STUCK IN YOUR HEAD - COWORKER!BUCKY X READER - 1.5K WORDS - welcome to the hidden fics
Inspired by Pancakes for Dinner by the queen, Lizzy McAlpine.
You had this cute little mint green spiral notebook. It had lined pages, a gold colored spiral, and it was with you often. After anything happened that made your wheels turn, you would write poems in it. It helped you process things, helped you reset. It was lovely. And you liked writing the poems, even if you had never felt like you’d ever do anything with them.
Often, Bucky was the subject of your poems. Your charismatic friend who happened to be your coworker. His cocoa powder colored hair, striking eyes, the quirk in his lips when he smirked at you—he was gorgeous. Bucky was a gorgeous man. But more important than his obvious beauty was the way he treated you. Bucky was naturally a little flirty, of course, but he never made you feel like you were too much, too loud, too quiet or too shy, you were just right. His Goldilocks, maybe. He never let you apologize for being happy or excited about something.
You felt like such a teenager around him. Sure, you weren’t far away at all from your teenager days, but…he gave you genuine butterflies. Real flutters in the pit of your stomach. And your face went warm when he texted, or made a flirty comment. And it was just Bucky, you know? It was Bucky being Bucky and you knew that… right?
You were on a work trip to California for a few days, and now, after a terrible day at the airport, were on your flight home. You had your phone and your notebook in your lap, a pen tucked inside the spiral. The plane took off and you put in your earbuds, listening to the music and looking out the window. Then, the plane began to shake. It startled you, and you looked up at the stewardess. “Just a bit of turbulence,” she assured with a quick smile. You nodded, and went back to looking out the window.
You weren’t worried. Maybe a subconscious part of you was. But you didn’t feel fear, you just felt inspiration. And you opened up your notebook and began to write.
Don't wanna be forward
Don't wanna cross a line
But if I were to crash in this plane tonight
I'd want you to know this
Don't wanna say too much
Intrude on your space
But if I were to crash and I never made it home
I'd want you to know this
You tapped your pen against your lips, thinking. And then, you just decided to go for it. You put your pen against the paper, and allowed the angst and cliche to fly away from you.
And to tell you is too scary
So I'll just say something else
And I wish that you could hear me
When I talk to myself
But this plane might not land safely
So, what the hell do I have to lose
If I just tell you?
You paused. What was next? What did you want to say? And then it came to you. What did you really want from Bucky? Sure, you were positive you were absolutely in love with him, but were you just blindly idolizing him, or was there something that you wanted?
Yes. Yes, there was.
I wanna eat pancakes for dinner
I wanna get stuck in your head
I wanna watch a T.V. show together
And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed
I wanna go out on the weekends
I wanna dress up just to get undressed
I think that I should probably tell you this
In case there is an accident
And I never see you again
So please save all your questions for the end
And maybe I'll be brave enough by then
You went back to the office the next day. You wrote notes on the presentation your boss gave and let Bucky doodle little stars on the corners of your notes. Before he met you, he only knew how to draw six point stars, but he’d always wanted to draw five point stars. When he’d told you this a year ago, you’d grinned and laughed and said you’d be happy to show him. And when he gets bored in meetings now, he gently puts a finger on your paper and you slide it a little further out, and he draws five points stars in the margins over and over until he draws one he’s happy with, which he fills in. It’s adorable. You’ve grown to love the little stars.
Your boss calls you to talk with you privately, and Bucky pulls your binder—which your note taking paper and notebook sit on—closer so that he can focus on his stars. Which is when the notebook catches his eye. It’s open. Sometimes, you liked to reread your poems while you were waiting for your boss to show up—you would make little edits, or you would just enjoy what you’d written. Normally, Bucky respected your space, but the title caught his attention. Pancakes for Dinner.
Don't wanna say something wrong
Don't wanna be weird
But if you're still in love with her
I think that I'll leave it there
And I won't ever tell you this
Oh, 'cause to tell you is too scary
So I'll just say something else
Like how was fall semester?
And what was that song about?
I'll try to hide the way I feel
But I'll just wanna shout
What do I have to lose right now?
I wanna eat pancakes for dinner
I wanna get stuck in your head
I wanna watch a T.V. show together
And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed
I wanna go out on the weekends
I wanna dress up just to get undressed
I think that I should probably tell you this
In case there is an accident
And I never see you again
So please save all your questions for the end
And maybe I'll be brave enough by then
Well, maybe I won't ever say what's in my head
No, I won't have to say anything
You'll say it instead
The poem makes Bucky tilt his head. It’s…cute. Sweet. Ridiculously soft and romanticizing of mundane moments. You.
When you get back and see him reading, your face pales. “What are you doing?”
Bucky sits up automatically, and begins profusely apologizing. “I’m really sorry, it was right there, and no, I shouldn’t have been reading it and I’m really sorry but I saw the title and I love pancakes for dinner, it’s delicious and stupidly underrated and I’m sick of people saying waffles are better and I’m really sorry and I shouldn’t have been reading it and—”
You cut him off, even though his rambling is adorable. “It’s okay, Buck. Just…ask next time, okay?”
Bucky nods. “Yeah, okay.”
You purse your lips and nod too. “Okay.”
“Are you…are you seeing someone?” Bucky blurts, and you look up at him, startled. “It just sounded like…you were maybe into someone.”
Yes, you, you stumbling twit. “I…can we talk about it later?” you ask, and he nods.
“Sorry.”
You go home that evening without resuming the conversation. And at night, when you’re in your pajamas on your couch, watching some television, your phone rings. You see that it’s Bucky, and you pick up. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” You ask, pausing your show.
“I don’t know what your poem was about and yes, I’m very sorry that I read it because it was intruding on your privacy, but I’m also not sorry that I read it because it was an amazing poem, and god, I shouldn’t be doing any of this, but I’ve had a shot, so it’s okay,” Bucky rambles. “Listen. I don’t know who it’s about, but it’s a lucky guy, okay? And if you like someone, you should tell them, because technically, anything bad could happen at any moment to either one of you, and I think married people live longer than single people anyway.”
“Wow, that’s…that was a lot,” you say. “Um…okay…I mean, I really like you, Bucky, and I don’t wanna screw anything up by telling you this, but—”
“Wait, so the poem was about me?”
“Well, yes—”
“YES!! I was hoping for it!! Yess!! Okay, I’m sorry, please continue, I’m listening.”
You laugh. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”
You can feel his smile through his voice. “Yeah.”
“I do really like you, Barnes.”
“Do you know how awesome that is?”
You grin at his excitement. “You’re adorable.”
“Why thank you,” Bucky replies. “I do my best, y’know? But you’re pretty tough competition since you’re so cute yourself.”
You laugh. “Flirty as usual.”
“Did you seriously not think that there was a reason for that?” Bucky asks.
“I just kinda thought that you flirted with everybody a little bit,” you shrug, even though you know he can’t see you.
“Well, I don’t,” Bucky says. “I just flirt with you, because I like you very much. Now, I was wondering…do you wanna come over tomorrow? We could have, uh, maybe some pancakes for dinner?”
You laugh at his cheesy pick-up. “Hell yes. I’m there.”
TRY ON - SAM WILSON X READER - 0.7K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
You sat down on the couch in the living room of the Avengers Tower with a sigh, leaning your back into the luscious (and expensive) cushions. Sam looked up from his phone at you. “What’s this all about?”
“I wanna go clothes shopping but I can’t find anyone to go with me,” you said. “Wanda and Nat are busy, and I don’t like going by myself.”
“I’ll take you,” Sam offered immediately. Were you dating? No. Did he like clothes shopping? Certainly, sometimes. But did he like you quite a lot and not want you to be sad by yourself on the couch? Yes.
“Really?” You asked, a little skeptical at the offer.
“Whatcha makin’ that face for? I said I’ll take you,” Sam chuckled. “C’mon.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. You took it and stood up as well. “Where do you wanna go shopping?”
“Uh… we could go to the mall?”
This was how you ended up in the passenger seat of Sam’s car, driving to the mall. You thought it was cute how he’d immediately offered to take you when he heard you wanted to go. Sam kept his eyes on the road, but when he had to stop the car, he didn’t stop himself from glancing over at you occasionally.
