#colocataire

Several thoughts float through your mind as your apartment door shuts behind you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and your grandma’s old warning echoes around in your brain.

“Don’t trust anyone and always be aware of your surroundings. The world is out to get you, sweetheart. Never forget it.”

You reach for your pepper spray but before you can plunge your hand into the depths of your purse, your living room light flares on.

You blink hard against the brightness, distraught. You draw in a deep breath and prepare to scream when a calming female voice interrupts you.

“Don’t yell. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” She says.

You recognize that voice, but you’ve only ever heard it over the phone.

The first time you'd heard it you’d been a kid. Almost a baby still, only four years old, when this oddly husky voice had been slightly reedier.

She’d been young too. Older than you but still young. Malleable.

“N-Natasha?” You stutter, too startled to do more than croak at her.

“Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.” She says, a smile in her voice.

As your eyes focus, you see her clearly. She’s wearing a pair of plain light blue jeans. A light blue tank top underneath a form fitting gray leather jacket. It’s all topped with the same licorice red hair you remember her having as a child.

How it is that she can walk so silently in her sneakers when your own have a tendency to squeak against your dark chocolate wooden floor, you cannot comprehend.

“Why are you here?” You ask, forgetting your manners. “I mean, no. That’s not what I mean. Sorry, I’m just-”

“Surprised to see me?” She offers.

“Yeah.” You half-laugh. “Yes. Very. How’ve you been?”

You relax, peel off your own black jacket and hang it by the door before dropping your purse off on the small table nearby.

“Oh, you know. Living the life.” She grins, hands shoved into her pockets as she looks away from you to walk back towards the seat on your sofa she’d chosen and risen from when you walked in.

“You’re still with the Avengers.” You say, as if she doesn’t know that herself.

“I am.” She watches you with green apple eyes as you move to take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You kick your shoes off and stretch your toes.

Wearing heels sucks but you work in a pretty nice office.

“And you’re-?”

“Still working nine to five.” You smile at her. “Boring as ever."

“Good.” And she does look happy for you.

She turns herself sideways, hiking up her knee onto the cushion while resting her right arm across the back.

Neither of you says anything for a minute and you look down at your feet, stretch out your legs and lean down to massage the red welts where your shoes had dug into the sides of your feet.

“So, what do you need? You never visit.” You’re not angry or hurt. Just knowing.

Nat had reached out one day several years ago. Checking up on the kid who’d escaped the Red Room Academy.

No ballet for you. No blood on your hands either. You’d been plucked by an angel and saved from enrollment.

Lucky.

“Sorry I didn’t message you this month.” She leans towards you, placing her hand on the center cushion.

You smile and then chuckle, amused.

“I figured you were just busy. I don’t mean to sound offended if that’s what I sounded like. I just…what do you need Nat?” The two of you had grown close over time so she doesn’t take offense with your tone.

“I’m that transparent, huh?”

“No. Not transparent, you’ve just never come to visit. Never mind letting yourself in.” You point out, glancing at the locks on your door.

If she can get in, who else can? You suddenly have the need to upgrade your locks.

“I do need a favor.” She sits back, relaxing into the arm of your sofa as you bring your attention back to her.

“Will this require a long explanation? I’m starving.”

“No, but please, make yourself some dinner. Don’t mind me.” She nods towards your kitchen, hands shoved between her knees as she lifts the other leg up onto the sofa.

“Okay.” You give her a smile then reach over to give her knee a squeeze before kicking your shoes aside.

You pull down on the zipper of your skirt and step out of it as you step into your room.

“So, what’s this favor?” You probe, slipping into a pair of ripped gray sweats.

Pulling on a simple red tank to go with it, you wander back into the living room where Nat is now laying on the sofa staring up at your ceiling. You follow her gaze and smile, stopping at the edge of the sofa by her head with your hands on your hips.

She points up at the ceiling and smiles at you, upside down.

“When’d you do that?” She asks, and you shrug your shoulders.

“Almost as soon as I moved in? They’re in every room of the house. Even the bathroom.” You admire the non-illuminated stars.

There are small ones and medium and great big ones carefully spread out along the ceiling. They’re not in any particular constellations or formations. You just filled it up until it looked like the night sky.

“I like it.” She states, gazing fondly at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.

“What’s the favor?” You ask, chuckling lightly as you gather your hair up at the top of your head in a messy bun.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

You freeze with your hand on the fridge door and frown at her from across the room.

“It’s work related?” Her work, of course. Not yours.

“Yes. But don’t worry, you won’t need to go out into the field or anything. I just need to borrow your place, if you’ll let us use it?” She wonders, propping herself up onto her elbows to look at you.

“Us?” Nat and Clint maybe? You’d met Clint. “Why do you need my apartment?”

