#Steggy fic

[steggyfanevents]

For Peggy Week, we're looking for your Peggy-centric fic recs! Share them on this post!

Can't decide? Tell us about the first fic starring Peggy that you ever read — or the latest one you just couldn't put down!

And check out #steggymonth at @steggyfanevents to join the celebration throughout April!

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Favorite Steggy Fic Quotes   [part 1]

Can’t Have It Both Ways

Flames We Never Lit

The SSR Supply Closet Crisis

Coffee Talk

And The Sun Hits Ground

You Can’t Take The Sky From Me

[theawkwardterrier]

Academic Antagonism, Scholastic Strife

Steggy Week 2k23, day 3 Prompt: AUs and crossovers

Summary: The history department at Shield University includes a pair of professors with a particular level of collegiate conflict.

Thanks to @steggyfanevents for hosting!

It is, essentially, a matter of course every September.

Angie has been the history department administrator for long enough that she can sense the approaching storm in the air. She breaks into the apology gift card she got last semester to buy herself the biggest, fanciest coffee from her favorite campus café and sets her jaw as she arrives at her desk.

The first student is at the doors to the building the moment they open for business hours.

"I need to speak to someone." There goes the bag, plunking down on her desk (actually clean for once! She'd made an effort to get rid of her host of reminder post-its before the start of the new school year, and now look) as a hand reaches in to yank out a paper schedule as some kind of evidentiary prop. "Look, I was placed in—"

Angie looks over the boy, playing the sort of instinctive guessing game that at least offers a tiny bit of entertainment to the whole process. Unfortunately, he has a copy of Steve's latest book sticking out of the bag, which takes most of the fun out of it (although he does have a copy of The Fountainhead there too which, if it's not class reading, either Steve or Peggy would have fun with). Sighing, Angie goes through her dutiful patter nevertheless: "Both Professor Carter and Professor Rogers currently have entirely full rosters for all of their lectures and seminars. Which session would you like to be placed on the waitlist for?"

“I’ve got to get into Professor Rogers’ Tuesday/Thursday afternoon section — his take on urban history is completely—”

“I wouldn’t sleep on Professor Carter,” says a passing man. “Stick with her and she'll teach you something.”

Angie purses her lips at the back of the man's blond head as he exits the building and then resigns herself to listening to a very earnest undergraduate trying to convince her that his entire future depends on getting a seat in Steve’s Metropolitics of Race and Place course.

Even non-majors will often make their chosen class a priority to arrange their schedule around, simply based on the reputations of Professors Rogers and Carter, and, all told, more than a few people will get shuffled around, trading into the course that they want. Whether it will be before Angie goes through both her café gift card and her bottle of Advil is anyone's guess.

“—and if you don't think that the prevalence of racialized propaganda was unique and endemic to the period, and of course led into its use in the Second World War, I simply don't know what to say to you."

"I'm not saying that it wasn't a part of it, but it only seems unique if you remove the context of—"

"Oh, bloody Nora, do not start listing nineteenth century European conflicts to me again, Steven."

"Well, Peg, it's hard not to when you're trying your hardest to ignore a key piece to the entire issue. And while we’re at it, to suggest that World War I propaganda was the key pathway to reliance on cultural stereotypes that had already been spreading around Europe for centuries before and that the Nazis only—"

There aren't all that many people standing around on the first floor of the College of Arts and Sciences building on a Thursday afternoon, but those who happen to have scheduled themselves a late class or are meeting friends to start their weekends early stop and watch the bickering pair striding down the hallway.

"I had Professor Rogers last semester,” says one student to the rest, watching the two turn the corner. “Life-changing.”

“There is no way he’s better than Professor Carter,” says one of the others. “If I hadn’t already been too far along with all this double major crap, her class would have made me switch to history.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, do you think they’re…you know…doing it?” one of the crasser members of the group as they all turn to leave the building. “The way they were arguing, there were definite sparks there.”

“No way,” someone snorts. “They argue like that all the time. Everyone knows that they hate each other. Half the history majors are Jets and Sharks over them — Team Carter versus Team Rogers.”

“I know who I’d join,” says Steve’s former student immediately, and Peggy’s agrees, glaring, but most of the rest seem to be of the opinion that they couldn’t be paid to care this much about school and since they’re the ones who are, in fact, paying, there are more interesting things to talk about.

The newly minted members of Teams Rogers and Carter glance at each other, for once in agreement — the others simply have to experience it themselves to understand.

