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｡°❀ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 (𝟏/𝟑)

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Steve Rogers x feral!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!reader, fluff, reader has a secret, size difference, manhandling–reader also likes touching, violence, death of some mercenaries, clueless!reader, secondhand embarrassment, smidge of angst.

𝗪/𝗖 | 10.8K

𝗔/𝗡 | This is a roles reversal of my Tarzan!Steve au What A World. This verse is set after Age of Ultron, and in an alternate timeline with Civil War-esque. Bucky is a part of the team, Wanda is too but labelled as inexperienced personnel, Bruce is still on Earth, Thor comes in later, and Brock Rumlow isn’t dead and he leads the last remnants of Hydra (for now). All mistakes are my own !!

Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s green. Varying in hues, pine and Sacramento in the dark shaded areas hidden from the sun, and sage, jade and emerald where the golden beams reach. Just very green, a sharp contrast to the dull grey and white facility in the middle of the area. Almost ruining the effortless nature with its presence, a giant black hole sucking away the beauty.

As the jet lands, Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. Walking to the end as the hatch swings open, he secures his shield on his back. The sunshine almost blinds him right then, burning into his eyes as he steps down the platform, going straight for the people standing in lab coats a few feet away.

“Captain, I’m Dr. Charles, did you all have a safe trip?” One of them greets with a short handshake, his glasses reflecting the blue sky. His salt and pepper hair is short, messy although once styled from the remains of the gel at his roots.

“We did, and we came as soon as we got your message.” He slips his thumbs in his belt, watchful gaze surveying the group of researchers. “Wanda and Barton, investigate the surrounding area, not too close to the treeline.”

When the two leave, Bucky and Sam stand by Steve’s sides as he asks Dr. Charles for more information.

“Since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, we’ve been an independent organization. No special forces or advanced security, it isn’t the best circumstances for our sensitive research,” The man laughs nervously, shy from the captain’s authoritative presence, “we focus on the biology of living organisms. The life stages specifically—”

“—for a study called Project Genesis which is highly confidential.” Another scientist speaks up, stepping forward to shake Steve’s hand. She smiles politely, her hair in a feathery pixie cut with a few dyed strands that contrasted with her lab coat. “And, I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance, Captain Rogers.”

Steve reads her badge, Dr. Ilo, he remembers seeing her ID on the tablet back at the compound. Along with a very urgent plea for reinforcements. With all of the recent attacks on facilities that previously worked with S.H.I.E.L.D., the team jumped at the chance to get a lead on the final, seemingly resilient, remains of Hydra. Although, they were now labelled as an independent terrorist group of mercenaries, led by the same man who was buried under a building the last time Steve heard of him.

“It’s a good thing we all aren’t here for that then.” The blond stands tall, posture straight as a board.

“All?” One of the other doctor’s echoes, eyes widening as the other members exit the jet. The notorious Black Widow, followed by a genius billionaire and finally, a renowned scientist who has been in hiding for the past months. The researchers take a small step back at the sight of Bruce, one of them offering him a strained smile.

The public still wasn’t over the catastrophic battle between Hulk and Hulkbuster in Johannesburg, South Africa. The Stark Relief Foundation was still dealing with the damages and lost lives. To say the least, it has been a rough few months for the team—Bruce especially, but his expertise was imperative for this mission.

Unbeknownst to Dr. Ilo and her team, the Avengers weren’t here strictly for reinforcements.

The whirring of the engine slows until the stillness of the wilderness takes its place. “Oh, that’s far more, uh, Avengers than we were expecting. Dr. Ilo?”

“It’s fine.” The woman waves, stepping forward to introduce herself to the others.

“We’re glad you contacted us, it saves us the trouble of randomly swooping in to save the day.” Tony fixes his blazer, squinting at the harsh sun. “You don’t try to conceal yourself out here at all, huh? Ever hear of Wakanda?”

“The tiny Third World nation? Yes, why?”

Steve huffs through his nose, glaring at Tony who only shrugs with a smile. “No reason. It has some of the greatest mountain ranges I’ve ever seen. Maybe lay off the research and do some sightseeing, Dr. Ilo.”

The woman hums, facing Steve. “Did you find out anything about the threat, Captain?”

The blond nods, “We suspect it’s the last remnants of Hydra. They’ve already taken down several other facilities that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“It’s kind of obvious you’re next—when you’re out in the middle of nowhere like a wounded cub.” Tony waltzes by and scans the area, undoubtedly uncovering secrets with his sunglasses. He claps his hands, pointing to the doors, “May I?”

“Of course,” one of the scientists begins leading the team through the large doors.

Immediately, the crisp nature in the air is transformed to a bitter profile, antiseptic. The striking white walls and glass panes reflect the bright, blinding lights as they walk down the wide hallway. Dr. Ilo brings them to the control room where one guard sits in a swivel chair, nearly choking on his coffee at the sight of the Avengers before Dr. Ilo excuses him.

She wasn’t lying about the lack of security.

Tony whistles. “You know, Stark Industries would be glad to help you out with this—substandard setup you have, Dr. Ilo. With your line of work, I think only the best would suffice.”

“We prefer our privacy—and I don’t think your famous tech is in our budget.”

“Fair enough.” The billionaire shrugs, and whips out a business card and hands it to the doctor. “Contact Pepper, she’ll be able to set up a payment plan. And you could say goodbye to all of this well-loved and eccentric technology, if you’d like, of course.”

“This isn’t a business deal, Tony,” Bruce says from where he’s hunched over a control panel, already sifting through the past footage. “Dr. Ilo, you said it set off one of the detectors?”

“On the Eastside of the facility, one of the thermal cameras caught an unusual presence that remained there for a long period. We weren’t alerted until the next morning,” She ignores Tony’s enthused hum, “Again, our technology isn’t the best.”

“Hydra lurking in the shadows? I would laugh if they weren’t horribly outnumbered, they’re probably scared of Cap going berserk as he did in that elevator.” Tony winces, “That’s also why I’ve tried to keep my wondrous thoughts to myself, I’d rather not spend months in the ICU, huh, Steve?”

The blond ignores the nudge from Bucky and watches the grainy footage of the surrounding area of the building. The heat signature barely moves from the treeline as the hours tick by, until the morning sun emerges and they disappear into the forest.

One of the scientists speaks up, “—excuse me, you can’t go there.”

Steve raises his gloved hand, carefully observing the rest of the researchers who’ve diverted their attention elsewhere. Through a wide window, that faces the deep woodland. His gaze switches to Natasha lingering by a tightly secure door. “Is that the electrical room?”

Dr. Ilo slowly nods, “It also stores some security documents and other sensitive data.”

“Well, we need to take a look inside. It’s simple precautions.” Steve asserts with crossed arms. “Stark, do you have the—guard box?”

