#steve rogers

[steggydaily]

Chris Evans as Steve Rogers and Hayley Atwell as Peggy Carter CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER 2011 | dir. Joe Johnston

[capibuck]

Good old days

[captainsamerica]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

[bubbarnes]

sebastian stan finding out about bucky and steve's ending a couple hours before they were gonna shoot the scene... fuck, that's shitty.

[incorrectquotesmcu]

Steve: [hands Tony a glass of water]

Tony, drinking it: Thanks. What’s this for?

Steve: I overheard Nat say that you get thirsty around me.

Tony: [chokes on water]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

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

The man walks you straight through a yard and into the thicket of trees behind. If he wasn’t so confident, you would think he had no idea where he’s going. His hand stays locked around your arm as he has you staggering over peat and leaves.  

You come out on the other side of the trees to the open highway. A car zooms by but he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, the force of the cars whipping by blowing around you, horns honking. He pushes you towards the cement barrier. Before you can lift your leg, he lifts you. 

He puts you on the other side and follows. He doesn’t miss a step. On and on, across another three lanes and down into a ditch. Across the field. You look back and he yanks you, nearly taking you of your feet. 

A chill creeps through you, numbing you to the terror boiling in your gut. Your legs tremble but don’t stop either. You’re too scared to resist. 

The sky darkens and the moon peeks out from behind another line of pines. On and on. At last, your body gives out. 

Your legs burn as the fold. He catches you. He puts you over his shoulder and presses on. That’s when it really sets in. It’s happening. You don’t know what just that it isn’t good. Your body wracks as your tears flow free, rolling down to your hairline as you hang upside down. 

When he stops, you’re in a clearing. He puts you down. You sit on the dirt as he squats in front of you. The moonlight barely limns his figure. He reaches to his belt. He pulls out a pair of thick cuffs and dangles them. He tilts his head.  

You sniffle, “please, I won’t go.” 

He stares then slowly hooks them back on his belt. He stands and looks around. You hear him in the dark, twigs snapping, leaves rustling. You catch a glimpse of his shadow now and again. The crickets hum and dampness rises from the ground. 

A spark, then a full bloom of flame goes up. The fire casts a light over the barrier built with large rocks and the pile of thick sticks broken to fuel it. The night flickers with the cinder and he approaches you again. He moves you to sit closer to the heat. 

He lowers himself next to you, legs bent, arms resting on his knees. He just sits and watches the flames. You look down and slump. You’re exhausted. 

You flinch as he grips your shoulder. He lowers his legs, crosses them, and pulls you down until you’re on your side. He guides your head onto his thigh. He holds you there. He doesn’t need to give the order. 

The adrenaline never quite evaporates, merely recedes. Your eyes close on their own. You plummet into a pit of darkness. Your head and body ache with the sheer senseless sleep. 

You wake with a chatter. The man still sits. He hasn’t moved. You flutter your lashes at the lightening horizon. 

His hand drifts from your shoulder and crawls up your neck. He brushes along your cheek and over your hair. You hold your breath. Your scalp aches as you brace for another cruel yank. He retracts and pokes your shoulder instead. 

You sit up and stand only when he does. He reaches for you and you cower. He rips your knapsack from your arms as he spins you. He hurls it away into the trees. Then, it’s back to walking. 

You’re stiff from a night sleeping on the ground. Your clothes are damp from the dew and a frigidness lingers in your skin. He keeps you moving until the sun meets its apex. 

You come to a lot in the middle of another highway. It’s empty but for a black motorcycle. He marches you to it and guides you onto the back. He straddles the front and flips up the kickstand. You’re too tired to be confused, to wonder about how and why and what. 

He taps his shoulders. You hesitate but grab onto them. It might not be so bad to fly off but you’re still human. You still have that need to survive. 

He takes off with a roar of the motor. You yipe and squeeze tight. You fight against the wind and lean forward, hooking your arms around him as you feel your grasp slipping. He doesn’t seem to mind as you cling to him. He has a heart. You can hear it through his back. 

