My 3rd and final fic for @until-theend-oftheline 1k MCU challenge :) and despite my laptop doing a Thanos and deleting half my damn drive, I've just managed to get in before the deadline :) my prompt for this fic was 'there's times where I want to get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask. It doesn’t make it a good idea!' and is in bold
Word count: 1,222 words
Characters: Reader, Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark (mention), Bruce Banner (mention)
Warnings: swearing, mild injury to reader, mentions of Bucky's back story, heavily implied smut
“Could you breath any fucking louder?!” You whisper yell to the cause of all your problems.
“Yeah, actually, I probably could! Will you calm down?” James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier himself, whisper yells back at you.
“Calm down? Sure, I'll do that. It's not like we're trapped in an office, no back up, barely any ammo between us, and at least 20 Hydra agents sweeping the building. What's there to panic about?!”
The explosion from a couple of floors beneath you shakes the building, making both you and James grab at anything bolted down for stability.
“What was THAT?!” You do actually yell this time, shaking your head to clear the ringing in your ears.
“New weapon Stark designed. Should buy us enough time to get to the roof...”
“You better have an extraction plan you've been keeping quiet Barnes!” Grabbing your bag and your practically useless gun, following Barnes into the stairwell and groaning as you look up to see at least 20 flights of stairs above you.
Twenty-three flights of stairs later, the two of you burst out onto the roof, Barnes turning round after you've come through and using his metal arm to crush the lock of the door, holding off anyone who's behind you.
“Jesus. I need to do more cardio. I swear this stitch in my side hurts more then this slash in my arm.” You say between deep breaths.
“Let me have a look.” James says, taking hold of your arm and using just the moonlight to see by. Benefits of the super serum running through his veins. As he moves the frayed edges of your uniform away from your skin, you watch his face soften slightly, one strand of hair falling forwards, and you have to resist the sudden temptation to push it back.
“It's not too bad. The blood just makes it look worse than it is.” Oh right. Your arm. You'd practically forgotten about that while focusing on the way the muscles in your partners neck and shoulders moved, and how this one line of sweat rolled down into – “Chameleon? Y/N?”
“Huh? What?” Fucking hell Y/L/N. Pull yourself together. It's just Barnes. The same guy that always eats the last of your Oreos and never replaces them.
“You OK? Did you knock your head or something?”
“No. I'm fine. Honest. What now Barnes?” In answer, James grabbed your hand, leading you to the side of the rooftop. Damn. Has he always had this firm, yet soft grip?
“See that fire escape over there?” The fire escape in question is several flights below, but more importantly, on a different building.
“Yeah?”
“We're jumping over there.”
“WHAT?! Are you crazy? You might manage that jump but I sure as fuck can't!” Pulling back from Barnes, you give him an incredulous look.
“You can. Because you're going to use your powers.”
“No. No. Not happening. Nope.” Comes your reply, shaking your head so hard you might give yourself whiplash if you don't stop soon.
“Y/N...”
“No! Damn it Barnes! This was your plan?”
“Yes. I know you hate using your powers on us, but some times you have to. This is one of those times.”
“Yeah. Well, there's times where I want to get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask. It doesn’t make it a good idea! This is the same sort of thing, OK?!
“A Zorro mask? Really?”
“That's what you took from that?” The exasperated sigh tumbles from your mouth before you van hold it back.
“Well, I already knew that you're bisexual. Now, come on. One touch, you turn into me, and you get the super soldier benefits needed to jump over there.”
“Please, Bucky. Please don't make me do this.”
“That might be the first time you’ve called me that.”
Gunfire suddenly rings out behind you, and you yelp as a bullet breaks through the door and catches you in the thigh.
“Damn it! Y/N! Come on!” Barnes yells, and you know that as much as you’re going to hate these next few moments, better this than ending up dead. Letting your eyes turn to solid black, you reach out and tap James on the shoulder.
