
Each breath from your lungs is irregular, that well-known tingle crawls over your skin, gold shimmers filtering through the material of the gloves. Keeping your hands tucked to your chest, you desperately look around, slumping in relief as everything remains the same. There were no plants, so no wilting, or colours losing their vibrancy, everything surrounding you was already dull and grey.
Even though you’re petrified, a part of you fears making anyone angry or upset—who knows what they’d do to you then.
As your brain swells with endless thoughts, Steve watches you squirm and each expressive twist of your face. He’s seconds away from leaping out of his seat and breaking down all barriers between the two of you.
On the other hand, Tony attempts to soothe the tension, “Weirdly enough, that is how I thought she’d sound.” He leans closer to the glass, squinting down at you. “Hello, nymph.” He waves.
Fury clears his throat. “Do you know any other words, Miss?”
It goes quiet as everyone waits for you to speak. Seconds drag into minutes and your lips are sealed as you blink innocently at the blond man. A silent plea that Steve hears more vividly than his conscience. “If you think this—” he waves around his hands, “—is going to make her comfortable enough to answer, you’re all wrong.”
Turns out that he isn’t the only one to listen to you, “She’s tense and anxious.” Fury gives her a pointed look, and Wanda is swift to reply. “Not powers, just intuition. This arrangement is undeniably hindering any progress you hope to make. And the glass is for what—because she’s dangerous?”
You remembered her, and Wanda knows how.
Looking at you through the glass plane, she sees her reflection on the surface. As if she’s in that room with you, being isolated, interrogated and intimidated. Wanda was labelled as inexperienced and risky from the moment she joined the team—there was no one to blame, but that didn’t keep the insecurities at bay.
“Simply put, yes. Given the circumstances, she is unstable. Now, do you want to be there with her, Maixmoff?”
“Happily.” She replies, “It isn’t far from my welcoming into the team.”
The atmosphere nearly turns solid, pinning everyone to their seats as they all exchange glances, apart from Bucky who uncomfortably sinks into his chair, undoubtedly in the same boat too. Awkwardness floats through the air above their heads, making each of them carefully consider their next words, and more importantly, their past behaviour and actions.
It isn’t wrong to be afraid of mystery. Although fear is a basic human emotion, it functions like an instinct. Through the millions of years of evolution, humankind has survived because fear promotes survival.
Wanda couldn’t help but feel like the enemy when she first joined the team. Bucky, as silent as he was at this moment, was thinking the same thing.
Of course, there were bold differences between you, Bucky and Wanda, but that didn’t outshine the similarities.
Three people singled out among a skeptical audience who already have their own conceptions that are otherwise hard to part with. An unknown existence that stretched into a potentially unprecedented presence.
Steve is the first to speak. “She nearly faints every time she uses her abilities, there isn’t much she can do without getting lightheaded.”
“Abilities?”
“Read the folder, Wilson.” Fury instructs, weighing options.
The fact that they were staring at you like an alien isn’t doing any good, everyone seemed to collectively agree that there was a better way to do this.
Then, Tony taps the glass, “Is there something we can get you, nymph? Anything you want?” He draws your attention for a second before it returns to Steve—the rest of the team observing closely.
“Mhm, want…” Your gaze is unwavering as Steve nods gently. Your lips quirk, “Steve?”
“Well, Rogers, you sure know how to stumble upon treasure. Sweetheart, do you have a full name, anything?”
You tilt your head. “...Rogers.”
Just like that, the lingering strain disappears. Flowing out from the crack beneath the door, leaving a lighthearted ambiance in its wake.
“No, that’s Steve’s name,” Bruce speaks over the soft laughter coming from the rest of the team.
It’s quiet for a few beats. Your blinking eyes flutter around the room, admiring each of their soft—not cold, not scary—expressions. Before you reply, you lick your lips. “Bambi—Steve Rogers.” You say as the blond’s cheeks turn red.
“Bambi and Steve Rogers—well, you didn’t tell me you got married, Cap.” Sam chimes. Steve can already see the gears turning in his head, other various ideas of the things you should say without knowing the meaning. “Can you say cocksucker?”
“Sam!” Maria gapes, nearly reaching over and smacking him. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” Clint countered, crossing his arms. “It’s just a word.”
“Don’t play stupid—she doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”
“All right, that’s rude. She’s right there.” Sam asks, “And, here I thought, you were the most kindhearted of all of us, way to break my perception.”
Natasha sighs loudly, shaking her head. “Steve, Tony, Bruce, or anyone who can end this dispute.”
“She can speak sentences, her vocabulary is just limited but she understands a little more than the basics.” Steve finally looks away when you examine the table. Running your gloved fingers along the shiny surface. “Of course, not as much as a woman her age should, and I don’t think she understands sarcasm or tone.”
“How old is she?”
“Wilson, if you don’t read that damn folder right in front of you,” Fury hisses, “Stark.”
The brunet debates with his inner monologue, tutting and huffing. “Well,” He drags on, looking between the others. “I suppose from a scientific standpoint, it’s fine. Asking her to repeat words—”
“—Oh, c’mon, you can’t permit them to give her the mouth of a sailor.”
“It would be researching her vocabulary, critical thinking and mental processing, and of course—vocal projection too.”
Very quietly, you fulfill Sam’s wish, “…cock-suck-er.”
The victory cries from Clint and Sam are deafening, Bucky even laughs loudly, covering his mouth when Steve shoots him a glare.
“I’ve never heard anyone curse that slowly.” Bucky shrugs, “you’re getting mad, punk?”
Steve doesn’t even know what’s happening, this meeting has flown vastly off track. He ignores the rest of the team and leaves the room, the guards opening your door for him.
He sees you still seated, but chewing on the blanket. “Stee-b!” Your words were muffled. You leap from your chair, crashing into him as his back collides with the wall. You climb him like a tree and as if you’re trying to crawl into his skin—you kind of are, that’s just how much you missed him.
It was complicated, you couldn’t understand your feelings. After being ripped away from your cave—the cold, wet, and dark place you called home, of course, you were upset and distressed. A sliver of you was angry with Steve too, but you also hated being away from him, whether it was a minute or a few hours.
You were all over the place, yet compact in a little glass jar, being prodded and poked at, watched like you’ve done to the wildlife in the forest. The only difference was that you were the oddity. You wanted to say something, explain your feelings or the dozens of thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, but you couldn’t, you didn’t know how.
“Mi-Missed so much…” You whisper, pressing your forehead to his, and going cross-eyed with the closeness. “Felt so alone…”
Steve’s heart beats against his chest, threatening to shatter his ribcage. He takes in your appearance, the dirt and grime cleaned from your face, revealing a few marks he didn’t notice before. Every time he blinks, he sees you from yesterday. On the inside of his eyelids, a joyous and melodic woman with a gleaming smile and an enchanting spirit.
You saved him when you didn’t even know him. How could he leave you out in the wilderness after that?
You sniffle, clenching his shoulders. “Met so many new people—didn’t say word, was too scared…”
Relief washes over him like a breath of fresh air, with a hint of the sterile soap on your skin, “I’m sorry, I know,” he remembers the doctors and nurses sweeping you away to get cleaned up for another round of tests, he didn’t even get to touch you before you were gone and he was called into the observation wing of the compound. “But you’re okay, right? No one hurt you?”
Your throat tightens, “N-No… still scared though.”
“No one will hurt you while I’m here. Got it?” He keeps you firmly against his front, but then you slightly push him away. The few inches between you feel like an ocean. “What’s wrong?”
Your face twists as you sort through the possible answers. You don’t want to be mean, or ungrateful, but you also want to try to communicate which feels nearly impossible. Lowering your voice, “When hurt me?”
Steve inhales sharply, as the glass turns into a mirror. At least his friends were giving you privacy, he wonders if they can still hear every word. “Not when—not ever, no one is going to hurt you.”
As you stare up at him, brows furrowed and lips in a pout, “Why I’m here?”
Steve relives the moment he told you that he wasn’t staying in your cave, and neither were you. The heartbreak and confusion on your face will haunt him to the grave, and your trembling body against his will repeat in whatever afterlife awaits him.
You didn’t completely protest, but you also didn’t accept your fate—that he took into his hands and made for you. Perhaps his actions and execution were selfish, but Steve thinks he’s far from being self-centred.
It was for you, he’s trying to help, he wants you to be safe, healthy and happy, and that cave was not good for you or any person.
For you, the goodness and compassion that came with pain and fear—everything has a price, and Steve knows you’re paying for something he brought upon you.
“Was… not in danger at cave, had food, water, nest. Was alone, so was safe.”
“Being alone doesn’t always mean being safe.” Steve reaches for you, hope fluttering in his chest when you don’t immediately pull away, but you don’t lean into his touch either. “You should be proud of yourself, Bambi, not everyone could do what you’ve done. Please let me help you, I just want the best for you.” And sometimes that meant going through the worst.
Believe me, believe me, Steve chants in his mind, seconds away from dropping to his knees, forgive me.
The bright lights highlight your face and reflect in the tears pooling in your eyes. “Don’t want to f-feel like that again—thought you would hurt.”
Steve gently cups your cheeks, wiping the lone tear with the pad of his thumb. He cranes his neck to meet your eyes, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I will never hurt you.”
“Ever?” You bite your lip, “Still trust Steve, but need to be… uh, be…”
“Positive.”
“Be positive you won’t be that again.”
Nothing will amount to what you feel, especially knowing that Steve was the one who caused it.
There is strength in softness—Steve was right and you should be prideful of how far you’ve come, how long you’ve survived, even though you don’t remember what brought you to these conditions. A forgotten journey is still a journey, and you wish you knew yours but that wistful thinking shouldn’t keep you from driving forward.
You want to know more about yourself, about Steve and the outside world. But the how, the abrupt voyage nearly shattered your already fragile spirit.
You’re putting your all into the man before you. Wrapping your entire heart in twine from the forest, smelling like fresh dew and flowers, a four-leaf clover in place of a bow, and placing it into his rough, yet smooth hands.
Looking into the endless blue with tints of green, you feel protected. There’s a compelling force pulling you deeper into his warmth, you can’t help but nuzzle his chest, soaking in his scent.
