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egcdeath · 3 years

Text

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 6: extra! extra! read all about it

series summary: a minor mistake causes a shift in the multiverse that only you have the capacity to fix.

chapter summary: you kept your friends close, and your enemy even closer.

pairing: politician!andy barber x journalist!reader, steve rogers x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: american politics, fake dating/marriage, angst at the end, heavy codependent behavior at the end

author’s note: i saw @jtargaryen18 post about politician!steve a while ago and must’ve internalized it because this chapter pretty much wrote itself. just a heads up: all of my political knowledge comes from political sitcoms, so sorry in advance if i get some things wrong. another warning is that there are still some very unhealthy relationship dynamics at play here, so promise me you won’t be like reader okay?

previous chapter / series masterlist

Is Andy Barber Really the Best for Our Nation’s Future?

Opinion

by Y/N L/N

Feb 7, 2021, 4:36 PM ET

After tonight’s debate, the question that’s begged is if Andrew Barber is truly fit to run our country. Although he’s clearly a front runner for his party’s nomination, he’s shown time and time again that he may actually be our weakest candidate.

His weaknesses were highlighted during the debate, with his dodged questions and vague answers. At this point in time, it’s hard to tell if Barber has a platform at all.

With Super Tuesday just around the corner, I ask you to reevaluate your support for Barber. Though a charming candidate, it seems that that’s all he has, his charm. His policies are weak, and borderline impossible, and he certainly isn’t the right person to become the most powerful man in the world.

—-

When you became conscious, you were no better than unconscious. Your eyes opened and were immediately met with a harshness from the sun peeking through a window. You shifted away from the brightness, body sinking into a memory foam mattress while your nude form rubbed against similarly soft sheets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before they flitted throughout the room you were in. Observing an oddly clean, generic looking area, you’d quickly connected the dots that you were in a hotel room. A rather fancy one at that.

Soft breathing came from next to you, and as you turned your head a bit more, you were met with the back of a fluffy and dark haired man. You weren’t completely sure, but judging by your history of finding your way to Steve, you’d assumed that it was some alternate form of your partner.

The man in bed next to you yawned, and haphazardly threw an arm in your direction, before rolling over to greet you, “morning sunshine,” he slurred sleepily.

The beard was a bit of a surprise to you. Though you’d begged and begged your Steve to keep it, he often refused for one reason or another. Seeing the man next to you who (what was now much clearer to you) a version of your boyfriend, was a rather pleasant surprise.

“Morning,” you responded in an equally sleepy manner, ignoring the rhythmic vibration coming from your night stand.

“Mm, you should get that,” he mumbled, pressing a disoriented peck to the side of your head while you reached over to grab your phone, which you could now see was the perpetrator of the vibrations.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone.

“Are you dumb? Or are you fucking stupid?” Aaliyah’s voice scolded through the phone. “Do you know what kind of position you’ve put me in? This is a fucking mess, Y/N. All for some dick? How could you be so careless?! Jesus!”

“What are you talking about?” You glanced over at Andy, and sat up a bit, pulling the crisp blankets over your body in an attempt to retain some form of modesty.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You’re fucking Andy Barber, but you’re writing articles about him like you just watched him kill your dog. You realize that this puts all of us at risk, right? You’re gonna lose your job, I’m gonna lose my job since I decided to edit and publish your shit, and you and I will lose any sort of journalistic integrity we’ve ever had, or will have, for the rest of goddamn time! Seriously, you could’ve had anyone, but Andy Barber? Andrew fucking Barber?” she groaned over the line.

“Uh, I’ll uh, call you back,” you whispered.

“You’re joking right? Are you with him right now?”

“Aaliyah!”

“Oh my god, you’re with him right now. You’re a fucking mess,” she huffed before hanging up.

Why did the universe have to send you off to such a shitshow?

You rolled out of bed, and sulked into the bathroom, desperate to find out what was going on. While sitting on the toilet, you scrolled through the wall of notifications; tweets directed at you, messages from confused friends begging you to call them when you had a chance, and even the occasional concerned email.

You grimaced as you read through each one of them, eventually clicking on the article that many seemed to be referencing, which included a paparazzi photo of you and this Andy Barber character entering a hotel together sometime in the late night to early morning, partnered with an article or two of your own criticizing him. At first, you wondered if he was some sort of celebrity, but what you ultimately found out was much worse.

He was a politician. A senator who was running to be president.

You screamed into your hands, before tossing your phone aside, and starting a warm shower for yourself. Perhaps the shower could help jog your memory a bit.

Stepping into the steamy chamber, and letting the water pelt down onto you did do wonders for you, and it gave you a moment of focus. With both your memories from this universe, along with the information you’d been given through your phone, you were able to piece a few aspects of the universe together.

You were a journalist, a popular one at that, Andy was Steve, but not Steve, and also a presidential candidate. Aaliyah was your editor, and a higher-up at the Times, and you were about to have your ass handed to you over an affair. At least Andy wasn’t married.

Your shower must’ve taken longer than you’d expected, as there was a soft knock on the door after some time.

“Everything okay in there?” a slightly muffled voice asked.

“Yeah. Just peachy. Why aren’t you more worried about this?” you called back.

“I have a good publicist. And campaign manager. I just have a good team,” Andy paused briefly. “When you’re ready, room service is ready.”

----

Over aggressive mouthfuls of fresh fruit and bitter coffee, you conversed with Andy.

“How are we gonna fix this?” You questioned while setting down your fork.

“Well, it’s simple. We just have to find some kind of spin to this whole story. Maybe you were just interviewing me, or getting a soundbite from me.” “Why would you agree to get a soundbite from someone who clearly has it out for you?” You set your fork down, and crossed your arms over your white robe clad chest.

“That’s a good question,” Andy nodded a bit, “a good question for someone else to answer.”

“Why don’t we let your publicist figure out how to play this?”

“I’d say I’m a bit of an expert at this at this point, but I’ll call my team.”

“You do that, I need to assess the damage to my career,” you huffed, moving to sit on the bed so that you could aggressively scroll on your phone in peace.

Andy called someone, and you patiently waited while he chatted with them.

“Okay, Y/N. We can’t leave through the front, so my guy’s gonna pick us up in the garage. We have like, half an hour,” he tossed his phone aside, then maneuvered himself to get in bed with you, setting both hands down on either side of you, and placing a soft kiss on your lips. He slowly began to inch down your body, untying the belt of your robe as he did so, when you interrupted him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Andrew?”

“We have time.” He looked up at you.

“We are not doing this. What do you think got us into this mess in the first place?” you frowned, moving one of his hands so you could slide away from him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why aren’t you taking this seriously! Do you realize that both of our careers are at stake here? I don’t want to lose my job because I’m having an affair with you. You shouldn’t want to lose a shot at office for a woman you’re not even with.”

“Come on, we’ve been doing this for almost a year, and you only have a problem with it now?”

“Yes! The public had no idea before! They’re going batshit now! And the worst part is that I’m the one taking the most heat,” you sighed, and Andy gave you a frown.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know I didn’t want this to happen.”

“It’s kinda too late for sorries now.”

——

You stepped out of your suite about five minutes after Andy left, suitcase in tow, blocky sunglasses on your face, and a heathered grey peacoat draped over your shoulders. Although you were stressed from the controversy you’d found yourself in, you couldn’t help but feel the buzz of excitement from having to hide from the paparazzi. At the same time, you felt quite bad for this version of yourself.

When you finally got out to the designated Cadillac, you asked for his driver to roll up the partition, like you’d done a million times before, then looked out of the tinted windows. The ride was pretty awkward, considering you were in no mood to talk to Andy, and Andy felt bad about the issues he’d imposed on you from his own carelessness. He set a cautious hand on top of yours, and though you were agitated, it did brighten your mood the slightest bit.

After what felt like forever, you arrived at his campaign building, and you were ushered into a small, soundproof space, with a large and round pine table in the center of it. Surrounding the table was a very tired looking Aaliyah, and… Tony Stark?

“How’s everyone’s weekend been?” Tony asked, breaking the ice as you and Andy settled into your seats.

“Are we really doing small talk right now?” Aaliyah deadpanned, “sorry, that was uncalled for.”

“Alright, straight to the elephant in the room then. You two were out spotted, big deal, happens all the time to politicians and their mistresses-“

“I’m not his mistress! You know this, Tony,” you huffed.

“Tony knew and not me?” Aaliyah gasped.

“Well-“ you began.

“Save it.”

“It was on a very need-to-know basis,” you muttered.

“Back to what I was saying. I suggest that we don’t address it, unless addressed.”

“I don’t know if you’re dense, or what, but that’s the exact opposite of what we need to do. We have to get on top of this story before the story is that you,” Aaliyah gestured at you, “are packing your shit at the Times.”

The door shot open, and quickly closed. A slightly flustered blonde man stumbled through. “Sorry to interrupt,” he began.

Aaliyah rolled her eyes at this notion, muttering a ‘sure you are’ to herself.

“We just finished polling numbers, and Andy, you’re up?” He projected the screen of his iPad onto a TV in the room, then passed the device over to Andy on his way to sit down.

“Thanks, Vis,” he gave him a curt nod.

“Why would our candidate allegedly hooking up with someone who hates him boost him in the polls?” Tony asked.

“Middle America loves a family man, you know that,” Vision said in a matter of faculty manner. “Andy has had a hard time connecting with that demographic because when they see him, they see an Elitist East-coaster.”

“Hooking up with a hot reporter does not make you a family man,” Aaliyah retorted.

“That brings me to my next point. If you don’t mind, I’d like to add a proposal of my own,” Vision stated, and received a shrug from the rest of the room. “Well, if we need to put a spin on this, the obvious choice is to explain that they’ve been seeing each other the whole time. Under wraps, of course. The photos the paparazzi received are not damning by any means, and look more romantic than sexual, to be quite frank. Y/N wrote those articles to throw the public off her scent, and she didn’t really believe anything she said, and Andy? He’s just a good, all American man who was tired of keeping his relationship under wraps. Everything’s to gain from this plan.”

“Well, I lose my journalistic integrity. That’s a pretty big loss to me. I may never work again,” you rubbed your forehead in a distraught manner.

“You won’t have to worry about working when you’re the First Lady. Think about it, if we can get votes from the swing states, we’ve secured enough electoral votes to have a Barber win. All over a little character rebrand.”

“Excuse me, the First Lady?” You nervously glanced between Vision and Aaliyah while you attempted to pick your jaw up from the floor.

“Well, yes. We can’t exactly get the full ‘family man’ look without Mr. Barber being a real husband.“

“Are we talking, real wedding?” Aaliyah questioned.

“Yes. You just have to be legally bound together for around four years, eight years tops. About twelve would be preferable, but I understand that not everything works out.”

“I don’t object to that,” Andy winked and nudged you a bit.

What a mess.

“Back to what I was saying, we’ll probably need about a two week PR period before we do a press briefing announcing the engagement. Give or take. During that time, we could have your publicist arrange all sorts of good photo ops for you two.”

“Either way, my career is ruined,” you sighed, and Andy set his hand on your back.

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

“You don’t have to do that. We’re not currently standing in front of 30 cameras.”

“Well, we should prepare for when we are in front of 30 cameras.”

“Is it though?” Vision interjected, bringing you and Andy back from your aside. “We can just deflect, maybe have a few of your friends make articles about how what you did wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is it not a valid criticism of me that I was sleeping around with the person who I was also slandering?”

“Is it not possible to criticize someone you care about? In fact, helping someone learn how to improve can be very romantic,” Vision shrugged.

There was a brief silence throughout the bunch while everyone pondered a counter argument.

“That right there, that kind of insight is why we call you the Vision,” Tony shook his head and proudly clapped the man on his back.

“So it’s settled then? We’re really doing this?” You glanced around at your peers while Aaliyah spoke. “Any objections, love birds?”

Andy shrugged, “I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life with her.”

You, on the other hand, weren’t so sure.

——

Barber and his Greatest Critic Break Bread Together on Friday

Y/N L/N Announces She’s Not Resigning from Senior Position, and That She’s Been Seeing Barber!

BREAKING! Barber Announces Relationship with Critic Y/N L/N

Is L/Nber the Ship that Shows us How Relationships Are More Powerful than Politics?

Our New Favorite Political Power Couple Showed Up Together at a Rally, and We Couldn’t Be More Excited.

Barber 7 Points Ahead in the Polls, Leaving Loguidice and Kline Trailing Far Behind

Was Y/N Really in the Wrong?

“L/Nber” Celebrate Valentine’s Day Together

These L/Nber House Hunting Photos Are Giving Us Life!

This was your reality for the next two weeks. The news cycle was filled with a plethora of articles about you, some criticizing you, some criticizing Andy, but most, supporting the two of you in your romantic endeavors. Unsurprisingly, the world loved a good story about two attractive people getting together.

During this period, you didn’t particularly feel like leaving, though the thought had certainly crossed your mind. You just weren’t sure that you wanted to be dealing with those terrible symptoms again in the midst of an already stressful stage of your life. At the same time, it seemed like the universe was not going to be fair with your time in this reality. You were convinced that you were here for the long haul, or at least, until Andy proposed to you.

Although it was a bit annoying, cameras around every corner, a watchful eye on everything that you or Andy even considered doing, you found yourself growing on Andy. In some ways, he was a bit more intense than Steve, whose personality had mellowed out a bit since the Snap.

This had been the first time in all of your travels where you felt like ‘Steve’ was the one pursuing you, and in all honesty, it made you feel good. Even if everything the two of you did had an aftertaste of artificiality.

You spent more and more time with him every day, staying together with him in hotels across the country, visiting local businesses with him to get the perfect photo op, and attending galas with donors. It seemed like in every candid photo of Andy, you weren’t too far behind. By the time the day of your proposal arrived, you weren’t even all that opposed to the marriage.

When the proposal finally arrived, the two of you were sat inside a rather fancy restaurant, finishing up your meal when Andy settled on one knee in front of you, “Y/N,” he began, and you felt the all too familiar tremble of your watch on your wrist.

You almost had to restrain yourself from exclaiming out loud. It’s not that you didn’t like Andy or anything, he’d genuinely grown on you. In the least cheesy way, it wasn’t him, but you. Being somewhere so unfamiliar for so long had begun to create a cumulative exhaustion that wore a bit more on you every day. Feeling homesick was an understatement.

You brought your hands up to your face, and gasped dramatically, squeezing your eyes shut to see if you could possibly produce a few tears, while mobile cameras and a few professional flashes were directed towards you. A few warm droplets slipped down your face, and for a moment you weren’t even sure how fake they were. It seemed like once they started, they couldn’t stop.

You missed Steve, your Steve, the man you’d fallen in love with. You missed your friends, teammates, and family. You missed the stability of knowing what the world held for you next.

In the midst of Andy’s proposal, in what should’ve been the happiest moment of your life, all you could focus on was your overwhelming desire to have a sense of normalcy in your life once again.

——

You woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing in your chest, and shaking your ribcage. You looked up to the ceiling of what you had grown to know was your room in the Compound, your real room, and felt your eyes well up in tears that stung you.

You sat up, and took as deep of a breath as you could manage, when you noticed Wanda sitting by your bedside.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” she said softly, coming closer to you, offering you a glass of water before sitting at the foot of your bed.

“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying to gauge where you were.

“Honey,” she sighed softly. “I’m so sorry. He’s still missing.”

Your lip trembled as you took a sip. You really were back home.

“I know you’re hurting, but when you feel a little better, we’re going to Medbay. Banner decided that we should probably keep an eye on your vitals, but you were gone before we even had the chance to get you there.”

You gulped down the water, then set it on your bedside table, “so was that all just a dream or something? Why isn’t Steve back?” you huffed frustratedly.

“I don’t know why he isn’t back, but I don’t think you were dreaming. I was trying to watch your dreams, but I couldn’t read you, or your thoughts at all.”

“Hmm,” you mumbled, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, “let’s go.”

As you settled into the cold, and sterile medical facility you were hooked up to a plethora of monitors, and a cacophony of devices beeped as they read your physical state.

You tuned out the words being spoken around you, zoning out and looking forward to your vital signs monitor. Your mind wandered to your last few thoughts in your previous reality, the desperation to come back, to see your estranged lover again. You couldn’t help but to feel disappointed, lamenting the fact that you’d found your way home, yet felt the ever present void in your heart where your Steve used to be.

“Y/N?” a voice asked you, and you glanced in its general direction. “What happened while you were out? What did you see? Did it work?” Bruce pelted you with questions.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it yet,” you sighed softly, bringing a hand up to your neck and rubbing it. “The watch worked though, I was definitely in other universes. I just couldn’t reach him. Bring him home. I failed.”

“Do you think he’s really out there?” Bruce whispered to Wanda hoping that you might not pick up on it.

“I’m… I don’t know. I just don’t know how likely it is that we’ll manage to find him,” she responded in a hushed tone. You bit back tears as she spoke, resuming your empty gaze on the pixelated green text of your heart rate on the monitor.

“I’m sorry, guys. I have to go back,” you interrupted. “I can’t give up on Steve yet. I know he wouldn’t give up on me.”

“Y/N, you could be gone for centuries before you find him, then return back here with no time passed at all, and possibly no Steve. You don’t deserve to take on all of that pain,” Wanda set a hand on your shoulder. “Steve would’ve wanted you to move on from him. To find happiness without him.”