When you arrived at the mall, it was slightly awkward at first. You had never done something like this with Sam before. But it very quickly turned into a playful event. “Sammm,” you called out, and then pulled out a cream cropped crochet sweater with a red star on it.
Sam whistled. “We’re doing that one.” He held out his arm for you, which was already covered in hangers, and you hung the sweater on it. “They got flare jeans over there,” he pointed.
“Ooh!” you walked over and started flipping through them. “You got a good eye, Sam, this stuff is niiiice.”
Sam chuckled and helped you keep looking. Then, you got a changing room. You tried on every article of clothing you’d found together, and showed him how it looked. You stepped out of the changing room in the crochet sweater, a red spaghetti strap tank top, and the flare jeans. Sam began clapping very slowly, then sped up. “Yes! That looks great.” He gave you a high five, and you retreated back into the changing room.
“You’re a good boyfriend,” an employee commented to Sam with a wide smile.
Sam chuckled awkwardly. “Oh, uh, thanks. We’re not dating, though.”
The employee’s eyebrows raised. “Oh, alright.”
You returned in a jean dress, and Sam’s eyes lit up. “I think that one’s awesome, fits great on you.”
You did a cute little fist pump/victory dance with your arms, and Sam grinned. You pointed at him as you went back into the changing room. “We are having a good shopping day.”
“That we are,” Sam smiled. The changing room door closed.
The employee said quietly, “you said you’re not dating, right?”
Sam scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Uh, yeah–”
“That’s gotta be a ‘yet’ situation,” the employee chuckled and walked away.
Well. It seemed that Sam was being extremely obvious that he liked you. Perhaps that meant that you would figure it out too.
After a couple hours of shopping, you and Sam went home, bags in hand. “Dude, that was so fun,” you said on the car ride back.
“Yeah?” Sam asked with a grin.
“Definitely. I think we found some awesome stuff.”
“Sure did,” Sam said. There was a pause. Then, “So… you tried on a lot of stuff today.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was thinkin’ that maybe you could try something else today, too.”
“What’s that?”
“Me?” Sam asked. “I had a great time out with you today and I, uh, I really do like you, so I was wondering if you’d wanna go out with me.”
A look of surprise appeared on your face. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.” Sam answered, trying to stay calm and confident, even though the question made him nervous.
the hidden fics masterlist
SOULMATES - PETER PARKER X READER
UNDERCOVER - STEVE ROGERS X READER
MISSION - STEVE ROGERS X READER
PANCAKES - BUCKY BARNES X READER
1941 - BUCKY BARNES X READER
STUCK IN YOUR HEAD - BUCKY BARNES X READER
JAIL TIME - YOUNG!TONY X READER
SAFE HOUSE - JOHN WALKER X GN!READER
TRY ON - SAM WILSON X READER
1941 - SOLDIER!BUCKY X READER - 3K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
You first met Bucky when you were fifteen years old. Well, perhaps met isn’t the correct word. You saw him for the first time when you were fifteen years old at a fair. He was maybe sixteen years old, a little gangly and boyish looking, but certainly handsome, and he caught your eye. There was only one issue. He was on a date.
You’d gone to the fair with some friends, but as you waited outside of the bathroom for them to come out, you watched as Bucky won a stuffed bear for some lucky girl who gave him a kiss on the cheek. You felt a bit jealous—maybe because you didn’t have a boyfriend, maybe because Bucky seemed cute and had he not been out with the girl, there was a chance you would’ve gone up to him (yeah right), or maybe a bit of both. Whatever the reason, you tried to brush it off, and went back to hanging out with your friends when they returned.
A couple of years later, you saw Bucky again. It was at a small, local diner. When you realized he was the boy from the fair, you couldn’t believe that it was him again. He’d grown up a little, like you, and it seemed to make him even more attractive over time. There was a distinct difference between the boy you’d caught a glimpse of at the fair, though. Bucky looked… sad. Bored. Annoyed. Not joyful, as he’d been at the fair. You noticed he was sitting next to a friend of his who had a girlfriend. Ah, third wheeling. Not something you were a stranger to either.
Bucky gave you that small head nod, the one you give strangers you’d like to know or acquaintances you wish you didn’t. You nodded back. He came over and sat next to you. You simply could not believe your luck. “What’s your name?” Bucky asked casually.
“Y/N,” you informed. “Yours?”
“James,” he answered politely. “Friends call me Bucky.”
“Which group do you want me in?”
“You can call me Bucky.”
“Whatcha up to, Bucky?” you asked with a soft smile, your hands gently wrapping around your Coca-cola, not sure where else to put them.
“I’m sittin’ next to a pretty girl,” Bucky answered with a soft grin and you laughed.
“Charming.”
“Is it?” Bucky challenged, a mischievous glint in his eye, and that was when you really felt yourself fall for him.
The two of you talked for hours. And even though Bucky didn’t really have all that much money, he acted like he had enough to spare to pay for your drink. Eventually, you’d been conversing for so long that his friends, who he’d originally been third-wheeling with, walked over to tell him that it was time for them all to go home. You gave Bucky your phone number. He smiled and said, “I’ll call you.” But he felt a pang in his chest knowing that he couldn’t, and so he wouldn’t, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you.
Bucky had lost his parents when he was ten. Luckily, his father’s army buddies had taken in him and his sister and raised them both on the army base. Bucky didn’t have a phone, though, and he didn’t have a way to call you. He also didn’t have money—he did what he was told to do at the army base, and he did his schoolwork, and he wasn’t working anywhere to make the money. In short, Bucky was broke, and lacking a telephone. But when he got home that night, he stared at the piece of paper you’d given him, traced the pads of his fingers over the ink, imprinting your handwriting in his brain, memorizing the number he’d never get to dial.
You waited for weeks for Bucky to call. You made excuses upon excuses for the lack of response. But eventually, you gave up. Sure, he’d been wonderful to talk to, and you definitely had some feelings for him. But if he didn’t call, he didn’t call, and there was no need to get your hopes up any longer. It still hurt though, and you felt the small bruise on your heart.
You saw Bucky again, for the third time, not much later. He was out with a friend of his and two girls, all done up in his uniform. It stung a little, even though you knew it shouldn’t have. You wanted to go up to him, but… he was the boy that never called. What was the point?
Instead, it was Bucky that walked up to you. “Y/N?” Bucky asked, a sad smile on his lips.
“How do you remember my name?” you asked, confused.
Bucky chuckled a little awkwardly to himself. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”
“I’m hard to forget, but easy not to call?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could catch yourself. But there wasn’t malice in them. It felt almost… disheartened. Disappointed.
“I…I should’ve told you, I’m sorry,” Bucky said with a soft sigh, looking regretful. “I don’t have a phone. I lived on an army base with a bunch of my dad’s old army buddies, and I didn’t have money, and I couldn’t call you. So I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, a little disbelieving, but you nodded. “Okay. That’s alright, I get it.”
Bucky smirked slightly. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
You cracked a smile. “No, I don’t.”
“Well, not to crush the mood or whatever, but uh…” Bucky scratched his neck. “My parents died when I was ten, so my dad’s buddies took me and my sister in. Taught us soldier values and things. Makes me good at it, so I decided to do it for real.” He gestured to his outfit.
“Oh, God… I’m sorry,” you said, immediately feeling bad.
“It’s fine. Don’t apologize. You got no reason to,” Bucky said kindly. He was clearly used to hearing this kind of thing. “Anyway, I, uh… I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. Listen, I’d love to get to know you better, I really liked talking to you when we first met, and if… if you give me your address, I’ll write you a letter. I can give you mine.”
“What about those girls over there?” You asked, skeptical.
“Oh, I invited them out trying to set my friend up. They’re not horrible, not special either. I don’t really know them. But I like you.”
Maybe it was that you couldn’t resist him. Maybe it was that your internal compass always directed you to paths that often got you hurt. Whatever the reason, you wrote down your address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Bucky, who gave you his address.
“I’ll write you!” Bucky promised with a smile as he left.
You smiled at him, and gave a small wave goodbye. “Good luck!”
Despite all of your hesitations and skepticism, a letter from Bucky did in fact come—even sooner than you’d anticipated.