“I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Steve definitely should have thought before that, because you jump away utterly terrified and quickly check over him. Roughly turning his face in your hands, and twisting his arms.
“Die!”
“It’s a saying—”
“—I’m so sorry to interrupt but he means to be completely sincere and truthful. He isn’t dying. Nice going, Cap.”
You blink at the mirror, listening to the familiar voice. “Cap…”
“Steve is Cap, capsicle, old man—”
“—Old?” You face the blond, “only little bit of wrinkle.”
“Okay, that’s enough.” The mirror turns into glass again, and the rest of the team is still seated at the table. Fury cock a brow, “Shall we continue before Wilson and Barton come up with more unprofessional vocal exercises? Bring the girl—Miss Bambi, bring her.”
“Ready to meet some new people?” Steve cups your face, “They won’t hurt you, they’re my best friends.” They’ll probably act stupid, but none of them mean any harm.
“Friends, would like new friends.” You roll on the heels of your feet, nervously glancing at the other men and women, “don’t look mean—except him.” You point to Fury.
On the other side of the glass, the rest of the team coo. Fury even cracks a small grin, although it can be written off as a simple twitch.
“Why didn’t you use Steve to get her to speak before?” Clint asks Tony and Bruce.
The men trade glances before Bruce answers, “We figured he would influence her answers someway—turns out she didn’t answer anything anyway.”
“For two geniuses, you sure are stupid sometimes,” Sam says, still watching you lowly converse with Steve who has moved to the chair, sitting with you perched in his lap.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Tony points a finger, “Anyway, I think we should do a Simon Says method—”
“The only way to test her speech is to ask her to repeat words since we’re assuming she can’t read or write, we can say them slowly and define them so she can learn.” Bruce interrupts after Natasha nudges his elbow, “I suppose you can think of it like teaching a child to speak and even though she is a grown woman, don’t be crude.”
“Agreed. Wilson didn’t have to say cocksucker.” Tony steps towards the glass, tapping on it, “There are so many other words out there. Nymph, can you say motherfucker?”
A projection appears in the middle of the table, it’s a double-sided hologram to give everyone a clear view.
After Steve answered every question you had about the rest of the team, he brought you into the meeting room. Timid and quiet, you tried to slink away when they all turned to you. But one reassuring nod from the blond has you crossing that threshold. You remained stiff as everyone took turns greeting you and introducing themselves, you softly repeated each of their names as you clung to Steve’s arm.
Now, you look down at your gloved hands, no one has directly asked but you feel like some of them are wondering. Unfortunately, you couldn’t offer more than an I don’t remember or I don’t know.
You weren’t expecting the familiar woman to speak first. “I remember her.” Wanda’s green eyes dart between you and the projection displaying the photo they took when you arrived. There are obvious tears in your eyes and trailing down your cheeks, as you squint into the lense. “We had just turned twelve when someone found her on the side of the road and kept her as a subject.”
“How old was she?”
“Younger than me.”
You subconsciously bring the blanket to your mouth, nibbling on the fabric. Your chair moves, pivoting to the side as Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders, his warmth seeping through your clothes and to your skin.
“They never said what happened, I think it was an accident, she had bruises and a cut on her chin.”
A gentle hand cups your cheek as you meet pools of blue. Steve scans your face, his brows tightly furrowed as he spots a faint scar on your chin. Your lashes flutter as your eyes shut, barely leaning into his touch.
“The few files are dated, over a few years, she was kept with Hydra, there’s nothing about her from before they found her. No name or even a birthday, they also continuously wiped her memory and never implanted new ones. The chances of Miss Bambi remembering anything by herself are thin to non-existent.”
“Can I help?” Wanda asks, hopeful. “Her memories might just be scattered and undecipherable.”
“I suppose we can think about it.” Fury walks around the table as the projection flashes with recordings of devastation and seething beings, they’re huge and plated in gold. “Let’s start at the beginning. The Battle of New York—an alien army invades Earth at the hands of the God of Mischief. Then, Loki’s scepter is taken by Hydra and they begin their trials of human experimentation. S.H.I.E.LD. falls, Hydra succeeds, Stark creates a Murder Bot and destroys—”
Tony clears his throat.
“—Stark and Bruce create a Platinum Bastard, who in turn, operates a bunch of other bastard sentries who disintegrate a whole capital city after turning something stupidly named the Doomsday Trigger. Better?”
“Perfect, you may proceed.”
The projection changes again, one half displays a document as the other plays graining footage of snowy terrain and tall trees, explosions demolishing the surrounding nature. “Before all of that mess, we tracked the scepter here—Baron von Strucker and List were using the power of the scepter for human enhancement.”
“She wasn’t the first of their trials.” Bruce adds.
A chill ghosts over your spine as the name rings in your head, they sound vaguely familiar and make you physically sick. You shyly sip from the water bottle given to you by the woman to your right, her vibrant hair in a loose bun. She smiles at you, and you try to return one but it looks more like a grimace.
“None of the first volunteers survived, but then the Maximoffs did, and then they decided to try on her. From the lack of security or resources, Bambi’s experiment resulted in half the building catching fire. People were evacuated, data was lost and all priorities were on the scepter—they did a body count after the incident, and there is one person unaccounted for.”
The hologram flashes with a photograph, it’s old judging by the faded colours. You’re a few years younger, eyes half-opened as dirt and ash cover your skin, exhaustion evident on your features. Bruce continues, “Unfortunately, they had her chipped and found her quickly. She was unconscious a few miles away from the base of operations. It didn’t take long for them to figure out that her trial was also a success.”
“We used to talk, she sort of speaks the same now. Everything was short and simple. She was scared of everyone. She wasn’t a volunteer and after she escaped, she wasn’t treated like me and my brother. Then, she got out again and they didn’t find her.”
Tony sighs. “Poor girl. Does any of this ring a bell?”
When you don’t answer, Steve whispers in your ear. “Do you remember any of this?”
“U-Uh,” you squirm under the several stares, “only little—some names, being alone…sad…her.” you point to Wanda, looking at her a little longer, you make a confused noise, clenching Steve’s hand in your lap. You do remember the boy who was with Wanda, foggy memories of his light hair and pale skin. “Fast—where is he?” You tilt your head, “Name start with… P?”
Steve answers before the silence drags on too long, “His name was Pietro. He isn’t here anymore.”
Curiously, you gaze around the table, Clint wears a solemn expression, Natasha’s gentle grin is gone and replaced with a downcast glow. Tony and Bruce peer down at their cups of coffee.
A sniffle comes from Wanda, she’s turned away from everyone with her hand over her mouth.
Oh no, what I do?
A heavy feeling plants in your stomach, weighing you down as your chest constricts. Shame filling your body, it’s worse because you don’t even know what you did.
“Let’s take a short break.” Fury’s hardened gaze has you feeling guiltier.
How about some fresh air? Steve asks before he brings you down the hall.
As the glass doors shut behind you, a soft breeze ghosts over your skin. Your shrug off the blanket and beeline for the little bed of flowers by a tree. The grass is green and the petals are bright, but every time you look up, you’re welcomed by a side of a building. The grey and white surround you and this little piece of nature—a cage of concrete and glass in the middle of the giant compound.
Steve tells you to keep close and you listen, constantly looking over your shoulder as he speaks to a brown-haired man, Bucky.
You slip off your shoes, gloves and roll up your pants, sinking to the cool ground and delicately touching the small flowers. The pollen rubs off on your fingers as the grass tickles your feet. Sunshine peeks over the top of the building, once again reminding you that you aren’t in the forest anymore.
You aren’t alone anymore—Being alone doesn’t mean always being safe.
You’ve tried to be strong, ever since you woke up in the middle of the forest with nothing but torn clothes and a dizziness that didn’t go away for days. The sun rose and set, again and again, tall trees turned yellow then orange and fell to the dirt. Then, snow covered the ground like a sheet.
Most of your memories in the wild are foggy—you see glimpses of broken cabins, old fabric, bundles of berries and running rivers, some of which you don’t know if they’re dreams or reality.
By being alone, there is no one to betray your trust or hurt you, but you weren’t happy with the consistent loneliness crowding you, following you like the moon at night.
The instinct to endlessly protect against everything goes deeper than the surface—to heal, is to acknowledge the obstacle, is this wall necessary? Or will it cause more torment than good? There is strength in vulnerability and openness, unmatched by the counterparts of being invincible.
That’s what you were thinking, but in simpler terms.
But, you’ve opened your heart to Steve the moment you brought him to your cave. You didn’t want to accidentally shut anyone out, but you can’t help it. You’re still wary of his friends, but Steve wouldn’t lie to you—their intentions are harmless, they want to know to help you. And with Steve, you’ve never felt safer.
Steve chats to Natasha and Bucky, his arms are crossed, blue eyes are drawn low. That force comes alive again, urging you to listen, to understand to the best of your abilities and tear down your walls. To invite him and everything he brings in, allowing the kind of connection you’ve been starved of.
To heal from the things you can’t remember, so the future is different—is better.
Before you know it, Steve is calling you back inside. He’s holding your shoes, gloves and the blanket, when you enter the compound again, you see Wanda with a red man.
You glance down at the thin stem pinched between your fingers. Leaning your shoulder on the wall, you focus on the single wilted petal. Your breath deepens as the golden shimmers erupt from your touch, wrapping around the flower as it grows more vibrant and strong—alive.
When you step towards her, you slightly stumble and catch her attention.
With two new pairs of eyes on you, you force your feet into the linoleum tiles, willing yourself to stay upright as the lights fade in and out.
“Miss Bambi, are you all right?” The red man asks, “Your blood pressure is dropping.”
It’s hard to understand him since you’re lightheaded, but from the few words you make out, you’re uneasy. You don’t know who he is, or how he knows your name, so you turn to Wanda.
“Have gift, because made you sad.” You slowly lift your hand, “Found in little garden… when I was alone, talk to plants or animals—helps when quiet gets too loud.”
A loud squeak escapes your throat as she hugs you. Her hair smells like fruit and her cheek is hot against yours, her hands grip your shirt as if you’ll float away.
Although the display was sudden, you melt in her embrace. Shaky breaths calm to a slow rhythm as you wrap your arms around her.
