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Better Than Revenge

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“Fuck this,” you mutter, as you turn around and head straight to the bar. Natasha is hot on your heels.

“I honestly didn’t know he was bringing her,” she says low enough for you to hear.

You glare at her before reaching over the bar and grabbing the bottle of tequila, ignoring the bartender’s scandalized expression. You uncork the top and tip your head back taking a heavy pull. It burns sour and thick and you gag, wrinkling your nose.

“I’m drinking this whole fucking thing, Natasha,” you grumble.

“Oh! No you are not!” she warns you quickly, grabbing it out of your hands. “You don’t want to make a fool of yourself over….well that.

She motions over to Sharon who is giggling wildly at something Steve has said. He looks stunning, a blue blazer and a clean white button up. The colorful lights reflect off his golden hair and you long to smooth the pillow of his full lip. Your heart clenches at the way he’s grinning down at her.

He looks happy

Tony had outdone himself yet again. He had taken the entire ballroom of Stark tower and made it into an ice bar. Flickering candles float on ice sculptures – impossibly burning. Perfumed air balmy and sweet roll sticks to the air like a second skin. White peonies, pearly orchids dripped with purple, and hydrangea coated in crystal hang from the ceiling in heady bouquets. It is alarmingly romantic.

Nat balances her martini between her fingers and give it a long sip.

“Look – I’m going to play big sister here and give you some sound advice,” Nat tells you. “Not giving a fuck is better than revenge.”

“Does pulling out her vital organs and wearing them as a hat count as revenge?” you reply curtly.

Nat glares at you. “She. Is. Not. Worth. It.”

You grimace, running a shaky hand through your hair. This is unbearably hard. Steve and you had been side by side since the very beginning. You had held him to you when he was injured, allowed him to sleep in your bed when nightmares had torn at his mind claw-like and unforgiving.

You’ve been his constant source of comfort during every failed mission and every previous trauma.

The mission went horribly. A dozen causalities. They’d seen them coming and figured eliminating their hostages was the obvious solution. Steve had remained silent the entire way back – his eyes distant.

The motel is dreary. Gutted walls and chipped paint and the smell of fast food. Steve slides into your room before you can shut your door and you turn around – surprised.

“What is it, Steve?” you murmur.

You hear his breath rattle unevenly in his chest and all of a sudden his legs give out. On his knees, he grips you around the waist and buries his face into your belly. You press your hands against his back, run comforting fingers through his hair. Close your eyes at the feel of his body trembling beneath your fingertips.

“Oh, Steve,” you whisper. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Tilting his head up to look at you, you brush the long blonde hair that covers his eyes. Slick it back with your hands. You knead your fingers into his skin, feel your thumb scrape on the stubble covering his jaw.

Light as a butterfly, he presses a firm kiss to your Kevlar coated stomach. It singes your skin despite the thickness of your uniform. You feel it. Oh, you feel it.

He smiles weakly before rising heavily to his feet. He grabs your hand and pulls you to the bed. You know what this is. He always forgoes his own room after hard missions. He needs the contact. Needs the intimacy.

But, it’s not fucking. He won’t have you that way and you don’t know why.

Because god damn you’d give it to him if he asked.

Blood and soot covered, bruises mottled on both your skins, he wraps you up in his arms and lets his head hit the pillow. The two of you sleep like that – dirty and dusty and filled with a darkness that is only slightly alleviated by the other’s presence.

Before you close your eyes, you know that he will slip out before dawn to shower. The only evidence of your previous night will be the small smile that he offers you.

And each time it happens you hate yourself a little more for being horrifically, maddeningly in love with Steve Rogers.

You hate yourself for letting the cycle continue.

The thumping music brings you back to reality and your heart slams into your chest.

You would have died for him and here he was – hopelessly, obliviously – blind to it. Your eyes start to burn and you bite your lip to distract yourself.

You would not cry. You would not cry. Not over fucking, boring as watching paint peel SHARON.

Nat slips a comforting arm around you.

“Ladies,” Thor bellows, slipping his arms around both your waists. “You look beautiful.”

He glances down at you, his eye trailing over your lips. His voice lowers an octave, slides down your skin like velvet. “I’ve never seen you in that color before,” he murmurs.

Wanda had found you the dress and demanded you wear it. Carmine red.  Long and silky with a slit up the side. Raspberry lips. A white orchid nestled behind your ear. Black strappy Louboutins that pinch your feet but, look sexy as hell.

You look back up at Thor – his face breathtakingly handsome, teeth white and shining. His stature wide and domineering. You smirk.

