#mcu ofc

[wintermav]

Boys are so silly 😌

[adhd-winterfalcon]

young sam wilson having a crush on james “bucky” barnes of the howling commandos during his WWII unit in school vs adult sam wilson dating and eventually marrying bucky barnes wilson…

do you see my vision

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to…” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. “Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[imthebadguyyy]

Iron Hearts

With the same fire and charm that runs in the Stark bloodline, you’ve never been one to fade into the background.

pairing : steve rogers x reader fandom : mcu synopsis : As Tony Stark’s younger sister, you’ve always shared his brilliance and bold personality. Outgoing, witty, and never afraid to speak your mind, you’re just as comfortable stealing the spotlight as your brother is. But when Tony ropes you into joining the Avengers' operations after the Chitauri invasion, the last thing you expect is to clash with Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man so different from the fast-paced world you’re used to. Steve’s stoic, old-fashioned values collide with your free-spirited nature, sparking a connection that’s as electric as it is infuriating. As the Avengers face new threats, you and Steve find yourselves drawn together in unexpected ways, each challenge bringing you closer. The world is always in need of saving—but will the Iron legacy and a shielded heart leave room for something more?

EPISODE 1 : COLLIDE

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The low hum of machinery filled your private lab, a familiar and soothing backdrop to the glow of various monitors and the holographic interface suspended above your desk. You were in your element here—surrounded by sleek gadgets, circuits, and blueprints only you understood. The soft, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bathed everything in a cool hue, making the outside world feel distant, almost irrelevant. Your hands moved with practiced precision, making the final tweaks to your latest invention—something sleek, cutting-edge, and powerful. It was not for public eyes, least of all Tony’s. Let him bask in the glory of his Iron Man suits and his public heroism. You preferred working in the shadows, away from the spotlight. After all, the real power came from the things people didn’t see.

Just as you were about to run another test, FRIDAY’s calm, computerized voice broke the silence. “Incoming call—Tony Stark.”

You let out a small, exasperated sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Of course Tony would interrupt now, just when you were getting into the groove. Without breaking your stride, you gestured toward the nearest screen, signaling FRIDAY to patch the call through.

Tony’s face flickered to life on the screen, his usual cocky grin already plastered across his face. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who constantly threw himself into world-saving chaos.

“Hey, sis. Got a minute?” His tone was casual, but you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Tony always had an ulterior motive.

“Not for you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched with a slight smile. You’d perfected the art of giving Tony a hard time over the years. “What do you need, Tony?”

“Can’t a brother call to check on his favorite sibling?” He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “We both know I’m your only sibling.”

“Touché,” he admitted, chuckling softly. "But seriously, I need you."

You froze momentarily, your hand hovering over the interface. Tony rarely outright asked for help, and when he did, you knew it was big. Slowly, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you gave him your full attention.

“I need my secret weapon,” Tony added, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he really wanted something.

You blinked at him, skeptical. “Secret weapon? Tony, I’m not about to be your backup tech support.”

Tony grinned, undeterred by your resistance. "This isn’t just tech support. It’s big. New team, new mission, bigger stakes. And who better to help me keep this bunch in line than you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the half-finished prototype on your desk. For years, you’d operated under the radar, happy to let Tony soak up the limelight. Being his sister came with a certain level of scrutiny you’d avoided like the plague. You preferred the quiet. The idea of stepping into the Avengers' world—especially now—seemed chaotic at best.

“I’m not suiting up, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you finally said, narrowing your eyes at him. The last thing you needed was to get dragged into one of his world-saving escapades in some shiny new armor.

“Of course not,” Tony grinned, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t ruling anything out entirely. “Just come to the Tower, meet the team. If you hate it, you can go back to hiding in your lab and pretending you’re not a genius like me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the thought lingered. A new team? A new mission? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If things went south, you could always disappear back into the shadows. But something in Tony’s tone hinted at urgency, something serious brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t just calling for fun. He needed you.

With a resigned sigh, you pushed off from the desk. “Fine. But this better not be some ploy to get me into an Iron suit.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No promises.”

The call ended with a flicker of the screen, and you were left standing in the soft hum of your lab, the weight of Tony’s request hanging in the air. You glanced at your half-finished prototype one last time before grabbing your jacket, muttering under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

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Later, at Avengers Tower, you stepped into the grand lobby, the space sprawling before you like something out of a futuristic movie. Towering glass walls reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect that made the entire room shimmer. High-tech displays blinked with data and notifications, while sleek metallic accents added to the modernity. It was a world apart from your cozy lab, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Tony had truly outdone himself with this place. The grandeur was impressive, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, a sense of unease settling in as you stepped further inside.

Just as you took another step, a voice sliced through the air behind you, cool and assessing. “So you’re the sister Tony doesn’t like to talk about.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding slightly at the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his muscular frame radiating authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it—a mix of skepticism and something akin to wariness. He looked you up and down, his gaze critical, and you could already sense the judgment simmering beneath the surface. He thought you were just another Stark, another piece in Tony’s ego-driven game.

“And you’re the soldier out of time,” you replied, matching his coolness with your own. The words felt sharper than you intended, a defensive instinct kicking in. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve offered a tight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t smile. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” you shot back, a hint of a smirk dancing on your lips. But Steve’s expression remained unyielding, the weight of his gaze unwavering.

“I’m not here to judge,” he stated, but his eyes bore into you, steady and measuring, as if he were trying to peel back layers of your identity with sheer will alone. “Just here to see if you’re serious.”

“Serious?” You scoffed, your heart racing with indignation. “About what?”

“About helping, about doing what’s right. We’ve got enough egos on this team.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a flash of frustration. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Tony,” you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension between you crackled in the air, palpable and thick. You hated the feeling of being judged before someone even bothered to know you, and clearly, Steve didn’t like the idea of another Stark stepping into the fold.

For a moment, silence engulfed you, and you could almost hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. The intensity of Steve’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and you wondered if he could see through your facade, exposing the vulnerabilities you kept hidden. You could sense his protective instincts flaring, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and somehow, you felt like an outsider even though you were family.

Just as the tension threatened to spiral further, Tony strolled into the room, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. “Hey, you two! Getting along already?” His grin was impossibly wide, brightening the atmosphere even as it made the air around you feel heavier with unresolved tension.