Nat had sent him to check up on you when you hadn’t messaged her back, but you’d only broken your phone and procrastinated on getting a new one. He’d been nice.

Hot. Married. Damn it.

“It’ll only be for a few months. There’s—well, I can’t tell you too much without breaking confidentiality but someone’s making bombs and using them all over town.” Nat begins.

“The Late-Night Bomber?!” You ask, very interested.

You’ve been terrified of being out at night thanks to this crazy idiot. Regular bombs are scary enough, but this jerk is using alien tech.

“The one all over the news?” You continue.

“Yeah.” Nat nods, getting to her feet then stretching her arms over her head.

You observe her lithe form and wish you had the dedication to make your body look like hers.

“Why here?” You wonder.

“The bombs are originating from somewhere in this neighborhood. But we don’t know exactly where.” She smacks the right corner of her lips, a look of disappointment overtaking her beautiful face.

“What?!” You squeak, even more afraid than you were before.

“Yeah. That’s why I was wondering if we could-”

“Yes!” You cut her off, charging towards her with a spatula smeared in tomato sauce. “Yes. Come! Please!”

“Okay.” Nat chuckles, finding amusement in your fear. “Great. Thanks.”

If the Late-Night Bomber is in your neighborhood, having Nat and Clint around is a must.

The heavy knock on your door startles you.

You’ve been on edge since Nat came over and told you about that psycho living in your neighborhood.

Chewing on your lower lip, pulling at the small chapped skin on the left, you put your book down and with a small gulp, move for the door.

You’re still wearing your ratty gray sweats. A white fitted tee on top.

Nat knows what you look like in those sweats and Clint is married so…you’re not trying to impress anyone.

Then you open your front door and your heart nearly hammers itself out of your chest.

You have never, in your life, had your jaw drop. You have never, in your life, felt like your heart was both exploding and burning. You have never, in your life, coveted anyone the way you are suddenly coveting the tall, wide, long haired blonde standing before you.

His wide shoulders are what you see because he’s turned around, talking to another tall blonde. This one has short hair. A neat cut. Clean shaven face.

His storm blue eyes do things to you that you have also never felt before.

Woah. Is all you can think because this much good-looking should not be in one room all at one time.

If you were more dramatic. You might have fainted.

The golden blonde with the shorter hair nudges the slightly taller dirtier blonde with his elbow and he turns.

“Hi.” The shorter blonde says. “You must be Y/N. I’m-”

“C-Captain America.” You stutter. Not cool, loser. “I mean, Steve. Rogers, right?”

“Yeah.” He says, then he gives you a stupidly cute smile. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile back, unable to help yourself. “Hi.”

Then you look up at the taller blonde but he’s staring at you with his mouth open and you’re suddenly wondering why.

You look down at yourself and feel your cheeks burn as you realize that you’re WAY underdressed to meet guys this hot.

Shit.

“Oh-I…excuse me.” You turn and hurry towards the hallway.

“Wait!” Captain America says but you don’t stop.

You move fast, rushing to be out of their sight while also grabbing your cell as you pass the chair you’d been sitting in.

Once you’re in your room, you pull open your drawers and search them one handed while you dial Natasha’s number with the other.

You sandwich the device with your left shoulder and ear while simultaneously sliding out of your ratty sweats.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

“Come on, Nat. Pick up the damn phone.” You grumble.

Finally managing to step out of your pants, you kick them away towards your hamper as the phone clicks.

“Hey, hold on. I’ll call you back.” Nat says, the sound of gunfire in the background.

“No, Nat!” You shout but she hangs up. You grab the phone in both hands and squeeze it, trembling hands of fury as you mentally strangle her. “Fffffffuck!”

“Hey, is everything alright?” Captain America’s voice drifts in muffled through your door.

It startles you and you jump again.

“Oh, uh, yes! Yes. Everything’s fine. Just…have a seat. Make your-yourselves at home. I’ll be right out.” You turn back towards your drawers, drop your phone on top, then pull out a pair of wrinkled old jeans and slide those on.

“Okay.” Cap replies, sounding unconvinced.

Buzz! Buzz-buzz!

Your phone moves a half an inch towards you as it vibrates, and you yank it up to your ear.

“Nat!” You whisper-shout, quick glance towards your bedroom door.

“Hey. Sorry about that. You kinda caught me mid-heist. What’s up? Everything okay?” There’s still the distant sound of gunshots from her end of the line and for one moment you consider hanging up. “Y/N?”

“Why aren’t you here?” You demand as quietly as possible while you reach down to do up your zipper and button.

“Oh.” She laughs. She laughs?! “I guess the guys are there.”