The older man scoffs, “it’s not a guard box. It’s a portable protection system, more of an AI in a box than anything.” He saunters to the hall, tapping the doorframe, “And it’s quite heavy. Two-person job—let’s go, birdman.”

Sam reluctantly leaves with some colourful words, then, Dr. Ilo whispers to one of her colleagues. Hesitantly, Dr. Charles swipes his badge and the door beeps. Natasha slinks through the doorway, inquisitive laser eyes taking in the room. Steve follows as Bucky goes to the window, seemingly noticing the researchers’ interest as well while Bruce continues reviewing the footage, his glasses are drawn low as he bites his lip.

“Bet this is a change of pace considering the tech back at the compound—probably nothing compared to waking up in the twenty-first century.” Natasha ribbed, gesturing to the mass of blinking lights and exposed wires, several old screens lit up with various data, constantly changing. “Although, all of this—albeit old, is still quite shocking to you.” She heads to the poorly kept shelves, peering through a few unlabelled boxes. “Dr. Ilo certainly wasn’t lying about the lack of funding, I’ve seen better safe-keeping in convenient stores.”

Steve laughs humourlessly, observing the room as he walks to the desk, spotting a little blinking device on the ceiling. “Actually, gas detectors were invented in the 20s—” He squints at the screen, not knowing what he was looking for. He listens to the quiet beeps of the machines, “Why would Hydra have any interest in biological research?”

“Why does Hydra still exist?” Natasha fires back, glancing at the open metal door before whipping out a USB, she jams it into one of the machines then types on the keyboard. “Or, why haven’t these people moved on if S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone?”

“They continued their research solitarily, without any directors or secretaries to answer to. Who knows if they even follow rules of conduct.”

“You’d be surprised how many people care about ethics. More than you think.”

“But, most times, it’s never people who can impact the masses.” He frowns, fixing his gloves. “Do you think it’s him?” He lowers his voice.

Sharp footsteps sound outside the door, “Are you two done?” Dr. Ilo appears, her thin brows furrowed as she briefly checks the shelves against the walls. Boxes sealed, straight, nothing out of place.

Natasha nods, straightening her belt. “We’re just checking for any sabotage—”

The building rattles as an explosion goes off outside the walls. The team, except for Bruce who remains in the security room, rushes to the front doors and are welcomed by utter mayhem. Heavily armed trucks flipped and toppled over, the protective fence is now a mess of metal and electric shocks. Tens of mercenaries clad in black with heavy helmets, armed with weapons of shiny metal. Some were massive guns with smoking barrels, others with large blasters, glowing blue.

“Oh, lovely for you all to finally join,” Sam quips, flying into the sky, guns aimed at the enemies below. “Not like we’ve been getting our asses kicked!”

“The connection was jammed, no need to be pissy, birdman.” Tony snickered through the comms.

Swiftly crouching, Steve raises his shield in time for a blast, the disk withstanding the energy as Natasha ducks for cover. Bucky is behind him, firing at the soldiers as they drop like flies.

In the midst of chaos, between bombs going off and weapons blitzing, the outer facility takes a great load of damage. Windows shattered and the front doors were blown to bits, revealing the sleek white halls. Wanda’s red magic lays down a line of them, as Natasha wrestles a weapon from another, firing it at the final helicopter. The enemies, now stranded, split up. Few of them willingly brawl with the Avengers, others clatter into the building, although, most of them scour into the surrounding forest.

Steve jumps up, drop-kicking the dazed mercenary before throwing his shield at one racing into the treeline, knocking them on their face before the disk returns.

He pants, observing the array of destruction and unconscious enemies. “Romanoff, you clear out the building. Stark, find Banner and disable the servers to conceal all documents. The rest of us will head into the forest to get the rest.”

As the last armed person falls to the ground, Steve surveys the area. “Sam, head back to the facility. We’ll sweep for any hiding.”

“On it.” The tall man nods before taking off, soaring in the direction of the faint commotion.

“Barton and Buck will go ahead. I’ll stay in the back with Wanda.” He instructs with an authoritative tone before turning around.

He’s met with the young woman’s back as she stares into the mass of trees and bushes. Then, she takes off, sticks snapping under her shoes.

“Wanda,” Steve calls, putting his shield on his back before following after her. “Wanda!”

The woman bolts, hair flowing in the wind as she weaves through the thick trunks, hopping over stones and across a stream. Bucky and Clint have followed too, after seeing Steve run in the opposite direction. It was disobeying Captain’s orders, but with inexperienced personnel like Wanda, she was the top priority.

They come to a collection of smaller trees upon the edge next to a waterfall. The grass is dewy and the dirt is damp from the lack of morning sun, and the smell flows into the crisp air.

The loud crashing water almost mutes Wanda’s voice, “wait!”

Steve thinks it’s directed to him, but as he steps closer, the scolding on the tip of his tongue dies. His eyes widen as the small bundle falls to the ground, berries of purple, red and blue scatter across the earth. Steadily following up the bare legs to the barely clothed body, he meets the terrified gaze of a woman.

Skin caked in speckles of dirt, leaves and blades of grass. The filthy sweater is oversized, slipping off one shoulder and ragged with holes and loose threads. The fabric is old and sheer enough that he can see right through it.

Your lips are parted, cheeks full and eyes bright, unblinking. With a stiff stature, you shrink before everyone’s eyes. To them, it’s as if you’re trying to hide, and you are, but it’s ineffective.

As the others pace forward, you take another step back, keeping a distance. Now, standing on the rocky cliff, the coolness sends a wave of goosebumps up your legs.

The tension lays thick in the atmosphere, not even the flowing waterfall can soothe it. The strained seconds silence the background noises of nature and dull the peering rays of sunshine. The surviving beams colouring you golden and ethereal, and utterly petrified.

Steve raises a hand as Wanda steps forward, he catches Bucky’s eye over his shoulder, the man is settled on a ledge a couple of feet up. His steel-blue eyes are alert, hands firmly holding the rifle, finger hovering the trigger. He barely nods.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Steve assures, boots set in the moist dirt. When he moves, it’s barely an inch, but it has you staggering backward and closer to the edge. “Hey, hold on. Look, I’ll stay here.”

You don’t listen, and the distance increases until the cliff beneath you trembles, so you quickly walk forward again.

“You’re going to fall if you step further away.” Steve can practically see the inner battle going on in your head. “Everyone move back.”

They all obey, each taking several steps backward until you're on stable ground again. They’re wearing matching expressions of concern and confusion, all but Wanda, who was gazing at you with interest, eyes scanning up and down your barely clothed body.

“She’s cold.” She states, already unbuttoning her sweater, then holding it out, “Here, uh, warm.”

You only recoil fearfully, with trembling hands. The berries squish beneath your bare feet, staining them shades of purple and blue. The ground is the opposite, under your touch erupts yellow glimmers that cover the grass, the Earth turns dark brown and wilts, barely spreading around you, but they all notice.