You shot Tony a glare that could’ve cut through steel. This was not the time for his usual bravado. Steve merely shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in an attempt to contain a smile. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on you, as if he were weighing the likelihood of your success in this new venture. Then, with a final, assessing glance, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Great. This is off to a fantastic start,” you muttered under your breath, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension churning inside you. The day had barely begun, and already you could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on you. As the lobby buzzed with the energy of heroes and high-tech innovation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a tightrope, teetering between proving yourself and succumbing to the shadows that felt all too familiar.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reminding yourself that you were here to help. No matter what Steve Rogers thought, you had your own strengths, your own path to carve in this world. You just had to figure out how to make them see that.

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The air in the war room was thick with tension as Tony briefed you on the mission, his voice crisp and urgent. “So here’s the deal: leftover Chitauri tech has been activated by HYDRA operatives in the city. It’s supposed to be a routine clean-up mission, but we know better than to underestimate anything HYDRA gets their hands on.” His brow furrowed, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach knot.

You listened intently, nodding as he laid out the plan. But as he insisted you tag along—even if just to observe and assess—you felt a mix of excitement and dread. You weren’t officially part of the team, yet here you were, being dragged into the chaos by your brother’s unwavering belief in your abilities.

When you arrived at the scene, the streets were already in chaos. The sounds of sirens blared, drowning out the shouts of frantic civilians being evacuated. Smoke billowed into the air, curling around toppled cars and shattered glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as you surveyed the destruction.

Amid the chaos, Steve barked orders at the rest of the team, his authoritative voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of hope. You hung back, monitoring the situation from a mobile unit that Tony had rigged up for you—a lifeline of information in a storm of uncertainty.

“Stay behind the lines!” Steve called out to you over his shoulder, his tone firm as he and Natasha led the charge into the fray.

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and determination bubbling inside you. "I know what I’m doing, Captain," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled like a helpless child.

Just as the fight erupted, the atmosphere shifted. A crackling energy surged through the air, and before you could process the threat, one of the HYDRA operatives unleashed a pulse from the Chitauri device. The wave of electricity shot toward you, a blinding flash of danger that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins.

In that split second, everything shifted. Time seemed to slow as you braced for impact, your instincts screaming at you to move, to do something—anything. But before you could react, Steve surged forward like a force of nature. He slammed his shield into the ground with a resounding thud, creating a barrier that absorbed the surge of energy before it could reach you.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you like a tidal wave. Steve turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. “I said stay behind,” he said, his voice clipped, but there was a hint of protectiveness that made your heart race.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, though deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You felt a surge of embarrassment rising within you, the remnants of the adrenaline making you defensive.

Steve didn’t argue further, but his gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to gauge the depths of your resolve. The moment stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, and you could sense a silent acknowledgment between you—this was new territory for both of you, a fragile thread connecting your destinies.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. With a final look that communicated both concern and determination, Steve charged back into the fray, his shield raised high as he fought against the chaos. You stood there, heart racing, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, admiration, and a flicker of fear for what lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you refocused on the task at hand. You weren’t going to let this moment define you. You had to prove to yourself, and to Steve, that you belonged here—among heroes and legends. The fight was just beginning, and you were ready to carve your place in it.

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The mission concluded in a flurry of activity and relief, but the tension between you and Steve lingered in the air like an unresolved chord. Back at the Tower, you settled in front of the computer, the glow of the screen casting an almost ethereal light across your face as you replayed footage of the battle. Each frame brought back the chaos—the electricity crackling, the screams of civilians, and Steve’s shield slamming into the ground just in time to save you. The rush of adrenaline from earlier mixed with a more unsettling feeling as you examined the moment you almost lost everything.

As you scrolled through the footage, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Steve; the weight of his gaze felt palpable, a steady warmth that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the battle you had just fought. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the soft light of the hallway, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, cutting through the silence that surrounded you.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, momentarily meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice a mix of pride and humility.

“But next time,” he continued, the firmness returning to his tone, “don’t make me have to save you.”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips, a spark of your trademark confidence flaring up in response. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t,” you shot back, your tone light, though beneath it was a current of seriousness.

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he studied you. In his blue eyes, you caught a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a grudging respect, maybe even a hint of admiration. It made your heart flutter unexpectedly, a rush of warmth that was both thrilling and confusing. The Captain of America saw you, and for a moment, the weight of expectations from being Tony Stark's sister lifted, replaced by a connection that felt genuine.

He nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment shared between you, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another fleeting exchange. You were carving out your own space in this team, proving that you were more than just Tony’s sister—you were a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

Left alone in the dim light of the lab, you turned back to the screen, but your thoughts were no longer on the footage. Instead, your mind lingered on Steve’s quiet strength, his unwavering resolve. You were beginning to understand that there was more to him than just the Captain—the man behind the shield had his own battles, his own vulnerabilities.

And you felt an undeniable pull towards him, a sense of camaraderie that was slowly transforming into something deeper. The mission had ended, but the journey was just beginning, and you were more determined than ever to prove yourself—not just to Steve, but to the entire team.

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The mission had been a success, but the moment Steve saw you—Tony’s sister—standing there, he felt the weight of responsibility tugging at his heart. He knew you had potential; he’d seen you handle yourself with surprising skill, but he wasn’t prepared for how much the little spark in your eyes got under his skin.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched you replay the footage of the battle. You were focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and it captivated him. You radiated a unique blend of confidence and determination, much like your brother, yet with a warmth that was distinctly your own.

When he finally spoke, telling you that you handled yourself well out there, he truly meant it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a mix of admiration and wariness wash over him. You were Tony’s sister—his little sister. He recalled the stories Tony had told him about your childhood, the sibling rivalry, and how fiercely protective Tony had always been of you. That instinct felt like a wall between them, even as he felt drawn to you.

“Don’t make me have to save you,” he warned, hoping to impress upon you the importance of caution. He had seen too many people underestimate their enemies, and he didn’t want you to be another victim of that recklessness.

Your response—light and teasing—pulled a small smile from him, but it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t.” It was infuriating how effortlessly you seemed to deflect his concern. You had a spark that reminded him of Tony, but there was something more disarming about you. Something that made it hard for him to maintain his composure.

He nodded, more to himself than to you, before he turned to leave. He didn’t want to admit how much your presence affected him, how he found you attractive in a way that made him question everything he knew about focusing on the mission. But he also understood that getting involved with Tony’s sister could complicate things—complicate his already tangled life.

