#nomad steve x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucky-fricking-barnes · 1 year ago

Text

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 pomo��i? = 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.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

175 notes · View notes

frostironfudge · 2 years ago

Text

Hide From Me - Steve Rogers

Summary: You deal with the leaving of Steve in your own way, what happens when he finds you and states he wants you back? (Also I was inspired by Where Have You Been by Rihanna the lyrics are quoted)

Pairings: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, angst, drinking, di/rty dancing, di/rty talk, sm/ut, ora/l fem rec, d/s undertones, ex/hi/bitionism if you squint, steve rogers is jealous, you are responsible for the media you consume

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist || AO3

A.N: i do not consent to my work being copied, translated, reposted on other platforms, or put into AI. My accounts are on tumblr and AO3 only.

Knocking back drinks is easy. The burn is welcome. Flashing lights hide your seat of choice.

See everyone but you must not be seen.

The bitter taste upon your tongue seldom prevents the bittersweet memory. Your tongue clicks as the last shot glass is empty as well. Pushing away from your hideaway you go to the crowd upon the dance floor.

Become one with the crowd but you must stand out.

The speakers thump, your heart reverberates to the beat of the song. Head thrown back in a bitter drowned laugh at the lyrics. Reminding you of an aimless search.

Hands grip your hips, you allow yourself to be pulled into the embrace. The man moves his hips, your short skirt doing its job.

The two of you move. Your hands guide him to your waist, you turn wrapping your arms around him. Smiling shyly at him. Little does he know what you are up to.

Replace easily but never forget.

The man trails his hands up your back. Hmm, maybe you could have your fun. The wandering hands freeze. You huff, pushing away from him. The crowd wanes in the slightest. You find another partner.

Your hips meet with this new partner, your eyes scan the surroundings.

How fitting the line of the song.

‘Are you hiding from me, yeah?

Somewhere in the crowd’

The light bounces off of his features, brows knit, scowling. Angry, grumpy and oh so livid at the forgettable hands that are too close to cupping what is absolutely belonging to him.

Rather was his, abandoning you on the run. Leaving stale crumbs to follow. You grab the wandering hands leading them to the back. Where bodies seek pleasure.

Where the heart eats the afterthoughts, and falls into a bitter ruin.

‘Someone who can please me,

Love me all night long’

The stranger pushes you against the wall, lips on your neck, parting your legs with his knee. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, drawing him closer. The stranger speaks with lust, and decrees promises of euphoria.

You blink up at him, then smirk. Your hands wander below. He groans as you palm him. Then he stumbles backward. Your vision is blocked by broad shoulders that one did carry your given marks proudly.

The song reaches its chorus. Steve turns to you, blue eyes carry an anger. You only raise your brow at him. He follows you out of the back exit. You don’t run. He tilts his head, you did run from him the previous times.

Why not today?

The song still faintly carries out of the club. You turn towards him. Arms crossed, demeanour demanding an explanation.

“You are not running away from me.” Steve says it as though a statement, the subtle shock hidden well enough.

Make them tell you everything, give them nothing.

“You seemed as if you wanted to have a chat.” You lean against the wall.

“We no longer have to be on the run. Things have come up.” He regards you, trying to get a read. Your expression is neutral.

“So what? You’re treasure hunting your abandoned cadets?” You sneer.

“Do not be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like as if I’m to blame when–,”

“Steve, fuck you.” You spit out, “I do not wish to return anywhere with you. You left lets keep it that fucking way.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” You watch the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Any warm bed.” You take a sick pleasure in the way his calm demeanour cracks. Flaring nostrils, tightening fist, clenched jaw.

“You’re coming to my place.” The authoritative tone makes itself known.

“Sorry Captain, I no longer work for or with you.” You turn back, your shoulder pushing against his arm as you go back into the club.

Steve closes his eyes, breathing in and then out. He groans low as your perfume lingers around him. He had to take you back. Whatever he may have to do to lure you. Following in your footsteps.

Finding you on the dance floor is easy only because you make it. He had decided to leave but then you had to dance with that lowlife. Then the next one, as if you knew he was here.

‘Looking for you babe,

Looking for you babe,

Searching for you babe’

Steve growls spotting you, lips locked on with the stranger from before. His movements are sluggish but they still touch what belongs to Steve himself. The man is pulled away by a friend as Steve makes his way to you.

You are pulled to him, his warmth seeping into your skin through the material of your sheer top yet you shiver. Steve hums pleased, lips nipping at your earlobe. Your hands tighten upon his wanting to push him away.

Both of your hands are grabbed by one of his, you try to move but Steve has other plans. His large palm moves down the back of your right thigh then front. Moving below your skirt. He cups you, the tightening of your inner thighs just keeps his touch closer.

He begins to grind his palm to the beat of the music, speed growing faster as the tempo picks up. Steve watches as your body responds to him. Unravelling itself to the man who ruined it and put it back together with each shattering orgasm.

Your breath comes out in short pants, the coil tightening in your belly. Your panties are ruined by your arousal aiding Steve in his merciless ministrations. Your head rests against his chest. You feel his hand on your chest but your hands don’t move. Lest he stops.

Your moan reverberates against his palm. He tugs on your earlobe yet again as praise. Two fingers now inside you. You know you won’t be able to take it any longer.

‘You can have me all you want

Anyway,’

You cum with a cry of his name, his hearing picks it up even if the hazed crowd around you cannot hear the sweet melody.

You’re pressed down into the mattress, with his belt around your hands tied to the headboard. Steve’s lips are seizing yours—wet, warm, and consuming you. Clothes are long discarded along the small hallway of the flat.

Large palms cup your breasts, your nipples teased, tugged upon with fingers and teeth. When he kisses over your sternum his beard leaves a delicious burn across your body. You cry out his name as he blows over your folds. Lips latching on your clit.

Steve moans, finally his hunger would be sated. Your taste coats his tongue and lips. He can feel his pussy demanding for more, demanding to be rewarded for all these months of useless fucks.

“Steve!” You cry out when he bites down on your folds, tugging them before soothing them with his tongue.

“You need to be reminded who this pussy belongs to.” He nips on your clit, you cry out as the sensitivity begins to take over. He can tell the signs, your hands released.

His cock coated in your arousal. He hisses as your nails dig in, awaking his primal urge to want to be marked by you over and over.

Steve thrusts into you, groaning as you take him so well. All of him, every inch.

“Do you know how beautiful you look? Taking every inch of my cock so well.” He praises, “Look at you, marking me up.”

Your eyes follow the trail of red welts as you leave scratches upon him. Drawing him in and closer for more, more of him.

He angles his hips and you feel him hit the spot that has you arching up into him. Your orgasm barrels into you. Crying out his name. Steve kisses you as your ecstasy triggers his own. You feel him fill you up, your whimpers and mewls met with his soft kisses.

When he pulls away you whine, needing him close. He returns soon with a warm towel and more kisses to give you.

Somewhere between slumber and wakefulness, he makes yet another promise,

“I will make it up to you, sweetheart. I do regret leaving. I’m so very sorry. Even if it takes me years to earn your forgiveness I will remain on my knees.”

The morning light wakes Steve, the sheets are warm and still carry your scent. He smiles burrowing closer, his arm reaching out to draw you to him. He finds emptiness. Bolting upright he searches the room.

He walks through the small apartment. Each corner is empty.

Your clothes are still strewn across his floor but his shirt is gone. Tongue running over his teeth he walks up to the small paper taped to his bathroom mirror. Words he wrote months ago stare back at him.

‘Don’t try to find me, I do not want to be found.’