Steve’s touch was great, but so were other people's touch. Although you favoured him, Wanda was a close second. She pulls away, speaking to you, but you can’t hear her very well with the dizziness, and soon enough, she returns to the meeting room with the red man and the flower.
“Project Genesis—yet another scheme by Hydra involving the mind stone.”
“Or it was, since,” Tony points at Vision, “the stone is currently occupied.” There are fewer people now, Fury, Maria, and Clint are missing, leaving empty chairs.
“Dr. Ilo hadn’t renamed it, so it was quite easy to find a connection, and we were right. The facility was trying to recreate it, with no luck from what Bruce found since they’re doing all of this without the mind stone.”
The scientist nods, fixing his eyeglasses. “When you all left to deal with the mercenaries, I was able to unblock the—arguably weak firewalls so the files that could download onto the hard drive.” He clears his throat, a slight red fanning over his cheeks, “Then, I, um, hid in the back room.”
“You did great, Bruce.” Tony slaps his shoulder, “kept calm, cool and collected. Give yourself the credit you deserve.”
The man smiles as Tony moves to the head of the table, tapping on a tablet before swiping up, the hologram projecting for the team to see. “Dr. Ilo’s failures are quite laughable, actually—oh, and everyone working there is now without a job. Courtesy of yours truly because any and all projects involving or related to Hydra are illegal and punishable by law.”
“So, they’re all locked up?”
“Awaiting trial.”
“What was it?” Steve asks, “The one by Hydra?”
“It was basically what they were doing when we found the twins.” Tony flips through the projection until he lands on a heavily encrypted page, “Nymph is only referred to as Subject 8. She’s the third successful subject for Von Strucker’s experiments with the Scepter and…” he pauses, eyes reading the tablet, “can manipulate, sense and shape the aspects of life and death.”
“Meaning she can give or take those essences, influencing the life cycles of living organisms, from beginning to end.” Bruce expands, “We only know the basics of her abilities, the last file is dated a few years ago which must be when she escaped from Hydra the second time, because there isn’t anything else about her.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Sam whistles, “feels underwhelming…”
“She escaped almost immediately after they caught her the first time. Either they didn’t beef up security, she got help, or—I don’t know.”
Everyone shifts, their eyes landing on Steve’s hand in your lap. Your bare fingers are tightly entwined with his.
“Her abilities are very weak and information on the expectations of such is unknown as of now. But, perhaps a certain sleeper agent would know, but I think he’s fish food floating down the river in the forest.” Tony murmurs, “Ring any bells, Cap?”
“He didn’t mention her, or the project when we were…”
“Fighting, yeah, yeah. Why would he, anyway? The most evil people tend to leave the biggest mysteries behind.” Tony says, “we theorize that like Wanda, the stone awoke her dormant powers, but we can’t know for sure unless she gains her memory.”
Natasha leans forward, her hair falling in front of her face. “We’re currently sweeping the entire facility for clues, anything. Dr. Ilo and her team were trying to track her down and were just as in the dark as us about her whereabouts, and how close to the facility she was.”
All heads turn to Wanda, the woman staring hard at the blank paper before her. Vision places a hand on her arm, whispering to her. “Can you restore them?”
Wanda slowly nods, “I think so.” She twirls the flower, “I want to help in any way I can.”
“We’d like to run some tests on your powers before that,” Bruce pauses, “just protocol—Tony?”
“I’ll meet you all in the lab.” The brunet waves, as Bruce speaks Wanda and Vision.
The young woman comes by you, gently asking you to come along. Your hesitance is clear as day until Steve promises he’ll join you in a few moments. You liked Wanda, a piece of a forgotten photo in your blank album.
You feel comfortable around her. In the short amount of time since you’ve met her, she’s made you feel secure. Especially back in the forest. You leave slowly, looking over your shoulder at Steve until you’re in the hallway with Bruce, Vision and Wanda.
Tony waits for the door to shut until he speaks again. “Do you have something to confess, Steve?”
“No.” He answers too quickly, which only raises everyone’s suspicions.
“Did you,” Tony makes an inappropriate gesture with his hands, “deflower the nymph?”
Steve gapes, insulted. “Oh god, Tony, No! I didn’t touch her that way.”
“Okay, okay, keep your toupee on.” He teases. “I think Bambi has a crush on the old man.”
Steve waits for the others to chime in, to disregard Tony’s wild associations but everyone just collectively nods. Bucky even mutters, “of course, she does.”
“She doesn’t.” Steve crinkles his nose, feeling slightly uncomfortable but also flustered. Of course, Tony wasn’t completely out of line, and Steve has some hidden hope about whatever was going on between the two of you. But, he also knows he’s one the first person you’ve met in a long time.
“I find offense that you think I’ll believe that.”
He remains quiet, before gathering his things to head to the lab.
Tony chuckles at his rushed motions, “If you don’t feel the same, I guess I could just tell her for you. Breaking the little nymph’s heart like a cold asshole—you’re asking for a curse.”
“Don’t do that,” Steve hurries, avoiding Bucky and Sam snickering. “I, ugh, I don’t know how I should feel.”
“We aren’t asking how you should feel—we just want to know what you feel, Steve.” Natasha smirks, “now, be honest.”
Steve hunches his shoulders, hands flat on the table. “She’s…She’s so–”
“We know, we know.” Sam smirks, “A dream on legs.”
“A rare fairy of the forest, that has settled right in your lap.”
“In his heart, more like it.”
“I reckon she can fit right in his hand, actually. All tucked and safe.”
“Yeah, don’t traumatize the poor nymph with your,” Tony nods at Steve’s huge frame, then to his lower half, “I’d hate to put out a statement that Captain America mauled a small feral woman with his third leg.”
“You’re all ridiculous.” Steve huffs in disgust, and heads for the door while pointing a finger to Sam and Bucky, “Stay away from her until you can behave. I don’t want her asking what a cocksucker is.”
𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and there we go ! some parts were taken out to add to the next chapter. let's all pretend this was posted on time and my laptop didn't die. thank you everyone for your patience, I've been pretty busy lately but I'm hoping to post the next part asap (hint: new character/best friend for Bambi, some getting used to the modern world, and a first kiss and more)
thank you for reading !! I'm always open for your thoughts/feedback !!
𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞! this series is now going to be 5 parts bc I want to try some side character building and develop friendships. and there's a big chance I'll rewrite some of this chapter later
follow my sideblog and turn on the notifications so you can see whenever I post: @onsunnyside-fics in case if I discontinue my taglist.
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!reader, fluff, reader has a secret, size difference, manhandling–reader also likes touching, violence, death of some mercenaries, clueless!reader, secondhand embarrassment, smidge of angst.
𝗪/𝗖 | 10.8K
𝗔/𝗡 | This is a roles reversal of my Tarzan!Steve au What A World. This verse is set after Age of Ultron, and in an alternate timeline with Civil War-esque. Bucky is a part of the team, Wanda is too but labelled as inexperienced personnel, Bruce is still on Earth, Thor comes in later, and Brock Rumlow isn’t dead and he leads the last remnants of Hydra (for now). All mistakes are my own !!
Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!
𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
It’s green. Varying in hues, pine and Sacramento in the dark shaded areas hidden from the sun, and sage, jade and emerald where the golden beams reach. Just very green, a sharp contrast to the dull grey and white facility in the middle of the area. Almost ruining the effortless nature with its presence, a giant black hole sucking away the beauty.
As the jet lands, Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. Walking to the end as the hatch swings open, he secures his shield on his back. The sunshine almost blinds him right then, burning into his eyes as he steps down the platform, going straight for the people standing in lab coats a few feet away.
“Captain, I’m Dr. Charles, did you all have a safe trip?” One of them greets with a short handshake, his glasses reflecting the blue sky. His salt and pepper hair is short, messy although once styled from the remains of the gel at his roots.
“We did, and we came as soon as we got your message.” He slips his thumbs in his belt, watchful gaze surveying the group of researchers. “Wanda and Barton, investigate the surrounding area, not too close to the treeline.”
When the two leave, Bucky and Sam stand by Steve’s sides as he asks Dr. Charles for more information.
“Since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, we’ve been an independent organization. No special forces or advanced security, it isn’t the best circumstances for our sensitive research,” The man laughs nervously, shy from the captain’s authoritative presence, “we focus on the biology of living organisms. The life stages specifically—”
“—for a study called Project Genesis which is highly confidential.” Another scientist speaks up, stepping forward to shake Steve’s hand. She smiles politely, her hair in a feathery pixie cut with a few dyed strands that contrasted with her lab coat. “And, I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance, Captain Rogers.”
Steve reads her badge, Dr. Ilo, he remembers seeing her ID on the tablet back at the compound. Along with a very urgent plea for reinforcements. With all of the recent attacks on facilities that previously worked with S.H.I.E.L.D., the team jumped at the chance to get a lead on the final, seemingly resilient, remains of Hydra. Although, they were now labelled as an independent terrorist group of mercenaries, led by the same man who was buried under a building the last time Steve heard of him.
“It’s a good thing we all aren’t here for that then.” The blond stands tall, posture straight as a board.
“All?” One of the other doctor’s echoes, eyes widening as the other members exit the jet. The notorious Black Widow, followed by a genius billionaire and finally, a renowned scientist who has been in hiding for the past months. The researchers take a small step back at the sight of Bruce, one of them offering him a strained smile.
The public still wasn’t over the catastrophic battle between Hulk and Hulkbuster in Johannesburg, South Africa. The Stark Relief Foundation was still dealing with the damages and lost lives. To say the least, it has been a rough few months for the team–Bruce especially, but his expertise was imperative for this mission.
Unbeknownst to Dr. Ilo and her team, the Avengers weren’t here strictly for reinforcements.
The whirring of the engine slows until the stillness of the wilderness takes its place. “Oh, that’s far more, uh, Avengers than we were expecting. Dr. Ilo?”
“It’s fine.” The woman waves, stepping forward to introduce herself to the others.
“We’re glad you contacted us, it saves us the trouble of randomly swooping in to save the day.” Tony fixes his blazer, squinting at the harsh sun. “You don’t try to conceal yourself out here at all, huh? Ever hear of Wakanda?”
