#nomad!steve

[dearwalker]

this bucky with this steve

[capibuck]

A while ago on ko-fi ! ☕🧡

Bucky needs his Steve now!

[kijrbds]

they would be unstoppable together

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“And this is your room,” Muriel stops before a door along the short hallway. “You have a neighbour just across the hall, and two more on the other side of the kitchen.”

You nod. It isn’t an ideal situation. Not one you ever saw yourself in. But survival isn’t built for the fussy. There are many others like you. Those not so lucky, those who are dead. Many who never got the choice of a new home.

You keep your hand on your rolling bag, your other on your canvas knapsack. They’re full of items that aren’t your own. Second-hand clothes acquired from shelters and toiletries given out by the support workers. You’re on your own now.

“Anything else, dear?” Muriel asks to your silence.

“Thank you, Muriel,” you murmur.

She hands you the key and leaves. Before showing you your own space, she took you around those shared by the rest of her boarders. You suppose they’re your roommates now. A kitchen, two bathrooms, a front room with a tattered couch and old tube television. You’ll stick to your own four walls.

You slide the key in the slot, the metal grinding loudly. You hear a throat clear and peer towards the noise. The walls must be thin. You’re still alone. You let yourself into the room, pulling the door shut behind you. You flip the lock back into place before you shove your bags by the wall.

There’s a twin bed with a metal frame, a single night table, and a standing lamp. There’s also a shallow closet. It’s not much but you don’t need more than that. It’s good to have a roof over your head.

You sit on the lumpy mattress and the frame squeaks loudly. You stand up again and pace around. There isn’t too much room. It shouldn’t matter, you won’t need it. You’ll be out working and back to sleep again. You start tomorrow at the convenience shop.

You hear a thump and your head pops up. You can’t help but jump in your shoes. Ever since the city rained down around you, every bump, every sudden noise has you skittish. It’s nothing, only another boarder.

You go to your bag and unbuckle the flap. You pull out a can of beans and the pocket knife in the side pocket. You go back to the bed and sit, another shrill whine from the metal frame. You pull out the can open from the pocket knife and peel back the lid. On the same keychain is a small metal spork you use to scoop out the beans, eating them cold as your stomach growls hungrily.

You eat, bite by bite, staring at the wall, just beside the only window. It isn’t home. You don’t expect one of those. It’s just a place to live. To survive.

🚪

You take your toothbrush and your tube of toothpaste with you to the bathroom down the hall. It’s just across from the other bedroom on that side of the flat. The doorway is dark, beckoning you inside. You flip on the light and shut the door as you enter.

You turn on the tap and set to brushing your teeth. Such a basic and simple task but one you didn’t always have the chance to do. It’s almost soothing to feel the bristles in your mouth. It makes you feel almost normal.

You take your time as the mint flavour sticks to your tongue. You rinse your brush and flick off the excess water, sliding it back into the travel tube and capping the paste. You look at yourself in the mirror, not for long, just to make sure you still recognise you.

You clutch your things in one hand and flick the light off. You open the door and nearly shriek at the shadow waiting in the hall. You waver in the doorway as a tiny wisp escapes your throat. You blink as the dark silhouette stands with arms crossed in the dim hall.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man says gruffly.

He's tall but mostly obscured. His hair wings out around his neck and his shoulders bulge broadly. You feel his eyes boring into you, as he can see through the darkness and you.

You dip your chin and sidle out, keeping your distance as you sidestep along the wall. You should apologise but your voice is buried deep down. You put your hand up in a show of deference.

“You done?” He asks.

You pause and look at the plaster across from you. You nod then turn your back to him completely. He must be the neighbour. You quickly shuffle to your room and hide behind the door. It’s much better than the shelter, you don’t have someone rolling into your sleeping bag, but still, you’re claustrophobic.

You mourn that most. The sense of privacy. Of personal space. Have a place that’s your own with people you know. People you love.

You toss your toothbrush and toothpaste onto the night table and huff as you sit on the bed. You frown and push your head back, trying to soothe the tightness between your shoulders. You blow out, breath rattling as your nose tingles.

You can never go back to Sokovia or how it was. You can only go forward and the road ahead is very lonely.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[georgiapeach30513]

Steve Rogers x me 🙋‍♀️ number 32 or 50 please

Oh!! I love this one so much, but...just don't hate me with this.

There Goes My Life

Summary: just one last time

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, a smidge of dirty talk, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

He sighs as his blue eyes peer at your sleeping form. You never listened. It was too easy for him to get in through your window, and just gaze at you while you sleep. He warned you that there was a target on your back. Especially the moment you left SHIELD. It just didn’t seem right anymore. Not without Steve, and not knowing what you now know.

You look peaceful, which is more than what he can say for himself. Your windows seem smaller now, or maybe it was just because he felt he could never get too close to you. The picture of the two of you still sits beside your bed, and he feels an ache in his chest as you cling to his pillow. By now his scent would have worn off considering how you had your face buried into it.

“Cap, you have a short window. I’ll buy you some more time. Enjoy your girl.”

“Thanks, Sam,” he whispers, leaning over to remove his boots. If he didn’t have this need to hold you and enjoy you while he could, he would tell you how stupid it was to leave your window unlocked. But he also knew why.

You are also painfully aware that Steve had someone watch your place. Everything changed in such a short time. You didn’t think he would be coming back, much less as often as he did.

