I just read the absolute best fanfiction I've ever read and I needed to tell you all about it. I'm hopefully gonna get back into writing soon, (fingers crossed), but this story blew my mind. It's called The Siren by emmagnetised on AO3. It's a Steve Rogers fic, but I truly felt like he was a side character in the best way. Alice, the main character, was so inspiring to me and I truly admire the author for creating such a deep and human character. The story made me think about my own life, who I am, and what I stand for.
I'm not dead! Surprise! But my writing skills definitely are. Oh well.
Warnings: Periods, mention of blood, crappy writing
Summary: Steve comforts you when your monthly takes you out of commission.
Word Count: 629
You groaned as a wave of pain pulsed through your abdomen. You’ve been sitting in bed for the last 7 hours, only getting up to trudge over to the bathroom when needed. An episode of some random crime show was playing in the background as you hunched over your knees, pushing your head into your pillow.
Day 2 of your period, the worst day. Backaches, cramps, and an endless stream of blood between your legs left you basically immobile the entire day. You had tried to do some yoga earlier in a last attempt to end your pain but you gave up and laid on the floor until you had to go to the bathroom again.
You groaned again into the pillow and stretched one leg behind you, unaware of the sound of the door opening.
“Y/N?”
You looked up to see Steve standing in your doorway, a bouquet of lilies in his hand and a concerned look on his face. His eyes scanned the room, the messy sheets, the bottle of Motrin on the bedside table, and you twisted in the center of the bed.
“Shoot!” You cried, shooting up from the bed only to collapse right back down.
Steve ran to you, dropping the flowers on the floor as he wrapped an arm around you.
“We had a date,” you whined, tucking your head into his shoulder as more cramps surged through you. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” He said, his eyes still panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?”
You shook your head pulling him closer.
“No, it’s just… women's issues.”
Steve tensed before speaking again.
“What?”
You pulled your head up and looked away. You really didn’t want to explain.
“You know…like…God Steve! Are you really going to make me say it?” You complained, moving to get under the covers of your bed.
He sat for a moment, his eyes following your movement and getting a glimpse of the black towel shoved in your sheets.
“Oh.”
The two of you delved into silence for a moment and your cheeks blazed red. Embarrassed, you turned away from Steve, not letting him see your humiliation. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you felt the bed shift as he left the room. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself as the tears spilled over onto the pillow and pain flared through your abdomen.
A minute later, Steve returned.
“Sweetheart?”
You didn’t move, embarrassment and pain coursing through you.
“I got your heating pad from the closet and grabbed a brownie from the kitchen.”
That got your attention. You turned over, wiping your eyes before looking up at him. Steve stood there holding both items with a comforting smile on his face. When you didn’t object, he sat down on the bed with you, reaching down to plug in the heating pad before scooching closer to you, handing it to you to settle it where you wanted. You leaned into him as it began to warm, letting out a sigh and taking the brownie from his hands. The two of you sat for a few minutes together before you spoke.
“You’re not disgusted?” You asked him quietly.
He shook his head, his arm going around your shoulders and squeezing you tight.
“Of course not, it’s natural. Almost half the world goes through it, why should I be disgusted by it?”
You took another bite of your brownie, wincing at your cramps. Steve felt you tense and moved one of his hands to your stomach, applying pressure right where you needed it.
“The other guys I’ve been with didn’t want anything to do with me when I…so I just assumed you would, too.”
“Never,” he replied, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I’m always here for you.”
It's not very long but I wanted to write something. Also, titles are not my strong points.
Warnings: injuries (gunshot wound)
Summary: Patching up Marc after a fight.
Word Count: 364
You pushed through your apartment door, dragging Marc along with you as he leaned against you. You reached to flick on the light switch. Marc groaned as you helped him lower himself onto the couch.
“Stay here. I’ll grab the first aid kit.”
“Not like I can go anywhere,” he replied, his hands going to cover the hole in his leg.
You rushed to the bathroom, grabbing towels and the red box hidden under the sink before returning and kneeling down next to the couch.
“Straighten your leg,” you said, softly.
Your heart was beating hard in your chest while you surveyed Marc’s wound. He looked at you with concerned eyes and put a bloody hand on your shoulder.
“You’re getting my shirt bloody,” you whispered.
Marc grunted as you pulled the bullet from his leg with a pair of tweezers. His hand squeezed your shoulder tighter and you placed your hand on his as you rummaged through the box.
“I’m fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about me so much.”
“I worry because I care.”
“I know,” he nodded.
You finished wrapping his thigh before starting to stand. Marc’s hand slid down to grip your arm. Sniffling, you looked at him, tears filling your eyes.
“Come here,” he whispered, softly.
You obliged, slipping next to him on the couch, being cautious of his leg. His arms went around your shoulders and you buried your face in his chest.
“Please stop getting shot. It stresses me out.”
“It stresses you out.”
You lightly tapped his chest, a smile beginning to grow on your face. Marc let out a small chuckle, rubbing your back for a minute.
“You want any pain meds?” You asked, lifting your head up to look at him.
He shook his head.
“Don’t get up. I’m comfortable like this.”
You smiled, reaching up to plant a kiss on his jaw. Marc’s hand went to your chin, tilting your head up more. You took the hint and kissed him, hovering there for a moment longer.
“I love you,” you said, softly.
“I love you, too,” he replied.
You nestled back down into him and the two of you sat in silence.
You hated mornings. You always told Marc that you would rather be trapped in a Sarcophagus for the rest of eternity than have to wake up before 10. That’s why he was so confused when he woke up one morning, extending his arm only for it to land on your empty spot. He blinked before sitting up and looking around the room for you. There you stood in the kitchen, lip sinking to some song playing through your earbuds as you stirred some pancake batter. Marc smiled softly, getting up as quietly as possible and walking up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist while you were turned away making you jump in surprise. He chuckled, tucking his head in the crook of your neck as you pulled out your earbuds.
“Sorry I scared you,” Marc muttered with a smile, planting a short kiss on the side of your neck.
“You did not,” you replied defensively. You placed the whisk you were stirring with down and turned around in his arms. “Gonna have to try harder next time, Spector.”
“Mhm,” he hummed. He leaned down, his lips meeting yours as your arms wrapped around his neck. He felt your body relax into him as you kissed. He smiled as you pulled away, leaning your forehead against his.
“Good morning,” you whispered sweetly.
“Why are you up so early?”
You spun around to face the counter again, gesturing to the various cooking utensils and ingredients.
“I’m making pancakes!” You smiled. “Wanted to surprise you!”
Marc smiled, looking over the counter. There were sliced strawberries and bananas, whipped cream, and a bottle of syrup all ready to go. He placed a hand on your lower back a put a strawberry in his mouth. You gasped, lightly hitting his arm.
“How dare you! I’m not done yet! Go get back in bed and pretend to sleep so I can wake you up with pancakes.”
He laughed and nodded, placing a kiss on your forehead before he followed your directions, smiling at you as he retreated back to bed. You smiled back, giving him a playful glare before he shut his eyes again, listening to the sounds of you bustling around the kitchen once more.
This idea randomly came to me and took me back to 10th grade biology. Also, I was really trying to not be ignorant about the topic and did some research but if anyone sees something wrong with the info I have, please let me know.