“Damn. How do you lug this arm around?” The question coming out in your now deep voice has the real Bucky laughing.
“You get used to it. Ready?”
“As I'll ever be.”
It's late as you shuffle your way through the halls of the tower, Bruce having taken a ridiculously long time to give you the all clear. You've got a bandage going round your arm, and a couple of stitches holding your thigh together. You know you should be heading for your bed, but instead your feet take you down a couple of floors, to the rooms James has as his own.
Knocking on the door, once, then a second time, you're turning away to go your own rooms when the door opens, and you spin round on the spot to be faced with a dishevelled Barnes. His hair is sticking up in five different directions, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips. But what makes your mouth drier than the Sahara is the distinct lack of a t-shirt.
“Y/N? You OK?”
“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Doc finally cleared me.”
“Adrenaline rushing through you still?”
“Yeah.”
“Here.” James says, opening the door wide enough for you to slip under his arm. Making your way to the end of his bed, you perch awkwardly, not really sure on what to say or do next.
“You want to talk about it?” James sits down next to you, the warmth from his body comforting you in a way you never expected.
“Kind of. Why did you make me do it? You know I hate using my powers on anyone on the team.”
“There was no other choice doll.”
“There's always a choice, Bucky.”
“Twice in one day. I'm honoured. Normally it's James, or Barnes.” His smile is small, but brings one to your own face.
“We don't really know each other well enough for me to call you that.”
“Well, for a few minutes you were me. I think that's enough to stop being so polite with one another.”
“Promise me you'll never force me into that again?”
“This is a big thing for you, isn't it?” Worry flicks over Bucky's brow, and you reach one hand out onto his face.
“What you had, with Hydra? The way they messed with your mind? My story's not much that unlike yours.”
“I'm sorry.”
You hum in response, and silence falls between the two of you. Your hand is still on his face, but instead of moving it off, your thumb starts rubbing along his cheekbone.
“Y/N...”
“Yes Bucky?”
“I don't want...if you don't leave...”
Your hand slowly falls away, and you stand up, only long enough to turn, push Bucky flat onto his back, and crawl up to straddle his lap.
“Don't think. This...” You break off to grind your hips into the muscle underneath you, “...is a good idea.”
“Doll? Shut up and kiss me already.” Pushing yourself up to hungrily lock lips with the super soldier, one thought above all else crosses your mind as Bucky's hands grab onto your waist and flip you over. This is actually a great idea...
Another fic for the awesome @until-theend-oftheline and her 1k MCU challenge. My prompt is "You got anything that's real? My boobs." and can be found in bold.
Word count: 1,612
Pairing: Steve x Reader (platonic - father/daughter relationship)
Warnings: swearing, minor injury to reader, child abuse (not overly graphic), alcoholic father, childhood abandonment
Having powers was meant to make life easier, right?
Wrong.
You were nine years old when your powers had first shown themselves. Your Dad hadn't always been this way, hadn't always spent the evenings drinking until his temper snapped and he took it out on whoever was closest to him, be it you, your Mom or your older brother. Your brother usually stepped in to protect you, but as he'd been at a baseball tournament that week, there was no shield to hide behind. All you could really remember from that night was your father's fist, hitting you over and over, and the thought of getting away from it. One second you were cowering on the floor, the next you were outside, several blocks away from your house. By the time you walked back home, your Dad was passed out on the sofa, and your Mom couldn't quite look you in the eye. When your brother got home that weekend, you were sent to the store to pick up stuff for dinner. You came home to an empty house.
The next eleven years was a blur of countless different foster houses, due to you continuously ‘running away'. You were too terrified to tell anyone that you weren't actually running anywhere, that all you would do was close your eyes, think of a place, and boom, there you were. But you weren't going to tell anyone that. Because then they would leave you, like your family did.
