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the sun was setting — the sky painted in oranges and pinks,
a perfect cotton candy sky.
the wind moved gently, the grass whispered,
and somewhere far away, a car horn echoed like a heartbeat.
sam held an iced apple cider,
the condensation running down his fingers.
his old leather jacket creaked as he walked,
lost somewhere in his own head.
the city buzzed — cars speeding by,
people rushing home, laughter spilling from a group of teens sharing greasy pizza.
a man in a wrinkled suit yelled into his phone.
a mom pushed a crying toddler through the crowd.
life kept moving.
and sam just watched it all —
detached. drifting.
he stopped when he reached an old brick apartment.
something about it tugged at him,
a ghost he couldn’t quite name.
he sat on the steps, cider still in hand.
the world didn’t notice.
then came the sound of a horn again —
and suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
the kitchen was quiet back then.
just the hum of the fridge.
they sat on the floor,
backs against the cabinets,
wrapped in a blanket that had seen better days.
sam’s head on bucky’s chest,
bucky’s fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric.
no words.
just peace.
the kind that felt fragile.
borrowed.
the smell of takeout in the air,
a candle burning low,
the wax melting like time itself.
and then —
blink —
he was back on the steps again.
alone.
the cider had gone warm.
the ice melted.
the city kept moving.
he shook his head,
not even sure why he was there.
he should’ve been home.
at the tower.
not sitting on the steps of a ghost that wasn’t even his anymore.
bucky wasn’t his.never was.
just a shadow.
a memory he couldn’t let go of.
they were too complicated.
too messy.
too chaotic.
and maybe that’s why it hurt —
because bucky said it would be too much,
that they were better off as friends.
coworkers.
and sam said he could handle that.
he really thought he could.
but here he was,
on cold stone steps,
haunted by the warmth of something that never really was.
“this is all steve’s fault,”
he muttered, a small smile ghosting his lips.
if that bastard hadn’t run past him —
if he hadn’t brought bucky back —
he wouldn’t be here,
sitting with ghosts,
in a city that forgot him,
holding onto a heart
that still hasn’t learned how to let go.
the sun was setting — the sky painted in oranges and pinks,
a perfect cotton candy sky.
the wind moved gently, the grass whispered,
and somewhere far away, a car horn echoed like a heartbeat.
sam held an iced apple cider,
the condensation running down his fingers.
his old leather jacket creaked as he walked,
lost somewhere in his own head.
the city buzzed — cars speeding by,
people rushing home, laughter spilling from a group of teens sharing greasy pizza.
a man in a wrinkled suit yelled into his phone.
a mom pushed a crying toddler through the crowd.
life kept moving.
and sam just watched it all —
detached. drifting.
he stopped when he reached an old brick apartment.
something about it tugged at him,
a ghost he couldn’t quite name.
he sat on the steps, cider still in hand.
the world didn’t notice.
then came the sound of a horn again —
and suddenly, he wasn’t here anymore.
the kitchen was quiet back then.
just the hum of the fridge.
they sat on the floor,
backs against the cabinets,
wrapped in a blanket that had seen better days.
sam’s head on bucky’s chest,
bucky’s fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric.
no words.
just peace.
the kind that felt fragile.
borrowed.
the smell of takeout in the air,
a candle burning low,
the wax melting like time itself.
and then —
blink —
he was back on the steps again.
alone.
the cider had gone warm.
the ice melted.
the city kept moving.
he shook his head,
not even sure why he was there.
he should’ve been home.
at the tower.
not sitting on the steps of a ghost that wasn’t even his anymore.
bucky wasn’t his.never was.
just a shadow.
a memory he couldn’t let go of.
they were too complicated.
too messy.
too chaotic.
and maybe that’s why it hurt —
because bucky said it would be too much,
that they were better off as friends.
coworkers.
and sam said he could handle that.
he really thought he could.
but here he was,
on cold stone steps,
haunted by the warmth of something that never really was.