Warnings: Talk of cancer, mentions of treatments, physical sickness and symptoms
Summary: The super solider serum has some unforeseen side effects.
Word Count: 1177
Super soldiers were strong, tough, basically invincible. At least that’s what the world thought. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were the men you wanted to be or wanted to be with. Both had obviously gone through their share of hardships and trouble, but they came out stronger. The two of them were powerhouses, working as Avengers, fighting crime, charming the masses. Ranging from online fan pages to international holidays, the super soldiers were adored and envied.
But while the world celebrated their existence, they stood oblivious to their troubles. Only a select few knew about the super soldier’s secret battle. You were one of them.
The first time it happened was after SHIELD’s collapse in DC. You had sat by Steve’s bed all week while he recovered, even while nursing wounds of your own. The two of you weren’t together yet, that wouldn’t happen for another five years, but the attraction was already there.
It started with the fatigue. Steve would usually run about 13-15 miles every morning but then he started doing less. Instead of 1 mile every other minute, it became two, then three, then four minutes. He started sleeping more and getting tired faster. His pace was still far above so most people didn’t notice, but you did.
Then the nausea. You didn’t know until 2 months after the fatigue started that Steve would wake up each morning vomiting and he was too stubborn to tell anyone. The only reason you found out was when you had to share an apartment during an undercover op in Moldova.
The last straw was the fever. A week after you found Steve puking his guts up in your temporary bathroom, he ended up bedridden. You had helped him strip down to just his boxers and had kept him well supplied with cold compresses as you spoke on the phone with Tony demanding immediate extraction.
As soon as you got back, Bruce and Helen Cho tested everything they could. Blood tests, CT's, MRI's, X Rays, Ultrasounds, and they all pointed to one thing… cancer.
When Erskine developed his formula back in the 40s, one of the only things he knew for certain was that it could cause unseen risks. Headaches, chronic exhaustion, extra limbs, melted face, death. Those were only a few and Steve knew that when signing up. He knew he might have been signing up for a miserable existence and had accepted it over 70 years ago. But then nothing happened. Well, something clearly did happen, you know the muscles and what not. But he didn’t die, no extra limbs, his endurance was through the roof. Everyone thought he was in the clear. Unfortunately they didn’t have the research yet to predict what the future would hold.
Cancer is caused by a mutation in cells during mitosis which is the process of one cell dividing into two. If there is a mutation in one of these new cells, it becomes cancerous and can spread rapidly. In the line of work you and Steve are in, injuries are pretty common. Those injuries need to heal and during that healing process, cells will divide. Now that wouldn’t really be a concern to anybody else, but with Steve’s accelerated healing, his cells divide a lot faster and that makes them more prone for mistakes.
No one had thought about that until the initial diagnosis. No one had thought about how Steve might be more prone to cancer but now they did.
Research upon research was conducted while Steve underwent his first operation. The doctors were able to get the tumor that had formed in his lower abdomen completely out but also gave him his first chemotherapy treatment as well. There weren’t any signs of that particular tumor regrowing but they had to be safe and luckily Steve’s immune system was strong enough that he was able to metabolize enough of the poisonous drug that he didn’t get too sick. He recovered and life went on.
As the years passed, more and more tumors would show up in Steve’s body. When Bucky would finally call the Avengers home, he would notice all the scarring from operations he didn’t remember and eventually would have more treatments and operations in a much more humane way.
Yet you stood by them both. You stood by Steve when he collected all the missed compensation from the government and when he would throw up from chemo. You stood by him when he started volunteering at the VA and when he would be waking up from surgery in pain. You stood by Bucky when he first arrived at the compound and when he woke up screaming from nightmares. You stood by him when he was awarded the Prisoner of War Medal from the president and when he panicked in a CT machine.
Both of them stood by you, too. When you were honored in a ceremony hosted by the UN and when you were groaning in pain from a gunshot wound. They stood by you when you made a speech on the capitol steps and when the pressure of your job got too much.
The 3 of you were a team. You helped each other and supported each other equally. You watched as they tried to best each other in the ring and cheered them on. You’d have dinners together and share kind words over Chinese takeout. You begged to be placed with one of the men on undercover ops and your superiors would agree because your chemistry with them both almost looked a little too real. After a long day, you’d come back to the compound to see the two of them standing in your room, movies and blankets ready for you. You started to look forward to the certain times during the weak unofficial dedicated to the three of you.
During checkups and exams you’d stand outside the door, slumped down against the wall hoping it would be curable. Before surgeries, you’d hold their hands till the anesthesia would take over and then would hold them again until they woke. You’d rub their backs when the chemo and radiation would take hold, forcing them to lie down due to the dizziness. You’d hug them so tightly when the doctors said it worked. You’d make them any kind of dessert imaginable to celebrate, even if it was the middle of the night.
You, Bucky, and Steve were inseparable, so it didn’t surprise any of you when you all sat down one night and confessed your feelings to each other. It didn’t surprise the team when they walked into the living room to find the three of you cuddled up on the couch asleep. It didn’t surprise the public when there were pictures taken of you holding the men’s hands as you walked down the street.
When the three of you lay in bed months later, they would both agree on the same thing. They would take the pain, the lost time, and the side effects if it meant they got to spend eternity with you.
Warnings: None? Some sexual mentions but nothing actually happening
Summary: You and Chris do Buzzfeed's famous video while promoting your next movie.
Word Count: 946
“Hi, everyone! My name is Y/N L/N…”
You trailed off, expecting Chris to jump in and say his name but instead he continued asking one of the crew members questions. You sighed, giving a joking look to the camera before nudging him.
“Chris, we’re rolling.”
“Oh? What?”
You laughed pointing at the camera. The operator gave a little wave to you both, making you giggle.
“Let’s start over,” One of the Buzzfeed workers said.
You and Chris both adjusted your clothing and stared into the camera, waiting for the go. You turned your head to look at him, a shy smile gracing your face. His eyes met yours for a moment, his hand reaching out to give your knee a quick squeeze before you both focused again.
“Hello, viewers! I’m Y/N L/N…”
“And I’m Chris Evans…”
“And we’re here with Buzzfeed to read some thirst tweets.”
You smiled, taking the bucket you were handed from off screen.
“Do you want to go first or should I?”
Chris quickly took the bucket from you, smiling as he pulled out a slip of paper.
“Oh, this is about you. Oh, OH! That’s…wow.”
You tried to peek over his shoulder to read but he turned his back to you.
“Read it! I wanna see!”
“I swear to god as my witness, I would give my left kidney to lick Y/N’s toes,” Chris read.
“I don’t really need a kidney at the moment but…um…thanks? I guess?”
“Do people really like toes?” Chris asked, throwing the paper on the ground.
“Dude, I once-ok. So, there was this one time some random guy DMed me on Instagram and sent me a picture of my feet and asked if it was a real picture or not.”
“Wait-how did he get a picture of your feet?”
“It was at like a red carpet or something. The photo was cropped to be just of my toes because I had been wearing open-toed shoes."
You pulled the next one out from the bucket, ignoring Chris's questioning.
“Who do I sell my soul to for a chance to see Chris Evans’s ass? God bless America,” you read out. “The devil, obviously.”