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As the days turned into weeks, you became a more permanent fixture in the Tower, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you blended into their chaotic team dynamic. Watching you interact with the others was eye-opening. You had Tony’s quick wit, but there was a warmth in your approach that brought out the best in everyone.

He remembered a moment during a team meeting when Clint made a joke at your expense. Without missing a beat, you shot back, “If you’re going to insult me, at least make it clever.” The room erupted in laughter, and Steve found himself chuckling along, secretly impressed by your tenacity.

But the more time he spent with you, the more he struggled with his feelings. You were intelligent, fiercely capable, and incredibly brave—qualities he admired. Yet every time he looked at you, he felt the ghost of Tony’s protective nature hovering over them. He could practically hear Tony warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that you were off-limits. It was a mental tug-of-war, and every glance between them only heightened his awareness of how close they were getting.

One evening, you both worked late in the lab. He caught you watching him as he threw punches at a training dummy, a curious smile dancing on your lips. It was a moment of connection, but it also made his heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified him. He knew you were trouble, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

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a/n : so this is new series im experimenting with!! not proofread. any comments tips suggestions you have would be highly appreciated. happy reading!!

TAGS

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove@bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm specifying which fandom 🩷

[mywritesaremylove]

Terms & Conditions

Loki Odinson x Stark's Daughter Smut Warning 18+

The sound of her stilettos was a warning.

A threat wrapped in red soles and patent leather. Every step down the hallway of Avengers Tower was deliberate, measured, and entirely for show. She wasn’t just Tony Stark’s daughter. She was a legal powerhouse in her own right. Stark Industries' corporate counsel. Avengers' in-house attorney. And the only woman in the building who made Loki Odinson feel utterly human when she pinned him in place with a look.

Her office door closed behind her with a soft hiss, locking automatically.

“I told you to wait until after five,” she said, not looking up.

“And I told you I don’t follow rules.” Loki’s voice was dark velvet, already behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, smirking. He was leaning against her desk like he owned it, that familiar arrogance in every line of his tall frame. Dark slacks, black button-down rolled to the elbows. The god of mischief made it all look criminally good.

“You’ll get us caught,” she murmured, setting her files down. “Pepper’s two offices down.”

Loki moved like smoke—silent, dangerous. Suddenly he was behind her, warm breath teasing her ear. “Then keep your voice down.”

His hand slid up her thigh, under the hem of her skirt, palm rough against her stockings. She closed her eyes for a beat, exhaled through her nose. He always started slow, teasing, until she was grinding against his palm like she had no pride.

“Loki,” she warned.

“Yes?” That amused tone. That deadly smirk in his voice. “Should I stop?”

She didn’t answer. Just tilted her hips into his hand.

His fingers brushed the thin lace of her thong. “Already wet,” he murmured, pleased.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, Starkling. You love it when I talk.”

He pushed the thin fabric aside and ran his fingers through her slick folds, slow and deliberate. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk. She bit her bottom lip hard.

“If you get slick on my briefs again,” she said through her teeth, “you’re buying me new ones.”

He chuckled. “Gladly. I’ll pick red. Like those perfect little heels you click across the floor like a war drum.”

He dipped one finger inside her, then two, curling them just right. Her legs buckled slightly, and he caught her with an arm around her waist, fingers never stopping. Her soft gasp made him grin against her neck.

“You’re always so professional,” he growled. “All polished and untouchable. But in here…”

He thrust deeper, twisting his wrist, and her knees gave out. He held her up easily, lips grazing her ear.

“In here, you’re mine.”

She turned her head, lips finding his in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and hunger. His free hand gripped her jaw, holding her still as he kissed her like a punishment. She bit his lip and he moaned low in his throat.

Then she shoved him back, turned, and climbed onto the desk.

“Pants off,” she commanded, crossing her legs slowly. “Now.”

Loki arched a brow, eyes devouring her from her tousled hair to the flash of red sole she deliberately showed. “So bossy,” he said, already unbuckling his belt. “Just how I like you.”

She slid her blazer off, revealing the silk camisole beneath. Her nipples were already hard through the fabric. No bra. He groaned when he realized it.

“Desperate today, are we?”

She didn’t answer. Just spread her legs.

He stepped between them, hard and ready, the head of his cock already leaking. She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand to her mouth, licking her arousal off his fingers while holding his gaze.

Loki swore in Old Norse.

“Need to be quiet,” she whispered as he lined up. “You make me loud.”

He thrust in with one hard stroke.

Her head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry. Loki’s hands gripped her hips, bruising. She was tight and wet and perfect, and the desk creaked beneath them.

“I’ll make you scream anyway,” he muttered, starting to move.

He fucked her like he didn’t care who was outside that door. Like he owned her office, her body, her moans. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, heels locked behind his back as he pounded into her again and again.

Papers scattered. A framed photo tipped. Her phone buzzed on the desk and she slapped it away.

“Faster,” she begged, voice hoarse. “Please.”

He growled, hand slipping between them to rub her clit in hard circles.

“Come for me,” he hissed. “Now.”

She shattered.

Her whole body shook, a cry catching in her throat as her climax tore through her. He followed a moment later, hips stuttering, holding her tight as he spilled inside her.

The room went silent but for the sound of their breathing.

After a moment, she pushed him back with a weak hand to the chest.

“Get cleaned up. We have a team meeting in ten.”

Loki smirked, still catching his breath. “You’re adorable when you pretend I didn’t just fuck you stupid.”

She fixed her hair in the reflection of her office window. Found her blazer. Reapplied lipstick.

Loki was pulling his shirt back on, utterly unfazed.

As he walked to the door, she said without turning around: “Lock it behind you.”

He did. Of course he did.

Because they had rules.

And even gods knew not to cross a Stark on her turf.

[sacredfixation]

[headcanons] Lokius but its Loki being.. well. Loki.

Loki: I’m not doing field missions. I don’t take orders. I delegate.

cut to him in the field, dirt on his face, one sleeve ripped, yelling “GET BEHIND ME MOBIUS” while stabbing a time anomaly with something thats probably cursed

Mobius: I’m just going to go talk to Renslayer. Alone.

Loki: Fine. I’m staying out of it.

Cue Loki casually materialising in the corner of the room mid-confrontation like, “Oh don’t mind me, Im just a decorative dagger rack”

Loki: I don’t get attached. That’s for lesser beings.

Mobius is 11 minutes late to their usual meeting time.