Removing his suit, he lets the mess of what was Captain America drift into your floor. Fully naked, and for a reason, he lifts the blanket on his side, and slides in. His eyes rake over your beautiful sleeping face. There wasn’t enough time for him to just watch you, but he did it all the same. He missed you so much it hurt. So much that he couldn’t even focus on the task at hand because he was waiting on you to tell him what to do. But this isn’t SHIELD, and you no longer were in his ear.

Your full lashes flutter with his warm breath. Your body sidles up to his even more. He’s so proud of you, even in your sleep you knew it was him. He reaches to pull the pillow from your grasp, wanting you to use him instead when your sleepy eyes blink away the clouds from your vision.

“Steve?”

“Shh,” he whispers, his nose pressing up against yours. Every moment with him is bittersweet because you know he’ll be off somewhere else before you wake up again. Leaving you feeling like everything was only a figment of your imagination.

Your lashes flutter close as you absorb his warmth. His breath. And when his lips press against your trembling ones. “Sugar,” he pleads, but you don’t want to waste time. Each time he visited you felt like it would be the last time, and that killed you inside. “Stop.”

“Steve, just take me. Make me forget that you won’t be here in the morning.”

“You make me feel like the biggest asshole.”

“Language, Captain,” he chuckles on your lips. Hoisting his body to hover over yours. His legs positioned in between your own, and he slides his apart as he sinks lower over you. His silky steel cock, lays over your bare mound, and you shutter at the feeling.

“I really hate that you were privy to that moment.”

“Why’s that?” You tease as he grips his length in one hand and runs it through your slick.

“Because every time I growl out filth in your ears, I want them to be your words only. Because even though you hold your head up high, and you look so regal walking into SHIELD, you’re my dirty little slut.”

“Your dirty little slut wishes that you would just fuck her…ahh,” you gulp as his thick veiny member plunges into your depths. Fully sheathing himself into your wet heat, and his weight settles on yours. It is the best kind of smothering. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you so much,” he grunts as his hips piston in and out of your walls. Pushing and pulling into every bit of you. Molding the two of you together again, and you hope that this was the normal. That you didn’t have to wait months until you got to feel him again. That this was a bad dream, and Steve wasn’t an enemy of the country.

You focus on the way his body cages around yours and how the two of you had so many beautiful plans. Feel only the way his thicker body made you feel so small. The tickle of his beard as he nips along your neck. You swear every part of him got thicker. And it made you more needy for him.

You took every bit of his hard and deep thrusts because your body was made for him. Nobody pulled out the sounds from your lips. There was nobody else you trusted the way you trusted him. In a different world you and Steve would have already been married, and have a baby on the way. He would have given up this fight with the Avengers just to live a normal life.

But those dreams weren’t reality. Now it was a dream that the man you love was becoming so feral with the limited time he had with you. His hands slam on the headboard above you, and his hips stab into you with so much force you start to see stars. This is how he always ended things. He wanted to make sure you almost passed out with pleasure and pressure.

His thrusts make the picture frames rattle on the walls. Your hands cling to his wide hips as you feel yourself start to go blank. Damn this beautiful man. He couldn’t even bear to say goodbye. The solution was to fuck you stupid. Fuck him.

You try and hold on. See the image of Steve gritting his teeth as he forces his orgasm away. Waiting on you to succumb to your exhaustion. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your walls clench down tight around his cock, and he gets a few more ruts into you before ribbons of hot thick cum fill your belly up.

He stutters his movement as he watches your head lull to the side, and he hates himself for doing this. Hates having to be so careful. There is nothing he wants more than to bask in your silky walls all day. He pulls himself out of you, and smiles when you sleepily whimper at the loss of him.

Giving himself just a moment to stare at your gaping cunt leaking of him. “Captain, it’s time. We gotta be careful.”

He leaves you laying there, but covers you back up. Leaving behind the scent of him on your sheets, and the regret that things aren’t different. This had to be the last time. He was putting you into too much danger. Slowly he’d call the eye from watching you. He’d let you go because that’s how much he loved you.

“I’m always careful,” he says, slipping back into his suit.

But this time — he wasn’t…..

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87

[igotatasteforoldermendelrey]

The hole that never closed.

Picture from chasingmidnights on Pinterest.

A/N : today I remembered my tik tok era (I was doing very bad fan edit) and the fact that I created my own character, the dark witch, who I added to the storyline of the Avengers. She was a complex character, with powers (yeah I know it’s basic) and started off as a villain helping Loki to take over the world. Anyway, then I thought about how I missed Steve Rogers and mixed it with how I think she would have reacted seeing him again after being rejected during the fight scene in Germany. And voilà!

English is not my first language, you might find mistakes in there.

+16

Ship : nomad!Steve Rogers x avenger reader

Summary : it has been one year since Germany, since the team imploded and you were rejected by your friends for not taking sides. You were surprised to find Captain America himself at your doorstep begging for you help. Follow resentment and arguments and confessions.

Warnings : angst (it’s really just that), reader is French (just briefly mentioned, the story takes place in France) talk about the past, talk about being rejected, injuries, Tony and Steve being assholes, complicated relationship (with Steve), screaming, swearing, not a happy ending, brief mentions of sex (not detailed, it’s not even written), hurt and very few comfort, sadness.

If I missed anything don’t hesitate to tell me!

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission

Banner made from Pinterest.

France, 2017

You climbed out of your car, putting your sunglasses on before opening your trunk and getting out your groceries bags. It has been one year since Germany. One year since your team imploded in two. You witnessed the fight, powerless. Even after trying to get them to stop, to talk to one another instead of sending each other cars, they told you to fight or to go home. So you did. It has been one year since your heard from any of them. You’ve been following from afar, knowing that Sam, Scott and Wanda were locked down in a high security prison while Steve and Natasha were nowhere to be found.