“I don’t know, some of those Captain America suits are pretty tight so you can see a lot.”
The two of you laughed together, your eyes meeting quickly before you both looked away. Chris grabbed the next tweet, smiling as he read it.
“I black out a little every time I get a glimpse of Y/N L/N. Wow, that’s kind of concerning.”
“Oh yea, probably should see a doctor about that. Anyways, next tweet. ‘Can Chris Evans sit on me? Please?’”
You laughed, turning to see Chris’s reaction. His eyebrows were raised and a disbelieving smile was on his face.
“Thanks for the offer, I guess? I might be too heavy though.”
“I’m sure you could make it work,” you blurted, your eyes going wide when you realized what you said. “Kidding, obviously.”
Chris started laughing at your comment, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder making you let out a chuckle.
“Alright,” Chris said, pulling out another paper. “I’d like to suffocate in Y/N L/N’s tits.”
His eyes went wide and he choked out a cough. You laughed loudly, pulling the paper from his hand.
“Thank you! Oh my god! I was really hoping for one like this!”
“You wanted one like this?” Chris asked, astounded.
“Yeah! I want to see all the nasty tweets. It reminds me I made it.”
“I guess that’s a nice sentiment?”
"It makes me feel special, you know? Like, people think of me when I'm not there."
"I don't know actually?"
You reached for the next paper, unfolding it and reading it out.
“Chris Evans could hit me with his shield and I’d still offer to give him all my money.”
“I’m not prone to violence so I don’t know if that’s something I’d really be willing to do,” Chris said.
The serious look on his face made you smile as he read the next tweet.
“I’m not a person who generally likes getting tied up, but I’d let Y/N L/N nail me on a wall.”
Both of you laughed before you spoke.
“Is that like a hammer and nail kind of situation or like an innuendo because I’m only willing to do one of those?”
“Which one?” Chris asked with a concerned look on his face.
You shrugged, handing him the bucket. He took it but didn’t pull one out as he kept looking at you.
“Go, dude. Last one!”
He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled the last paper out.
“Thinking about a threesome with Chris Evans and Y/N L/N. Don’t @ me. Wow…okay. And we end with that, thank you!”
You smiled at him, locking eyes for a moment before looking towards the camera.
“Honestly, I’m flattered you all would like to see me naked. Lucky for you all you can see my boobs in Chris and I’s new movie coming out this May. Thanks for watching us read thirst tweets with Buzzfeed! Bye!”
Chris has a dumbfounded look on his face as the cameras turn off and the crew moves around, setting up for the new interview.
“That’s how you end the video?”
You shrug, turning your head to your makeup artist who starts to reapply your lipstick. You feel Chris come to stand behind you, placing a kiss on your neck when your makeup artist leaves.
“Marketing you know?” You whisper with a smile, turning around and draping your arms around your boyfriend's neck. “Now all the horny teenage boys in the country will be buying tickets.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Chris says, a smile gracing his face, too.
I really just wanted to get something out so this is by far, one of the worst things I've written but I hope you all enjoy it!
Warning: descriptions of a panic attack
Summary: The Oscars red carpet is overwhelming and Chris is very attentive.
Word Count: 529
Lights flashed around you, screams of your name coming from all directions. You stood there against the background flashing the best smile you could muster as the flashes of cameras blinded you.
“Y/N! Turn over here!”
“Y/N! I love you!”
“Over Here!”
“Look to the left!”
“How are you feeling about the nominations tonight?”
The Oscars are one of the biggest awards shows in the world but you were exhausted. You’d been traveling for the past month to promote the latest Avengers movie and flew into LA last night to attend the Oscars for another movie you starred in earlier in the year.
“Flash me a smile, Y/N!”
You took a breath, looking to your agent who was ushering you along the carpet.
“Get a picture with Chris!” One of the photographers yelled out.
Your agent nodded and your husband of two years, who was standing next to them walked up to you, placing his arm around your waist. You posed together, your head subtly leaning on his shoulder. He moved his head, placing a light kiss on your forehead.
“You alright?” he whispered.
You nodded, grabbing his hand tightly. He brought it up to his mouth, planting a kiss on your hand. The yells and clicks of the camera got louder. You looked out over the crowd, flinching as a bright flash shocked you. Chris squeezed your hand, pulling you closer to him. Your eyes started to water, a combination of exhaustion and being overwhelmed. Your husband quickly noticed, turning you to face away from the cameras and covering you from the people’s view.
You started suffering from anxiety years ago when you had first started in Hollywood. The constant pressure to look good, to keep up with expectations and constant eyes on you had taken a toll on you. Some close calls with stalkers hadn’t helped the matter either. Chris was very aware of how it affected you and having sufferer from anxiety himself, he was always ready to help you.
Your hands were shaking as you tried to take deep breaths. Your agent walked up next to you, ushering you off the red carpet and into the Dolby theater building. Your chest was tight and you were hyperventilating, unable to get a good breath of air into your lungs.
Chris moved in front of you, his hands going to your shoulders to keep you up when you tried to hunch over.
“Hey, hey, Y/N,” he said, his thumbs drawing circles on your skin. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”
It took a couple of seconds before you met his eyes. Chris took deep breaths, urging you to follow along with him. After a few minutes, your heart rate slowed, your breathing became more even, and the shaking in your hands stopped. Your agent stepped in, handing you a water bottle and you quickly took a sip.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
You leaned your head against Chris’s shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you.
“You doing alright now?” He asked quietly.
You nodded, your arms weaving around his waist. You stood there for a few minutes, breathing slowly together before making your way back outside.
Summary: When you can't sleep, Steve is always ready to help.
Word Count: 743
3 am on a Tuesday night and no sleep was in sight. You’d got in bed at 9, taken the melatonin, called your therapist and your private doctor, turned the heat down, got rid of all the lights in your room, and still nothing. Your mind was still running a mile a minute. Every kind of thought was on your mind, past, present, future, effectively scaring any trace of sleep from you. You knew it was because you didn’t want to, you didn’t want to give the dreams any opportunity to haunt you but eventually you wouldn’t have a choice.
You sighed, pulling yourself out of bed and slipping on your slippers. Nobody should have been awake so you didn’t bother getting changed, leaving you in your thin tank top and fluffy pj-shorts with your logo on them. Sam had bought them for you on your last birthday as a gag gift but you still wore them all the time.
Your feet padded against the floor of the empty tower. Everyone else was sound asleep in their rooms, you didn’t even hear any muffled music coming from the lab downstairs, meaning even Tony had been rendered unconscious.
The kitchen was empty as you walked into the room, the lights turning on automatically at your presence. You opened one of the cabinets, pulling out a cup and running it under the sink. Sitting down on one of the counter stools, you took a sip before dropping your forehead against the counter top.
“Everything alright?”
You turned your head, looking towards the hallway where a shirtless Steve Rogers stood in gray sweatpants.
“Can’t sleep,” you replied, moving your head back to its former position.
He walked towards you, sitting down on the stool next to you. His hand made its way to your back and he started to rub soothing circles.
“Want to talk about it?”
You shook your head against the counter.
“Did you call Dr. Raynor?”
Dr. Raynor had originally been seeing Bucky after his pardon, eventually ended up becoming the team’s official psychiatrist, and yours when you joined the team.