“The tiny Third World nation? Yes, why?”
Steve huffs through his nose, glaring at Tony who only shrugs with a smile. “No reason. It has some of the greatest mountain ranges I’ve ever seen. Maybe lay off the research and do some sightseeing, Dr. Ilo.”
The woman hums, facing Steve. “Did you find out anything about the threat, Captain?”
The blond nods, “We suspect it’s the last remnants of Hydra. They’ve already taken down several other facilities that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“It’s kind of obvious you’re next—when you’re out in the middle of nowhere like a wounded cub.” Tony waltzes by and scans the area, undoubtedly uncovering secrets with his sunglasses. He claps his hands, pointing to the doors, “May I?”
“Of course,” one of the scientists begins leading the team through the large doors.
Immediately, the crisp nature in the air is transformed to a bitter profile, antiseptic. The striking white walls and glass panes reflect the bright, blinding lights as they walk down the wide hallway. Dr. Ilo brings them to the control room where one guard sits in a swivel chair, nearly choking on his coffee at the sight of the Avengers before Dr. Ilo excuses him.
She wasn’t lying about the lack of security.
Tony whistles. “You know, Stark Industries would be glad to help you out with this—substandard set-up you have, Dr. Ilo. With your line of work, I think only the best would suffice.”
“We prefer our privacy—and I don’t think your famous tech is in our budget.”
“Fair enough.” The billionaire shrugs, and whips out a business card and hands it to the doctor. “Contact Pepper, she’ll be able to set up a payment plan. And you could say goodbye to all of this well-loved and eccentric technology, if you’d like, of course.”
“This isn’t a business deal, Tony,” Bruce says from where he’s hunched over a control panel, already sifting through the past footage. “Dr. Ilo, you said it set off one of the detectors?”
“On the Eastside of the facility, one of the thermal cameras caught unusual movement for a long period of time. We weren’t alerted until the next morning,” She ignores Tony’s enthused hum, “Again, our technology isn’t the best.”
“Hydra lurking in the shadows? I would laugh if they weren’t horribly outnumbered, they’re probably scared of Cap going berserk as he did in that elevator.” Tony winces, “That’s also why I’ve tried to keep my wondrous thoughts to myself, I’d rather not spend months in the ICU, huh, Steve?”
The blond ignores the nudge from Bucky and watches the grainy footage of the surrounding area of the building. The heat signature barely moves from the treeline as the hours tick by, until the morning sun emerges and they disappear into the forest.
One of the scientists speaks up. “—excuse me, you can’t go there.”
Steve raises his gloved hand, carefully observing the rest of the researchers who’ve diverted their attention elsewhere. Through a wide window, that faces the deep woodland. His gaze switches to Natasha lingering by a tightly secure door. “Is that the electrical room?”
Dr. Ilo slowly nods, “It also stores some security documents and other sensitive data.”
“Well, we need to take a look inside. It’s simple precautions.” Steve asserts with crossed arms. “Stark, do you have the—guard box?”
The older man scoffs, “it’s not a guard box. It’s a portable protection system, more of an AI in a box than anything.” He saunters to the hall, tapping the doorframe, “And it’s quite heavy. Two-person job—let’s go, birdman.”
Sam reluctantly leaves with some colourful words, then, Dr. Ilo whispers to one of her colleagues. Hesitantly, the doctor swipes their badge and the door beeps. Natasha slinks through the doorway, inquisitive laser eyes taking in the room. Steve follows as Bucky goes to the window, seemingly noticing the researchers’ interest as well. While Bruce continues reviewing the footage, his glasses are drawn low as he bites his lip.
“Bet this is a change of pace considering the tech back at the compound—probably nothing compared to waking up in the twenty-first century.” Natasha ribbed, gesturing to the mass of blinking lights and exposed wires, several old screens lit up with various data, constantly changing. “Although, all of this—albeit old, is still quite shocking to you.” She heads to the poorly kept shelves, peering through a few unlabelled boxes. “Dr. Ilo certainly wasn’t lying about the lack of funding, I’ve seen better safe-keeping in convenient stores.”
Steve laughs humourlessly, observing the room as he walks to the desk, spotting a little blinking device on the ceiling. “Actually, gas detectors were invented in the 20s—” He squints at the screen, not knowing what he was looking for. He listens to the quiet beeps of the machines, “Why would Hydra have any interest in biological research?”
“Why does Hydra still exist?” Natasha fires back, glancing at the open metal door before whipping out a USB, she jams it into one of the machines then types on the keyboard. “Or, why haven’t these people moved on if S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone?”
“They continued their research independently, with no directors or secretaries to answer to. Who knows if they even follow rules of conduct.”
“You’d be surprised how many people care about ethics. More than you think.”
“But, most times, it’s never people who can impact the masses.” He frowns, fixing his gloves. “Do you think it’s him?” He lowers his voice.
Sharp footsteps sound outside the door, “Are you two done?” Dr. Ilo appears, her thin brows furrowed as she briefly checks the shelves against the walls. Boxes sealed, straight, nothing out of place.
Natasha hums, straightening her belt. “We’re just checking for any sabotage—”
The building rattles as an explosion goes off outside the walls. The team, except for Bruce who remains in the security room, rushes to the front doors and are welcomed by utter mayhem. Heavily armed trucks flipped and toppled over, the protective fence is now a mess of metal and electric shocks. Tens of mercenaries clad in black with heavy helmets, armed with weapons of shiny metal. Some were massive guns with smoking barrels, others with large blasters, glowing blue.
“Oh, lovely for you all to finally join,” Sam quips, flying into the sky before he’s surrounded, guns aimed at the enemies below. “Not like we’ve been getting our asses kicked!”
“The connection was jammed, no need to be pissy, birdman.” Tony says through the comms.
Swiftly crouching, Steve raises his shield in time for a blast to be fired, the disk withstanding the energy as Natasha ducks for cover. Bucky is behind him, firing at the soldiers as they drop like flies.
In the midst of chaos, between bombs going off and weapons firing, the outer facility takes a great load of damage. Windows shattered and the front doors were blown to bits, revealing the sleek white halls. Wanda’s red magic lays down a line of them, as Natasha wrestles a weapon from another, firing it at the final helicopter. The enemies, now stranded, split up. Few of them willingly brawl with the Avengers, others clatter into the building, although, most of them scour into the surrounding forest.
Steve jumps up, drop-kicking the swaying mercenary before throwing his shield at one racing into the treeline, knocking them on their face before the disk returns.
He pants, observing the array of destruction and unconscious enemies. “Romanoff, you clear out the facility. Stark, find Banner and disable the servers to conceal all documents. The rest of us will head into the forest to get the rest.”
As the last armed person falls to the ground, Steve surveys the area. “Sam, head back to the facility. We’ll sweep for any hiding.”
“On it.” The tall man nods before taking off, soaring in the direction of the faint commotion.
“Barton and Buck will go ahead. I’ll stay in the back with Wanda.” He instructs with an authoritative tone before turning around.
He’s met with the young woman’s back as she stares into the mass of trees and bushes. Then she takes off, sticks snapping under her shoes as she jogs further away.
“Wanda,” Steve calls, putting his shield on his back before following after her. “Wanda!”
The woman has bolted, hair flowing in the wind. She weaves through the thick trunks, hopping over stones and across a stream. Bucky and Clint have followed too, after seeing Steve run in the opposite direction. It was disobeying Captain’s orders, but with inexperienced personnel like Wanda, she was the top priority.
They come upon a collection of smaller trees upon the edge next to a waterfall. The grass is dewy and the dirt is damp from the lack of morning sun, and the smell flows into the crisp air.
The loud crashing water almost muted Wanda’s voice, “wait!”
Steve thinks it’s directed to him, but as he steps closer, the scolding on the tip of his tongue dies. His eyes widen as the small bundle falls to the ground, berries of purple, red and blue scattered across the earth. Steadily following up the bare legs to the barely clothed body, he meets the terrified gaze of a woman.
Skin caked in speckles of dirt and blades of grass. The filthy sweater is oversized, slipping off one shoulder and ragged with holes and loose threads. The fabric is old and sheer enough that he can see right through it.
Your lips are parted, cheeks full and eyes bright, unblinking. With a stiff stature, you shrink before everyone’s eyes. To them, it’s as if you’re trying to hide, and you are, but it’s no use.
As the others step forward, you take another step back, keeping a distance. Now, standing on the rocky cliff, the coolness sends a wave of goosebumps up your legs.
The tension lays thick in the atmosphere, not even the flowing waterfall can soothe it. The strained seconds almost silence the background noises of nature and dull the peering rays of sunshine. The surviving beams colouring you golden and ethereal, and utterly petrified.
Steve raises a hand as Wanda steps forward, he catches Bucky’s eye over his shoulder, the man is settled on a ledge a couple of feet up. His steel-blue eyes are alert, hands firmly holding the rifle, finger hovering the trigger. He barely nods.
“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Steve assures, boots set in the moist dirt. When he moves, it’s barely an inch, but it has you staggering backward and closer to the edge. “Hey, hold on. Look, I’ll stay here.”
You don’t listen, and the distance increases until the cliff beneath you trembles, so you quickly walk forward again.
“You’re going to fall if you step further away.” Steve can practically see the inner battle going on in your head. “Everyone move back.”
They all obey, each taking several steps backward until you're on stable ground again. They’re all wearing matching expressions of concern and confusion. All but Wanda, who was gazing at you with interest, eyes scanning up and down your barely clothed body.
“She’s cold.” She states, already unbuttoning her sweater, then holding it out, “Here, uh, warm.”
You only recoil fearfully, hands trembling as your shoulders tense. The berries squish beneath your bare feet, staining them shades of purple and blue. The ground is the opposite, under your touch erupts yellow glimmers that cover the grass, the Earth turns dark brown and wilts, barely spreading around you, but they all notice.
“What the hell—” Clint exclaims, lifting and aiming his bow at you.
“—No one move,” Steve commands.
You start to sway, vision losing focus as you get lightheaded. Falling to your hands and knees, you force yourself to stay alert and lift your head, heavily breathing.