“What the hell—” Clint exclaims, lifting and aiming his bow at you.

“—No one move,” Steve commands.

You start to sway, vision losing focus as you get lightheaded. Falling to your hands and knees, you force yourself to stay alert and lift your head, heavily breathing.

“Give it to me and keep your distance, Wanda.” Steve drops his shield, slowly and cautiously approaching you with Wanda’s sweater. But again, you reel backwards, teetering. The rocks crumble under your weight as something glimmers in your hand, the sharp edge of a knife. Uneasiness washes over Steve like a snowstorm.

“Take off your cowl.” Wanda instructs, “she wants to see your face.”

“Don’t do it.” Bucky warns, “we don’t know what she’s capable of.”

Steve squeezes his gloved fists, eyes flickering to the red, blue and white disk lying in the dirt. He quickly considers his options. With a single toss, you’d be knocked down and the threat—if you pose one—would be handled.

Observing you now, crouching low to the ground a few feet from the bed of dead grass. With one arm tightly wrapped around your middle, the other shakily holding a little pocket knife as if preparing for an attack—but would one even come?

That was Steve’s choice.

Right now, he almost feels like a bully, those same people who used to belittle and torment him in Brooklyn. Of course, the differences are striking. This instance is completely unintentional, he doesn’t know who you are, what your abilities are, or how you ended up in the middle of the wilderness, and truly, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t think he could harm you if he were forced.

Why would you use a knife if you clearly aren’t normal?

Inexperienced, weak—are the words that pop into his head.

How could he wound someone who is outnumbered and terribly frightened?

To willingly cause pain on you, a cornered stranger, a paralyzed mystery.

Someone so evidently the prey.

Steve didn’t like being the predator.

He’s a soldier but no longer under an organization for their service. He is a man bound by his morals. Under the muscle, the suit of stars and stripes, is a merciful man, a human with a conscience and a determination to do the right thing.

When S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, so did the barrier between Steve and his own code, written in the walls of his heart and brain. This wasn’t binary thinking anymore, this was deeper than the surface. Buried below the past commands of others were his present principles.

“Steve,” Wanda’s voice sounds over his rapid thoughts, then he notices how you’ve moved further over the ledge, now sitting as if you're going to jump. One foot still planted on the rocks, the other hanging off the edge, a single move, and you’d vanish.

It isn’t the knife—a knife can be a deadly weapon or completely useless depending on the possessor. And as the shiny metal gleamed in your tight fist, it seemed nothing but a decorative threat. Especially when you weren’t confident in your enhanced abilities.

Not a perfect soldier, but a good man—the worlds echo in his ears. A moral man, a man who feels for the complete stranger before him.

Slowly unlatching the buckle under his chin, the cowl loosens. It falls to the ground, next to his shield. The wind fans across his skin, slick with sweat and grime from the fight. Although, it doesn’t rival the shivers he feels as your eyes sweep over his face.

You stare at him. The messy blond hair atop his head, flattened and tousled from the—head thing—you didn’t know what he was wearing, you just knew it obstructed his features. He’s too far to see the details of his pale skin, but it complemented his plump pink lips. A slight wrinkle appears between his dark furrowed brows as your gaze trails down his face. Taking in the high points of his cheekbones, and the chiselled angle of his jaw, your grip on the knife almost loosens.

His clothes are coloured dark blue, red and white. In the middle of his wide chest, framed by thick buckles is a white star, and below are stripes of white and red on his torso that only define his broad shoulders as it tapers into his small waist. You eye the heavy belt around his midriff, shiny and with several tiny pouches. Trailing down his blue pants with padding and thick stitching, you spot his brown boots.

With a brown gloved hand, he throws the cardigan and it lands within your arms reach. Glaring at his face once more, you snatch the clothing and bring it to your nose before inhaling deeply. You rub your face in the fabric, staining the peach colour in mud. Peering at the strangers, Wanda gives you an encouraging nod.

You slip on fabric and pull the sleeves over your cold hands, rubbing it over your cheeks. Making a little noise of comfort, and the knife falls to the ground as your muscles go slack. Steve hesitatingly draws closer.

“Stark, we found—someone.” Not a civilian, or maybe you were? You didn’t dress like one, although you weren’t dressed at all. Except for the thin sweater, your skin is smudged with mud and grass, and around your wrists and ankles are thin flowers chained together.

A strangled chuckle comes through the earpiece, followed by the signature repulsor blasts. “What? You find a little fairy nymph in the forest, Cap?”

“Did you get psychic abilities overnight that we didn’t know about?” Clint lowers his arms, bow still clenched tightly in his fist “More of a feral woman, but a nymph isn’t far off.”

“She’s scared,” Wanda’s expression goes soft, “she thinks we’re going to hurt her.”

Steve looks between the red magic twirling around Wanda’s fingers, and you. Still propped on the cliff and shivering, your eyebrows arched high.

“I can tell.” Bucky’s voice comes through, “she’s shaking like a leaf.”

“Her surface thoughts are blunt—loud. She thinks that we’re going to take her somewhere.” Wanda narrows her eyes, taking one step forward as the red magic intensifies. Her green eyes gleam with a hint of scarlet, the colour fading to her cheeks. “She,” The woman gasps, “She was there—she remembers me.”

Confusion strikes Steve like a bullet, his head snaps to Clint who meets his gaze. He looks just as perplexed as him.

A sharp crack sounds through the forest. The tension shatters in a split second, and Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky. The brunet reloads the sniper, and fires again. Only then does Steve buckle his cowl on again.

“They’re here—6 o’clock.”

Steve barely spots the mass of armed mercenaries rushing through the trees and shrubbery before a louder sonic boom echoes, a large glowing grenade flying through the air before landing in the dirt.

His gaze snaps to you and you’re already looking at him, a single tear streaming down your cheek. He lunges, sweeping his shield off the ground, charging straight for you but the blast goes off. Blowing him backward, and sending him crashing into a log, snapping the wood in half on impact. He heaves, spine throbbing as that warm sensation takes over—his body healing all injuries instantly.

Looking up in a daze, he sees movement in the corner of his eye. A flash of something peach-coloured and he grits his teeth before looking through distorted vision. Devastation is all he sees, trees are broken, boulders blown to bits, and most importantly, no sign of you.

A bullet lands inches from his head. Quickly, he tucks and rolls for his shield, throwing it at the enemy with a grunt. The vibranium disk ricochets back after knocking the man to the dirt ground, Steve swiftly catching it before diving as another grenade is launched. He covers it with his shield before it goes off.

Without a second to breathe, he’s kneed in the face and kicked in the ribs. As pain sears through his body, he’s hauled up by his throat. Blood pools in his mouth as he meets a deathly gaze.

The man’s face is burned, red and pale flesh forming patterns on his skin and one of his ears is deformed. The changes in his structures catch Steve off guard.

“You sure are a son a bitch, huh?” Rumlow growls.

