yes i'm aware his birthday was last week this is coincidental-ish. maneuver timelines however you need for your muse to fit. I know this is long im sorry.
It was Tony's birthday party. Specifically, it was his 38th birthday party, and less two weeks ago, he'd held a press conference shutting down Stark Industries weapons manufacturing division after he returned from Afghanistan. The arc reactor weighed heavily in his chest, in every sense of the word.
It was a surprise party. Tony hadn't known about it, he'd been going up to his home with Obie next to him. He'd been the one to organise it, and when Tony had immediately protested, he'd heavily slung an arm over his shoulder: "You're out of the business of war, my boy. You've got to keep your connections somehow. Time to get better at the business of partying." Like Tony had ever been bad at that. There's a look in Obie's eyes that Tony can't decipher.
And now he's half-tipsy. He hadn't planned to be - not ever again, actually, after 3 months brutal sobriety - but Obadiah had pushed whiskey into his hand and he never could say no to it. He's still watching him. Tony's trying very hard to get the two women tripping over themselves as they speak to him at the bar to leave him alone when someone else approaches.
Steve tapped a few buttons on the computer, trying to get information to send. "Information is coming through." He mumbles into his earpiece before stepping back, turning around, startling slightly when he sees the person standing in the doorway, he hadn't heard them walk in.
"Well... this is awkward." Steve glances down at his uniform, not his usually one, no... on it bold and in the front was the Hydra symbol. He tightens his grip around his shield, black with the Hydra symbol scrawled onto the front of it.
"Turn around. Pretend you saw nothing." Steve turns and yanks the memory chip out of the computer, tucking it away. "Hail Hydra." He whispers before turning again, eyes cold. Steve Roger's isn't Captain America... it's been so long sense he was, now, now he's Captain Hydra.
A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What" (this is already part 5, so yes, im calling it a series.) It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)
The kitchen was warm and quiet, filled with the soft morning light pouring in through the big windows. You were curled up on the counter in one of Bucky’s henleys — technically yours now, since you’d claimed it after “accidentally” falling asleep in it two months ago. He hadn’t asked for it back.
Bucky stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs as he stole tiny sips from your coffee cup every time you lowered it.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at him as he swiped it again.
He smirked, brushing a thumb over your knee. “Can’t help it. Yours always tastes better.”
You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. He caught you halfway and turned it into a real kiss — slow, unhurried, the kind that made time feel irrelevant.
You sighed against his lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we’re never gonna eat.”
“We can skip breakfast,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.
“And deal with Sam’s ‘someone didn’t have their Wheaties’ speech again? No thanks.”
Bucky groaned and stepped back, reluctantly, while you hopped off the counter. You started prepping your coffee again, and he leaned close to watch.
“One scoop…” he counted aloud.
You snuck a glance at him and grinned. “Three.”
“Three?” he fake-gasped. “You planning to vibrate through walls?”
“Says the guy who had four yesterday.”
“Three and a half,” he corrected, deadpan.
You snorted. “Uh-huh. Keep lying to yourself, grandpa.”
He gave you a playful glare but said nothing, instead leaning over to steal one of your toast slices like a thief in the night.
And then — of course — the kitchen door swung open.
“Okay, what the hell is this domestic energy?” Sam’s voice boomed as he walked in. “Am I interrupting a rom-com or—?”
You and Bucky practically jumped apart like teenagers caught red-handed. You reached for the peanut butter like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Morning,” you both said, far too casually, far too in sync.
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Weird. Anyway…”
He turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing as he opened the fridge. “You look grumpier than usual.”
“I always look like this.”
“That’s what worries me,” Sam said, pulling out the orange juice. “You need a little somethin’ in your life. A spark. Some romance.”
You snorted into your coffee. “Wow, subtle.”
Sam shot you a grin. “I’m serious, Bucky. You look miserable and I’m sick of it. Your need to get out there. Meet people. Real people. People who don’t, y’know, punch aliens for a living.”
“I’m not miserable,” Bucky muttered, taking a very aggressive bite of toast.