“this is all steve’s fault,”
he muttered, a small smile ghosting his lips.
if that bastard hadn’t run past him —
if he hadn’t brought bucky back —
he wouldn’t be here,
sitting with ghosts,
in a city that forgot him,
holding onto a heart
that still hasn’t learned how to let go.
summary :: maria hill was a woman built for structure. for efficiency. for getting things done. which, unfortunately for you, also meant she had the uncanny ability to ignore everything else when she was focused. including you.
PAIRING :: maria hill x fem!reader
WARNINGS :: none :)
WORDS COUNT :: 2.1k
Maria Hill was a woman built for structure. For efficiency. For getting things done. Which, unfortunately for you, also meant she had the uncanny ability to ignore everything else when she was focused.
Including you.
It was a Sunday — your Sunday. The one day she promised she wouldn’t check her emails, the one day she swore she’d dedicate to you, to home, to not being Deputy Director Hill. But judging by the sight in front of you when you walked into her office, coffee in hand, that promise had already been broken.
Maria sat at her desk, glasses perched low on her nose, fingers typing away at a speed only matched by the sharp furrow of her brows. Reports, most likely. Mission follow-ups, personnel updates, whatever needed her perfectionist eye. Her desk was a crime scene of organization: pens aligned, files stacked, not a paperclip out of place.
You leaned against the doorway and watched her for a long moment. She didn’t even notice you there — which, honestly, said it all.
“You know,” you called finally, breaking the silence, “I’m starting to think you love those reports more than you love me.”
Maria’s head lifted, blue eyes flickering over you for barely a heartbeat before she returned to typing. “Don’t be dramatic.”
You huffed, walking over to her desk with exaggerated steps. “Not dramatic. Observant. You promised me no work today.”
“I promised I’d try.”
“That’s not the same thing and you know it.”
You set your mug down, hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes at her. She was infuriating. And gorgeous. And infuriating because she was gorgeous.
Maria didn’t look up this time. “Five more minutes.”
You smirked. “Fine.”
Without hesitation, you rounded the desk and dropped yourself right into her lap. Maria froze, her hands stilling over the keyboard as she blinked at you like you’d just broken several unspoken laws of office etiquette.
“Y/N.” Her voice was low, a warning laced with that hint of affection she couldn’t quite hide.
You wrapped your arms around her neck and leaned your head against her shoulder. “Yes, darling?”
“I have work.”
“Mhm.” You reached forward with one finger and pressed a random key on her keyboard. The screen changed, and Maria groaned.
“Seriously?”
“I’m helping,” you said sweetly.
Maria arched a brow. “Helping?”
“Yes. Helping you remember you’re human and that you need breaks sometimes.” You pressed a kiss to the curve of her jaw, smiling when you felt her shiver despite herself. “You can’t run S.H.I.E.L.D. if you burn yourself out, you know.”
For a moment, Maria’s hands hovered over the keyboard, torn between work and you. Finally, with a quiet sigh, she closed the laptop, sliding it to the side.
“You are a menace,” she muttered, though her arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.
“You love it,” you whispered, grinning.
Her lips brushed your temple. “Against my better judgment.”
You shifted just enough to look at her, smirk tugging at your lips. “So… are you saying I’ve successfully distracted Deputy Director Hill?”
“I’m saying you’re about five seconds away from getting carried out of this office and deposited on the couch where I can keep an eye on you properly.”
You giggled, leaning in to steal a kiss. Maria’s lips softened against yours instantly, the kind of kiss that melted all traces of her icy professionalism. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.
“For what?”
“For reminding me what’s important.”
You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Always.”
And for the rest of the afternoon, her reports stayed forgotten, her laptop closed. Because Maria Hill — S.H.I.E.L.D.’s untouchable, untiring Deputy Director — had finally learned that sometimes, the best kind of mission was the one where she let herself be distracted.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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