“And you never know when to quit.” Steve sends a fist straight into the man’s face, knocking him back into a tree. He jumps and aims, but Rumlow ducks as Steve’s powerful kick breaks the bark.

The soldier fast, grabbing the ex-agent by his collar and hurling him feet away. Rumlow struggles to stand on the uneven the cliff surface from the bomb.

The waterfall plays the suspenseful soundtrack. Broken boulders crash into the water below, as if punctuating each punch thrown and kicks blocked.

Rumlow’s suit is highly specialized, throwing Steve in for a loop every time a new explosive goes off or a hidden weapon is revealed. Amongst the rest of the team, he and the ex-agent are the only ones close to the falls.

Eventually, Steve tears one of the gauntlets off. It lands on the ground, a heap of electricity and metal. He grabs Rumlow by his collar.

“I see your buddy has recovered, huh?” The mercenary hisses. “Those words don’t work anymore?”

The blond’s grip slackens for a moment before hauling Rumlow to his feet. Half of his face is hairless, void of one eyebrow and eyelashes.

“It doesn’t change what he did.” He spits.

Steve tries to pull off the other gauntlet, but a blast lands square in his chest. Knocking him down, his suit scraping on the rough rocks.

The mercenary kicks Steve’s shield out of reach and raises his arm, that sickening smirk on his face, “You survived a plane crash into the ocean—maybe you can survive a trip down the falls?”

The next blast hits the mountain of boulders, disturbing the flow of the waterfall and sending some into the rapids below.

“You talk too much,” Steve mutters, sweeping a foot under Rumlow’s feet, causing him to land on his back. He slams a fist into the man’s head, straddling his hips and raining down several more punches until he raises his arm again.

Steve clenches his jaw, gripping the gauntlet tightly, the metal caving under his strength. A loud crack sounds as Rumlow groans, eyes squeezed shut and blood streaming from his nose. Steve tears off the dented metal and throws it aside.

His cold blue glare is set on the ex-agent’s bruised and battered face.

Rumlow laughs bitterly. “What? You’re going to kill me with your eyes, Captain?” A vibrant red stains his teeth, “That’s cute—but I don’t roll like that.” With his broken arm, he rips open his jacket.

Steve looks down in horror at the bombs attached to Rumlow’s vest.

The blond doesn’t waste a moment before lifting the ex-agent over his head and throwing him over the edge. The ear-splitting explosion rattles his brain and disorients him. With his enhanced senses, it feels entirely worse and he doesn’t notice the rogue grenade that Rumlow threw at the final moment, the safety clip missing as it clattered to the ragged surface.

As Steve stands, winded, he meets Bucky’s gaze across the way. The brunet’s frantic eyes fall to the bomb inches from Steve’s feet. Quickly, he covers it with his shield again. But, the ledge is all too brittle from the previous explosion and fight, and it cracks. The split surrounds him like hunters, spreading like a virus and snapping the last string of hope.

He hears Bucky call his name before the cliff breaks, he leaps for the edge, but it crumbles in his grip. Gravity cruelly dragging him and the tonnes of rocks into the rushing blue below.

Everything is muffled and blurry underwater, he can barely make out the large grey matter getting bigger and bigger. He swims away, mouth sealed tight as the boulders slam into the water, sinking quickly. More rain down, suffocating and pinning him under the blue. The last thing he sees is another giant grey rock coming from above before everything goes dark.

A crisp sensation draws him to consciousness, as does the quiet sound of water. He almost thinks he’s washed up on the shore, alone and deep in the forest, but then he feels cold hands on his chest and he hears a high-pitched coo.

His eyes snap open and he shoots up, shoving away whatever was next to him. As his heart hammers in his chest, he observes the rocky walls, flowers blooming from the cracks and overgrown ivy. There’s a pitiful campfire by the wide entrance, sunlight pouring in followed by a slight breeze.

A disturbed squeal rings in his ears.

His senses steadily regain focus and he notices his skin. Much more skin is exposed than when he fell over the edge. In fact, he’s as naked as the day he was born, but with the added shame and shock. The serum maintains his temperature but it doesn’t keep him from getting embarrassed or feeling the rush of heat blossoming in his chest to his ears.

Across from him and drying on a row of stones in the sun are his clothes. His suit laid out flat, as well as his undershirt and underwear. His boots, socks and gloves are there too, but next to those is a familiar cardigan and an older tattered sweater.

His cheeks burn hotter than the sun as he looks at you again.

You’re blinking slowly and yawning into your hand and clad in another thin, incredibly sheer sweater. As if his gaze physically harms you, you hurriedly shuffle back, sleep evident in your face as your legs twist. A small wet rag falls from your grasp.

Steve sits up, shielding his crotch but knocking something in the process. Next to him, his cowl wobbles, water spilling onto the rocky ground. He feels over his body searching for any injuries but as always, he’s unharmed. Even though he heals instantly, he has a habit of checking.

“What—” He coughs, “S-Sorry,” and rubs his chest.

Tentatively, you scoot forward. Inquisitive yet wary eyes locked on him as you nudge his cowl closer.

He brings the helmet to his mouth, sipping the cool water slowly. It soothes his throat, and when he sets it down, you swipe up and scurry to the little stream by the wide opening of the cave. The bottom of your feet are dirty, as is most of your body, along with scattered scars on your legs and arms. Faded, surprisingly well healed, but just faintly evident. He averts his gaze when the sweater lifts, exposing much of your behind.

You set the helmet on the ground again, and sit a few feet away in an unkempt pile of dirty, worn clothes and sticks and leaves. Tucking your knees to your chest, you tilt your head.

When you don’t speak, Steve shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t scared, but he knows you are. He can tell from the slight tremor in your hand as you scratch your head. You’re so much smaller than him, weaker—and he knows you wouldn’t stand a chance if he reprimanded you.

Steve clears his throat, “You saved me?”

You don’t reply, tucking yourself deeper into the bundle.

He groans as he sits up, bones cracking and muscles a little achy, “I fell down the waterfall.” And lost consciousness.

“…Big splash, b-because big man…” you make a quiet sploosh with your mouth.

Steve straightens at the sound of your voice, the pitch and tone, and the slow drawl of your syllables. “How long was I out for?”

You tilt your head and make a confused noise.

“How long was I unconscious for?” Steve rephases, “Sleeping?”

“Oh—Uh, sun go d-down then up again…” You answer, looking between your thighs then his. “W-What that?” You point at his large hand that actually doesn’t do much to hide his shaft. You had your curiosity while he was sleeping, but you were too scared to touch him down there—especially because of how big it looked. “...big.”

Steve turns redder than a fresh apple. He fumbles with his words, eventually settling on, “uh—my penis.”

You spread your legs, “no have?”

His throat constricts as his eyes fall to your privates. Immediately looking away as his brain screams and scolds him, he feels like a creep. “No, um, yours is different.”