“Nat, when you told me that you needed to use the apartment, you said it would be you and Clint.” You move to the edge of your bed and plop yourself down, left hand nervously gripping your knee.

“No, I didn’t.” She says, amusement still turning her voice.

“Yes. You did.”

“No. Shit. Hold on.” Four gunshots, loud. Close. A grunt. Then a deep sigh. “I never said that me and Clint were the two that would be staying.”

“Oh my God, Nat. You said, us and us has always been you and Clint.” You explain passionately.

“Us. The Avengers. That’s what I meant. I’m sorry if you misunderstood. What’s the problem? Are they being rude?” The way she asks, she makes it sound as if she’ll scold them.

“No.” You assure her, uncomfortable. Shifting from side to side on the mattress. “No. They’re not being rude. They—they haven’t even been able to speak much yet.”

“Then?” Nat waits. When a minute passes you hear her exasperated sigh. “Y/N? What’s the problem?”

“I just—I thought it was going to be you and Clint so I just kinda opened the door.” You sweep your hand as if you’re pulling the door open again. “In my sweats. My hair all…I look like…”

Nat is suddenly laughing on the other end.

“Nat.” You growl, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Steve and Thor are not there to date. They’ll stay out of your way. You stay out of theirs. It’ll be like they’re not even there. Besides, I don’t think you’re exactly their type.”

You don’t know why but this offends you. Is she calling you ugly? You’re not…you know what you look like, but Nat had always seemed so open.

“Oh.” Your insecurity seeps through to your tone and she picks up on it quickly.

“No, Y/N. That’s not what I meant. You’re just very normal. Thor dated an astrophysicist. Steve dated an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and current C.I.A. operative. You’re just a little…?”

“Unimpressive?” You supply.

Nat sighs. “They’d be lucky to have someone like you. But as I said, they’re not there to date. They’re professionals, Y/N. They wouldn’t do that. I promise.”

Nat had been right of course. Steve and Thor were professionals.

When they were on watch.

When they weren’t, they were eating your fridge clean. Leaving their clothes all over the place. And taking up space on your couch.

“Who made coffee and didn’t clean the pot? There’s mold in here now.” You growl.

“I’m sorry. That was me. I’ll wash it now.” Thor rises to his feet, but you shoot him a glare.

“Don’t bother. I’m already doing it.” You pile the pot beside the other dirty dishes and then move towards your favorite armchair.

“Thor, is this your shirt?” Thor, who had casually laid himself back down on the sofa, looks up over the edge of the Rubik’s Cube he’s been fiddling with all week.

It’s halfway solved but he keeps messing it up.

“No. That’s Cap’s.”

“Oh.” You fold it and try not to like how soft it is or the smell of light crisp fragrance that wafts up towards you from it.

God, they both smell so damn good.

Thor’s wearing normal clothes here. You have yet to see him in his uniform since he arrived. Almost a month and he’s still wearing mostly hoodies, t-shirts, and jeans.

And he looks good. All the time.

“Why do you call him Cap? Do you always call him that?” He laughs at you, big goofy smile as his electric sapphire eyes sparkle.

“What? Of course not. I know his name. We’re friends.” He says.

“So, what is it?”

“What’s what?” He goes back to his Rubik’s cube, brow knit, smile still plastered over his ridiculous pink lips.

They peek out from his scruffy beard, begging for kisses but you shove that thought away too.

They’re your roommates for all intents and purposes and they treat you like…well, you’re not exactly sure what they treat you like. Not like someone they’re interested in. Steve hardly pays you any mind.

“His name, Thor. What’s Cap’s name?” You clarify, holding Steve’s shirt against your chest as Thor stares up at your plastic stars.

“They’re out here too?” He asks, sitting up suddenly, tossing the Rubik’s Cube aside.

“Huh?”

“The stars.” He points at them and he’s so tall he can reach up and trace one of them when you’d had to balance on a chair on your tiptoes to place them.

“Oh. Yeah.” You watch him admire the sight before he races for the light switch and turns them all off.

He then hurries to all the windows and pulls down the blinds plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Thor!” You complain, unable to see almost anything.

As your eyes adjust, you see the vague black shadow of your furniture and a much larger mass moving around the room towards you. The shadow is looking up.

You move your eyes upwards and see what he sees. Your apartment’s ceiling is suddenly the night sky and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s not real. You know it isn’t. You sometimes forget that they’re there though and when you see them again after letting them slip from your mind, they take your breath away.

“They’re beautiful. I stare up at the ones in my room before I go to sleep every night.” Thor tells you from somewhere in the darkness to your left.

You walk towards the sound of his voice but bump into the TV stand.

“Ow.”

“Careful.” He tells you from where the sofa should be. “Come over here.”

“This would be easier if the lights were on.” You mutter.