“Yes, she was kind of pissed I woke her up. Still can’t sleep though.”
You both lapsed into silence, the only noises being the air conditioning and Steve’s hand against the fabric of your top.
“Do you want to come to my room?”
You sat up, looking at him.
“To…”
“Sleep!” He said quickly, smiling when you gave a soft chuckle. “To sleep.”
You shrugged your shoulders.
“I don’t want to disturb you. Why are you up anyways?”
Steve’s hand moved to your shoulder, pulling you towards him until you were leaning against him.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. notified me you were still up. I asked her to do it last time this happened, hope that’s alright.”
“It’s alright. Are you sure you're okay with it?”
He nodded, pulling you to stand.
“Of course, come on.”
You followed him back to his bedroom, his hand on your lower back. Once you got there, you both got into his bed, curling up under the covers.
“Come here,” Steve said quietly.
He lifted up his arm, allowing you to slip underneath it and place your head on his chest. Your arms went around his waist as his went around your back. You sat there together in silence, you listening to his heartbeat, and him tracing circles on your back.
“You know,” Steve began. “When I was a kid and I couldn’t sleep, my mother would always bring me to her room and I’d fall asleep just like this.”
You hummed in response, pulling the blanket up further.
“She would always sing until I fell asleep and on the occasion that didn’t work she would make me some tea. We grew our own chamomile in the window so the tea was completely homemade. It wasn’t the best tasting, it was very bitter, but it’d knock me out real fast.”
Your eyes closed and nestled deeper into Steve’s chest.
“When I first went off to war, we’d have to sleep on the ground or if you were lucky, in these rock hard cots that weren’t much better but at least you didn’t have to worry about bugs…”
Steve continued talking until your breathing evened out and your grip on him loosened. He kissed your head gently, settling himself back into pillows.
(Something I wrote in like two minutes so don't expect much)
The apartment was empty when you returned. You set your bag down silently and peeked around the corner of your hallway.
“Bucky?”
You heard no response so you stepped further into the main room, your hand moving to hover over the gun by your waist. Your eyes scanned over the room but nothing seemed disturbed. In fact it almost seemed too clean for your being away.
“Bucky? Are you home?”
You paused, trying to hear a response, when you heard quiet breathing from the bedroom. You knocked on the closed door, slowly pulling it open.
It was dark in the room except for the small lamp on the bedside table. The dim lighting was illuminating Bucky’s form sitting on the bed.
“Baby?” You whispered, making sure your steps were loud.
He looked up from the floor, eyes flashing with relief at the sight of you. His eyes were red and swollen, his cheeks were hollow, and his breathing was ragged, his shoulders shaking with each breath.
“Hey, baby, can I sit down next to you?”
He nodded and you slowly moved next to him.
“Can I touch you?”
He nodded again, leaning into you as you wrapped your arms around him.
“Breathe with me, okay? In and out, in and out. Come on, Sweets.”
You rubbed his back in soft circles, his head finding its way to your shoulder. You both sat there for a few minutes, letting him catch his breath.
“I’m sorry, this is not what I wanted you to come home to,” Bucky whispered.
“You don’t have to apologize, are you alright? What happened?”
He sighed, pulling you to sit in his lap. Your arms moved to circle his neck as his went around your waist.
“The nightmares came back.”
You pressed a kiss to his forehead before he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.
“I’m sorry. I wish I had been here. Can I do anything?”
He shook his head.
“I just want you here.”
You pressed another kiss to his head, tightening your arms around him.
hi- if your requests are open, may I ask for a Bucky x reader: she was the shy tech assistant that occasionally worked making upgrades for both James and Sam, they were the heroes she and admired- and one she had a crush on... Even if she felt like a babbling idiot trying to work next to the most attractive man she ever known, she could not help be curious and asked many questions about living in his "century". Finally she asks how flirting was, was it ok for a woman to ask a man out for a date?
Okay, so I wrote it. No idea if this is exactly what you wanted but I did give it my all! Also thank you so much for sending in a request!
Questions ~ Bucky Barnes
Warnings: not edited very well, couple swear words, poor title writing skills
Word Count: 1790 give or take
Stark industries did not have a good retirement plan, that was for sure. You’d worked for the billionaire for three years before you had blipped away. Once you came back your job and your employer were both gone. Luckily enough a file on you had somehow survived the battle at the Avengers compound and was picked up by the new Captain America who brought you on to work for him. It was an incredible opportunity. Working for superheroes, getting paid by the government (at least that’s what you thought, you honestly have no idea where the money was coming from), and getting the chance to do some good.
So there you were sitting in your apartment, finishing up your repairs on Redwing. It took five months of basically nonstop work from you before Sam even let you look at the thing, but now you were the one working on upgrades and doing repairs on the little guy every week. A knock on the door caused you to glance at your clock, eyes widening at the time.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
You quickly jumped from your seat, straightened your workspace, and walked to the door. You pulled it open quickly, not even looking outside before you started speaking.
“Shit, alright. I got a little carried away and wasn’t looking at the time. I need like ten more minutes, Sam, and then he’ll be all ready to…go.”
In the midst of your rambling you finally registered who you were looking at. It was in fact not Sam, and instead stood a very amused looking former assassin.
“Sergeant Barnes! Uh-um, hello.”
“Hi,” he greeted you with a small smile.
“Um, are you here to pick up Redwing? Or something else? I mean I haven’t gotten any requests from you but I totally could-”
“Redwing, doll.”
Your face flushed at the nickname and you invited him inside, cringing at yourself as he walked past you.
There was no doubt that you might have had a teeny crush on the super soldier. As much as you tried to hide it, Sam had figured it out after the third time you met him. I mean no one could blame you, have you seen the man? Six feet of pure muscle, fluffy brown hair you’d love to run your fingers through, shining blue eyes, and don’t get me started on that metal arm. The Wakandans really know how to pick a good color scheme, and the mechanics on that thing were to die for.
You moved quickly to your desk, almost tripping over the random box set on the floor. Quickly kicking it away, you sat down, resuming your work.
“If you could just give me a few minutes to finish up, it will be all set, Sergeant.”
You spun in your chair, instantly regretting it when he was much closer to you than you had anticipated.
“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky, doll?”
Your cheeks were on fire. You were almost certain you looked like a ripe tomato but you nodded anyway.
“Right, Serg-uh Bu-Bucky.”
Cursing yourself you turned around again, hoping Bucky wouldn’t see the shaking in your hands as you grabbed your tools. You heard him move to sit on the chair next to you and you inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the task instead of the attractive man next to you. There was silence while you worked and it definitely wasn’t helping your focus.
“Did you actually have to boil everything?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I mean Sam told me that Steve-er Captain Rogers-told him that you did and I’ve kind of been wondering because really the only thing I’ve ever boiled was a potato and like, soup and that doesn’t seem like a balanced diet so-”
A deep chuckle came from beside you. The sound was contagious and made you crack a smile, despite how embarrassed you were.
“We had some bread and cheeses, vegetables, too. And no, not everything was boiled.”
You nodded at his response.
Silence resumes again. You were almost finished, your hands worked fast on the electronics, determined to end the awkward encounter.
Ah, fuck it, you thought, your brain bursting with unanswered questions.
