Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You didn't feel like cooking that morning.

You woke up after a nightmare at 5AM and couldn't go back to sleep, so you started the day early. It wasn't exactly hunger, but something tinged inside your stomach enough that you noticed it and opened the fridge just to find a few ingredients. There were no leftovers or a half eaten plate. Your eyes scanned the empty shelves as you internally coursed the bunch of lazy clowns you called your teammates.

The one in charge of shopping for groceries and cooking was John. It was never discussed, yet the team didn't need to do so in order to accept his meals were the most decent ones. But he's been busy with some co-parenting stuff you didn't want to ask much about.

Your gaze landed on the peanut butter jar. This specific brand had a bittersweet taste to it you couldn't get enough of. Not a five course meal, but it's got protein— Or so you've been told.

The fridge door closed with a swift push of your hip. As soon as you looked at the sink, a huff escaped your nostrils. No one did the dishes either.

You started to think coexisting with gorillas might be easier and cleaner— knowing Alexei wouldn't notice the difference between toothpaste and dishwasher soap. "It's the same!" He'd exclaim. Not the hell it isn't.

Among the dishes that weren't dirty you found a butter knife sitting there between a potato peeler and a large wooden spoon. You grabbed it, rolled open the jar lid and got some peanut butter on the tip of the knife. Then licked it off.

The next five minutes you kept pacing around eating peanut butter off the jar. The speaker played some classics you inevitably started to dance to and sing. No one would show up at the kitchen that early in the morning anyway.

But then you heard lazy footsteps approaching the place. John stopped at the doorway looking like he haven't had any sleep at all. He had a confused and cranky scowl on his weary face.

"What the hell are you doing?" He said, gruffly— with a husky voice.

You stood there, a bit out of place.

"…Having breakfast?" You said, unsure if licking peanut butter off a knife even counted as breakfast.

"That's not breakfast." He answered sternly.

John walked past you deeper into the kitchen. Just as you expected, he reacted the same as you did upon the mountain of dirty dishes, if not more aggressively and annoyed. He groaned.

"Is it too damn much asking any of you to wash your dishes after you eat?" He said.

Just as you opened your mouth to retort, you backed down. Maybe he had a point. And even if he didn't, you wouldn't want to tease him while he was clearly in a bad mood.

"Well, Alexei cooked last night. Or at least tried to." You said, and licked some remnants of peanut butter that lingered on the knife as you leaned back against the counter. "And you know how he is, using every tool at sight and reach."

John had turned his head to look at you. His expression somewhat softened, and you could've sworn his eyes darted towards your lips still brushing against the knife. He smirked.

"Yeah, I know. Not everybody knows their way around the kitchen like me, huh?" His voice lowered by the end of the sentence.

A smirk tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Don't flatter yourself too much." You answered.

Then you dipped the knife to the jar one more time.

John snapped his tongue at the sight of you licking peanut butter off a butter knife. He turned his body to the front and crossed his arms while he also leaned back against the counter.

"You'd rather eat that as breakfast than wash some dishes and cook something?" He lacked judgment, it was rather amusement what coated his voice.

"I didn't feel like cooking. And I certainly don't feel like washing dishes." You admitted. "Besides, this is a sustainable, perfectly valid choice of breakfast."

"And you didn't think of using a spoon." He said. And he looked like he wanted to laugh.

"They're all dirty. And the knife is better."

Almost to prove your point, you scooped some more peanut butter and lifted the knife up to his face. Your gaze lingered on his as you smiled mischievously.

"Go on, try it. It's way easier to lick it off—"

Your words were cut when John, all of a sudden, grabbed the knife with one hand— His fingers brushing your own. Then, he stuck out his tongue to lick the knife so slowly, and all the while he stared at you with those hooded, filthy blue eyes. Damn.

"It's not bad." He mumbled— His lips were parted with the tip of the knife skimming over them.