Loki: already convinced he’s been pruned, mourning him like a tragic widow, composing a ballad in ancient Asgardian about “a man who smelled faintly of vanilla and mid-century repression”

Mobius: Dont wait up. I’ve got a late debrief.

Loki: I wouldnt waste time waiting.

Cue to Loki literally sitting on top of Mobius’ desk, cross-legged, reading a 900-page time law book by candlelight like a Victorian ghost wife.

Mobius: I’m proud of you.

Loki, full deer-in-headlights panic, blinking rapidly: Y-you cant say things like that to me, I’m made of trauma.

Mobius touches his arm for .3 seconds

Loki, five hours later, pacing in his quarters in full Asgardian armor: I could kiss him. Not like I want to, of course, but tactically. For morale. Or espionage. Or-gods, what am I saying-what if I did kiss him? What if I’ve already kissed him in a branched timeline and forgotten it?! I HAVE TO GO FIND THAT VERSION OF ME-

[padchai]

Can we all agree that Casual by Chappell Roan is their official song?? They didn’t have that car scene for nothing 👀

[starrlova]

boblena this. voidwalker that. actually the thunderbolts are poly or none of them are together take it or leave it

[hereliesvsobsessions]

"I HEARD PEOPLE WERE SHIPPING US?"

"I KNOW I STARTED IT."

[latent-thoughts]

Ravished by a God - Chapter 38

Summary: When a God decides to chase you, what do you do? You’re Tony Stark’s employee, living in the famed Stark Tower. One day, you get cornered by the notorious God of Mischief and have a very revealing experience about your own kinks. Hence begins your clandestine dance with Loki, who is all too keen to claim you as his and show you all the forbidden pleasures he has to offer.

However, your kinky dance with him is not the only concern you have. Something murky is brewing within SHIELD, and Tony Stark specifically wants you to find the root of it. What can a mere human do when caught between superheroes, gods and a deviant government? You’re about to find out.

[WARNING: This work contains NSFW explicit and taboo sexual themes like noncon/dubcon, BDSM, spanking, etc. It is strictly 18+. Reader discretion is advised. Consume your media wisely.]

Pairing: Loki/Reader

[READ ON AO3]

[somuchforahobby]

somuchforahobby masterlist

Hello! Thank you so much for stopping by, hereby you’ll find my work divided by characters. You must know I always write female reader but there are none (i think!) body descriptions nor sex descriptive scenes. I am also not comfortable writing smut yet so this is mostly fluff, comfort & angst.

Requests are open btw (though they might take a while!)

Hope you enjoy! :) updated on June 26, 2025

Obi-wan Kenobi

interrupted, part 2, part 3, part 4 , part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

I don’t have to guess

que lo malo sea bueno e lo impuro bendecío

I volunteer (drabble)

absolute-kriffing-diva (drabble-request)

something of mine

illicit affairs (request)

Nikolai Lantsov

how many secrets can you keep?

whiskey on ice, sunset and vine

International relations

James Bucky Barnes

Misunderstanding, part 2

coping mechanisms

Loki

you´d make me fall from heaven

Doctor Strange

A real life doctor: - wise hands - bargain - scorpio sun

Cure your disease

Aaron Hotchner

invisible string

what didn't stay in vegas

playing dangerous (not on tumblr yet)

Spencer Reid

do you still think love is a laserquest?

[risrambles]

unfortunately if we do get the whole “sentry using everyone’s greatest fears against them” in thunderbolts i fear hes going to have a FIELD DAY with bucky

[lady-murderess]

𝘽𝙊𝘽 𝙍𝙀𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙇𝘿𝙎  — 𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘕𝘚.

You know what? I really wanna share some of my Bob headcanons with you all. It's been a while since I last put any headcanons out there, and I just have so many for him.

× Bob cannot commit to anything for shit, especially when it comes to hobbies. He's tried to take up a wide range of hobbies for a while, but one after the other, he quickly lost interest in them. His attention span was nonexistent when it came to these things, and he has never been entirely fond of doing this sort of stuff by himself either.

× He is very fond of Tyler, The Creator. Bob finds that he relates heavily to Tyler's music. Although he really isn't proud of it, he can relate heavily to certain parts of Yonkers because of the rage in some of those twisted lyrics.

× He also likes the band Gorillaz, his favourite album is the self titled one, feels he resonates with that album the most out of all their discography. He just likes the genre of the album and the gloominess of some of the songs.

× It's very easy for him to lose track of what day it is... Everything is just sort of a blur to him, so he can never really be trusted to plan ahead. It's all just so mixed up and it gives him a headache to try and piece his week together. There's no point in buying a calendar because he never even bothers to look at one. He doesn't even bother with the one on his phone either, so why go out of his way to spend money on something he's definitely not going to use?

× He's an odd socks kind of guy; the type who wears one plain white sock and a black halloween themed sock that has orange pumpkins on it. It's not unheard of for him to be wearing one ankle sock and a knee high sock either...

× He carries a lot of unbridled rage in him. You would never think so just by looking at him and talking to him, but that's because he is very careful of his actions... That is, until he finally gets pushed over the edge and Bob is no longer... Bob. But even then it takes a lot for him to snap.

× He's a sleeve grabber. If it's not his sleeves he's grabbing for security, it's Yelena's.

× His body clock is completely fucked and no matter what he does, he can never seem to fix it. He wakes up at 3am most nights without fail and will be awake for hours because he just can't seem to settle down again.

× He's been told time and time again that going for a walk will benefit his mental health, and he keeps saying he'll go on one but always finds a reason to put it off every time.

[mercurial-chuckles]

Permanence

| Part 01: Echoes of Reverie

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x OFC (I referred to her as she/her, as requested, to help with connection, and only used her name where it felt relevant) Warnings: Fluff | Angst | Slight Pining | Angry Bucky | Poly relation | Eventual Smut Galore | Eventual Fluff Galore | ~4.5k | Canon divergent | Named OFC: Lienna Nightingale | Happy ending (it's me!) | Kept the warnings basic 'coz I don't wanna reveal a lot | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. A/N: This is my first-ever OFC, so forgive any indiscretions. 😅 I'm super nervous, TBH! I have a lot of people to thank. Firstly, thank you for trusting my writing enough to send in this beautiful ask @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog You know how much I adore this story, and I hope I do it justice. I'm truly sorry for how long I sat on this one--I know it's special to you, just as it is to me. I really hope I deliver. Thank you for bearing with me for so long, dear. And thanks to @stellar-solar-flare , @buck-star , @late-to-the-party-81 Every teeny suggestion helps! You guys are the absolute best! 🩷 This is also my submission for Stucky Bingo | Prompt: Adrenaline | @stuckybingo Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! Banner and Divider made by me. Picture credits to the internet! Thank you :) Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

New York City, 2011

Steve felt a little queasy. Maybe skipping breakfast wasn't the best idea. But he was too excited to care. Watching the game with Bucky and her, especially from the incredible seats Mr. Barnes had scored for them, was more than enough to keep his spirits high.