“Yours bad?” You take out the little pocket knife from your nest, wide eyes locked on his crotch, “Can help?” You scoot closer but Steve desperately shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s not bad. It’s just… We have different parts for a reason.” He goes on to vaguely summarize the means of reproduction and genitals. Trying to keep eye contact instead of peeking between your still spread thighs.

You mostly just tilt your head and make confused hums.

Steve can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. Truthfully, a part of him is still a little woozy, if he were fully conscious, he thinks he’d make up an excuse to bypass this awkward encounter.

You gasp, “Oh…Oh. Seen—uh, animals…” Your whisper, looking down at his crotch again, “...but that much big.”

The man takes a breath and stands, a strange fluttering erupts as you intensely scan over his nude body.

A tingling sensation blooms in your stomach, making you clench your thighs and muffle a whimper. The conclusions settle in your mind, three words echo off the walls; big, strong and want. Although, a timid voice warns against the dangers of outsiders, knowing fully what they’re capable of. The pain they hold in their intentions, your unfocused eyes fall to the faint scars around your ankles.

Steve goes to get dressed, and as he slips on his suit, it nearly peels right off again. The pants are fine, but chest is split open, messily cut down the star and a little across his shoulders. It isn’t completely destroyed but it does sag on his frame, no longer form-fitting. He cringes at the stiffness and awful smell of his clothes.

You’re still huddled in your nest. Body less rigid than when he first woke up. “Uh… too heavy—not know t-take off,” you shrink under his watchful eyes, “wet clothes make sick.”

“It’s fine,” Steve murmurs, taking off the upper half, easily tearing it at the waist. When he looks back, you’re completely bewildered.

“...Strong man.” You whisper.

Steve blushes as the thick fabric falls to the ground, “Yeah, I am, but you can call me Steve.” He buckles his boots. Standing upright again, he notices you crawling a little closer. You sit a few feet away from the other half of his suit, cocking your head to the side.

“Ste-eve?”

He stifles a chuckle at your odd pronunciation. “Yes, and what’s your name?” He takes out his broken earpiece and sifts through the pouches on his belt, searching for the little device Tony has him carry—for reasons suspiciously like this. Where he’s lost or stranded in an unknown area. He pulls out the gadget but sags when he realizes it’s busted. Well, that’s great, he tucks away the useless device.

“...Name?” You repeat, biting your lip, “No name—can’t remember.”

That catches his attention, “You can’t remember?”

You shrug, “Can’t remember lots…”

He observes you for a moment, straying clear of your spread thighs, he can smell you—and he certainly doesn’t hate it. “You have abilities, though.” He wants to take the words back when you cower backwards.

With wide eyes, you shake your head. “N-No.” You consider the distance between the big man and the entrance of the cave, slowly rising to your feet. “...nothing—”

“—I saw you do something to the ground.” The dead Earth in the shape of your footprint, withered with a single touch. He steps closer, blocking your exit. He tries to sound gentle, but can’t help the slight edge in his voice, “The grass, you did something to it.”

You cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut, “n-not kill… never, ever.”

A weight sets in Steve’s chest, sinking to his stomach. It feels an awful lot like guilt, gloomy and looming over his next words as he watches you whisper to yourself in broken English. Your voice bounces off the cave walls, nurturing his curiosity and feeding his unfamiliar regret.

He hesitates, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You only shake your head, facing away from him and sniffling.

“Hey, look at me.” He waits but you don’t move. “Please, trust me.” A moment bleeds into a minute, and you finally meet his eyes, the gentle blue washing over you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. His brows furrow tightly, “I’m not normal either.”

You go rigid, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater.

“I wasn’t born like this. I was,” He tries to find the right word, “changed, through an experiment by a very smart man. He chose me for the serum, he looked beyond my appearance and saw the strength in my character.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you listen intently. “Char-act-ter?”

“Personality, qualities—nature.”

“Nature?” You sit up slightly.

Steve puts a hand over his chest, “Inside.”

“Inside… nature…” You look down at your chest, then place your palm over it, just like Steve. “Char-ter.”

“Character.” Steve corrects, relieved that you’re no longer so upset.

You repeat after him once, then twice. “Steve inside nature?”

“The serum—is what changed me. It enhanced everything about me. On the outside and the inside.” Erksine picked him for his courage, persistence and moral strength. He wants to tell you this but you wouldn’t understand, so he says it in simpler terms. “The good becomes great–” and the bad becomes worse.

Your soft eyes fall to his chest where his hand remains. “Steve… inside nature good?”

Yes. “He said so, yes, but you can choose to believe the same.”

He knew power all his life, being on the receiving end of it during his days in Brooklyn. He was introduced to the value of strength as a 5’4” 95-pound kid with a heart of gold and hatred for bullies—now, before you, he’s a 6’6” 270-pound man, with an even bigger heart to house his humanity and the ability to stand up for himself and others.

Blessed with enhanced qualities that have crafted him a pedestal as a throne, a symbol for freedom and protection. Immunity to diseases and infections, outstanding might, agility, reflexes, stamina, and durability paired with his heightened senses and enriched mental processing.

All of which he can utilize in flawless unison whenever he pleases.

Alone since he was eighteen, Steve has taken to greatly valuing all things he comes across. And, for some reason, he can’t imagine not divulging in you.

“Were you born like this?”

You slowly shake your head.

“I wasn’t either. I was really small and skinny, maybe even smaller than you.” He grins.

Oh, your skin prickles, you like his smile, lots. “But… big man.”

Steve chuckles, “Now I am. I used to have asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, astigmatism,” He lists, “Oh, partial deafness, fallen arches, stomach ulcers and pernicious anaemia.”

You just stare at him and blink.

Oh, right. “I had trouble breathing and I got sick really often.” He condenses. “Now, I’m the complete opposite.”

“...Steve big–strong.”

“Steve never gets sick either.” He says, “Steve also heals very fast.”

A little oh comes from your lips, “Me too—heal… Steve was hurt when found. N-Now, hurt gone.”

The blond man nods, acknowledging the slight slump in your posture, your hands uncurled and your chin tilted up. Calm, interested and unguarded.

“I told you about me, now will you tell me about yourself?” He inquires gently. Soft blue eyes trained on your face, you can feel the heat radiating off his body—but you didn’t want that, you wanted him right next to you, pressed skin to skin like you were when he was sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself. He was so—he made you feel all fuzzy and good inside, and he was warm and big. Cuddling next to him was instinctive.

If kindness had a form, it would be embodied in the man before you. And because of that, you wrack your brain for an answer, hopelessly wanting to please him.

But nothing comes, the memories all too foggy and scattered. You make a pained noise and shift in your nest.

“Tell me anything you remember—”

Your face contorts in frustration, “Can’t, d-don’t know!” You slap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your own volume, “don’t know… what am. Just do—and get tired after too much.”