You knew Ross and his team won’t find them as long as they wanted to stay hidden. Still, you hopped that Steve would have found a way to tell you he was safe, or at least alive. But it was radio silence. So you continued living like you could, coming home to your country, moving in the family mansion and trying to forget about the past.

You never had a problem to understand why Steve did what he did for Bucky. It wasn’t surprising, they were basically brothers. And for Tony, you understood the way he reacted, he learned that Bucky has killed his parents after all. And yet, since you didn’t take a side, none of them were talking to you, considering you a traitor.

—————

Germany, 2016

They were fighting each other. Wanda was sending cars towards Tony, while Steve was fighting someone that sounded a lot like a kid. If it wasn’t so disastrous, you would’ve laughed to the idiocy of the scene. And yet, here you were trying to stop them, standing in the middle of the battlefield.

Tony what the fuck are you doing?! It’s Steve!

I don’t care! I warned him of the consequences he faced! He didn’t care so here we are. The older man replied, sending a blast in Wanda’s direction. Either you fight with us or you’re against us. But knowing your past I already know you’re not going to be on the right side. He spitted at you with venom.

You flinched at the mention of the past, considering he was the one to stop you the first time from taking the world with Loki.

You’re a fucking hypocrite, Tony. You turned around, running toward Steve. Steve this is nonsense! You’re going to kill each other.

Go home. You have nothing to do here. It’s not like you’re a part of the team. He replied, running after T’Challa.

———

Closing the trunk of your car, you realised someone was standing in front of your house, staring at you. One look at the man and you knew who he was, the stance, the way he was standing tall, head resting high. Even with the beard, the sunglasses and the cap. You could’ve recognised him in a sea of thousand people.

You sighed, face empty of any emotions and walked towards him.

You have some fucking nerves to show up here, Rogers. You spat out at him.

I need your help.

Oh now you do? Funny since you didn’t seem to think I was a part of the team. It’s too easy. You, showing up here on my doorstep, saying that you need my help, when one year ago you fucking looked down at me like I was useless. I’m not gonna help you, you asshole. You put yourself in this hole, you get yourself out of it alone. You said, unlocking your door.

Please. He said, almost begging. If I need to go on my knees to ask you to please let me in so be it.

You narrowed your eyes at him, noticing afterwards the red stain on his shirt.

You’re bleeding.

Yes. And I might have a few broken ribs. He replied, pushing himself against the wall. Please, doll.

You don’t get to call me that anymore. Not after you pushed me away.

It was to protect you!

Protect me from what, Rogers, Uh?

From Ross, he would have put you on the death row!

It wasn’t your choice to make Steve! You raised your voice. You said you’ve changed since the forties, but you’re still fucking patronising me around. You’re saying it was to protect me and yet you didn’t do it for Natasha or Wanda.

It’s not the same…

You know damn well what Wanda risked coming out there. She was a fucking kid!

He didn’t bother to continue the conversation on this topic, knowing your mind was made.

Please, just listen to what I have to say. And after that you’re free to throw me out.

Can you walk by yourself? You asked, a brow raised.

He nodded so you opened the door and let him enter after you, closing the door behind him. You didn’t bother turning around, knowing he was going to follow you, you just walked to the kitchen with the intention to put your groceries away. He followed you, took a seat on one of your chair, his hand pressed on his injury.

You have two minutes. And I fully intend to put a damn timer. You warned.

He sighed. I need your help to put the team back together.

What team? There is no team anymore Steve.

We- you raised your eyebrows- I need to get Sam, Wanda and Scott out their prison. They don’t deserve to be imprisoned like that after everything they did for the country.

They helped a war criminal flee. To the eyes of the nation it’s not nothing. He shoot you a look. I like Bucky, I do. And I know that what he did was not him. But for a citizens he is guilty, to the government he is guilty, Steve.

We need the team back. What if something happens? What if Loki comes back or something even worse?

What about the Sokovia Accords? You guys are still considered as traitors. They won’t let you act freely. Every country you will step foot in, they will be on your backs.

I know it seems impossible. But we have to try.

It seems a lot to me that you don’t have a plan. Not even an idea of a plan. Values won’t help you in this case. You broke the law.

I’m not the government’s puppet!

So am I? Is that what you’re saying?

You took Tony’s side!

No I did not! I tried to stop you both from getting yourselves killed! You did not listen to me. Hell you clearly told me I wasn’t a part of the team! You don’t to come here and accuse me of things you did. You screamed at him, pointing your finger at his face. Fuck Steve I thought we had something! Or at least that you saw me as a fucking friend!

He called out your name slowly, something different in his eyes.

No Steve. You let me believe I was someone you cared about. You made me think that this, you gesticulated you hands between the two of you, could go somewhere. And you went one year without even letting me know you were alive. After you told me I wasn’t important. Maybe like Tony, you think I’m still going to go rogue again. That I cannot be trusted. But in court, when they all turned their backs on you, I was there. I defended you.

I’m sorry. For everything. For what I said, in this airport. I just wanted to get you out of the way. I knew saying that would be enough to make you leave. I told myself it was for you but truly it was for me. I couldn’t let you get arrested for something I was responsible of. I didn’t want your vision of me to change.

What are you talking about?

I’ve heard the way you talked about me. How I was always on the right side, always defending the people in need. But that day, I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. I do not regret it. I never will and I will do it again if l have to. But I fought the man that welcomed me, I lied to his face about his own parents. To my own friend. And when you came that day… The look on your face… I couldn’t face it. The disappointment.