Dear Y/N,
I didn’t think I’d actually get a chance to write this. Not because I didn’t want to—I did. I really did. But the truth is, things here move fast and slow all at once. It’s strange. Some days feel like they never end, and others go by before I can even think about what happened. Still, you’ve been on my mind. More than I probably should admit, considering how little time we’ve actually spent together. But you left an impression. A real one.
Right now, I’m at a base somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t tell you where exactly, even if I wanted to. Just endless trees, mud, and the sound of boots hitting the ground at five a.m. every morning. We wake up before the sun’s out, and by the time it sets, I’m usually too tired to think. My hands are always sore, and my back’s been aching like I’m an old man, but I guess that means I’m doing it right.
We’ve been doing a lot of drills—marching, formations, weapons training. They’re tough on us, but not unfair. I get why they do it. They’re trying to make sure we’re ready. Trying to make us solid. I try to keep my head down, work hard, do what I’m told. But at night, when it’s quiet, my thoughts drift, and that’s usually when I think of you. I remember how your hands wrapped around your drink, how you smiled when I called you pretty. I wasn’t lying, you know. You really are.
I share a tent with three other guys—Rossi snores like a freight train, Jenkins talks in his sleep (it’s honestly concerning), and Mack’s got this laugh that could probably scare off the enemy. They're alright, though. We look out for each other. Makes it a little easier.
Food’s not much to write home about—beans, bread, and coffee so strong it could probably take the rust off a tank. But I’d trade a week of rations for a soda at that diner with you again.
I guess I just wanted to say I’m still here. Still thinking about you. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope things are steady where you are, and that life’s treating you a little more kindly than it is me lately. If you feel like it, I’d love to hear from you. Just anything, really. What you’re up to. What books you’re reading. What songs are stuck in your head. Even just how the weather is back home.
Anyway, I should wrap this up. Lights out soon, and I’m hoping to fall asleep before Rossi starts up his nightly chainsaw impression. Be safe, Y/N. Take care of yourself. And write back if you can—I’d like that more than you know.
Yours,Bucky
Soon, you were writing letters back and forth to each other constantly. Almost every single day, you sent Bucky a letter, Monday through Saturday (no post on Sundays). And it was the highlight of your day when you got one back from him. He tried his best to write you as frequently as possible—his handwriting wasn’t the best, and he was often exhausted. Rossi and Mack teased him for it, but Jenkins would just shake his head and say, “c’mon, guys,” and Rossi and Mack would laugh and move on to something else. But it was worth it, to Bucky. It was worth it for you.
Dear Y/N,
I got your letter this morning — the one where you described the rain hitting your window like it was trying to get in. You’ve got a way with words, you know that? I could almost hear it. Almost felt like I was there, sitting next to you with a blanket over our legs and a mug of something warm between us. Sounds stupid, but that’s what your letters do to me. They make me feel like I’m somewhere else — somewhere better.
It’s been a rough week here. More drills, more mud, more yelling from guys whose voices never seem to crack or run out. I think I pulled something in my shoulder the other day during rifle practice — nothing bad, don’t worry — but it’s been aching something fierce. Mack offered to “pop it back in place,” and I had to remind him that he’s not a damn doctor. Rossi just laughed and said it was karma for all the times I beat him in sparring. He’s not wrong.
The letters from you? They’re the best part of my day. Every time one shows up, I hide away for a bit and read it in peace, sometimes twice if I’ve got the time. I keep ‘em folded in my jacket pocket, even though they’re starting to wear at the edges. Jenkins caught me smiling while reading one the other night and said, “That girl must write poetry or cast spells or something.” I told him maybe it’s a little of both.
You asked me in your last letter if I ever get scared. I wasn’t gonna answer, but I figure if there’s anyone I’ll be honest with, it’s you. Yeah. Sometimes I do. Not of the work or the fighting or the noise. I can handle that. What scares me is the thought of going through all this and not making it back to the things that matter — the little things. A real bed. Your laugh. The way you say my name like it’s a secret. I’m not saying I’ve figured it all out yet, but I know this: I want to come home and see where this thing between us goes. I think about that more than anything else lately.
Alright, enough of me getting all sentimental like some sap. I’m gonna try to get some sleep before we’re up again at dawn. Jenkins is already snoring — sounds like a train passing through gravel. But I’ll be dreaming of you anyway, so I guess it evens out.
Write soon, if you can. I’m always waiting.
Yours — maybe more than I should be,Bucky
But then they sent Bucky out to battle.
The letters became less frequent, maybe once a week instead of most days.
Then every two weeks, every three weeks, every month…
And soon, none at all.
You began to worry about him. You knew it was long, hard, gruelling, difficult work, and sending letters became more and more difficult, but… what if there was a reason they weren’t coming? What if he was hurt? Captured? Worst, dead? The intrusive thoughts crept into your brain, and they didn’t stop.
You’d started training to become a nurse shortly after Bucky had left for the war, and you had been waiting to tell him when you graduated. But soon, you’re thrust into working as a nurse, and your letters that you send him become less frequent. You lack the motivation as he hasn’t responded in almost a year.
It had been three years since Bucky first left. You were working in the hospital constantly. “We’ve got someone coming in!” A nurse rolled a man in on a wheelchair. His leg was in a cast, as was his arm. He had a black eye, bruises, scrapes, cuts, his hair was messy, a stubble growing, and yet, he was elated.
“Y/N!” Bucky called, grinning when he saw you. “Y/N!”
You ran over to him. “Oh… my God. What did you do to yourself? Bucky! Jesus, I missed you.” You carefully wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his cast-less arm around you, smiling widely, his eyes closed, content to be back. “I kept writing you, I didn’t know where you were…”
“A lot of places,” Bucky smiled softly. “Anyway, I’m done now, I’m a little beat up.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still resting on his shoulders, trying to take him in — all of him. His face had changed. Not in a bad way. Just… older. Harder in some places. Softer in others. His eyes still held that same glimmer, though — the one you remembered from that night in the diner.
“You’re really here,” you whispered, blinking fast. “You’re really here.”
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, smiling like he couldn’t believe it either. “In the flesh. All beat-up and stitched-together, but here.”
You laughed a little through the emotion rising in your throat, brushing your fingers over his hair, his cheek, just needing to make sure he was real. “You look like hell.”
“You should see the other guys,” he smirked, but then sobered, his brows drawing together as he looked at you — really looked at you. “You became a nurse.”
“I did,” you nodded slowly. “Started training right after you left. I was gonna tell you when I graduated, but… you stopped writing.”
Bucky’s smile faded, his expression falling into something deeper — guilt, pain, exhaustion. “I know. I’m sorry. I tried, I really did. They moved us around so much, sometimes in the middle of the night. There were times I didn’t even know where we were. I kept your letters in my pack, though. All of them. Even when I couldn’t answer.”
Your heart ached. “I thought you were dead.”
“I felt like I was, sometimes,” he said, voice low. “But I’d read your letters and remember I wasn’t. You kept me going, Y/N. Even when it got bad. Especially then.”
You blinked back more tears, your fingers brushing along the edge of his cast. “Are you done now? For good?”
“I am,” he nodded, a little breathless, like even saying it out loud made it feel more real. “They’re letting me heal up, and then… I don’t know. I was kind of hoping you’d help me figure that part out.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I can do that.”
Bucky reached up with his good hand, cupping the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. “You look exactly like I remembered.”
“You look like a raccoon who got into a bar fight.”
He laughed, that familiar, warm sound that made your chest tighten, and his eyes lit up. “Yeah? Still think I’m charming?”
You leaned in, forehead resting against his. “Yeah, Buck. Always did.”
And right there, in the middle of the hospital corridor — with the scent of antiseptic in the air and the chaos of nurses calling for help down the hall — you leaned forward and kissed him, right on his lips. You could feel him smile against yours, kissing you back. For the first time in years, you were in the same place. Whole, and home.
PANCAKES - BUCK BARNES X READER - 0.7K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
You lived in the Avengers Tower. You were on pretty good terms with everyone there—Steve was sweet, Sam made you laugh, Tony made you snicker, Natasha made you feel both safe yet threatened, Clint made you feel comfortable, Thor entertained you, and Bruce made you relax. There was only one person in the tower you had issues with.
Bucky.
