Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

96. STEVE: Hellhound

Words: 3K

           

A trail of blood drips from your chin. Head tilted down, you manage to keep the carnage hidden away from the hotel maid as she passes by—chattering with her coworker as she pushes the squeaky linens cart. The musty hall reeks of mildew and old cigar smoke that's sunken into the burgundy carpeting. The combination of odors has your head practically spinning. Your heightened sense of smell leads you down the hall towards your room: your nose registers Steve Roger's masculine natural perfume from thirteen doors down.

Your knuckles, chapped and raw, knock three consecutive times against the door. Your sharp ears catch onto the pattern of Sam Wilson's steps from inside.

"What took you so long...? Jesus Christ," Sam interrupts himself with a gasp. "You look like shit!"

Steve, who was lingering behind the opened bathroom door, steps into the room when he hears your arrival. His arms cross at his chest. The words he speaks leave his forehead wrinkled with worry. "Is that blood?"

You wipe your face with the end of your sweatshirt sleeve. "No?"

Steve huffs, "That's not a question that should be answered with another question, Y/N."

You shrug and walk farther into the cheap hotel room. "I ran into a problem."

"We're supposed to be lying low, Y/N: not stirring up trouble."

"I wasn't stirring," you point out dryly. A glance in the mirror shows the whole lower part of your mouth drenched in the gooey red stuff. You huff and reach for a bath towel to try soaking it all up. "I was solving."

"What else could you expect, Steve? You invited Hellhound on a sting operation. She's still not all the way trained," Sam jokingly refers to your alter-ego superhero name. He tries to pat you on the head for effect but you pull back your lips in a faux-growl. He chuckles and backs away. "Easy, girl."

"Would you two stop messing around?" Steve sounds exhausted—absolutely annoyed.

"You haven't even asked what I was doing," you say. You wring out the wet towel in the grimy sink—watching the light pink liquid rush down the corroded drain.

Steve leans into the bathroom doorway. Sam's sitting on the edge of the bed just behind him. "What were you doing, Y/N?"

"I was on my way back from the bus stop you sent me to scout, and I saw some random creep following a girl. Didn't take long to realize that he had no intention to leave her alone, so I decided to convince him."

"What'd you do?" Sam chuckles. "Bite him?" He laughs some more until your stoic face and slight smirk has him shutting up real quick. He leans closer to you with his elbows propped on his knees. "Wait—you really bite people? Like... for real?" You open your mouth to answer and he gets a quick peek at your sharp canines. "Never mind—I don't wanna know."

Your smile is stained ruby red.

"Back on subject," Steve switches topics. "I know you're new to the team, Y/N, but going off script isn't allowed." The man leans in the doorframe with a towel rung up between his big, blister-knuckled hands. His eyebrows are furrowed as he speaks firmly to you.

"Allowed? What am I? A child?" You push away from the sink having cleaned up your cheeks. "Listen Rogers," you pause in the doorway with a hand on Steve's shoulder. He glares down at your fingers pressed there against his pec but you refuse to move. "I appreciate what you're trying to do here: be a leader and all. But I'm not one for chains, so don't try to boss me around." You smile as if relaying something nice. "My bark is much sweeter than my bite." You push around him towards the rest of the suite. You close yourself off into the master bedroom, door shutting behind you, but you still manage to hear what Sam says.