The campus pub, a cozily dark, wood-paneled little establishment that leans perhaps a little too much into academic cliché, usually hosts events a few times a week: comedy, music, trivia. The new manager, however, wants to mix it up (and perhaps take advantage of that stereotypical appearance). Few of her colleagues think that anyone will turn up for a debate between two history department professors, but they’re bolstered anyway by the usual uptick in stressed-student patronage as the semester gets closer to its end, so at least it doesn’t seem like it will hurt.

Even a half hour before it’s supposed to start, the place is nearly at capacity. As the professors take their places behind the lecterns borrowed for the occasion, people are having to be turned away at the door for fear of violating the fire code. By the time the manager declares a tie, Professor Rogers is pink-cheeked, Professor Carter is starting each of her statements with a tight, “If my esteemed colleague would recall…” and as a couple passes outside they turn to each other and wonder what sporting event could be going on inside to be inspiring so much passion.

You’d think that things would quiet down a bit around finals time but that isn’t the case. With the new courses for next year announced and selection already under way, there is a second round of haggling and complaints about unfairness and bribery attempts to get into the desired sections. Leaving for the afternoon even as she sees the students still lining up and hears them trying to make their cases directly to the professors themselves — “I understand that you’d like to continue with my spring course, Nicole, but I think that you might in fact find the perspective enlightening” — Angie feels like she still hasn’t entirely caught her breath from the first round months ago.

She demands double the gift cards, or she’s transfering to the sociology department, where the faculty hasn’t done anything noteworthy in about a hundred years and no one has ever decided to become even the least bit fanatical about any of them.

Finals are over, and snow blankets the empty campus. Vacation has taken over the minds of the students, even as they wait for their grades to come in.

“I’ll trade you for the dumplings,” Peggy says from where she is leaning against the arm of the sofa while Steve faces her from the opposite end. Their feet tangle in the middle.

“Sure, do you have the pad thai there?” They lean forward to exchange cartons, kissing briefly before they relax back to their respective sides.

Peggy swallows and says, “Since we’ve both managed to finish with our grading, I thought we might go skating tomorrow.”

“You just want to see me fall again,” Steve complains, smiling.

She makes a little humming sound, that impish curl at the edge of her mouth — bare for once, since it’s only the two of them relaxing at home. “Perhaps, but you did know about that bit of sadism when you married me.”

“Well, as long as you help me back up.”

“You know that I’ll always kiss it better, my darling.”

A couple of students, still in town due to canceled flights, spot them walking hand in hand to the rink the next afternoon, skates over their shoulders. Theories range from some kind of hostage situation to a social experiment, enforced faculty bonding to mutual amnesia. After all, what else could be believed?

[somewhereapart]

i could give you 50 reasons (why i should be the one you choose) (Ch 4/50)

For @steggyfanevents #saturdaystorkclub

The other men draw pictures, too. Caricatures and lewd cartoons, etched onto napkins and passed from hand to surreptitious hand. Someone—she doesn’t know who, because not a single one of them is willing to confess to it—had begun a series of drawings of her. Some of them are stern and hulking. Broad-shouldered and sour-faced, with captions that make her sound like a veritable ball-buster.

Those are the ones she prefers.

The others have her uniform too-tight and too-short (when it isn’t missing pieces altogether), her bosom even more generous than it already is and her bottom almost comically round. The captions on those had made her cheeks flush with fury and her heart race in her chest, although she’d done her level best to act as though they didn’t bother her one bit.

She’d rather they think of her as a shrew than a whore, or better yet—not think of her much at all outside the parameters of her job—but the very last thing she wants them to think of her as is an easy mark. Easily riled, and prone to histrionics.

After one particularly lascivious cartoon is confiscated—this one has her in garters and a brassiere and not much else—Colonel Phillips lines up every single man in contention for Project Rebirth for a dressing down. She hadn’t wanted him to—had insisted that making a fuss over it all would only make things worse—but Phillips wouldn’t hear of it. So she stands there next to him as he barks at a row of men about vulgarity, and common decency, and the foolishness of boys, and respect for those who outrank them. As he vows to discover the perpetrator and send him packing, a mission she’s fairly certain is doomed to fail.

Still, the threat has enough weight to have some of the men shifting on their feet.

Someone even pipes up, finally, bold enough to suggest, “The only one around here who knows what to do with an art pencil is Rogers, sir.”

(Continue on Ao3)

[behindthelabels]

(One of) Five Times Howard and Bucky Cock-Blocked Steve and Peggy

For @steggyfanevents Steggy Week Day Six: Multiverse

I had hoped post all five times and the one for Steggy week but time got away from me, so here's the first.