It wasn’t even like there was anything wrong with him, he just never talked to you or interacted with you at all unless it was to get on your nerves. It drove you crazy.
You went into the kitchen to cook some pancakes. You’d had a craving for them for some reason, and had decided to make them. When you went to gather your ingredients, however, you found many of them on the top shelves of whatever cabinet they were in. Unfortunately, you couldn’t reach the top shelves.
Steve and Sam, while both being tall, liked to have things at a level they didn’t have to bend down to pick up, but they never put anything so high that you couldn’t reach it. Well, that was probably because Steve and Sam were decent, thoughtful people. So that just left Thor and Bucky. But Thor rarely used the kitchen—it perplexed him and he preferred not to use it, especially after that one time he nearly burnt the ceiling.
So you sighed, frustrated, got out the step stool, and carried it to all of the cabinets, getting the ingredients from high up one by one. When Bucky walked into the kitchen, he smirked. “Need any help?”
You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him. “No. Did you seriously put all of these up here?”
“It’s just autopilot!” Bucky argued with a relaxed shrug.
“Yeah, yeah,” you grabbed the container of salt and carried it down, stepping down from the two-step tall step stool.
“Damn, you’re short,” Bucky chuckled.
You glared daggers at him. “I’m not that short. You just put things so damn high up that nobody under six feet could reach it.”
“You ever notice how you only talk to me when I’ve done something that bothers you?” Bucky questioned.
You stilled for a half-second. “…it’s not like you talk to me otherwise, either.”
“I’m just making an observation.”
“Just… make it someplace else. I’m hungry, I’m gonna make my pancakes.”
You thought about what Bucky had said, though. About you never talking to him unless he’d pissed you off. And you decided to give him a shot.
So forty five minutes later, you walked into the living room and found him. “Hey, do you uhm… do you wanna have pancakes with me?”
Bucky looked up, surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
He followed you to the kitchen table and filled his plate up with pancakes. The conversation was a little uncomfortable at first, but you soon found a bit of common ground over different kinds of breakfast foods and chess. You were horrible at chess. He wasn’t all that much better. But you had found the game in the living room cabinet and pulled it out, playing it at the kitchen table with your sticky, syrup glazed plates. Since neither of you were particularly good at the game, that made it all the more fun. And you were beginning to realize that maybe Bucky wasn’t so bad.
Over the next few days, you found yourself talking to Bucky more often. You didn’t resent the sight of him every time you walked into a room. And the salt? It went back to the lower shelves in the cabinet. He was trying to do something nice for you. It made you smile. You never told him, but he knew.
One morning, when you woke up, you walked over to your mirror, as you did most mornings. A sticky note was on the surface. You pulled it off and read it.
Wanna go out somewhere maybe a little fancier than pancakes?
— Bucky
P.S. Yes, I am asking you out.
The note made you grin. So you walked over to your nightstand, pulled out a sticky note of your own, and wrote: “yes.”
UNDERCOVER - STEVE ROGERS X FEM!READER - 1.8K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
“Rogers! Y/L/N!” Nick Fury walked into the Avengers tower, calling both your name and Steve’s. You got up from where you were reading at the table, and Steve walked into the room. Tony snorted at how much more respectful you both were to Nick than he was. Nick shot Tony a look, and returned his attention to you. “I’ve got a mission for you both. It’s undercover, aliases, the whole ordeal.”
You nodded, and so did Steve. “What are the aliases?” you asked curiously. Steve glanced over at you, then looked back at Nick for him to answer the questions.
“You two will be posing as a young married couple at a gala. There’s a man who works at Hydra who has a good amount of intel, and he’s bringing his wife. Your best in will be to small talk the information out of them. Should be easier, considering there’s going to be a lot of champagne and probably other forms of alcohol,” Nick informed.
You felt like your eyes were going to pop out of your skull. Young married couple?? The thought already made you nervous. Acting like you were married to Steve… it sounded both like a dream come true and your worst nightmare. You had definitely developed a pretty big crush on him, which was going to make this easier, yet more difficult. And how were you supposed to focus if you kept concentrating on him and acting like you were married? Ughh, why did Nick have to give you this mission? Granted, you would’ve been jealous if he’d asked Natasha to pretend to be Steve’s wife, but you were nervous as hell.
Little did you know, Steve’s nerves were jumping off the walls of his insides as well. He adored you. He thought you were the cutest, most incredible human on earth, and he would love to pretend to be your husband for the night. His biggest fear was that something would accidentally slip out, and he’d end up confessing his feelings to you. And that? That was terrifying. What if you thought he was crazy and never wanted to be around him again? What if you felt uncomfortable dating a guy who was technically ninety-six? Of course, he still looked twenty-seven—he felt twenty-seven— but he was from a different time. Worst of all, what if you just didn’t like him, at all? Horrifying thought. Nope, no way he was going to confess to you. He was going to keep his mouth shut as much as he could possibly help, and hope that nothing slipped out while you two were on mission.
“Conveniently,” Nick continued, and you snapped out of your thoughts. “You, Steve, are physically impossible to get drunk. If he challenges you to a drinking contest, you do it. But keep an eye on how much he drinks. You want him loose-lipped enough to get some information out of him, but not so inebriated that nothing he says is coherent. Find the balance.”
Steve nodded in understanding, and Nick turned to you.
“You know as well as I do that wives often know more than they let on. If you can get his wife comfortable enough with you, I would see what information she has to offer. She might be a valuable asset,” Nick suggested.
“Sounds like a good idea,” you answered.
In the kitchen, Natasha leaned over to Tony and whispered, “what are the chances you think Fury’s putting them together to see if they’ll actually get over themselves and go on a damn date?”
Tony’s brows furrowed. “Fury? Really?”
Natasha shrugged.
“I mean, you or me I could definitely see doing that, but Fury? Man’s all business,” Tony said. “It’s annoying, actually.”
“Okay, sure, but a young married couple?” Natasha pointed out. She was still keeping her voice done. You and Steve weren’t terribly far from the kitchen as you listened to Nick explaining the details of the mission, and she didn’t want her conversation with Tony heard.
“Yeah, that’s a little suspicious,” Tony admitted. “It does work for the mission, though.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Natasha said, a hint of agitation seeping into her voice. “I’m just saying. I think that Fury’s put them together intentionally.”
“Do you wanna place some bets?” Tony offered.
“Ten bucks they get together, five bucks Fury chose this for them intentionally,” Natasha replied, crossing her arms across her chest.
“Deal.”
Tony shook Natasha’s hand.
— — —
Steve was dressed in a suit and you were wearing one of your favorite formal dresses. He was in the driver’s seat of the car, driving you both to the gala. “You ready for this?” he asked.
“Sure am,” you lied through your teeth, smiling at him.
Steve gave you his fist, and you fist bumped him. “Mr. and Mrs. Wright,” Steve said with a smile.
“That’s right,” you nodded.
“Or Wright,” Steve quipped and you started laughing at his cheesy joke. He grinned at you. “We’re gonna do this…” he said in sing-song as he pulled into the parking lot of the venue. “Remember, if you’ve got anything we need to talk about, you tap a glass three times and I’ll meet you in the resting room by the bathroom.”
You nodded in agreement. “Fancy. A resting room by the bathroom.”
Steve laughing. “Sure is.” He got out of the car and walked around to open your door. He held out his hand and helped you out of the car.
Once you were in the venue, you each got a drink and began to mingle around, looking for your targets. You tried to stay relatively close together, trying to act in a way that would make people think you were a newly married couple.
Steve nudged your arm slightly, nodding toward a small group gathered near the dance floor. Your target and his wife stood at the center, clearly enjoying the conversation.
“I’ve got an idea,” Steve said. Before you could ask, he was already leading you over, stopping just close enough to catch the attention of the man’s wife.
“Excuse me,” you said with a warm smile. “We’re new to these kinds of events—do you mind if we join you?”
Her face lit up with the kind of politeness that came with social etiquette. “Oh, of course! We were just talking about…”
And just like that, you were in.
— — —
Soon, you were talking to the target’s wife—her name was Amanda Jefferson—making small talk to get her more comfortable with you. “So, you’re newlyweds? That’s exciting,” Amanda grinned at you.
“Yes, we are,” you smiled.
“How long have you been married?”