Sam ignored him. “You need someone to, like, hold your hand and remind you that the world isn’t complete garbage.”
“Y/N does that,” Bucky said before realizing. His eyes flicked to you. Yours widened slightly.
“Uh— I mean…” he coughed. “You could. You’re good at pep talks.”
Smooth. Real smooth.
But Sam was too busy with his phone to notice the weird energy. “Anyway, I’m gonna download Spark for you.”
“Oh no,” you whispered.
“Oh yes.” Sam grinned, typing furiously. “It’s like Tinder but for people who still believe in feelings.”
“Delete it,” Bucky said immediately.
“Too late. Already making your profile. Okay — full name?”
“Absolutely not.”
Sam looked up. “Fine, we’ll just put ‘Bucky B.’ You sound like a retired DJ. Age... one-oh-six... but we’ll round down to thirty-five. Close enough.”
You had to cover your mouth with your hand to stop from laughing. Bucky looked like he was actually malfunctioning.
“Give me your phone. I'm deleting it.”
“Nope.” Sam sidestepped him and kept typing. “Bio time. What do you want it to say? ‘Strong, silent, may or may not have trauma, will kill spiders for you’?”
“Sam.”
“Oh! And profile picture.” Sam’s grin went feral. “I’m gonna use the one from Clint’s barbecue.”
Bucky froze. “No. Not the one where—”
“Yup,” Sam said, turning the phone around dramatically. “The one where you’re smiling. A real smile. The people gotta see the goods, man.”
You wheezed. “That’s actually a really good picture.”
“It is,” Sam agreed, tapping to save the profile. “Now we wait. Trust me, you're gonna get matches faster than Tony blows money.”
Bucky looked physically pained.
And then… the phone buzzed.
“Oh snap — you already got a match! Girl named Olivia.” Sam said, scrolling like a man on a mission. “Look at this—she hikes, she volunteers at animal shelters. Honestly, Buck, she’s like a Hallmark movie in human form. You should totally message her.”
You blinked.
Something inside you twisted — that unwelcome, unmistakable burn of jealousy curling in your chest.
Bucky looked… surprised. And then cautious. “That was fast.”
“She’s cute,” Sam said, scrolling. “She said you have nice eyes. You should message her. Or better yet, go on a date. What’s the worst that could happen?”
You forced a laugh. “Yeah, Buck. You should totally go.”
Bucky turned toward you slowly. His smile had faded into something softer. Thoughtful. He tilted his head, studying your face like it was a puzzle he was halfway through solving.
“…Maybe,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word.
You smiled a little too tightly. “Good for you.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes, like he could see right through you.
You lasted approximately six hours before cracking. Not that you were counting.
You’d spent the day trying not to think about Olivia. Or her "kind eyes". Or the fact that Bucky had apparently matched with her in under a minute. Not that it mattered, obviously. You were cool. Chill. Entirely unaffected.
…Until Bucky found you in the hallway on your way back to your room, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly tugged you into his.
He shut the door behind you, arms crossed. He didn't look mad. Just… knowing.
You tried to play it cool. “If this is about the last cookie, I swear I thought it was mine.”
“It’s not about the cookie.”
You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Then what?”
Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. “You told me to go. Like it didn’t bother you.”
You scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off. “I was just being cool. Y’know, chill. Unbothered.”
“You were seething, doll.”
You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “Okay, maybe a little. So what?”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just watched you for a second, his silence pressing gently around your walls. Not demanding, not accusing — just waiting for you to be honest.
You exhaled and leaned back against the door. “I know I said it didn’t bother me, but the second Sam said you matched with someone, it was like—like my stomach dropped out.”
His brow furrowed, stepping closer.
You continued, voice softer. “I know you love me. I do. But the idea of someone else getting even a piece of you… I hated it. And that scared me. I didn’t want to be the clingy one or the insecure one or the girl who flips out over some dumb dating app.”
Bucky’s face softened completely. “Hey.”
He closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing your cheek.
“You are not insecure. You’re not clingy. You’re human. And you love me.” He kissed your forehead gently. “I want you to care.”