You were staring at him hard, anger clear on your face, fists tight.

And when you say that I did not care about you, it fucking kills me. Because that is so far from the truth. I never contacted you because I knew Ross was watching you. Probably even listening to you. A contact with me would have got you arrested. He said, holding your eyes.

And yet you show up on my doorstep. I’m not fucking stupid, Steve. As soon as I came home, I made sure Ross wouldn’t be able to know anything. Just in case you had to come here.

I told myself you wouldn’t do that for me after what I said. You shouldn’t have.

And yet I did. You replied, putting an end to the conversation, a tear falling on your cheek before you whipped it away. I’m not going to call the cops. Not in your state. But I should, just to fucking put you in your place. You can stay here until your body is healed. After that I don’t want to see you ever again. You said before leaving the room, your heels clicking on the floor.

~~~

You were sleeping soundly in your bed, rain slowly hitting the window. You heard something being knocked over downstairs, waking you up immediately. You sighed, getting up, you opened the drawer of your bedside table and get your gun out of it. No it wasn’t legal in France but a girl had to be ready for any situation. You sighed before opening your door and slowly making your way downstairs. You heard noises in the kitchen as if someone was rummaging through your stuff. You pointed your gun in the air before entering the room to face the potential burglar.

Drop everything and turn around slowly. You said announcing your presence.

What? Steve asked, holding onto the sink.

You got closer, realising his hands were recovered in blood. You put your gun on the table before coming to stand beside him.

Is it not supposed to be healed already? You asked turning him toward you with your hand on his shoulder.

Had to get the pieces they left inside. He answered putting the bottom of his shirt between his teeth to free his hands.

The pieces?

The knife broke down when he stabbed me.

Who did that? You asked, getting the bottle of antiseptic.

I had to… do things with people that I am not proud of. Guess it’s what I get for not paying back.

You put some of the alcohol on the wound, enjoying a little be his grunt of pain. You helped him clean out his wound, getting the last piece of metal out of his skin. You felt his stare on you the whole time you were at the task, not bothering to say anything about it.

When you were done patching him up you washed your hands in the sink, still not looking up at him.

————

New York, 2015.

You were waiting for their return, anxiety building in your stomach. They were supposed to come home two days ago but a series of events prevented them to do so. You knew a few of them were hurt but you ignored the extent of their injuries.

When the Quinjet landed, you immediately ran outside, accompanied by the medical staff. Natasha and Clint came out first, not visibly wounded in any way. Then came Bruce who seemed quite shaken accompanied by Thor helping him descend the jet. Tony needed a wheelchair since his right leg was broken and was escorted immediately to the med bay. You waited for Steve after making sure Natasha and Clint were ok.

After a few minutes, Steve climbed out the jet, face closed off. You knew he felt guilty for Tony’s current state, always did when he was in charge and someone got hurt. So you came closer, smiling slightly before taking his tablet from his hands. Before he could say anything you stopped him.

You just returned from a four days mission, Fury can wait a few hours for his report.

He sighed and nodded, his eyes full of remorse mixed with fatigue. You escorted him to his room, knowing he didn’t want to go to the medical facility, hating when someone was examining him instead of taking care of someone who truly needed. You left him do what he had to do, telling him you will be in your room if he needed anything.

After a while, you heard a knock on your door.

Come in! You called out.

Steve entered your room, holding a bottle of antiseptic. I know I should go to the med bay but I really don’t want to. I just can’t get the cut on my back. Could you…?

Yes of course come here. You said, pulling a chair for him to sit on.

He pulled off his shirt, giving you access to the injury. You get to work, not speaking to each other, feeling that he needed the quiet.

After that night, Steve came to you every time he couldn’t take care of an injury and you did the same.

—————

I like the beard. You broke the silence.

Mmh?

I said I like the beard. Makes you look scarier, less polished.

I bet you do. Always wanted me to grow it, said it was going to get people to stop seeing me as a soldier.

And here you are today, the fallen golden boy of the United States.

And the dark witch… what a pair.

Shame it isn’t real. You murmured turning around to put away the antiseptic.

He called out your name, desperation in his voice. I’m truly sorry. If I could do it again I would do that differently.

Too bad it’s too late then. You replied closing the cabinet.

Please wait. He said when you started to walk away. What can I do for it to be better?

I don’t know, Steve. You said after a sigh. I don’t even know if I’m capable of forgiveness. You added before turning around.

I don’t know if I was capable of giving you what you wanted. He called out after you making you stop. There was something. I cannot deny it. But I don’t know if I could have given you something. I had to mourn the life I had before… before I woke up here, in a world that doesn’t look at all like what I knew. I had to mourn the life I imagined with the woman I loved, to mourn the things I was hoping for. And the truth is that… I think it broke something in me… all the expectations of everyone over the fact that I was Captain America, the super soldier ready to follow orders. I had to maintain the perfect image, the perfect stance, way of speaking. I had to be who they wanted me to be.

You turned around, facing him. He was standing tall in the middle of your kitchen, a glint of something in his eyes.

I had to adapt to this new life, detach myself from the image of a blue eyed blond man, the perfect American. Fuck they made me look like a relic, like fucking Uncle Sam. I couldn’t show an ounce of emotion so I pushed them all deep inside of him. Locking them away. But I think I don’t know how to feel anymore. I know how to protect someone, I know how to motivate a group but I fucking don’t know how to feel.

His voice cracked on the last word, he had to hold the chair on his right for support.