At the back of the note there is more, but in your handwriting;

‘My Love,

Your search for me will be futile just as mine for you was.

Thanks for the warm bed.’

He traces the lipstick print you’ve left as the sign off with his index finger.

-x-x-x-x-

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #nomad steve smut #captain america x female reader #nomad steve x reader #steve rogers angst #frostironfudge #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #dom steve #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #captain america x you #steve rogers x female reader #nomad steve rogers x reader

424 notes · View notes

darsynia · 1 year ago

Text

Ro Roll Masterlist

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST

It is my BESTIE'S BIRTHDAY and I have done something silly and outrageous. You see, @ronearoundblindly LOVES the song Never Gonna Give You Up. So I decided to write her 7 stories, one for each of the syllables in that first phrase.

It's a celebration of friendship, of blatant ridiculousness, and most of all, the characters we both know and love! Thanks for coming along!!

NEw Nomad Steve/nurse!fReader first kiss

adVERsarial Bucky/mechanic!fReader soulmate AU

draGONfly MCU Steve/wizard!fReader fantasy AU

banaNA Steve/f!Reader established relationship smut

forGIVEn CEO!Steve/f!Reader fluffy meet cute

joYOUs CEO!Steve/f!Reader smutty romance (part III)

sUPine Bucky/mechanic!fReader (Adversarial Part II)

It's been an honor and a delight being your friend!

#Bestie Wars: I win because I have you #steve rogers x f!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #captain america x reader #captain america x f!reader #nomad steve x reader #nomad steve x f!reader #romance #smut #enemies to lovers #soulmate au #fantasy au #established relationship #steve rogers smut #bucky barnes smut

64 notes · View notes

darkuselesssomebody · 2 years ago

Text

dark steve rogers masterlist

** who doesn’t love a lil steve rogers

** all works are x reader (written as x fem!reader)

my full masterlist

everything for all fandoms in one place

my non-dark steve rogers masterlist

K E Y

indicators

♜ - angst

♞ - fluff

♝ - smut

♛ - personal favorite

♚ - most popular (currently over 100 notes)

text type

⌲ - oneshot

↳ - mini - series

✞ - series

│ - drabbles

⌲ promises - ♜

summary || in which the reader asks steve to make a promise

coming soon!

#steve rogers #mcu imagine #marvel #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers masterlist #chris evans #nomad steve #nomad steve x reader #dark steve rogers masterlist

21 notes · View notes

late-to-the-party-81 · 4 months ago

Text

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

#nomad steve x reader #nomad steve x you #nomad!steve #alpha steve rogers #omega reader #a/b/o verse #omegaverse

635 notes · View notes

dearwalker · 3 months ago

Text

this bucky with this steve

11K notes · View notes

chxrryhansen · 1 year ago

Text

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

nomad steve is a big fat fuckin MUNCH. idc idc idc. nobody can change my mind. that man eats pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. he is STARVED.

you wake up? his head is in between your thighs. your working? he wants you to sit on his face while you do it. your doing the dishes? best believe that man is on his knees tongue deep inside your pussy desperate to have you cream all over his face. making comments like

“you just looked so good baby i couldn’t help it, had to get a taste of you”

“you like it when daddy sucks on your clit while you finish your chores? yeah? fuckin dirty girl”

“fuck honey, cum in daddy’s mouth, come on give it to me”

“pussy tastes like fuckin heaven”

one thing he does not stand for is hovering. when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit on it. he’ll be grabbing your hips, pulling you down onto his face, his rough beard rubbing against your thighs while his tongue explores your dripping heat and you know damn well he eats it in the morning so he can smell your pussy on his facial hair during the day, his tongue darting out to lick over his moustache, savouring the taste of your juices.

your spread missionary as he suckles and nibbles on your clit, his fingers fucking into you at a desperate pace, missing the taste of your cream even though he’s already had you twice today, his mouth opening wide as you writhe and squirt on his tongue, watching him as he moans and grunts, his hips rocking into the mattress beneath him as he fills his boxers with hot n sticky ropes of cum

“jesus christ” he breathes, “got me cumming in my pants like a damn teenager sweet girl, thats how fuckin good your pussy tastes.”

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

#chxrrys prompts #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #nomad steve rogers x reader #nomad steve rogers #chris evans smut #cevans prompt

10K notes · View notes

lanabuckybarnes · 2 months ago

Text

| Heating Up |

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing(s): Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Steve Rogers

Warnings: A/B/O Themes, Heat, Polyamory, Oral (F), PinV Sex, Knotting, Two sickly sweet alphas who adore their baby — if I’ve missed any let me know.

Word count: 1.5k

Note: Well hello enjoyers of my work I’m so sorry I abandoned you but life came at me fast. Having a puppy is hard work and before I knew it he was almost a year old and I hadn’t posted in a long time. I had surgery also so with everything going on I haven’t had time to write but hopefully I’ll get back to it. For now please enjoy a lil snippet from my drafts you beautiful souls.

This has not been looked over thoroughly forgive my mistakes!!

Your mates were concerned to say the least. You’d spent all but the better half of this week avoiding them, choosing to spend most of your waking hours cooped up in your room instead—only leaving to eat when both men had vacated the house or were tucked up in the much larger bed in the master bedroom.

“Steve have you seen my shirt?” A half naked Bucky stomps in, a scowl marring his perfect features. His bonding mark on perfect display above ropes of muscle that rippled and stretched at each little movement he made.

Steve only hummed, jutting his chin out in the direction of the closed door, your separate little bedroom.

“Thought I couldn’t hear her sneaking out while you were showering, I saw her come back with it not even five minutes ago.” Steve tossed the contents of his frying pan into the air, making sure to catch everything again effortlessly.

This hadn’t been the first time Bucky or Steve’s clothing had vanished into thin air this week. Just the other day Steve and Bucky had gone to training, each of them discarding their clothing in a pile before showering. When they finished the pile was nowhere to be found. They’d tried to question you, Steve pulling on the handle of the closed door but it was locked.

They both had a sneaky suspicion about what was up but you hadn’t had anything since dating the Alphas. It would be strange for it to happen now, right?

They let your strange behaviour continue, you weren’t harming anyone but Bucky was chomping at the bit to see you again. The more reserved of the two had become quite smitten with you, his bonding mark itched when you weren’t joined at the hip and the itch was becoming too much to bear. He waited until Steve was distracted before picking the lock of your room and stepping in.

The first thing that hit him was your scent, heavy in the air, its cherry undertones strong and almost overpowering, he could almost taste it. His alpha brain clicked instantly and told him to leave you alone but his human side craved your contact.

You weren’t in the bed, the shower running let him know exactly where you were. The perfect cover for him. The white sheets had been thrown on the floor, the bed littered in Steve and his shirts and other discarded clothing. It took him only a second to realise that the arrangement was intricate and thought out. A nest.

“What? Get out!” You snarled from behind him, teeth bared and eyes crazy, your body wrapped in a little towel. He blinked at you for a second before promptly apologising for the intrusion and slinked out of the room, jumping lightly at the loud slam and click of the lock.

“She’s in heat.” Steve groaned from his spot in the hall. Your sweet scent had wafted throughout the house, alerting Steve of your vulnerability. His cock hardened in his pants as his pupils dilated, matching the same look Bucky had.

Both of your poor alphas went to bed painfully hard, trying to ignore your soft yowls from the other room. You tried to hold off, deal with the feeling on your own but you couldn’t, you needed them.

Steve awoke instantly at the creak of their door, his nose twitching at your smell. He glanced over to Bucky who clutched your pillow, still fast asleep.