On your 18th birthday, you were officially emancipated as a minor, and left another nameless foster house with nothing more then a duffel bag of clothes. You spent the next couple of years hitch-hiking your way across America, working whatever odd jobs you could to make a few bucks. By the time you'd made it to New York, life was a bit better, but still pretty damn shit.
Then it got fantastically shit.
How these people found out about your powers, you had no idea. But they offered you a cheque with more zeroes you thought imaginable, just to use your powers to get inside a building, and enter a code into a computer. You knew it was wrong, that technically you'd be breaking and entering, but that cheque was just too tantalising to say no to.
As night fell over the city, you took a deep breath, clearing your mind to nothing but the address you'd been given. You had spent time over the last few years working out just how well your teleporting ability worked, and while it was definitely easier teleporting to somewhere that you knew, you could go to somewhere new if you focused enough.
Closing your eyes, you took one last deep breath, and with the address front and centre in your mind, you let your body shift from one place to another. As soon as your feet touched back on the ground, you opened your eyes, finding yourself in what looked like a control room of some sort, multiple computers on the desks in front of you. Moving quickly, you wriggled the mouse on all of the computers until you found one still logged on. Sitting down, you dig a piece of paper at of your back pocket, and followed the instructions on it.
Hitting the last button, a new screen opens up, showing the footage of a door, outside of which were the people paying you. You watch as the door opens, and everyone walks inside. Knowing what they asked of you is done, you swivel round in the chair, ready to get out of there, but you freeze as you see the wall that was behind you. Or more specifically, the great big Avengers logo on the wall that was behind you. You had helped those people break into an Avengers compound. You go to close your eyes and get out of there, but suddenly an explosion from outside sends you flying, your head hitting the side of a desk, and you can just about make out the door opening and the figure of a man before everything goes black.
The pain in your head is what wakes you, your body slumped in a chair and over a desk. Slowly sitting up, you move the arm not handcuffed to the table, cursing as your fingers meet crusted blood. Then you're cursing as the memories start flooding back to you, how you helped a bunch of people break into one of the most secure buildings in New York, that you've been caught. You're panicking, breath coming out in short, sharp bursts, when the door opens and the room feels even smaller, as stood on the threshold is the figure from earlier, except this time you can put a name to that figure. Captain America himself.
“Shit....” you murmur, your eyes wide and fixed on the man in front of you.
“You're awake. Good. We've got a few questions we'd like to ask you, and then you'll be able to go home. So, first off, what's your name?”
“Katherine Hayworth.”
“Katherine. Like Hepburn?”
“Yeah. My mom was a big fan.” You lie, trying to subtly loosen the cuff around your wrist. “I'm sorry, I'm confused. Why am I here?”
“You're here because you were found in a secure facility in downtown New York. A facility that only about 10 people know exists.”
“What?! I've been at home all evening. You can ask my roommate.”
“And would that roommate be Rita Hepburn?” You gulp as one side of the Captain's mouth tips upwards. “Word of advice kid. When you're giving someone a fake name, maybe try not to use people they've heard of. Famous stars of the 40s? So, fake name, fake alibi. You got anything that's real?"
"My boobs." You snap back. You're surprised when the only reaction that gets is Captain America reaching over and unlocking the cuff.
“Thanks.” You close your eyes, but find nothing happens.
“We’ve watched the security footage. We know you have teleportation abilities. This room is lined with materials, technology, that means you can't get out of here except through that door behind me. So, wanna try the name question again?”
There's something about this man, that just makes all the walls you've built up around yourself crumble into dust. First you're just telling him your name, answering question after question, and before you know it your whole life story is tumbling out.
“What's going to happen to me?” You ask when you come to the very end, your voice small and timid.
“That depends on a few things. I'll be back.”
Having powers was meant to make life easier, right?
Right.