“But then we wouldn’t see the stars.” The yearning in his voice is real and you wonder what must have put it there.

“Well, I can’t see. It’s dark. I don’t have your eyes.” You complain.

“My eyes? What do my eyes have to do with anything?” His deep confusion is ridiculous. Stupid God.

“Oh, I don’t know. Can you see? Do those Godly peepers of yours let you see in the dark?”

“Peepers?” He asks, confused for a moment by the slang. “Sort of.”

“Well, I can’t see jack shit.” Dummy.

He chuckles. It’s deep and it rumbles out from his chest. You like it.

“What are you laughing at?” You whine.

“You’ll hurt yourself if you keep moving that way. Here. Follow my voice.” He coaxes you, soft and gentle.

“Can’t we just turn on the lights?” You sigh, moving towards the last spot you’d heard his deep timber.

“No. I like the stars.” And his voice is close. You adjust a little to your left.

“Watch it, the coffee table is there. Here, a little to your right. You can walk between your armchair and the table.” He says.

“This way?” You ask, looking up at the stars on the ceiling and wishing you’d laid them out in constellations so that you’d know them like a real map of the stars.

You reach out, holding your hand in front of you to see if you might hit something first but instead hot fingers intertwine with your own.

Freezing, you stop walking but try to memorize the way Thor’s fingers feel around yours. It’s not like he’s guiding you. He’s seriously just holding your hand.

Fingers laced through yours.

The tension in the room becomes so thick you could cut it. What kind of tension?

You blink, swallow, nervously as more heat finds your chest.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers, and his breath wafts down on you.

You could lean up. You know where his lips would be.

“Come.” He says, and his hand pulls you down.

You can hear him shifting and shuffling in front of you, then his hands are on your hips and you’re breathless.

“Thor?”

“Lay down with me. Let’s watch the stars.” He begs. His fingers shift over the soft, cotton dress you’d put on this morning to meet a friend from the office for lunch.

“I can’t see.” You whisper, nerves on edge and burning.

His large hands trace your hips down along the outside of your thighs until they find your knees and he pulls them towards himself.

The sensation of falling is terrifying in the pitch black, but he catches you. His arms are wrapped around you, underneath your own arms, and very slowly he lowers you until your knees are on the ground.

He’s already sitting, you realize. You shift to his left and sit down too.

“Wait.” He says, a rush of his scent washes over you, fresh rain, wet soil, clean spring air, with a bite of bitter ozone, numbing your senses to everything but him. “Here.”

He places his hands on your shoulders and very slowly leads you down onto the floor. He’s only guiding you, so you don’t get too excited.

When your head hits a pillow, you laugh. “Thanks.”

How considerate.

“You’re welcome.” You can hear the smile in his voice as he settles in beside you to your right. Your sofa on your left.

“You really like my stars that much?” You wonder, staring up at the pretty patterns.

“I do. They remind me of home. Before it was destroyed. Cap told me that they are made of plastic? With bio-luminescent paint?” He wonders, his breath wafting towards you again.

He’s so close you can feel his arm grazing against yours, his fingers probably within reach.

“Something like that. I’ve never been curious enough to really find out what they’re made of.” You look towards where his head should be. “So, are you ever going to answer my question?”

“What question?” He asks, and his hot breath is on your lips and you might just go ahead and faint.

Thor is so close that he’s whispering and still sounds as loud and clear as when he greets you everyday with a cheerful good morning despite the bird’s nest on your head and the grumpy scowl you wear until you have your coffee and breakfast.

“What’s Cap’s name?” You whisper back.

“Oh. That. Uh…well, of course, because he and I are such close friends—Stefan. Of course, I know that.” He brags so uncertain that he must know he’s wrong.

It makes you smile, and you grin up at him despite not being able to see him.

“Stefan? Are you sure you don’t mean Steven?” You ask.

“That, yes. That’s what I said.” He assures you.

“No one calls him Steven.” You whisper, desperately wanting to laugh.

“Of course not. They call him Steve.” Well, color you impressed. “Steve Dodgers.”

“What?!” You exclaim, already laughing.

“What? Is that not it?” He asks, laughing now too. It’s a low chuckle, rising in pitch at the end that tickles your belly with flutters. “Lodgers?”

You laugh harder. It makes your knees fold up as you clutch at your stomach with your left arm.

Suddenly, your right hand is wrapped in warmth and those large fingers are interlacing with yours again.

It startles your heart into a fast thrum, but your laugh dies into a chuckle as you let your fingers curl around Thor’s too.

“I’ll help you with the dishes.” He says, and that nearly makes you twist towards him. It makes you want to mount him, but you lean up towards the breath he’s breathing towards you.

