A/N: INFINITY WAR IS THIS WEEK! THIS IS SO EXCITING! 

I'm seeing it on Friday with my friend Sebastian (lol, perfect coincidence), and this weekend I had some friends over to my place to have a Marvel marathon and celebrate! 

Don't forget to watch Jimmy Kimmel this week! Everyone's going to be on the show. I watched last night's and it was so funny with Tom and RDJ (Pom, Zoe, and Paul are amazing, too!) 

I've been really busy but ended up putting this together in a few hours so that I could update today. I'm still working on requests, those will be up soon. This one here is based A LITTLE BIT on a true story. I realized that I feel like I know a lot of you guys so well but I don't know if I've shared much about myself, so I may be throwing in random facts here and there! Here's one for you now: last guy I went out with was a beef-cake body builder (a real hunk) who was OBSESSED with himself. Good thing I didn't really like him or I probably would've been really bummed when he GHOSTED ME. Lol, anyway, story time over! Back to the book :) Hope everyone likes it! 

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"Um, where are you going?"

You're on your way down the staircase when you hear Steve Rogers question through the loudness of the late-night living room. Everyone's gathered for evening TV time and a bit of Wii. Skittering down the last few steps you realize that they're all looking at you now: waiting to see what it is that you're going to answer Steve's question with. Wanda's on her side of the couch with Bucky on the other and Princess Shuri in between them. Steve's got his own armchair angled by the fireplace. Coming to the center of the brightly colored rug you laugh at Shuri's gasp when she gets a look of your outfit. With a smile you spin in a small circle—showing off your skirted dress to your friends who sit around the living room and the joy on your face. "A date."

Shuri bolts upright. "A date!?"

Steve's eyebrows are gnarled. "A date...?"

You laugh as Shuri comes up to meet you at the center of the room. The young teenager is clearly excited to hear this news. "That's so exciting! Who is he? What's his name? What does he do?" She slows down with a frown suddenly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Or me?" Steve questions. You glance over at him behind you and see that he's got a sad-puppy dog expression on his face.

"Guys, don't take it personally," you assure your sensitive friends tenderly. "I met him a few days ago when I went to pick up Italian food for everyone. He slipped me his number and we only started talking yesterday. He asked me out last night, and here we are." You shrug as if it's no big deal but your friends know otherwise. You haven't been on a date in almost two years. Ever since the Avengers got into their petty Civil War you'd been plucked from your daily life at UK Shield to house the team in secret somewhere in England. It'd been on your own accord that you left Shield to help Captain America and his allies. He was the reason you left the FBI to join Shield in the first place.

Anyway, since the fallout of Civil War you've been too busy babysitting team Cap to bother with the dating scene. King T'Challa funds their temporary hideout and feeds all of you in exchange for letting his hilarious, genius little sister tag along occasionally to see sights outside of Wakanda. Besides, Shuri needs to come check up on Bucky's progress occasionally—and she always jumps at the chance to hang out with you. It turns out you're a pretty good fill-in big sister and tour guide. T'Challa trusts you not only to keep superheroes safe, but his sister as well.

"What's his name?" Wanda asks. She watches your smiling face fondly. In the two years that she's known you she's never known you to like a guy: except for Steve. It's true... you caught feelings for the super soldier very early into the post-Civil War charade. But, as life would have it, you're convinced that those feelings would make your mission much too messy. Besides, why torture yourself by wanting something you can't have?

"Matt," you reply.

"What does he do?" Wanda pesters further.

Your face flushes. "He's, uh, he's a body builder."

"A body builder!" Shuri laughs. "Oh, this is great!" She claps with reciprocated glee.

Bucky glances up from his magazine. "What's his zodiac sign?"

"What?" A laugh bubbles out of you. "You're kidding, right?"

Bucky blinks—looking unamused. "No. It's a real thing, Y/N."

Shuri grins sheepishly. "Sorry, I introduced him to astrology. Buzzfeed quizzes, too."

A proud smile appears on one side of Bucky's hairy face. "I'm a Pisces, and apparently my celebrity soulmate is Jennifer Lawrence." He looks at Wanda to remind her, "She's the one that plays Katniss Everdeen in..."

"I know who she is, Bucky," Wanda interrupts with a wave of her hand.

Bucky grunts—going back to his magazine with a worry between his thick eyebrows.

"Let's get back to this date," Wanda goes on to say to you. "Where is he taking you?"

You shrug. "He said it was going to be a surprise."

Steve crosses his arms at his thick chest. "Have you run a background check on this guy?"