Your whimpers grew closer, the bed dipping under your weight as you crawled onto the mattress, until you straddled Steve.

“Stevieee,” you moaned weakly, your hips grinding into his brief covered crotch, your pussy hot against him. You whined as his length twitched against you, hardening easily.

“Oh angel, you’re in heat?” He asked, his large hands helping you move. When you nodded he snarled, flipping you both over until your head made contact with the pillow in Bucky’s arms, Steve’s head nuzzling into your neck, his teeth nipping and licking at your bonding mark. The ministrations had your sweet scent flowing from you in waves. The scent woke Bucky up, his hot breath on the side of your face as he growled lowly.

“Babygirl, you finally come around?” He chuckled at the pathetic sound that fell from your lips, your hand carding through Steve’s dirty blonde locks as he kissed down your almost naked body. Your panties clung to you as another wave of slick fell from you.

“Don’t k-know why…mm Stevie…just felt hot and needy,” you babbled, tears pooling in your water line as you looked up at Bucky. He thought you looked absolutely ravishing, your lip petted and swollen from your lip biting, your body flushed and glistening already.

“You shouldn’t have held back from us omega, you know we live to serve you.” You cried out at his words, nodding before leaning up slightly to slot his lips with yours.

Steve’s chuckle vibrated against your core as he watched how desperate you were. Steve didn’t mind that you and Bucky had such a close relationship, you were his first after all, but he knew you loved him too. Especially when he suckled on your sweet scent through your cotton panties.

“Mmm Stevieee,” your head fell back onto the sheets, your mouth gaping as your eyes fell shut, the fingers in his hair tugging tightly.

“You like that angel? Like your Alpha tasting you? Taste so sweet omega, so fucking sweet.” He growled, hooking a finger into the gusset of your panties before devouring your pussy.

Your sweet moans and whines were like music to your Alphas ears, your hips grinding up and practically riding Steve’s bearded face. You came undone when his nose nudged your sensitive little bud, your cunt gushing over his bearded face. You didn’t even know you could leak that much.

“Oh pleasepleaseplease Alpha, need your knot so bad, so so so bad,” you sobbed, uncaring of who’s knot you got, you just needed to be filled.

“Ok babygirl, alphas got you ok? We’ll let Stevie fuck that weeping cunt first alright, since he was such a good boy and made you cum” Bucky moved so he was sitting behind you, his arms holding your hips while Steve slipped your panties off before moving each of your feet to rest on his bulging thighs, spreading you out for the blonde haired man.

You keened at the sight of Steve’s long length, the curve of his cock decorated in thick, rope like veins leading to a fat tip. He might not have been as thick as Bucky but he still stretched you out nice.

You both moaned in tandem with each other as Steve sunk into you, his head grazing the rigid skin of your sweet spot making you clench around him almost painfully.

“Ohh fuck angel so tight, mmm relax lemme breed that sweet pussy ‘mega” he was panting already, balls slapping against you as he fucked you deeply, making sure you could feel everything. Your soft noises mixed with the slick slapping sound and wet squelching filled the room, your pussy gushing all over the sheets. You must’ve looked pathetic, wailing for your alphas cock to breed you full.

To both of them though, you were the sexiest fucking thing ever. Bucky lipsed down your neck, whispering sweet nothings to you as Steve picked up his pace.

“Ohh there we go babygirl, taking it like a fucking champ. Stevie gonna breed you full of his pups yeah? Look at how soaked you’ve got him, such a good little omega”

Bucky’s filthy words paired with Steve’s swelling knot sent you over the edge, your screams reverberating off the walls—neighbours be damned. Steve followed suit, pressing as deep as he could into you before spilling his seed, his knot swollen to full size to prevent anything from slipping out.

You might’ve blacked out, you don’t know, the only thing you could vaguely register was Steve’s teeth biting down on your dark mark, causing another shockwave of your orgasm to shoot through you.

“There we go babygirl that’s it took it so well, ohh my fucking god” Steve’s chest rumbled with laughter as he settled, grabbing the water Bucky handed him and gulping down gratefully before helping you take a drink yourself.

Both of them moved so that you lay on top of Steve, waiting for the swell of his knot to settle. Bucky’s fingers brushed through your locks, his head laying on Steve’s other pec so he could kiss you gently.

“Take a little nap babygirl ‘cause once Stevie’s knot is gone I’m gonna fucking ruin that cunt, ok?” Despite the sweet way he spoke you knew Bucky meant every single word of it. And your pussy throbbed with excitement.

“We are never gonna survive this” Steve joked after you’d fallen asleep, his hand running up and down your bare arm. Bucky laughed in agreement before speaking,

“We’ll give it our best shot.”

535 notes · View notes

igotatasteforoldermendelrey · 2 months ago

Text

Caring for you.

Pictures from contemploren (Bucky) and sydXgoldenhabit (Steve) on Pinterest.

A/N : Hi guys ! I love Stucky, like really I love them. I got this idea last week and was like why not write it. Hope you will like it!

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

Ship : Stucky x reader

Summary : you came back to the compound with an injury you hide to Steve and Bucky, not wanting to worry them. But when you can’t do simple things you have to face the fact that you might need help. How will the two super soldiers react when you tell them?

Warnings : non specified relationships (either friends or more, you decide), injury (bruise), swearing, intimacy (platonic), feelings, crying, lie, mention of being beaten up.

Let me know if I forgot something.

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

Banners made on Pinterest.

You knew they were going to kill you. As soon as they will see the bruise colouring your ribs a dark shade of blue and purple, they were going to annihilate you.

It all started when you were sent on a mission alone, much to Steve and Bucky protests. Fury insisted on you going alone to not raise too much attention on the whole operation. So you went. And everything went smoothly except for the part where two men beat you up right before you made sure they couldn’t raise their hands on a woman ever again. So here you were, clutching your right side in your hand, trying to walk as naturally as possible while a throbbing pain shook you every time you moved. You refused the medical examination after you came home to the compound, knowing that the two men were going to be immediately alerted of your state.

It wasn’t that bad. Sure it hurt like a bitch and you wanted to fucking scream at everyone staring at you strangely, but other than that everything was just fine. Until it wasn’t.

The two of them were overprotective of you, always making sure you were safe, ready to fight anyone that would try to hurt you. Even in mission, they pushed you in the back so you wouldn’t get shot or hurt in a fight. They both knew you were capable of defending yourself or taking care of yourself, but they wanted to do it. So when they saw you walking in the kitchen, a frown on your face and a weird way of walking they knew something was off.

Doll? Are you ok? What happened? Bucky asked, coming closer and frowning when you stepped back.

I’m fine, just tired. You replied, keeping your voice steady.

Bucky looked back at Steve who was already looking at him with a frown. They knew better than to push you to tell them what was wrong, so they let it go, just staying around you in case you wanted to talk.

You didn’t want to talk, the pain you felt as if a knife stabbed your skin every time you moved made you want to throw up. You knew they were both staring at you, analysing every of your moves if only to get a clue that might explain your comportment. They couldn’t put their fingers on what was happening but still tried, too hard maybe because none of them heard you ask them a question.

Guys? Are you listening to me? You called out, a jar of pickles you couldn’t open in your hands.

Sorry what, doll? Steve asked, blinking at you.

Can you help me open that? You asked him again, holding out the jar.

You cannot open a jar of pickles. Bucky intervened, narrowing his eyes at you.

The truth is you couldn’t get to open it because the movement alone send a throbbing pain in you spine.

I wouldn’t ask you either way. You replied rolling slightly your eyes.

What’s up with the attitude? The super soldier shot back.