“Give it to me and keep your distance, Wanda.” Steve drops his shield, slowly and cautiously approaching you with Wanda’s sweater. But again, you stumble backwards, teetering. The rocks crumble under your weight as something glimmers in your hand, the sharp edge of a knife. Uneasiness washes over Steve like a snowstorm.
“Take off your cowl.” Wanda instructs, “she wants to see your face.”
“Don’t do it.” Bucky warns, “we don’t know what she’s capable of.”
Steve squeezes his gloved fists, eyes flickering to the red, blue and white disk lying in the dirt. He quickly considers his options. With a single toss, you’d be knocked down and the threat—if you pose one—would be handled.
Observing you now, crouching low to the ground a few feet from the bed of dead grass. With one arm tightly wrapped around your middle, the other trembling holding a little pocket knife as if preparing for an attack—but would one even come?
That was Steve’s choice.
Right now, he almost feels like a bully, those same people who used to belittle and torment him in Brooklyn. Of course, the differences are striking. This instance is completely unintentional, he doesn’t know who you are, what your abilities are, or how you ended up in the middle of the wilderness, and truly, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t think he could harm you if he were forced.
Why would you use a knife if you clearly aren’t normal?
Inexperienced, weak—are the words that pop into his head.
How could he wound someone who is outnumbered and terribly frightened?
To willingly cause pain on you, a cornered stranger, a paralyzed mystery.
Someone so evidently the prey.
Steve didn’t like being the predator.
He’s a soldier but no longer under an organization for their service. He is a man bound by his morals. Under the muscle, the suit of stars and stripes, is a merciful man, a human with a conscience and a determination to do the right thing.
When S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, so did the barrier between Steve and his own code, written in the walls of his heart and brain. This wasn’t binary thinking anymore, this was deeper than the surface. Buried below the past commands of others were his present principles.
“Steve,” Wanda’s voice sounds over his rapid thoughts, then he notices how you’ve moved further over the ledge, now sitting as if you're going to jump. One foot still planted on the rocks, the other hanging off the edge, a single move, and you’d vanish.
It isn’t the knife—a knife can be a deadly weapon or completely useless depending on the possessor. And as the shiny metal gleamed in your tight fist, it seemed nothing but a decorative threat. Especially when you weren’t confident in your enhanced abilities.
Not a perfect soldier, but a good man—the worlds echo in his ears. A moral man, a man who feels for the complete stranger before him.
Slowly unlatching the buckle under his chin, the cowl loosens. It falls to the ground, next to his shield. The wind fans across his skin, slick with sweat and grime from the fight. Although, it doesn’t rival the shivers he feels as your eyes sweep over his face.
You stare at him. The messy blond hair atop his head, flattened and tousled from the—head thing—you didn’t know what he was wearing, you just knew it obstructed his features. He’s too far to see the details of his pale skin, but it complemented his plump pink lips. A slight wrinkle appears between his dark furrowed brows as your gaze trails down his face. Taking in the high points of his cheekbones, and the chiselled angle of his jaw, your grip on the knife almost loosens.
His clothes are coloured dark blue, red and white. In the middle of his wide chest, framed by thick buckles is a white star, below are stripes of white and red on his torso that only define his broad shoulders as it tapers into his small waist. You eye the heavy belt around his midriff, shiny and with several little pouches. Trailing down his blue pants with padding and thick stitching, you spot his brown boots.
With a brown gloved hand, he throws the cardigan and it lands within your arms reach. Glaring at his face once more, you snatch the clothing and bring it to your nose before inhaling deeply. You rub your face in the fabric, staining the peach colour in mud. Peering at the strangers, Wanda gives you an encouraging nod.
You slip on fabric and pull the sleeves over your cold hands, rubbing it over your cheeks. Making a little noise of comfort, the knife falls to the ground as your muscles go slack. Steve hesitatingly draws closer.
“Stark, we found—someone.” Not a civilian, or maybe you were? You didn’t dress like one, although you weren’t dressed at all. On your skin are smudges of mud and grass, and around your wrists and ankles are thin flowers chained together.
A strangled chuckle comes through the earpiece, followed by the signature repulsor blasts. “What? You find a little fairy nymph in the forest, Cap?”
“Did you get psychic abilities overnight that we didn’t know about?” Clint lowers his arms, bow still clenched tightly in his fist “More of a feral woman, but a nymph isn’t far off.”
Steve looks between the red magic twirling around Wanda’s fingers, and you. Still propped on the cliff and shivering, your eyebrows arched high.
“I can tell.” Bucky’s voice comes through, “she’s shaking like a leaf.”
“Her surface thoughts are blunt—loud. She thinks that we’re going to take her somewhere.” Wanda narrows her eyes, taking one step forward as the red magic intensifies. Her green eyes gleam with a hint of scarlet, the colour fading to her cheeks as she gasps. “She,” The woman pauses, “She was there—she remembers me.”
Confusion strikes Steve like a bullet, his head snaps to Clint who meets his gaze. He looks just as perplexed as him.
A sharp crack sounds through the forest. The tension shatters in a split second, and Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky. The brunet reloads the sniper, and fires again. Only then does Steve buckle his cowl on again.
“They’re here—6 o’clock.”
Steve barely spots the mass of armed mercenaries rushing through the trees and shrubbery before a louder sonic boom echoes, a large glowing grenade flying through the air before landing in the dirt.
His gaze snaps to you and you’re already looking at him, a single tear trailing down your cheek. He lunges, sweeping his shield off the ground, charging straight to you but the blast goes off. It blows him backward, sending him crashing into a log and snapping the wood in half on impact. He heaves, spine throbbing as that warm sensation takes over—his body healing all injuries instantly.
Looking up in a daze, he sees movement in the corner of his eye. A flash of something peach-coloured and he grits his teeth before looking through distorted vision. Devastation is all he sees, trees are broken, boulders blown to bits, and most importantly, no sign of you.
A bullet lands inches from his head. Quickly, he tucks and rolls for his shield, throwing it at the enemy with a grunt. The vibranium disk ricochets back after knocking the man to the dirt ground, Steve swiftly catching it before diving as another grenade is launched. He covers it with his shield before it goes off.
Without a second to breathe, he’s kneed in the face and kicked in the ribs. As pain sears through his body, he’s hauled up by his throat. Blood pools in his mouth as he meets a deathly gaze.
The man’s face is burned, red and pale flesh forming patterns on his skin and one of his ears is deformed. The changes in his structures catch Steve off guard.
“You sure are a son a bitch, huh?”
“And you never know when to quit.” Steve sends a fist straight into Rumlow’s face, knocking him back into a tree. He jumps and aims, but the man ducks as Steve’s powerful kick breaks the bark.
He’s fast, grabbing the ex-agent by his collar and throwing him feet away. Rumlow struggles to stand, the cliff surface uneven from the bomb.
The waterfall is like a suspenseful soundtrack. Broken boulders crash into the water below, as if punctuating each punch thrown and kicks blocked.
Rumlow’s suit is highly specialized, throwing Steve in for a loop every time a new explosive goes off or a hidden weapon is revealed. Amongst the rest of the team, he and the ex-agent are the only ones close to the falls.
Eventually, Steve tears one of the gauntlets off. It lands on the ground, a heap of electricity and metal. He grabs Rumlow by his collar.
“I see your buddy has recovered, huh?” The mercenary hisses. “Those words don’t work anymore?”
The blond’s grip slackens for a moment before hauling Rumlow to his feet. Half of his face is hairless, void of one eyebrow and eyelashes.
Rumlow glares at Steve. “It doesn’t change what he did.” He spits.
Steve tries to pull off the other gauntlet, but a blast lands square in his chest. Knocking him backward, suit scraping on the rough rocks.
The mercenary kicks Steve’s shield out of reach and raises his arm, that sickening smirk on his face, “You survived a plane crash into the ocean—maybe you can survive a trip down the falls?”
The next blast hits the mountain of boulders, disturbing the flow of the waterfall and sending some into the rapids below.
“You talk too much,” Steve mutters, sweeping a foot under Rumlow’s feet, causing him to land on his back. He slams a fist into the man’s head, straddling his hips and raining down several more punches until he raises his arm again.
Steve clenches his jaw, gripping the gauntlet tightly, the metal caving under his strength. A loud crack sounds as Rumlow groans, eyes squeezed shut and blood streaming from his nose. Steve tears off the dented metal and throws it aside.
Hard blue eyes are set on the ex-agent’s bruised and battered face.
Rumlow laughs bitterly. “What? You’re going to kill me with your eyes, Captain?” A vibrant red stains his teeth, “That’s cute—but I don’t roll like that.” With his broken arm, he rips open his jacket.
Steve looks down in horror at the bombs attached to Rumlow’s vest.
The blond doesn’t waste a moment before lifting the ex-agent over his head and throwing him over the edge. The ear-splitting explosion rattles his brain and disorients him. With his enhanced senses, it feels extremely worse and he doesn’t notice the rogue grenade that Rumlow threw at the final moment, the safety clip missing as it clattered to the ragged surface.
As Steve stands, winded, he meets Bucky’s gaze across the way. The brunet’s frantic eyes fall to the bomb inches from Steve’s feet. Quickly, he covers it with his shield again. But, the ledge is all too brittle from the previous explosion and fight, and it cracks. The split surrounds him like a hunter, spreading like a virus and snapping the last string of hope.
He hears Bucky call his name before the cliff breaks, he leaps for the edge, but it breaks in his grip. Gravity cruelly drags him and the tonnes of rocks into the rushing blue below.
Everything is muffled and blurry underwater, but he can see the large grey matter getting bigger and bigger. He swims away, mouth sealed tight as the boulders slam into the water, sinking quickly. More rain down on the surface, suffocating him, pinning him under the blue. The last thing he sees is another giant grey form coming from above before everything goes dark.
A crisp sensation draws him to consciousness, as does the quiet sound of water. He almost thinks he’s washed up on the shore, alone and deep in the forest, but then he feels cold hands on his chest and he hears a high-pitched coo.
His eyes snap open and he shoots up, shoving away whatever was next to him. As his heart hammers in his chest, he observes the rocky walls, flowers blooming from the cracks and overgrown ivy. There’s a pitiful campfire by the wide entrance, sunlight pouring in followed by a slight breeze.