Curveball. High and outside for ball one.

It was a pleasant day. The bright blue summer sky gleamed, cloudless, and Steve was so happy, that he was practically floating on cloud nine. He felt strange though, like he'd lived through this memory countless times, and yet, he didn't want it to end.

"Hey, give 'em to me, punk. You gonna eat it all?" Bucky's voice rang loud and warm in his ear, right as he yanked the fries out of Steve's hand.

"Let him eat, Buck," She grumbled. She reached over, snatched the fries back from Bucky's grip, and handed it to Steve, her fingers brushing his. Then, the little menace she was, she dipped into the fries Steve had been cradling and stole a few for herself.

"Hey, now. I said I'd buy extra," Steve teased, holding the fries behind him far from her reach with a smirk that made her squint at him in mock irritation.

"Guess you'll have to make that run anyway, punk," Bucky laughed, nudging him. She and Bucky both doubled over, cackling. Steve turned only to find a little kid who'd wandered over and taken a fistful of his fries, grinning up at him. Steve chuckled and gave him the rest.

"Sharing your food? You might be the kindest man I've ever met," she said, with that beautiful smile that revealed a tiny dimple on her left cheek and never failed to make his heart flutter. Bucky caught his gaze and winked, grinning like a devil. Steve felt his face flush, heat creeping up his neck.

"Shut up," Steve muttered turning his focus to the field, but his mind was on the two people beside him.

Steve leaned back into the warmth beside him, Bucky's shoulder solid against him. She clutched his other arm, her delicate fingers laced with his own, eyes fixed on the game. This was home. The game in the background, the cheer of the crowd, and the two people he loved on either side. Perfect.

But there was that queasy sensation again. Steve shifted, and for a moment, he thought he felt something soft pressing against his head.

Suddenly, he was no longer in the Ebbet's field.

.

.

She sat beside him on the windowsill of his apartment, squeezing his shoulder lightly, assuring.

"You've got me, Steve. Bucky will be fine," she said, but he could sense she didn't believe that either, but he held onto her hand tightly. She leaned her head onto his shoulder as they stared at the Hudson, watching boats float by.

Something felt off.

Was he dreaming?

.

.

His surroundings shifted to that dreadful afternoon when he received the letter with a small pocket watch and a tiny feather. She left him. She left him. He cried unbothered as he read the letter sitting on that wobbly chair in Chicago's USO tour. Steve felt his world close in.

It all faded again, and then he was somewhere else. Bucky beside him in his uniform. A bar. 'Listen to me, Steve. Once this is over, we're gonna find her,' Steve could only nod at the conviction in Bucky's voice as he stared at Bucky's raging blues.

"Steve," Bucky's voice became more muffled this time. What's that noise? A train? He was on the train.

"STEVE."

"BUCKY…Buck...hold on."

Bucky looked up at him silently, fearfully. He lost the grip on the bar and Steve couldn't reach him in time.

Bucky fell, and Steve jumped after him.

~

Steve's eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times; the pale white ceiling came into focus. He frowned. He was in a room. Everything came to him at light speed. The memory of him crashing into the water, thoughts of Bucky and her before he felt the cold seep through, lulling him unconscious.

So, the Dodgers are tied, 4-4.

But he was there at the game. Then why was it being broadcast? Something wasn't right.

And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again.

Steve remembered Bucky and him assuring her that the game would turn.

Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field.

It was. Steve knew that. He remembered filling pages and pages of memories from that day. She looked exceptionally pretty. She wore a white dress, with faded prints of lilacs and poppy flowers, spattered across her dress. Bucky wore a much darker shade of blue shirt than him. He looked so young and handsome.

Steve felt the softness of the bed, the light sifting through the window too bright as his focus shifted to the room around. It looked like a hospital room, the fancier kind. The radio looked familiar, and the flowers smelled fresh, too.

The Phillies have managed to tie it up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on.

The memory of crashing into the arctic water rushed into the forefront of his mind, and he mentally scanned his body, but the pain was the last thing he felt.

Pearson beaned Resiser in Philadelphia last month.

Steve vividly remembered the day. Dodgers win. Bucky, Lienna and he had gone to the little Italian place two blocks from Ebbets Field after the game. His memory was sharp, and it was that game, the day that remained one of his most treasured memories.

Something was terribly off. Where was he? Did he die? Was this some afterlife thing? Would he find Bucky like he thought? Would she be here?

Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favor? Pete leans in. Here's the pitch.

Steve's enhanced hearing picked up noises from outside the room. Kids playing, some buzzing, cars running, two people talking outside.

'What are you doing here, agent?'

'Vitals?'

'Agent.' Steve picked up from the conversation. Was this Hydra?

Steve turned back to see the potential exits. The window seemed possible, but something was wrong. He could see the people in the building, but they were blurred and moving in a loop.

Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo.

'Stay alert,' he heard from outside the door. Footsteps approached the door, and Steve's heart picked up.

Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher's going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get him.

The door opened, and a woman entered.

"Good morning," she smiled, closing the door and standing near it, blocking. "Or should I say afternoon?" Steve gathered she was an American. Was this the agent?

"Where am I?" He asked, his throat felt rough, unused. He needed water.

"You're in a recovery room in New York City," she said.

The Dodgers take the lead, 8-4. Oh, Dodgers!

Steve heard a distant whistle and turned to look through the window again, nothing had changed.

Everyone is on their feet! What a game we have here today, folks! What a game, indeed.

The woman was lying clearly.

"Where am I really?" Steve asked again, listening intently to the conversation outside. He could hear men talking, walking closer.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." She said.

"The game. It's from May 1941. I know, 'coz I was there." Steve told her firmly. "Now, I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?" Steve could sense her fear, and he noticed her hand flicking to something behind. Was it a weapon? He could jump out of the windows, but those windows didn't seem right to him. The door was the only option.