“I can’t do that, Wanda. Without him I don’t even know who I am,” your voice trembled as you spoke. “He’s literally been my only tether through all of this.”

“I just don’t know that this is the best thing we could be doing. Sure, you’re physically fine, but it almost seems like you’re doing worse emotionally than you were before you left,” Bruce added.

“I’m not!” you sniffled before continuing. “I’m just tired from going to all those new places.”

Bruce and Wanda didn’t seem too convinced. “Don’t you guys believe in me? When have I let you down on a mission before? I’m gonna find him, okay? I’ll find him if it’s the last fucking thing I do,” you blubbered.

Wanda’s hand slid down your shoulder, and to the watch that was currently on your wrist.

“Don’t,” you uttered, swinging your opposite hand to grab onto your own wrist. You were aware that there was absolutely no way you could overpower her in taking the watch from you, but even in your minor hysterics, you were able to think fast enough to press the round button before the watch was able to be taken off of you.

You, and your wrist shook. Wrist shaking from the watch, and promise of sending you elsewhere, and you from a mixture of sobs and adrenaline. Though not the most ideal exit, it was an exit nonetheless.

You weren’t even sure if you cared that you were on good terms with your teammates anymore.

You just needed to be with Steve again.

#steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #marvel fanfiction #ABITRV

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

Text

Breach Of Contract: Part 9

A/N: Peggy Carter bashing as usual

You felt anxious before the plane had even touched down. It started with your palms sweating and your heart racing, the steady uptick in beating had been a synonymous symptom of your changing emotional well-being.

Senator Rogers had departed your side a half hour ago, leaving you to get a briefing of the events that would take place the first night you arrived.

He had left for the back of the plane to make a few adjustments to his wardrobe and his physical appearance. In his absence, you were welcome to fall into a pit of anxiety and restlessness, the debilitating awareness that you were going to face the media as both his intern and as some specimen, they wanted to shove under a microscope.

You knew, full well, that the connection between you and Steve had been noted by both likely supporters and opposition.

You knew full well that comments were comparing the kind of chemistry you two had, versus the kind of blasé and underwhelming bond that tied Steve and Peggy together. The evidence of support or animosity had already been noticed through different socials and handles on the vast internet.

However now you were going to have to face it head-on.

Pepper had made you aware of the media circus, of the absolute hell and chaos that would ensue once Senator Rogers touched the ground. It was only natural given the attacks that the other party was trying to unleash on him in order to dissuade the public from voting for the necessary parties to vote him in. It was rather nasty, from what you had already seen and it was only going to act as gasoline for this insane and innate fire that would be all-consuming.

Once he set foot on the tarmac, the press tour started. There would be no shortage of events that would aid Senator Roger’s message for unity in the country, and the need to help each other out rather than turning our backs on each other.

The start of the press tour on the west coast would start the moment he stepped off the plane and the docket had started to take place with the first flash of a camera. Senator Rogers was ready, he was prepared with a level head and an assurance that he could and would handle whatever was thrown his way.

“I hope you’re ready.” Chase had given you a forewarning as the process to off-board was starting. “We’re coming behind him and immediately going to the hotel.”

You reached for the bag you’d packed, one of the carry-ons with little inside other than a quick change of clothes and a few books, hesitating when you felt hands grazing your own. Given the last chance to give you a pep talk, Steve lifted the bag from the overhead compartment for you and set it on the floor.

Inhaling slowly, you focused on the scent of his cologne and the tinge of spice that made you want to turn into him for comfort. He was strong and broad-shouldered but he carried so much warmth with him, warmth that you wanted to surround yourself.

“Take a deep breath, don’t let them get in your head.” He whispered, he whispered gently as if the roles were reversed and you were the one who was going to be facing the onslaught of the media circus.

“I’m scared.” You replied with a mumble, unable to turn and face him, at least not while the doors were prepared to be opened.

“Fear is not a weakness.” Steve had pulled away when it was time for him to settle into his role, and after he stepped away you looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with him. It was only a moment, it was barely half a minute before he had to turn away but it was enough.

And then the door opened, a powerful vortex of questions and the steady click of cameras had come rushing to your ears before he had even stepped out. He had upped out of your line of sight although you could easily detect the cacophonous drone from the tarmac.

“We have to go, we have to face it.” Val and Sasha both stepped by your seat, the latter helping you pick up your bag and the files you’d been scouring over. “We’re right here with you.”

The buzz that you heard on the plane was tepid compared to being on the tarmac with a line of press, different media cycles and online avenues for gossip and information vying to get his attention. It was as if you were in a wind tunnel, being accosted by the piercing noise that hit your ears with an unseemly tangency that made you grit your teeth.

“Senator Rogers reaches the LAX airport with his team in tow-“

“Senator Rogers is starting the tour here on the west coast and is said to be attending a few ceremonies-“

“The excitement for the senator to arrive has boiled over and quite a crowd has been drawn. Now I’ve been told-“

You could remain ignorant to the questions as Steve had stopped by a few press junkets as the start of his tour commenced. However, when you started hearing questions fired off at you, you were not as poised and collected as the Senator.

“Y/N! Y/N do you have any responses to the fans and supporters of Madame Carter who have accused you of interfering in their marriage?” A reporter for a popular online gossip outlet had raised their voice to garner your attention, and immediately you were thrown off guard.

You were a deer in headlights, eyes wide and tongue-tied. Your mind was not cooperating with your vocal cords or your motor skills, you couldn’t move or respond in any possible facet. Rather, you were stuck where you stood with your fingers tapping on the inside of your hands.

And when you finally could speak, when you finally found yourself able to produce a sound, it came out as a stuttering and weak response.

“I’m…I don’t-“ you were steered away, set into the protective side of Chase and Val.

“Ignore them. Keep your head down and move. Act normal.” Chase squeezed your hand and led you off to the vehicles waiting for the support team. He opened the door and watched you slide into the back beside Val before he joined you, the other vehicle held out for Pepper, Sasha and Steve.

“This is madness. It’s chaos-” you rest your head in your hands, your eyes closing for a single moment to gather your thoughts.

You weren’t prepared for this, even with all the warning and prep you’d been doing it wasn’t expected. This was your first real, true job as a PR intern for a major political campaign, and maybe it was your naivety that made you ignorant, but you didn’t know it would be like this.

“The first day and I feel like I’ve been dumped into the Arctic Ocean.” You lowered your hands, watching aimlessly as Senator Rogers approached the lead vehicle and took a pause to wave once more at the crowds.

“We have the night off. Sasha, Pepper & the Senator are going to do a kickoff press conference, so…” Chase leaned in and nudged your arm with his. “Come to my hotel room, we’ll order food and watch B-rated movies.”

“As long as you promise not to start sexting your boyfriend. The last time you invited us over, we got a deeply personal insight into your sex life, and we didn’t want it.” Val leaned forward and directed her attention to Chase, the two of them continuing their ease back and forth until the driver started taking off from the airport.

As the vehicle moved, you leaned back against the seat and angled your head, staring out the window at the masses of people or reporters who were still recording or taking pictures of the envoy.

It was endless or seemed to be and you wondered, at any point, if you would be on the receiving end of Madame Carter’s hatred in person.

“The press tour started eventfully,” the fabricated crooning which once had brought him to his knees had now been a nail upon glass to his ears, “are you enjoying playing with your intern?”

“Peggy quit.” Steve drew out his annoyance with a sharp hiss when his wife’s comments, through a picture-perfect screen, had come across as hypocritical at best. “We’re not doing this.”

“Not doing what, Steve? You’re not screwing around with a younger woman while your wife is doing charity work?” Peggy leaned forward tucking her hand under her chin, her long deep brown hair was pinned to the top of her head in a style that was as calculated as she was.

Peggy was unbothered by the weight of her affairs, by the notion that while Steve wanted to change the world for the better she wanted to acquire an endless stream of power and money for herself.

It was a reality that was more of a nightmare, the idea that she could have used Steve so easily and not found fault in the irony that she was committing physical adultery. Steve, in comparison, felt like he was genuinely falling in love with someone incredible.

“Where’s he hiding? Where do you have him this time? The closet?” Steve blew out the accusation with animosity, and disgust hanging off every syllable until his mouth was coated with bitterness.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Peggy’s lips were drawn back into a smirk, a slow-building quirk riddled with heinousness, “I should remind you…”

His heart sank and his hands were balled into tight fists by his side.

He didn’t need to know what toxic spewing ire she would fire off at him to know that it was another tactic for control. Steve knew that she and her family, who had promised so much for the man who wanted to be a great politician and make a difference, were trying to tighten the strings and spin this discourse between the two of them into a positive light.

“It’s in your little whore’s contract that if she fucks anyone in her circle she’ll be fired.” It felt like a victory for her, Steve could see it written clearly.

Every shadow and highlight on her aesthetically pleasing face, her natural beauty and charisma that charmed more than just him, was now twisted.

Every facet of her that he once loved was tainted and obliterated by this poisonous facet that made him hate her. It was despicable, it was beyond what he thought he could handle. Peggy Carter and Pierce’s were fucking with what little glimmer of happiness he could have.

“Make sure you’re a good boy, Steve. Don’t put your dick in anything that could get you into trouble.”The irony, cruel and twisted, befell him.

He was finding happiness but couldn’t step over the line they drew in the sand. It was a method of torture to keep him in their distinctive clutch, and Steve was caught between letting himself chase the glimmer of hope and squandering it all.

“I wanted to change the world, Peggy. I wanted to do good and be good. I wanted a loving wife and kids to come home to, I wanted the American dream and you-”

“I told you to fuck her, didn’t I?” Steve’s heart sank, the acid in his stomach churning as he rendered himself stuck on this terrorizing notion that if he chased you, physically seeking you, you would be ruined. “Guess you better keep your dick clean.”

He wanted to call her a bitch, he wanted to call her a hypocritical whore for this cage she was forcing him into. Steve wanted to rip into her, endlessly tearing her in two through the screen, and yet all he could do was stare at this vile poisonous snake.

She was fucking every intern she had and dangling up above him like a carrot in front of a horse.

Peggy Carter was holding everything from him.

“I’m not letting you go, Steve. I still need you and you need me, my family, to get what you want. Who knows…maybe when I become the First Lady I’ll give you the whore as a gift. You could keep her locked under the Oval Office to suck dick for all I care-”

Steve closed the screen with a snap, using enough force to crack the screen. He stood violently and reacted in anger, swiping everything from the desk to the floor. Bile was crawling up his throat, stinging his esophageal system from the inside. His heart was thrashing violently as he continued the destruction, seeking an outlet for himself.

And as he finished, as he had spent all the anger he had, Steve slowly slid down the wall nearest the window. He drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his hands, slowly exhaling.

Permanent Tags List: @jennmurawski13-writes @beardburnsupersoldiers @rebekahdawkins @supraveng @bookfrog242 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @loveitorleaveit20 @alexakeyloveloki @socalgem1124 @mogaruke @dreamlessinparis @frisky975 @dispatchvampire @hereforbuckyandsteve @jesgisborne @fairybnha3 @hallecarey1 @tang082646 @mrslokibarnesrogers @deputy-videogamer @posionivy0061 @loving-life-my-way @kaylamcd2000 @mercyy98 @rootcrop @whatinthestyles @slutforsteve @cornmousequeen @rededfoxy @yagurl-snow @glimmering-darling-dolly @patzammit @buckymydarlingangel @missusbarnes-rogers @andy-is-gay @nervousfandom @rileyloves5 @emi11ie @carelessreadersstuff @readingandwritingandreading @cynic-spirit @inkedaztec @gh0stgurl @cats-and-sheep @pono-pura-vida @seitmai @teambarnes72 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @miss-rebel-without-applause

#Steve rogers x reader #senator!steve rogers x reader #senator!steve rogers #senator!steve rogers x intern!reader #Steve rogers x reader fluff #Steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogees x reader smut #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagine fluff #steve rigers imagines fluff #breach of contract series #breach of contract masterlist #breach of contract part 9 #anti peggy carter #Peggy Carter bashing

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howdoyousleep3 · 3 years

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Now that summer is here (update: it’s almost over and i’m weeping help) and I have more time to write, here is a bit of a reference to come back to, update, and share, for both you and me. Works are in no particular order, I just chose to start with the ones I have headers for. 💖

Updated: 7/22/21

Mini-Series Title:

Part One:

Part Two:

Part Three:

Part Four:

Mini-Series Title: Inside the Beltway Work Titles: grassroots, muckracker, smoke-filled room, dark horse Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Senator Steve Rogers x Intern Bucky Barnes Current Tags: (def a little rough in terms of what I have to add) Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe—No Powers, Established Relationship, Daddy Kink, Boss/Employee Relationship, Top Steve Rogers, Dom Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Sub Bucky Barnes, Dom/Sub, Power Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Age Difference, Size Difference, Dirty Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Jock Straps, Ass Play, Topping from the Bottom, Dirty Talk, Orgasm Control, Dirty Thoughts, Sex Toys, Butt Plugs, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Teasing, Orgasm Denial, Rimming, Feminization, Sex Videos, Filmed Sex, Watching Porn, Mutual Masturbation, Subspace, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Crawling, Switching, Threesome, Angst, Angst and Porn, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Past Relationships, Denial of Feelings, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Angst with Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Drama, Emotional Sex, Crying, Anger, Conflict Resolution, Porn with Feelings, Communication, Falling in Love, Happy Endings Series Summary: With election season coming to an end along with his college career and his internship, Bucky Barnes wonders where his secret, sexual relationship with Senator Rogers lies. With an unforeseen shift in this relationship after a series of what should be ordinary events, it knocks their agreed upon and once solid foundation to the ground.

With a plethora of other aspects of life already heavy on their shoulders and in their minds, they’re forced up to the point of a fork in the road of their relationship. And with their time working together coming to an end, it’s a decision they have to face in a timeframe unkind to them both. They either continue forward with what they have, or they go their separate ways.

Or maybe a third option, one shrouded in profound physical intimacy, has yet to be uncovered by the two of them when they least expect it. Current Word Count: 838 15,845 words Priority Level: High Goal: I would like to roughly and thoroughly have each story outlined by the middle of June. I would then like to have grass roots out by the end of June, muckracker out by the middle of July, smoke-filled room by the end of July, and then dark horse out by the end of August. I have outlined all stories, have completed half of grassroots, and would like to have that story completed before I go back to school in two and a half weeks. I don’t think I’ll set a deadline for the stories that follow. I need all the positive good vibes for this one; it terrifies me.

Title: swear it’s just right for you Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader Current Tags: Reader Insert, Boss/Employee Relationship, Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/Sub Undertones, Topping from the Bottom, Mutual Masturbation, Daddy Kink, Power Dynamics Summary: “Hello?” she answers after letting her phone ring for longer than necessary, voice light, unsurprised. She can tell immediately what role Andy is taking on with this phone call by how strained his voice sounds when he responds with, “Hey…hi.” It’s also very easy to tell what kind of phone call this is by how quickly he puts an end to her, “Mr. Barber? Is everything alright? Are you—” “Don’t. Don’t do that, not now. She isn’t who I want to talk to. Wanna talk to…to my girl, my good girl.” Oh. Current Word Count: 1152 words Priority Level: Low Goal: No goal, will finish whenever

Title: can’t bite the devil on my tongue, collaboration with @maddiewritesstucky Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Bucky Barnes Current Tags: AU - A/B/O, AU - No Powers, AU - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Daddy Kink, Sugar Daddy, Top Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Primal Play, Dirty Talk, Size Difference, Light Dom/Sub, Dom/Sub Undertones, Verbal Humiliation, Humiliation, Praise Kink, Anal Sex, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Blowjob, Come Play, Breeding Kink, Sex Worker Bucky Barnes, Porn With Feels, Porn With Plot, Biting, Rough Sex, Aftercare, Realization of Feelings, Happy Ending, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rutting, Explicit Sexual Content, Size Kink, Feminization, Come Swallowing, Face-Sitting, Overstimulation, Slick Squirting Summary: For the past year, Omega-for-Hire Bucky Barnes has been joyously locked into an exclusive contract servicing the ruts and sexual whims of Steve Rogers— an alpha with very particular tastes. But business only goes so far, and professional detachment isn’t so easy to maintain when Steve’s rut suddenly gets personal as hell. Over the span of five days, Steve and Bucky’s sexual relationships spirals into increasingly confronting territory, both in the raw desires that awaken and the emotional realizations that unfold. Current Word Count: 1,336 Priority Level: Medium Goal: Whenever Sis and I wanna. 😎 This one was going to be a Big Bang fic but we dropped because of added stressors in our lives. We want to make sure this doesn’t bring us stress whatsoever.