Chapter Text

Just three seconds later you realized the only sound coming out of your mouth was none. The response you managed to give him were two wide eyes and the knife still raised across his face like a king hesitating before decorating a knight.

John's big hand remained just above yours on the knife.

God, he didn't even hesitate. Regardless of knowing you've been licking that knife the past five minutes, he swiped his tongue through it almost like he was hoping to get a taste of your saliva.

Then came that smirk— Smug as ever.

"What?" He said, using a deep, raspy voice.

"Nothing." You blurted out.

As you finally were able to break the eye contact, your eyes went down to the jar. Before dipping the knife back in, a thought— a realization kicked in and your hand stopped midway on its track. You didn't care he just licked it. And neither did he. It was a silent trust and conformity with one another you didn't even know you two shared. Not to that level, at least.

"Why are you up so early?" John's voice put an end to your spiralling. He sounded rather casual, not prying.

"Nightmare."

You walked to the fridge and saved the jar of peanut butter, then carelessly threw the butter knife to the mountain of dirty dishes which included tons of spoons, an ice cream scooper and even animal shaped cookie cutters. Why? It was beyond your comprehension. Alexei made stew the "old U.S.S.R. way" and claimed everything he used had a purpose. You've never seen Bucky roll his eyes that hard before.

John had turned on the coffee maker and grabbed not one, but two cups that weren't dirty. It didn't surprise you any longer; Sharing food or preparing something extra to share was a common gesture from him— Oddly generous, but you liked how spontaneous it felt in comparison to the meals or the grocery shopping. It felt like genuine generosity.

"Why are you up?" You asked nonchalantly.

It took him more than just a second to answer what you considered a simple question. He had his back turned on you and his hand stopped mid-air as he washed two little spoons. When he spoke, there was an edge to his voice you figured signaled to something deeper.

"Couldn't sleep." He said.

Last night, what felt like an inconvenience at first turned out to be your source of information; John's room being next to yours. A few months ago, you'd complain non-stop with Yelena about his habits of doing ridiculously loud push-ups in the middle of the night.

But just the night before, you witnessed his voice cracking over a call with his ex-wife, Olivia. Even if you didn't want to pry or eavesdrop, the sound went beyond the thin wall that separated his room from yours and you heard it all. From the hysterical answers claiming he was too busy to visit his son and the child support talk to the heartfelt confession that he didn't want to visit the kid in order to "keep him safe" now that he was an Avenger.

Maybe it was unfair, but you knew exactly why he couldn't sleep while he had little to no idea about your past— Only what Valentina told the team before you joined; Mad scientist gone wrong, weird light manipulation and enough trauma and illegal shit to belong there and not with Sam Wilson.

After a long silence settled between the two of you, John turned around with a cup of hot coffee in each hand and handled you one. You silently thanked him with a nod and sipped it. The coffee was spot on. Just the way you liked it— Might even be better, but you'll save that for yourself instead of feeding the beast his ego was.

You took the chance to stare at him from the corner of your eye while his gaze was lost somewhere else. He looked disheveled; His hair hadn't met a brush yet and he didn't even bother changing into another set of clothes that weren't the same gray sweatpants and shirt from last night. He wasn't trying to impress anyone— Clearly, he didn't expect to run into someone that early in the morning, especially not you.

And despite how handsome he looked in such a state, the expression plastered on his face tugged at the strings of your heart. You could see the gloom on his eyes and the unmasked uncertainty he displayed. It was a side of him you haven't seen much of— Only on isolated occasions before he hid behind his walls once more.

With a glance at you, John realized he let his guard down and was quick to recompose himself. He cleared his throat, stood straight and sipped his coffee hard enough that his Adam's apple popped out. You felt the need of doing the exact same.

"Wanna go grocery shopping later? I have to pick up some stuff." He broke the silence.

You looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Y'know, to avoid doing the dishes. And I know you'll put reasonable stuff in the cart." John added with a smirk.

He turned his body more towards you. So did you, then you returned the grin.

"Sure. Define reasonable, though." You said.