Somehow, some part of your life story had struck a chord with the star spangled hero. You had been sat in that room for hours, or what at least felt like hours, when the door finally opened again. Except this time the Captain wasn't alone. He was followed into the room by Tony Stark himself, and for a few seconds, you couldn't help but to give into the fear that this was it, and you were about to spend the rest of your days locked up in some sort of super prison. But then you started hearing the words coming out of Tony's mouth, words like ‘home' and ‘job' and ‘a few tests' but it wasn't until Tony finished with ‘welcome aboard' that you were able to wind your jaw back into place and reply.
“I'm sorry. I'm going need you to repeat that last bit. And the bit before that. Hell, everything from the start would be good.”
“Rogers here,” a giggle escaping you as Captain America rolled his eyes at Tony, “has convinced us to give you a second chance. He's told us your story, and we'd like to help you. So, I've got one of the apartments being cleaned out for you, and once me and Banner have run some tests, we'll see where best to place you employment wise. Sound good? Good. We'll see you in the lab.” And with that Tony leaves, the door left wide open behind him, and you're looking at Cap as if someone's about to jump out and yell ‘surprise'.
“Come on. I'll take you to the lab, keep you company.”
“Thank you Captain.”
“Call me Steve.”
Turns out being an Avenger wasn't the thing for you, even with the fact you had powers. Instead, you went back to school, with the aim of becoming a certified therapist so that you could help young people who’d just discovered their powers, so they didn't go through what you had. You had your own little apartment in the tower, but made sure to have dinner with Steve at least once a week, the Captain being the father figure you'd never had growing up, so much so that years later, when the news of your Dad's passing, the alcohol finally claiming his life, you had been viciously against going to the funeral, until Steve convinced you that you would regret it if you didn't. He stood by your side the whole time, from one of the very back rows of the church, and gave you the strength and courage to join the line of mourners giving their condolences to your Mom and brother. And when they didn't recognize you, it was Steve who tore into them for you, telling them how your life had been since they'd abandoned you, and the pride and love with which he spoke about you meant you were smiling while you pulled him away, smiling when you wished them a happy life, smiling as you headed back home to your family.
This is my Marvel fic offering for @until-theend-oftheline Seasons of Love - Heat of Summer challenge :) I chose the prompt running. This fic also fills my Steve Rogers square for @marvelfluffbingo
Pairing/characters: Steve x reader, Sam Wilson, mentioned (Natasha Romanoff, Peter Parker)
Word count: 500 on the dot
Warnings: running with Steve is not for the faint-hearted
Being an Avenger was a lot of things.
Exciting, nervewracking, amazing, and a lot of hard work.
You didn't have the power of Norse gods or the serum of a super soldier running through your veins. You had gone through a similar program to what Natasha had, though thankfully nowhere near as extreme as hers. But at the end of the day, you were as human as they came. Sure, you had a photographic memory, could pick up new languages within days, and having grown up hunting with your father, an extensive knowledge of guns. But everything else you had to put the work in. Sure, some stuff was easier then others, and some stuff was just downright evil. And one of those evils? Cardio. Damn cardio.
“You alright, Y/N? Need a minute?”
“Try several.” You gasped, your head practically between your thighs as you tried to get desperately needed air into your lungs. You could feel Sam's hand slowly rubbing your back as the two of you stood off to the side of the path.
“And this is exactly why I don't bother trying to keep up with Cap.”
“We can't all have mechanical flight suits, Falcon.” Taking one final lung bursting breath, you straighten yourself up.
“That's because you have other talents, Nightshadow.” At 6 in the morning, you, Sam and Steve were the only people crazy enough to be out running, and the only people that ever used this particular running path were military personnel and your fellow Avengers, so you could use your ‘made-up names', as you'd heard Peter describe it.
‘Yeah, well, it's official. Running fast isn't one of them. And also. How on god's green earth do you not get sick of hearing ‘on your left'? Because if I hear it one more time, I will deck him.”
“You're going to ‘deck' Captain America?”