“Oh no,” Nat mumbles under her breath. “Please don’t.”

You wink at her before smiling brightly up at Thor. “I was never very good at the subtle art of not giving a fuck, Nat,”

You grip Thor’s hand in yours and flutter your lashes, run your tongue over your lower lip.

He coughs loudly, his eyes darkening considerably. His voice lowers -  tone husky and hot. “Would you like to dance?”

“Please.” You slide your palm into his.

Nat rolls her eyes before leaving you


Steve swallowed thickly as you twirl around. He can see the curve of your breast through the deep v of your neckline and his blood goes straight to his groin.

“What-what is she doing?” Steve asks Bucky, his eyes glued to Thor’s hands wrapped around your waist.

“Dancing?” Bucky offers. Thor lifts you up off the ground and you laugh – melodic and perfect – sliding your hands into his hair as he spins you. Bucky gulps.

“I mean it looks innocent enough…” he adds, unconvincingly.

Sam nestles himself between them, double-fisting whisky and somehow wearing a bright silver party hat.

“She looks so fucking good, Cap,” he pipes in. “I think Tony’s heart stopped right in his chest when he saw her. She doesn’t usually wear shit like that.”

Steve feels his throat dry up, his tongue grow bitter in his mouth. A small hand clutches his wrist and he stares down at it blankly.

Oh, Sharon

“Let’s dance, Steve,” she pleads – the hint of a whine buried within the request.

Steve doesn’t know what had convinced him to bring her. She had dropped some reports at his office earlier that day and had mentioned the party and suddenly he found himself asking if she wanted to go with him. He literally hadn’t though anything of it until he had walked in and seen you.

You and that red dress had thoroughly stunned him– made him hot beneath the collar. The orchid in your hair had only added to your sweetness – your beauty amplified next to candlelight.

You were so fucking gorgeous it hurt.

“Steve?”

Steve sighs and offers Sharon his arm. She practically skips to the dance floor and, once again, he wants to kick himself for possibly giving her the wrong idea. His feelings for her had always been a mere crush. A crush that had been diluted by time and well…you.

He feels her cling to his waist – feels her hot breath against his neck. He already knows what she’s trying to do – can sense her fingers crawling up to his biceps, her breasts pressed against his chest. As soon as the music ends, he pulls away and she looks like he’s insulted her.

“I need a drink,” he mumbles.

She follows him silently, a deep pout on her lips.

He snags Sam’s bourbon out of his hands much to his dismay.

“C’mon, man!” Sam yells. “You can’t even get drunk. Go find yourself a lemonade.”

“I like the taste,” Steve snaps and turns away to search for you.

You’re still nestled in Thor’s arms. One of his hands is disturbingly close to your ass and Steve clenches his jaw.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Thor’s hands are in your hair, his thumb lightly petting that damned orchid. You press yourself up on your toes and crush your lips to his. Thor practically melts into it, enfolding you. Steve can only guess that Thor is groaning beneath your tongue, relishing in the feel of your round breasts against his chest.

Steve sees red – more than red. He sees blood.

The glass shatters in his hand, showering his fingers and shoes with bourbon and crystal shards. His heartbeat slams hot against his ribcage – it actually hurts. His heart fucking hurts and Steve turns away – unable to look anymore. Both Bucky and Sam are staring at you and Thor incredulously – mouths open.

He marches towards the door. He can’t be here.

“Steve? Where are you going?” Sharon calls to him, scrambling for his arm. He tugs it away.

“Sorry, Sharon,” he mumbles though he doubts she can hear him.

He nearly runs straight into Natasha who is observing him with a cool annoyance.

“What?” he growls, thoroughly not in the mood to be lectured by her.

Nat glares at him before curling her fingers into the lapels of his blazer and tugging him down the hall.

“Alright, Rogers,” she hisses. “I’m sick of you being a total idiot. How long have you loved her?”

Nat’s words are a blow to the gut and his eyes widen considerably.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he stutters.

“Yes you do,” she snaps. “I have lived with the two of you for nearly ten years. I know that you love her. You literally go cross-eyed and glazed over any time she walks into a room – “

“I do not!” he sputters.

Natasha rolls her eyes and presses a finger to his lips.

“I don’t know what you were thinking bringing Sharon to this party,” she says, exasperated.

Steve moves to speak but, she silences him with a look. “And I don’t care. But, you need to go to her and tell her how you feel. She loves you. You love her. It’s not that hard.”

“She loves me?” he echoes, surprise coloring his cheeks.