Don’t start Bucky. I’m not in the mood. You warned him, taking back the jar Steve was holding back to you.

Why?

Because I just came home from a long ass mission and I have this fucking- You cut yourself short, almost spilling the truth.

And you have what? Steve replied, raising his brows.

And I have this fucking urge to go to bed. Good night assholes. You said, the noise of the jar of pickles on the counter almost making you jump.

You left the kitchen without even looking back at them. Walking fast so that they couldn’t call you back and see the glimpse of tears in your eyes. Walking in the elevator, you let your back hit the wall and take a deep breath. You knew it was shitty to not tell them what was wrong but you really didn’t want them to be worried or on your back until you healed.

The last time you got wounded, they had strictly forbidden you to do any sort of training or work while you only had a broken leg. Even filling reports. And yet you understood why they acted like that. Both fearing of losing someone they deeply cared about again. It was all linked to trauma of their past. That’s why it never really bothered you and if it did you would have tell them to slow down.

The ding of the elevator ripped you out of your thoughts, signalling you were at your floor. You took a deep breath before pushing you off the wall with a wince and walking to your room. Knowing your body needed a shower, you took of the grey sweater and jogging your threw on in the Quinjet because of the state of your tactic suit.

When you saw your reflection in the mirror you gasped, the bruise had extended from the bottom of your armpit to the top of your waist. You hadn’t it was that bad, sure the pain was worsening but you put that on the fact that your adrenaline was back to normal. Even worse, you couldn’t move you right arm, the pain too strong.

A knock on the door cut the silence, two voices behind it. You swore, putting back on the clothes you had before walking to the door and opening it.

Doll? We wanted to apologise for being like that downstairs.

Yes, we know sometimes we can be a bit too much on your back. We’re just worried about you.

And we promise we’re going to slow down a bit. But we just really want you to know that we’re not acting like because we think you’re not capable of taking care of yourself or-

Or that you’re bad at you job. Bucky interrupted his friend. Hell no you’re excellent. We just want to be there for you.

They hadn’t realised you were crying but when they did, sobs were fully coming out of you.

Hey, what’s going on, Honey? Steve exclaimed putting one of his hand your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning around and walking inside of your bedroom, the two them following you and Bucky closing the door.

I lied to you guys.

What do you mean?

When I said I was fine. I had a problem with two men during the mission, they kinda… beat me up. Yes I took care of them. And I have this gigantic bruise on my right side. I fucking can’t take a shower without getting lightheaded from the pain. You cried out, wiping the tears away with your left hand.

The fatigue got to you, lowering your guard. Their heart broke when they realised the state you were in, not having understood before that your defensiveness was coming from the fact you were in pain, not because of how they were acting.

Bucky was the first to reach out to you. Taking your left hand in his, the movement of his thumb on the back of it soothing you.

Can we take a look? He asked softly, his eyes fixated on yours. When you nodded, gently raised your sweater so that they could see the extent of the damage. Fuck doll, you should have gone to the medical staff.

I didn’t want to, still don’t.

Ok, here is what we’re going to do. Steve is going to go get an ice pack to put on the bruise while I’m going to help you get in the bath tub. If you’re ok with that. He added, making sure you knew you could say no.

You nodded, too tired to care about who was going to see you in this state. Steve left, promising to come back quickly, while Bucky gently get you in his arm to the bathroom. He then sat you on the sink, pushing back your hair from your forehead. He turned on the faucet to warm the water and then returned in front of you. He helped you out of your sweater, asking you if it was ok every times he moved. When your jogging was off, leaving you in your underwear, he helped you in the bathtub, making sure the water was warm enough without burning your skin.

Bucky gently helped you wash off the day, the mission and the blood your skin gathered, making sure you were still awake. He carried you out of the tub, wrapping a towel around your body. When you sat down on the border of the tub, he left the room to get you something to wear. The super soldier came back after a few minutes with a change of clothes in his hands. He first helped you in a long shirt, falling on your knees before helping you get your bra off, the shirt making a barrier so that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. Bucky came out of the bathroom to leave you the time change of underwear before coming back inside you called out his name.

After you were dressed, the super soldier helped you walk back to your bedroom where Steve was sat on your bed, ice pack besides him. He smiled up at you softly, looking at your face and at the dark circles under your eyes. He took Bucky’s place and helped you to your bed, laying you down and putting the sheets on you.

Bucky sat down on the other side, the pack of ice wrapped in a towel so the cold won’t burn your skin and handing it to you. You sighed of relief when you felt the cold on the bruise, closing your eyes and letting your body relax.

Do you think she can takes pain meds? Bucky asked to Steve.

I don’t know, have you eaten since you came back?

A pickle.

The two men laughed. Yeah that’s definitely not enough, honey. Do you want something in particular?

Just kill me already. You whined, closing your eyes tighter.

We will do that when you’re feeling better.

Baby come on… Bucky sighed, grabbing your calf through the sheets.

Stay here, I’m gonna go see what’s left in the fridge. Steve said when he got up.

I didn’t take you for a thief. That’s not good for your reputation Rogers.

It will be even worse for my reputation when I’m going to make your run a hundred times around the lake. He replied before leaving the room.

You were left alone with Bucky who was still staring at you.

Why didn’t you tell us? He asked.

Because I didn’t want you to go all super soldier for me. Like… I love it when you do it, I do. But I cannot keep counting on you, you won’t always be here.

Sweetheart… I think I can speak for Steve too when I say that we really count to be there for you as long as you will let us. There is nothing you can do that will change that. I mean unless you join Hydra of course. Bucky said, coming up the bed to sit beside you.

You slightly laughed at but when you did, the pain came back full force. Fuck.

Sorry, I probably shouldn’t make you laugh.

That’s alright it’s what I get for not paying attention to my surroundings.

What happened?

I was trying to get a man to talk, like Fury asked. But I fucking didn’t see the other two behind me and they… didn’t like the fact that I kinda beat their friend.

They surely didn’t go kindly on you.

Here I am, I took everything I could. Tony might lecture me about the fact that I took his donuts but I don’t care. Steve said when he came back, arms full of divers dishes.