“About eight months. He’s just…he’s amazing, I love him. He’s been a pretty consistent part of my life for almost five years now, and I just… I can’t picture life without him anymore.”
Amanda’s face softened. “I’m so happy for you.”
You grinned. “Thank you so much.”
Amanda took a sip of her wine, her smile faltering just slightly as she turned her glass in her hands. “That’s wonderful,” she said, her voice quieter now. “It’s nice to have that kind of certainty.”
You tilted your head. “You don’t sound convinced.”
She let out a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “No, no, it’s not that. I just—” She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. “It’s refreshing to hear someone talk about love like that. Like it’s… easy.”
You frowned. “Love isn’t always easy, but it should feel right, shouldn’t it?”
Amanda exhaled slowly, her gaze drifting to the other side of the room, where her husband stood, engaged in conversation with a group of people—none of whom were her. “I suppose so.”
You followed her gaze. “How long have you and Mr. Jefferson been married?”
“Six years.” Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. “Feels like longer.”
There was something almost weary in the way she said it. You watched as she glanced back at her husband again, her expression unreadable but distant, like she was seeing something—or someone—you couldn’t.
“Six years is a long time,” you said carefully. “But… that’s a good thing, right?”
Amanda’s lips pressed together in a thin, tired smile. “Sometimes.” She took another sip of wine. “And sometimes, it’s just… time.”
— — —
Meanwhile, Steve was having a drink with Mr. Jefferson, who seemed relaxed but ever so slightly calculating—like a man who never truly let his guard down.
“You seem like a man who appreciates the details,” Mr. Jefferson remarked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Steve gave a polite nod. “I try to be.”
Mr. Jefferson smirked. “Good. I respect that.” He set his glass down and adjusted his cuffs. “Actually, I think there’s something you might find interesting—some files I keep in my study. Would you care to take a look?”
Steve met his gaze evenly. “Lead the way.”
— — —
A couple hours later, you tapped your wine glass three times and gave Steve a look—he’d returned recently from looking at the files with Mr. Jefferson—and then walked to the resting room. A moment later, Steve excused himself, and joined you in the resting room, closing the door behind him. “Oh my God, she hates her husband!” you whispered to Steve. His eyes widened. “She told me a bunch of stuff,” you whispered. “Like the vault in—”
“The vault in Brooklyn!” Steve whisper shouted.
You grinned. “He was talking to you, too?”
“Well, he’s kind of drunk now, but I got to see a bunch of files. I memorized the code he put in,” Steve said, keeping his voice down still.
“Oh my God!” you whisper shouted back. Then you heard footsteps approaching, and someone was about to open the door. Shit. What if they found out what you and Steve were doing here? Suddenly, Steve cupped your face in his hands and kissed you. You were shocked but quickly fell into it, and then the door opened.
A man walked in. “Oh, sorry, guys. I’ll just… leave you alone.” And he left.
You turned to look back at Steve. He looked nervous. “I’m sorry, it was the first thing I came up with and—”
Before you could rethink your decision, you cupped his face with your hands and pulled him back to you, kissing him again. He immediately started kissing you back, his hands finding your waist and barely holding you there. He was tentative, careful. When you broke away, you said softly, “we should probably, uh, go back to work.”
Steve shrugged with a slight playful smile. “Eh. He’s drunk off his mind anyway.”
You smiled and he pulled you back, kissing you again. “So…” you said a moment later. “Should we go home…?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, looking at you affectionately. “And maybe…maybe I can take you on a real date tomorrow…?”
JAIL TIME - YOUNG!TONY X READER - 2.2K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
You were seething in the corner of the jail cell you were sitting in with Tony. Tony was laughing. You glared daggers at him. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t funny.”
Tony snorted. “Yes, it is. You’re too sweet to be angry.”
You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him. “Not true. I’m pissed as hell. You’re why we got into this goddamn mess.”
Tony just snickered.
“Maybe I should take up axe throwing,” you scowled at him. “Betcha Nat could teach me. Then I could throw one right through your face.”
This made Tony burst out laughing. You were clearly not practiced in threatening people. He’s a lot better at it than you are, but he’d never really wanna threaten you. Especially not right now. He had gotten you into this mess after all.
You groaned. “Just go away.”
“Well, we are kind of stuck,” Tony pointed out, giggling a little as he gestured to the jail cell surrounding the two of you. You pouted and slunk down to the floor, sitting down. “Look, I’m sorry,” Tony said, trying not to appear as amused as he was.
“Liar.”
— — —
TWO DAYS EARLIER
“Listen, we’ve got an important mission for you all,” Nick Fury informed the table. In front of him sat you, Tony, Steve, Nat, Thor, Clint, and Bruce. You were all between the ages of eighteen and nineteen, with the exception of Steve, who was technically sixty-nine, but had the knowledge and appearance of a twenty-one year old who had grown up in the 1920s and 1930s. It was weird as hell, but he was starting to get the hang of things here. “And I know you’re young—”
“Steve isn’t,” Nat chimed. The table chuckled and Nick rolled his eyes.
“---but we’ve decided to trust you,” Nick continued. “Don’t let this prove to be a mistake. Here are the mission details we can give you: this is an intel mission. We will be dividing you into three groups with three different objectives. Ideally, don’t tell each other about them. Just talk to your teammate, okay? But you have different objectives.”
The whole team nodded in understanding. It bothered Steve the most, but you understood the way S.H.I.E.L.D. worked, and this was the most up-front Fury had been with you ever.
“Alright. Team one, you’re Steve, Nat, and Clint. Thor and Bruce, I’ve got you for team two, and team three is you two,” Nick pointed at you and Tony. “Don’t make me regret trusting you, Tony.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tony nodded. “Did you seriously put Y/N with me to keep me in check?”
“I’m not babysitting him,” you clarified.
“I didn’t say that you were,” Nick replied, his tone calm.
“Okay, but you put her with Tony, who loves to go rogue, and she’s good at sticking to a plan, so…what kind of message is that supposed to send?” Nat argued back with him. You high-fived her, and she nodded her head at you, giving you a slight smile. The girls gotta stick together.
“It’s not supposed to send a message,” Nick said.
“It kind of does send one though,” Bruce said tentatively. Nat smirked.
“Okay, stop,” Nick held his hands up. “Maybe I paired them because I thought it would go better than Tony and Clint. It’s not that deep, do not read so far into it. Now. Tony and Y/N are on an intel mission. Steve, Nat, and Clint are on a rescue mission.Thor and Bruce, you’re gonna come in later. Alright.” Nick handed each of you a folder with the details you were allowed to know in it.
Tony turned to you and mock saluted. “Howdy, partner.” You snorted, and turned your eyes back to the paper to read over it. Tony grinned. He liked when he could make you laugh or smile at his antics. Steve hummed. You looked up over at him to see what the noise was about, but he was no longer looking at you and Tony, and was reading through his paper. You shrugged and went back to reading.
Tony glanced over at you, and then he went back to reading.
You and Tony were supposed to gather intel from a secret Hydra outpost. You’d be in disguise, you had aliases if needed, and you’d be working together. Thankfully, it was not a social gathering you’d be attending. While both you and Tony would probably be good at working people to get information you needed, Tony would be TERRIBLE at not starting to flirt with targets and it’d be difficult to keep from revealing who he was.
You figured it’d be alright. Tony wasn’t terrible, you liked his company and he was often good at his job. It should be fine.
— — —
“How hard d’you think it’ll be to break into the database?” Tony whispered to you as you picked the lock of the door to a van.
“Shh!” you pressed a finger to his lips for a brief second before you finished picking the lock. He grinned. Once you got the door open, he jumped up into the van and reached his hand out for you, and pulled you up.You closed the van doors behind you, and he got over to the computers.
You locked up the van doors so that no one could get in.
“Did you see that girl over by the columns earlier?”
“Keep it in your pants, Stark.”
Tony smirked. “Got it,” he said, and he began uploading the files to a hard drive.
“What’s the backup plan if our exit doesn’t work?” you asked.
“It’ll work, I checked it before we got in here,” Tony assured. He pulled out the hard drive and handed it to you. You slid it into your secret pocket and zippered it up.
“C’mon, let’s go,” you unlocked the van doors and carefully got out. He jumped down, and you saw your exit road. It was blocked by five security cars. “Shit,” you whispered.