The look in your eyes that day… after I told you that… Fuck it felt like I had cut myself open… you took something with you when you left. I don’t know what, but you did. And I cannot ask for you forgiveness because if I were you, I would have let me bleed out in the street.

Good night, Steve. You replied after a while, not able to confront him about this.

You left him alone standing in the kitchen and walked upstairs as quick as you could. Closing the door behind you, you let yourself fall against it, a hand on your mouth to suffocate your sobs.

———

You tried to go back to sleep. You really did. But you couldn’t, the words of the super soldier still stuck in your mind. You knew Steve had a complex way of thinking, of being, but you didn’t think it was that bad. Even worse, that made you realise that those feelings you thought gone after Germany were still alive, beating in your chest.

So you did what you swear you wouldn’t do when you saw the man on your doorstep. You got up, opened the door and crossed the corridor leading to the bedroom you knew he occupied. You opened the door without knocking, knowing he was awake, the light under the gap of the door a proof.

He was sat in the bed, staring in front of him, lost in thoughts, then he looked up to you.

Are you alright, doll?

That nickname did it. You crossed the room, climbing on the bed and over his lap and took his face between your hands.

This doesn’t mean anything. You warned, waiting for him to nod, a hunger in his eyes, before killing the space between your face. The kiss was nothing but a fight, a fight of who was going to win, who was right. A poison and its antidote at the same time.

You did what you had to do and left his room. Leaving him with a hole in chest, the same one that never fully closed in yours.

[fandoms-writings]

Below is a list of current wips that you can expect from me in the near future <3 I do write slow, but I'm working on these as fast as I can <3

Drabbles/One-shots:

"You're a mess"/"I'm not a mess."/"I can tell you've been crying."  &  "Let me kiss it better" - Knight! Bucky x Queen! Reader - A + F

"Choose me" - Bucky - A

"Choose me" & "let me hear you make that sound again" - Biker! Bucky - A + S

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right." - Bucky w/ morally gray reader - A

"Keep your pretty eyes on me." and "You shouldn't be out here by yourself." -Vampire! Bucky x Human! Reader - A + S + (version 2)

"You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart." - Bucky w/ kinky virgin reader - F + S

"You know my door is always open for you, right?" and "You're already wet sweetheart" - Stephen Grant - F + S

"Don't go where I can't follow. . . I thought I lost you." - Bucky - A

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" - Steve Rogers - A

"Come get me? I miss you" - Loki - F

"Is that my shirt?" & "Keep your pretty eyes on me." - Bucky - F + S

"Don't go where I can't follow… I thought I lost you" & "You're exhausted honey. Go back to sleep." - Nomad! Steve Rogers - A + F

"What are we doing?"/"Why are you doing this?" - Miguel O'Hara - A

"Can I hold your hand?" - Miguel O'Hara - F

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are." - Mob! Steve - F

"Will you taste this? Tell me if I'm missing anything?" - dealers choice - F

"You were supposed to be different. They were supposed to be wrong about you, but they were right. They were so fucking right."- Mob! Steve - A

DBF!Bucky x College!Reader - A

Series/AUs:

Boxer! Miguel x PR! Reader - A + F + S

This one will be more of an AU then a series I think, but I'm still working on it.

Miguel's boxing career is starting to pick up, and that means you, as his public relations specialist, are to insure that the people love him. You also make sure he doesn't take any fights he isn't ready for. However, when another boxer by the name of Kron Stone openly challenges Miguel, and Miguel accepts, you have to come to terms that what you know may ruin the trust he has in you.

Mafia-Dilf! Miguel x Dance-teacher! Reader - A + F + S

Everyone was terrified of Miguel O'Hara, the most powerful man in the city. But you knew better. To you, he was just a single dad trying to raise and protect his daughter, bringing her to your dance class every week. That is until someone looking for Miguel shows up at your studio, and Miguel takes it upon himself to protect you from outside forces, showing you just what kind of a man truly he is.

Bucky Barnes x Dream-witch! Reader - A + F + S

Looking for something to aide in his sleepless nights, Bucky searches weeks for you, the dream witch of New York. You're known for helping vets with ptsd have terrorless nights and sometimes, if they're lucky, they actually have pleasant dreams. What Bucky didn't expect, was for you to be so captivating, or for him to open up so easily around you. But to have the powers you do, you've got to be more than just a mutant, right?

Bucky Barnes x single!pregnant!reader (neighbor AU) - A + F + S

This one will be more of an AU rather than a series.

You moved into your small apartment alone and nervous, with a broken heart and a little one on the way, just wanting to be the best mom you can. Lucky for you, your neighbor is the sweetest man in the world and has offered to help you out when you need it. It doesn't hurt that he's the most attractive man you've ever met. But you don't have time for a relationship with anyone, you need to prepare for the baby.

tagging some mutuals below to spread the word <3

@sweetdreamsbuck @perdidosbucky-yyo @pocolottie @banana-cheese-cake @nexusnyx @foreverindreamlandd @writing-for-marvel @historygeekfics @jessybarnes @poetic-fiasco @redgillan @chloelucia13 @shamevillain @thornsnvultures @targaryenvampireslayer @vibraniumcollar @bucksangel @buckybleu @barnesafterglow @rookthorne @nickfowlerrr @aquariusbarnes @captainsimagines

[babyjakes]

need to be fucked by a man twice my age and size 😮‍💨

[holylulusworld]

2023 Steve Rogers Bingo masterlist

Preview for the upcoming fics to fill the squares.

Please consider none of the stories is available yet. I do not take requests to fill the squares.

Stories written for: @steverogersbingo​

A1: ??? (FA!Steve Rogers x Reader): Howling Commandos

A 2: Suspicious Minds (Endgame!Steve Rogers x Reader x Bruce Wayne): DC Crossover

A 3: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Bad flirting

A 4: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Serum gives more powers over time

A 5: Burned water (Steve Rogers x Reader): Steve is a super shitty cook

B1: ??? (Skinny!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader): Never serumed Steve

