It wasn't even the feeling of this new suit coming off that truly bothered you; it was the smell. Two weeks on a grueling mission with little amenities, including showers, did it in for the entire team, but after so long nearly every member became accustomed to the shared musk. You had never wanted to hold your breath at a smell coming off of yourself that you had genuinely produced, but there was a first time for everything, and you had a feeling that many others were having the same problem in their own separate spaces.
It certainly didn't help that the material was especially grabby to your bare skin, notably your arms, legs, and stomach. Once you had managed to peel off the rest of the suit, it landed on the bathroom tiles with a smack, similar to a wet bandaid. "Disgusting," you mumbled to yourself, turning to start up the shower. It was a marvelous, well-earned sight after the long weeks you spent in Siberia, a country known to be home to a large Hydra base in the southern half. The aching muscles throughout your back and sides seemed to sigh in relief alongside you at the contact of warm water.
Even though you were gifted with inhuman strength, that didn't necessarily mean you were skillful in endurance or the general fitness needed for these kinds of missions. No ordinary human was, which is part of the reason why so many on the team weren't ordinary humans, or even human at all. There were many times where you felt faint and had to rely on what Hydra so graciously embedded in you to keep moving on. The presence of the team was incredibly comforting though, and you all had each other's backs no matter what, even when you were injured. This thought brought your hand down to your mid-thigh, where a soldier had managed to 'slash and dash,' as Tony put it on the com system.
Agent Romanoff rushed to your side through the heat of the fight and quickly aided you in getting back on your feet, only after wrapping your bloody leg in tight gauze and assuring you that it wasn't too deep. You couldn't thank her enough for that, and it very much encouraged your opinion of how supportive the team was, and definitely made you feel better about being chosen for it. If that wasn't enough, it was certainly the sound of James' voice over the com system asking you about you that gave you the strength to keep going, despite the emotional and physical pain of being in battle. You smiled to yourself as even the thought of it made you feel physically lighter where you stood, and the refreshing scent of being finally cleaned from the muck and grime reminded you that it was time to step out.
DING
The sound of your phone from your bedroom next door brought you out of the bathroom in a barely tied bathrobe and slippers in a rush; that was James' text tone. You had set it to a lighter sound, compared to the automatically set fwoop tone, just to distinguish between levels of importance.
James: Sam bought Starbucks and gave me a frappuccino. He knows I don't drink those. You want it? /1610/
(Y/n): Hell yeah. Bring it up /1611/
James: K /1611/
With no idea how quickly he would arrive with the drink, your heart rate increased upon the sight of a messy room that you had yet to pay any mind to when you had arrived. In a state of slight panic, you pushed the dirty clothes lying around underneath your bed, and picked up some trash along the way to throw in your bathroom trashcan. A few more adjustments later, and you realized that you were still rocking the bathrobe and slippers for the world to see, so you slipped on some sweats and a comfortable tee just as James' knock could be heard from the other side of the door. "Come in!" You called, dangerously aware of how unnatural you looked at the foot of your bed, with a mildly flushed complexion.
"Hey," He greeted, setting the beautiful drink down on your bedside table, which you just now realized was home to a candy bar wrapper you didn't notice on your trash purge. With the lingering feeling of embarrassment, you made your way over to the bathroom door to turn off the light and shut the door, so that the smell of your uniform didn't find its way to James' nose. Or yours, for that matter. "What a couple of weeks," You sighed, trying to break some tension you were 99% sure only you were feeling. "Yeah, that's definitely an understatement. How's your leg feeling?" He settled himself on your bed, catching your eye for a moment.
"It's fine. Doesn't hurt nearly as much." You sat down and adjusted yourself so that you could rest your head on the pillows situated in front of the headboard, but still be in a sitting position. He leaned over and handed you the drink, to which you happily consumed while he pulled out his phone. It took a few moments for you to decide what to do, but you settled on turning on the television to old reruns of some 80's sitcom about a housewife. The background noise instantly made you feel more comfortable, and as you had little pressing matters to discuss, you found yourself engulfed in the show, two-thirds of the way done with the beverage.
As the next episode's theme began playing, you quickly typed a password into your phone and opened up Snapchat, messing with some new filters they recently added. The one with the hearts looked very flattering on yourself, and the suggestion, 'Try with a friend!' popped up on the screen, so you decided to angle it over to James. He had already taken some interest in your cellular activities, and was currently looking at the screen. Once it detected his face, you grinned and pressed the button, much to his disapproval. "Get rid of it, I don't like it." He said this lightly, but a hint of sincerity was still there just beneath the surface.