“Such obscene words from such a pristine girl,” Tony teased.
“Ugh, save the Breakfast Club references for when I can actually care, okay?” you said. “We gotta get out of here.”
“I got it,” Tony assured. “C’mon.”
Tony pulled you with him to a nearby fancy sports car. “No, no, no, no,” you whispered as he hot wired the car, pulled you into it, and started driving away.
“We’ll return it,” Tony shrugged, and pulled out of the lot and started driving at 55 miles per hour.
“Tony! This is a 30 mph zone and you’re in a goddamn STOLEN CAR!” You shouted at him.
“I can’t concentrate when you’re yelling at me!” Tony exclaimed back. He pressed the gas a little more and kept driving away.
“Tony, this is a bad idea,” you warned. “We’re gonna get pulled over. Or Hydra’s gonna get us.”
“It’s fine, I’m a good driver,” Tony assured. He patted your side that had your secret pocket. “You got the hard drive?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it, but I’m not gonna anymore if we get pulled over!”
Tony picked up the speed a little bit after rounding a turn, pushing 70 now.
“TONY! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SLOW DOWN!”
“Shhh! It’s fine!”
“IT’S A STOLEN VEHICLE!”
“Ohhhh shit, there’s a cop.”
“Slow it down! Tony!”
Tony slowed down the speed and pulled the car over, parking it on the side of the road. You looked really worried and angry.
Tony smiled at you. “Y’know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.”
You glared at him.
The cop approached the vehicle. “Excuse me, sir, you were going 73 mph in a 30 mph zone.”
“Yes, about that, uh, she’s having an emergency, so I’m gonna take her to the hospital,” Tony smiled charmingly at the officer.
The cop chuckled. “Seems the only problem she’s having is you, she looks maaaaad.”
Tony laughed awkwardly.
“Look, I get it, my girl gets mad at me when I do something she doesn’t like,” the cop said. “But you are driving a local official’s stolen car and you were speeding excessively, so I gotta take the both of you.”
“I’m not his girl,” you interjected.
“Woah, okay. Got it. Anyway, both of y’all gotta get out of the car, I gotta take you in,” the cop informed.
Tony sighed. “Great.”
— — —
“Are you really such a goody-two-shoes that you’re gonna get all bent out of shape that you’ve got a criminal record now?” Tony asked. “Everybody’s got one. No one gives a damn.”
“I don’t care about that, I care about the fact that they could’ve taken the hard-drive from me,” you said. “I’ve got it only ‘cause it’s hidden in my jacket. And they think they searched my jacket.” You sighed. “No way Fury’s gonna trust either of us anymore.”
“Look, it’s gonna be fine,” Tony assured. “You’re smart, and Fury likes you. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s gonna come and bail us out, explain what happened, it’s all gonna be okay. Chill out.”
You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around your legs, and rested your chin on top of your knees. The cell floor was gray and rock hard, scuffed and cold. You just wanted to go home. Couldn’t one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents get here sooner?
“Jeez, why do you look so sad?” Tony asked, sitting down next to you.
“I’m just tired.”
“Okay.”
“...”
“Look, I’m sorry.”
You turned your head to look at him. Apologies? From Tony? That never happened. He chuckled at the surprised look on your face.
“If you tell anyone I said that, I’m denying everything,” Tony informed. You laughed. That was more like Tony. He smiled. “But I am sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“I’m glad you’ve got the hard drive.”
“Yeah, me too.”
— — —
Not much longer later, a warden with white hair and classes with a nametag that read “STAN” on it came over and unlocked your jail cell door. “Some man with an eyepatch came and bailed you out. You kids are damn lucky, ya hear?” He gestured for you both to step out, and then he walked you down the hallway to meet Nick Fury at the desk at the front.
“Both of you are coming home with me. Right now,” Nick said sternly. You nodded in agreement, having both no desire to fight him and exhaustion. Tony didn’t signal that he agreed or disagreed, he just followed Nick a little forlornly.
Once you were both sitting in the back of Nick’s limousine—Nick sat with you because he had a driver—Nick demanded, “What the hell happened?”
You opened up your secret jacket pocket and handed him the hard drive. “We got the hard drive. But our exit was compromised.”
“So I hotwired a sports car and then it turns out it was a local official’s car,” Tony continued.
“He was being stupid and he was speeding 73 mph in a 30 zone,” you added on.
“We got pulled over by a cop who took us in and then she got all tired and sad while we were sitting in the cell,” Tony said.
“I was just tired, not sad,” you clarified. “He apologized to me for speeding the car, stealing it, and getting us arrested.”
“I did not apologize.”
“He won’t admit it because he’s got an ego, but he did say sorry.”
“Do you want me to take it back?”
“Ha! See? You admit it.”
“No, I don’t!”
“Okay, stop,” Nick interjected. “Alright. You got the information. It wasn’t the stealthiest or slickest way, but you did do it. We’ll get you home, and you’ll get some rest. In the meantime, we’re gonna hold off on sending you on missions by yourselves for a little bit.”
You sighed and nodded, not fighting it. You were tired, and it was probably for the better, anyway. Tony laughed. “Yeah, no. She didn’t do anything.”
“I just think that it’s in the best interest of both of you to have a supervisor for the next couple of missions you go on,” Nick reiterated.
“But I’m the one who hotwired the car and went speeding to get away in it,” Tony argued.
“Are you trying to get yourself punished further??” Nick asked. “I’m being very civil with you right now. If you want a worse punishment, I can certainly think of one.”
“No, just, why are you punishing her?”
“Tony, it’s fine,” you said. “It’s probably for the better, anyway. I got things to learn.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, you just accidentally got into jail ‘cause you were in the car with me,” Tony argued.
“I’m not changing my answer, but it’s certainly interesting that you’re so insistent about this,” Nick replied calmly. Tony gave him a confused-annoyed look. Nick chuckled, and you leaned back into your seat, tired.
— — —
When you got home, you took a hot shower and put on your pajamas. As you walked back to your bedroom, you found Tony sitting by himself in the living room. “Hey,” he said and stood up. “C’mere,” he held open his arms. You walked into them and let him hug you. He was soft and warm. His apology from earlier still hung in the air, floating like a cloud over your head. And you couldn’t really help but forgive him. Damn that Tony Stark. One look at the boy, and you know you’re screwed.
SAFE HOUSE - JOHN WALKER X GN!READER - 0.9K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
The safe house smells like burnt coffee and Yelena's attempt at cooking something that might have once been pasta.
You're wedged between Bucky and Ghost on the worn couch, watching John pace in front of the window—again—his jaw tight as he peers through the blinds for the fifth time in ten minutes.
"Walker, you're making me nervous," Yelena calls from the kitchen, waving a wooden spoon like a weapon. "Sit down before you wear hole in floor."
"I'm keeping watch," John mutters, but his eyes flick to you for just a second, something softer beneath all that rigid tension.
You've learned to read him over these past months. The way his shoulders bunch up near his ears means he's worried. The finger-tapping against his thigh means he's running through contingency plans. And that particular look—the one he's giving you right now—means he's specifically worried about you.
"We're safe," you say quietly. "Valentina doesn't even know about this place."
"Yet," John corrects, finally abandoning his post at the window. He drops into the armchair across from you, elbows on his knees, and you don't miss how he positions himself directly in your line of sight. "She doesn't know yet."
Bucky snorts. "Overprotective much?"
"Rich coming from you," John shoots back, but there's no real heat in it. This is what passes for friendly banter in your strange little family of antiheroes and reformed assassins.
Ghost phases through the couch—making Bucky yelp and you laugh—just to drift over and pat John's shoulder. "He's not wrong though," she says in her quiet way. "You've been hovering."
John's ears go red. "I don't hover."
"You hover," you, Bucky, Yelena, and Ghost say in unison.
Even Red Guardian, who's been napping in the corner, cracks one eye open to grunt his agreement before going back to sleep.
John runs a hand over his face, and you catch the smallest smile tugging at his lips despite his frustration. "You people are impossible."
"You love us," Yelena sing-songs, finally emerging from the kitchen with bowls of what she's declared is stroganoff but looks more like a crime scene.