The three of you ate, Bucky and Steve animating the conversation so that you could relax even more. After a while, you felt the fatigue getting to you, and lay your head on Steve’s shoulder. He let you and even sat back against your headboard so that you could be more comfortable. You passed out before you could even say thank you.

~~~~

She look so peaceful. Bucky said, watching you.

I know right. Steve answered, looking over at your head laying on his shoulder. And yet she still can’t accept people care for her.

It’s in her head, Steve. She has been confronted to that her whole life. It takes time. I know that well.

Yeah you’re right. But it makes me so angry to see her like that. She didn’t even come to see us while she was in pain.

Her brain has to understand this is real. Bucky answered, putting his hand on Steve knees. But we will make sure it does. You did it for me.

And I will do it again for her.

#marvel #stucky #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #fluff #marvel mcu #fanfic #nomad steve rogers #thunderbolts #winter soldier

258 notes · View notes

crowsofdarkness · 5 months ago

Text

Steve has a special request for his birthday.

18+ CW's below the cut(public sex, slight knife play, oral with female receiving, spanking, unprotected pinv, use of "sir", reader is bound.)

Steve only wanted one thing for his birthday. Me, on my knees, in the middle of the woods behind the Avengers Compound. Everyone thought he was Mr. Shy Guy; quiet and reserved.

But I knew different. I knew the darkness that lived inside of Steve. Which is why we were here outside in the woods, while I was on my hands and knees naked for him and my arms were bound behind my back. Steve loomed in his full Captain America suit.

His hands held my hips with a bruising force, halting me up slightly so my pussy was directly in line with those luscious lips. Since my hands were bound behind my back, my body folded awkwardly but I dared not to complain.

“So pretty and wet, all for me,” Steve mused with a flick of his tongue over my clit.

“Oh god,” I moaned, pressing my pussy closer to his mouth.

I needed more of him. Desperately.

A swift smack to my ass echoed in the woods causing me to cry out. “No god here, Doll. Just you and me.”

All at once, his mouth devoured my pussy, tongue fucking me for a few beats before his teeth grazed over the overly sensitive bud of my clit. He’d been working me up since the second we stepped foot in the woods, so all it took was his face between my legs for a few seconds before my release rushed out of me with a howl of euphoria. I cried out while writing against his face, making his grip on my hips tighten as he licked and sucked me through my orgasm.

“I fucking love the way you taste,” a gentle kiss to my over stimulated clit.

I was breathless, ready to fall into a heap in the ground, but Steve had other plans.

“Are you ready for my cock now, doll?”

All I could do was nod which didn’t seem to please him because he landed another smack to my ass.

“Try that again,” he snarled.

Oh, right.

“Yes sir,” I squeaked out.

“Good fucking girl,” he crooned before sinking himself deep inside of me.

It was an adjustment to have him fit in between my walls. His cock was much larger and it was always an adjustment so he had to pull himself out before sinking in slowly a few times until I was fully open for him.

“You take my cock so well, doll. Like you were made for me,” he said while snapping his hips against my ass.

The only noises that lingered in the air of the woods was our shared panting, skin on skin, and me writing in the crunchy leaves. Every time Steve would piston his cock into me, my body would shift up half an inch. He let out a low growl and wrapped an arm around my midsection. He hoisted us up so he was kneeling and I was speared open on his cock. The new angle made stars dance in the edge of my vision and I rested my head against his shoulder. I felt the rough material of his suit scratch against the bareness of my back as he lifted me up and down on him.

“I love the way you fuck,” Steve sank he teeth into my neck and I cried out.

Suddenly, a cold bite of metal was pressed against the spot he bit down and I froze in his grasp.

The knife he brought, the one we frequently used during sex, was pressed against my neck.

“I need you to be quiet. I can’t have people hearing how pretty you sound,” he grunted when his cock swelled inside of me.

He was close.

With the knife pressed into my throat, I rolled my hips against him, trying to bring him closer to the edge because I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. The second he slipped himself inside of me, my second orgasm was building. I was so far gone in the aura of him, desperate for that release, I hadn’t realized the tip of the blade pressed a bit too hard into my skin, drawing the smallest of blood.

Steve changed our position again, once more being face down on the ground as his entire body laid against mine, his pace almost ruthless and erratic. A curse fell from his lips and then something soft brushed against my back.

“I’m going to fill up that pretty little cunt, doll.”

I lifted my head to try and get a peek at him, wanting to taste those lips I loved so much, but Steve let out a noise of disappointment and shoved my face into the ground, causing me to take in a mouth of dirt.

But I didn’t care because my second orgasm of the night ripped me in half when the head of his cock hit that spot which made my vision blur. He pumped himself a few more times until his cock twitched just as he let out a low whine, coating the inside of my walls.

“Best. Birthday. Ever,” his voice was muffled by my hair as he buried his face into it.

#steve rogers #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #nomad steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers blurb #marvel smut #marvel #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america blurbs #marvel blurbs

306 notes · View notes

buckets-and-trees · 1 month ago

Text

He's Gonna Miss Me [Exiled Nomad Series]

Characters/Pairings: rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count 1.5k Summary: June 8, 2018. Half the universe is gone.

Content/Warnings: "fluffy" angst; established relationship

Previous Part | Series

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

He didn't know you were gone.

It wasn't his fault—at least, not by any normal metric of responsibility.

There had been immediate matters to deal with first. And then so many lines and satellites and grids had been down for days; cell towers were jammed or in some cases damaged. Power flickered on and off at odd intervals, the world a patchwork of bewildered darkness and nervous, overlit blocks. When Steve called your phone (for the very first time), he got nothing. Not even the familiar tone of your voice on a voicemail message, just a hollow, looping boop-boop that made his skin crawl.

Even then, he didn’t panic.

He’d gotten used to the rhythm of uncertainty for the last two years, being in exile, on the run. So once they’d stabilized enough at Avengers Campus, he took a quinjet and came looking for you.

For the first time since the world fell apart, Steve found himself afraid to open a door.

He stood on the landing outside your apartment, his fists balled tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Steve stared at it for a few moments, then exhaled and tried the doorknob.

Locked.

Though he’d picked many locks - including yours - for the last two years, he forced the lock, urgency overriding more elegant efficiency, forcing it open with a loud thud.

And then he was inside.

He called out your name - tentatively, but loud enough that you should hear regardless of where you might be.

No immediate answer. But you could simply be out.

Steve stood in the foyer of your apartment, the door still gaping open behind him, and tried to make sense of the absence that pressed in from every direction.

The air still smelled like you, mingled with a top note of burnt toast. He walked through the apartment like it was a crime scene, which in a way it was, though the only violence committed here seemed to be against routine. A book lay facedown on the arm of the couch, abandoned mid-sentence.

Your shoes were lined up by the door, and the keys hung on a hook. There was a potted basil plant on the window ledge, leaves drooping but not yet dead, and a mug half-full of tea on the kitchen counter. Completely cold.

He walked the rooms—the bedroom, the compact office with the thrifted desk, the bathroom with the overspill of hair products—and with each step felt the floor drop further out from beneath him. The only things missing were you, and, he finally realized, your cat.

Still, he wouldn’t call it. Couldn’t. Not until there was no shred of hope left. So he made another sweep of every square foot of your apartment.

And once he’d done it all again, Steve just stood in the center of your bedroom, unable to decide where else to look, what to touch, how many more times to look. What he was even looking for to determine whether or not you’d been snapped from existence. There was your jacket, slung over the back of the desk chair. There were two more mugs, one with lipstick traces, one with a chip on the handle, side by side on the windowsill. There was your cat, Juniper, emerging from under the bed like a cautious shade, tail low but eyes bright and unblinking.

"Juniper," he said, voice catching on the second syllable.

She meowed in response. Then, paw by paw, she inched forward and halted a foot from him, tilting her head in appraisal.

Steve stooped and held out a hand. She sniffed it, tentatively, once, twice, and then butted her chin into the crook of his thumb. He scooped her up and set her against his chest, cradling the cat with care, and she began to purr.