This should be fun.

As you expected, John suggested you two left the tower before the rest of the team woke up. Such a mess in the kitchen only meant one thing; They'll try to force Alexei into washing his mess. He'll refuse, Bob will step in to calm things down and offer to clean, then Yelena will try to stop him and talk about how unfair it is— Blah, blah, blah. The usual with those dorks.

After a rather pleasant small conversation, John made a stop in a lay-low market with blinking lights that probably haven't been replaced in ages and dusty shelves. He didn't miss the look of judgement you made while he grabbed a cart that, of course, had a malfunctioning wheel.

"I know what you're about to say. But trust me, this place's got the best prices. And you can find pretty much anything." John spoke eloquently while he pushed the cart with his forearms.

"Yeah, maybe even a corpse." You said. "Why are you worried about prices?"

"Well, Valentina isn't exactly generous with the payment and funding, is she? I'm still using the bent shield for a reason." John stopped, grabbed a box of cookies and dropped it on the cart.

You smirked.

"You mean the taco shield?"

He turned to look at you almost like he just heard someone insult him. At first, it appeared like he actually took offense— As if thinking you were mocking him. But it faded the second he realized you were smiling. Gosh, he really needed to learn not to take jokes personally all the time. 

The corners of his lips slowly went upwards. With a roll of his eyes, John went back to pushing the cart. You saw he was trying not to keep smiling. 

"Yeah, the taco shield." John muttered.

Aisle after aisle, John's huge and intimidating figure couldn't be taken seriously each time he picked up a product and read it like an old man would read a meme— He even did the squinting and adjusting the product further away from his face to go through the tiny letters. You stared in both awe and disbelief. And he did that with everything he grabbed. Now you understood why no one wanted to come along with him. This shit was taking ages.

"Are you checking for expiring dates?" You asked obnoxiously. 

"That, and just checking the ingredients. I like to know what I'm buying." He answered sternly— Very focused on checking the ingredients of some goddamn gummy bears.

This guy can't be serious.

"And my son's allergic to strawberries."

That sentence managed to slap you out of your boredom. It made sense then why he's been picking odd stuff like candy and snacks or the fact he's shopping for groceries a Tuesday when he goes every Thursday. Your eyes dropped to the cart that was already full of shit a kid would love; Some fancy chocolate chip cookies, cereal bars, chocolate bars and bags of chips. But you could tell he didn't know what to buy. Like he was unaware of his son's preferences, and so he bought it all just in case with nothing but the allergies in mind. Mindless mindfulness. 

He definitely wasn't a good father. But what hurt the most was seeing him try to be better. Maybe out of guilt, perhaps out of genuine enthusiasm. Or both. Either way, you found yourself finding yet another layer to his vulnerable side— More about his personal matters. At least he told you this time, instead of you hearing it from the other side of the wall while trying to catch some sleep in your room.

You swallowed— Hard. He kept reading the gummy bear package, clearly not taking notice of the compassionate look you gave him just seconds ago.

"I see." You said.

Just as expected, John volunteered to carry all the bags like the big show-off he is. Turns out he was right about the prices of that market; It would've costed twice as much somewhere else, though the smell of some aisles payed justice to the cheapness. But you bought a few snacks for yourself and avoided dish duty, so you'd say it was worth it.

"Did you hear what I just said?" John's voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Sorry. What?"

John stopped walking all of a sudden.

"I asked if you wanna grab some ice cream, hotshot." He signalled with his head at the ice cream shop on his right.

Your eyebrows nearly made it to the sky. Both the spontaneity and the cuteness of the gesture made your stomach flutter. There he was— Standing across from you with a nervous look on his face, probably wondering if he was overstepping things.

"What is this? A date?" You teased him— Just to test his reaction.

Maybe you even wanted to make him blush.

But he approached you instead. The hints of nervousness were gone from his face. They were replaced by a tiny grin that only grew wider the closer he leaned.

"Maybe." He said.