A disturbed squeal rings in his ears.
His senses steadily regain focus and he notices his skin. Much more skin is exposed than when he fell over the edge. In fact, he’s as naked as the day he was born, but with the added shame and shock. The serum maintains his temperature but it doesn’t keep him from getting embarrassed or feeling the rush of heat blossoming in his chest to his ears.
Across from him and drying on a row of stones in the sun are his clothes. His suit laid out flat, as well as his undershirt and underwear. His boots, socks and gloves are there too, but next to those is a familiar cardigan and an older tattered sweater.
His cheeks burn hotter than the sun as he looks at you again.
You’re blinking slowly and yawning into your hand and clad in another thin, incredibly sheer sweater. As if his gaze physically harms you, you hurriedly shuffle back, sleep evident in your face as your legs twist. A small wet rag falls from your grasp.
Steve sits up, shielding his crotch but knocking something in the process. Next to him, his cowl wobbles, water spilling onto the rocky ground. He feels over his body searching for any injuries but as always, he’s unharmed. Even though he heals instantly, he has a habit of checking.
“What—” He coughs, “S-Sorry,” and rubs his chest.
Tentatively, you scoot forward. Inquisitive yet attentive eyes locked on him as you nudge his cowl closer.
He brings the helmet to his mouth, sipping the cool water slowly. It soothes his throat, and when he sets it down, you swipe up and hurry to the little stream at the wide opening of the cave. The bottom of your feet is dirty, as is most of your body, along with scattered scars on your legs and arms. Faded, surprisingly well healed, but just faintly evident. He averts his gaze when the sweater lifts, exposing much of your behind.
You set the helmet on the ground again, and sit a few feet away in an unkempt pile of dirty, worn clothes and other sticks and leaves. Tucking your knees to your chest, you tilt your head.
When you don’t speak, Steve shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t scared, but he knows you are. He can tell from the slight tremor in your hand as you scratch your head. You’re so much smaller than him, weaker—and he knows you wouldn’t stand a chance if he reprimanded you.
Steve clears his throat, “You saved me?”
You don’t reply, tucking yourself deeper into the bundle.
He groans as he sits up, bones cracking and muscles a little achy, “I fell down the waterfall.” And lost consciousness.
“…Big splash, b-because big man…” you make a quiet sploosh with your mouth.
Steve straightens at the sound of your voice, the pitch and tone, and the slow drawl of your syllables. “How long was I out for?”
You tilt your head and make a confused noise.
“How long was I unconscious for?” Steve rephases, “Sleeping?”
“Oh—Uh, sun go d-down then up again…” You answer, looking between your thighs then his. “W-What that?” You point at his large hand that actually doesn’t do much to hide his shaft. You had your curiosity while he was sleeping, but you were too scared to touch him down there—especially because of how big it looked. “...big.”
Steve turns redder than a fresh apple. He fumbles with his words, eventually settling on, “uh—my penis.”
You spread your legs, “no have?”
His throat constricts as his eyes fall to your privates. Immediately looking away as his brain screams and scolds him, he feels like a creep. “No, um, yours is different.”
“Yours bad?” You take out the little pocket knife from your nest, wide eyes locked on his crotch, “Can help?” You scoot closer but Steve desperately shakes his head.
“No, no, it’s not bad. It’s just… We have different parts for a reason.” He goes on to vaguely summarize the means of reproduction and genitals. Trying to keep your gaze instead of peeking between your still spread thighs.
You mostly just tilt your head and make confused hums.
Steve can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. Truthfully, a part of him is still a little woozy, if he were fully conscious, he thinks he’d make up an excuse to bypass this awkward encounter.
You gasp, “Oh…Oh. Seen—uh, animals…” Your whisper, looking down at his crotch again, “...but that much big.”
Steve takes a breath and stands, a strange fluttering erupts as you intensely scan over his nude body.
A tingling sensation blooms in your stomach, making you clench your thighs and muffle a whimper. The conclusions settle in your mind, three words echo off the walls; big, strong and want. Although, a timid voice warns against the dangers of outsiders, knowing fully what they’re capable of. The pain they hold in their intentions, your unfocused eyes fall to the faint scars around your ankles.
Steve goes to get dressed, but as he slips on his suit, it nearly peels right off again. The chest is split open, messily cut down the star and a little across his shoulders. It isn’t completely destroyed but it does sag on his frame, no longer form-fitting. He cringes at the stiffness and awful smell of his clothes.
You’re still huddled in your nest. Body less rigid than when he first woke up. “Uh… too heavy—not know t-take off,” you shrink under his watchful eyes, “wet clothes make sick.”
“It’s fine,” Steve murmurs, taking off the upper half, easily tearing it at the waist. When he looks back, you’re completely bewildered.
“...Strong man.” You whisper.
Steve blushes as the thick fabric falls to the ground, “Yeah, I am, but you can call me Steve.” He buckles his boots. Standing upright again, he notices you crawling a little closer. You sit a few feet away from the other half of his suit, cocking your head to the side.
“Ste-eve?”
He stifles a chuckle at your odd pronunciation. “Yes, and what’s your name?” He takes out his broken earpiece and sifts through the pouches on his belt, searching for the little gadget Tony has him carry—for reasons suspiciously like this. Where he’s lost or stranded in an unknown area. He pulls out the gadget but sags when he realizes it’s busted. Well, that’s great, he tucks away the useless device.
“...Name?” You repeat, biting your lip, “No name—can’t remember.”
That catches his attention, “You can’t remember?”
You shrug, “Can’t remember lots…”
He observes you for a moment, straying clear of your spread thighs, he can smell you—and he certainly doesn’t hate it. “You have abilities, though.” He wants to take the words back when you cower backwards.
With wide eyes, you shake your head. “N-No.” You consider the distance between the big man and the entrance of the cave, slowly rising to your feet. “...nothing—”
“—I saw you do something to the ground.” The dead Earth in the shape of your footprint, withered with a single touch. He steps closer, blocking your exit. He tries to sound gentle, but can’t help the slight edge in his voice, “The grass, you did something to it.”
You cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut, “n-not kill… never, ever.”
A weight sets in Steve’s chest, sinking to his stomach. It feels an awful lot like guilt, gloomy and looming over his next words as he watches you whisper to yourself in broken English. Your voice bounces off the cave walls, nurturing his curiosity and feeding his unfamiliar regret.
He hesitates, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
You only shake your head, facing away from him and sniffling.
“Hey, look at me.” He waits but you don’t move. “Please, trust me.” A moment bleeds into a minute, and you finally meet his eyes, the gentle blue washing over you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. His brows furrow tightly, “I’m not normal either.”
You go rigid, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater.
“I wasn’t born like this. I was,” He tries to find the right word, “changed, through an experiment by a very smart man. He chose me for the serum, he looked beyond my appearance and saw the strength in my character.”
You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you listen intently. “Char-act-ter?”
“Personality, qualities—nature.”
“Nature?” You sit up slightly.
Steve puts a hand over his chest, “Inside.”
“Inside… nature…” You look down at your chest, then place your palm over it, just like Steve. “Char-ter.”
“Character.” Steve corrects, relieved that you’re no longer so upset.
You repeat after him once, then twice. “Steve inside nature?”
“The serum—is what changed me. It enhanced everything about me. On the outside and the inside.” Erksine picked him for his courage, persistence and moral strength. He wants to tell you this but you wouldn’t understand, so he says it in simpler terms. “The good becomes great–” and the bad becomes worse.
Your soft eyes fall to his chest where his hand remains. “Steve… inside nature good?”
Yes. “He said so, yes, but you can choose to believe the same.”
He knew power all his life, being on the receiving end of it during his days in Brooklyn. He was introduced to the value of strength as a 5’4” 95-pound kid with a heart of gold and hatred for bullies—now, before you, he’s a 6’6” 270-pound man, with an even bigger heart to house his humanity and the ability to stand up for himself and others.
Blessed with enhanced qualities that have crafted him a pedestal as a throne, a symbol for freedom and protection. Immunity to diseases and infections, outstanding might, agility, reflexes, stamina, and durability paired with his heightened senses and enriched mental processing.
All of which he can utilize in flawless unison whenever he pleases.
Alone since he was eighteen, Steve has taken to greatly valuing all things he comes across. And, for some reason, he can’t imagine not divulging in you.
“Were you like this when you were born?”
You slowly shake your head.
“I wasn’t either. I was really small and skinny, maybe even smaller than you.” He grins.
Oh, your skin prickles, you like his smile, lots. “But… big man.”
Steve chuckles, “Yeah, now I am. I used to have asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, astigmatism,” He lists, “Oh, partial deafness, fallen arches, stomach ulcers and pernicious anaemia.”
You just stare at him and blink.
Oh, right. “I had trouble breathing and I got sick really often.” He condenses. “Now, I’m the complete opposite.”
“...Steve big–strong.”
“Steve never gets sick either.” He says, “Steve also heals very fast.”
A little oh comes from your lips, “Me too—heal… Steve was hurt when found. N-Now, hurt gone.”
The blond man nods, acknowledging the slight slump in your posture, your hands uncurled and your chin tilted up. Calm, interested and unguarded. He notes the strange absence of scars or marks on your skin.
“I told you about me, now will you tell me about yourself?” He inquires gently. Soft blue eyes trained on your face, you can feel the heat radiating off his body—but you didn’t want that, you wanted him right next to you, pressed skin to skin like you were when he was sleeping.
You couldn’t help yourself. He was so—he made you feel all fuzzy and good inside, and he was warm and big. Cuddling next to him was instinctive.
If kindness had a form, it would be embodied in the man before you. And because of that, you wrack your brain for an answer, hopelessly wanting to please him.
But nothing comes, the memories all too foggy and scattered. You make a pained noise and shift in your nest.
“Tell me anything you remember—”
Your face contorts in frustration, “Can’t, d-don’t know!” You slap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your own volume, “don’t know… what am. Just do—and get tired after too much.”
Steve contemplates asking again and prodding for more information but judging by the sudden distress taking over your features, he leaves it be.