You close your eyes as the wind tunnels around you, whipping around the bike and your bodies. He’s a barrier to the brunt of it.  

He rides through the night and beyond. You have to keep awake to stay latched on. He keeps on and on, into another crowd of trees, one so dense that it darkens the daytime.  

When at last you are still, you as good as fall off the motorcycle. You stumble until he grabs onto you. He moves you in front of him and puts his hands on your shoulders. He leads you from behind. Twisting and turning you in a deliberate path.  

You look up at the faded planks on the side of the reclusive house. You clatter up the steps beside him. He stops and tugs the back of your jacket. You think he wants you to stay still. There’s a beep and something clicks. Then something else. 

You look around in confusion. He flicks your cheek. Hard. You wince and hiss and look forward. He points over your shoulder. You follow the gesture to the door as the latch rolls back on its own. 

You stop before the door and just stare. Where the walls are covered in wooden siding, it is metal. You gulp. He reaches around you, stepping flush to you. He pushes the handle down and shoves the door inward. His other hand nudges your lower back. 

You enter and automatic lights flash on. You gape at the room before you. It’s like any other cabin you’ve seen. On television, you were never rich enough for vacation homes. There’s a floral couch and a matching armchair on a round area rug, right before a fireplace, a table with a lamp by the chair. It’s all startlingly normal. Not like him. 

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter

Steve Rogers x f!reader x Bucky Barnes

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

themes/warnings : smut (18+), language, angst!!!, slow burn!!!, pining, unrequited love, Steve is kind of an asshole for leaving (but we love him anyway), unresolved trauma, heartbreak, friends to lovers

Comment on the latest chapter to be added to the taglist!

main masterlist

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six (18+) - part seven (out Sept. 26) - part eight - (...)

[t1red-twilight]

do you ever feel sad and read fics from fandoms you used to be super into? i revel in that nostalgia. everything is fine, i’m fourteen all over again

[navybrat817]

They look like the sexy contractors that show up for your home renovation and very much appreciate how you bring them lemonade and cookies

ROO, yes, please! Tell me why my mind went dark immediately. 😂

It's a nice place. Spacious. Room to grow. Just need a little TLC. And they can't believe you live there all alone.

You're so sweet bringing them lemonade and cookies. Still wearing the apron when you do so. It's easy to picture you making them dinner after a long day. It's also easy to picture you barefoot and pregnant.

And since the house is so spacious, it's not like they have to take you away. They can just move in. It's a fair trade since those renovations end up costing more than you calculated. They'll finish the work and you take care of them.

Besides, you need someone to look out for you, right? Why not have two?

Love and thanks! ❤️

[soliloquent-stark]

are we sure capwolf isn't mcu canon?

chris evans in avengers: age of ultron (2015)

[burntproxy]

💕

[captainsamerica]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER (2014)

[kevinfeiges]

Chris Evans | Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

[thebisexual-disaster]

Why does this sound like a stucky in the 40s conversation?

[incorrectquotesmcu]

[Tony and Steve are arguing]

Carol, to Nat and Clint: So do you guys just stand by and watch while this stuff happens?

Nat and Clint: Pretty much.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

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

Your captor drags you up the bed. You surrender as reality hits you. That's what he is. He has taken you. You can only let him move you as you’re subdued by his easy strength. He puts your head on a pillow and lays himself next to you. 

He draws you against him. The thin nightgown does little against his rampant heat as it seeps into you. You lay in his rigid embrace and close your eyes. You’re too afraid to acknowledge the world around you. 

He brings his large hand up to the of your face and cradles it. He presses his nose to your other temple and puffs hotly down your check. The long drone rolls through you. You are as still as he is, locked in his unspoken intent. 

The long trek aches in your legs and back. Your body eases out of exhaustion and you sink down into the mattress. His breath evens out and his touch softens. He sleeps but you still don’t dare to pull away. 