Steve contemplates asking again and prodding for more information but judging by the sudden distress taking over your features, he leaves it be.

“Do you have anything to eat?”

Your mood lights up, beaming across the dull cave walls. Quickly uncovering a round object, you slide it across the ground. “Steve hungry?”

His shield is upside-down and filled with berries varying in purples, reds and blues, and mushrooms of different sizes and colours. Steve gives you a nervous smile, “Are those safe to eat?”

You stare at the platter. “Some?—Has never tries these…” you point to the assortment of mushrooms, “but, s-special for Steve… okay?”

Slowly sitting next to his shield and separating the berries from the mushrooms he knows are not safe for consumption. “These aren’t good.”

You pout, “not good?” Your hopeful heart sinks, you wanted to impress the big man ever since you saw him at the falls.

The fear you felt has since dissipated as you’ve watched him sleep and slyly cuddling with him because he was so warm! He smelt good too, aside from the overlay of the water, he had a musk you couldn’t get enough of. His smell couldn’t be described in one word, not because you didn’t know many words but because it was a feeling.

You couldn’t explain why you saved him either. He was very heavy and much bigger than you, so it was a challenge to even haul him out of the water and back to your cave. But you couldn’t leave him—to die. You just couldn’t, and worst of all, you couldn’t express the mess in your mind because most of it was things you didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

Indescribable with your mouth, lack of language and vocabulary has never made you more frustrated. You wanted to tell the man how he was making you feel, with something as simple as his presence.

Safe, your mind says, makes me feel safe.

And you haven’t felt safe in a very long time. Practically starved of it for years.

“These aren’t, they’re dangerous—and they can make you very sick, or even kill you.”

You gasp, swatting his hand. “Then, no touch!”

“If you eat it.” Steve clarifies, “only if you eat it.”

“Oh… no eat, okay. Safe berry?” You grab a little berry and hold it to his face, “smell good?”

A small smile crawls onto his lips as he gazes into your twinkling eyes. “Yes, thank you.”

Shyly, you nudge the fruit against his nose, then his lips. “Open… please?”

If he lets you feed him, it must mean he trusts you too, and that would be an accomplishment in your head. You’ve never seen a man like him, so very tall, wide—thick, sturdy. You couldn’t help but jump at the chance to please him. He struck the curiosity in you like a gold mine, you wanted to know everything—even things you didn’t understand.

And he did, his lips parting for your fingers to place the berry on his tongue. Anxiously, you wait for him to chew, and when he does, he makes a quiet hum.

With glee, you gather a handful and shove it into his face, “More!”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the fruit splatters on his face. He gently pushes you away, leaning back as you continue to try and stuff his mouth. “Ah—wait, phew.”

Once your small hands are pulled away, Steve tries to clean his face, but you appear once again. This time, with the wet rag from before.

“Clean?”

“Oh, I could—”

“No,” you cradle the cloth to your chest, frowning, “me, clean.”

And so, he lets you. As you shuffle close, you bring the rag to his face and start to wipe the smeared juices from his face. Similar to before when he woke up, you were cleaning him then too. The little fire you made didn’t provide much light, so you waited for the sun to rise to see his features. Only then you noticed the sand and dirt on his body. It was an automatic impulse to clean him.

Despite the peculiar circumstances, Steve finds a glimpse of bliss. With the little furrow on your forehead as you concentrate, your tongue poking out from your lips as you clean him. Careful and sweet, like an animal would tend to their own.

Or a mate to another.

In your mind, that was what you were doing. Nurturing by nature, you act out the behaviours you’ve witnessed in the wilderness.

Oh, and you hope this man doesn’t have another person.

To have him in your sight, only to have him snatched away—you wouldn’t know how to cope.

“Okay, thank you.” Steve takes the rag from you and gives you a soft grin, a little indent in his cheek.

Tingles erupt in your belly, flutters like the butterfly wings you’ve admired.

Your fingers examine his face, pulling the flesh of his cheeks and stretching his lips. Observing his teeth and running your fingers over the edges, you even dip your finger in his mouth before he pushes you away.

“Miss—”

You pinch his nose and trace the wrinkle between his thick eyebrows and finally land on his thick eyelashes. In awe, your touch turns as gentle as the gleam in your eyes, the tips of your digits brush the thickness of his eyelashes. Nearly poking him in the eye, but Steve doesn’t protest. All too stunned and a little flustered over such a curious creature amazed by his own features.

Finally, you cup his chin. Leaning close to inspect his eyes.

At this short distance, Steve can see every detail of your face. With your breath fanning over his cheeks, he can count every mark on your skin, every dip, curve and swell. Every particular feature that combined, made the most exquisite profile.

Your view is different and narrowed on something specific. While Steve took in the aspects of your face, you’re exploring the endless pool that was his eyes.

A light blue speckled with hints of green. The blue that was softer than the sky in the early morning and the water of the falls—the green more vibrant than the leaves of the trees, shrubs and berry bushes.

Blue and green just like your home. The forest, the planet.

You’re bewildered.

Did this man have the earth in his eyes? Because it sure looked like it.

You draw closer, gasping as the peering rays reflect—combined with the green and blue, this man surely housed your very forest, your world in his eyes.

That’s why when he turns away, you grumble.

His stern gaze is set on the entrance of the cave. Steve goes stiff, standing and shoving you behind him. He sweeps up his shield, the berries and mushrooms falling to his feet as a deer peers around the corner. He visibly relaxes, shaking his head in embarrassment.

He chuckles, “almost forgot I’m in the forest—”

You leap up, racing after the animal but you trip and take a nasty tumble in the grass. You squeal, your head spinning as you flop on the ground, the cool blades tickling your skin as Steve’s concerned face appears.

“Are you okay?” He crouches beside you, big hands touching your leg, “you scraped your knee.”

“Animals always run away…” you sulk, “N-Never hurt them—but always leave.”

“They’re scared, just like you were when you first saw me.”

You squirm as he examines the fresh surface-level wound, lightly touching the skin around it. “...Won’t hurt them.”

Steve lifts his gaze, chest feeling heavy as sadness takes over your features. Painting you soft tints of blue and extreme loneliness, he can tell from your strange animal-like behaviour. The clothing, or lack of, the foraging, and the tiny cave behind him. Your vocabulary and grammar weren’t the best, and your face was very expressive.

Looking down at you, dazing into the blue sky with child-like innocence and mumbling to yourself, he can practically hear his heart soaring.

You blink slowly, the corners of your lips turning downward. The sunshine casts a warm glow on your skin, the dark green of the forest trees mirroring in the whites of your eyes. Your neck tenses as you gulp, and Steve’s stare trails down your collarbones to your chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath.

“Steve? Okay?”

He inhales, nodding. He bends your knee, watching you for your reaction. “How does this feel?”

“Will heal—but warm. Steve warm.”