“Also-” he smiles as you start speaking again. “Are the Captain America movies real? I heard rumors that there were some and looked it up online and all the articles said that Steve Rogers filmed movies before he actually started fighting in the war, but I’m yet to find a single one of them.”
There was a pause so you looked towards the man sitting next to you. His smile had faded a bit, his eyes a bit sadder.
“You don’t have to answer that!” You panicked. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.”
Damn it. You ruined it. Finally having a good, semi-normal conversation with the man you liked and you, of course, brought up his best friend who had left him.
“No, it’s alright,” Bucky answered. His tone was less happy than it had been before, making a stab of guilt run through your body.
“They were real. I think the films were destroyed at some point. I never got to see them either, Steve wouldn’t let me.”
You nodded, setting your tools down as you finished.
“All done,” you told him quietly.
He stood up, taking Redwing in his hands when you passed it to him.
“Uh.. it was good to see you, Bucky.”
“You too, Doll.”
After he left, you buried your head in your hands, sighing deeply.
-
Over the next couple of weeks, Bucky continued to show up at your door to drop off and pick up Redwing before missions. And every time he walked through that door, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself before blurting out some sort of question.
“Did you have to do that weird dunce cap thing in school or was that before your time?”
“I read that there wasn’t always plumbing in houses, were there like outhouses?”
“What did you do for fun? Was it that marble game that I forgot the name of?”
Bucky answered with a smile to every single one of your questions and with time, even started asking questions of his own.
“What’s Harry Potter and why does everyone say they’re Nazis? Do we need to be concerned?”
“How are there so many types of coffee? And why do people need that?”
“How the hell do I turn this damn phone off?”
You started looking forward to your weekly time with Bucky. Thirty minutes each week to blast him with as many questions as you could and him answer as many as possible. You found yourself thinking about questions during the week, writing them down on a piece of paper to save for later.
Today, Bucky was reading off one of the papers, answering questions as fast as he could.
“‘What kinds of potatoes did you have?’ What does that mean? I don’t know, like the ones that grew in the ground?”
You laughed, gesturing to a screwdriver sitting on the far side of your desk. He leaned forward, handing it to you.
“No, like french fries, tater tots, variations of potatoes. Like the way they’re cooked.”
“Boiled?”
The two of you laughed at his answer. You looked up at him from your work to find him staring at you, his eyes sparkling. You were sure red rose on your cheeks as you looked away.
“That’s everything on the list. You got anymore?” He asked.
The air shifted, no longer was it light and playful. He was staring at you with such adoration, your stomach did whirls.
“T-two more actually,” you whispered, setting your stuff down.
You straightened in your seat, taking a deep breath.
“How did dating used to go? Like when you were attracted to someone, what would you do?”
Your heart beat fast and hard in your chest. Was this a bad idea? Are you about to screw everything up?
“Uh,” he started. He shifted, clearly deep in thought.
“Probably would spend time with the person-” you nodded. “-Let them know I was interested in them and their life.”
You inhaled a shaky breath.
“And the last one…” Here you go. “Were women ever able to ask the guy out? On a date, I mean.”
A small smile grew on Bucky’s face, it quickly disappeared making you wonder if you had imagined it.
“Never actually saw it happen, but I’m sure it did,” he responded quietly.
His eyes trailed over your face, very obviously pausing on your lips before he met your eyes.
“So if, for example I asked-”
You were cut off by Bucky’s phone ringing, Sam’s photo flashing on the screen. Bucky cursed, going to pick it up.
“What?” He asked harshly.
You looked down to your lap. God, were you an idiot? What were you about to do? He’s a superhero for crying out loud. The most attractive man you had ever met and you thought he would like you? The girl who sat in her apartment all day fixing his friend's tech. No chance.
Bucky continued to talk on his phone. His eyes trailed down to you and he huffed out a sigh. You were fidgeting with your hands, clearly embarrassed.
“Yeah, Sam, I’ll be there in a few. Yes, I’ll bring Redwing.”
He rushed Sam through his goodbyes and hung up the phone. You were putting your tools away, having finished the repair.
“Here he is. Tell Sam to try to not destroy the little guy again. For how protective he is over this thing, it sure gets banged up a lot.”
“Wait, you have to finish your question,” Bucky insisted.
Your eyes widened.
“Oh no, I can ask another time.”
“It’s fine, you can ask now,” Bucky said with a charming smile.
Damn him and his perfect face.
“Uh, alright.”
You steeled yourself and looked at your feet. There was no way you’d be looking him in the eye when he rejected you.
“I was going to ask if, um, if I asked you to go out to get coffee or something with me, would that be weird? I mean hypothetically of course. I don’t actually expect-”
His hand on your shoulder made you stop your rambling and look hesitantly at his face.
“Next week when I drop off Redwing, why don’t we go out for coffee?” He asked you. “You can finally explain to me all the different flavors.”
You nodded, your words caught in your throat.
“Great, I’ll see next week, Doll.”
He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and swiftly exited your apartment. Your hand flew to your cheek, a wide smile breaking out on your face.
You’d thrown everything to the ground and pushed over furniture in frustration. You had gotten back from a mission three hours ago. It hadn’t gone as planned. What was supposed to be a quick in-and-out op, turned into a violent hostage negotiation leaving only 4 survivors out of the 10 original hostages.
You were now sitting on your bed. Still in your stealth suit, you stared blankly at the wall in front of you, tears welling in your eyes.
“Y/N?”
The unexpected voice prompted you to look away from the wall and towards the door. Steve stood there, his back leaning up against the door frame and a solemn look on his face.
“May I come in?”
You sniffled, wiping your cheeks, and nodded.
He walked in and sat down next to you on the bed. The two of you sat there for a few minutes in silence. Finally, Steve spoke.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” you whispered back.
He nodded his head and you both fell into silence again.
“You did everything you could. It’s not your fault,” he told you.
Tears welled in your eyes again and you ducked your head.
“You can’t save everyone, Y/N.”
“I should be able to,” your voice broke, tears finally making their way down your face.
Steve reached out to you, pulling you towards him. His arms wrapped around your body as your head rested on his chest. Your body shook with sobs as he held you, his hands rubbing up and down your back soothingly.
“Shh, it’s going to be alright. You did everything you could. It’s not your fault.”
Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and he maneuvered your body to sit on his lap.
This one is really long for something I wrote. Also I've never written a fight scene before so it isn't really Marvel worthy.
No Spoilers for No Way Home
Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping, Torture, (the big three as I call it), really bad villain name (or not name), poor writing
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you and Peter are forced to endure things that aren't exactly normal for high schoolers.
Word Count: 3320
“Lab is clear,” you whispered into your comm.
Your hands were outstretched in front of you, silent, red flames jumping between them. Hydra’s labs were usually a lot more brutal than this. Instead of the usual inhumane experiments and technology designed for destruction, there were just tables covered in papers and files.
“There are a ton of files here, guys. All on paper, I don’t even see a single computer in here.”
Static came through your earpiece before Steve’s voice echoed in your head.
“We’ll have someone come back for it. Keep going down to the storage room and Parker will meet you there. Peter, status.”
“I’m here Cap’. Makin’ my way down now.”
You moved out of the lab and back into the dark hallway. You diminished the flames in your hands so as to not draw any attention to yourself.