B2: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): "I never met a more stubborn person in my life."

B3: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Pranks

B4: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Hotel sex

B5: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Oversensitive / Enhances senses

C1: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Steve vs Social Media

C2: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Lap dance

C3: Dishonored (Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader; Lord Barnes x Princess!Reader): Free space - Royal AU

C4: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Puppy / Kitten interview

C5: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Veteran Steve

D1: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Bounty hunter

D2: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Deaf Steve

D3: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Wakanda

D4: Unwanted mate (Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader): Maria Hill

D5: ??? (Dom!Steve Rogers x Sub!Reader): Mental Bondage

E1: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Hand Feeding

E2: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Enemies to lovers

E3: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Brooklyn Dodgers

E4: Torn in two (1) (Mobster!Steve Rogers x Reader): Unrequited

E5: ??? (Steve Rogers x Reader): Kate Bishop

Find more special events/bingos here: Special Events & Stories Masterlist

[capibuck]

New post on Ko-fi!

Remember that you can have access to this content with a single donation or subscribing.

That helps me a lot 🧡

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

This one's a bit longer than the intro.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your first shift at the store goes well enough. Aziz, the manager, shows you where everything is and goes over the policies. The till is behind a window, a slot just big enough to get products and money through. It’s close to your apartment so not the best part of town. The next day, you’ll be alone.

You head home with a dented can of ginger ale in your bag. Aziz said you could have it for free since half the paint was scraped off during shipping. You don’t drink much soda but it would be a nice treat.

You find yourself dragging your feet as you come onto your street. You’re still getting your bearings but you recognize the boarded up white brick building across from the converted two-storey house. You stare at the faded brown facade of your abode, fumbling with your keys nervously. You still feel so out of place.

You cross the road and climb the steep iron staircase that leads up the side of the house to the second floor. The heavy metal grate that shields the thick wooden door rattles as you open it and clanks behind you loudly despite your efforts to keep quiet. The place feels desolate as you enter. Aside from last night, you haven’t encountered anyone else.

You creep into the kitchen and go to the fridge. On it, there’s a yellow paper with blue ink on it; numbered bullets that you read slowly. ‘House Rules’, the jagged capitals spell out the title above at least a dozen lines. ‘Clean up after yourself; mark your food; no stealing.’ That paper feels very apathetic, suggesting that no one really talks to each other here. Maybe it’s better that way.

You open the fridge and search your bag for your can of ginger ale. You hesitate to put it inside. You have no way of marking it. You consider the remnants of the logo on the side. You could just have it warm.

“There’s a sharpie in the top drawer,” a voice breaks the rigid silence like cracking ice.

You glance over at the man standing in the doorway, the same that leads to your bedroom. You quickly peel away your eyes and nod. You can’t manage a thank you as your surprise has your adrenaline pulsing.

You close the fridge and put the can on the counter. You open a drawer, not much inside besides electric tape and the promised sharpie. You write your initials on the top of the can as the man enters and stops a few feet from you, popping open a cupboard with a harsh click.

You think it must be the same man as the night before. He’s about the same size as the ominous shadow, at least from your periphery glance. You sidle over and pull the fridge open once more, setting your can in the door before you close it gently.

Tension roils around you as the man takes out a large container. It’s unmarked except for the sharpie emblazoned on the white plastic; ‘S’. Just a single letter.

You back away and fix your bag on your shoulder, shuffling around him in the small kitchen. He doesn’t say anything but you can hear his long exhale. It sticks with you how easily he’s snuck up on you twice. You shrug it off as paranoia from the shelter.

You’ll be okay. You have a lock on the door here. You have your own space. A tiny haven in an immense world.

🚪

Your first shift alone isn’t as intimidating as you thought. Most people come in and grab what they need then go. You ring them through with as much friendliness as you can muster. Most don’t respond, some chatter a bit, rambling about a thousand different things, and others even glare at you as they point to the small earbud in their ears. The flow of customers is ebbs and flows, busier around lunchtime and dull after two.

You’re almost done with your hours there. You take the time to bring out the bag of chips Aziz marked for stocking. You sit on the step stool as you set to find the palace for each brand. You put the Cheetos on the shelf as the door chimes and signals the entry of a customer.

You stand and peek over the shelf. You see only a man’s shoulders and the back of his head as he turns his back to you, perusing the wall of magazines. His hair pokes out in shaggy shanks from a ball cap. You grab the folding foot stool and the box and quickly scurry back behind the counter.

You put them down clumsily, a loud clap as the stool falls against the back of the counter. You pull shut the divider behind you and go to the till. You brace the counter as you peer over at the man again but try not to stalk him.

He strides slowly through the store, just along the back wall as he peruses the bottles and cans of cold drinks. He opens a door and takes something out. You look down and review the checklist for your shift. The last thing you need to do is balance the till before the evening shift gets here.

You listen to the man’s steps, flicking your eyes up now and again to keep track of him. You can also see him on the security screen through the black and white lens. You don’t even get a good look at him then as he keeps his chin straight, the beak of his cap effectively hiding his features.