“Okay.” You reply, excited and scared but oh, so eager. “Can we do it in a little bit? The dishes I mean?”

When he speaks, his voice is so close, he might as well just be speaking into your mouth. “Your wish is my command…my princess.”

Oh, God, you’re going to pounce him. He’s a goner.

As the two of you lean towards each other, the rattling of keys and the door pry the two of you apart.

You sit up, surprised by the intrusion. You’re on your feet and just before the lights flare on, you quickly shake your hand out of Thor’s.

Steve freezes with his hand still on the switch as he watches you and the awkward way you move to the side in quick small steps, back towards the armchair where you’d dropped his folded shirt.

“You’re back.” You gasp.

“Uh…yeah.” Steve says, picking up on that tense thick atmosphere you’d noticed when the lights were shut off.

“Did you find anything?” Thor asks, still sitting on the floor but leaning on top of the coffee table.

“No.” Steve sighs and shuts the door. He moves toward the kitchen counter and drops off a large brown paper bag you hadn’t noticed he was holding. “I got some stuff for dinner though. Steaks sound good?”

“Oh, Odin, bless him. He’s got meat.” Thor rattles as he gets to his feet and moves towards the kitchen.

“You just ate.” You remind him, remembering the four sandwiches he’d devoured not an hour ago.

He turns and shrugs at you, a lopsided smile on those lips that you’d nearly kissed. Fuck, that timing.

“Well, I can’t cook for shit, so unless you want blackened steaks, I suggest someone else take over.” Steve says, knowing himself well enough.

“I can-” You begin but Thor cuts you off.

“I’ve got this. You have never had steak until you have had it made by a true Asgardian chef.” Thor brags, clapping his hands and removing his hoodie.

It pulls up on his t-shirt and you see the golden glimpse of his tight back before he’s pulling his dark blue t-shirt down.

“Thor, you burned the grilled cheese.” You remind him.

He doesn’t look at you.

“Well, that was merely a mistake. I promise you, my p-” He looks up at Steve who’s staring deep into the paper bag as he pulls the groceries out, to see if he’s hearing this slip as it happens but Steve seems unaware. “-panicky friend. That will not happen again. I was distracted last time.”

Thor saves himself but your heart is pounding, and you don’t know why he’s not willing to say that again in front of Steve. Maybe because it isn’t supposed to be happening?

This sucks.

“I don’t know that I’m hungry.” You tell him, the shift of melancholy in your voice.

He notices and he turns to look at you, his blue eyes full of bright reassurance. Whether it’s for his cooking or what just happened in the dark, you’re not sure.

What you are sure of is that falling for one of these sudden roommates wasn’t something you’d been expecting.

As Thor turns back towards the counter, Steve turns to look at you. He gives you a small sheepish smile. It raises goosebumps on your skin and the flutter in your stomach from Thor’s hand rushes up to make your heart tumble.

Falling for both of your roommates? Odin help you.

“Steve, you don’t have to do that. I can manage.” The awkwardness of trying to keep your distance as he snakes your drain is palpable.

Gross. What if he pulls out a massive wad of your hair?

You wring your hands, tapping the toe of your sneaker against the light cream-colored tile of your bathroom floor.

“Steve…” You worry.

“Hold on. I’ve almost…” A grunt. “Got it.”

Okay. That’s enough. “Seriously, you should stop. I’ve been snaking my own drain for years now. I’m an expert.”

You move towards him, shoving yourself between him and the wall that he’s got his arm propped against. Your tub sits at an angle in the back corner of your bathroom and he has to lean in to get to the drain in the back center.

You reach for the snaking tool with your right hand as he adjusts his hold on the wall with his left.

“Wait, Y/N. Don’t.” He looks worried as you lean in. “It’s wet, let me just get up.”

“I got it. Just let me do it.”

“Hold on.” He says sternly.

“Steve…” You protest.

Then your hand slips against the bottom of the tub and your body falls down towards the painful ceramic.

You don’t even scream as your body is flung. You shut your eyes tight and wait for the painful stab of the tub’s edge against your ribs but instead find your chest pressed against a harder muscled one.

Arms curled in against your own, you keep your eyes closed, knowing very well that you’ve managed to damsel in distress your way into Steve’s stupidly strong embrace.

“You okay?” He asks, worry thick. “I told you to wait. Why didn’t you just wait?”

You don’t speak. You’re too embarrassed.

“Y/N?” Steve asks, more worry seeping through. “Did you hit yourself somewhere?”

“No.” You utter.

“Wha-then, are you okay?” He asks again.

“No.” You groan.

“What’s the matter?” He pulls you up, somehow getting you both on level footing again with his sheer upper body strength.

