i hate bullies

“I wish half your team understood the word civil, but alas…” She crossed her arms over her chest, uncaring of how the defensive stance may come across; Delila was here for one reason, and the blonde captain was her best chance. “As much as it utterly PAINS me to ask for help…that is exactly what I need, and I believe you to be the only person alive with the capability to both aid me and refrain from being an utter bastard about it. Mind if we sit?”

“My lips are sealed.” Dani promised, drawing a line over her lips and locking the key. She already knew that anyway - a byproduct of living with the man. “Thanks Uncle Steve, you don’t know how much it means to me that you had faith in me to wield the shield.” She beamed. She found it hard to believe that he didn’t miss it, especially when it gave her so much pride to carry the mantle, but he had been doing it for a long time - that kind of pressure applied for so long couldn’t be desirable.

“You should install better security, then,” she took slow steps closer to the Captain, stopping just out of striking distance; Delila no desire to enter into a fight today ( not that it stopped her from coming well-armed in her usual white suit ). “It took hardly any effort to get in here. Or maybe I was let in by this handy little keycard. The world may never know. – Do you think we could have a civil conversation?”

every minute he spends with steve, he’s pushing down the soul crushing feeling of knowing that he can never have what he wants. they’re wrong when they say it gets better with time because all time has done for him is strengthen everything he feels for steve. a part of that may be his own damn fault, for not trying to move on even when things were so clearly at a dead end. steve asking for advice on planning an anniversary surprise for his girlfriend was as clear as it could get. 

as hard as it is to see steve in love with someone else, bucky’s one of those innately good people at heart who only wants to see the person they love find happiness. so when steve’s shoulders slump, clearly unappreciative of bucky’s disinterest in his relationship with sharon, bucky can’t help but feel like he’d fucked up. no matter how badly his stomach twisted at the thought of sending steve off on his happily ever after, potentially driving him further away from bucky himself, the prospect of not being there for steve when he needed bucky was even worse. 

“ alright, loverboy, ” he says with a roll of his eyes, sitting up a little straighter. “is she sentimental ?? do the small things matter or is she more into the big picture ?? where’d you go for your first date ?? nothing like a trip down memory lane to remind her how important she is to you.” not that he particularly wants to hear the answers to any of these questions, but he can make the effort. he can do that for steve. 

Steve smiled a bit fondly when Buck asked about first dates, “We were on a mission,” when wasn’t he on a mission? “I don‘t think we intended it for a date but ya know,” he gave a shrug and told buck of what he thought was some how hilarious and romantic. It was neither. Which was a real shame because Steve was.

He had a very sharp and exacting sense of humor, albeit one he used to hide his discomfort, or fear. But he was funny, at least Natasha seemed to think so, she’d told him so. But this wasn’t funny at all. And Steve was a hopeless romantic. He’d once dreamed of studying art in Paris and now he never dreamed, or drew, or did anything he used to love. Hell, even in world war 2, Steve would draw. But here he was, this shell of himself in what was America’s most boring relationship.

And poor Buck had chosen to listen to him. Steve realized he was getting a bit long winded thank GOD and tied it up neatly, “But I can’t really give her that. Gunfire doesn’t really feel like a good anniversary present.”

There had once been a time when Natasha dreamed of the sort of life the women she watched in the streets of Russia were allowed to have: something simple with a home of their own, a family and someone to hold through the rough winter days. That dreamed died along with her innocence. She’d stopped wishing so much for the ordinary, only to crave both being the best at what she did. It was a choice for survival rather than fulfillment. The sort of life they lead wasn’t an ideal one for sharing love, much less the requirements of a bigger picture. Out of everyone, Natasha felt as though she was constantly reminded of it; one of the biggest ways by how frail the life of a loved one could be. Yet, here she was, wishing to share that with Steve Rogers. But who better to understand how much it meant.

“Yes. So long as you’re mine, handsome”, she put simply, leaning back on her chair when the waitress brought the long forgotten malt to their table, her hand falling back to his. She regarded him then, a half crooked smile painting her features as her eyes rummaged his own, taking in the details with intent. How many times she’d secretly watched him like that, she couldn’t tell. Probably more than she’d ever come to admit, for longer than what he might imagine. But now she allowed herself to do so unabashedly, taking some joy of her own to show him just that. “And I’ll be waiting for that kiss at the end, as well.”

Natasha wasn't going to just die on him, that was a weird thought. She was as strong or durable as Steve, no. But she was in fact strong, and she was in fact extremely durable, her own serum had given her that much, and most importantly Natasha was more skilled. She didn't have to spend 70 years in ice or be defrosted every few years, she had committed her sins and repented for them. She had suffered too much. He wanted to tell her it had been enough. They could stop punishing themselves.

Narrow shoulders rose once, her head cocking to the side whilst she watched him with the sort of glint in her eyes that only really came to the surface ever so often; when Natasha decided to be relaxed by someone she fully trusted and cared for. “If you asked, I might actually say yes.”

The spy hadn’t been foolish enough to think he wouldn’t pick on what she’d really meant by asking someone for a dance. After all, how long had they been joined by the hip, in both work and leisure, trusting each other with their own lives? Who else was capable of understanding the other the way they did? And, most importantly, wasn’t what they wanted just every bit as important as all the other reasons they found? “Then dance with me, Steve”, slowly, intently, her fingers loosened from his grip to reach higher, to trace a line down his jaw and rest carefully on his chin. “We can start by slowly swaying to a song — like what we’re doing right now. Pick up the pace when we feel ready.”

Steve never felt ready when love came his way, his whole life he’d just been swept up in it, much like what the serum had done for him, much like his death in the ice, much like joining the avengers. But then there was Natasha, and it wasn’t that she hadn’t asked anything of it, she had asked him to be the best of them, she’d asked him for trust. But hadn’t he asked her for the same, hadn’t he just come to expected of her. Now here he was asking even more of her, and the soft look in her eyes, and that sweet sorrow. They could end disasterously, they could die tomorrow, but it was unlikely, and he wanted to hold her, even if just once, like the way lovers did, before that day came.

He smiled warmer and turned his face to press a kiss to her palm. He wasn’t swept up in Natasha, he’d never seen her as any less than the femme fatale she truly was and he was so particularly aware that he wanted to love her the way he’d thought about 100 times, the way he’d wanted to love someone for 80 years. “Will you be my dance partner, Doll?”