Instead of deleting it, you tapped the screen to add the caption, "Chillin with my goth gf." He broke into a smile at the friendly nature of it, but still insisted on deleting it, to which you edited, "Chillin with my thicc goth gf." He shook his head, smile plastered to his face, and reached over to take your phone away to dispose of the picture. You quickly held it out of his reach and saved it without his knowledge, beginning to post it. He reacted suddenly, grabbing your wrist that held your phone in the air and earning a look of surprise from you. You realized this was about to get a little more serious when he reached with his free arm to take the phone. You counteracted by sitting on your knees and blocking his other hand, attempting to keep him still with your sore leg.
"(Y/n), please, I don't want you posting that." He had some strain in his voice while he tried to slip his metal arm out of yours. With some available movement left in your wrist, you flicked your phone to the other side of the bed, where James tried to flee. You grabbed him by the middle and trapped his hand underneath him. His free arm was struggling to reach the phone, and you couldn't allow yourself to move much more without letting him go, so you both started waving the two arms around in a pitiful battle for the device. His fingertips bumped the side, moving it even farther away from himself. His struggling noises were muffled by your sheets as you stuffed his head down onto your bed to impair his vision.
It would be noteworthy to mention that neither you nor him were using full strength, which is something you noticed partly through the struggle, but didn't have the time to question. When you risked adjusting your weight on top of him, his other arm broke from its bonds and he quickly overpowered you, sitting up and turning you onto your stomach just as you had done to him. "Jesus Ch-" you were cut off by the wind being squished out of you as he sat on your upper back to counter any attempts of escape. He easily reached over and grabbed your phone, it unfortunately still being unlocked, and took a moment to make his preferred adjustments. When he finished, he sat up and allowed you to take your first desperate breath for air, showing you the nonexistent picture.
In defeat, you shambled your way back to your spot and said, "That was highly unnecessary, you know." With a half-grin, he sat under the covers and propped his head up on a pillow, "I know." He sat back and continued watching the show while you took a moment to fix your disheveled hair, soon taking refuge under the blankets and adjusting a pillow behind your head so you could comfortably get a good angle on the TV. "What was that app you were using?" He asked, not looking away from the show until you did.
You let out a snort of amusement, thinking it was some kind of joke, until you considered his experiences and just how much he probably doesn't know about the modern world, let alone social media. You let your jaw work a bit as you gathered your thoughts and tried to figure out how to explain it. "Uh...well, it's called Snapchat and almost everyone uses it. You can download it if you want and I'll show you how to use it." He didn't respond, instead looking at you expectantly. It didn't occur to you that he didn't know how to download it until just now. "Oh. Hand me your phone real quick."
Just as you had expected, there was no password on it, and he hadn't downloaded any apps upon receiving the device, so you took it upon yourself to get him the basics, such as Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat, and Gmail. As you explained how to use each one, you set up his accounts under his supervision and began to send out requests to people on the team, assuming they were the only people he bothered to be around. Throughout the time it took to show him all of the features and settings, you barely noticed how much closer you shifted towards him, hips and arms were touching, but neither of you vocalized any qualms about it.
You made sure to plug in your accounts as well since you were close, and in the likely case he had any questions, you could answer him. "I think that covers everything. How do you feel?" He bit his lip and swiped through one of his accounts, "A little overwhelmed. They didn't have anything like this in the 40's." That brought up a question you had been wanting to ask, but didn't know if he would consider it to be rude or off-putting. "Are you...are you older than Cap?" You looked up from his phone and the gravity of how close you were hit you like a freight train, and judging by his expression, the feeling was reciprocated. "Yeah, he's a few years younger than me, why?"
His voice was extremely distant, and his initial shock had turned into something else, but you couldn't exactly tell, unlike how you could tell he had a mint not too long ago. "So, that would make you?" The gears in your head started turning, but you couldn't bring yourself to do any sort of mental exercise through how deep his blue eyes were. "101." Record scratch. "One hundred and one?" Your eyes widened, as did his. "Holy shit, you're so old." You both began laughing, the volume steadily increasing as you both let out your anxiety with comical hysteria. As it died down, you faced away from each other, and back the television in front of you, "Well, you look fantastic for your age, Barnes."
He smiled and guided your head to his shoulder, and you obliged, unfazed through how exhausted you felt. "Thank you, I try." He wrapped his arm around you, allowing it to rest in your lap as you both fell gently asleep.
Sam, reclining in the lounge area on the large, plush sofa felt a vibration in his back pocket. He set his book down, adjusted his weight, and found a notification from James on Snapchat. With a roll of his eyes, he opened it up and felt his brows furrow in confusion as James told him to check (Y/n)'s story. He did as instructed, and held his breath. The same picture you had taken earlier, that James had fought so hard to get a hold of, was posted with a slight alteration in the caption, "Chillin with my thicc goth bf." The picture closed and he sat for a few moments, mouth open, before frantically yelling for Steve.