He approaches the counter and you pop your head up. You’re stunned to recognise him. The same man from your flat. Your neighbour. Nameless and mysterious.

“Hey,” he says as he puts his fare on the other side of the plastic barrier.

“Hello,” you eke out. You’re getting used to your own voice again. In this job, you don’t have a choice. “This everything?”

“Mhmm,” the hum is rocky in his throat. 

You grab the two bottles, part of a two for three deal, and scan the premade protein milkshakes one at a time, then the magazine, Time, and a bag of pretzels. Nothing too unusual. His fingertips scratch the coarse hair along his jaw as he clears his throat.

You read out his total and he reaches into his jacket. He pulls out several bills and counts them out before handing them over. You take them and tally his change from the drawer.

“Shouldn’t be working alone,” he comments as he holds his hand out for the change.

You drop the coins into his cupped palm and recoil at his remark.

“Not to scare you,” he tucks the change away.

You shake your head. No, you thought it before but a job’s a job. You scrunch your lips and look around evasively.

“Do you want a bag?” You offer, not knowing how else to respond.

“Please,” he accepts, “and thank you.”

You nod and pull out a bag. You take his items and shove them inside as he watches quietly. You push them through the slot and he takes the handles, pausing as you feel him looking at you.

“When you walk home, avoid Mason Street. Go one up to Doxtator. Safer,” he advises.

You dip your chin, embarrassed. You know you don’t look like much but you can take care of yourself. You have so far.

He leans back on his heel before twisting on his soles. It squeaks with his slow hesitation and he marches to the door. You look up as the chime goes off and he disappears into the street. Only forty minutes to go.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Thanks your for reading and sharing 🥰

Need you now

AN: Apologies again for the late posting today- computer wasn't playing ball. But I'm making up for it with some Alpha! Nomad Steve. I hope you enjoy.

I’m using dialogue prompts from this post by @nightprompts and they can be found emboldened in the text.

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Beta’d by @maladaptivexxdaydreaming

Dividers by @firefly-graphics, banners and covers by me.

Pairing: Alpha! Nomad Steve x Omega! Reader

CW: A/B/O, Biting, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Heats, Scenting, Smidge angst, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count: 1.9k

You were warm. And the discomfort in your abdomen was growing.

You whimpered as you rifled through your bedside drawer for the phone you’d been given, only for use in emergencies. Turning it on and opening up the message app you typed in the number you knew by heart and sent off your one-word missive.

Now.

Shutting it down again, you tossed it back in its place. Then, grabbing hold of the too large, white tee out of your other drawer, you pulled it over your head, inhaling the scent that clung to it. You whimpered again and rubbed your thighs together, before settling back into your nest, drawing your blankets close and trying to get any sort of rest you could. Whatever the response to your text, the next few days were going to be hard on your body.

It was the suffocating, body suffusing heat that woke you. Your eyes shot open, but it only took a moment to realise that you weren’t feeling any of the lancing pain you expected. Discomfort still, yes, but no needle like darts, which meant…

You didn’t even need to inhale to know. He was here. You flipped over to your other side and buried your head in his chest, a reedy noise of primal need making its way out of your throat as you scented him.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I’m here. Gonna take care of you, real good, okay?”

His voice rumbled through his chest, deep and calming and you could feel the slick leaking out between your legs. You tilted your head back, eyes wide, to see his ocean blue ones staring back. His mouth was turned up into a soft smile under his beard, and you drew in a shuddering breath, only really realising in that moment how much you’d missed him.

“St-steve…” It was the only word your fuzzy brain was able to form before you were shifting up his body, climbing him like a tree, so you could press your lips to his, press your bodies together. You whined as you tasted him, rolling your hips and your sodden panties against his stomach. You were glad he’d discarded his tac suit before climbing into your nest, and even more happy that he hadn’t showered. 

You needed his scent. His sweat. His very essence.

You nipped and kissed and mewled at him, completely taken over by your base needs and desires. You were impatient too. Why wasn’t he in you already?

“Slow it down, baby. We got time. And I know it aches. I’ll soothe it soon, yeah. Just gotta get you ready for my knot. It’s big, remember? You’re heat makes you a little dumb, doesn’t it?”

You nodded into his neck, not really sure what you were agreeing too, just knowing that you wanted to please your alpha, agree with everything he said, so he would fuck you sooner. His large hands spanned your waist, pushing the fabric of the t-shirt up your body. His fingertips branded your skin, his touch making you feel even dizzier.

“Is that my shirt, Omega?” You nodded again. “You needed Alpha’s smell all over you, didn’t you? But I’m here now ��� let’s get that off you, huh?”

He eased the soft fabric over your head, and you let go of him to snatch it into your arms, twisting in his embrace to thread it into the wall of your nest, near your pillow, near where your head would be later when he…

You let out a pained cry as your arousal grew.

“Alpha, please!”

He eased you down to lie flat, a comforting smile still on his face.

“Alright, here we go, baby. Here we go.”

He pressed his mouth to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where the small scar that proclaimed your bond lay. His hands swept up your waist to cup your breasts, and he massaged the flesh, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You squirmed as the pleasure flowed through you, and you tried to rid yourself of your panties, him of his briefs. His beard tickled your neck as he halted your desperate actions by moving down your body. His lips replaced his thumbs in turn, and you keened. If they were this sensitive already, what would they be like when you were swollen with his pups? The thought caused a fresh gush of slick to leave you, the sweet scent now taking over your room. Steve chuckled against you.

“Aww, poor, needy Omega.”