Title: but for you i kinda want to | read here Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Daddy Steve Rogers x Baby Bucky Barnes Current Tags: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Established Relationship, Daddy Kink, Light Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Age Difference, Size Difference, Topping from the Bottom, Daddy Steve, Baby Bucky, Praise Kink, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Mirror Sex, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Topspace, Subspace, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Collars, Rimming, Feminization, Humiliation, Verbal Humiliation, Intimacy, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Mutual Masturbation, Hand Jobs, Crawling, Comfort, Comfort Sex, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Communication, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Control Summary: After being caught off-guard by a curious inquiry by Bucky one morning, Steve is consumed by thoughts that he’s never had before, that question his role in his relationship with Bucky and his ability to provide for Bucky’s wants and needs. Embracing this change head-on, the two of them work through their newfound feelings and desires as one in a way that surprisingly deepens their love, appreciation, and devotion for one another. Current Word Count: 18,487 words Priority Level: Medium. One more chapter to go. Goal: Done and complete by the end of the summer. Still the goal! I’d love to finish this one before heading back to school.

Title: drip like honey Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Massage Therapist Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader Current Tags: Reader Insert, Massage, Touching, Fingerfucking, Oil, Ass Play, Groping, Nipple Play, Mutual Mastubration, Hand Job, Orgasm Control, Blow Jobs, Dirty Thoughts, Size Kink, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Oral Sex (female and male receiving) Summary: With the sheet turned down on the table, Ari walks around to the cabinet, retrieves a towel, a few glass jars. “Why don’t you go ahead and disrobe and hop up here.” This. This is what had your brain screeching to a halt the last time you were here. He has told you to take your robe off but has no obvious intention of leaving the room and your certain this is not appropriate. A massage therapist should leave the room as you situate yourself on the massage table. Yet here you are pulling at the tie of your robe, slipping it loose. Current Word Count: 1,066 words Priority Level: Medium Goal: Complete by the end of June.

Title: touch me, not feel me (could be changed later idk) | follow up to this Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Mr. Barber x Masc!Reader Current Tags: Best Friend’s Dad, Daddy Kink, Reader Insert, Dirty Talk, Quiet Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Little Prep, Breathplay, Feminization Summary: He feels the heavy dip of a knee being pressed into the mattress after the quilt is lifted, the chilly night air seeping into the warmth his resting body has built to create. The room is jet black, nothing but the glow from the streetlamp filtering in through the curtains, sprawling along the floor. Even as he rolls over to question the intrusive noise, Mr. Barber himself, he cannot see the face that accompanies the breath of— “Hush. Just like we practiced…” Oh. Current Word Count: 628 words Priority Level: Low. Another one I’ll get to when I get to. Goal: Done by the end of August.

Title: i wanna touch on you | part 2 of we freak on the cam Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Camboy Bucky Barnes x Pornstar Steve Rogers Current Tags: No current tags Summary: No proper summary but y’all know this is the one where Bucky and Steve finally meet up in person. They’re also going to work through what they want out of this new relationship and how their career/profession plays into that. Current Word Count: 0 words Priority Level: Medium/Low Goal: Out by the end of the year honestly. I have a few more works ahead of this one I want to focus on.

Title: put my mind at ease Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Daddy James x Stevie Baby Current Tags: Summary: No proper summary but we’re focusing on this growing need of Steve’s to really get pulled out of his head and brought back down when he’s feeling incredibly bratty and out of his own control. This story will be about James and Steve working their way through how to properly and safely go about some Consensual Non-Consent. Current Word Count: 177 words Priority Level: Medium. I haven’t written them in a while and I’d really like to. Goal: Maybe end of the summer? End of August?

Title: Untitled Rating: Explicit (E) Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader Current Tags: None Summary: Nothing yet but my prompt is, “I should warn you, princess - the first time tends to get a little messy.” Freddy vs. Jason Current Word Count: 0 words Priority Level: Medium. This is for @sweeterthanthis‘s Quote Me On It 6K Writing Challenge. Goal: The due date is the end of July so...before then.

Done! You can read this here! 💖

#my writing #howdoyousleep #WIPs #fanfiction #stucky art #steve rogers x bucky barnes #I had a crisis making this lol #def a who tf do you think you are kinda crisis #but idk it is helping me stay organized and it's hyping me up like I want?#i know i'm forgetting something i know i am #i'll come back and add it if i remember

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picassho-18 · 6 years

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Blood Petals (1)

Chapter 1: Senator’s Assassination

Summary: (Mob Boss!Bucky Barnes x Assassin!Fem!Reader) When the famous death hungry assassin, the Blood Mistress, and the charismatic mob boss of Brooklyn city, James Barnes meet, heads will most definitely roll.

Warnings: talk of murder and mentions of blood, flirting

Word Count: 2259

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, this series is quickly becoming my favorite, and I’m only two parts in! Send an ASK if you want to be added, both tag lists are open ;)

Hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback, it’s much appreciated!

Gracefully, and elegantly, you stepped out of the cab. Adjusting your leather purse, and tying your long black coat, you walked up the steps, hearing your stilettos clicking on the sidewalk. Sauntering up to the bustling club, the bouncer stopped you, grabbing your elbow. Glancing at the heavy set man, you arched an eyebrow. You stood there, staring down the man, rage simmering in your eyes, while he had his grubby hand still on your arm. It seemed like minutes of neither backing down, before a blond man interrupted your staring contest, glancing at the white roses in your hair, and leaned into the bouncer’s ear, whispering something. The bouncer then grumbled, muttering something before letting your arm go.

Immediately, you walked past him, shooting a smug smile at him. Directing your attention back to the blond man, with a strong tone, you said, “I’m here to see Mr. Barnes.”

The man glanced at your roses again, taking a barely visible gulp, you only picking up on it, due to your advanced trainings. “Okay, Miss. I will see if he is available.” The blond pulled out a seat at a table in the corner, and waved at wandering waiter to take care of you.

He left, disappearing into a back room of the club, giving you time to look around. Taking a sip of your freshly made martini, you soaked in the atmosphere. It had been too long since you had been in a club like this, so the exotic dancers in the corner, along with the smell of smoke all throughout the room, and the flashing lights, almost sent you back into time. To a time much, much happier then now. Home.

All to soon, the door opened revealing the blond man, and the King of Brooklyn himself, James Buchanan Barnes. A grin spread on your face as you bit a olive off the stick in you glass, while the two men walked towards you.

You lifted your glass, confidence radiating off you, as Mr. Barnes sat down across from you, “You can go Steve” waving off the blond man, you now know is Steve Rogers, the King’s left hand man.

Mr. Barnes just stared at you, observing your face and movements, as you shifted, crossing your legs, and leaning back, elbow on the back of the seat. Your power position. Never breaking eye contact, you recognized every fleck of silver in the blue eyes of Mr. Barnes in an instant.

Finally, he broke the silence by leaning forward, cocking an eyebrow“The Blood Mistress, I presume?” motioning to the white roses in your hair.

Taking another sip from your glass, you nodded. Mr. Barnes continued, “Well, I assume you know who I am, but what I don’t know is why you’re here. I’m not your job right? Didn’t think I had any enemies powerful enough to pay your bills.”

“Oh Mr. Barnes, you know you’re the only man in New York who could afford me.” you said with a wink, and another sip. “That’s why I’m here, I’m looking for work and heard you recently lost your best hit man.”

He leaned back, rolled his broad shoulders, “Yes, I did lose my hitman. He was too sloppy, had to clean him up.”

“Well,” you said, licking your lip seductively, “Maybe you just need a woman to do the job. Women tend to be better. More efficient.” Every word you said was slow. Calculated and controlled. The beginning stages of getting hired for a job were always delicate. But this, Mr. Barnes required a little extra effort.

Mr. Barnes rubbed his chin, seeming to ponder the statement, acting as if his mind wasn’t made up. You knew as soon as he heard that you were looking for work that he would hire you. You saw the tick, the signs. His eyes had lit up slightly, his head cocking to the side. No one could turn down your offer. “Maybe I do need the lighter touch of a women.”

“Yes, yes you do. So, have a job for me?” You asked, rushing to the point.

“Ahh, slow down sweet cheeks. I thought we were enjoying ourselves.” He smirked, “You know, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

You froze momentarily, and hoped to God that he didn’t see you reaction. Quickly recovering, you responded, “Really? Was she pretty?” you face settling down, and returning to it’s mask.

“Pretty no. Gorgeous yes. She was only 12, as was I, but even back then I knew that she was beautiful.”

You hummed, taking another sip.

“Will I be able to get your name, Mistress?”

You laughed, brushing your hair behind your eye, “Oh no, Mr. Barnes. No one gets to know that. Now it’s time to hear, do you have a job for me or not?”

It was his turn to laugh, “You are all too eager! Probably iching to get your next blood fix, I assume.” You arched an eyebrow at that, but he continued, “I do have a name of someone I want dead in a week.”

You leaned forward, excited that he was finally giving you the job, “His name is Helmut Zemo. A senator. Two million on delivery, with proof of death, and no traces of evidence.”

You nodded, taking one last sip of your drink.

“And remember,” he said, “No signature, no trademarks left at the scene. I need this completely unconnected to me. I want it done within the week”

With a smug look, you put your sunglasses back on, gathering your purse, “Oh Mr. Barnes. I know when to leave a crime scene clean and when to leave my mark. If only you knew about the real number of murders I’ve done. People only knows about the ones I want them to know” With a pat on his shoulder, you walked past him heading for the door. Your red heels clicking on the club tile, and you hips swayed confidently.

Over your shoulder you called out, “It’ll be done by tomorrow.”

*****

Adjusting the black lingerie so that it was peeking out of the red trench coat you wore, you knocked on the hotel door.

When it opened up, you leaned your hand against the door frame, with a seductive smirk resting on your face, “Someone ordered me?”

The man who opened the door sputtered out, choking at the sight of you, “I- I didn’t order any-anything…”

“Oh,” you pouted, sticking your bright red bottom lip out, “That’s too bad. Must be the wrong room.”

Then as if a realization crossed your mind, you said, “Well, that doesn’t mean we can’t have any fun” opening up your red coat to reveal more of your body, arching your back to perk up your cleavage “And free of charge.” you added with a wink.

He visibly gulped, debating internally, but staring at most definitely wasn’t your face. Not before long, he nodded, lust filling his eyes, losing the battle he previously was fighting internally.

He opening up the door all the way, motioning for you to walk in. As you stepped past him into the room, you let your coat fall to the floor, putting your lingerie clad body on full display. Your black and red heels causing your legs to look miles long, and taking the clip out of your hair, you shook your hair, letting it fall graciously down. While you weren’t looking at him, you could heard him close the door, and could practically feel him staring at you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you smirked at his awestruck expression, “Well baby, before we get started, let’s get some alcohol in us first”

You strutted over to the room’s bar, pouring two glasses of champagne, slyly putting something into one of the glasses. Putting them on a tray, you carried the tray with one hand, and with the other, pushed the man to fall on to the couch with a soft huff. You handed him a glass and watched as he took a sip. His grin widened largely, as you took a sip of yours, and continued to put a knee on each side of his legs.

Leaning your face incredibly close to the man, you purred, “Drink up baby, then we’ll have our fun.” Ditching your glass to run your hands up and down his chest as he sipped his drink.

Creeping your hands down, you slightly brushed your right hand over his crotch, causing him to shudder sightly, then preceded to rushedly gulp down the rest of his glass.

Peering at the glass in his now slightly shaking hand, you took it and placed it on the side table. Patting him, you asked, “How ya feeling, big boy?” as his eyes started to cloud with confusion before he started to clutch his chest.

Pushing yourself off him, you smile, “Not feeling to good, baby? I bet, I just gave you some heart attack inducing drugs, so I would think you aren’t feeling to good!”

Fear rushed into the man’s eyes, frantically holding his chest. Scrambling upward, he tried to stand and reach you, but failed and dropped to his knees, and fell face first into the carpet.

You bent over and picked up your red coat off the floor, and put it on, tying it around you.

You watched with no sense of any pity as the man slowly tried to crawl towards to phone on the side table. “Oh, you’re trying to reach the phone? Oh, I can’t have that!” You walked over, and plucked the phone from the table, and threw it far away from him.

Glancing down to him again, you watched as his mouth opened and closed like a fish, gasping for breath. Finally, he slumped down again, and completely still this time. You crouched down, and felt his pulse, grinning when you felt nothing.

Standing up, you flattened out your coat, taking a quick picture with your phone, and walked to the door. Without looking behind you, “Bye Senator, hope you had fun!”

****

Exactly 24 hours since you left the club, you walked up the same steps. Nodding to the bouncer, you slipped past him, grinning when you saw him tense up, recognizing you, and the roses in your hair. He must have learned exactly who you were from Steve.

Not even bothering to announce your entrance, you wandered to an open table in the corner, and waited for Barnes to realize you were here. Immediately, your eyes found him behind the bar, on the other side of the club. You watched him intently, though you couldn’t hear him. He was having a conversation with the bartender, a black man with short buzzed hair, and an easy smile with a slight gap between his two front teeth.

A small grin sprung to your lips, as Barnes laughed throwing his head back, clapping the bartender on the shoulder. Quickly, you wiped it of your face, scoulding yourself. You knew better to not show any true emotion in places like this. But you couldn’t stop watching the two men interact. No mob moss, no Kingpin, you ever crossed before ever interacted with his men like this. Barnes almost treated them like equals. Like friends.

Not before long, Barnes locked eyes with you, his eyebrow raising in confusion. He said something to the bartender, and headed for your table.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

“Mistress” he nodded a greeting. Sitting across from you, he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table.

Without a word, you put your phone on the table, sliding it, to show the picture. He took your phone, looking at the image, and then your face, then back to the picture.

With no emotion in his face, he said, “I gave you a week to do this.” handing your phone back to you.

“Well, like you said. I was craving a new kill.”

“How have I not heard this one the news yet?” he asked, slight awe crepting into his voice, probably against his will.

“You hired the Blood Mistress. What did you expect?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more of an answer, “I induced a heart attack. A natural death. Authorities are probably ruling out murder as we speak. And you know the media is always slow on these things.”

Barnes nodded, absorbing your words. He raised his right hand, waving it to beckon Rogers over to the table. He had been side eyeing your table the whole time, probably still not trusting you yet. But really, that was a smart move. No one should trust you.

“Yes sir?” he asked.

“”Get the Mistress’s payment for me, Rogers.” He nodded, then rushed off, going into the back room.

Turning back to you, “You’re good.”

With a smirk, you responded simply, “I know.”

“I’ve heard the stories. I know that you never take more than one job with the same person, but would you be willing to do another job for me, sweetheart?”

You laughed, cocking your head to the side, “Mr. Barnes, I have very few rules, but the rules I do have, I never break.”

“And what might those rules be?”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your legs, flashing some extra skin, smirking, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Steve returned back promptly, handing Barnes a thick envelope. Passing it on to you, he said, “Thank you.” making eye contact with you. Surprisingly, you actually saw sincerity in those crystal blue orbs.

You didn’t even bother to open the envelope and check the money, knowing Barnes was good for it. Standing up, you nodded to the two men, giving each one a nice smile. With a blow of a kiss, you said, “Glad doing business with ya, boys.” and headed out of the club, not looking back.

Blood Petals Tag List:

@plusultnya

@rodkrake

@k-n-e

@captainrogersz

@theyeojaxx

@buckysrcse

@celinejfong

@mxlti-vxrse

@readeity

@fungk17

@sergeant-james-bbarnes

Permanent Taglist:

@leni-lion-luke-larb-logic

@boysoflapush

@superwholockian5ever

@not-reptilian

@pbandj14

@redstarstan

@winter–cearig

@red-writer13

@mundane-cup-noodles

@98-future-is-cake-00

@sebastian-stan-is-daddy

@4narniand4aslan

#bucky barnes imagine #winter solider imagine #bucky barnes x reader #winter solider x reader #mobster au #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #mob boss!bucky barnes x assassin!reader #fem!reader #reader insert #avengers #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes series #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan series

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sian22redux · 6 years

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Entanglements

by sian22redux

For @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan ‘s Angsty writing challenge: Star’s Marvel Mayhem

Prompt: ‘He was acting like our kiss had broken him, and his reaction was breaking me.’

Bucky x reader

Rating: M

Summary: The fight for love is sometimes harder than the mission.

How Bucky and Y/N of Private Party came to be together.

Timeline: After Wakanda of Black Panther end scenes, but assumes IW is over and he’s safe.

Tags: oral sex-mentioned, het, canon-compliant mayhem, hurt/comfort, angst, angst, angst

Thank you so so much to the heroic @wheelrider for expert beta’ing, even in a fandom that is not hers!! And to awesome @theycallmebecca for checking it worked!

—————————————-

The first time it happens, it is just a drunken hookup.

The party at Avengers Tower is star-spangled, loud, and pulsing fun; rare vodka fueled and graced by the hottest DJ in New York. You’ve left your uniform and new medal of valour in the hospitality suite Miss Potts has thoughtfully laid on. Donned a slinky black cocktail dress and four-inch heels and walked into the space on Mr Stark’s arm, blushing at his gushing praise.

Thank heaven this evening event is more relaxed than the White House’s lavish ballroom. Your knees had knocked so loud you were sure that the President had heard. Visibility is not your thing. Or speeches. But your few heartfelt words had tumbled out, applauded by brass and dough-faced senators and Bucky had stood, smiling, looking oh so perfectly edible in a charcoal suit. He’d winked at you, a shining in his eyes that was almost as bright as in the moment your marksmanship had saved his life.

Perhaps you hadn’t imagined his yearning after all.