“Do you have anything to eat?”
Your mood lights up, beaming across the dull cave walls. Hurriedly uncovering a round object, you slide it across the cave ground. “Steve hungry?”
His shield is upside-down and filled with berries varying in purples, reds and blues, and mushrooms of different sizes and colours. Steve gives you a nervous smile, “Are those safe to eat?”
You stare at the platter. “Some?—Has never tries these…” you point to the assortment of mushrooms, “but, s-special for Steve… okay?”
Slowly sitting next to his shield and separating the berries from the mushrooms he knows are not safe for consumption. “These are bad.”
You pout, “not good?” Your hopeful heart sinks, you wanted to impress the big man ever since you saw him at the falls.
The fear you felt has since dissipated as you’ve watched him sleep and slyly cuddling with him because he was so warm! He smelt good too, aside from the overlay of the water, he had a musk you couldn’t get enough of. His smell couldn’t be described in one word, not because you didn’t know many words but because it was a feeling.
You couldn’t explain why you saved him either. He was very heavy and much bigger than you, so it was a challenge to even haul him out of the water and back to your cave. But you couldn’t leave him—to die. You just couldn’t, and worst of all, you couldn’t express the mess in your mind. Most of it was things you didn’t know.
Indescribable with your mouth, lack of language and vocabulary has never made you more frustrated. You wanted to tell the man how he was making you feel, with something as simple as his presence.
Safe, your mind says, makes me feel safe.
And you haven’t felt safe in a very long time. Practically starved of it for years.
“These aren’t, they’re dangerous—and they can make you very sick, or even kill you.”
You gasp, swatting his hand. “Then, no touch!”
“If you eat it.” Steve clarifies, “only if you eat it.”
“Oh… no eat, okay. Safe berry?” You grab a little berry and hold it to his face, “smell good?”
A small smile crawls onto his lips as he gazes into your twinkling eyes. “Yes, thank you.”
Shyly, you nudge the fruit against his nose, then his lips. “Open… please?”
If he lets you feed him, it must mean he trusts you too, and that would be an accomplishment in your books. You’ve never seen a man like him, so very tall, wide—thick, sturdy. You couldn’t help but jump at the chance to please him. He struck the curiosity in you like a gold mine, you wanted to know everything—even things you didn’t understand.
And he did, his lips parting for your fingers to place the berry on his tongue. Anxiously, you wait for him to chew, and when he does, he makes a quiet hum.
With glee, you gather a handful and shove it into his face, “More!”
Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the fruit splatters on his face. He gently pushes you away, leaning back as you continue to try and stuff his mouth. “Ah—wait, phew.”
Once your small hands are pulled away, Steve tries to clean his face, but you appear once again. This time, with the wet rag from before.
“Clean?”
“Oh, I could—”
“No,” you cradle the cloth to your chest, frowning, “me, clean.”
And so, he lets you. As you shuffle close, you bring the rag to his face and start to wipe the smeared juices from his face. Similar to before when he woke up, you were cleaning him then too. The little fire you made didn’t provide much light, so you waited for the sun to rise to see his features. Only then did you notice the sand and dirt on his body. It was almost an automatic impluse to clean him.
Despite the peculiar circumstances, Steve finds a glimpse of bliss. With the little furrow on your forehead as you concentrate, your tongue poking out from your lips as you clean him. Careful and sweet, like a mate would tend to their own.
In your mind, that was what you were doing. Nurturing by nature, you act out the behaviours you’ve witnessed in the wilderness.
Oh, and you hope this man doesn’t have another person.
To have him in your sight, only to have him snatched away—you wouldn’t know how to cope.
“Okay, thank you.” Steve takes the rag from you and gives you a soft grin, a little indent in his cheek.
Tingles erupt in your belly, flutters like the butterfly wings you’ve admired.
Your fingers examine his face, pulling the flesh of his cheeks and stretching his lips. Observing his teeth and running your fingers over the edges, you even dip your finger in his mouth before he pushes you away.
“Miss—”
Tilting your head, you pinch his nose and trace the wrinkle between his thick eyebrows and finally land on his thick eyelashes. In awe, your touch turns as gentle as the gleam in your eyes, the tips of your digits brushing the thickness of his eyelashes. Nearly poking him in the eye, but Steve doesn’t protest. All too stunned and a little flustered over such a curious creature amazed by his own features.
Finally, you cup his chin. Leaning close to inspect his eyes.
At this short distance, Steve can see every detail of your face. With your breath fanning over his cheeks, he can count every mark on your skin, every dip, curve and swell. Every particular feature that combined, made the most exquisite profile.
Your view is different and narrowed on something specific. While Steve took in the aspects of your face, you’re exploring the endless pool that was his eyes.
A light blue speckled with hints of green. The blue that was softer than the sky in the early morning and the water of the falls—the green more vibrant than the leaves of the trees and berry bushes.
Blue and green just like your home. The forest, the planet.
You’re bewildered.
Did this man have the earth in his eyes? Because it sure looked like it.
You draw closer, gasping as the sun reflects in the whites—combined with the green and blue, this man surely housed your very forest, your world in his eyes.
That’s why when he turns away, you grumble.
His stern eyes are set on the entrance of the cave. Steve goes stiff, standing and shoving you behind him. He sweeps up his shield, the berries and mushrooms falling to his feet as a deer peers around the corner.
You leap up, racing after the animal but you trip and take a nasty tumble in the grass. Your head spins as you lie on the Earth, the cool blades tickling your skin as Steve’s concerned face appears.
“Are you okay?” He crouches beside you, big hands touching your leg, “you scraped your knee.”
“Animals always run away…” you sulk, “N-Never hurt them—but always leave.”
“They’re scared, just like you were when you first saw me.”
You squirm as he examines the fresh but surface-level wound, lightly touching the skin around it. “...Won’t hurt them.”
Steve lifts his gaze, chest feeling heavy as a sadness takes over your features. Painting you soft tints of blue and extreme loneliness, he can tell from your strange animal-like behaviour. The clothing, or lack of, the foraging, and the tiny cave behind him. Your vocabulary and grammar weren’t the best, and your face was very expressive.
Looking down at you, dazing into the blue sky with child-like innocence and mumbling to yourself, he can practically hear his heart soaring.
You blink slowly, the corners of your lips turning downward. The sunshine casts a warm glow on your skin, the dark green of the forest trees mirroring in the whites of your eyes. Your neck tenses as you gulp, and Steve’s stare trails down your collarbones to your chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath.
“Steve? Okay?”
He inhales, nodding. He bends your knee, watching you for your reaction. “How does this feel?”
“Will heal—but warm. Steve warm.”
The man almost loses himself in your tender touch as you caress his jaw, tracing up and to his ear. You lightly tug it.
“Me—cold, feel?”
He never feels cold or chilly anymore and when he shivers, it’s because of heat streaming through his veins. A red spreading across his cheeks as your fingers ghost to his neck, pressing into a specific spot.
“Mark not here—” you note, excitement and promise planting in your heart, “—so, free?”
“What?” His voice is breathy.
“Steve have no mate…”
Mate? “I, uh, I’m not in a relationship.”
You perk up, your pretty lips stretched in a relieved smile. “Alone—I alone too.”
Steve knew that, and he wanted to know more. You were a person stripped of all things related to the outside world, rooted in animal instincts, untamed and wild. But, harmless for the most part. Clumsy, like a fawn—like Bambi—if your fumble had anything to do with it, gentle but all-embracing.
An odd, mystically gifted Bambi.
Compared to when he first saw you yesterday, terrified and shrinking into yourself as to disappear, today, you were vibrantly different.
In the best, and most fascinating way.
Wanda said you remembered her, yet you didn’t remember your name. You don’t know your abilities, and from that, you’re unaware of the power you possess. Steve knew a mystery when he saw one, and you were the most intriguing, and beautiful one he’s ever come across.
“Be alone—together?”
That night, he falls asleep telling you about his life. You, the ever-vigilant listener, hang on every word of his. And, tucked into Steve’s arms, you receive the long-overdue taste of touch that you’ve been so mercilessly starved of.
Steve thought it was a little strange to intimately hold you like this.
“Steve warm… Feel so cold, s-so cold…”
But, how could he deny someone so pure, and clearly in need of affection and contact? Especially, when you looked at him like that.
It’s the next day, and for someone who doesn’t need much sleep—Steve found it challenging to wake up. Not wanting to leave the comfort of your little cave. So, for hours, he lay there on the ground with you on top of him like a heavy weighted blanket. It gave him time to think and to process the whirlwind of the previous days. Most importantly, he anxiously waited until the rest of the team found him. He knew they were coming, but when was the question.
While his brain was running a mile a minute, you were snoring and drooling as you slept the day away.
Now, the two of you were venturing into the forest for some more food. You had finished the berries last night and maybe there were a few purple and red stains on Steve’s white tank top now.
The sun has already begun to set. Hiding behind the layers of trees and pine, dark shadows bleeding over the solid dirt and grass.
Steve watches the little creature hop about, ducking into a small bush before popping out again. Its nose wiggles and he tightens his grip on the pocketknife. He’s crouched low to the ground, senses honed on the rabbit, everything else fading into a single mass.
That’s why he falls flat on his ass when you jump in front of him, the sudden movement causing the rabbit to run away.
You hiss at the man, snatching the blade from his hand and using it to cut the branch of a berry bush. Adding it to his cowl around your wrist, the helmet acting as a basket.
“No killing. Ever.” You’re frowning at him with such distaste that Steve is shocked.
You growl softly, pushing him aside, but the blond doesn’t move. Looking up at him with a scowl, you huff, “move.”
Still surprised over your abrupt change in behaviour, Steve stumbles backwards.
You spot the small dead wilted flower that was squashed under Steve’s weight. Peeking up at him from your knees, you pat the ground. “Watch? Can show—try to show.”
After you pick up the flower, the speckles flow from your hands like gentle wisps, soft shimmering and golden.
The once limp flower straightens before his eyes, the stem turning a healthy green and the vibrancy spreading to the petals. The veins under your skin glow, the energy blooming and entwining with the open air. It performs an artistic dance before his face, enchanting and vaguely reminding him of Wanda’s abilities.