"Captain Rogers…"

Steve heard more footsteps and hurried voices.

"Who are you?" Steve yelled.

The door opened, and two men entered, and Steve punched them right through the door before they approached. They went flying and fell into the hallway, cracking open the whole space.

The room was a setup. Where the hell was he?

Was it Hydra? But how could that be possible? Did they find him?

Doors burst open as he charged through level after level of the mysterious, clinical-looking facility.

Something was terribly wrong. Where was he? Was this Hydra? Did they capture him after all? He most definitely didn't feel this was an afterlife.

'All agents, code 13!' He heard through the speakers. He dashed through the double doors and there were more men in suits. He saw two armed men on the end, and Steve took off through the other end of the hallway and out through the exit.

Shit. Shit.

He ran as fast as he could, but his steps faltered as he took in his surroundings.

His mind exploded. Lights in broad daylight. Massive screens. Towering buildings. Crowds. Noise.

Steve stood frozen. This was wrong.

His breathing quickened. A thousand questions flooded his mind, memories clashing with the overwhelming reality before him. Too many people. Crowd. Loud. Honking.

What were those? Cars? They looked different.

"At ease, Soldier," he heard. A man with an eye patch approached. Steve's thoughts went berserk. Who was he? Should he punch the other eye and run for it?

"Look. I'm sorry about the little show back there, but," the man started speaking, sighing before he continued, "We thought it best to break it to you slowly." He said.

"Break what?" Steve asked, confused out of his wits.

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost 70 years," he said.

Steve felt his ground shift.

No.

No.

No.

When he took down the jet, Steve felt an eerie kind of peace. In his final moments, he let himself believe he'd saved her, along with the countless others who'd never known him. It was poetic, really. He'd taken the serum for her, after all. For a chance at a future they were never granted, and maybe--just maybe--he'd see Bucky again if there was an afterlife.

Fate, however, deemed he needed to simply suffer.

"You gonna be okay?" The man asked.

Steve said nothing as melancholy settled thickly in his mind.

What would he do in a world without Bucky and her?

Skovheim, Norway, 2011

It was bitterly cold. She draped the throw blanket from the couch, hoping to keep herself warm. She hated the cold. It reminded her of terrible times, times of loss.

She'd pushed those thoughts away and went to check on the cake. Plum. His absolute favorite. She turned off the oven and set the cake on the tray to let it cool.

The clock ticked past seven, and the branches of the birch tree outside rattled on the kitchen window. The wind picked up. It had been raining since morning, which was rare for this time of year.

Bucky was never late.

Fear mounted her by the second.

She turned off the light in the kitchen to get a glimpse down the winding road.

The sensors had stopped working and needed to be replaced. Bucky had installed several of them, starting from the point where the hidden road to their cottage began, down at the base of the hill.

The cottage was located up the steep hill, hidden by luscious trees, with a patch of birch trees between the thick coverage. It was beautiful, to say the least, but most importantly, it was strategic. One side was shielded by the edge of the mountain, which overlooked the sea, and there was only one way of entry and no residences nearby.

She told herself the roads were probably flooded--or maybe there were fallen trees. Bucky was a supersoldier; moving a tree or two would be nothing for him. Still, unease coiled tight in her chest. She could sense him, just like she had always known he was alive--even back when the world grieved Sgt. Barnes' heroic death in World War II. She knew Bucky was alive. But she worried. She was, after all, more human. Moments like this made her wish she had the power to teleport.

She didn't want him to go in the first place, but they were running low on groceries, and Bucky was fretting about replacing the sensors and security system. Usually, night was a safer time to avoid interaction with the townsfolk. Also, Arne, their trusted contact, was to meet with Bucky in the town to deliver the equipment, monitors, transponders, sensors, and a few others. She hated that she couldn't convince Bucky to let her join. James Buchanan Barnes was a stubborn man, alright.

She heard a distant roar and ran toward the window; she could barely make the lights--one brighter than the other--of their pickup truck in the foggy downpour. She ran and waited by the door. Her nerves wouldn't settle until she saw him.

She stood by the door. 'Come on. Come on,' she chanted. After a few minutes, she heard the shuffling behind the door.

Then came the creak of the door--a groan against the frame that made her freeze.

Silence.

Then, two knocks. Two seconds apart.

Her body moved before she could breathe in relief, hand on the knob, waiting.

He'd drilled it into her head: Never open unless you hear the knock.

She unlatched the door and let it swing open against the push of the wind.

Bucky stepped inside, closing the door behind him, with more force than necessary. Water dripped from the hem of his coat, pooling on the wood floor. The cap was soaked, plastered to his head, shadowing his eyes.

He didn't greet her with the usual, 'I'm here, I'm okay.' in that gentle tone like he usually assured her every time he returned.

She searched his eyes, worry wrecking her gut.

"I'm fine," Bucky muttered after a few seconds, eyes flicking to her face.

She let out a sigh of relief. He seemed off but she didn't think much about it, more worried that he was soaked to the bones.

"You're drenched," she said, worried.

"It's pouring," he offered with a faint, bitter chuckle, trying to toe off his boots, but they were sloppy wet, squelching with the slightest movement.

"You don't say," she chuckled, trying to tug the boot off as he shifted his weight.

"I got it," he hissed sharply.

She stilled immediately, retrieving her hand and standing up. Bucky rarely got this way. Touch used to bother him a few years ago. But for the last couple of years, it seemed like he was past that. Now, her mind was back to worrying.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly. Bucky stiffened. Her focus shifted to his right hand, fisted tightly around the box in his hand. He seemed to notice as he flexed his palm, and he dropped the box beside the door, along with two other bags, wordlessly.

She dragged the old chair from the dining table, the legs scraping softly across the wood.

He lowered himself into the chair, broad shoulders hunched, clothes clinging to his body and accentuating his form. Bucky didn't meet her eyes, removing his shoes, almost tearing them off his feet.

She reached for his cap and gently tugged it off his head. He finally looked at her, and she was pretty sure he looked miffed.

"You'll get sick," she muttered.

"I don't get sick," he quipped.

She tutted, his mood firing up her frustration further, but she knew nothing would yield when he was in a mood. She'd wait to ask questions later, once he showered and ate.

"Hang up your things. I'll make you some tea. Don't take long in the shower." She said.