Tony plies you with whiskey sours, and sometime after the fourth (or fifth?) Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson coax you out onto the dance floor. Time for some fun. Bucky stands and stares and takes it in: Steve’s hilariously sloppy groove, Sam’s easy sway. He’s frowning adorably, critiquing every move until he’s had enough of watching amateurs. He sets down his beer, absolutely murder struts out onto the dance floor, and with a ‘my turn punk’ rips you from their arms. The music settles into something smooth and slow (has Steve’s had a hand it that?) but then suddenly Bucky leans in. Cheek to cheek and hip to hip. There’s a fire blazing up inside that takes the pair of you by surprise, and when Bucky whispers, voice molasses dark and slow, “Doll, let’s escape,” you go.

Oh god.

You wake up so hung over it feels like you need to shave your tongue. Your dress is nowhere in sight and Bucky is sprawled out on his stomach. The bedclothes are mostly on the floor, his evening tux makes a trail of black and white against cream carpet and your (only) lacy underthings dangle off the lamp.

Fuck, what were you thinking?

Weren’t, obviously. You’d let the heady abandon of the evening, the crackling electricity between you both mess with your hard-earned self control, but it just can’t be. This man is your assignment, the one you are set to guard from the tentacles of a wounded, dying global empire that is trying to grab hold.

Best not to stick around. You lever upright, stagger to the washroom, run a wet hand through your tangled hair and try not to notice the lurid hickey on your collarbone.

Your dress is underneath the dresser (?), you slip it on without a sound, but ugh, the shoes are a pain: your feet are swollen from dancing for so long and so you fumble, trying to do up the flimsy straps. Finally, the prong slots through the tiny hole. All set.

Just as you find your purse and reach across the bedside table for your thong, a silver hand shoots out and clasps your wrist.

Gently.

But not planning on letting go.

“Doll, where ya going?” Bucky cracks one eye open and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “No one’s on this morning. Tony promised.”

“Got a briefing,” you lie, wincing internally, hating yourself for doing it, but this is a one-time thing and you do not plan on speaking of it.

Again.

Or ever.

The disappointment that clouds the lazy sparkle in his eyes is something to avoid. You hastily turn away, but at the door you pause guiltily for far too long. At last, you speak to the quiet resignation from the bed.

“Thank… thank you.”

Safe. Or almost. Steve Rogers wakes up early. He’s showered after an early run, set up in the kitchen; got french toast frying and washed wineglasses in the drain tray. He’s grinning. Wide and hopeful just like an excited Labrador.

“Breakfast will be ready in a jif.”

You blink in the too=bright space and think, Fuck my life.

“Captain… uhh.”

What the ever lovin’ hell should you say??

Sorry, can’t stay after banging your best friend. Can’t eat cuz I might just puke. Or better yet…yes I have read DAOD 5019-1 but this does not constitute inappropriate fraternization across the ranks.

“Not hungry, Corporal?” Steve shrugs those massive shoulders and flips a tea towel across his arm, peeking at the toast’s browning underside. “Suit yourself.”

You do.

But no regrets.

It had been too wonderful for that.

—————-

The second time it happens, you tell yourself it is just the frantic release of relief.

It’s been another too-close-for-comfort call. Six months past cryo in Wakanda and the insanity that was the Infinity War, and you’d think in the aftermath the remnants of Hydra would no longer care. But they do, and can’t help but see he’s back, and if they can’t control the Asset, they want him gone.

There is a careful balance between keeping Bucky safely whole and actually giving him a life.

You’re walking up out of the subway into Battery Park’s wintery sun, a hologram cover hiding your M24 because you just can’t saunter past New York’s Sunday shoppers and happy families pushing strollers openly armed to the teeth.

Bucky’s a block in front, sunglasses on and hood of his dark puffy jacket pulled right up because camouflage is necessary and the stiff southwesterly off the Hudson is cutting through the naked trees. He’s heading for the SeaGlass carousel where he will stand and smile, hands sunk deep in pockets, remembering the original aquarium he and Steve delighted in another lifetime ago.

After two months of tracking him on every outing, you know him well.

James Barnes loves plums and granola bars. Extra whip at Starbucks and hunting for old comic books. The Hayden planetarium and giant, hairy, slobbery dogs. A fresh trim means things are good because Nat can get close to him with shears. A fringe of days-old stubble means he’s having harder nights. The triggers are gone, but not the memory of what he’s done. When he stops, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, lips moving and new hand clenched into a fist, you know he’s centering. Running through a routine in whatever language comes to his head.

At least he is a better subject than most. Always watching. Baseball cap or hood pulled down, changing his route each day, not making it easy on the goons who might dog his steps. Or you.

It’s part of what makes this detail fun. This day he’s slid into an empty booth at Gigino, near enough the front for light but not so near he hasn’t a good view of the door. The notebook’s out, bristling with sticky tabs like a multicolour hedgehog. You are sitting diametrically across, scanning everything around but him, cuz hit men don’t all look like Brock Rumlow after all and folks carrying things in bags make a prickle at your nape. Your unobstructed view down the gravel walks is good, but somehow, a figure by the Liberty dock sets the hairs rising on your arm. Hunched. Looking back too often to the restaurant. Arm akimbo and hiding something.

You whisper urgently into the comms, hustle out of the doors and fire on the run. It’s a challenge but not long range, nothing like the shot before, but precision is the thing. You have no intention of damaging any of the good folk around.

The subject drops. Bystanders freak, scattering in all directions, and even as two agents materialize to cluster around Bucky as a precaution, he looks unerringly across at you, recognition and open longing on his face.

Yeah. Well. Me too, pal.

You melt away into the shadows, and after the NYPD have it all locked down, you find yourselves thrown together back at the Tower for a hastily convened debrief.

Coulson’s reviewing footage and Fury’s frowning, tapping impatient fingers on the tabletop, talking about the need for better eyes, but you’re having trouble focusing.

There’s a thirst in Bucky’s eyes that matches the one making your nether regions throb. God, how good would it be to strip off the Stark body armour underneath his vest. Press your skin along the length of him and feel every hot, hard inch. Too good. To be avoided, but beside you the metal hand flexes back and forth. As if he’s read your mind.

“Soldier?” Fury’s question drops like a bomb into your awareness. Neither of you are listening, too aware of each other to focus on mundane things like strategy.

“Umm, yeah…” Buck licks his lips and starts again. “I mean, no, I don’t know any more about that sleeper cell.

Fury turns to rake you both with his good eye. After one eternal minute, he shakes his head, looking more bemused than mad.

“Get outta here. Both of you.”

You don’t need to be told a second time.

Buck stalks out into the hall and you follow, thinking how it was too close a call and you are pissed Hydra’s not backing down and goddammit why are the other agents letting these shitballs get so very close and it’s almost like you are vibrating

Fuck. Wrong choice of word.

Your skin is positively alive with how aware of him you are, nerves jangled, sparking white hot arcs of lust, and then he has to make it worse. He turns and devours you with those ocean eyes as he slams the button for the elevator.

Hard.

With his prosthetic hand.

The thought of it on you again makes your bones almost liquefy.

“Steve’s off doing PR.”

The few spare words are said with a crooked grin, eyes challenging, and like lightening you are both struck on. Somehow, your legs are wound about his waist, lips locked, your back up against the cool mirror of the elevator wall, so engrossed you don’t notice when the motion stops. His metal arm bangs through the apartment and bedroom doors, makes the hinges scream in protest, and then without warning the axis of your world flips over. You are both horizontal. On the bed, frantically shedding clothes until his cock sinks into your molten core. You arch your back with the utter bliss of it, strokes hard and fast and frenzied, rising higher and then, inexplicably, he stills; drags his lips off your nipple to stare intently at your face.

“Y/N I ain’t gonna last. I…”

You open your eyes and catch his gaze. His eyes are dark and wide and filled with wonder. As caught off guard as you by the pure fury of the need– but oh you are not going there. Not thinking about how right this feels, how close and perfectly in tune you are. Nope. Nuh unh. This is sex, not making love. Scratching an itch. Purely mechanical.

“Bucky, move!”

You flip up your hips just so, knowing instinctively what it will do to him, and pull his hip bones closer, tighter, until you’re both grinning and he’s moaning, long and low, shuddering as he spills and you come apart, shining in the afterglow.

This time you deliberately stay the night.

You curl up into the crook of his flesh arm because you’re weak. Just can’t pull yourself away. It’s warm. And easy. And some part of you wants the peace—for him and you.

When you eventually awaken, stiff and achy, smelling of sweat and musk and the haute perfume of the disguise you never bothered to wash off, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Bucky’s dead to the world, face soft and slack in sleep, so beautiful and vulnerable it almost hurts.

For a moment, breakfasting together flits across your brain, but no. Way too risky. Too much like normal couple life.

You slide out from under a heavy bicep and set your feet soundlessly on the chill of the floor, ignoring a lazy snuffle, but, by the time your shrug back on your (ridiculous) Dolce coat, the worry line has settled on his brow again.

Damn. For a few precious hours, the perennial mark of his mistreatment had erased. You want to run a finger down it, smooth away the shadowed ridge with a soft caress, but you do not dare. That is exactly how another bonfire could ignite.

Instead, you gather up your rifle, activate the hologram and tip-toe away. Like a thief in the night or a spy who’s set a honey trap.

You text him ‘sweet dreams’ because this is not the bitch you want to be…

————————-

The third time it happens—well, it’s just pure weakness…

You are, of necessity, an expert at disguise. Part of a scout-sniper’s training is advanced stalking skills, keeping yourself hidden from a target just five feet away in rough open bush; you’ve done that and mastered alternate camouflage for downtown New York. Four changes of outfit a day if Bucky’s going far. Rocker grunge in ripped jeans and blue streaked hair. Finance exec in Burberry trench and heels. Thank heaven platform sneakers with lace and skirts are a thing; easier to run in those.

Bucky may not pick you out, doesn’t know exactly where you are, but he knows you’re there. Today, your hair is brown, next week redhead, after that could be pink: anything but your natural, and naturally noticeable, pale blonde. It’s like a game—you hiding and him guessing where you might be. He shows it (and how he’s memorized every conversation that you’ve had) in little actions meant just for you.

One morning, he ‘just happens’ to be forgetful and leaves a cup of mocha/hold-the-whip on the bench where he just sat. Another scorching afternoon, he buys your favourite Oddfellows miso cherry cup and leaves it safely in the shade of a blue postbox. Once, he spends two hours stalking every exhibit at the Met’s armory museum because you’d admitted you’ve never been. (You like old rifles. What can you say?)

How can you not fall for this man? He’s sweet and kind and deadly. Wants the best thing for everybody if not for himself, and will soon become impossible to resist.

Scratch that. Is. Is impossible to resist.

Damn his super hearing. One lunch strolling past Agent Provocateur, he catches your quiet sigh at something flirty but way, waaay out of your snack bracket and, the next thing you know, he’s marching into Victoria’s Secret. Cruising the racks in exactly your right size. Leaving the pink bag wedged behind a subway seat.

Collecting it is just not wasting money, right?

It goes on like this for weeks, until the day the teasing shit walks into Narcisse, buys chocolate body paint and leads you straight back in the direction of the Tower.

Oh god.

This necessitates yet another reconnoiter with wardrobe at the safe house. No one thinks twice about a well-groomed Chanel-suited woman visiting Tony Stark.

When the morning comes and you crouch, hand poised above the new skimpy scrap of lace, silently agonizing whether to bring or leave, Bucky sits up in bed. Confused. Dark hair temptingly messy and fingers reaching out.

“Y/N? Where’s the fire. It’s early yet.”

Fuck, he makes this so very hard. Bucky wants something for himself and you want to give it, but this is, if not exactly wrong, so far from right.

“Ah…” You don’t know what to say. The sheets are rumpled low about his hips and the comforter sprawls across the floor. He’d shoved it off. Kneeling between your legs to plunder you mercilessly with his tongue.

Oh, Christ, Y/N, don’t think of that.

“I want to get in a run.” The lie comes easily. You hate running, but he doesn’t know that yet.

“Gonna hafta change those heels,” he chuckles, stretching languidly. “You’ll need your coffee first. Steve said he’d put some on first thing.”

You pretend to relent, smile and plant the softest of kisses on the knotted scars of his shoulder.

“See you later,” you murmur, intending to go straight on home, but Steve Rogers has other plans. Ever the gentleman and always up with the birds, he’s made pancakes. And sausage. And fruit salad with blueberries.

The table is already set for three.

In the awkward silence, he misunderstands why your mouth is open.

“Syrup or sugar and lemon juice? Buck’s mom was British.”

The assumption you don’t understand the condiments is just too much. Turning him down again would be far too rude.

You sit, wrinkled disguise and all, and take a bite of bacon, realizing you have slept with the subject eight times over three different nights and you had no clue what his mother’s background was.

The fact you want to know is somewhat startling.

From down the hall, you hear the whoosh of water beating down and an adorably off-tune whistle. Your faithless libido says if you’d played your cards just right you’d be in there too. Soaping up his six pack and the dimples in his butt cheeks. Going yet another round.

Desperately, you hide your flaming cheeks in a perfectly foamy cappuccino, but Steve isn’t fooled.

“You know,” he remarks, casually forking up the detritus of an entire fluffy stack. “Buck never has nightmares when you are here.”

It’s a hard lesson, but one you obviously have to learn.

Again.

Never, never underestimate Captain America’s mastery of tactics.

———————————–

A week, a month, and you fall into a routine. Bucky’s shadow in the day and his teddy bear at night. A watcher on his six. Fire when he needs it and softness when he does not. That he’s let down his guard and become intimate with someone shows just how far he’s come. A growing part of you wants to do this, cheer on every little bit of taking back himself; but another part says stop.

You pride yourself on your skill and professional approach. Dispassionate execution. It is part of the reason you are so very good. You do not get distracted. At all. You’ve got no baggage. No serious exes clutter up your past. You have not spoken to your folks in years (their commune frowns on ‘making war’).

It comes as something of a shock to need your daily dose of Buck. Sarcastic jokes. Lips like silk. Muscles rippling underneath your touch.

It shouldn’t matter but it does. The mission is to protect him.

Even if it means from yourself.

———————————-

It is the shot, just a few centimeters stray, that settles things in your mind.

Sure, everyone has rougher days. Aim a little off. Skin jumpy and so tight it messes with your zen. But not you. Never you. Your concentration is absolute. You just can’t miss and that is exactly why Coulson first brought you in. Ms. Hill, in charge of Stark’s security, wants the best of the very best and you are it.

Next to the man you are sworn to protect.

Barton’s grinning and looking at the minor spread on the target sheet, leaning casually on his bow. “What are you thinking of, Y/N?“ he laughs, blue eyes sliding up to your face. “Sure ain’t your work.”

Your cheeks flame up. He doesn’t mean it. This is Clint never passing up a chance to take the piss but still it gets your brain cells firing. What were you thinking of? Slim hips in black tac pants. A stubbled, chiseled jaw. Silver fingers cradling the barrel of a gun.

Shit.

Bucky’s standing not ten feet away in the next corral and, fuck, you can’t help yourself. It’s the first time you’ve seen him all that day and the need flares up; wild and feral and messing with your head. You want to know how he’s doing. Ask about his bout with Steve, see if he wants to grab some lunch, make sure he’s eating right because he’s looking a little hollow in the cheeks and…

Stop.

You’re shocked and frankly terrified. Is this love? Infatuation? A school-girl crush? Your heart is raw but what is this for him? A diversion? Something steady? You have no idea, you don’t get much time to talk but you know what it shouldn’t be: too serious. He is still recovering. You’re his rebound and it isn’t healthy. Buck needs to date casually, get a better sense of himself and Jesus fucking Christ he is your job.

If Coulson or Fury find out, they’re entitled to put you on report. A black mark on your copybook. Though that isn’t what’s got you truly rattled.

You have to be a perfect shot.

For him.

His life depends upon it.

When you finally find the courage to rip the bandage off, you learn first hand that bullshit in Russian has an awfully familiar tone.

Bucky’s a solid wall of disagreement, arms crossed over his chest. “Babe, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“It does.” You raise your chin. “I am here to protect you. I can’t do that when my focus is…distracted.”

“It’s not that way for Nat and Clint.”

Really? You file that new tidbit of gossip away for more analysis, but still have to regretfully shake your head. “Not the same. They’re a team, trained to work in tandem. This is different.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

“Not true.”

His certainty that you’ll relent begins to melt away. “Y/N, don’t do this. I thought we had something. Were working on it. Can be something more.”

“Please.”

He falls silent in the face of your hard bitten stare. Lost eyes dark and pleading. More like a kicked puppy than a famous murderbot, but still you hold.

You can’t. You wish you could, but no.

“It has to be this way for me.”

To blunt the hurt, you stretch up on tip-toe to press a delicate apology to his lips.

Bucky flinches, acting like your kiss has broken him and his reaction is breaking you.

‘I thought we had something?’

The accusation rings in your ears all the days to come, but even tears don’t put the heart fires out.

——————————-

You do your job. Break down and reassemble your gun for the soothing repetition. Keep well away. Do exactly what you need to do and not one iota more, but watching him all day is torture.

Both of you are miserable.

You hide it. Bucky not so much. His blue eyes lose their spark; become haggard and bloodshot. You know you’ve put the dark bags there, but at least they’re there, you tell yourself when another hit gets foiled.