“Duh, you dumb fuck!” Nat exclaims. “Now go!”

Wordlessly, Steve turns around and searches for you on the dance floor. You’re back at the bar, fingers tapping incessantly on the glass top. Thor is leaning over you, his hand running up and down your arm.

For a second, Steve doubts himself. Maybe, he should let you go. Maybe, you’d be happy without him.

Before he can turn around, a memory of you comes rushing back.

“Motherfucker!” you howl as a bullet rips into your shoulder.

Steve’s stomach drops, his hand trembles as he takes his shield and flings it at the man who shot you. The metal disc hits him directly in the throat, the telltale crunch of bone and cartilage sounds beneath the metallic zing as it comes back to him.

Dead. Good.

He looks at where you have fallen. You’re not moving and, once again, his breath stops in his lungs.

“No,” he breathes. “No…”

He’s at your side in an instant, hands rolling you over and lifting you against him.

“Hey, Cap,” you slur, before pressing a shaky hand to the wound that is growing more and more dark.

“You’ll be okay,” he assures you shakily. “You’ve had worse.”

“Mmmhm,” you hum before your lashes flutter and your head rolls against his arm.

He lifts you gingerly, speaks low into his coms to announce that they need EVAC RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

“Mmm, you feel good, sugar,” you murmur against his chest, snuggling your face against the rough material.

Blood loss was making you soft and he can’t help but, chuckle at you sounding so out of character. He’s calmed considerably knowing you’ll live through this. He feels you press into the muscles of his stomach, flutter over the indentations in his abdomen. His breath hitches a little as the muscles jump beneath your fingertips.

As he races towards the jet, he looks down at you. You’re peaceful like this – unbearably adorable and he feels a little guilty that he’s mooning over you when you’re bleeding out. He relishes the feel of your curves against his hands – how you fit so perfectly caged between them. A suppressed innocence clings to your body that he had yet to figure out. He knew you had been trained unforgivably in the Red Room.

But, you usually mask all of that trauma with a fierceness that often stuns him.

You’re natural element was something else entirely: body taut as a bow string, skin hidden beneath a tight, ocean blue uniform, and those eyes that were a mass of shadows. The only time they shine brilliantly is when you laugh – the few times you let your guard down.

You were an atomic bomb: explosive and full of chemical fire. A feisty hellcat that often resulted in him trailing after you like your mystified servant.

When he gets you into the jet. He sets you down on the hard medical table, cushioning your back with his forearms.

Banner and Tony rush to unzip your suit, grab gauze and ointment and needles. Nat is staring down at you disapprovingly. Steve doesn’t miss the quick shadow of concern that comes over her when she first sees you. Your recklessness frightens her more than she’d like to admit.

Your eyes find his and you clutch his hand between your own. You stare up at him and your face takes up the entirety of his focus. “Stay with me, Stevie,” you breathe, pain wrinkling your bow.

He tightens his hold on your own. “Where else would I go, doll?” he whispers.

Now or never, Steve thinks.

He buries down his fears, squares his shoulders and strides up to you and Thor. Consequences, be damned.

“I need to talk to you,” he says through gritted teeth.

You whirl around to look at him. You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m kind of busy, Cap,” you reply, popping the p in the most irritable way he can imagine.

“I don’t care.”

He grips your wrist and drags you away from Thor who looks extremely perplexed. Steve would apologize to him later…maybe.

He hauls you across the dance floor and towards the exit. He catches Sharon out of the corner of his eye – her expression a blend of disgust and annoyance. Whatever.

By the time he gets to the hallway, your digging your feet into the floor, pulling back on his iron grip.

“Let. Me. Go. Steven.” You snarl.

“No,” he counters petulantly.

Instead, he turns around, gripping you around the waist and lifting you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck,” you curse as you pound on his back.

He ignores you, promptly high-tailing it to his bedroom. Once inside, he sets you down carefully, avoiding your fists and locks the door.

“What is this –“

He presses a finger to your mouth, silencing you.

“You and I are going to have a talk,” he demands gently. He steps towards you and your back hits the door, lips parting.

He places his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in.

“What about Sharon?” you ask bitterly. Your expression is furious, a thick mask of anger that anyone else would find impenetrable. You’re hurt and he knows he’s responsible.

“I was an idiot,” Steve apologizes. “I don’t even know why I asked her.”

You huff and turn your head away. Fast as lightning, he grips your chin to angle your face back to his.