Your chest cracked wide open, and you let yourself lean into him.
“I don’t want to share you, Buck,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”
“You never have to,” he murmured. “You’ve got all of me. Always.”
“…So what about Olivia?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
He shrugged. “I unmatched her hours ago. Right after you said good for you like you were trying not to cry.”
You gaped. “You what?”
Bucky smirked. “The only person I want… is you.”
Your heart stuttered, full and aching and impossibly light all at once. “Bucky—”
“You’ve had me from the moment you stole my henley and never gave it back.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t have to be chill. You don’t have to play it cool. You already have all of me.”
Your laugh was shaky, but your smile was real. “Even if I get all weird over fictional matches on dating apps?”
He grinned. “Especially then.”
You leaned into him, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “So you’re not going on a date with Olivia?”
“Nope,” he said, nuzzling your nose with his. “Unless you change your name and start volunteering at animal shelters.”
You snorted. “I would for you.”
Bucky kissed you then — sweet, slow, soft. The kind of kiss that made you forget all the awkward moments of the morning. The kind that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.
You laughed into the kiss, your fingers curling around his shirt. “You absolute...”
“—Boyfriend material?” Bucky finished, hopeful.
You smiled, lighter than you had all day. “Absolutely.”
Somewhere down the hall, Sam shouted, “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DELETED SPARK—!”
You broke apart, laughing breathlessly. “We should probably tell him.”
Bucky sighed into your neck. “Or we fake our deaths and disappear into the Alps.”
Summary: Yelena Belova tells you to meet her at her “office” to discuss something important, but you never expected her workplace to be a bathhouse — or that your growing crush and tension between you would make things even more complicated.
Warnings: None, flirting ig?, nudity (non sexual), no smut unfortunately
WC: 862
A/N: This is my first fic pls lmk if I should make pt 2 with the date (and smut) or if this is the worst thing you’ve ever read.. :)
You checked the address again.
415 Kent Avenue. Room 5.
Your brows scrunched together as you looked up at the sign above the entrance.
Banya 23 – Bathhouse & Spa.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
There was no way Yelena Belova—the Black Widow, assassin, and new Avenger—worked out of a spa.
You glanced back down at her text.
Room 5. Don’t get lost.
Sighing to yourself, you stepped inside.
The warmth hit you instantly. The scent of eucalyptus clung to the air as soft conversations echoed somewhere beyond the steam. It felt… expensive and peaceful.
Not exactly what you imagined when someone told you to meet an internationally wanted ex-spy.
You followed the hallway until a polished wooden door came into view.
Private Room 5.
This must be it. You hover your hand over the handle.
“Please don’t let me accidentally walk in on some poor stranger…” you mumbled under your breath before turning the knob.
The room opened into a cloud of steam.
A sunken pool glowed beneath soft blue lights, ripples dancing across the water.
And there she was.
Yelena leaned against the edge of the bath with one arm draped lazily over the marble, completely unbothered by your stunned expression.
“I see you’ve found my office.” A smug smile tugged at her lips. “Unexpected location, no?”
You stared.
You had expected reinforced steel doors. Hidden elevators. A warehouse with enough weapons to start a small war.
Not…
“…A spa.”
She laughed, low and amused.
“It keeps people relaxed, and they let their guard down.”
“And keeps people confused.”
“That too.”
You stepped closer, stopping at the edge of the water as heat curled around your legs.
“This is seriously where you work?”
Yelena hummed. “Nobody questions a woman spending all day in a bathhouse.”
“…I guess that’s fair.”
She tilted her head, studying you for a second before that familiar mischievous glint appeared in her eyes.
“So…”
She tapped the water beside her.
“Get in.”
Your eyes widened.
“uh.. I don’t have a swim-“
“And? I have towels.”
“…That’s not the issue.”
A playful expression spreads across her face.
“My office my rules, get in”
She paused just long enough to make you nervous.
“Uh.. ok give me a sec.” You say backing into the changing room behind you.
You quickly strip down to your matching underwear and bra and take a look at yourself in the mirror. “What am I doing?” You think to yourself and step back outside.