Opening your eyes, you try not to look down at the wide expanse of his chest and shoulders. They stretch the heather gray fabric of his t-shirt and you’re already battling with the urge to run your hands up along his strong pectorals on a daily basis.

“Nothing. I’m just a klutz.” You sigh.

Steve sighs too. With relief? “Oh.”

There’s a small huff of hot air. He’s laughing at you.

“I mean, I could have told you that after the first week of staying here with you. Didn’t think it would take three months being around a Super Soldier to make you realize it.” He sounds assuredly cocky, despite his usual straight-cut demeanor.

“You’re teasing me?” You demand, surprised, but pleasantly so.

“No.” He promises, shaking his head. “No. I’m just—okay, maybe I am teasing you a little.” He laughs, a real laugh.

“Jerk.” You reach out and push him, hand lingering just a bit too long against the left side of his chest.

“Sorry.” He chuckles, reaching up to take hold of your hand.

Something like electricity charges the air as his hand closes around yours, cupping the back of it when you leave it there.

“Are you?” It doesn’t sound like he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s having fun.

He shakes his head. “Not really.” And laughs again.

You renew the push to his shoulder, and he trails his hand down your forearm to your elbow, the pressure bending it so that it brings you closer.

The two of you go silent again. You stare into his storm blue gaze, trying to understand the blue-fire within them.

“You’ve been kind of on a fixing kick with all the little broken things in the apartment.” First the light in the dining room.

Then the doorbell. The window that doesn’t open in the living room. One of the coffee table legs. Testing the smoke alarms. Waxing the wooden floors. Repairing some tile on your bathroom floor and the guest bathroom. Snaking both drains. Polishing all the fixtures. What’s he doing?

“Your landlord doesn’t come by often enough.” Steve’s right too.

You’ve never once seen your landlord to fix things in the few years you’ve lived here.

“I usually do them myself.” You tell him.

“I don’t doubt that you can. I just wanted to help. I live here too, you know?” He says, tenor voice burrowing its way into your chest hollow.

“I hadn’t noticed, what with you being gone so much this month.” You’ve missed him. His presence around the apartment.

Thor has also been gone a lot this month and after that incident two months ago with your stars, Thor hasn’t shone any kind of interest. No more my princess and you’re desperate to hear it again.

Clearly whatever had happened that night had been a one-time thing. Caught up in the stars maybe because he’s shown no sign of interest since.

“I know.” Steve says, pulling you out of your thoughts of Thor. “Sorry. We’ve been tracing the bomber upstate. Then back down and back up. He’s moving but we’re not sure why.”

You don’t want to talk about the Late-Night Bomber. He’s killed so many people and the thought of him in your building or the next building or the building across the street, it drives you up the wall with worry.

Feeling safe with Steve and Thor has become somewhat of a habit and now that they’ve been spending so much time out of your apartment, your fear has rushed back to the forefront.

“What if he shows up one day?” Your intention is not to pull any sort of reaction from Steve. It’s a genuine question. “And you’re not here?”

You’re truly afraid. Helpless in a way that you’d never thought would matter.

“That won’t happen.” Steve insists, suddenly yanking you closer. His hand curves around your waist, fingers digging deep into the tissues of your back.

“You can’t be sure.” You tell him.

“Y/N…” He starts, but you don’t want to talk about the bomber!

“So, listen,” You press on, intent on forgetting the danger. “Since you’re in a handyman type of mood, do you think you could come back into my room?”

“Why?” He asks, curious but his hand gets tighter. You gasp, so quiet that no one but Steve can hear it.

He’ll probably be able to hear the pounding of your heart too. Is it giving you away?

“Do you have something in there that needs tending to?” The meaning of his words is laced with double entendre and you blink your eyes shut to focus.

You’re suddenly aching and pooling in all the right and wrong places. Damn this man and the other one too.

RING! RING-RING!

Both of you jump and Steve drops his arm. You race around him towards your bathroom counter and stare with muted aggression at the name on the screen. With a swipe of your finger, you answer the phone and press it to your ear.

“Hey, Nat.” You turn around and hop up onto the counter, crossing your legs tight and shoving your fisted hand over the crotch of your pants.

There’s nothing to see there, but you’re very aware of what’s underneath.

Steve crosses into your eye line and you stare at him as he moves to stand beside you, washing his hands in the sink. Slowly.

He’s watching you. His storm blue eyes curious and penetrating.

“Hey. You okay? You sound weird.” Stupid spy.

“Yes. I’m fine.” You assure her.

“Good. Everything going okay with tweedledee and tweedledum?”  Her voice is knowing but not in the way you’re expecting.

She sounds like she’s asking you about two mischievous boys. Young ones. Brothers. Not these two Adonis men walking around your apartment.