Training with Steve has become the highlight of her day. It’s the only good thing about being stuck here doing nothing. She’s here with Steve, a man she admired quietly through basic training, felt a kinship with as they chatted on the car ride over, then took what should have been his.

She’s so so grateful he’s okay, when she saw him get shot she thought it was over, and she couldn’t bear it. But he’s a fighter and he hung on for her as she went into the machine and took the serum.

She’s been scolded and berated for taking it, by everyone except Steve.

She’s a super soldier, but one who’s relegated to an army base as a lab rat as they try to recreate the serum without using her. She wants to be more than this, trains to be more than this, but they won’t let her, because she’s a woman.

She’s mad, and she channels it in training, where only Steve sees. She wonders what he thinks of her new strength if he envies it as he struggles to walk again using those two bars.

She’s apologized for taking his chance more than once, he swears it’s okay, that he believes that she will be the one to win the war, but it’s hard to see that right now.

She knows for a fact she wouldn’t be so charitable if it had been her shot that was taken by someone else, but he’s so good, and that’s why it should have been him.

It’s the only reason she’s agreed to stay a lab rat—in hopes, they recreate the serum and give it back to the man who was supposed to have it.

She watches him struggle to learn how to walk again, knowing that if he had the serum he would be healed already.

She feels guilty, but also happy he’s here and safe. She never wants to see him get shot at again. Steve Rogers is a fighter but his body isn't made for the fight, and she knows he’d have been left behind at first chance if he somehow made it to the front line.

He deserves better than that, people who see him for who he really is, not just the man who should have had the serum. He is so much more than that.

She watches him sometimes, sees that mental strength and fortitude, that fight, as he pushes past his limits. Somehow he stays sweet, and positive, while she grows increasingly angry and bitter.

She needs to take a page out of his book, but she's not Steve Rogers, never will be, all she can do is follow his great example.

She’s watching him again, watching as his arms shake while he holds himself up, testing out how much weight he can put on that left side. He’s able to put more on it today than yesterday, is constantly improving, even if he can’t see it.

He settles and she watches proudly as he ever so slowly releases the bars until he’s standing.

“Peggy,” he marvels, turning over his shoulder to see if she’s looking. He smiles for a second, then she watches with horror as his weight shifts, too much of it falling onto his injured side, and he starts to crumble.

She rushes over, grabbing him and scooping him into her arms before she can think about what she’s doing. He’s so light, and she’s reminded again of how fragile he is, how breakable; all because of her.

She holds him close, asking breathlessly, “Are you okay?” and feels him nod against her, as she lets out a sigh of relief.

She sets him back between the bars, and he breathes, “Thanks, Peggy,” as she becomes painfully aware of how close they are, of how blue his eyes are, how beautiful his smile is. She wants him to look this way all the time, wants to be the one to bring a smile to his face.

He’s flushed and flustered and it only makes him more irresistible. She’s never been this close to him before, and she can’t seem to pull away. The air between them is electric, charged and she wants nothing more than to close the scant distance between their lips, to feel the warmth of his skin again. Her breathing is ragged, his is too, and she can feel it on her skin. What if—

“Agent Carter,” Howard calls and she jumps away from Steve who starts blushing harder. “I need your help.”

“I, um, I have to go,” she stammers and rushes away like a fool.

“What more blood samples?” she asks Howard.

“Not quite, what do you know about the Tesseract?”

[thesokovianaccords]

(press you to) the pages of my heart

four: "come here. let me fix it."

a steggy friends to lovers au (also on ao3)

They were going to be late. Even for them.

(Though Steve would swear up and down it wasn’t his fault. Peggy would swear that he was lying.)

“It’s basically the same costume, anyway. How are you still not ready?”

“I had to send Tony an angry voice note first,” Steve shouted from his bedroom. “Really, it’s his fault we’ll be late.”

Peggy tapped their new and improved badges against the kitchen table. “Pepper’s a natural redhead. It makes more sense for them to be Mulder and Scully. Also, I somehow managed to make new badges, find realistic neuralyzers, and fix my costume before you tied your tie.”

“Well, I got into an in-depth debate with both of them over who deserved a quote-unquote ‘couple’s costume.’ That ate up some time.” Steve walked out into the living room, his eye roll audible across the apartment. “They both had lots of unsolicited opinions, so you’re welcome for sparing you from that.”

“My hero,” Peggy scoffed, grabbing their drinks and dropping next to Steve on the sofa, as he tied his shoes. “Hopefully the party will still be going when we get there.”

Steve sent her an incredulous look, and they both laughed. “Yes, right, fine. It was impossible to even think that with a straight face.”