She frowns.
“Take off all your clothes, your jacket, bra.. everything”
She nodded toward your matching underwear with the smallest hint of amusement.
Heat rushed to your face, your cheeks turning a bright pink color.
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“I never joke about trust.”
You searched her expression for a smile, for any sign she was teasing, but there was only calm certainty.
“In my line of work,” she continued, “everyone hides behind something. Clothes. Weapons. Lies.” Her blue eyes met yours. “This room is different. In here, everyone is equal. No masks. No weapons.”
The words settled over you, making the room feel quieter than before.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then Yelena offered a small, reassuring nod.
“Only if you’re comfortable, detka”
You hesitate for a moment, hands reaching behind your back, slowly unclipping the small clasp that held your dignity together. “Fuck it” you think to yourself, pulling it down your arms.
The warm sensation of steam hits your skin. You quickly pull off your underwear like ripping off a bandaid and get into the water as fast as possible.
“You were overthinking it too much, now you’re trustworthy” she teases.
You instinctively fold your arms around yourself beneath the water, still feeling exposed despite the warmth surrounding you. You felt intimated by Yelena and how she makes you feel.
“Relax. I’m not going to touch you or anything.” Yelena’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “I would at least take you on a date first.”
The confidence in her voice catches you off guard, and despite yourself, a small laugh escapes.
“A date?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. A date.” She shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dinner. Somewhere nice. There’s a good pasta place near my apartment that has good macaroni… if you’re free tonight”
You hesitate for a moment, but the warmth in her expression makes it difficult to say no.
And maybe you were also a little distracted by the fact that Yelena was, very pretty and secretly you wanted her to do something.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “I’d like to go to dinner with you.”
The tension that had been sitting between you starts to fade, replaced by something lighter. You realize you’re no longer overthinking every word, every movement, every possible reason to keep your guard up.
For the first time since walking into Yelena’s office, you actually feel comfortable.
And somehow, knowing you don’t have to be on edge around her makes the meeting feel like it might actually go well.
Yelena notices the change immediately, a small knowing smile appearing on her face.
(AU, Edward’s chronically ill in this:) ahaha like me🥲)
Edward’s fourteen years old and he’s been in and out of the hospital his whole life. His parents are distant, the only person he really has in his life is Caleb, his best friend. Who isn’t currently here, he promised he’d come see him this week but he hasn’t.
Edward sighs as he lays in the hospital bed, bored out of his mind. He’s been in the hospital for three weeks at this point, and he just wants some human contact, doesn’t care who it is. He turns his head to the side and spots someone outside his hospital room door. He quickly waves, trying to get their attention for them to come in. He can read a visitors pass on their shirt, so maybe he can convince them to stay with him for a bit- he’s just so horribly alone.
You stood quietly in the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him. His hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his temples, and his jaw was set in that stubborn way it always was when he refused to admit he was hurting. You let out a soft sigh. You hated seeing him like this—so hard on himself, so weighed down by things he didn’t deserve to carry.
He didn’t notice you at first, too lost in his own storm. But you stepped forward, not hesitating for a second.
“James.”
Your voice cut through the room like a blade, soft yet sharp enough to reach him. The sound made him freeze mid-punch, his metal fist stopping inches from the bag. His head turned slowly, his stormy blue eyes locking onto yours. And in an instant, the tension in his shoulders melted. His gaze softened in a way that made your heart ache, because you knew—you knew—no one else ever got to see him like this.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough from exertion but laced with something warmer. Something vulnerable.
Steve, halfway through a set of sit-ups in the corner, dropped to the floor in disbelief. “Wait—what?”
Sam, leaning lazily against the wall with a water bottle in hand, nearly spit out his drink. “Hold the hell up,” he said, straightening. “Did she just call you James?”
Steve sat up fully now, wiping his forehead with his shirt and glaring at Bucky like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “She did. And—” his voice faltered as he pointed a finger at Bucky, “—you’re okay with it?”
Bucky glanced at Steve, then at Sam, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. But when he looked back at you, something in his expression shifted. He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Yeah. So?”