The man almost loses himself in your tender touch as you caress his jaw, tracing up and to his ear. You lightly tug it.

“Me—cold, feel?”

He never feels cold or chilly anymore and when he shivers, it’s because of heat streaming through his veins. A red spreading across his cheeks as your fingers ghost to his neck, pressing into a specific spot.

“Mark not here—” you note, excitement and promise planting in your heart, “—so, free?”

“What?” His voice is breathy.

“Steve have no mate…”

Mate? “I, uh, I’m not in a relationship.”

You perk up, your pretty lips stretched in a relieved smile. “Alone—I alone too.”

Steve knew that, and he wanted to know more. You were a person stripped of all things related to the outside world, rooted in animal instincts, untamed and wild. But, harmless for the most part. Clumsy, like a fawn—like Bambi—if your fumble had anything to do with it, gentle but all-embracing.

An odd, mystically gifted Bambi.

Compared to when he first saw you yesterday, terrified and shrinking into yourself as to disappear, today, you were vibrantly different.

In the best, and most fascinating way.

Wanda said you remembered her, yet you didn’t remember your name. You don’t know your abilities, and from that, you’re unaware of the power you possess. Steve knew a mystery when he saw one, and you were the most intriguing, and beautiful one he’s ever come across.

“Be alone—together?”

That night, he falls asleep telling you about his life. You, the ever-vigilant listener, hang on every word of his. And, tucked into Steve’s arms, you receive the long-overdue taste of touch that you’ve been so mercilessly starved of.

Steve thought it was a little strange to intimately hold you like this.

“Steve warm… Feel so cold, s-so cold…”

But, how could he deny someone so pure, and clearly in need of affection and contact? Especially, when you looked at him like that.

It’s the next day, and for someone who doesn’t need much sleep—Steve found it challenging to wake up. Not wanting to leave the comfort of your little cave. So, for hours, he laid there on the ground with you on top of him like a heavy weighted blanket. It gave him time to think and to process the whirlwind of the previous day. Most notably, he anxiously waited until the rest of the team found him. He knew they were coming, but when was the question.

While his brain was running a mile a minute, you were snoring and drooling as you slept the day away.

Now, the two of you were venturing into the forest for some more food. You had finished the berries last night and now there were a few purple and red stains on Steve’s white tank top.

The sun has already begun to set. Hiding behind the layers of trees and pine, dark shadows bleeding over the solid dirt and grass.

Steve watches the little creature hop about, ducking into a small bush before popping out again. Its nose wiggles and he tightens his grip on the pocket knife. He’s crouched low to the ground, senses honed on the rabbit, everything else fading into a single mass.

That’s why he falls flat on his ass when you jump in front of him, the sudden movement causing the rabbit to run away.

You hiss at the man, snatching the blade from his hand and using it to cut the branch of a berry bush. Adding it to his cowl around your wrist, the helmet acting as a basket.

“No killing. Ever.” You’re frowning at him with such distaste that Steve is shocked.

You growl softly, pushing him aside, but the blond doesn’t move. Looking up at him with a scowl, you huff, “move.”

Still surprised over your abrupt change in behaviour, Steve stumbles backwards.

You spot the small dead wilted flower that was squashed under Steve’s weight. Peeking up at him from your knees, you pat the ground. “Watch? Can show—try to show.”

After you pick up the flower, the speckles flow from your hands like gentle wisps, soft shimmering and golden.

The once limp flower straightens before his eyes, the stem turning a healthy green and the vibrancy spreading to the petals. The veins under your skin glow, the energy blooming and entwining with the open air. It performs an artistic dance before his face, enchanting and vaguely reminding him of Wanda’s abilities.

Steve reaches out, touching one of the sparkles, flinching when it turns brighter and brighter, until burning out. His eyes drop to your hand, cradling the lively plant as you breathe heavily.

“C-Can do only—little things.”

He remembers the blooming flowers in the cave. Away from sunlight, water and rich soil. They wouldn’t survive there in those circumstances, and he knows you had something to do with it. He isn’t sure what it is but Steve’s resolve is unbreakable.

Dark and wilted to brilliant existence.

“How?” Steve murmurs.

He stares at the flower as if it were going to morph back—to its broken stem and squashed petals, but it doesn’t. From death to life. As if he’s strung back in time, he’s standing alongside Wanda and Clint with Bucky’s voice playing in his ear, his vision locked on your feet as the grass turns brown and withers under your touch. From life to death.

You tuck the flower with the berries in his cowl, then blink up at him. “Don’t remember…”

You couldn’t tell him because you didn’t know. There are forms of knowledge in your mind, unrecognizable yet familiar, in muted shades and structures you couldn’t distinguish.

Steve goes through an array of emotions, so fast he can barely process them. Thrilling revelation to ephemeral fear and finally, landing on speechless fascination. His mind and heart are speaking at the same time, altering volumes, chanting about your concealed potential, and the birth of your abilities. You, a giver and taker of life.

“Did bird once—broken wing but got so tired after… slept until sun almost came down.”

You sway to the side, your body slumping into Steve’s. Immediately, you curl in his warmth, humming. It’s concerning how much energy that small plant took from you, and that deeply worries Steve. Then, you yawn and start wiggling into his lap, murmuring his name until your eyes snap open again.

“Bugs!”

Traversing through the forest, over overgrown roots and between trees, of thick pine and redwood. You warn him about the wolf’s den a few miles away and babble about the different places you wish to show him—a little garden you care for, the tallest hill that overlooks the entire woodland and your favourite stream where the frogs and other small creatures come out to play–you call it.

Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell you he probably won’t get to see any of those places.

You also mention your current cave being your favourite so far. When he asks what you mean, you only shrug.

Truth be told, he’s still unable to grasp that he’s following a random wild woman in the woods.

“Shh,” you shush him, eyes locked on the pond below you, it’s covered in duckweed, water lilies, and algae. The sun inches lower, settling on the horizon and the final ray cusps over the tree line. Another inch and you’re thrust into the shadows. Steve’s eyes adjust to the darkness, making out your features slightly.

The crickets ring in his ears, blending into the surrounding sounds of the wilderness. The smell of the freshwater tingles his nose. A cool chill brushes over his skin, and he sees you shiver.

“Cold?” A part of him feels stupid for asking when the answer is so obvious.

You nod, the top of Steve’s suit hanging off your frame. He lifts his arm, about to pull you close to share some of his body heat, but you’re already on him. Tucking yourself under his chin and rubbing your face in his chest. The cold of your hands seeps through his shirt as you feel over his torso, fingers dipping into his belt.

“Uh—”

“Shh!”

Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he follows your gaze.

Speckles of green and yellow erupt from the surroundings, flickering and flying. Buzzing over the still water of the pond, weaving through the tall reeds and shrubs. Steve chuckles dreamily, “It’s beaut—”

“Shhh!” You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him. “Shy bugs… will go a-away if too loud. Just watch.” Your face is enriched by the flare of the fireflies, their flickers playing on your skin.