She noticed the stiffness in his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom at the far end of the living room. That shoulder must be acting up again. The cold always made it worse. She wondered if he'd let her ease the pain in peace or if she'd have to coax him into it.

By the time Bucky returned from the shower and changed into his joggers and Henley, she had mopped the floor and unpacked the groceries from the waterproof bags.

His hair was still wet, droplets falling. It was fricking cold, and this man didn't flinch. It bothered her how blatantly reckless he was with his health. It bothered her how much he affected her, all while looking infuriatingly gorgeous. She'd rather not delve into those waters. It was a dangerous realm.

So, she ignored the trickling water droplets down the expanse of his neck and internally berated herself. She handed him the cup of tea and turned to fetch a dry towel. Bucky's gaze followed her as she walked to get another dry towel.

She noticed him eyeing the cake when she returned with a towel. "You're not getting a single piece if you don't dry your hair right now," She said, pushing the towel toward him.

"Is that so," he sniggered, looking down at her, and she caught the sly twitch of his pink lips before he turned to sit on the couch.

Bucky wasn't the man she remembered from the 40s--the playful, flirty, sassy, nerdy boy from Brooklyn. Hydra had changed him immensely so. It had been almost a decade since he escaped their clutches, a decade since she found him. He was healing slowly but surely. She'd like to believe that. They'd been through a lot, collectively as well as individually. So, the little glimpses of the lost man always rejoiced her.

Eventually, he'd get there. He had to.

"Stop it, you'll hurt your neck," She chastised when she noticed him vigorously moving his head against the towel. She pulled the towel from his grasp, at least tried. Initially, Bucky didn't budge but he reluctantly let go. She smiled, victorious, as he slumped into the couch and sighed, letting her gently towel off his hair.

She knew he hadn't slept well last night. He'd almost finished reading the book he had started--she noticed the bookmark.

Every time he had to go into the town, he got tense. Bucky wouldn't tell her, but she knew it. They'd been living and navigating through this life for a few years now. Though she was grateful he'd come a long way, Bucky still had a long winding road ahead to fully heal.

"That's how you do it, Sgt Barnes," She jested, pulling his hair back into a small bun. He let out a satisfied hum, which made her stomach flip.

"Hand me that scrunchie," she asked.

He leaned over, tugging her gently along the couch as she held his hair up. That's when she noticed him flinching.

"Bucky?" She quickly tied his hair and moved around to sit beside him on the couch. She tried to reach for his hand, but he pulled away.

"Bucky," she prompted, this time pleading.

He sighed, pulling the sleeve of his right arm up his veiny forearm, and the long gash of red and blue bruise marred on his skin. If his serum didn't already heal, it only meant the bruise was worse, to begin with.

"What happened?" She asked, worried and angry that he hadn't told her about it.

"It's nothing," he dismissed, "Got a flat, had to change the tire in the nasty weather. Hurt myself," he finished, already pulling away, but she held onto it with all her strength, fighting him. He didn't look guilty, unlike the other times when he hid his injuries or sufferings. He looked unapologetic.

"Bucky."

"Anna," he murmured.

"Shut up and stay put," She hissed, livid. This wasn't the first time, and she knew it wasn't going to be the last. Bucky loved to suffer, and he thought he was reaping all the consequences of his actions. She'd fight this war with him until she won despite losing the battles every now and then.

She cupped her palm over his bruise and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth emanate. She felt the faint, dizzying sensation. When she opened her eyes, the bruise faded, and the skin on his warm forearm looked normal, with no sign of the gash anymore.

Bucky's silence was telling, the sharp tick of the jaw and the crease between his brows, and she waited for a long moment, but he said nothing.

"What?" She asked, not being able to bear his silence anymore.

"Nothing." He bit out rather harshly.

"I can't see you hurt," those words hurtled before she could stop. In an attempt to belie her vulnerability--her love, she got up from there, hoping to fade her emotional turmoil. She blinked back the tears threatening to spill and made her way to the kitchen, willing her thoughts to quiet as she focused on heating up dinner.

"Bucky, dinner's ready," she called out, surprised to see him already near his bedroom door.

He paused, hand resting on the doorknob. "I'm not hungry," he muttered.

"I made your favorite cake," she said softly, trying to coax him. She hated it when he went without eating. He hadn't skipped a meal in a long time, not since the early days after escaping Hydra, when nausea haunted him daily. She knew too well that when the mind is in chaos, the appetite is usually the first thing to go.

"Not hungry," he repeated, more bitterly this time, before disappearing into his room and closing the door behind him.

~

She couldn't sleep--not until she knew he was. She got up to get a glass of water when she heard him cry out.

"NO. PLEASE. NO."

Bucky was sobbing, groaning.

She dropped the bottle, heart pounding, and ran to his room. The door was open, thankfully. But he wasn't in bed. She switched on the table lamp and found him curled on the floor.

"Buck. Hey, hey…it's okay," she called, crouching and reaching for his face.

"No… not you," he cried, grabbing her wrist in a panic.

"It's a dream, Bucky. Wake up."

He jolted awake, eyes red and glassy, staring at her.

"It was just a dream," she soothed, wiping his face. He grasped her hands, pressing her palms to his cheeks. Bucky pulled her into his lap.

"You're hurt, Anna," he gasped, frantically inspecting her neck and arms and turning her hands over.

"Bucky, I'm alright. Just a bad dream," she whispered, eyes stinging.

"Breathe. You're okay. I'm okay."

"I…" he choked, then pulled her into a tight hug, sobbing into her shoulder. She held him just as tightly, tears falling freely now.

"I'll get you some water," she whispered after a moment. But he wouldn't let go.

"Okay… okay… just lie down with me. I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, gently easing him back on the bed and snuggling into his warmth.

~

In an attempt to calm him, she talked about random things--from constellations to the book she'd been reading, which she thought was horrible, and why. He let out a throaty chuckle when she told him they should seriously reconsider the situation with Gollum, the alpine hare they'd named, who visited their humble garden now and then and caused a ruckus.

Eventually, she convinced him to let her make some tea. He followed her to the kitchen without a word.

"Buck…" she started, unsure.

She slid the mug toward him. He leaned onto the counter and slowly sipped. She studied him for a long moment and then asked softly, "What happened out there?" She was pretty sure something was bothering him.

He didn't answer immediately. Bucky took a few slow sips.

"I saw Hagen," Bucky said finally, eyes fully focused on her.