You had been a part of the Avengers for almost two years now. It started when you had accidentally set fire to your principal’s office and Tony Stark showed up at your parents house that day when you had gotten home from school. Now, you were a part-time Avenger and full-time student with your best-friend Peter Parker.
“East wing is secured,” you heard Natasha say. “No one is here.”
“There’s nobody in the south wing either,” Tony informed us. “Could they have been warned?”
“Not possible, the only people who knew we were coming were us, Fury-”
A loud screech in your comm cut the captain out causing you to let out a yelp and rip your mask from your head.
“Y/N?” Peter’s voice came from down the corridor.
“Peter? Is your comm working?”
You sped up your steps and hurried to him. He shook his head. His mask was in his hands, too, likely due to the same reason.
“Should we keep going?” He asked, looking around.
You summoned a small flame to help you both see.
“Yeah, the others said that the base is basically empty and I’m sure we can handle a few agents if we need to.”
You both locked eyes and you could see him considering it.
“But we won’t be able to call for backup if we need it.”
“We’re going to the storage room, I don’t think that’s Hydra’s top priority in a raid.”
Peter nodded slowly, running his free hand through his hair.
“Okay.”
The two of you walked on silent feet to the end of the hallway, where you descended a dark staircase.
“The blueprint says it’s a door on our right in 87 feet,” Peter stated, referencing the 3D map being projected from his suit.
When you both reached the door, you tested it finding it locked.
“Should I?’
“I got it,” you responded, moving a flame to the tip of your finger.
You pressed it to the lock and slowly, but surely, it melted away. Peter pushed the door open and the two of you slipped inside. Rows of files stretched along the walls covered in layers of dust. On the far side of the room was a computer monitor set on a desk with no chair. The space wasn’t big and it probably hadn’t been used for years. Peter made his way to the computer while you started examining the files. All the names on the sides of the binders and folders were in Russian, a language neither of you were any good at.
“Wow, this thing is ancient,” Peter chuckled.
You walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder. He was right, this thing was so old Steve probably knew how to operate it.
“I don’t even see a place to plug in the flash-drive.”
“Oh, there isn’t.”
You spun around, fire spiraling up your arms at the unfamiliar voice. Peter stepped out from behind you, both of you scanning the room for the source.
“You see, Peter, Y/N, there is no information for you to collect from this room.”
A man stepped out from behind one of the file cabinets and you cursed yourself quietly for not noticing the secret door. The man was dressed in a black tactical suit. Straps carrying guns and knives littered his torso. As he moved closer to you and Peter, four other men stepped out of the secret passageway.
“Yes, this was a trap. There’s no information for you to collect. There is only what you’ll give to me.”
“Like hell we will,” you glared at him.
“Not from you, sweet Y/N.”
Your eyes widened and you subtly took a step closer to Peter.
“Mr. Parker here is going to tell us exactly how to make and neutralize the web fluid.”
“I won’t tell you a thing,” Peter’s voice didn’t waver. His back straightened, giving you a signal of the upcoming fight.
Your flames heated to a light blue. The man nodded.
“Alright, we’ll do this the hard way.”
The men attacked, lunging forward at the two of you. Peter shot out his webs at two of the men’s feet, causing them to stick. You charged at one of them. He sent a jab to your ribs which you blocked with a flaming hand making him cry out in pain. Another one of the men came up behind you, kicking in the back of the knees. You fell forward, standing back up with a roll and stepped closer, punching him in the jaw. The smell of burnt skin filled the air as you fought. A hit to your stomach brought you to your knees and the men were able to get a kick to your side. You groan rolling onto your back and using both hands to wrap around his ankle. He hollered dropping down to the floor and slamming his knee into your chest.
Peter was fighting the three other guys near the computer. They had their blades out and every time Peter would try to web them, they’d slice through them. The strategy wouldn’t be super effective in the long run but it allowed them to get some hits on Peter.
You focused back in on your fight and wrapped your arms around one of the men’s necks. He screamed at the burning sensation and clawed at your hands to let him go. Your grip tightened but before he was rendered unconscious, you felt a cold needle slide into your throat. Your arms loosened allowing the man to fall. The syringe was pulled from your body and thrown on the ground.
“Y/N!” Peter yelled, noticing your situation.
“Crap,” you muttered falling to your knees.
The fire on your arms dissipated as you felt your body temperature drop. Your hands were shaking at the sudden cold feeling and your head was spinning.
“Y/N!” Peter shouted again.
In his distraction one of the men was able to fire a shot into Peter’s leg, making him cry out. Your vision was swirling as you continued to crumple further to the ground.
“Have a good little nap, Y/N,” you heard as your eyes shut.
Your head was aching, probably a side effect of whatever drug it was that they gave you before.
“Y/N?”
Peter’s concerned voice prompted you to open your eyes.
You were strapped down to a steel chair, leather bindings at your wrists and ankle to hold you there. Apparently someone had stripped you of your suit while you were unconscious, leaving you in your sports bra and shorts. You looked up to see Peter in a similar situation, only he was held down by metal casings fused to his chair. Your eyes trailed to his leg. It was sloppily wrapped in a bandage and though the bleeding had slowed, there was still red blooming on the fabric.
“Are you alright?” you asked.
“Yeah, you?”
“Peachy,” you muttered.
The room they had the two of you in was unfinished. Bare concrete walls and floors, a barely there window allowing only a tiny smidge of light to land on the floor in between you both, and a singular light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. Classic kidnapping movie setting.
“How long have you been awake?” You asked him.
“Maybe 20 minutes, not like I have a watch.”
“They said anything yet?”
“No. That guy also somehow knew about the trackers in our suits. They disposed of them somewhere else.”
“Damn.”
“Can you melt your restraints?”
You closed your eyes, trying to summon a flame but instead shivered at the onslaught of cold it brought you. You shook your head.
“We have to figure another way out then,” Peter said.
The sound of the door slamming open interrupted your brief conversation.
“Now that I have both of your attentions, let’s begin.”
The man who had spoken to you both earlier began walking around the room, settling behind Peter’s chair. He set his hands on Peter’s shoulders and you tensed.
“Why don’t you tell me about that web-fluid, huh?”
“No thanks, Gerald.”
The man raised an eyebrow at Peter’s response.
“If you’re not going to tell us your name then I’ll have to make one up for you, Gerald.”
The man, Gerald, gave a small smile. Not a nice, comforting one, more like a sinister “I’m going to make your life a living hell” smile.
“Peter, I’m giving you a chance here because you're just a kid. Just tell me what I need to know and you won’t have to deal with my ugly side.”
Peter didn’t respond. Instead he locked eyes with you, holding your stare. There was a minute of no talking.
“Ugly side it is,” Gerald snickered.
He exited the room, the metal door slamming and locking shut behind him.
You both let out a breath. Peter leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Mr. Stark will find us,” you said.
“I know.”
“I should have listened to you.” Peter stayed silent. “I’m sorry.”
He brought his head back up and nodded. His eyes darted to the door and his eyes showed a flash of fear.
“Just tell him, Pete.” Peter’s eyes shot back to you. “You don’t have to get hurt over this.”
He shook his head.
“No, and honestly I’m done taking your suggestions.”
“Peter!”