The man nods silently, waiting for you to remove your hand. Once you do, your touch trails down his neck again, lightly petting over that clear spot on his skin. You purr softly before burrowing into his body again, peering at the pond to watch the insects flit.

They grace the air with their glow like little suns that can fit in the palm of Steve’s hand.

He opens his mouth to speak again but you glare up at him. So, he returns his attention to the pond. Taking a deep breath and allowing the smell to seep into his lungs, the delicate burn of the fireflies hypnotize him with their motions.

Steve has seen war, death and loss. He’s seen victories and failures and experienced heartache and joy.

But, he has never just been still.

The realization strikes him like a collapsing skyscraper. His arms tense around your body, pulling you closer.

Your distant sigh harmonizes with the crickets and nature, playing in the back of his brain as his life flashes before his eyes.

Face-paced images of loneliness, delight and fame. Glory draped in opportunities, from forging his enlistment forms to becoming Captain America and joining the army. Finding and fighting alongside his best friend—he hopes Bucky was okay.

“Steve watch…” you murmur barely above a whisper, “still—just still.”

He nods, fading into your lingering touch as his mind scans through his memories like a photo album. Pages of experiences, from the beginning of the Avengers in New York, to Washington and meeting Sam and finding Bucky ultimately leading to the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., to Ultron and finding the twins and the creation of Vision. And lastly, before the rest of the blank pages, is now.

Currently, the Avengers operate as a private organization—helping when and where they can, and still taking down enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D.

All of that, in the span of three years.

There was good that surpassed the bad. His friends, his experiences, and the changes he’s made in the world for the better.

But, the concept of time is what bugged him the most. Snapshots of moments that were once the present, some have since lost their vibrancy and become dull and faded. He did feel like he was out of time—as if he lost all opportunities to be who he was destined to be. Perhaps destiny was never that important anyway. Or, fate had it be that he ended up here—after seventy years still and frozen, to wind up in the twenty-first century.

“Steve…” you breathe, a gentle smile on your lips. There’s a firefly on your finger, it flutters its wings, hopping onto Steve’s bicep before flying off. You gleam up at him, “...never t-touch one before.”

Moments that have since become memories, unable to be relived.

Fleeted instances that have escaped from his grasp.

“Steve touch one–before?”

He was convinced he had lost the chance to live his own life in his own time—but now looking at you, he wasn’t sure. As the wind blows against your skin, fireflies dance around you, their glow highlighting the prominent points of your face and reflecting in the whites of your eyes. Steve thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful, pure, untouched.

Someone so out of touch, starved of affection and warmth—right in his arms.

He’s about to respond, but his ears pick up familiar voices. Faint enough to make him wonder if it was just the forest playing tricks, and then, he sees them.

Over your shoulder, between the trunks and branches of the trees are some of the team, holding flashlights or devices as they manoeuvre the uneven terrain.

He almost rejoices right then and there, but you keep a firm grip on his arm and try to yank him in the opposite direction.

“Wait—”

“Hurt… stay away,” your voice is hushed, as are your careful footsteps, wary of sticks and crunchy leaves.

Steve doesn’t let you pull him any further. Planting his feet in the ground while you struggle and become more frantic, wide-eyed glowing with panic. You go stiff as the voices draw closer and surround the both of you.

“Need to go, now.” You plea, ducking as a light flashes in your direction.

“That’s my team, they’re looking for me.” The blond hears a voice, I’ve got heat signatures, one of them is well over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the other is quite low.

“Steve?” One of them calls.

The man stares down at you, as you shiver and tremble in his suit top. Your bottom lip quivers before you bite down on it harshly, urgency in your eyes, he can feel the nerves radiating from your body.

He opens his mouth but you slap your hand over it. You whine softly. “S-Steve… no.” Tears pool in your eyes as you desperately shake your head, “Don’t tell,” you beg, fingers digging into his forearm. “Please—will take me away, hurt.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Steve promises, cupping your jaw. His heart flutters when you burrow into his chest, whimpering. “And, they’re good people. They’ll help you.”

He doesn’t know how you’ve survived this long or how much luck was on your side but he doesn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t staying in the forest another night, and neither were you.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, each silent cry coming from your sealed lips adding another tonne to the weight on his shoulders. He combs his fingers through your hair, keeping a firm grip around your squirming body.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He says again for the umpteenth time, hoping to speak it into existence. “You’re okay, Bambi.”

You just shake your head, huddled into his chest with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The jet shakes, causing you to let out a high-pitched whine. Steve just presses you closer, ignoring the prying glances from his friends.

He does feel terrible for tearing you away from your cave, your forest, but he couldn’t leave you out there. Even if you did dash away when his friends spotted the two of you.

“Let her go,” Steve commands.

Clint lowers his bow, standing next to Natasha and one of Tony’s drones. The flashlight on the robot’s chest shines in Steve’s eyes.

“Well, you weren’t lying about the nymph,” Tony’s voice emits from the drone, it whirrs softly as it turns in the direction you ran in. “I’ve got a track on her. She’s heading straight up North. Fast little thing too.”

They had shown up at your little cave. Steve’s heart aches awfully as he remembers your quiet sobs from your nest, buried under the old clothes and his suit top.

You hear his boot land on the rocky ground and perk up with hopeful eyes. “Steve?”

“Hi, Bambi.” The name escapes his mouth before he could even think.

“Bambi?” You tilt your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You’ve never felt this happy before–you could scream. He came back, Steve found you!

“Oh–” he blushes, knowing fully that his friends were listening to everything, “Can I call you that?”

You nod quickly. “Yes! Steve—stay?” You point to your nest, “make bigger for Steve… uh…com-for-ble. Comfort… make comfort for Steve. Soft.”

A little pout plays in your lips when he doesn’t move any closer, just lingering by the wide entrance. “Stay…with Bambi.” You whisper, testing the new word on your tongue. You repeat it again and again.

Each time you say it, another nail is hammered into Steve’s chest. Pinning the guilt and sorrow from tearing you away from your little cave.

“I’m sorry, Bambi.”

“For—what?” You ask innocently, “Steve… Steve stay?”

“I’m sorry, Bambi,” Steve says again, keeping you tucked snug in the blanket. He hopes they arrive in New York soon. “I’m so sorry.”

He is a good man, and you deserved good—no, you deserved great. And, he was going to give it to you, and even if it meant taking you away. He can only hope you’ll understand.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and here it is! the long-awaited feral!reader au !! I’ve had the ending planned for this series way before I started actually writing it, the next chapter will be the final part. hehe reader definitely has a secret :)

I'm always open for your thoughts/feedback ! I hope you all enjoyed !!

follow my sideblog and turn on the notifications so you can see whenever I post: @onsunnyside-fics in case if I discontinue my taglist.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠.

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