“Please don’t do that,” he pleads. “Don’t turn away from me. I fucked up. I-I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

Your breath catches and your eyes soften just a little. You look up at him.

“Steve…”

“I need to say this now before I lose my nerve,” he continues, words tripping over themselves. His breath fans over your face and he hears your heartbeat quicken.

“I love you.”


You don’t expect that.

Your stomach flips and your mind goes perfectly blank. The faint hum from the party downstairs reverberates against Steve’s door.

You had seen him with Sharon – had seen them dancing together. Sharon looked pleased as punch to have her hands wrapped around Captain America and Steve was allowing it. It had hurt more than you cared to admit – it had really fucking hurt and it had pushed you to grab Thor and kiss him.

Because you had wanted to feel anything but, the sheer emptiness that had enveloped you when you realized Steve didn’t want you.

“You’re messing with me,” you counter in disbelief.

Steve sighs, wrapping his hands around your upper arms and dipping his head to meet your fierce expression.

“I’m not messing with you,” he clarifies, his voice low and husky. The blue of his eyes seem to glow in the dim light of his room and you can see nothing but, him. “I mean it. With everything in me, I mean it.”

His expression is sincere: open and fragile. He told you he loved you.

He loves you. Steve Rogers love you.

And did you not feel the same way? Hadn’t you dreamt of this moment – longed for it since the second you had met him on that aircraft carrier with Nat and Bruce.

You love him so much it hurts – cuts into your skin, eats away at your lungs. Every day your heart was strangled by the notion that your love for him was unrequited.

You could be foolish sometimes. Petulant and caustic and hard. But, now softness is overwhelming you. Drowning you. And you embrace it.

You cock your head to the side and appraise Steve with a small smile.

“I-I love you, too.”

Steve laughs, fully and deeply. You haven’t heard him laugh like that in ages and it fills the room and makes your skin tingle. Without another word, he grips your face between his hands and presses his lips to yours. It begins hesitantly, soft and feather light. When you moan beneath him, he deepens it, sliding his tongue into your mouth and tracing your lips with his own. He devours you, crushing your body to his and you feel so small against him. So small and so safe.

You had forgotten how warm he could be. Heat burns from his lips, searing trails of fire through your body that hadn’t truly felt alive in so long. Everything before was always so cold. Frigid .White ice. It feels like being embraced by the sun.

Steve whispers your name against your cheek like a dark secret. He cradles your head against his chest like you’re the treasure he thought he’d never find.

You’re words come out rapid and aching and choked against his hard shoulder and he mirrors them with his own.

Want you, need you, love you, love you, love you

He breathes apologies into your mouth in between each brush of his lips and curl of his tongue.

It took me so long. So long. I’m sorry.

You still beneath him, pull at his hair and hush him.

Doesn’t matter. I love you.

Steve unties the back of your gown – watches it slip from your body in waves of silk. You peel his jacket back, unbutton his shirt – kiss the ridges and mounds of thick muscle available to you. They miss the bed. Instead, he lays you on the floor and begins to make love to you there.

You gasp, a soft hiss of pain when he enters you. He looks down at you – eyes wide and startled.

“You never  - “

You shake your head, silent and smiling and looking at him with such intense devotion that he wonders if he’ll crack right then.

“Jesus! I’m sorry – I didn’t mean for your first time to be on the floor,” he stammers. “Fuck, I had no-“

You silence him by gripping his face hard and pulling him down to you.

“Steve – this is perfect.”

He swallows it down and instead leans forward and captures your lips in a fervent kiss, desperate and passionate.

They move together, the rise and fall of your bodies gentle and rhythmic, his arms braced on either side of your head. You stroke his hair back – give yourself to him. His cock feels thick and hard, smooth as velvet, and he lifts his hip up to cover himself in the wetness he finds. It’s overwhelming because you did not know that love could be like this: the intimacy of bodies and fingers and lips. Heartbeats pressed against each other in the soft light of a bedroom.

Your breathing escalates as Steve’s does – a sheen of sweat dappling his forehead, the hollow of his throat. Rivulets down his chest as they blend with your own.

“Oh god, Steve,” you whisper and he sighs against your ear before rising up to kiss you again.

“That feel good, baby?”

There will never be enough of him, never enough of him touching you like this, warming you from the inside and protecting you. Never enough of him loving you. His fingers glide down to the apex between your legs and a whole new wave of feeling breaks like waves across you.

You whine into his mouth and he calms you, runs his other hand over your damp hair and skin.

“I’ve got you,” he promises. “I’ve always got you.”