His rough fingers ripped your ruined panties from you, and you cried out in pleasure as he pushed two into your sodden core.

“Fuck, ‘mega. Sucking me in. Such a good girl for your Alpha.”

He pumped his fingers slowly. Too slowly for your liking, and you reached down to grab his wrist and roll your hips against his hand, but he batted them away.

“Let me do this, baby. I don’t want to hurt you. Remember what happened the first time?”

You didn’t really. All you did remember was the feeling of absolute fullness, of being stretched to your limit. There was a hazy recollection of not being able to walk properly the next day, but in your heat-addled state you didn’t care. If that were to happen again, it would be a problem for ‘future you’.

There was a tightness in your belly, and you felt Steve crook his fingers and stroke your insides, finding that special spot and…

Your orgasm ripped through you, and you clung to Steve’s bicep as he continued to fingerfuck you through it, sneakily adding in a third digit while you were in the throes of pleasure. You recovered your breath, but your ache was still there, unassuaged by the ecstasy Steve had brought you to with his fingers.

“Please…” Your plea was whispered. Pathetic. A request for clemency.

“Just give me another, Omega. One more for your Alpha, and then I’ll give you what you need.”

Steve dipped his head, suckling on your clit as his fingers continued their mission to stretch you out. Still reeling from your first orgasm, and with your heat raging through you, you felt the build up to your next one come quickly. His facial hair rubbed over your sensitive flesh, stinging you just right and your hands fisted in the sheets as you felt yourself ready to explode. Your legs trembled and your mate growled against your pussy.

“Cum, Omega. Cum for your Alpha. Now!”

Like a switch that had been flipped, you were unable to control yourself at his command. You came. Hard. Gushing over his hand and face. Soaking his beard with your sweet slick.

Your legs were like jelly, your whole body boneless, but you still mewled needily at him. He rose up from between your legs, wiping his hand over his beard and marvelling at the amount of wetness, before grinning as he moved over you.

“There you go.” With a shimmy he discarded his briefs and his erection sprang free, slapping against your stomach with its weight. “So perfect for me, baby. Even if you are all heat drunk and stupid. Let’s get you properly ready, huh?”

Steve flipped you over on your stomach easily, pulling your hips into the air so you could present for him properly. Your hips swayed, as though you were trying to fuck the air, and your Alpha chuckled and swatted your backside.

“You wanna be bred, baby? Want me to fill you with pups and make you all round and beautiful?”

It was a pitiful sound that left your mouth as you nodded into your blankets, your face pressed up against the t-shirt that Steve had taken off you earlier. His warm body curled over your back and his scent surrounded you, soothing you slightly, but his cock nudged between your legs, making you wiggle again.

“Okay, okay. I know, enough teasing. You ready, Omega?”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, he knew what your reply would be if you’d even been capable of speech.

You wailed as he breached you, his thick cock carving a space for itself inside your pussy and your hands clawed at the sheets, the sensations almost overwhelming you. Steve groaned when he bottomed out, taking a moment just to enjoy the feel of your wet heat surrounding him. But he didn’t leave you unsatisfied for long, knowing that you needed something that only he, as your Alpha, could provide. With one hand on your hip and another on your shoulder he started to fuck into you, hard. Each punishing thrust was just what you needed, scratching the itch inside you and making you cry out in joy. 

It didn’t take long for you to cum again, Steve’s cock stroking you even better than his fingers had. You were barely coherent when you shouted out to him, through the ripples of your orgasm.

“Alpha! Knot! Bite! Please!”

The hand on your shoulder moved to your other hip and Steve lowered to lie fully flat on the mattress, still fucking into you. His body pressed you down, pushing you deep into your nest, his mouth moving over your mating scar again.

“You’re going to cum with me, aren’t you Omega? I need your orgasm, so I can give you all my cum.” 

All you could manage was a series of punched out moans as you felt his knot start to swell, stretching the entrance of your pussy as his cock pistoned in and out of you. Your body was one raw nerve ending, it’s only purpose to feel pleasure. But you needed a little extra to cum again.

“Bite! Bite!” Your voice was muffled by the sheets, but Steve knew what you needed. You felt his teeth scrape over your scarred flesh, finding the right spot, and then he bit down.

Stars exploded behind your eyes and you screamed, your whole body spasming at the force of your orgasm. You felt Steve’s knot pop, locking the pair of you together, and then the warmth of his cum flooded you. You floated off into bliss.

You awoke. It had been four days since Steve had appeared. Four days in which he’d fucked you beyond reason, working your through your heat with orgasm after mind-blowing orgasm. But it had passed. You’d both known it last night, although neither of you had said anything. The sex had turned less frenetic; less fucking and more love-making. 

You didn’t want to open your eyes, because you knew what you would find when you did. He was a criminal on the run, hiding from multiple governments and international agencies, so as much as it pained the pair of you, you couldn’t be together, properly. 

Not yet.

You rolled over in your nest, the small space now feeling too big without Steve in it. Your hand reached out to brush over the space where he had lain and you bowed to the inevitable. You opened your eyes and lying there on the mattress was a black t-shirt. Steve’s t-shirt. He’d left you a fresh one, still imbued with his scent. You gathered it to you and breathed it in. It would have to sustain you until you could see him again. 

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @chemtrails-club @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @sheismarvelousworld

[guardianjameslight]

Just posting this, for no reason.

Thank you, @imagitory

[sunnyhummingbee]

I’ve been trying to remember who my first tv crushes were… watching shows from a long time ago are reminding me.

And they make this make more sense now 😅

And if I had good pictures of my husband, I’d put them here too 😆 I sense a theme.

[aca-sonia]