Everybody notices. On those rare times you have to be in the Tower, Steve remains so professionally polite and clipped it’s just like being shot. Next to him, no one knows. You sit, mute and hurting, inconveniently placed beside Pepper and Maria at a SHIELD event, taking in Natasha’s blistering attack on ‘the gold dipped bitch’ who’s hurt her friend. They know Bucky, too. How much the silent, morose Soldier is a capitulation; how working through hurt makes it harder for him to keep the last dregs of Hydra programming at bay. You hate yourself for it. But there really is no other way and now you realize, it’s getting harder. Your concentration’s worse if anything and it would be kinder to stop torturing you both.

The sick reality falls like lead into your stomach.

You can’t be there at all.

————————-

You never planned to work for SHIELD.

You’d enlisted at age eighteen because with no formal schooling and no degree, Uncle Sam was the only outfit that would promise you a job. Your long-honed hunting skills were evident in basic; refined in sniper school until you were something of a legend. You’d set your heart on Special Ops, did every extra ribbon and rotation but still were not sent to the front. Women were not then given combat roles. It sucked. And if your superiors were sympathetic, they still attached you to endless close protection details. Sent you to the AMU competitions. Ignored your increasingly strident, respectful pleas for reassignment until you’d thrown your resignation papers down and marched straight off the base.

Seemed like just minutes passed before a bland, grey-suited man tapped you on the shoulder.

“Miss Y/N?” said Philip Coulson with a smile. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Nick Fury is the best boss you’ve never officially had, because sometimes your Army cover is somewhat helpful and Phil swiftly arranged for your resignation papers disappear.

The rest is history.

——————————

“You want to be reassigned.”

“Yes, Sir.”

You will not squirm, but the Director, away from prying ears in his secure coordination room, is fixing you with his patented thousand-metre stare. “You really want to go back to Fort Bragg and do paperwork? Get trotted out when they need an affirmative action photo shoot?”

You groan. Ugh. They will and you know it, but anywhere than SHIELD is the objective. Better a clean break, you think, but Fury’s not done with you yet.

“I hear the First Daughter had some death threats. FBI’s asked us if we can spare a gun. We could reassign you to Sparrow’s detail.”

Oh fuck no. The President’s petulant and self-absorbed teenager burns through agents faster than she raids Bloomingdales.

It takes everything in you to do that nod.

Fury’s one visible eyebrow nearly hits the roof. “You are serious.”

“Sir. I am.” You’ve called his bluff. You stand to attention and wait for it. The serious suggestion you know is coming.

“Thing is, Y/N, we were going to recommend you for a new assignment,” Fury paces, hands behind his back and shoulders to the view. “It involves training. As hard as anything you’ve done.”

Really? You’re skeptical. You’ve done the Rangers even if they didn’t let you in the field. Toughed it out with the toughest the Army had.

What he says next, nearly has your jaw upon the floor.

“We want you permanently cross-posted to the Advanced Threat Containment Unit. Watch Sergeant Barnes full time. Close in as he transitions to his next new role.”

Surprise makes you blurt out the first thing in your head. “You can’t mean on combat missions?!”

“Mhmm.”

But that means… “You’re sending Bucky back into the field!”

“Got a problem with that, Corporal?”

Your mouth is hanging open. “But you can’t…”

‘I don’t do that anymore’ rings in your ears.

“You’re going to let him…”

Fury looks, not mad, but entirely amused. “Not do assassinations, no. But let him train and participate.”

“You can’t,” you stubbornly repeat. He’s stupidly reckless. Prone to throwing himself headlong into everything. Not completely healed. “Not ready,” you finish lamely.

“You disagree with the psych eval?”

You shuffle your feet. This is thin ground. SHIELD does not employ folks with fake degrees. “No, Sir.”

The Director smiles, as warmly as you’ll get. Which is to say, about as a warm as a melting icecube. “Good. Sergeant Barnes needs someone who has his back and Captain Rogers can’t do that leading from the front.”

So true. But also why Bucky shouldn’t be out at all. “Sir, he forgets…” To care about himself enough.

“Precisely why I’ve suggested you be assigned. You are the best markswoman we have got. Look, I’m not entirely happy with this either, but he can’t sit and knit forever. Stark says he’s ready. The -ologists say he’s ready. And he’s spending his days moping around the compound too much.” You wince inside, knowing the cause of that. “Getting some of his own back might even help.”

It might.

And someone will try to take Bucky out again.

And he will be focused on everything but himself.

Shit.

There is no choice.

You know you can keep him safe.

Fury, the bastard, just stands and cracks his deaths-head grin.

———————————

Training with the Avengers is more brutal than anything you’ve done.

Steve’s in charge, and Nat. Both merciless. Both focused on honing you into something more than a gun. It’s brutal and physical but that isn’t the hardest part.

Bucky is there training, too.

It feels like being a cat on a hot tin roof. Circling each other. Carefully. Two negative terminals on a magnet—repelling as far away as they can get.

“Corporal.”

“Sergeant.”

You’ve said no and Bucky is bending over backwards to be polite and perfectly correct. No physical contact outside sparring. No first names unless you can help it. No interaction at all, outside missions, to be honest. Tony, oblivious (at least you think he is), organizes movie nights and BBQs that you mostly miss. You follow Buck’s lead, keep yourself more closed than usual. Socialize with your old SHIELD squad when you can, haunt your room when there is no time.

It takes a toll.

You are not, by nature, a recluse but this is how it has to be. You can’t stand the brief flashes of disappointment in Bucky’s eyes, the wariness with which he interacts. They cut at your resolve. Shred it, until you’re forced to shut out everything but mission goals.

They come and go. Days. Weeks. The strain coils higher, but you tell yourself you are doing it for him: the man whose eyes haunt your waking moments. You become a shell, sapped of life and desiccated, but each shot is crisp and clean. This makes it right, but not natural. Eventually, you switch roles like understudies in a play. He is the pro, silent and efficient as he does his job, while you are the damaged one, snapping at every little thing, recklessly taking risks, heedless of your own safety.

It all seems worthwhile until the day you walk silently up the empty ramp for the Quinjet and find Steve and Sam huddled by the cockpit.

They don’t hear you slide like a shadow into your berth.

“His nightmares are getting worse.”

Sam whistles low. “Worse? Man, they were bad before.”

Steve slowly shakes his head. “It’s like Wakanda before he went in cryo. I honestly don’t know how he is even functioning.”

“Yeah. But the shit truth is there nothing you or I can do about it.” Sam sounds resigned. “Unless he comes clean on what it is that’s eating at him, and you know he won’t do that easily. Dude’s too stubborn.”

“He’s not the only one.”

Steve, you realize later, says this for you. His eyes bore like a laser into your forehead when he comes over to sit down, shrugging his five-point harness on.

“Corporal.”

“Captain.”

“You good?”

“Yes, Sir.”

You fiddle unnecessarily with the heat shield on your stock. Out of the corner of one eye, you can see him frown, loop his fingers into his belt and sigh, but you know he won’t call you out, won’t give away your private business to anyone. Still, the optimist in him can’t help but hope. Steve Rogers is really like a giant collie dog that shepherds a whole flock of misfits—he isn’t happy unless everyone’s set right; and you and Buck are waay out on the fringe. It feels as if the solid, brooding bulk of his suit is willing you to change your mind. But you are stubborn.

(A trait that you and Bucky share, along with snark and an obsession with perfect lattes.)

While you wait for everyone to load, you keep your head down and bite your lip, worrying about what you’ve heard. Fuck, if Buck’s not sleeping that makes both of you, and to do this job you need to be on. You’re good. You’re fine, you can tolerate a little sleep deprivation, but Bucky—that’s not right. Years of cryo and mind-wipes have messed with the circuitry. He needs sleep to heal, more than most, and you shake your head, knee vibrating like Clint’s bowstring, dreading but anxiously awaiting for him to load.

You don’t have long to wait. Nat and Clint clatter past and take the pilot seats, Tony swans through and starts briefing Steve with last-minute intel and then Bucky’s there. Stowing his gun and hiding behind a fall of dark, lank hair. You’re shocked. It’s been a week since you saw him last, in the common room, but oh god he is worse. Clearly. He barely responds when Clint does a system check. Grunts at Steve’s chirpy welcome. Falls into his seat across from you and that’s when it starts. The sense of failure. The hurt that the brutal truth is you are making this all worse; doing exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

Bucky’s not safer with you there. He’s more in danger and the knowledge of it sucks out all the oxygen.

You spend the three-hour trip and first half hour of the ensuing firefight under water, surfacing for precious gulps of air between the mounting pressure in your chest; like your harness is strapped down way too tight.

You thought that you’d be helping him, but oh, Y/N, you are really not.

You need to leave.

Entirely.

Goddamn it hurts, but you have no time. The heinous bastards who have grabbed a SHIELD tracking station have their dander up, are resisting with all they’ve got and you need to be on your game following as Bucky’s cover. You leap and sight, neutralize another target still feeling like you can’t get air, watching his lithe form duck and roll, mercilessly slamming a terrorist to the ground.

His face is all dark angles and unhappy shadows. Lined and smudged, a ghost of the man who’d smiled, run his fingers through your hair, gently nuzzling at your neck

“Babe, I could stay this way forever.”

The flash of memory is like a sucker punch to the gut.

You’ve screwed this whole thing up.

Can’t do your fucking job cuz you gave in and slept with the man who is your mission and now you’re… what?

Miserable in his company. Miserable without.

In love.

Fuck.

This is not how things should be.…

You’re drowning in the unhappiness, but even with a red haze of doomed understanding filtering across your gaze, you can’t not see it.

The motherfucker three hundred yards away taking aim at Bucky’s head

You need to pot the asshat now–but your view is obstructed by the base’s cell tower and, so, you leap out, aim and squeeze, heedless of your own back. The concrete behind the man’s dead eyes neatly disintegrates in a spray of elegant debris and your world dissolves in a rain of stabbing hurt, like a whole river of gravel is fired from the sky.

You fall.

There’s a roaring in your ears and the breathlessness is getting worse. Iron and smoke tinge the soup of dust and rock and gas that your lungs don’t want to breathe. Concussion grenade, must be: and, at first, you struggle, but the twisted beam that roofs your little world won’t even shift. It’s close, pressing on your chest and you will yourself to fight the panic down. Don’t disturb it. Don’t make the situation worse. You want to laugh at that—fuck no—all you do is make situations worse— but the breath in hurts like full-on hell.

That has to be good, doesn’t it? It’s when you don’t feel anything you’re going down…

Ok.. just…lie. Breathe… take inventory. There’s a trickle of blood running from your hair down through your eyes: you can taste it upon your tongue. Your left hand stings, but your right is just lying here. Numb. Not moving. Broken probably, but that is the least of your concerns.

The pressure of the beam bears down steadily.

And with it your space to get some air.

“Y/N!”

From somewhere to your left there comes a voice. Faint and muffled. As if someone is shouting way way far away and you realize—this is it. You are going to die. No ones gonna arrive in time but weirdly you are ok. Bucky is allright. You saw him flip and roll away. That’s good…that’s everything. You cough on the settling dust and steel and try to take shallower breaths. Your heart’s too fast and the air’s too thin and you close your eyes. Float, indistinct at the edges. Nothing hurts too much right now. It’s good. You can close your eyes and drift away.

“Y/N!”

This time the call is muffled but louder: anguished, as if everything in the world is wrong.

A chunk of steel is wrenched away and for the first time a patch of light shines through the dim.

“Y/N, are you hurt?!”

You blink through the blood that gums your lashes. Bucky’s there. Shoulders wedged into the impossibly tiny space, eyes wide with something you are sure you have never seen.

Fear.

You want to ease his mind, but words are a little hard. “I’m ok,” comes out more wheeze than whisper.

“Hang on, we’re gonna get you out.” Bucky barks into the comms for Sam, and help, and oxygen. He turns and gingerly shoves aside the loose jagged chunks of steel to make a little space. When there’s a hand’span of pavement clear, he dips down on his left, grimacing and flexing up against the beam.

There’s a slow metallic groan, an endless pause, but eventually it lifts just barely.

But sadly not enough.

The fuzzy world is whiting out, dissolving in a ring of sparks.

“Y/N!” He frees a hand, shakes you roughly and sends a lance of agony through your chest. “Stay with me, babe, stay with me. Cavalry is coming.”

But we don’t have any horses…

The wry smile on his face is blurry. You must have whispered this out loud. He closes his eyes, resets his metal hand down against the pavement. Flexes up again. “Aiighhh!”

The monumental effort gains another precious millimeter and the sparkly whiteness starts to fade to the indigo of his vest.

“What? Can’t you hear the hoofbeats?” Bucky is shaking, sweat beading on his brow but above there is a whoosh and the carbon ion smell of repulsor jets.

“Got it, Barnes!”

“Took you long enough!” Bucky sags just slightly, protecting you in case something shifts, but mercifully the metal does not move.

Sam is crouched behind. You dimly hear his coolly calm instructions. “Barnes, don’t let her move. Pretty sure those ribs are broken. Can’t risk a pneumothorax.” Bucky squeezes out, disappears through the gap but is quickly back again, metal fingers softly pressing a cannula to your nose. The dizziness fades some more.

“Better?” His Brooklyn accent aches with hopefulness.

You nod, warily taking a deeper breath, feeling clean, cool air rush in. Fuck its good but lord it hurts. At least the world does not swim. Bucky reaches to brush some damp strands from off your brow and Sam passes a pad into the gap. You hiss as he presses the treated gauze over the worst of the cut. “Sorry. Sorry.”

He glances around the narrow space. You’re basically in a coffin. Just wide enough for your hips and long enough for your feet. When you flex your foot, your toes touch something that feels smooth. A dish? A beam? The girders of the tower have toppled like a marionette’s arms and legs when the control strings have been cut. “Gonna take a bit to cut this mess. Properly, so it doesn’t shift.”

Bucky’s right, but you’re worrying about the waste of time. “Is it safe? The cell?”

You mean the rogue Hydra group, the reason why you’re here, because if it’s not, Jesus, you are going to thump him hard. You’re useless pinned. But if there’s shooting still going on…

“Relax, babe, we got ‘em. That grenade was their hail mary pass and it’s failed. Steve and Clint and Nat are mopping up.”

Thank God. Some of the tension bleeds away, like steam from a radiator. You shiver, shock starting to set in, and, tenderly, he drapes you with a silver thermal blanket. It’s better, but now it’s time to wait. Bright arcs of light shine through the cracks and you know Tony is working as fast as he can, but still it’s hard. You’ve been strong forever, but the fear you’ve held a bay is now too much with Bucky near.

A whimper escapes your lips.

“Shushhh, baby,” he croons, leaning near to cup your cheek with a warm hand. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s all gonna be ok.” But it really isn’t. His other one, metal reflecting Tony’s blazing work, keeps stroking your tangled hair. This close you can see a forest of tiny scrapes and nicks and cuts upon his dusty skin.

And the ever present smudges of tired grey below his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You’re stammering. You’ve been selfish, you see that now. Doing what you thought right and best for him. Totally certain you had to be the one to help and all the time the ache of want has never stopped.

It doesn’t matter. You need to be strong for him. Move on and let someone else have the watch.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You’re not sure what you are speaking of: holding yourself together while he kneels and strokes your face, or staying at his side. Both make sense. The sounds of working are getting louder. “Barnes, I’m almost through,” crackles through the link.

A cool metal finger strokes your brow. “Hey, not much longer now.”

You turn your head, catch the light in his worried eyes. “No..us, side by side.”

There, you’ve said it. SHIELD med will patch you up. Ship you out to base where you can crumble into dust somewhere on your own.

It’s brutal but better than being an irritant. Scratching endlessly at the scab of him.

“Goddammit, Y/N. You don’t have to go.”

His growl is not hurt but sheer frustration. There’s a storm in his eyes and in the flat set of his frown. Bucky wriggles a little closer in, cradles you like the most precious thing in all the world. “Fuck, it takes this battered brain a while, but, babe, you gotta hear me out. I get it now. You’re terrified that serving alongside someone who means too much makes you vulnerable. Messes with your skills–but it doesn’t have to be that way. There’s a shakedown sure, for a little while, but Clint and Nat–they manage. Wanda manages with Viz. Steve works alongside me and we may not be lovers but our bond is just as strong.” His lips pull into the saddest smile. “I fucking need you. You. Y/N. Not the Corporal with the medals. I need you everywhere. At night, when the monsters in my head crowd close and, in the day, when I need a snarky smile. You are best thing I have had in my life and I can’t let that go.”

Bucky’s face is almost pressed against your cheek. It’s that smile, soft and warm, and just for you.

Fire in the night and a watcher on your six.

“I’ve tried, Doll, I really have, but it just doesn’t work. I need you, complicated as it is. And I won’t let you give up on us. Not without trying, anyway.”

His whisper is rough with meaning. He huffs out a little sigh and presses an achingly gentle kiss across your bloodied lips.

This time his kiss breaks you….