When you climax, your back arches into him and he holds you through it.  Tears spring to your eyes and he slides his tongue to catch them.

Never once, had you thought you could feel this way. Feel the sublime power of being human. The Red Room had broken you in more ways than one and once again, you are baffled that it could be like this.

Steve gently pulls out of you leaving you empty and wanting. He’s still rock hard, his cock heavy and curved against his stomach.

He lifts you up and gently puts you on the bed. He climbs in next to you, rolling you to your stomach and raising your arms above so that you are caged beneath him. You can feel all of him – every patch of skin and bristle of hair is pressed against the back of you. He curls his fingers into yours, holds them tight against his pillow.

His cock is nestled against your ass and he uses his leg to spread your thighs apart. You wiggle beneath him, widening your legs to help and he presses wet, firm kisses along your shoulders and neck. Growling, he rubs the head against you, coating himself in slickness as he eases himself into your cunt.

“So wet,” he whispers fervently, his sweaty cheek pressed against your own.

He grunts loudly as he starts to push himself into you. You’re deliciously sore and you whimper with his movement. He stops almost immediately but, you turn your head and observe him beneath your lashes.

His face is blissed out, his lips red and swollen from your mouth. His cheeks flushed and guava pink. You have never seen anyone as beautiful as him and you think he could be Apollo himself.

“Keep going,” you plead and so he does, allowing your body to adjust as he bottoms out within you.

He kisses and nips your skin, trembling hands fisted in your own. You can feel his cock swell inside you and with each snap of his hips as he moves faster. The breath is punched out of you with each harsh thrust and you keen beneath him.

Carefully he leans on his right forearm, gripping your shoulder with his left hand. Blunt nails curl and scratch against your skin as he holds you down and slams into you from a new angle.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. Squeezing me so fucking hard.”

“I can’t help it,” you manage to whine out. Steve laughs out loud and holds you tighter.

“I know baby,” he murmurs, hoarse and hot. “This feels so good. You’re never leaving this bed.”

His words and promises are filthy and unexpected. You had never imagined Steve being this much of a dirty talker and it makes your core constrict.

Steve reaches around to raise your hips slightly and slips his hand beneath you. He rubs your pussy again, pulling sounds and curses from you that would make even Bucky blush. You come again, panting– low and throaty.

“That’s my girl,” he coaxes, pressing his lips against your own. Slick and wet. Bracing his weight on shaky arms he roughly buries himself within you again and comes with a shuddering sigh – almost like a sob.

He shifts onto his side and pulls you against him. He runs his fingertips over your collarbone, your jawline, your stomach and hands. Powerful thick arms encircle you and you nuzzle your face into his chest, smell the warm dampness of his skin and tiny, rough hairs.

There is so much they should say. So much they should talk about. So many things unsaid between them. Instead, Steve hooks his calf between your legs to entangle himself within your embrace. He rubs his cheek against your hair, pressing light kisses against your scalp.

“So – um, how was that for your first time?” Steve asks hesitantly. You look up at him and notice he’s blushing furiously – oddly anxious. The man had literally been inside you moments before and was now somehow shy.

You giggle despite yourself. “Mind blowing?”

His eyes widen and expression transforms into a smug grin.

“Mind blowing – hmmm?” He tickles your sides and you laugh, swatting his hands away.

You grow quiet, listening to the hum and deep bass of the party below. It lulls you, quiets your mind and you find yourself speaking. Find yourself opening up to him even more.

“In the Red Room, there was no room for dalliances,” you reveal. “And, afterward, well I had met you – and I just – I was just completely distracted with being in love with you to find anyone else.”

You hear Steve swallow thickly and he clings to you a little more.

“I’m sorry I took so long, baby,” he croons sadly.

“We both were stubborn idiots.”

He nods before trailing thick fingers up your leg, feels you prickle beneath them. “We did forget to discuss..one thing,” he remarks.

“Yes?”

He squeezes your thigh between his hands sending a shiver through your skin.

“Thor?”

“Oh,” you squeak. You grip Steve’s hand in yours and busy yourself by studying his fingers. “I may have acted a little childishly,” you admit, under your breath.

He growls before gripping your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“You’re mine,” he grunts into your ear. “You’ve always been mine.”

A little more softly, he adds. “Can you please remember that?”

You nod wordlessly, turn and crush your lips to his. He pulls away for a moment, velvet tone dropping as he breathlessly adds. “Just like I have always been yours.”

You grip him by the neck and tug him forward, feel him hard against your thigh once again.

“Okay,” you answer – soft and full of promise.