“Yeah. We’re good. Steve’s actually helping me out around the apartment as we speak. He just snaked my drain.” You say, fully aware of the way it sounds.

Steve’s eyebrows slowly shoot up on his forehead, hand washing forgotten.

All you can do is stare at him.

“That’s good! They’re actually helping? We can’t get them to do anything back on the compound.”

“Yeah. I’ll have to thank him for being so good to me.” You say, lowering your tone.

You’d be lying if you said that despite Thor’s reservations since the almost kiss, you and Steve haven’t been sharing lingering looks. The shy boy is endearing but it’s those long stares he gives you across the dining table or when you look up from your book while you sit in your favorite armchair and meet his eye from where he sits on the couch.

It’s inquisitive and probing. Never explicitly full of desire but sometimes there’s a lick to his lips and you have to look away or leave the room because your neck suddenly burns like lava.

Living with Steve is not easy. Living with Thor feels more and more like torture.

They’re so good to you now. They clean up after themselves when they see you come home exhausted. Thor makes breakfast almost every day. Steve brings you new books and Thor asks you endless questions about nothing and everything.

Your favorite nights—the ones that hurt but also feel so good—are the ones when you shut off the living room lights and while Steve runs his surveillance of the neighborhood through a small crack in the blinds, you lay on your sofa, Thor lays on the floor beside you. And all three of you talk and gaze at your indoor stars.

Today is much harder than any other day because as you tell Nat that you’ll have to thank your roomie, he places his hand on the inside of your left knee.

Your mouth parts, a small soundless gasp escaping as he trails that hand up along the inside of your thigh.

Where is this coming from but also, why hasn’t it happened already?!

Nat had said you weren’t their type. Maybe not Thor’s now, since he’s backed off, but Steve?

“Who are you talking to?” Clint’s voice is immediately recognizable and maybe you would have jumped at the chance to tell him hi, but right now, you’re too distracted.

Steve’s fingers tickle the exposed flesh of your leg. His tips slowly press into the bottom hem of your jean shorts.

“Y/N. Anyway,-”

“Tell her I said, hi.” Clint says.

“I’m sure she can hear you, dummy.” Nat replies.

“Hi, Y/N!”

“Hi, Clint.” You manage as Steve’s fingers push up high underneath that left short leg.

“Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll be by next month to check up on you and make sure those boys aren’t driving you crazy. Okay?”

“O-okay.” You stutter.

“Bye!” Nat finally releases you and you mumble something that sounds like ‘bye’ but then you’re putting the phone on the counter beside you.

You reach out and grab hold of Steve’s t-shirt by the neck and make to pull him towards you as his hand claws into your skin when you hear the sound of the front door.

“Hello?” Thor booms, still in the living room. “I’m home. Anyone here?”

You have a terrible, horrible, no good life.

“Yeah.” Steve says, pulling his hand back. “We’re in the bathroom.”

He moves back towards the tub and doesn’t spare you another glance as you’re left to writhe and wonder why your luck seems to run out right at this very moment.

Both damn times.

“In here?” Thor asks, as he enters your bedroom then makes for your bathroom.

When he sees you perched on the counter, he smiles, blue eyes twinkling. “Hello.”

“Hey.” You reply, wishing your heart would make up its mind.

Steve or Thor, stupid. Can’t be both.

Thor moves towards you and places both hands on the counter by your legs on either side.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, leaving a searing burn as he pulls back to look at Steve.

“What are you doing?” He asks, curious as he goes to join him.

“Snaking the drain.”

“Whating the what?” He asks, and Steve smiles.

“Snaking the drain. Here, I’ll show you.”

Left to sit on the counter, stewing in your Steve created arousal and Thor heartache, you can’t help but wonder, why not both?

“What exactly is the point of this game?” Thor wonders, setting his pair of deuces aside.

“The point is to get rid of all of your cards first. The last person to lose all of their cards loses the game.” You explain for what feels like the tenth time.

“You got any fours?” Steve asks Thor, sparing a glance out the window to his left.

Always on the watch, your Captain. Wait. My Captain?

“No.” Thor says, fiddling with his card order.

“No, Thor!” You whine, leaning over towards him with your cards held close to your chest.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Go fishing." He says it like he’s insulting Steve and it makes you chuckle.

You plop yourself down on the table, pleasantly exasperated, as Thor watches you and smiles. It’s so flirty and sweet that your heart gives a little ache.

It’s been four months since the incident in the dark and he still hasn’t done anything other than give you an occasional chaste kiss on the cheek.

“What? That’s what I say, right?” He asks, looking at Steve.

Steve is also smiling, eyes trained on his cards.

“It’s ‘go fish' not ‘go fishing'.” He explains and as you straighten up, Thor gives a small somber pout.