“No, Y/N!” He shouted at you. “I should have just listened to my gut because now I’m about to be tortured for information that you know I can’t tell him because he will use it to hurt people.”
You looked down to your knees. Tears were filling up your eyes but you did your best to blink them away. Peter was right, this was your fault. You had been reckless, just wanting to get the mission done and get home but now you were about to get your friend hurt.
“I know,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Peter huffed in response, his foot tapping against the ground.
A couple minutes of tense silence later the door opened again. Gerald walked in followed by another man pushing a cart of tools. Peter’s foot increased in it’s tapping as you gulped.
“Please, you don’t have to do this!” you begged, as the cart was set next to Peter. “You don’t have to hurt him, please!”
Gerald laughed and picked up a thin dagger. Peter’s eyes widened and his breathing got a touch heavier. The leather cut into your skin as you pulled against it, trying to free yourself.
“Who said I was going to hurt him?”
Gerald kneeled down next to your chair and grabbed your hand, facing your palm up.
“Wait!” Peter cried out. “Don’t touch her!”
The dagger was dragged against your palm cutting deep into your skin. You shut your mouth tight, suppressing the groan that wanted to leave your lips.
“The longer it takes for you to not speak, Peter, the more cuts on her skin,” he said tauntingly.
Gerald brought the dagger up to your forearm and cut again. Your eyes squeezed tight, but still no noise escaped you.
“Don’t tell him, Pete. I’m fine.”
This continued for hours, at least that’s what it felt like. Peter’s pleas for him to stop grew a little less urgent at your reassurances. Cuts were bleeding on your arms and legs but it wasn’t too bad. You got cuts during battles all the time, you could handle this. But Gerald grew impatient.
“Alright then,” he grumbled, his hand stroking your hair. “We’ll try something else. Gag her.”
The other man who had been standing silently against the wall pulled a cloth from the cart and shoved it into your mouth despite your protests. Peter’s hands were shaking. Your reassurances had been the thing that made him feel a little better and now you would not be able to give him any.
Gerald grabbed a bucket of water that had been placed in the corner earlier and moved to stand behind you.
“No, no, wait!” Peter begged.
Gerald pulled your hair, forcing your head back with a yelp before pouring some of the water on your face. You struggled in your chair, gasping for air but only getting liquid instead. He finally let go of your head and you surged forward, coughing out the water the best you could with the gag still in. Peter leaned forward in his chair calling your name.
“Y/N? Please, stop this!” he pleaded.
Gerald ignored him and pulled your head back again, letting more water stream over your face.
Hours passed. You had been cut, waterboarded, strangled, beaten, and still Peter wouldn’t give anything up.
You had done everything you could to hold in the sounds of pain and give reassuring looks to Peter but you were starting to give up.
Peter’s voice was becoming gravely as Gerald hit you in the ribs again. When none of the words leaving Peter’s mouth was the formula he crossed to him and hit him across the face, hard.
“When I come back, you will tell me what I need to know,” he hissed.
Gerald pulled down your gag and spit in your face, making you recoil. He walked out of the room, the other man pulling the cart out with him. As soon as the door shut, Peter started struggling against his restraints again.
“We’re getting out of here, Y/N. I swear.”
“Peter,” you whispered. “Stop struggling, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
He froze.
“Hurt myself? Are you kidding me Y/N? No, I’m going to get us out of here and you’re going to get to a hospital.”
You closed your eyes, leaning your head back. Your entire body ached. Even if Peter could somehow get out of his chair, you wouldn’t be able to walk out of this place without his help. That would mean leaving him without a way to fight.
Peter continued to struggle as you took deep breaths.
“I think my ribs are broken,” you say quietly.
He stops, staring up at you with concern in his eyes.
“It feels like they’re scraping my lungs.”
Tears fill your eyes as Peter slumps in his chair.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m going to tell them everything as soon as he gets back in here.”
“No,” you groan at the pain in your body as you jerk forward. “They’ll kill both of us the minute we don’t have any use to them.”
“I can’t just sit here and watch this anymore, Y/N! It’s been hours and I don’t know how much more your body can take!”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I won’t just continue doing nothing when someone I love is in pain!”
The words were barely able to register in your brain before the door opened again and Gerald walked in with a revolver.
“See this, Parker?”
Peter gulped, staring at the weapon.
“There’s a bullet in one of these. Why don’t we find out which one.”
Gerald pressed the gun up against your head and spun the chamber, locking it in place.
“Don’t! I'll tell you everything!” Peter shouted.
“No, Pete don’t-”
Gerald slammed the gun across your face, knocking you unconscious. Peter flinched, forcing himself to look away from your limp frame.
“I’ll tell you what you want. Just don’t… just don’t hurt her anymore.”
Peter had told them everything and in return, they unstrapped you both from your chairs, disposing of you onto the ground. Peter crawled to you and pulled your head into his lap, trying to get the rest of your body into the most comfortable position he could.
His hands stoked your hair as he surveyed the damage to you. The cuts all over your body had mostly stopped bleeding but dark purple bruising was now covering your form. You had been right before, at least one of your ribs was definitely severely broken, a dip on your side telling him that. Your wrists and ankles were raw due to the struggle against the leather. Peter also was able to notice a small blue light blinking in your neck, most likely how they were able to stop your powers. The parts of your face not covered in bruises were red and blotchy from crying.
Tears spilled from Peter’s eyes and he quickly wiped them again.
“Peter?” you groaned quietly.
“Hey! I’m here. You’re okay,” he soothed.
“Ow,” you whispered, tears slipped down your face.
“I know, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help.”
Your eyes stayed closed but you brought one of your hands up slowly to interlock with his.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” he asked softly, though he knew exactly what you were talking about.
“Do you really love me?”
Peter’s grip on your hand tightened.
“I shouldn’t have blamed you for this before. It wasn’t fair of me,” he said.
“It was true though,” you whispered. He was trying to change the subject but you went along with it. It’s not like you had the strength to push him on it right now anyways. “You wanted to find the team. If we had, we wouldn’t have been outnumbered.”
“I could have pushed it harder. It’s not your fault, Y/N.”
You gave him a small hum in response and slowly opened your eyes. He looked down at you, his free hand gently wiping away the tears on your face.
“I love you, too,” you whispered.
Peter stilled. There was a pause before he relaxed again and smiled weakly.
“I’m glad.”
You closed your eyes again and his hand continued to stroke your hair. The two of you sat there in silence, with nothing but the sounds of your raspy breathing. Just before you fell asleep there was a bang from outside.
“Was that a gunshot?” You asked.
“Stay here.”
Peter gently moved you from his lap, placing your head softly on the floor before moving to stand. He grunted at the pain in his leg as he shielded you from the door. More shots, definitely a gun. You heard shouts of pain and orders being shouted in Russian from outside. You flinched as something hit the door and Peter moved into the best defensive position he could. There was a rattling noise and the door opened. Peter shot forward aiming to punch whoever walked through but it was caught.
“Hey, hey, hey, Spider-ling. Relax, it’s just me.”
Peter paused, looking up at Tony’s face which was being uncovered from the mask. Tony stiffened when Peter threw his arms around him before returning the embrace.
“Y/N needs help,” Peter said, pulling away.
“Mr. Stark?”