Sam’s jaw practically hit the floor. “So? You nearly ripped my arm off when I tried calling you that one time!”
Steve nodded furiously. “He’s not exaggerating. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t ever call me that again unless you want to find out how fast I can break your jaw.’”
“Exactly!” Sam threw his hands up. “And now she just waltzes in here, says James like it’s nothing, and you’re—what? Cool with it?”
Bucky’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “She’s not you.”
“Oh, no, we get that,” Sam said sarcastically. “But why the hell is she the exception?”
Bucky didn’t answer right away. His hand flexed at his side—flesh and metal both—but his focus stayed on you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face as if grounding himself. Finally, he said, quietly but with conviction, “Because she’s mine.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Steve and Sam exchanged a look—a mixture of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little amusement—but neither of them dared to speak.
You, however, raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as you fought back a smile. “Yours, huh?”
Bucky’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, but he didn’t back down. His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yeah. Mine.”
“God,” Sam muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is so disgustingly soft, I think I’m gonna puke.”
“Agreed,” Steve said, though there was a small, knowing smile on his face as he stood up. “You two can have your… moment. We’ll leave.”
As the door closed behind them, you turned back to Bucky, who was already watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. His expression had softened completely now, the rough edges smoothed out into something raw, something real.
“James,” you said again, stepping closer, and you saw the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his lips parted slightly like he needed to hear it just one more time.
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice quieter now.
“You’ve been at this for hours,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a strand of damp hair away from his face. “Come take a break.”
He hesitated, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I just… I didn’t want to bother you. I needed to work it out.”
“James,” you said, firmer this time, and his breath hitched like the sound of his name from your lips alone was enough to shake him. “You don’t have to do this alone. Not anymore.”
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, and his hand—metal and warm and steady—reached up to wrap around yours. He held it there, against his cheek, like he was afraid you might pull away. “It’s not just the name,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible. “When you say it… it’s different. It feels… good.”
Your heart swelled, and you gave him a small, reassuring smile. “That’s because I love you, James. All of you. Even the parts you don’t think are worth loving.”
His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again, they were glassy, like he was fighting to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Stop it,” you said gently, stepping closer until your foreheads touched. “You deserve everything. And I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just held you there, close, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. And maybe, in some ways, you were.
“Say it again,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
“James,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his. “You’re safe with me. Always.”
A soft, broken laugh escaped him, and he pulled you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You’re all I’ve got,” he whispered, his voice muffled but full of emotion. “And you’re all I need.”
You held him there, running your fingers through his hair, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself just be. Vulnerable. Loved. Yours.
(normal modern au, teen Carlos, Hydra doesn't exist)
A young Carlos runs down the beach, laughing happily. It's spring break and he's happy to get away from everything for a bit, his life isn't exactly stable. His parents are divorced, and it's messy with custody.
"Come on!" He calls out as he stops by the ocean, taking a deep breath and just taking it all in. It was nice to get away from the city, his time is spent split between New York and London.
Carlos turns around to face the person with him, chuckling softly, his sandy blond hair falling into his face. "Isn't this perfect?"
(Anyone can interact, no matter how long this has been up. This is a continuation of the open RP following the civil war.)
Tony hadn’t really told anyone what happened in Siberia. He didn’t feel it was important for them to know. Steve mainly stayed away from the tower, so that was nice. During a mission debriefing, Tony and Steve had gotten into a bit of an argument and it got heated. They were arguing about the best way to complete the mission. Tony wanted to make it a stealth mission, but Steve thought they should go head on. What stopped the argument for a moment was when Steve threw his arms up in the air out of annoyance, and Tony flinched. Like, fully flinched back, as if he was expecting Steve to attack him. Steve fell silent. But looked more annoyed than anything. Tony was barely holding himself back from leaving the room and hiding in the lab for the next 5 hours.
tags!
@katiestark @peter-b-parkor @smarterthantonystark @emiliakane @art3m1sm00n @dr-bruce-banner-official @god-of-mischief-here-tada @lost-buck (for you, this is my universe’s Steve, not the red headed one)