He sank to the bed, Juniper curled in his lap. The weight of her—not much, really, but substantial in the way of living things—was grounding in the tides of uncertainty that had been his reality since he stepped out of your door only days ago. He stroked the fur along her spine, the soft gray like a storm cloud on a spring morning, and was glad at least she still existed, a testament to the fact that you had.

Even if you no longer did.

Steve looked around your bedroom. Then he saw your phone, plugged into the charger, the screen a dead black. He pressed the button anyway. Nothing. He knew from the reports—god, the hundreds of thousands of reports—that personal effects were left behind, abandoned mid-motion or mid-thought or mid-sentence, all over the world. It didn’t mean, objectively, what he suspected it to mean.

But how much longer could he deny that it did?

He spent the rest of the night there, not because it was logical or even safe but because he couldn't leave. He curled up on your side of the bed, Juniper tucked against his ribs, and watched the city stutter through the window as grids flickered and failed and sometimes came back with cold blue certainty.

He wondered if you’d been here the moment it happened. If you’d been standing by the window or curled in this same bed or leaned over the sink brushing your teeth, barefoot, humming through toothpaste like you always did. Were you frightened or calm? Did you have time to realize what was coming? Did you think of him at all in that instant?

The cat woke him before dawn, walking the length of his torso and kneading her paws into his chest with the insistent drive of hunger or habit or both. He scratched her behind the ears for a few minutes, then rose and started moving through the apartment, more deliberate this time.

He made sure Juniper was fed and checked on her water. Then, after a quick refresh in the bathroom - using the small collection of things he’d only just decided to leave there with you, he packed Junie’s things. Bowls, the small bag of food, the litter box from under the bathroom sink, the worn mouse toy, her vaccination and shelter paperwork clipped together in a folder. Then he walked the rooms one last time, slow and deliberate. The book you’d left on the couch kept drawing his eye, and he picked that up, too.

The light was just beginning to bleed through the blinds when he finally dialed Natasha, who picked up on the first ring.

"She's not here," Steve said, voice flat. "But the cat's still here. I’m bringing her with me."

A pause, static and the distant scrape of a chair, then Natasha said, "Of course. Don't linger there, Steve. We need you back."

"I know," he said. He pressed the phone to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll be there by noon."

He ended the call but didn't move right away. Sunlight gathered in a ragged band across the carpet, illuminating the motes of dust suspended in the air. It was the kind of morning you loved: the city half-awake, shadows crawling slow across the buildings, the day not yet decided. Steve watched the light for a while, then went to the desk in your office and pulled a sheet of paper from the drawer.

Steve considered what to write, what message could possibly be sufficient, should you ever come back. The pencil hovered over the paper for a long minute. Then, in his blocky, almost antique handwriting, he wrote two words:

Call me.

You had a number to reach him now. He'd given you one the weekend he took you to dinner. The weekend you'd admitted this was end game to each other.

Underneath, he left his initials.

Back in the living room, he scooped up Juniper and set her in her carrier. He scanned the apartment once more, this time for things he might have missed, things you would have wanted to be rescued. A favorite cardigan he’d seen you wear a few times, sunfaded and soft, still draped over the arm of your reading chair. A battered water bottle with stickers along the side—each one a memento from bits of your life he didn’t know enough about. The book, already in his pocket. He gathered them together, and zipped them into his bag, placing the sweater carefully on top.

He hesitated at the threshold, looking back at the hollow apartment.

He knew without a doubt you were gone with half the universe.

On the walk out, Juniper mrowled, a soft crescendo beneath the city’s sickly hush. He imagined her calling to you across the empty blocks, a semaphore of hope. The thought was almost too much, but he shouldered it, along with the bag and your absence, and made his way back to the quinjet.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

mraow. 🥺

next part: Stole My Tortured Heart

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #nomad steve rogers #steve rogers x yn #female reader #curvy reader #aspen wrote something #exiled nomad series

274 notes · View notes

darsynia · 5 months ago

Text

So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things.

Homegirl about to find herself fixed by complete and utter accident!

Grant peers up at you through long lashes. He’s had a knock-down drag-out with a field of bramble…or something. That’s when you notice dark, dried blood in the grime stuck to him, and he lets out a long sigh. “Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Honestly, it's moments like this where the POV character is clueless but the readers aren't that bring me back to 'fan in the world' as a trope! This is very deliciously hitting that note and I love it. I really picture this hitched sigh in the above moment.

Honestly, don't punch me, but the gentle no pressure caretaking is your instincts showing in the best of ways.

OOH is she going to assume he'd HAVE to be bleeding but there's no injury showing anymore, and that might mean it's someone else's blood! That's something I hadn't considered for Nomad and immediately love as a concept.

STEVE WHAT THE FUCK

whoops yelling

Seriously though. GOAL:

(seconds later) naked. foot. leg. gulp

I can really picture that head-bent position so perfectly well!

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

oh man this feels like Steve's telling this to himself belatedly, with the urgency he feels he ought to have felt before he said it.

FLICKING WATER oh this is a joy, girl

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

You're always so skilled at reminding us of setting with subtle cues.

Okay I can't quote EVERYTHING, bish. (affectionate) But it all deserves it.

That sleep sexual tension is SO sexy my god. The culmination point of 'should I' to 'yes' is just as aching as you imagine Steve feels.

STEVE I swear to fucking god sometimes I will not accuse you of prompting me to yell but you KNEW you knew.

You knew! (loved it tho)

Hideout (2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

Summary: 'Grant' becomes comfortable enough to tell you who he is, and you get comfortable enough to show him the kindness he deserves.

Warnings for description of minor blood/injury and light smut (mentions of morning wood, dry humping, hair pulling, praise kink? maybe coached orgasm?). This series is 18+ only. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you youngins to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2.6k

Warmer months are for updating the rooms, so they are on a rotation of renovation. There are really busy times and really slow times based on events in town, but there’s an understanding with Grant’s ‘party’ of friends that, if needed, they can stay in the room closed for repair. It’s not as if any room is uninhabitable when they need a coat of paint and some plumbing tune-ups.

Clark doesn’t remember you told him about this—you used the excuse that Grant ’s company are handymen (and women) who come in between other jobs,—so the front desk kid calls you while you’re out running errands one day.

Two ‘dudes’ want to stay in room eight on the end. So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things. Clark just says “kay.”

When you pull into the lot hours later, you don’t expect to find Grant sitting on the curb, filthy and exhausted in some gym clothes, a plastic bag set at his feet.

“Wha’ch’a waiting for?” you call with the window down, hoping his spirits can lift easily.

“Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Their room’s water tank, the one due for maintenance, is going to take an eternity to reheat, and it’s the worst luck that there really are no other rooms available.

“Hop on in. You can use the bath up at the house.”

He looks just as startled as you by the invitation, but in no simple terms can you express how bad it is to have a huge guy covered in blood hanging out in front of your rural motel. That’s horror movie bait.

You know Grant. You trust him. All he needs is to clean himself up.

He checks behind him again. The same mix of seeking approval or seeking the cover of ignorance returns to his pretty features, and he trots over to the passenger seat of the car, plastic bag in hand.

He helps you bring in the groceries and supplies from town even though you point him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom immediately. There’s a big jacuzzi tub in there, and he is welcome to soak for however long he wants. You’ll even wash his clothes in the mean time, if he’d like.

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

Showing him where everything is in the bathroom takes a minute. You fish around a cupboard for the muscle-relaxing milk additive, explaining it may help him…if needed. You don’t know what’s happened, so you’re flying blind for options.

When the tap turns off ten minutes later, silence descends, but he never handed you stuff to wash. You knock and try the door, just to crack it open so he can hear you.