Steve reaches out, touching one of the sparkles, flinching when it turns brighter and brighter, until burning out. His eyes drop to your hand, cradling the lively plant as you breathe heavily.
“C-Can do only—little things.”
He remembers the blooming flowers in the cave. Away from sunlight, water and rich soil. They wouldn’t survive there in those circumstances, and he knows you had something to do with it. He isn’t sure what it is but Steve’s resolve is unbreakable.
Dark and wilted to brilliant existence.
“How?” Steve murmurs.
He stares at the flower as if it were going to morph back—to its broken stem and squashed petals, but it doesn’t. Death to life. As if he’s strung back in time, he’s standing alongside Wanda and Clint with Bucky’s voice playing in his ear, his vision locked on your feet as the grass turns brown and withers under your touch. Life to death.
You tuck the flower with the berries in his cowl, then blink up at him. “Don’t remember…”
You couldn’t tell him because you didn’t know. There are forms of knowledge in your mind, unrecognizable yet familiar, in muted shades and structures you couldn’t distinguish.
Steve goes through an array of emotions, so fast he can barely process them. Thrilling revelation to ephemeral fear and finally, landing on speechless fascination. His mind and heart are speaking at the same time, altering volumes, chanting about your concealed potential, and the birth of your abilities. You, a giver and taker of life.
“Did bird once—broken wing but got so tired after… slept until sun almost came down.”
You sway to the side, your body slumping into Steve’s. Immediately, you curl in his warmth, humming. It’s concerning how much energy that small plant took from you, and worries Steve. Then, you yawn and start wiggling into his lap, murmuring his name until your eyes snap open again.
“Bugs!”
Traversing through the forest, over overgrown roots and between trees, of thick pine and redwood. You warn him about the wolf’s den a few miles away. You babble on about the different places you wish to show him–a little garden you care for, the tallest hill that overlooks the entire woodland and your favourite stream where the frogs and other small creatures come out to play–you call it.
Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell you he probably won’t get to see any of those places.
You also mention your current cave being your favourite. When he asks what you mean, you only shrug.
Truth be told, he’s still unable to grasp that he’s following a random wild woman in the woods.
“Shh,” you shush him, eyes locked on the pond below you, it’s covered in duckweed, water lilies, and algae. The sun inches lower, settling on the horizon and the final ray cusps over the tree line. Another inch and you’re thrust into the shadows. Steve’s eyes adjust to the darkness, making out your features slightly.
The crickets ring in his ears, blending into the surrounding sounds of the wilderness. The smell of the freshwater tingles his nose. A cool chill brushes over his skin, and he sees you shiver.
“Cold?” A part of him feels stupid for asking when the answer is so obvious.
You nod, the top of Steve’s suit hanging off your frame. He lifts his arm, about to pull you close to share some of his body heat, but you’re already on him. Tucking yourself under his chin and rubbing your face in his chest. The cold of your hands seeps through his shirt as you feel over his torso, fingers dipping into his belt.
“Uh—”
“Shh!”
Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he follows your gaze.
Speckles of green and yellow erupt from the surroundings, flickering and flying. Buzzing over the still water of the pond, weaving through the tall reeds and shrubs. Steve chuckles dreamily. “It’s beaut—”
“Shhh!” You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him. “Shy bugs… will go a-away if too loud. Just watch.” Your face is enriched by the flare of the fireflies, their flickers playing on your skin.
The man nods silently, waiting for you to remove your hand. Once you do, your touch trails down his neck again, lightly petting over that clear spot on his skin. You purr softly before burrowing into his body again, peering at the pond to watch the insects flit.
They grace the air with their glow like little suns that can fit in the palm of Steve’s hand.
He opens his mouth to speak again but you glare up at him. So, he returns his gaze to the pond. Taking a deep breath and allowing the smell to seep into his lungs, the delicate burn of the fireflies hypnotize him with their motions.
Steve has seen war, death and loss. He’s seen victories and failures and experienced heartache and joy.
But, he has never just been still.
The realization strikes him like a collapsing skyscraper. His arms tense around your body, pulling you closer.
Your distant sigh harmonizes with the crickets and nature, playing in the back of his mind as his life flashes before his eyes.
Face-paced images of loneliness, delight and fame. Glory draped in opportunities, becoming Captain America and joining the army. Finding and fighting alongside his best friend—he hopes Bucky was okay.
“Steve watch…” you murmur barely above a whisper, “still—just still.”
He nods, fading into your lingering touch as his mind scans through his memories like a photo album. Pages of experiences, from the beginning of the Avengers in New York, to Washington and meeting Sam and finding Bucky ultimately leading to the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., to Ultron and finding the twins and the creation of Vision. And lastly, before the rest of the blank pages, is now.
Currently, the Avengers operate as a private organization—helping when they can and where they can, still taking down enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D.
All of that, in the span of three years.
There was good in them that surpassed the bad. His friends, his experiences, and the changes he’s made in the world for the better.
But, the concept of time is what bugged him the most. Snapshots of moments that were once the present, some have since lost their vibrancy and become dull and faded. He did feel like he was out of time–as if he lost all opportunities to be who he was destined to be. Perhaps destiny was never that important anyway. Or, fate had it be that he ended up here—seventy years still, frozen, to wind up in the twenty-first century.
“Steve…” you breathe, a gentle smile on your lips. There’s a firefly on your finger, it flutters its wings, hoping to Steve’s bicep before flying off. You gleam up at him, “...never t-touch one before.”
Moments that have since become memories, unable to be relived.
Fleeted instances that have escaped from his grasp.
“Steve touch one—before?”
Steve was convinced he had lost the chance to live his own life in his own time—but now looking at you. As the wind blows against your skin, fireflies dance around you, their glow highlighting the prominent points of your face and reflecting in the whites of your eyes. Steve thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful, pure, untouched.
Someone so out of touch—affection and warmth—yet right in his arms.
He’s about to respond, but his ears pick up familiar voices. Faint enough to make him wonder if it was just the forest playing tricks, and then, he sees them.
Over your shoulder, between the trunks and branches of the trees are some of the team, holding flashlights or devices as they manoeuvre the uneven terrain.
He almost rejoices right then and there, but you keep a firm grip on his arm and try to yank him in the opposite direction.
“Wait—”
“Hurt… stay away,” your voice is hushed, as are your careful footsteps, wary of sticks and crunchy leaves.
Steve doesn’t let you pull him any further. Planting his feet in the ground while you struggle and become more frantic, wide-eyed glowing with panic. You go rigid as the voices draw closer as if surrounding the two of you.
“Need to go, now.” You plea, ducking as a light flashes in your direction.
“That’s my team, they’re looking for me.” The blond hears a voice, I’ve got heat signatures, one of them is well over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the other is quite low.
“Steve?” One of them calls.
The man stares down at you, as you shiver and tremble in his suit top. Your bottom lip quivers between you bite down on it harshly, urgency in your eyes, he can practically feel the nerves radiating from your body.
He opens his mouth but you slap your hand over it. You whine softly. “S-Steve… no.” Tears pool in your eyes as you desperately shake your head, “Don’t tell,” you beg, fingers digging into his forearm. “Please—will take me away, hurt.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Steve promises, cupping your jaw. His heart flutters when you burrow into his chest, whimpering. “And, they’re good people. They’ll help you.”
He doesn’t know how you’ve survived this long or how much luck was on your side–but he doesn’t want to find out.
He wasn’t staying in the forest another night, and neither were you.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, each silent cry coming from your sealed lips adding another ton to the weight on his shoulders. He combs his fingers through your hair, keeping a firm grip around your squirming body.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He says again for the tenth time, hoping it’s spoken into existence. “You’re okay, Bambi.”
You just shake your head, huddled into his chest with a blanket wrapped around your shoulder. The jet shakes, causing you to whine. Steve just presses you closer, ignoring the inquisitive glances from his friends.
He does feel terrible for tearing you away from your cave, your forest, but he couldn’t leave you out there. Even if you did dash away when his friends spotted the two of you.
“Let her go,” Steve commands.
Clint lowers his bow, standing next to Natasha and one of Tony’s drones. The flashlight on the robot’s chest shines in Steve’s eyes.
“Well, you weren’t lying about the nymph,” Tony’s voice emits from a drone, it whirrs softly as it turns in the direction you ran in. “I’ve got a track on her. She’s heading straight up North. Fast little thing too.”
They had shown up at your little cave. Steve’s heart aches awfully as he remembers your quiet sobs from your nest, buried under the old clothes and his suit top.
You hear him step onto the rocky ground and perk up with so much hope in your eyes. “Steve—”
“Hi, Bambi.” The name escapes his mouth before he could even think.
“Bambi?” You tilt your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You’ve never felt this happy before–you could scream. He came back, Steve found you!
“Oh–” he blushes, knowing fully that his friends were listening to everything, “Can I call you that?”
You nod quickly. “Yes! Steve—stay?” You point to your nest, “make bigger for Steve… uh…com-for-ble. Comfort… make comfort for Steve. Soft.”
A little pout plays in your lips when he doesn’t move any closer, just lingering by the wide entrance. “Stay…with Bambi.” You whisper, testing the new word on your tongue. You repeat it again and again.
Each time you say it, another nail is hammered into Steve’s chest. Pinning the guilt and sorrow from tearing you away from your little cave.
“I’m sorry, Bambi.”
“For—what?” You ask innocently, “Steve… Steve stay?”
“I’m sorry, Bambi,” Steve says again, keeping you tucked snug in the blanket. He hopes they arrive in New York soon. “I’m so sorry.”
He is a good man, and you deserved good—you deserved great. And, he was going to give it to you, and if it meant taking you away—he had to. He can only hope you’ll understand.
𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and here it is! the long-awaited feral!reader au !! I’ve had the ending planned for this series way before I started actually writing it, the next chapter will be the final part. hehe reader definitely has a secret :)
I'm always open for your thoughts/feedback ! I hope you all enjoyed !!
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if i had a nickel for every time guillermo del toro directed a scene where an offputting freak takes their brother's young, vivacious girlfriend to the park and uses butterflies as a means of flirting with her, i'd only have two nickels, but it's weird that it's happened twice