Shuri reaches over to smack him along the side of the blond head ever-so-lightly, but hard enough to hear the "whack". "Don't be a killjoy, Cap."

"I'm just saying," Steve goes on before rubbing the side of his now-sore temple, "You can never be too careful."

"I checked him out in our database. I'm not an idiot," you reply coolly.

"I never said you were," Steve argues.

Shuri comes to your defense as she always does. "You implied it." She tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms in the same way Steve does.

"Alright, kids." You rest a hand on Shuri's shoulder and she looks up at you. "Behave yourselves while I'm gone. I don't want any texts or calls that someone's set the kitchen on fire."

"I wish you'd stop bringing that up," Bucky mutters lowly from his spot on the sofa. "It was once."

"Twice, but either way—I don't want it happening tonight. So Bucky, you're not allowed to use the toaster or the microwave while I'm gone. And Wanda, you're in charge."

The Scarlet Witch sits a bit taller at her new responsibility.

"Great," Bucky huffs sarcastically.

Steve watches as you give Shuri a quick kiss on the top of her head before heading towards the condo's front door. Suddenly, he stands and can't stop the words from coming out of his mouth as he says, "Do you want me to come along?"

You spin back—staring at the Captain with palpable confusion. "Why would I want you to come on my date with me, Steve?" You raise a brow.

Steve glances to Bucky as if looking for backup. Bucky's too busy reading an article about the different ways to serve chai tea to help his brother out.

"I was just thinking I could shadow you or something," Steve suggests while looking back at you. "At least for the first part to make sure he's not Hydra or... or something."

Your eyes follow the patterns of Steve's easily read posture. His hands are on his hips and his lips set in a sturdy line. He's trying to seem brave, making a little blossom of attraction show up in your heart as you think that he's just trying to be protective of you.

You squash the blooming-bud of romance with one of your high heeled shoes.

Swallowing, you shake your head. "Thanks for the offer, Steve, but I'm plenty capable of taking care of myself."

"I know you are." Steve says, "I just—I just thought I'd offer."

"Well," you reply unsurely. "Thanks?" You grab your purse from the hook by the front door. "I'll see you guys later. Don't wait up for me, I'll probably be home pretty late."

"Bye!" Wanda calls out. She's already flipping through channels on the TV and thinking of ways she can boss Bucky around while you're gone.

"See ya," Bucky mumbles distractedly. He's doing a pop-culture crossword puzzle.

"Have fun! Text me! Use protection!" Shuri calls after you as you leave. The door closes and you're gone on the other side.

Steve huffs. You hardly gave him a second glance before leaving.

"Way to fuck that one up real good, idiot." Bucky chuckles from his seat.

"Shut up," Steve sighs. He drops back into his chair heavily. He runs a hand through his hair and can't help but look out the big window as your headlights turn on and then disappear down the driveway.

...

The first date with the body builder, supermodel wannabe was great. He was beautiful, friendly, and complimentary. You blushed most of the night but still felt like something was missing as he held the small of your back and opened doors. When you kissed him, he tasted like stale cigarettes—but you were sure that it was a flaw that could be overshadowed by the rest of him. But still, by your third date, something was still amiss.

You weren't sure what exactly it was that your intuition was trying to warn you towards until the fourth date, two weeks later, when he promised he'd be at the restaurant at seven and never came.

Your fingers flick the ends of the menu around—folding the imperfection over and over again until the crease turns into a tear. You sigh as the ruffled paper drops to your lap and then the floor.

"Are you sure I can't get you anything else?"

The waitress' voice breaks you out of your thoughtless stupor. She's been lingering around your table the last four hours bringing free bread and expensive alcoholic drinks. You ordered an appetizer out of pity because you're taking up one of her tables, but she seems to have just as much remorse for your situation than you do hers.

"The check, please." You smile regretfully at the young lady and she nods—a similarly strained smile stretching across her face. As she turns and heads away to grab your check you can't help but think back to the dates you'd had with Matt. Sure, you'd been unconvinced that he was "the one", but that wasn't going to stop you from having a good time. He'd been nothing but nice: staring adoringly in your eyes as you'd spoken about your life, dropped his jaw as you'd come into the room for the first time, and made plans to go to the beach with you this weekend.

His name on your screen is only seen as old conversations: late night ones from the evening before when he'd ask you a few personal questions and you'd asked them back. Then, a series of texts from you asking where he is: he said he'd be here. He said he'd meet you outside. Now, four hours later, you're tired and confused as to where the problem in this scenario lies.