——————–

tags: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @theycallmebecca @mewsiex @emilyevanston @mycapt-ohcapt @pegasusdragontiger @winters-beauty

@badassbaker @heather-lynn @saffreelove @loricameback @nomadicpixel @missfirstavenger @prplprincez @marvel-lucy

#star’s marvel mayhem challenge #sian22redux #engtanglements #bucky barnes #reader #prequel to Private Party #angst #smangst

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notyetneedcoffee · 4 years

Text

Our Secrets, Pt. 3

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Warnings: None this chapter, mainly annoyed Bucky and fluff!

A/N: This is the follow up to my No Secrets series.

You waited, outwardly looking patient, as Senator Joseph Tucker read the report provided by Bruce. Internally, you were rolling your eyes so far back into your head you could see your brain. It didn’t help that Bucky kept up an angry internal monologue that only you could hear.

‘If this pencil-neck little fucker thinks he can bench our girl, I’ll be teachin’ him different. Start with the fingers fiddling with that pen. Break each bone, one at a time. Every one of his fingers. Bet he cries like a baby. Pretty sure I can get him to piss himself by the time I got to his thumb.’

You closed your eyes and sighed.

‘She’s probably tired.’ Steve’s concern reached you. ‘I should stop this.’

Bucky knew better. ‘That was probably for me. Shit. Sorry, Doll. Just want to break his face.’

“Are we almost done here?” Steve asked.

“You’re welcome to leave whenever you wish, Captain.” Tucker didn’t even look up from the papers.

“How about food?” You piped in. “Are you hungry? We’ve got chicken fingers.”

Bucky snorted and turned away. This caused the Congressman to look up, scowling.

You smiled sweetly. “Or sandwiches?”

“No. Thank you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve eaten. Do you care if I call in food?” You picked up your phone. “Or will we be wrapping up sooner than that?”

“Um…”

“I’m just asking because Bucky gets a little hangry.” As if on cue, he practically growled.

Tucker set down the papers. “According to Dr. Banner’s tests there’s still a measurable change in your neurological readings.”

“It’s inconsequential.” Banner spoke up. “Completely within normal ranges.”

“But it is more than her baseline.”

“Brain chemistry is not a zero-sum science. She’s within a normal range. This may be her new baseline.”

“Why do you not specify what triggered the telepathy in your report? You have the remnants of the device.” Tucker flipped through the papers some more.

‘He wants to duplicate it.’ Steve observed.

“Because we don’t know. There are too many factors. The simulations failed.” Banner provided.

“I don’t see any tests involving Miss Y/L/N. Only passive readings and blood tests.”

“I didn’t consent.” Your voice hardened.

“Was that necessary?” Tucker turned to Banner. “You had her unconscious for several days.”

‘Fucker.’ Bucky’s voice growled in your head.

“Yes, Senator, it’s still required to get an American citizen’s consent before running scientific experiments on them.” Steve snipped. “Or has there’s been an amendment passed that I missed?”

“What proof do we have that she’s no longer experiencing telepathic abilities?” He closed the folder and looked at Steve coldly. “How are we to know she’s not going to eaves drop on classified information?”

“The test indicate that her brain chemistry has returned to normal, and she says she’s not hearing us anymore.” Banner was losing his temper. “We’ve been over this a dozen times.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe her?” Tucker leaned back in his chair.

‘Let me kill him. Come on, Doll, they’ll never find the body.’

“That’s enough.” Steve snapped. “You’ve got everything you need. We’re putting her back on duty.”

“Is that so?” Tucker snapped back.

“Yeah.” You pushed your chair back and stood up. “Believe it or not, Senator, I actually know my rights in this scenario. I’ve had plenty of time to work with Stark’s best attorneys to figure out my options whether or not the telepathy went away. This meeting is a courtesy, not a requirement. I’ve been patient, but now I’m tired and hungry and you’re being rude. So, we’re done.”

‘Damn straight, Doll.’

‘Argue with her, asshole.’ Steve thought. ‘I dare you. I’ll throw you out on your ass faster than you can blink.’

“You’ll get my summary response in short order.” Tucker snapped as Steve, Bucky and Bruce stood.

“Can you find your way out, or would like me to show you to the door?” Steve gave a cold smile.

You didn’t wait to hear the answer, and just left. Bucky followed close on your heels. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and he chuckled. “Chicken fingers?”

“I think I was very well behaved.” You giggled.

“Should have let break him.” Bucky whispered.

“You would have to beat me to him.” Steve’s voice mumble behind you. “What a jerk.”

The three of you made it back to the common rooms in the living quarters. Tony and Clint sat munching away at a huge plate of nachos. Sam was on the sofa, pillows tucked around him. A rugby match played on the television. You’d missed the simple things like this.

“Hey! There she is.” Sam called out, voice a little slurred from the pain killers. He didn’t look that bad, but you knew he had a lot of healing up to do after his surgery. “Come here and give me some love.”

“Sam, I’ve missed you.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek before kneeling down beside him. “How you doing?”

“Stoned.” He giggled.

“He just took another dose.” Clint said through a half mouth of food.

Sam was making a funny face, having you ask. “What?”

“You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Oh good.” He took your hand in his. “I can go back to thinking naughty thoughts about that fine ass of yours.”

‘Hey!’ Bucky glared.

‘What?!’ Steve’s eyes snapped up from the tv.

You laughed. “You do that, Falcon. Just don’t tell my boys about it.”

“Riiiigghhhtt.” He nodded. “Don’t piss off the super soldiers. Got it.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Are you hungry, love?”

“Starving.”

Tony snickered. “Love. That’s adorable.” Bucky smacked him on the back of the head. “Ow!”

Clint laughed.

Steve grinned like a fool as he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a beer for you and Bucky, and a platter of food. You settled on the floor next to Sam. Buck and Steve took the chairs across from you. As you popped a piece of cheese in your mouth, Sam petted your hair. “Good to see you happy, kid.”

“He’s so wasted.” You grinned at Steve before turning back and looking at Sam. “Good to see you breathing, butthead.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Hey. Who’s a butthead?”

The six of you ate and drank and caught up for another hour before you stood up and stretched. Bucky stood up too. “You as tired as I am?”

“Yeah.” A great yawn overtook you. “I’m heading to bed. Goodnight guys.”

Bucky just followed you out of the room. Steve however was having a moment. ‘Should I go too? I should. I should say something to Tony. Say what? Fuck. Now it’ll look like I’m running after them.’

You stopped before you entered your room. Bucky practically bumped into your back. You called out. “Steve! Where’d you put my purple bag?! It’s got my toothbrush in it!”

“Let me show you!” Steve jumped up and jogged toward you. Around the corner, he found you smirking. He turned pink. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You pushed up on your toes as he leaned forward to gently kiss your lips.

Bucky was already stretched out on your bed when you closed and locked the door. “These beds are way smaller than the one at the cabin.”

“That was a king size.” Steve commented. “Get your shoes off the bed.”

‘Mmm’ Bucky thought, ‘Nope, I want this pillow.’

You heard the double thunk-thuck of Bucky kicking off his shoes as you dug into one of your suitcases. Steve moved around in the bathroom and you heard him brushing his teeth. Suddenly the total normalcy of the moment hit you, the sense of complete domestic contentment.

Not so long ago the solitude of your suite was a sanctuary your defended vehemently. You’d always worn your independence like a badge of honor. Now, you felt more at home, happier, than ever before with Steve and Bucky filling up your space. They belonged here. Or you belonged wherever they were.

The immensity of it overtook you. You needed this. Needed them. You would never survive going back. They had you, completely.

“Doll?” Bucky’s soft voice pulled your attention to him. “What’s wrong?”

Steve knelt beside you, the smell of mint on his breath. His thumb wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. “What is it?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just happy to be home, happy we’re together.”

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you and lifted you in the air. He fell back on the bed with a playful ‘ouff’. He wrapped around you. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting rid of us.”

You laughed. Steve climbed on the bed, his fingers finding your ticklish spots. His smile glowing at your peals of laughter. You wriggled, but Bucky held you tight. “Nope! You’re ours. No getting away.”

“Stop!” You squealed. “Okay. Okay. I’m yours!”

‘Damn straight, Doll.’

‘Love you so much.’

Steve relented, lying beside you with bright eyes. You pulled Bucky’s arm tighter around your middle and touched Steve’s face. “Never imagined anything this good. Not ever.”

“Me neither.” Bucky’s face nuzzled your hair.

Steve leaned into your shoulder. “Better that I ever thought possible.”

You yawned again. Steve sat up and Bucky pulled away. You whined.

“None of that.” Bucky chuckled. He tugged at your top. “Let’s get undressed and ready for bed.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned.

Steve kissed your neck. “In the morning, Love. You’ve had a full day and we can see how exhausted you are.”

“But I’m…” a yawn broke through. “Okay, I am that tired.”

Bucky pulled your shirt over your head. “Like Stevie said, in the morning.”

‘We’ll make you scream so loud you wake the whole compound.’ Bucky smirked.

You fell asleep with your head on Steve’s chest, listening to his heart. Bucky’s left arm was draped over your body with his hand resting on Steve’s ribs, with his legs wound in yours. You couldn’t move, hot and pinned down. It felt like heaven.

TAGS:

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#stucky x reader #stucky fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x steve rogers x reader #stucky fanfic

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

Text

Breach Of Contract: Part 8

A/N: Have you ever been stuck over details and been so fixated that you just had to give up? That’s this, as best as I can get without tearing my hair out

He was in his world, elbows deep in remunerating thoughts while his gaze flit toward your seat near the front of the private plane. He had been paying more attention to you than he should have been, rather than focusing on the campaign in LA.

He had already been informed by Pepper of the media circus that would be waiting for him, questions fired off about the trail he was leading, his marriage and of course the picture of you and him together.

Despite how Pepper had spun the story, there was an undeniable spark between the two of you that was caught on camera and had been commented on by amateur detectives. Steve knew that Peggy would try and play the role of a dutiful wife who was shocked by the turn of events, a role that was counterintuitive to the truth.

Peggy Carter had more lovers in her back pocket than she would have ever admitted to. However her family had done everything they could to keep her reputation intact and by doing so, they had earned her a mob of dedicated fans and supporters who would always find fault with him.

If he had done more, if only he had kept her attention. If only Senator Rogers was a better man…

They didn’t know that Peggy Carter had used him, that she liked having a sense of power and control over Steve that was comparable to a cat holding a mouse hostage within its paws.

Steve was held by her and her family’s reputable influence, he was always willing to adhere to the marriage because he wanted to make it work.

It was juvenile maybe, the way that he felt as if he had met the perfect person for him and had experienced some quantifiable streak of love at first sight.

Maybe it was immature to believe that he could and would have fallen in love with you at first sight.

Or maybe it was real. Perhaps Steve had been put through the wringer with such a manipulative woman that wanted to use him, and only now was he feeling a genuine and true connection.

In the end, whatever it was, Steve didn’t try to stop it or himself. He didn’t stop looking at you or studying you while you managed to look over some files Pepper had given you, he watched you as you mouthed the lyrics to whatever song you were listening to through your headphones.

The longer he watched you, the more he wanted to know about you.

Steve wondered what music drove you, what music you would or could listen to over and over. He wanted to know what song made you cry the moment you heard it or the song that you screamed to when you were angry. He wanted to know what melody you danced to when no one was watching, or what song you’d stored in your mind to play at your future wedding.

He wanted to know it all and every question he asked you in his mind made him feel like a kid with a crush. Every question that he wanted to throw at you had successfully made Steve feel lighter and enthused.

Unable to stop himself, Steve pushed himself to stand from where he was sitting. He apologized to Pepper who waved him off with a thoughtful glance and a lack of subtlety. She had only watched him long enough to take the place next to you, and then he felt her eyes leaving him. As Pepper had looked away, you had raised your head and looked at Steve from the corner of your eyes, your legs tucked under you and the files you’d been reading folded on your lap. You had balanced the file with one hand, using the other to remove the left earbud to set it in the middle of the table in front of you.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” He asked even if he was already settled next to you, the question lingering in the air as electricity had passed from you to himself when his arm brushed against yours.

“No it’s okay,” you hummed and closed the file, setting it down on the table by your earbud, “I’ve read that three times already.”

“Nervous?” Steve was speaking more to his feelings than yours, the natural anxiousness that came before a press conference or big campaign attempt had always rattled him.

“This is my first real experience being a PR intern, and it’s my first time going to the west coast. I’ve always wanted to visit the Pacific Ocean.” He watched you as you angled yourself toward him, leaning into him just as he was leaning into you.

“I love the ocean, even when it’s wild it’s beautiful.” His eyes had been drawn from yours to your lips, the slight puckering of your flesh a mild pout, and then he caught your gaze again. “I haven’t been to the beach in a long time.”

“Too busy or…?” You trailed off, your voice tapering at the implications and the sudden uncertainty while talking about his wife. He knew you hadn’t known whether you wanted to pursue the topic of bad trashing his wife, and he respected you for that. Even if he hadn’t wanted you to hold yourself back, your decision was respectable.

“Or…” Steve answered truthfully, drawing his hand toward yours to brush his fingertips against the rise and fall of your knuckles.

“There’s a lot of beautiful piers nearby.” His throat felt tight, his heart beating erratically with every breath he took, the question lingering on his tongue, his hesitancy rooted in bashfulness and the juvenile belief in love at first sight.

It was sweeping over him. It was as if the two of you were already in the shallows of the ocean, being hit with every wave of desire and connectivity that passed from him to yourself.

“We should…” You stopped yourself, biting down on your bottom lip, swept away by his blue-green eyes. “Would you…show me?”

Steve raised his other hand, first cupping your cheek and then trailing his fingers down the line of your jaw to your chin. He searched your face, taking in every crevice and shadow that fell upon you, studying every square inch of you that he could. There was never a doubt, never a single faulting moment before he had leaned in.

It was unstoppable.

“I want to show you everything.” His lips swept across yours, and yours move against his.

It was a kiss in the middle of the private plane.

It was a clear case of two people who were drawn together, magnetized to each other in every possible way. Your heart fluttered with every pulse and gentle stroke of his fingers against your flesh, the pulse of electricity that hovered between you and Steve. You had never felt your mind, body and soul so overtaken by another person. It was new and invigorating, a cathartic reaction to the warmth and comfort that he had projected, the man who wanted to change the world was the same man who spent hours talking in a cheapened diner.

“I promise we’ll see the ocean. I’ll take you to the beach.” His promise came as a whisper against you, the two of you enveloped in each other’s worlds, kept here away from the toxicity of Peggy Carter and her clutch.

“Please,” you muttered against him, eyes fluttering closed when he raised his head and kissed your forehead after stealing your heart, “I want to see it all.”

“As much as we can.” Steve had eventually pulled away, drawing his eyes toward the empty seats across the two of you, and then he looked over his shoulder.

Chase & Val were having a quiet conversation between themselves, the two interns whispering and gossiping leaving Steve wondering if they were discussing you and himself. They were friends, best friends and he had been well aware of the Peggy Carter curse they had been talking about. It was well known to him, maybe even known to her, though they didn’t talk about it. They didn’t feel they need to talk about it because in her mind she was the only one who mattered.

In her mind, having her reputation and image cast upon society as a woman of substance and finesse was more important than anything anyone else was going through.

Peggy Carter had revelled under the idea of a curse in her name.

Steve wondered if you were his future and if he would be the next to thrive under the Peggy Carter curse. He was married to the woman, tied to her family who had allowed him to grow his political career, but now he wanted more. He wanted the ability to be a husband and have a wife, a wife who wanted to be in the marriage and commit herself to him as deeply as he wanted to commit himself to her.

It made him wonder if there was a possibility if there would ever be a possibility of Steve finding his next and greatest relationship from the tendrils of the Peggy Carter curse. He wondered, hoped and longed to have a genuine and natural relationship with you. It was love at first sight if he had ever known it, it was an intense and longing want.

Steve had spent the rest of the flight with you, the conversation shifting from one topic to another. It was easygoing and free, with no rush or constraints. There was nothing held back from the two of you, nothing you wouldn’t have talked about. It was as if you two were the sole occupants of the plane, the two of you so absorbed in each other even during the in-flight meal, you were consumed by him and he was consumed by you.

It was creating another layer of intimacy between you and Steve, another endearing connection that yanked the ties that bound you. It felt less like a campaign trip with his staff and interns, and more like a private escape for you and himself.

He had felt and held onto that endearing hope that you would and could be his future. He had felt that kind of safety in conversations until the plane touched down, and the media circus had become his newest reality.

And then, Steve promised himself that he would do anything and everything he could to shield you from their anger. He would do whatever was necessary for the media circus, and his wife, to prevent them both from trying to destroy you.

#senator!steve rogers x intern!reader #senator!steve rogers x reader #senator!steve rogers #steve rogers x intern!Reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x reader imagines #breach of contract #breach of contract part 8 #breach of contract series #breach of contract masterlist

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

Text

Breach Of Contract: Part 3

Was he truly in a daze? Was he so far in his head while staring at the captured images of a falsified to not hear the way Peggy was addressing her and his interns over the phone?

Was he so far in his tract of self-denial that he could have turned a deaf ear to the way she screeched? Or was Steve just tone deaf?

Had he become so accustomed to the way Peggy Carter had spoken to her staff in the confines of a private dwelling that he had been unable to pull his attention away from the staged photographs of his marriage.