First, you notice the color of the water. He used the milk bath alright, but whatever washed immediately off him has saturated and soured the clean white into a rusty tan. Second, you pick up the pile of clothes and find more in the plastic bag, except…it’s a suit with a star decal half-ripped and dangling from the chest. Third, you realize you can’t see him in the water at all, not his feet, not his head, no bubbles, so you rush in and shove your hands beneath the surface.

He shoots up in alarm, gasping and sloshing to a different wide, rounded corner of porcelain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you shriek, hands out and spread wide. “I just thought—I don’t know—I didn’t know if you’d—sorry!”

He rubs his hands down his face and over his dripping hair. He doesn’t even speak; he just waves for you to stop apologizing and clears water shot up his nose.

You have to collapse to the fuzzy rug and hold your heart before it beats right out of your ribcage. You still repeat “sorry” a few more times and then manage an impressed “wow, you kept all the water in.”

He thunks his head back to the lip of the tub and props up one leg, his knee cresting the surface. “I have a talent…”

The dirt, despite how much clearly came off already, is smeared grossly across him.

He looks so tired.

“May I—“ you grab the shampoo bottle all the way at his feet “—help?”

Defeated in more ways than one, he nods through the same concerned and confused gaze that’s become his signature. He maneuvers nearer you while you carefully wet your hands, starting a lather. His head stays down, spine exposed, as you massage at the base of his skull.

His eyes shut.

Your heart now swells with accomplishment; you gave this man a moment of peace.

Fingers gliding over the sinewy, tight bands beneath soft hairs, you press circles around and around his scalp. He cranes backwards while you move up and over the crown of his head, and by just above his ears, he’s laying his full weight in the water, lax against the rim.

You keep going long after his hair is strictly clean, though you’ll recommend he rinse after soaking because the water is too foul to count on.

He remains quiet, so you dip your hands in the water at his shoulders, shake them about, and move on to scrubbing his face clean, too, working down from the hairline and over his beard.

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

He sniffs again, raising a hand from the water to stop yours.

“My name isn’t…” His eyes open finally, only to stare blankly at the ceiling. “My name is Steve.”

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the washing to sit back on the mat again. “Do you want me to call you that or Grant?”

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You rest your chin on the lip of the tub, too. “I know. I won’t.”

Eyes locked, you two stare at each other for a long beat.

“The Captain America suit kinda gave it away though,” you whisper, and to your surprise and delight, Steve flicks water at you in retaliation.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “handle yourself in here while I go start the laundry.”

You stretch and almost—almost—kiss his forehead because, for whatever reason, that feels right, but at the last second you tuck your head down, acting like you were just standing up. You can’t bring yourself to look back at him while gathering the clothes.

You keep busy downstairs, scrubbing at a few spots of caked on muck, trying not to listen to the sounds of splashing, the squeaking as he moves around, the rush of the draining bath, and the tap turning back on to rinse him again. You scramble to find the biggest t-shirt and pair of pants you own (although, come to think of it, Steve’s got fairly small hips, so you grab some stretchy sweats) and hand them through the door when realizing he has nothing else to wear.

He emerges with several visible cuts and scrapes but dismisses your offer to treat them.

“It’s not worth the effort. They’ll be gone by morning.”

You’ve decided something: if he doesn’t bring it up, you won’t either.

Whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell it, you don’t ask. You are used to keeping guests’ confidence—not that anyone tells you deep, dark secrets, but you refuse to gossip about cleanliness or things in the trash—and ‘Grant’ will be no different.

You can, however, still tease him.

“Ready to share that queen bed with Tom?” You give his beefy arm a playful punch.

Steve groans.

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

He pinches tired eyes, a ghost of a smirk realigning the hairs of his beard. You imagine that on any other day, he would put up more of a fight, but he’s fought enough.

“Yeah, okay. As long as I won’t scare the daylights out of your parents by being on the couch in the morning.” Steve steps over to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re at a hospitality conference. I run the place…mostly. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a bed that fits you?” You dramatically bow and indicate your room. “This way, please, sir.”

Good thing he has no fight left in him. His eyes narrow adorably, but he doesn’t budge.

“I should let Tom know.”

“There is a phone in there, too. I’ll dial room eight.”

You get him some water, hanging his clothes to dry, offering as much privacy as you can in an old house with thin walls.

“Yeah, hi, it’s…yes, yes, I’m… Yeah, I know. I know, Sam, just—you don’t have to laugh about it. She let me use the bath, is all. You’re the one who—Well, don’t take all the damn wa—hello? Hello?” Steve is staring at the receiver of the land line when you appear in the doorway. “Uh, he…gets it.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing around your neither childish nor sterile room. You put the glass down on your side table instead of handing it to him.

“Okay, I think you need rest,” you add, sweeping your hand down his bare arm.

You marvel at how the edges of his cuts are already shrinking, knitting back together in near-realtime. Your fingertips trace around the skin like an interactive roadmap.

First heal this, then he needs this, and this is deeper here.

You wonder whether he feels pain the same as everyone else. Is it dulled? Does he just have to ignore how much and how frequently he hurts because it goes away sooner? That’s a sad thought to you. Just because he’ll be okay, doesn’t mean he should suffer more.

He’s a miracle. As Grant, Steve, Cap, or nobody at all, he’s still a miracle.

“You don’t have to go…”

The last of the evening blurs as you wake, but you remember Steve needed this. He asked you to stay.

Spooning is the only way to fit on the bed together. After finishing your own bedtime routing, you began behind the giant man, curled tight, lightly scratching over his broad shoulders and arms. He fell asleep so quickly, and you don’t recall how long after that you both turned over. You had to drape Steve’s awkward arm around you, show him he could hold you close, assure him he can be as comfortable as he likes.

Whichever way he settled is infinitely better than falling off the bed, and you’re grateful he’s accommodating in a small space. You suppose he has to be. Though, for a man as dense as a brick wall, he is shockingly pliant around you.

Shame you have to stretch, ruining the picture of fitting puzzle pieces you’ve become.

Arms out and legs long, you roll, restless on the one side for too long in the night. Steve shifts around your moves, laying his head on your arm instead of the pillow. His arm that was your pillow wedges down by your waist instead.

Your knees knock his, so even in sleep, he lets them slot through, legs entangled and…his erection laying over your thigh, the tip poking your hip.

Your body tenses for a split second, the muscles of your leg brush harder against his cock, and Steve groans softly, the arm draped over you pulling your body closer.

He’s still asleep, breathing easy, his features totally relaxed.

His golden hair shines in the early light, and he’s so, so beautiful.

You move stray locks from his face, enjoying how he nuzzles and sighs as you play. Quiet, lazy touches.

His hips nudge forward for friction. His fingers grab at your nightshirt. One of his shifts angles his length to drive against your mound instead, and you gasp involuntarily, having smothered your excitement for too long.

He stirs, a heavier, longer breath followed by Steve's whole body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. He tries to bury his face in your arm, and you can’t help it. You hope he’ll continue.

You shush him, carding through his hair to soothe him as you did in the bath.

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

You want him to feel good. Hell, you don’t say it, but you need to make him feel good.

Steve still won’t face you. He leans closer, shielding himself with your chest, but he doesn’t pull his hips away.

You can hear him thinking through his options groggily, and in your nervousness, you pull at the fistful of hair in your hand.

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Did you like that? Does that feel nice, Stevie?”

His abs flutter with a spasming exhale, but he says nothing. His rough hands dig into your back while he desperately seeks more friction.

You let him—you encourage him—to keep going.

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

He pants into your skin, making you sweat while he dissolves into a mewling mess of shame, taking what he deserves.

He bends his leg for leverage, the sole of his foot pressing flush to your calf. You feel his thumping heartbeat along all of your skin that touches his. He swallows moans which sound hollow and deep where they die in his chest before Steve grunts and stretches, the whole underbelly of his cock rubbing your inner thigh and baiting your clit mercilessly with almost-contact.

You release his hair, asking “do you want my han—”

But it’s too late.