Tony looked further into the room, seeing your battered form. He rushed to get down next to you, Peter sitting on the other side and holding your hand.
“FRIDAY?”
As FRIDAY gave a report of your injuries and Tony informed the rest of the team, Peter and you locked eyes.
“I love you,” you mouthed to him.
He leaned forward pressing a kiss to your forehead.
I literally started crying while writing this which is odd because I don't think it's that good. Definitely my best work though and completely not edited.. Lot more angsty than I planned. Also I'm completely ignoring Natasha's death here.
Warnings: Character death, brief violence
Summary: There was no way they could all get out of this alive. Someone had to make the sacrifice.
Word Count: 1522
The story hit the news eight hours after her death. Eight hours since the world universe had lost one of their best heroes. Eight hours since Y/N L/N had sacrificed her own life to protect everyone else’s.
The Avengers stood together in a government building they had been brought to after the battle with Thanos' army. Everyone of them was exhausted, bloody, and bruised. But that’s not what they were focusing on. All of their eyes were turned towards the table in the center of the room, a body lying there, the stones still clasped in her hand.
The guardians stood in the back. Rocket and Nebula towards the front of their group as the both of them were the only ones to get to know the fallen hero. Rocket was unusually quiet and Nebula was standing still next to him, her eyes not truly seeing anything.
Other heroes were scattered throughout the room.
Dr. Strange stood in solemn silence, knowing it was his action that influenced hers.
Maria Hill and Nick Fury, their faces showing nothing but their hearts were breaking, stood near the doorway.
Rhodey stood next to Peter Parker with his hand on his shoulder. His friend gone too soon. Peter’s idol dying in front of his eyes.
Wanda Maximoff had tears in her eyes that she wouldn’t let fall. The first person to believe in her, gone. Red wisps of her power twirled around her hands.
Sam Wilson stood next to her. His hands were shaking and the urge to run away was strong but he stayed. She deserved that much.
Bucky Barnes stood next to his childhood friend. Staring down at the body of a woman who had defended him and fought for him when everyone else thought he was the one to blame.
Clint stood next to Natasha, the two taking comfort in each other. Clint’s hands were clenched. Natasha’s stare was blank. They lost a friend, someone they had both known for years. Y/N was one of the only people who could understand their sins and still welcome them with open arms.
Bruce towered everyone in the room. His eyes glued to the stones in his fallen friend’s hand. He should have done it himself. He might have been able to take it. He might have been able to save her life but he didn’t. Y/N’s body lay in front of him.
Thor was huddled in the corner by himself, his sunglasses no longer worn to hide his sleeping eyes but to disguise the tears streaming down his face. The god had lost everything, everyone but her. Y/N was the only one who came to him throughout the five years of hell. She had been the one to switch his beer to a water bottle. She had been the one to hold him as he let himself break over the loss of his brother.
Tony stood near her head. His hand lay on her forehead, hoping to feel even the tiniest bit of warmth. His tears had dried. His body had stopped shaking. His mind was blank. He didn’t have a solution for this. No equation, no theory, nothing. Not a smidge of a way to bring her back. The one person on the team who could relate to the terrors in his mind. The one person in the world who had sat with him in the lab throughout the night's sleep wouldn’t come. The only person who could outright oppose him but still send secret, unsigned presents on birthdays and holidays for two years.
And then there was Steve. He sat on a chair pulled up next to the table, her free hand clasped in both of his. His salty tears falling into his lap. Y/N was the first person to listen to him after the ice. She was the one who would show up at his place at any hour of the night if he asked. She showed him the city, taught him how to adjust. She fought by his side for years and years. She gave up her life to fight by his side when he needed her. She was the one who slept on his couch after the snap for 2 months. She was the one who sacrificed her life.
Y/N’s body was cold. Her eyes were closed. Her suit was torn. Blood still was splattered on her face from the fight. Her friends and family were around her when she died. They still surrounded her after she had faded.
The gauntlet is there, laying there in the dirt. You see it. You see Thanos’s eyes lock onto it, too. The others rush to him, punching, hitting, kicking, anything they can do to defeat him. Your eyes go up and you see Strange on the side. Everything slows as he lifts a finger. Your breath hitches and you turn towards Thanos again. The stones are in his hand. The power courses through him as the last stone is set in place again.
It’s fuzzy, not really processing in your brain as you jump up at him. Your hands reach around the gauntlet. Everything’s blurry as your hands fiddle with it. You’re glaring up at the monster who has caused so much pain and death and destruction. He killed your friends. He ruined your family. You’re thrown back onto the ground, the impact not registering.
Thanos raises his arm. The others stare at him in utter horror. His eyes sweep over the people who had gotten in his way. They were stronger than he expected, but not enough in the end.
“I am…inevitable.”
He snaps his fingers, ready to claim his destiny, but nothing happens and his eyes widen.
You force yourself onto your knees, pain coursing through every part of you. Your eyes are heavy, your muscles feel as if they’re one movement away from snapping. But you force yourself to stare into his eyes. Showing Thanos who bested him.
The stones are clasped in your hands, tendrils of light coursing through your veins.
“And I… am… an Avenger.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as the world turns white.
As the light clears, you let yourself collapse against the ruble behind you. Dust and smoke hovers over the ruins of the place that had once been your home.
Hands appear on your shoulders, Tony.
“FRIDAY, vitals.”
Steve appears on your other side. Behind your two friends is the rest of your team. Some you’ve known for over a decade, others only met an hour before. Your team nonetheless.
“Life functions critical.”
Their shoulder’s slump. Steve and Tony take a seat on either side of you. Natasha, Bruce, Clint, and Thor kneel in front of you.
You’re okay with going now. The people are safe. You’ve lived a good life. You’ve had laughs and cries. Shared love and hate. Made friends and enemies. You helped people, left an impact. And now you’ll die, surrounded by family.
“Thank you,” you whisper as your final breath leaves your lungs.
In the days following her death, the compound was beginning to be cleaned up. Physical wounds started to heal. Plans started to be made. Memorials were held all around the world. Tears were shed by children and their parents for the hero who had given everything to keep them safe. Families were reunited together, friends laughed together for the first time in five years. Strangers embraced each other on the streets to share thanks, congratulations, and respects.
News spread throughout the universe of the team of heroes from earth who had given their all for all of them. Among the stories was one about a girl who had held all six infinity stones and lived long enough to use them.
The Avengers. The ones who possessed immeasurable strength and power. The ones who had created a family amongst themselves.
They stood together again. In the center of New York. The place where it all started. Where they fought together for the first time. Where they became coworkers, where they became friends, where they became family. The group surrounded a new monument. It had been built quickly, even under the stress and chaos from the people who had returned. It showed a brilliant woman. The image of her not stoic, but smiling, portraying the person she was. The person who always showed up for a friend. The person who always knew the right thing to say to cheer someone up or make them laugh. The woman who had volunteered her time after any battle or fight to care for the civilians left in the wreckage. The statue was placed in the center of the road, a problem to deal with later. It stood in the exact spot the original seven had stood together in a circle, staring up into the sky as their first encounter with aliens began. The beginning of their story.
Each of the heroes took a turn placing a flower at the base of the monument. Saying a few words to their friend.
And just where their story had begun, one of theirs had ended.