It wasn’t anything he had wanted when he had begun his political career, when he had first set out to be part of the change, to try and make the city, county and state a better place, and now the country, however, there was always a twist to the attempts made. There was always some underhanded trade-off for power and influence, for the right connections.

Peggy Carter was beautiful, it was no word of life and Steve had certainly fallen for the confident woman who had offered more connections than he could have made on his own. It had, at least for him, started as genuine want and love.

He was devoted and he wanted to be the kind of husband that she deserved, which in turn could have made him blinder to the truth behind her choosing to say yes to him.

Was it merely the reputation she would earn that had kept her with him? Was it the power that came with being a governor or senator’s wife, that she was chasing? Or was it the status and the attention from the media, the opportunity to be in headlines that had driven her?

Whatever it had been, whatever had driven her to agree to marry Steve, there was a vast difference in their emotional connectivity and admittance of affection.

Steve had once longed for Peggy, he had once burned for her when they had first started their marriage and it felt good. He was well on his way to gaining traction in the state, he was well on his way to being an influential politician that people could stand behind.

He was a man who could have changed the way the world around him functioned and that was his intent for the rest of society. He had wanted to be a kind of change, he wanted to be a man who could influence the world for the better.

He was on the track to getting what he had wanted most in life, with a beautiful wife and a thriving career, and as he looked forward to a future with children, the first of his wants and dreams had become dashed. Peggy had confessed to Steve after months of trying to kids that she was infertile.

She had always been infertile, and she never thought to tell him. It was a blow, a painful seeded jab, but Steve was not the kind of man to leave his wife because of an ailment that she could not help. Steve wasn’t going to leave Peggy because there was no chance they could have biological children of their own. There was a chance for adoption, foster care or even coming to terms without children.

“You are incompetent and lazy. You are the stupidest person I have ever met.” Steve had only been pulled from the haze he was in when he had heard Peggy’s voice and the snide edge as she berated the interns on the other line.

Steve had turned from the staged photographs that were doctored to look as if they were natural and as if they were truly in love, and faced Peggy as she stalked around the barely used kitchen towards her bag resting on the spotless marble countertop. She was cold as she usually was, irrevocably angered by some inconvenience that had unsettled her.

“You can’t go around intimidating my interns, Peggy. I won’t let you.” Steve had followed her, scolding her with little hope that she would give a damn. “You can’t speak to them like that, they’re young college kids.”

“Won’t let me?” Her voice rises and her red painted nails dig into the material of her fitted pants. “Won’t let me? I can talk to whoever I want how I want.”

“No,” Steve had already been exasperated when he had started getting ready this morning and it was furthered when he had heard Peggy screaming at interns over the phone, “you won’t. You won’t treat them like that.”

“Steve,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes, her twisted brown curls elegantly and perfectly arranged to give her a look of sophistication that was entirely fabricated, “you cannot tell me what to do. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?”

“I’m talking to a woman who I thought was once elated to be my wife,” Steve had yanked his suit jacket from the back of the chair and draped it over his arm, “but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe elation was simply misconstrued as possession and control.”

“Don’t forget what I have done for you, what my family has done for you. Maybe you should think twice about opening your mouth-“ Her eyes narrowed, her brown eyes flashing with challenges that came from her narcissistic charm.

“You always have the opportunity to leave.” Steve had cut her off, briskly addressing her with a chill to his voice that was a declaration of the state of their relationship and the falsities of their marriage.

It would have been painful to admit, legally, that he and his marriage had completely failed. It would have been a bitter pill, a bitter realization however maybe he could have then had a chance, a second chance, at a marriage. One with someone that was truly wanting of him as he was of them.

“We need this relationship to look good in the eyes of the media,” she started stalking toward him, her arms crossed over her chest, “so do whatever the fuck it takes to get rid of this piety…screw as many hookers or escorts as it takes-“

“Dammit, Peggy!” Steve slammed his hand on the table and raised his voice in aggression. “Is that the only solution you have?! A perfect marriage in public and sexual infidelity in private? Is that what you’re doing with your interns?”

“I can’t get pregnant,” Peggy sneered, “I can screw all the men I want.”

“It’s not about a child! It’s never been about having or not having a child, it’s about being faithful!” Steve sighed when he heard the notification on his phone, the quiet alarm that told him he had to go.

“I want children, Peggy. I’ve always wanted a family, kids of my own.” Steve had sighed, feeling exhausted from the dead relationship. “But I wouldn’t have ever considered casting you aside because you’re infertile.”

“This marriage is dead,” Peggy spoke the truth, honest yet debilitating, “in all confines except in the eyes of the public.”

“I have to go-“

“Find yourself a good girl to fuck, make yourself feel better.” She had smirked at him, her brown eyes that could have been doeful and wondrous had instead been cold and calculating.

There was nothing warm and inviting about her eyes, nothing that had made him stop and want to take stock of the depths. The further he had looked at her, the more ire he had felt for the hands that were on his shoulders directing him and this failure of a marriage.

“Goodbye, Peggy.” Steve had been at a loss for most words and instead of continuing on the path of some kind of argument, Steve had gripped his suit jacket tighter and swiped his keys from the hook.

He had clutched his keys painfully in his left hand as he moved toward the door, knowing that Peggy was watching him as he moved, watching him until the door had closed and Steve was on the exterior of the biggest lie in his life.

He stood on the other side and listened to his phone chime again, a warning that he needed to continue leaving. Steve had rolled his shoulders back and grit his teeth, internalizing everything he couldn’t afford to take with him, and instead chose to leave it where it had laid.

There was nothing beneficial about taking that baggage with him to the office or trying to deal with the public while having that on his shoulders. Steve had learned early on that leaving that weight at the door had been crucial to continuing his career in politics, and now his campaign in the presidential race. It was a hard lesson, it was an egregious deterrent to keep himself in check.

Steve sighed heavily as he opened the driver’s side door of his SUV and sank onto the leather seat, his sit jacket tossed to the passenger’s side. He had remained silent while he closed the door and pushed the start button near the steering wheel, the quiet rumble of the engine as it turned over was the only sound that had broken the silence.

It was only when Steve had gotten ready to drive away from the house, that he had finally broken the lingering silence by turning on the radio to keep his mind focused on something other than the bitter silence that followed him.

The docket that had come late at night, arriving at your doorstep via a ragged intern who was in no way better rested than you were, had contained every form and every ounce of information you would need to continue your internship directly under Senator Rogers. The information in the packet you were given wasn’t obtusely different than the information you had gotten when you worked for the generalized camp in the weeks you had.

There was a higher expectation for what you had worn when you went to the office, seeing as you were going to be closer to the public eye and working directly for the Senator, your wardrobe had officially needed to be more structured than not.

Other than the few requirements to be made presentable in business casual attire, at the very least, there was an added need for non-disclosures that would prevent you from telling anyone about the work on the campaign and what had gone on behind the scenes. There was nothing that you hadn’t heard of or expected, and other than the wardrobe change, there was only one other qualification that had truly changed.

You, as his intern, were going to be spending a lot more time with Steve both in the state and out, following him to the parties and events he would be headlining. And with each different event, would come a shift in wardrobe style if necessary. There was nothing more in the way of twists about your new job with the bonus of higher pay for a more strenuous job.

‘Rogers has a press conference to get ready for. You need to be at the office in an hour.’

You had received a text while yanking out a pair of your nicest dark wash jeans from the back of your drawer, and one of the only blazers you had, tossing both on the bed while rummaging around for a simple shirt to layer underneath.

“They don’t give you much time to adjust, do they?” You muttered under your breath after completing your task of trying to find what you were looking for and given the short amount of time you had to get ready and be at the office you didn’t have enough time to dig further into your closet.

It took you minimal time to get dressed, your task was hurried by the hectic schedule and the time you would have to order an Uber had whittled the time away. You would have cut it close by the time you arrived at the office with narrowly a few minutes to spare.

After you had slipped on your shoes and departed your apartment, you rushed down the stairs and slipped out of your building. You had stood on the steps, debating on getting an Uber or cab, or even attempting to hop on a train, there was a slow stop of a sleek black SUV that had pulled up to the curb. The window of the passenger side had started to roll down and the appearance of Senator Rogers himself had come into your view.

“Y/N!” Senator Rogers had called your name, stirring your suspicion and wonderment. “Do you need a ride? Hop in, I’ll drive you to the office.”

You had been confused by his arrival outside of your building, even more, confused by how he had waved you over to the vehicle. He had seemingly come from nowhere, and while you hadn’t been given direct details about where he and Peggy Carter had lived, you knew for certain that he hadn’t lived anywhere in this area.

“Senator Rogers,” you stepped up to the passengers’ side door and placed your hands against the open window frame, leaning in ever so slightly, “what are you doing here? Seems far off from your usual.”

“You want a ride? Save you a few dollars.” He had offered again, charmingly so, and there was a brief discourse wherein you had thought about the moment you were offered the higher position and the threat from his wife.

Their marriage, as you had seen, was in no small measure good.

“That would be great.” You had finally answered and stepped back, grasping the smooth black handle to open the door, the blast of cool air hitting you wondrously.

It was a relief, a great weight lifted off your shoulders to know you would make it on time, and had vastly outweighed the potential awkwardness of the drive. You had settled yourself in and buckled yourself up after you’d closed the door, spying a familiar sight of four large pastries boxes in the rear driver’s side seat, the red sticker holding it closed.

“Donuts.” You muttered, a sound catching in your throat as you looked over the familiar name etched into the red sticker. “You came all this way for donuts?”

“They’re the best in the city.” Steve had argued without animosity. “I loved them in university.”

“Me too.” You spoke softly, quietly leaning back against the leather seat. “the place has been there for years.”

“You want one? Take one.”

“You’re bribing me, aren’t you? The exchange of Boston Cream donuts for my silence on…” You hesitated to answer, stopping yourself before you carried on.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Steve had immediately apologized on his behalf and for Peggy, although you suspected the latter wouldn’t give a damn, “Peggy and I…everyone struggles in their marriage-“

“You don’t need to explain.” You cut him off, feeling a tendril of awkwardness lingering. “It’s none of my business. I don’t need to know.”

“You can tell, can’t you? That things aren’t good?” Senator Rogers had questioned you, and though this was the first time you had spoken to each other without an audience or in the office, beneath the surface was some genuine easiness that was interwoven with the surmised discomfiture.

“Senator Rogers-“ He had looked at you when he hit a red light, his blue-green eyes revealing far more than you had imagined he wanted to convey, and you had been given a new, and unwanted, scope at the fragility of their marriage.

“Please be honest with me,” you had barely held a conversation, barely managed to speak more than once and yet there was a desperate need for the truth, something that had been hidden from him.

“Yes.” You finally answered with a hitch in your throat. “I can tell things are…bad.”

“Thank you,” Senator Rogers had turned back as the light turned green, a glimmer of relief settling over him, “for your honesty. Thank you for willing to be honest.”

Silence had fallen over the two of you again, silence that was trying and true. There was the gentle and quiet stream of the radio in the background and the shift from music to commercials, everything else was still.

There was nothing more that was going to be said, that could be said, and as the office had come into view, a soft and faint kind of understanding had settled between the two of you.

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 year

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Breach Of Contract: Part 7

The captured images of Peggy and her interns, of Peggy and every assistant she had ever slept with, had been included in a manila folder with every dated and dirty detail scrawled on the back.

It was another image that she had crafted and created, that Steve and herself were the perfect couple but it was all a ruse. Everything about her was a falsity that was as contrived as it was debilitating, the images and the evidence that was stacked against her were sealed in a safe out of her reach.

Maybe it was his scornful bitterness that fuelled this decision to have dirty details on her, his need for freedom after she took it from him driving him to compile enough evidence to file for divorce.

It was weighty and lofty, keeping it from the Carter-Pierce’s, but Steve had friends who were willing to help. He wasn’t a complete fool like she had made him out to be, and her arrogance was going to be her downfall. Steve would make sure of it, he would make sure the world knew how she truly was behind her carefully crafted image.

She was a vain and necrotic woman who had taken whatever she wanted when she wanted, she didn’t spare his feelings when she took her interns and assistants to bed. Peggy Carter had screwed whoever she wanted and didn’t fear the repercussions due to her father having his hands in too many avenues that suited their family well.

There was power in their family name and their reputations however Steve had learned the dirty truth about how they gained and garnered their infamy.

They thought Steve was under their thumb, they had anticipated this long-winded affair Peggy had carried on would push Steve into another woman’s arms and as long as their marriage remained legal, they didn’t give a shit who he had screwed.

Steve wanted more. Despite how toxic and twisted this marriage had become Steve still found the idea deemed worthy and if he had met the right person at the right time, he could and would be a doting husband. He had the ability to be the kind of man who was a reliable partner and caring spouse, he had the ability to be a stronghold for his wife.

He had gone into this marriage with Peggy holding onto the idea that he could win her over, that he could keep her devotion rooted to him and this relationship. Steve’s foolishness, his belief that Peggy Carter could extend him the same affection had been wrong. Now she was having a less than a quiet affair, and Steve was finding himself falling in love with someone who truly could give him what he wanted.

You were part of his PA team, you were his intern and despite all that, Steve had felt a genuine connection. He had felt more affection and devotion to you than he had felt with Peggy in years, a fact that was a sad statement on his marriage. Steve wanted you, he craved you, far more than he craved his wife.

His marriage was over, yet he couldn’t escape without some security. It was only a matter of time before Steve built enough backing to get out of the relationship and protect you.

Because that’s what it was all about. Steve would not start the divorce process while you were left unprotected and vulnerable to her viciousness. Steve was going to enter this relationship with you by doing everything he could to protect you from the wicked clutch of Peggy Carter, even if that had meant airing every dirty detail necessary and painting himself in a bad light.

He would not go into this potential presidency with the First Lady like Peggy Carter. Having someone as vain and as detrimental to his psyche by his side as his First Lady would have broken Steve.

He knew, maybe he had always known, that Carter-Pierce’s were using him. If he had known it, he had put up with it under the naivety that maybe they would change, or he could change them.

“I’m sleeping with my assistants and interns. They’re so eager to please. Maybe if you got your dick wet with that little whore that likes to sniff you out-“

Steve slammed the manila folder on the desk and grits his teeth, his heart clenching painfully when his mind returned to the thought of Peggy. She had snidely suggested that Steve treat you like his personal sex toy, much like she had treated her interns and assistants.

Peggy surrounded herself with younger men who would kiss her every minute of every day while Steve was still clutching to the ideals of their marriage.

But with you…everything felt different. With you, Steve wanted and needed so much more than just an opportunity to ‘get his dick wet’ as Peggy classily stated. Steve was going to end up devastatingly and hopelessly in love with you. He knew it, he could feel it.

And with that knowledge had come an intense need to protect and shield you from her vile and sick clutch. Steve would not let Peggy Carter try and destroy you.

You hadn’t necessarily expected to have access to the VIP lounge before your flight to California, just as you hadn’t quite expected the flight to be as private as it was. You expected to be integrated on a commercial flight while Senator Rogers had been in first class, and you had prepared for the 7-hour flight accordingly only to find out how wrong you were.

You had first set foot in the lounge and found yourself greeted by a stewardess who had taken your bag to check in and then offered you a seat at the relatively empty bar for a drink before your flight. The lounge was quiet and immaculately designed to mirror a famous hotspot in NYC, the famous golden age bar that was as expensive as it was exclusive.

And the only person you recognized who was sitting at the bar was Chase, his dark brown hair cropped shorter than before and his hands resting on another man’s chest, his lips trailing his Adam’s apple.

Chase had only pulled away when he noticed you approaching the bar, he had removed his lips from his boyfriend’s throat with a playful smirk before he had looked your way and waved you over with a wink.

You approached the bar, slowly walking around Chase and his boyfriend to take the seat on the other side of him, resting your elbows on the bar top and tucking your feet under you. Chase had whipped around to face you, cupping his chin with his hand while tilting his head to look at you with a knowingness in his blue eyes.

“You’re not going to tell me?” Chase grinned, nudging you with his knee.

“What are you talking about?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your lips had become pursed, confused by his hum. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This is my boyfriend,” Chase rest his free hand upon his boyfriend’s, and you’d leaned back to get a better look at the lawyer Chase was dating, “my boyfriend and I spend more time without tongues-“

“Y/N doesn’t need to hear what we do,” Chase’s boyfriend whispered huskily in his ear, kissing him once more before he stood and stepped away from the bar, “I have to catch my flight. Call me when you land.”

You watched the handsome lawyer steal another last kiss before he waved to you and Chase and finally left the lounge with his cell phone in his right hand and a briefcase in his left. After Chase’s boyfriend left and it was the two of you, you were hit with Chase’s knowing stare and his need to get you to spill.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know you and senator Rogers kissed, I know you went on a date.” A grin broke on his face, the wide and bright smile going hand in hand with his knowledge of the events of the past few days.

“How in the hell do you know?” You hissed and leaned in, your eyes had grown wide before they narrowed and you were set on a course to find out exactly how he knew what you did. “I didn’t…did someone take pictures?”

“Technically yes,” Chase slipped his hand in his pocket and produced his cell phone, unlocking the device before he slid it over to you, “but you don’t need to worry about the wicked witch of the west. They only had pictures of you out together eating. Pepper took control of the situation and has it spun as some kind of interview bullshit before the big tour.”