"Debatable," John mutters, but his eyes find yours again, and this time they stay.
The thing is, you do know he cares. You've seen him take bullets meant for Yelena, watched him talk Bucky down from a nightmare, listened to him awkwardly try to give Ghost advice about living a normal life. He's rough around the edges, still carrying the weight of his past like penance, but he's trying. You're all trying.
Later, after everyone's scattered to their respective corners—Bucky to brood in the basement, Yelena to video call her sister, Ghost to read in the bedroom she shares with you—you find John back at the window.
"You know," you say, coming to stand beside him, "keeping watch is easier when you have a partner."
He glances at you, something vulnerable crossing his face in the dim light. "Can't sleep?"
"Didn't want to." You bump your shoulder against his arm. "Figured you could use the company. Since you're not hovering or anything."
John huffs out a breath that might be a laugh. "I just—" He stops, jaw working like the words are stuck. "I need to know you're okay. All of you, but..." He trails off, and the implication hangs in the air between you.
"But me especially?" you offer gently.
His silence is answer enough.
You reach out slowly, telegraphing your movement, and take his hand. His fingers are calloused, scarred, trembling slightly as they curl around yours. "I'm okay, John. We're okay."
"For now." His voice is rough. "But this life we're living, the things Valentina has us do—"
"We'll figure it out," you interrupt, squeezing his hand. "Together. That's what family does, right? Even weird, dysfunctional, definitely-going-to-get-arrested-eventually families like ours."
That gets a real smile from him, small but genuine. "This is the weirdest family I've ever been part of."
"But it's ours." You lean your head against his shoulder, feeling him stiffen before gradually relaxing into the contact. "And you belong here. With us. With me."
His free hand comes up to rest against your hair, tentative, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he's too certain about it. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I'm starting to believe that."
From somewhere in the house, Yelena shouts something in Russian that's probably an insult. Red Guardian laughs. Bucky tells them both to shut up.
John shakes his head, but he's smiling now, really smiling, and he hasn't let go of your hand.
"Come on," you say, tugging him toward the couch. "If we're keeping watch, we might as well be comfortable."
He follows, and when you settle in together, his arm around your shoulders and your head on his chest, it feels like the safest place in the world.
MISSION - STEVE ROGERS X READER - 1.9K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
After a rather rough mission, the Avengers dragged themselves back to the Avengers Tower. Steve was running his hand through his tousled hair, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He was exhausted. Tony desperately wanted to crash, and the second he reached the couch, that was exactly the thing he did. Meanwhile, Natasha was peacefully cleaning off her gun in the kitchen with a nice cloth. Bruce slunk into his room to take a shower. Clint had already disappeared, there was no telling where he went. In the pantry, Thor was hiding out with a bag of chips, crunching nonchalantly as he put another handful into his mouth. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the wall, only mildly traumatized. You were tired as you walked in with the rest of them. It’d been tough, and you were about ready to cuddle up in bed and watch a bad rom-com.
“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked you, his tone gentle and soft. Tony had taken facepalming to a whole other level, and was laying face-down on the couch.
“Yeah, I’m alright,” you nodded, looking at Steve. Natasha smirked at the sight. You would normally be mocking Tony or laughing, lightening the mood after a mission like this. But you didn’t seem bothered. In fact, you seemed more…enraptured. With Steve. “How are you?” you asked him.
“I’m doing fine,” he smiled sweetly at you. Natasha snorted.
You turned to her. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Natasha smirked cryptically, picked up her gun that she’d just finished cleaning, and walked away.
“...okay,” you said. You turned back to Steve. “I’m gonna take a shower, okay?”
Steve nodded, “Sounds good.”
You put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, then smiled and walked away from him. His eyes followed you as you walked a way, a soft twinkle in his eye. Peter squinted his eyes at him, analyzing his actions. Thor noticed this, chuckling and chomping loudly on his chips. “I’d surmise that Sir America has caught feelings,” he snickered to Peter.
“You’re sure? ‘Cause I was only like, 34 percent certain,” Peter whispered back to Thor. He had a much better grasp on noise control than Thor did.
Thor laughed. “Ohh, yes. I know a man in love when I see one.”
“Have much experience with that, do you, Thor?” Natasha asked, appearing beside him.
“How the heck…?” Peter muttered.
Thor was unfazed. “Well, I’m a man.”
Natasha laughed. “Your Asgardian sense of humor is horrific.”
Thor shrugged and put another fistful of chips into his mouth and crunched them loudly. Natasha made a face and walked away.
— — —
About a half an hour later, you had finished your shower and taken care of your hair, you walked out of your room in your pajamas to grab something you’d left downstairs. As you were walking, you passed by Steve’s room, and stopped. Maybe you should check in on him. Yeah, that’d be good to do. You knocked on his door.
A moment later, the door opened, and Steve was standing there. “Hi, there,” he smiled.
“Hi,” you replied, a smile on your face too. “You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Steve nodded. “Do you wanna come in…?”
“Oh, uh, sure,” you walked into the room. Inside, his room was immaculate. You didn’t think you’d seen a better made bed in Bed, Bath and Bodyworks. His lamp was on, but other than that, all the lights were off. A book sat on the nightstand, a bookmark about three-quarters of the way through. The carpet looked like it’d been recently vacuumed, and there was no clutter on his desk. He had a view framed photos of the Avengers, including one with you in it, and an organized pen container. “You’re very neat,” you commented.
Steve chuckled. “Well, I try.”
“I’m serious, I don’t think I’ve seen a more well-made bed before in my life,” you laughed. “I’m scared to touch it, it looks like it comes from a Home and Wellness magazine.”
Steve seemed amused by your comment. “You don’t have to be scared of touching the bed, I remake it every morning anyway.”
“Okay,” you said casually as your eyes glazed over the room. You sat down carefully on the bed, looking all around you. It was like a glimpse into the inside of his brain. And the inside of his brain looked very clean.
Steve laughed. “Well, thank you. I think. I don’t know how accurate that is.”
You realized you’d said this aloud. “Oh. Oh.” You laughed awkwardly. “Sorry.”
Steve shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.” He sat down beside you on the bed. You noticed how bare his walls looked.
“You don’t have anything hanging up?” you asked.
Steve shook his head. “Haven’t found anything I wanted to hang up yet. I don’t wanna hang it up unless I love it. I mean, you’re looking at the same thing every day, right? May as well be something you really care about.”
“That makes sense,” you nodded.
“I do want something, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’d be nice.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You leaned against him a little, head resting on his shoulder. He tried to bite back his smile, despite the fact that you couldn’t see his facial expression right now. He hesitated for a moment—he hasn’t dated since the forties, and you make him nervous—before resting his hand gently on your knee. Your expression softened at the gesture, and you closed your eyes, letting out a soft hum of contentment.
Steve was surprised and how easily you became comfortable with him, but he had no qualms about it. So he sat there with you, hand resting on your knee, and your head on his shoulder. Deciding to take a risk, he turned his head slightly to kiss the top of your head affectionately. The affectionate movement made you smile.You lifted your head with a playful smirk, and asked softly, “What was that for?”
Steve’s face turned a little pink, but he tried to play it off. “I don’t know, I…just did it, I guess.”
You laughed. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.”
Steve chuckled. “You think it’s cute, huh?”
You kissed his cheek in response. That surprised him. Again, not dating since the 1940s does slightly impair your perception of romance. He turned to face you more fully, and his lips met yours. He found himself kissing you, and he found you kissing back. If he knew all it took to get you this close was acting tired and sad after a rough mission, he would’ve done it a helluva lot sooner.
The kiss grew more passionate, a little more heated. You were now leaning against him as he leaned back against the pillows on his bed. You were fully caught up in the moment, losing all perception of the world around you.
…which was probably why you didn’t hear Tony come in.
“Hey, Steve, do you know where th—holy hell,” Tony looked rather amused. Your head shot up and you immediately backed away from Steve. Steve did the same, like adding space between yourselves was going to make Tony forget what he just saw. Tony was laughing at your surprised and nervous expressions. “Oh, man!” He clapped his hands and laughed again. “I mean, we were all starting to suspect things, but daaaaaamn.”
Steve groaned at Tony’s childish behavior and covered his face with his hands. You bit your lip, not really sure what to do.