“Oh. Then go fish. I have no fours.” He looks up at you and smiles again, soft subtle curve to those bristling pink lips. “Do you have any threes?”

Does his beard tickle when it’s kissed?

His smile widens as he watches you stare.

Your ears burn but you smile back at him bashfully. Being caught staring at his lips is nothing new.

“Go fish.” You chuckle, bite your bottom lip then turn your eyes on Steve.

You find him watching the two of you with a small pucker between his eyes.

The look wipes away all the flirtatious flutters Thor just gave you, filling your tummy up with knots.

“Um…do you have any eights?” You ask him and Steve just stares.

When the silence becomes unbearable--Thor's eyes are glued to his cards the entire time—you breathe in slowly.

“Steve?” And release it in a nervous huff.

He opens his mouth to reply, when a loud piercing explosion shakes the room.

BOOM!

You scream, cards flying up in the air as you clamp your hands over your ears.

You’re still frozen while Steve and Thor push their chairs back away from the table, cards forgotten as Steve races for his shield by your desk. Thor holds out his hand and his axe flies towards him.

As it makes contact with his skin, his body is engulfed by harmless—to you—sizzling electricity that stands the small hairs on the back of your neck on end and bathes you in soothing heat.

“Your gun, Y/N.” Steve says sternly as he heads towards the front door. “Stay in your room.”

Despite his order, you’re still not moving. A million things could have happened to cause that explosion but something tells you that what you’ve been fearing would happen has finally happened.

The Late-Night Bomber is done with this neighborhood and is making an example of it. Maybe he caught onto Thor and Steve’s scent?

Thor’s large hand closes around your bicep and he pulls you out of your seat. He’s gentle but firm. The urgency in his movements scares you.

“Go, my princess,” He whispers, so low that Steve won’t hear him. “Find your weapon and stay out of harm’s way. We will return for you shortly. Go.”

As he pushes you towards the hallway you turn to watch him disappear through your front door behind Steve. His words had woken you back up and now more than ever you hate to see him and Steve go.

You do as you’re told.

You hurry into your bedroom and shove your hands into the space between your mattress and the box spring until they find sleek cold metal.

The gun is a small nine-millimeter Beretta and Steve chose it specifically for you because of its small size and low recoil. He’d show up one day with it nestled in a small silver metal case, kissed your head, and told you to keep it close.

“Stay safe.” He always says when he leaves. Today he forgot to say it.

Settling into the faded baby blue armchair in the corner of your room, you sit with your feet propped up on the seat. You use your knees to aim your gun at the door and urge your hands to still.

Waiting sucks. Waiting for something to happen. Anything. Waiting for your boys to come back.

Nat had sounded sisterly when she spoke of them. You see them as much more than that. Even if nothing has happened…

Please, let me get out of this so that something can happen.

If they don’t want to make the first move. You’ll have to. But who?

Your ears go into overdrive, trying to catch the sounds of the building around you.

There’s screaming, children crying. The sounds of running. You hear rumbles of thunder in the distance but you’re not sure where Thor might be. He sounds like he’s far away.

If Thor isn’t nearby, is Steve?

The sounds of sirens get closer and closer, grating your fearful nerves.

Something like acid begins to burn in your gut.

Half an hour passes and the longer you’re away from Steve and Thor, the worse this feeling gets.

An instinct pulls at you from the center of your chest. As the sounds of the world go eerily silent, no more screaming, no more sirens, no sounds of Thor, you let that instinct lead you towards the bathroom. You climb into your tub and sit yourself on the far end, facing the door with your gun once again aimed at the entrance.

The smaller confined space gives you some comfort. Not much. Some.

The floor around you begins to shake. The quaking moves the small glass jars of Q-tips and cotton swabs on your counter. Your compact slides along the surface as it rattles then falls and the mirror shatters as it pops open. The small pictures you’d had hung up in your room, the one of you Thor and Steve casually sitting on your sofa beside each other but deliberately not touching probably falls and breaks along with the others.

This mist be what a mild earthquake feels like.

The rumbling stops.

Your breathing grows ragged as your fear reaches up to choke you as that bitter instinct warns you that it’s not over.

You’re about to scream when your restroom explodes around you.

BOOM!

Everything is dust and particles, flying debris, crumbling structure, flying broken tile, smoke, and heat more terrifying than anything you’ve ever felt.

You don’t wanna die.

The ash polluted air keeps you from drawing in more than a ragged, rattling breath. The oxygen burns out of your lungs and then something heavy falls over you. You flatten yourself into your tub as best you can, but your arm is caught, and you desperately pull the memory of two pairs of eyes.

Electric and Storm blue eyes are the last thing you see as your world turns black.

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