“She’s gonna kill me. The public is gonna flay me-“

“Are you kidding me?”

Chase scoffed and closed the app only to open another, an Instagram post flashing across his screen with few condescending comments about you and the Senator, but most were rather positive. “There’s more chemistry between the future president and an intern in one picture than there is in his entire marriage.”

“I’m going to be painted as a mistress, I’m going to be torn to pieces and-“ The lounge doors had opened again, Val and Sasha heading in with a pretty brunette falling behind Val.

“You good?” Val questioned, tossing her braided hair over her shoulder, a clear and distinctive hickey on her neck.

Sasha had smiled at you, cordially though she looked annoyed and immediately went to her phone while muttering under her breath about her boyfriend’s habits. You were trapped between Chase and Sasha, and your attention was held by Val who was still waiting for you to spill as if she knew everything like Chase had.

It was something in the way she looked, something about the slight twist to her lips and the smile that threatened to form on her face.

“If I say yes-“ You hesitated, watching Sasha roll her eyes for the third time at something her boyfriend had said and as she had gotten up to walk away from the bar, choosing to move across the airport lounge to a seat by the window, flopping down with exasperation.

Val had taken the seat that Sasha had left, sitting down on the cushioned barstool with her back angled to you momentarily as she whispered something to her girlfriend. The pretty brunette standing near Val was dressed in a flight attendant’s uniform allocated to the airline you were using for your trek although you heard that her flight would be headed overseas rather than to the west coast.

“Jane,” the brunette with warm brown eyes had extended her hand for you to shake after the private conversation with Val and herself was coming to a close, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Y/N,” you shook her hand, briefly catching the lines and edges of a tattoo under her uniform dress shirt, “I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“The dress right? I happened to hear about it in this very lounge,” Jane smiled warmly at Val, her eyes sweeping across Val as she leaned down to kiss her softly, “someone needed a stiff drink.”

“Or two,” Val ran her hand up Jane’s back and down again, the two locking eyes and gazing at each other with warmth and complete adoration, “but I scored in the end.”

“The PC curse, everyone finds their significant other after dealing with the wicked witch of the west,” Jane muttered and stepped back after another stolen kiss, fixing her uniform shirt before she bid goodbye with the intention of heading to the check-in point for flight attendants.

After her absence, Val had turned to look at your head-on. She had tilted her neck and pursed her lips, looking at you expectantly to tell her what was going on even if she had already known, like Chase and Pepper.

“We kissed.” You let the secret fall, beyond the dinner that you’d had together and the ‘clear’ chemistry that was caught in the photograph. “We went to dinner and he took me back to my apartment even if I told him that it was fine, he insisted and then we kissed.”

“The Peggy Carter curse strikes again, although this is new.” Val hadn’t admonished you or the choice you had made, she was observant enough to know that not everyone was going to react favourably to this. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for him.” Chase had spoken up, admitting his favouritism for the relationship much like Val had, however, he was leaning toward the Senator’s side of the same coin. “If Peggy Carter is a nightmare around the interns, could you imagine what she’s like behind closed doors? And the Senator still has the ability to put on a smile and act graciously. That’s intense resolve.”

You reached for Chase’s phone again, the Instagram post still open and a slew of new comments added. You were curious and had begun deep diving into the comment section to get a general feel of how the public had viewed the speculation that was about to snowball, only for the phone to be yanked from your hand and set back down again.

“I can tell you right now,” Chase had rested his hand upon your own, a friendly exchange, or perhaps even brotherly, between the two of you as he addressed you with unreserved honesty, “there are going to be a lot of people against this relationship and you because Peggy Carter has a lot of fans and a lot of people look up to him. A lot of people admire her and they’re going to try and drag you through the mud.”

“But,” Val countered Chase’s point with one of her own, “there is also going to be a lot of support. Peggy Carter and the Pierces, think they’re smarter than everybody else. They treat the public like they’re idiots as if they can’t see through all the bullshit that they’re being fed.”

“They can and they will. Peggy Carter’s perfect image is going to crack and the more time you spend with Senator Rogers, the easier it will be to distinguish between your chemistry and the fake bullshit she’s trying to spew.”

You opened your mouth to speak and shut it almost immediately again when Senator Rogers walked into the lounge with a briefcase by his side and his jacket draped over his arm. He swept his gaze over all of you, briefly looking at you for longer, and then he nodded his head in silence.

“That’s our cue. California here we come.” Val had patted your shoulder as she stood, leaning over to whisper in your ear. “Take the opportunity given to you and sit with him, when we touchdown in LA it’s going to be crazy.”

#senator!steve rogers x intern!reader #senator!steve rogers #senator!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x reader imagines #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagine fluff #steve rogers imagine smut #breach of contract #breach of contract masterlist #breach of contract series #breach of contract part 7

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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Breach Of Contract: Part 4

The long minimalistic table that sat on the edge of the desk housed six individual cubicles for the interns and assistants that would be solely for Senator Rogers as they worked in his inner circle.

There was nothing extraordinary about the desks with their uninspiring cloth chairs that had looked as if they belonged in a students lounge at a university and the plain white long table that housed you. Each cubicle had various names on which space belonged to you with the slim bonus of being able to decorate your cubicle how you had seen fit.

Aside from the long row of table desks that the interns were allotted, there was another seemingly uninspiring coffee lounge that was tucked into a side room not far from the open space that the intern’s desks were in. You could barely make out the slim black pod coffee machine and the traditionally brewed coffee with a nearly empty carafe that had stains lingering below the metal ring on the outside of the glass.

What you could see from where you were standing were the boxes of donuts that Senator Rogers had gone out of his way to procure when he had picked you up, with the lid opened and a single donut already taken from the top box while the rest remained untouched.

“Normally he would have liked to have his interns more comfortable, but as it stands this office will likely just be temporary.” The supervisor in charge of the interns, which you had thought extended to you, had explained as he took you from Senator Rogers’ care when you’d arrived at the office.

“Still, Senator Rogers has asked that all meals are provided for interns and he’s made sure that there’s an adequate supply of water and coffee.”

“And for himself?” You questioned who you thought was your supervisor while you were pinning your ID badge to your blazer, and shoving your access card into your jeans pocket.

In response to your question, he had subtly rolled his eyes and made a noise in the base of his throat that could have been taken as a scoff or a sigh of derision. He had only made the sound and then he had started walking around the long side of the table while you followed, confused by his standoffish behaviour.

“Interns get Senator Rogers what he needs when he needs which would normally be your job, however you’ve already seemingly landed a promotion to his public relations team.” When he had abruptly turned and had given you a once over, the questioning purse of his lips and sharpening of his gaze had you momentarily cautious.

You had wondered if he thought you’d somehow slipped your way into this position and taken favours to get here, given that a few days ago you were a lowly intern working on the ground floor of the campaign office and now you were in the private office building of Senator Rogers working closely in his camp.

“Peggy Carter, Miss Carter, comes and goes as she pleases and when she is here she’s an absolute nightmare. She stomps around with her inner circle of male interns and makes demands. She made three interns quit in one week and they were seasoned.” He had continued, walking briskly through the senators’ office to get to yet another section where there were only four seats at a table.

“This is where you’ll be, Senator Rogers’ office is in the door next. He has a press conference in half an hour, I suggest you meet with the head of your team and get acquainted.” His voice was clipped and he had left little room for argument, already halfway out the door when you called after him.

“I thought you were…?” You tried to question, attempted to right any confusion that had risen only for the male you thought was going to be your boss to roll his eyes and wave his hand dismissively.

“I’m in charge of the other miscreants. You have someone entirely different.” He had left you to your own and carted off toward the minimalistic break space without giving you his name not bothering to let you see his badge.

You took a studious look around the small room and then exhaled slowly, wiping your hands on your jeans to clear any lingering anxious sweat that clung to your palms. You weren’t entirely unprepared for this, but being an intern who was directly working as part of the PR team was more than you had rightfully expected.

You were expecting to do some canvassing and head out to the city streets to hang posters on cork-boards, you didn’t expect to be given the ultimate boost from intern no one to a public relations intern, of which there were only three others.

Even with the offer to work more closely with Senator Rogers, you hadn’t known this would be your new start to a political career.

With the knowledge that you were higher than you anticipated, you had reached out toward the four desks and rested your fingertips against the edge of a chair, putting more weight down onto the back of the cushioned rest and were in the process of leaning in when you had heard the quiet chatter of voices coming toward you.

You recoiled almost immediately and shoved your hand into the front right pocket of your jeans then slowly looked over your shoulder to look at the two women who were heading for this section of the office, followed by a man who had been busy looking at his phone.

“Hi-“ You had opened your mouth to speak, directing the whole of their attention toward you.

“Did you see the wicked witch of the west rear her ugly green head?” One of the women had cut you off with an immediate and bold question, her eyes narrowing in your direction. “Did her head nearly explode?”

“I’m sorry..?” Were you hearing that right, or had you had a temporary loss of sense?

“Don’t be sorry,” the male intern had approached you and then set his bag down on the desk to your left, the plain dark blue backpack littered with a few pins near the top pouch, two of which were innately recognizable by the vibrant colours, “she’s a total bitch. I’m Chase.”

He was taller than you and almost lithe-like, with a dark brown coif that could have alluded to curls if his hair was long and hadn’t been styled. Chase had crystalline blue eyes and it appeared as if he had the markings of scruff on his cheeks and chin however there was an innate baby-face aesthetic about him that made him look wide-eyed and innocent.

“Y/N.” You shook his hand and glanced over the two women, both of which were set up their things.

“I know who you are,” he spoke with a quiet laugh, looking over his shoulder for a moment, “you’re the intern the higher-up’s hand chose to work for Rogers. Pissed Peggy Carter off to no end.”

“The first time I met her, she was screaming-“

“Oh sweetie,” Chase had set his hand on top of yours and squeezed lightly, “you’ll see worse trust me. But that’s what makes our jobs so exciting. Plus, you’re almost guaranteed to meet a partner.”

“Partner?” You set your hand on top of the rounded curve of the chair and yanked it out from under the desk and slowly sank onto the surface, tucking your feet under the desk.

“Sasha,” the woman sitting across from you with raven-black hair that was bound in a tight bun had nodded her head to the left, “met her partner after Peggy threw a drink on some poor woman at a party.”

Sasha had bobbed her head back and forth from the left to the right, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth and her fingernails drumming against the desk. She was beautiful in a pixie-like way with soft features and vibrant red hair that matched her fair appearance and green eyes.

She was taller than you however the two of you were around the same size, or you figured when it came to physical appearance. She had three piercings, one of which was a septum that was as dainty as she was, and another two in her ears.

“I’m Val,” the woman in front of you with raven-black hair had leaned in and rested her elbows on the desk, her hands tucked under her chin.

“Chase met his partner after a lawsuit was threatened.” Sasha hummed under her breath, watching him as he fiddled with the keyboard and the wireless mouse.

“Landed me a lawyer, a hot lawyer. Top of his class.” Chase grinned proudly and gave up one task for another, digging in his pocket for his phone.

“And me,” Val dropped her hands to the desk and leaned back, her brown eyes reminded you of the colour of warmed dark whiskey that hailed flecks of gold in the irises, “I met my girlfriend after Miss Peggy Carter ruined a ten thousand dollar dress. It was a PR nightmare, but hey…it landed me a sweet little shy thing.”

“So you all…” you looked between the three of them, cautious and almost disbelieving, “…met your partners through circumstances where Peggy Carter was an absolute witch?”

“Please,” Chase scoffed and rolled his eyes, “call it like it is. Peggy Carter is a bitch, plain and simple.”

“Given your first taste of the nightmare that lives,” Val looked you over with a smirk, and then gently nudged Sasha, “I’d give you three weeks max before you meet your future significant other.”

“Do you think that’s how it works?” You wondered, the gears in your head turning.

“Worked for us.” Chase shrugged, and then slid his phone toward you to give you a full view of the lawyer he was talking about. “Eh? What’d I tell you, hot right?”

“Chase if that’s another shirtless picture-“

“Fearless leader, Potts!” Chase stood abruptly and held his hand up to his forehead in a salute, unable to stave the grin that broke on his face.

“We have a lot to do before the press conference in an hour,” she didn’t react to his display nor had she given him the time, instead she looked down at a tablet in her hands and then looked at you, “welcome to the team, Y/N. I hope you got thick skin ‘cause Peggy Carter is gonna run us ragged this campaign.”

The press conference had been delayed by just over an hour after a delay had come to rise which was rooted in the possible future FLOTUS disagreeing with the setup for the press. She had raised a single complaint to the head of the event and with a single complaint had kiboshed the venue in exchange for another, one that would be held at the Imperial hotel, a few blocks away.

With the single demand to move and the weight of an hour late conference on the shoulders of the team, you were a part of, there was an urgency to grab every file and note you would need before the time had come to leave.

“Wicked Witch of the West.” Val had scornfully whispered to you in passing when it had come time to leave the building, heading for the conference set up at a different location. “Makes snappy demands and makes us late.”

“Senator Rogers isn’t here?” You hadn’t seen him since he had picked you up from outside of your apartment building and since you had been dragged off by the man who introduced you to your team.

“Probably trying to do damage control after PC’s great temper tantrum.” Sasha had joined in the ire, carrying a few manila files in her arms, her red hair hastily pulled back and secured with an alligator clip.

You followed the two women down the stairs and out of the building toward a trio of blacked-out SUVs waiting by the curb, the three of them equal in size and mirrored in every detail. There was no indistinguishable difference between one SUV and the next, nothing that could or would allude to who was in which vehicle.

“We’re taking this vehicle.” Pepper Potts had stopped by the SUV that was in the middle of the three and had turned toward the four of you, looking you over with her green eyes narrowed slightly.

Like Sasha, her red hair was pulled out of her face and styled in a messy yet no less elegant bun that hadn’t taken anything away from her professionalism. There were similarities and comparisons that you had made between Pepper Potts and Peggy Carter.

The first and foremost being that both women had an air of intensity around them that had almost demanded attention, however, Pepper Potts hadn’t come across as arrogant or completely narcissistic rather her intensity had been rooted in her ability to command a room and steer a situation toward the beneficial. She had used that prowess and intensity for the betterment of her career rather than using the nature of her personality to get whatever she wanted.

“Chase and Sasha, you’re in this vehicle with me. Val & Y/N,” Pepper had looked at the docket in her hands, her green eyes studying the information printed in fine ink on the plain white page and then she had pursed her lips, “you’re in the lead vehicle with Senator Rogers.”

The command was given with firm gentility and the read door of the vehicle she was standing by was opened, Chase and Sasha immediately started to get into the vehicle.

Before Pepper had closed the door, she had gathered the docket and the schedule in her hands and reached into the vehicle to hand it off to Sasha before she had closed the door behind the other interns. She had fixed her skirt and adjusted her blazer with a sharp tug, giving the two of you a nod in understanding.

While Pepper had started around the front of the vehicle, you had followed Val to the front blacked-out SUV and reached for the door opening it for her to get into the back seat, only following her when she was in on the far side. After you had gotten into the rear passenger seat, you had reached for the handle to tug the door closed only to find yourself staring into a pair of crystalline blue eyes.

“I’ll get it,” Senator Rogers spoke with a huskier tone than you were anticipating and there was an edge to his words, “I’ll close it.”

“Thanks.” You had recoiled and turned your head, staring innately at the headrest in front of you, aimlessly digging your nails into your thighs to give yourself an out for how anxious you had suddenly become.

“What was that?” Val had slid over in the back seat, sitting directly next to you with a building smirk on her face.

“What was what?” You had finally turned your head toward Val, whispering among the two of you.

“That,” her smirk grew and her eyes sparked with meagre excitement, “between the two of you-“

“There was nothing-“ Your attempt to deny her claim and fight against any precursor idea she had about what she thought had happened had become futile when Senator Rogers had turned in the passenger seat and looked back at the two of you.

He had changed from this morning, wearing a collared dress shirt like he had when you saw him a short time ago however this new dress shirt hadn’t brought out the deeper colour of his eyes and you wondered if maybe this was Peggy’s choice that she inflicted upon him.

“You’re gonna kill it, Senator.” Val encouraged before he could even say anything, giving him a cheesy thumbs up and a grin that brought out a small, hearty chuckle that hung in the air.

“Glad one of us has confidence in this press conference.” He had replied with easiness and natural charm, joking with Val like she had with him, and then his eyes flit over to you and hovered for a moment.

You had felt a pulse of electricity figuratively crackling in the interior of the SUV, a sensation that had stirred a shiver down your spine and had subsequently made Val smirk again.

You wanted to say something, you wanted to relay a good message like Val had and yet anytime you started to form words on the tip of your tongue nothing happened. It was as if you were struck with lockjaw or as if you had glued your top and bottom lips together stripping the ability to do anything but have your attention stolen and held by Senator Rogers.

“We’re ready, sir.” It was the driver speaking that had finally broken the hold Senator Rogers had on you, and it was the slow roll of the vehicle pulling away from the curb that had finally dissolved your inability to speak.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t see that?” Val whispered in your ear. “There was more chemistry between you and the Senator in two minutes than I have ever seen between the wicked witch of the west and the good man.”

“There’s nothing.” You denied it and turned your head, looking out the window with your nails still dug into your leg.

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