“Alright, Steve, do you know wh—actually, I don’t think you know much of anything right now. I’ll see you later, Americas,” Tony winked and left the room, closing the door behind him. You blushed and sat there awkwardly.
“It’s just Tony,” Steve said quietly, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, but he’s gonna tell everybody,” you pointed out.
Steve shrugged. “I don’t mind people knowing,” he said gently, trying to comfort you.
“I don’t either, I just…kind of like just getting to be with you.”
He smiled softly. “I like getting to be with you too.” He reached for your hand, and you let him take it. “Tony doesn’t have to stop us from spending time together, y’know.”
“True,” you smiled back, and he pulled you closer to him, bringing you into his arms and bringing his lips back to yours.
— — —
When you walked downstairs in the morning, Tony greeted you with a cheerful, “Hello, Mrs. America.”
You rolled your eyes and walked away from him, heading into the kitchen. Thor was there, enjoying a bagel. “‘Morning, Thor. How’s it going?”
“Quite well, Star-Spangled Sweetheart,” Thor replied with a smirk.
You groaned. “You too? Seriously?”
Thor shrugged, smirking happily. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being Cap’s red, white, and boo.”
You made a disgusted face. “Gross nickname. Seriously. Where are you coming up with these? Is Tony handing out lists of things to call me??”
“Not exactly, but that’s not an unreasonable guess,” Thor answered, smiling.
You snorted. “Jesus.”
“Language,” Peter said as he walked in the room. “Or does Cap tell you that enough already?” Thor laughed heartily and high-fived Peter, who looked very proud of himself for impressing Thor with his joke.
“What?” you exclaimed. “Look, I’m not even…I haven’t been on a date with him yet, okay? Give me a break. Can’t I just, I don’t know, kiss a guy that I like?”
“You are more than welcome to kiss any guy that you like,” Thor informed. “We reserve our right to tease you about said guy.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Capsicle’s crush,” Clint smirked at you.
“Wowwww,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “Soooo creative. I’ve never heard anything like this at all this morning.”
“How many people have talked to you?” Clint asked, amused.
“Lemme see… Tony, Thor, you, oh, and Peter. Peter has even talked to me about it this morning,” you answered, clearly a little bitter.
Tony came into the kitchen and picked up an orange, beginning to peel it. When he saw you, he smirked. “Well, if it isn’t the Vibranium Vixen.”
You looked at him with an exasperated expression. “Where do you even come up with these??”
“He’s Tony, he nicknames everybody constantly,” Natasha said with a shrug, picking up at bagel. “But seriously, you like Cap?”
“Well, yeah, but they’re making it seem like it’s a big deal when I’d really, really rather just go at my own pace and see where it goes,” you said.
“That’s fine,” Clint said. “Why would you tell Natasha that but not us?”
“‘Cause y’all are calling me things like ‘Star-Spangled Sweetheart’ and ‘red, white, and boo’,” you answered, agitated.
Clint bursted out laughing. “Wait, what?? Who said those??” Thor raised his hand with a proud smile, and Clint laughed again.
Steve walked in, and Tony started giggling.
“Oh, shit. What’d I do?” he asked.
Then a collective chorus from everyone in the kitchen exclaimed, “LANGUAGE!”
Steve chuckled and shook his head. “Ridiculous. All of you.”
“Not me though, right?” you asked teasingly.
“Nope, not you,” he grinned.
“Awwwwww…” chorused the other Avengers.
“Go mind your own damn business,” you said playfully, and waved them off. ‘Cause in the end, as long as you and Steve were happy, that was all that mattered.
SOULMATES - PETER PARKER X READER - 1K WORDS
- welcome to the hidden fics -
Soulmates share injuries. When you broke your toe on a banister when you were ten, a boy in Queens felt the pain with you and wore a boot for two weeks. When that boy was thrown into the lockers of his school, sharp pain rang through your body, and you could feel the locker vents digging into your back, even though you weren’t anywhere near lockers. Now, you’ve never met your soulmate, but you grew to have a certain level of warmth that you felt towards them. And when you’re soon covered in bruises that you definitely did not get, you start to get worried.
Because what’s wrong? Why would your soulmate have all of these bruises that now mark your skin, purple and yellow and sore? You’re concerned.
But there wasn’t much you could do about it. You just kept going to school and living your normal life, and when your classmates would ask you about the bruises covering your arms, you would just shrug it off and say they belonged to your soulmate.
You were worried that maybe they were getting beat up, the way it felt. You could be lying in bed reading when all of a sudden, you felt like someone was punching you, trying to harm you. Your soulmate must’ve been a half-decent fighter though—you could tell when they were ducking out of harm’s way. But you grew sick and self-conscious of the bruises, and soon, you were only wearing long sleeve shirts so as to cover your arms.
One morning, you pulled on a long-sleeved white t-shirt, which you wore a graphic tee over, then threw on a pair of jeans and a beanie. You tied on your shoes and walked down the street to go to the bank to cash a check. Your great-aunt wrote you a check for twenty dollars every year about three months after your birthday—she must’ve had the date wrong on her calendar, but it was a kind gesture that you appreciated—so you strolled on down the street. You didn’t often go to the bank otherwise; so much of money transfer is electronic now, anyways. It felt like a nice tradition though, so you enjoyed going.
You got into line to talk to the woman at the front desk. Gently tapping your foot, you admired the beautiful building around you. The man in front of you turned around and gave you a look, and you stopped tapping your foot. He nodded, and moved his gaze back to facing forward.
“EVERYBODY FREEZE!” A man suddenly shouted. “Hands up!” You turned around and saw multiple people, all with masks on, armed with guns. You threw your hands up, horrified at the sight. What on Earth…? “PUT YOUR PHONES DOWN!”
Frightened as hell, you did what he said and put your phone on the floor. Everything felt fuzzy after that. The fear, the adrenaline, the chaos, confusion, and abnormality of the situation all got you to pass out on the ground.
When you woke up, you were in the arms of someone who you knew. Not personally, per se, but… this was Spiderman. Everyone knew Spiderman. You let out a sharp scream of surprise, then quickly covered your mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” you said apologetically. “What just– did I– why are you–?”
“It’s all good,” Spiderman answered. He sounded a lot younger than you’d initially thought—almost like he was your own age. “There was a bank robbery. You passed out, which is fine, I mean, it’s scary, but I got rid of them, so you should be all good now? I don’t know? Have some water, maybe. I don’t really know what you’re supposed to do after you pass out. I am kind of worried about your arms, though…” he gently rolled back your sleeve to show the ugly yellow bruises that stained your skin like a coffee ring on a wooden table.
“Oh, that’s fine, it’s my soulmate’s,” you said casually. “I think they get beaten up a lot.”
Spiderman went silent. Then, without saying a single word, he gently rolled back his sleeve to reveal bruises in the exact same places. Your mouth dropped open in shock. Your soulmate was…Spiderman? How lucky was that? Why you? And did he just…he just saved you… and he’s your soulmate?
“Are you…?” you asked nervously, not even finishing your own question.
He knew what you meant, though. “Yeah, I think so.” He pulled off his mask, and you saw his face. He looked to be about your age, with a heart shaped face and a sharp nose. His eyes were this wonderful kind of soft blue, and he was definitely not who you’d pictured to be Spiderman. “My name’s Peter. I’m…I’m Peter Parker. And I guess I do get beat up a lot, just by like…bad guys instead of bullies in school.”
You smiled at his honest answer. He was sweet. “Well, nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Y/N.”
“Nice name.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want some water or something…? I can google what you’re supposed to do after you pass out, I feel like this is the kind of thing I should know,” Peter rattled out.
You nodded. “It does feel like something you’d often run into in your…line of work, I guess. What do you do for work?”
“Well, right now I just go to school, but sometimes stuff with Tony Stark, y’know, Stark Industries and inventing kinds of things,” Peter informed you with a smile, pulling out his phone to google.
“Fancy,” you grinned. “Someone as smart as you should definitely know what to do if someone passes out by now.”
“Hey!” Peter playfully exclaimed at your teasing remark. “That’s not very nice, y’know. And I did just save you.”
“That you did,” you conceded with a nod. “Thanks for that, Peter.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter answered. “Google says to keep lying down and drink water.”
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