You drift into a layer of unconsciousness that keeps you eerily aware of your surroundings. You are in that room but you’re not. Your head swims and your body fills with sand but your mind will not rest. 

You come to with a twitch. You bat your lashes as the man’s hand lays just below your chest. Low, rocky snores trickle up his throat. You peek over. That alone is the singular strand of humanity you’ve witnessed in his. 

Your eyes scan down his thick arm. Scars this way and that, some faint, others bolder. You bend your arm as you examine on in particular, right around the top of his shoulder, from chest around to his back. It looks as if his arm was near severed off. How could anyone survive that? 

Unthinking, hypnotised by the torture etched in his flesh, you touch the thick scar. It’s slightly raised and hard. You brush your fingertips along it lightly. 

The lull startles you before his eyes snap open. His snores quieted moments ago but you only notice then. You look up into his icy irises as he tilts his chin down. His gaze flicks over to your touch. You’re stuck, too afraid to pull away. 

“That... must have hurt,” you press your fingertips down as your teeth threaten to chatter. 

He shifts back and your hand falls down across his chest. He catches it and pull it back to the scar, tugging you with it. You lean over him as he falls flat to his back. He guides your hand to another scar, right on his right pec, a large circular ridge with varying rings of discolouration. 

“That too,” you say. “You have lived through a lot of pain.” 

You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re talking just to do it. To keep your mind from racing. In a way, it calms you. He covers your hand with his and holds it flush to his firm muscle. 

Slowly, his hand crawls over your wrist and up your arm. You shiver as he touches your shoulder and traces up your throat. He turns his hand and frames your neck in the vee of his thumb and index. You gulp and he forces your head up. He looks down at you. 

He exhales heavily and pushes you away. He flips you onto you back and follows, crushing you as he puts weight on your neck. He smothers you with his body as he pins you by your neck. You squirm and pet his chest gently. You stare up at him, terrified. You won’t fight him. 

“Does it hurt when I touch you? I’m sorry,” you ekes past his grip. 

His eyes skim down your face and fixate on your mouth. His hand squeezes before it releases. He brushes up your chin and to your lips. He presses his wide thumb against your lips. He rubs the soft flesh. He toys with you as if curious. 

You slowly trail up his chest and feel along the tense muscles of his shoulder. You make a lightly line along his neck and the tendons tauten. You mirror him with your touch. You flutter along his square chin and draw around his lips. A light stubble pokes through at the edges of his jaw. He quakes and his lashes fan. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t know because you don’t know what he wants. Everything you do, just like everything he does, confounds you. 

He moves to brush his lips against your finger. He parts his mouth around it and sheaths it with his mouth. You wince at the odd act but don’t pull away. You let him, watching him as he closes his eyes and sucks on your digit, tongue pressed against it. His teeth clamp down but not enough to hurt. He hums as the pressure builds in his mouth. 

He curls his finger and pokes it into your mouth. You let him in and he pets your tongue with his fingertip. You push your lips around. Another drone rises from him. He has a voice, somewhere inside of him. 

He slides his finger out of your mouth and smears your saliva around your lips. He eases himself down next to you, hugging you as he stays latched onto your finger. You remain limp and prone to him. He settles his head next to yours. He puts his forehead to your temple. 

He sucks on your finger as his hand wanders down to your chest. He gropes you through the nightgown, fondling you, sucking harder and harder. He hooks his leg around one of yours and you feel the tension slowly slake from his large body. 

If it keeps him from hurting you, you will let it happen. You bend your other arm and pet his side. 

“I’m here,” you say, not sure what you mean. “I’m here with you. Are you tired?” 

The question hangs like every other word you’ve said to him. He nods around his hold on your finger. He kneads your chest and slips his arm beneath you, pulling you even snugger. You close your eyes again. You’re safe, for now. 

"Me too," you sniff, "I'm very tired."