She stilled. Her eyes widened as things clicked into place. The subtle hostility when he'd returned home that evening. The nightmare that followed. It all made sense now.

She had chalked it all up to the rain--he was soaked through when he walked in. She should've guessed that his silence was more telling than his words.

She didn't expect this.

The odds of that encounter were next to none tonight. That's what she'd counted on. Exactly five days ago, when Bucky made the trip to the city to place an order with Arne, their electronics guy, she'd ventured alone into town. She'd broken his most sacred rule--never go anywhere without me.

But they lived in a far corner of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and mist, and the town was safe even if Bucky thought otherwise.

Mr. and Mrs. Hagen, who owned the small bookstore they frequented, were kind people. That day, she'd noticed how worn Mr. Hagen looked, how his eyes sagged with worry. When she gently asked about it, he told her Mrs. Hagen's health was failing. And when he asked if she wanted to see Mrs. Hagen, she agreed.

Mrs. Hagen was a lovely lady. She and Bucky visited the store every now and then, hoarding books as they both enjoyed reading, and Mrs. Hagen often added a couple of books onto the pile for free. 'You can never have enough books.'

"He thinks it was a miracle," Bucky said flatly. "Said you visited," Bucky bit out loud.

When she said nothing, he snapped, "Anna."

Bucky stared at her. His jaw tightened. "It fucking makes sense why you looked off that day. You know the price of using your gift."

"She was dying, Buck," She said quietly, not turning around. "I couldn't walk away."

"And what about…you?" His voice dropped lower. "What happens when someone gets a whiff?" He gritted out.

She looked at him. The shadow above him from the kitchen light cut sharp lines across his face, making him look like a sculpted god. Albeit an angry-looking god.

"She was suffering." She said, moving her gaze onto the foggy kitchen window.

"That doesn't matter," he growled.

Bucky stepped forward, his right hand finding her elbow as he tugged her toward him. She didn't resist.

"Look at me." Bucky gritted out, frustration marring his features.

Her gaze rose slowly to meet his, guilty.

"What were you thinking?" he asked sharply. She could see the pain in him.

"I was thinking she would've died."

"And I'm thinking I can't lose you too," he thundered, like the sky outside. His arm slipped around her back, his grip tightening as he pulled her closer.

She wanted to argue. She wanted to remind him that she was strong, more than human. That she'd lived in the harsh world alone for decades, that she went into the clutches of Hydra's lair to find him, that she wasn't the one people should be afraid of. But her mother's words rang loudly in her head, 'Sweetheart, sometimes what makes you powerful is exactly what makes you vulnerable…hunted.'

Her shoulders dropped. She felt utterly helpless. She couldn't see people suffer. She carried a lot of regrets herself. The fact that she didn't find Bucky soon enough after he fell off the train, the fact that she should've stopped Steve from getting the serum. If Steve hadn't, he would not have sacrificed his life. So, she couldn't help but alleviate Mr. and Mrs. Hagen's suffering.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, burying her face into his chest.

He sighed into her hair, kissing her tenderly.

"I need you to resist helping people," he pleaded.

"I don't know how Buck," she whispered, holding him tightly.

Bucky dreaded love more than he ever feared Hydra. While he mourned the love he had lost--Steve--he also mourned not being the kind of man she deserved.  

The way she saved him persistently, and resurrected him after Hydra, with years and years of patience. It was beyond his understanding. Gosh! She could totally beat Steve when it came to being stubborn.

He watched her, relaxed in his arms, deep in sleep. His little angel! Sometimes, it was hard to believe that she was by his side. His fingers traced her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.

He knew he was a selfish man because he'd never said he loved her out loud, afraid he'd cause an imbalance in the perfect ecosystem. Because he knew she loved him. And even if she never explicitly worded her love, she defined it in every little action. It pained him how deeply she loved him despite what he'd done.

In the late hours of the night, when he curled up beside her--nightmares as an excuse--he'd usually think of a better tomorrow. One where he'd repented the doings of a man in his mind who he'd been unwillingly sharing space with. Where he could love her the way she deserved. Where Steve was still alive, and they all lived in a world where freedom wouldn't be weighed by norms.

But fate couldn't be that forgiving, right?

Bucky still hoped and prayed for forgiveness--for the actions he had unwittingly committed. He tried to be a better man every day.

Bucky was protective of her--territorial might befit. But the fact was, she protected him every day. From himself. From his nightmares. She was his salvation.

She shifted, turning more into his side, still deep asleep, slipping her hand around his waist. Bucky chuckled softly, clutching the oversized T-shirt on the little of her back, and pulled her closer.

God! She was divine. So far out of his league. Did she even know that?

He could literally kill for her. And he was close to committing that heinous act that very evening.

He'd gone to the bookstore to buy the book she'd been waiting for, only to overhear Hagen talking about her and 'miracle' in the same breath. The fear hit him instantly. For a moment, he stood frozen, staring at the wrinkled man. A sinister thought crawled into his mind: kill Hagen and his wife. Make it look like a robbery.

Then, Bucky thought of her and felt utterly disgusted with himself for even thinking of it. He wasn't that person, and he'd never be him again. He fled from there as fast as he could, terrified of himself.

He wondered if he could ever truly be the man she deserved. He highly doubted it. But the fact was, he couldn't let her go. He'd already lost Steve. He couldn't fathom losing her, too.

Bucky loved her. With every tiny, broken piece of himself--he loved her.

He moved closer, admiring her peaceful face and enveloping himself in her intoxicating scent.

She looked so goddamn delicate. So mesmerizingly pretty.

She'd be up in a few hours. She hadn't eaten because he hadn't.

And he'd been a fucking prick all evening. She'd even baked him his favorite cake, but he'd been too cooped up in his head, too angry at her for being so reckless. Didn't she understand he couldn't live without her?

He leaned in and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

He'd make her favorite breakfast and apologize. Maybe she'd kiss him on the cheek like she had yesterday. That little kiss where she'd rise on her toes and tug him down gently always made him feel alive.

Next:

The phone rang three times before it was picked up. "Pepper Potts speaking." "Hi... um, hi, Pepper. This is Lienna Nightingale," she said, her voice a little shaky, "I need to cash in that favor."

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[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Y/N: Oh yeah, I'm into some super nasty, kinky shit. For example, being held gently and desired and cared for by someone who yearns for me and loves with with their entire soul.

Wanda: Babe wtf are u okay

(and then she just looks at Y/N like this)