Steve seizes you in his last moments hard before he stills, palms so wide you’ll feel the marks over an entire shoulder blade and the breadth of skin from your ass to your ribcage.

You yelp, the nails of your trapped hand clawing at the sheets around you. It’s a good pain. It’s worth it to witness how his body melts into yours after he comes. He’s lax and heavy, pathetic convulsions of ecstasy subsiding.

You’re only just starting to feel the wet fabric on your thigh when he peels away and rushes to the bathroom.

The best thing for him is to act normal. It is normal for him to be hard in the morning, to want contact and satisfaction, and the truth is it’s perfectly normal for you to dream of providing that for him. You want that contact with him. You are satisfied when he is satisfied.

That's scary because it's a secret as hidden from you both as his identity now, but you won't talk about it. If he doesn't ask, then he doesn't want the answer. It's better that way.

So that was okay, and this is okay.

It's okay, and you tell him when you bring his gym clothes back to the door. You repeat it as he walks out of your home unable to look you in the eye, his partially-destroyed past life wadded up in a fresh plastic bag.

At the bottom of the porch steps, he turns, still focused on the ground.

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

You can’t tell anyone about him—about how you feel for him—not even him. It wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

A/N: Google, Play 'Hopelessly Devoted To You.' *starts weeping some more*

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

#darsy twirls the fic #steve rogers x reader #nomad steve x reader #come for the premise and stay for the most gorgeous prose out there woman you bless us

391 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 4 months ago

Note

fic title: we've come so far

From this ask game. I don't know if it's cheating to write for an established series for these, but your title was too perfect 💜 and turned out to be WAY more than the small description this game asked for, whoops! ***You do not need to have read any of this series to enjoy this, though you won't necessarily understand how "far" Steve has come without it.***

touch-starved (or is he??) Nomad!Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings for smut. Yo, this is flat out just Steve really embracing his horniness, okay? That's it. MINORS DNI. This one is not safe for all ages. WC ~there's... uh... some heft to her... probably 1.5k?

Steve likes to do his morning run through the hiking trails. He rarely passes anyone out there in general, but as today is rainy and overcast, he is guaranteed not to. Also, he wakes to exercise at the ass-crack of dawn or earlier.

Though he no longer needs to hide his face, Steve likes the baseball cap now. He wears it when helping do anything outside, but there will be no gardening with this weather.

He thumps up the porch stairs and rips off his hat to shake off the droplets.

"Beautiful," he declares, and from your spot on the bench, you certainly don't see it.

"It's kinda gross out, Stevie..."

He's staring at you when you pry eyes up from a steaming mug. "Wasn't talking about that," he smiles, crossing the last few feet to you and bending down. He kisses your cheek. "What's on the agenda for such a gross day, Tops?"

You shrug.

They're lazy, all of them, ever since the motel closed. It's just you, him, this house, and the trees, yet you are never lonely.

Steve exhales dramatically as he sits beside you. "I could draw."

"Mmm," you grunt, sipping.

"Or prep a nice dinner," he offers.

That causes you to smirk because they're all nice. Steve quite enjoys cooking even the simplest meals.

"So...same as yesterday."

His fingertips invade your view over the railing into the woods, circling the rim of your drink and gently pulling it away to set on the tiny square table.

"Am I boring you?" Even his voice is smiling while he grabs your waist and thigh, hauling you up over his lap, chuckling at the squeak of shock escaping you. "Ma'am," he prompts, settling your arms below his to cup your face, "are you bored?"

You shake your head, still sleepy.

Steve shifts one hip and then the other, shimmying beneath you slightly until you sit nestled just right atop him. He leans forward to kiss you, not shy about starting deep and dirty, his tongue leeching the caffeine straight from yours greedily. He reacts immediately to your move to hold his shoulders, you body rolling and grinding over his.

"Heaven forbid, I bore you, sweetheart," he husks, merciless in his grip and glide, desperately palming over your ass and back.

Your fingers lodge in the damp strands of his golden hair. "Never," you gasp with a whimper of "you could never."

His hands wander beneath your shirt to play at the soft, tender skin. He's sure to take your lips again when he pinches your nipples to taut peaks. Steve loves to swallow your moans, keep you breathless and pliable, work you into an undulating frenzy before pinning you harshly to him so his calculated thrusts nudge you just right, throwing you over the edge.

He especially loves to hump at your limp and floating form till he comes with a groan and a meaningless curse.

He nuzzles your face where it lies tucked into the crook of his neck. "I think we might need to clean up, beautiful. How 'bout a bath?"

Through your sleepy, near-boneless haze, you manage to whisper a 'yes' but fight with him not to carry you to the bathroom. You want to walk. You want to drink your drink. Steve snorts in approval, calling you cute and telling you to meet him upstairs. He shamelessly struts inside with a dark, wet spot on his sweats, worse than any drizzle of rain could make.

Your bottoms peel away from the mess he made of you, eliciting a hum of satisfaction when Steve undresses you beside the filling tub. He makes no moves to step in with you at first; he simply kneels down on the mat, splashing warm water strategically over your shoulders and chest, lingering over your breasts when you hiss.

It doesn't hurt. You're just sensitive, and his touch is achingly welcome all the time.

His hands roam, searching all the usual spots for the most intense reaction until you beg him to get in, too.

"Yeah?" he teases like there's an actual question of your desire while his fingers circle your clit and his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. He wants a few more 'pleases' for his trouble. Then, and only then, does he stand with a devious smile and disrobe.

Steve was never shy of his body, but over time, he's embraced showing off his body's reaction to you. Your lustful gaze alone makes him hard, day and night and every minute in between.

He climbs over the high lip of the tub, telling you to open up for him, pushing your thighs wider as he lowers. After sloshing around trying to find a position to enter from, he laughs, refusing to let you strain your neck to lift your pelvis high enough.

He thinks...you'll just have to turn over and get on your knees.

Luckily, that solves all the logistical problems. The water bucks about a bit with the force of his fucking, but holding the bulk of you above the rim lets your slick guide his cock perfectly in and out, no displacement, no mess on the tile floor. Steve's considerate even when his hindbrain takes over.

He plants his thick, corded forearm along yours, holding onto the porcelain with his index finger laced around your pinkie, torso molded to the curve of your spine, igniting, soothing, and igniting more flurries of stimulation all over.

Steve slows once he gets close this time, dragging his length casually through the arousal now dripping down your legs. He finds your clit again, muttering filthy, loving things against your arched back.

"Could stay buried in you all day, beautiful. Wonder if we could break our record like this. Should'a rolled you over before my run, feels so good."

But the simple words I love you repeated over and over are what do you in. He sounds lost and yet found in this haze of typical passion. He never tires of loving you, of loving you, of loving you, and like this--delightfully knitted together and pulled tight enough to snap--you feel all his love. It fills you until that balloon of pleasure pops, crashing you back against him, shoving him deeper as he crests, too.

His thighs shake behind yours in the slippery bath, hand splayed across your low belly to keep you upright as Steve whines with each rope of cum that leaves him, that he gives you, that you take from him.

He relaxes but holds you steady, heart beating like a drum against your skin. For a long moment, he's lost, then he finds his reality, delicately maneuvering to flip and seat you, crashing his lips to yours. He starts brutal then tapers into chaste, short pecks while he gets his legs under him, finally submerging past his hips.

The sky may be gray and dark, but the sparkle in Steve's blue eyes shines with megawatt clarity. A dopey smile breaks through his coarse beard.

"Shit," he breathes, carding through his still-dirty hair, tossing his head back with a wispy chuckle, "we might need a shower, too."

You suppose, perhaps, even Steve's laziest days aren't really lazy at all. He finds ways to fill the time just fine.

[Main Masterlist; Fic Title Only Asks; Hideout Masterlist]

Nahhhh, I'm excited enough I'm tagging e'erybody lol:

@mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl @umadirectioner @mrschandlerbing @as-white-as-snow-love @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

#ro answers #ask game #nomad steve #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers one shot #steve x reader #steve x you #touchstarved!steve #hideout series

236 notes · View notes

rogersideup · 1 year ago

Note

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

‧₊˚✧⚁⁠♧777♤⚄✧˚₊‧

Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

801 notes · View notes