Purse and busted ego in hand you return home at midnight. Carefully, as to not disturb any of the sleeping heroes upstairs, you close and lock the door behind you. Slipping out of your heels you carry yourself to the couch. It seems like too much work to drag your tired body upstairs for bed now. Besides, you're nowhere near tired. You're far too confused and angry to be tired.

"How'd it go?"

You let out a sigh. Of course God wants to taunt you by throwing Steve Rogers into the room. This should make for an exciting show.

"He didn't show," you decide to rip the Band-Aid off and announce it. You watch out of the corner of your eye as Steve rounds the corner of the couch.

Steve's dry eyes blink furiously. "What?"

Wordlessly you shrug. You turn your attention to the Us Weekly magazine that Bucky left on the coffee table. The couch cushions dip as Steve's settles down beside you.

"He didn't show? Did he say why?"

You shake your head. "I've been ghosted."

"What does that mean?" Steve asks carefully—not sure if he's going to like what it is that he hears. He's already angry beyond reason and he hasn't even gotten the full story. All he knows is that your cheeks are flushed from having a few drinks and your hair is crumpled from having had your fingers anxiously run through it, and your eyes avoid his: out of embarrassment, he decides.

"He just dropped off the face of the earth. Nothing from him at all: not a single word. I probably won't ever hear from him again, either." You toss the magazine that you've been rifling through onto the floor by your bare feet. "But whatever. I could care less." You shrug lamely and wish you hadn't glanced up and seen the pity in Steve's bright blue eyes. It stings plenty enough without knowing that Steve's commitment to you has him hurting, too.

Steve doesn't seem to know what to say. He stares at you, quite dazedly, while your head leans back against the rest of the couch. A deep breath lifts your chest and ruffles your curtains of pretty hair.

"I—I'm sorry, Y/N." Steve shakes his head stiffly. "I don't even know... I can't even begin to imagine what's going through his mind, because if it'd been me there would've been nothing on this earth to keep me from seeing you tonight."

Your eyes flick away from their resting spot by the wall to Steve's smooth-shaven face. "Really?" you ask quietly. You're not sure if he means it or if he's simply trying to do the right thing and make you feel better.

Steve seems to realize the implications of what he's said. A hard swallow nudges the visible lump in his throat. "Really," he repeats surely after a short while.

There you stay regarding one another for a few heartbeats longer. You're not sure what it is that's going through Steve's head as you lay on the couch with him sitting just ahead. Your knees are folded against his upper leg, barely brushing, and the ceiling fan ruffles his blond hair occasionally. He's breathtaking in the moonlight that comes streaming through the paneled windows behind. The stars build up like fireflies in his electric blue eyes. You notice through your staring that he's staring at you, too, and smile at him softly. He smiles back and your heart skips a beat.

That's when you decide to do the damn thing and kiss him.

Sitting upright on the couch facing him, you grab Steve's face by the chin and bring your lips to his. Eyes closed and hopes being held tight you pray that this isn't some big mistake.

When Steve kisses you back, it feels so damn right. You've been waiting to try this for such a long time: to see what it'd feel like to finally have your fingers in his hair and mouths combined. Short puckers are drawn out longer and Steve grabs you by the wrist—keeping you close to him. His fingers thread through yours while his other hand holds the side of your head. He tastes a bit like apricot jam and green tea. His smell is clean but musky like a summer oak tree being used to dry linens in the warm breeze.

Steve's the first to pull back. He does so very slightly, just enough to whisperingly admit, "I was jealous of him." The little green monster that's been rooted inside of him these last few weeks has suddenly exploded into a fury of fast-flying butterflies. Your eyes open in enough time to watch him pull back and cradle your face. Both palms warm your flushed cheeks and bring heat to your body in a thousand different places. He holds you so protectively: soft and firm at the same time, as if he's cradling a piece of glass. He says, "I can't stand the idea of anyone else's lips being on you but mine."

You smile softly—cheeks lifting against his palms and causing crinkles to form by your eyes. "I like the sound of that," you laugh lightly.

Steve chuckles before stopping suddenly. "I won't disappear on you." Steve's voice becomes soft and serious as his lips close in once more. The tip of his nose brushes yours and the hairs stand up on the back of your neck. "I'm not going anywhere."

When his lips press to yours one more time, you can feel it in your bones that he's telling the truth. Steve Rogers wouldn't dare ghost you, because you're the only woman that means the world to him.

And just like that, neither ghosts nor green monsters would ever haunt the two of you lovebirds ever again.