“No. I'm going to deck the pain in my ass.” Sam doubled up laughing as Steve chose that last moment to finally come to a stop.
“Why are you talking about your ass?”
“There's a pain in it.” You smiled sweetly at Steve. Not for the first time, your eyes raked over his muscular physique, and the slightly sweaty t-shirt stuck to that physique. But unlike every other person who spared Steve a glance, or two or three, you were the lady lucky enough to touch that physique.
“Have you pulled a muscle or something?” Steve asked, concern flittering over his face.
“She means you, dumbass.” Sam chuckled, ducking behind Steve as you went to punch him in the arm.
“Thank you so much for that, birdbrain.”
“You're welcome. I'm going to head back.” And still laughing, Sam started back towards the Avengers compound, your death glare fixed at the back of his head.
“Y/N...” Steve started, but you quickly interrupted him.
“Steve, I love you, but I am never coming running with you again.”
“Well, you lasted longer then most people. Want me to carry you back?”
“Hell yes.”
The forever and evers: @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @sillesworldofwriting @jayankles
My first fic for @marvelfluffbingo! And my first non-supernatural fic!
Pairing/characters: Bucky x Reader, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff (mentioned), Natasha Romanoff (mentioned)
Word count: 505
Warnings: mild injury to reader, Bucky is a cinnamon roll
Square filled: Hurt/comfort
“He's going to kill us.” Sam mutters, opening the door and holding it open with his foot.
“He's not going to kill you. Why would he? This wasn't your fault....whoa! Focus, Sam! Because you walk me into a wall...”
“... he really will kill you.” Clint finishes your sentence.
Slowly and carefully, Sam and Clint carried you into the kitchen, where Steve and Bucky were sat talking over coffee. As the three of you entered, the two super soldiers turned, and at the sight of you Bucky was up from his stool so fast it fell over.
“Y/N! What the hell happened?” Bucky asked, grabbing you out of Sam and Clint's grasp and carrying you over to the stool Steve had picked back up.
“It's nothing big. Just a little mishap in training.”
“You have a bandage around your ankle Y/N!”
“It's a cooling...”
“What happened? Clint? Sam?” Bucky interrupted, but on turning around found the kitchen to be empty apart from the two of you, the others having taken full advantage of his distracted state to run away.
“I'm gonna kill them. I can't believe...”
“Bucky..” You softly said, but Bucky was on a roll and didn't hear you.
“...hurt you, what were they thinking...”
“Bucky!”
“...why didn't anyone come and tell me...”
“James!” You shout, stopping Bucky in his tracks.
“You never call me James.” Bucky murmured, coming up to you and putting his hands on your waist.
“Well you were kind of in the zone there. Look, I was trying this move Natasha showed me, landed awkwardly. Clint and Sam were walking past the gym, heard me yell out in pain, they took me straight to the med bay. It's just a sprain, OK?”
“But...”
“No buts. And no killing anyone.”
“OK.” Bucky said, leaning in to nuzzle the crook of your neck, his way of calming himself down. “Why were you even practising moves anyway? You can make yourself invisible.”
“Yeah, I can. But it's pretty common knowledge now that one of the newest avengers can do that.” You reply, your hands lifting Bucky's head so you can look him in the eyes. “Last mission, that guy flooded the floor so I couldn't move without giving my position away. And remember a couple of months ago? That crazy technology that dampened both mine and Wanda's powers? I can't always rely on my powers being enough anymore. I need to know how to take care of myself.”
“I can take care of you.”
“You're not always with me. But you can take care of me now.”
“Well, next time, you're practicing with me.” Bucky kisses you, softly, as the last of the tension leaves his shoulders. “And you're not lifting a finger for the rest of the day. Alright?”
“Yes, Dr Bucky.” You smirk, bursting out laughing as Bucky's hands tighten on your hips, a low groan rumbling through his chest. “Hmmm, wouldn't have you down as the ‘doctors and nurses' type of guy.”