“Sometimes I still feel hungover from their 4th of July party.”

“Ah yes, the Steve Rogers Birthday Bash, T-M,” Peggy said, holding up her hands in brackets to showcase the trademark with the aplomb it deserved. And because he always glared at her when she did it.

“Yeah, yeah, hilarious. So funny. I’m dying of laughter.” Steve pushed himself to his feet and pulled Peggy up to hers too. “Are you ready, Agent P?”

“What are you saying, Agent S? Don’t I pass muster?”

He gave her a once-over so quick she might have been insulted, if the warm weight of his gaze hadn’t pinned her in place for those few seconds. Her breath caught for an embarrassing moment as his eyes returned to hers. “You look beautiful. And deadly. Perfect, as always—except your tie is crooked.”

“It is not.” Peggy had no idea whether that was true—Steve’s compliments had thrown her for a loop, and recalibrating herself to focus on what he was actually saying was taking longer than it normally did.

He set their glasses on the coffee table and pulled her to their entryway. “Would I lie to you?”

“Yes,” she retorted, but unfortunately her tie was, in fact, listing to one side. “I swear I had it sorted—it must have gotten bored waiting for you to be ready too and decided to relax.”

Steve snorted as she loosened the knot and began to loop the fabric over itself again, but no retort came. He just watched her hands in the mirror as she pulled the long end of the tie through and tightened the knot. But once again, it hung slightly off to the side, and she groaned at her reflection. “These things are bloody impossible. I don’t know how you wear them every day.”

“It just means I have a lot of practice. Come here,” he said, dropping his hands to her shoulders and spinning her around. “Let me fix it.”

Peggy considered the possibility, with Steve’s knuckles brushing against her neck as he re-knotted her black tie, that she was dreaming. Or that she had taken complete leave of her senses. She and Steve were so often in sync—and naturally so, without any conscious thought behind it—that when they weren’t, when they seemed to be in the midst of wildly diverging experiences of the same event, Peggy felt unmoored. Speechless, even. How else could she explain Steve’s efficiency, his apparent immoveabiity, while she was left breathless at the sweep of his hands across her collar? And how was she meant to deal with this new reality, the one where she and her best friend were horribly, perhaps permanently, out of sync, and one wrong word or move could tear everything down?

Steve, oblivious to Peggy’s personal crisis, stepped back and placed his hands on her shoulders again. “There,” he said, a soft smile on his face. “Perfect. As always.”

Peggy placed a hand over the knot and cleared her throat. “As are you, Steve,” she said, relieved her voice stayed steady. “Now, let’s go save the universe. With tequila shots, preferably.”

He laughed and ran his hands down her arms, before taking a single step back. “Yes, ma’am.”

[3pirouette]

This is the time of year when I like to remind people that this is one of my favorite fics I’ve ever written in any fandom. I wrote it two years ago but I re-read it often.

Art is by the amazing @roboticonography, who was also the recipient of this gift for the 2022 Steggymas event.

[charmills]

fic: to my right

Title: to my right

Author: charmills (astraeus)

Rating: General

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter

Word Count: 3,602

Summary:

"He is an escape, he’s come to realize in his months on tour. Not Steve— Captain America and his star spangled girls, an opportunity for people to experience some emotion other than fear and reality."

-- Peggy and Steve enjoy an escape during his USO tour.

written for steggy week 2023: missing scenes and favorite moments.

LINK ON AO3

[ao3feed-steggy]

lasciami credere (che questo sia reale)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/tSjhYVg by vittoriaisfuckingpathetic With the weather getting worse, Peggy and Steve take shelter in an inn. However, their room turns out to have only one bed, and the romantic tension has been simmering for quite a while. Written for @steggyfanevent's steggy secret santa event!! Words: 1337, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers Relationships: Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers Additional Tags: POV Third Person Limited, Sexual Tension, Only One Bed, They're both awkward, Cuddling & Snuggling, Sharing a Bed, Title from a Måneskin Song, because im me and im predictable, Steggy Secret Santa read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/tSjhYVg

[littlereyofsunlight]

Fondue's Just ...

I can't remember which Steggy friend came up with the idea that Peggy and Steve might have a cat named Fondue, but the headcanon stuck with me.

For day 1 of @steggyfanevents's Steggyweek 2023, here are some words about how that could have started off.

Peggy and the stray hadn’t really acknowledged one another for the first three months she lived in the little house in the suburbs. Though the crawlspace under the little Craftsman’s front porch was the cat’s preferred refuge when it was raining or otherwise inconvenient to be out of doors, she had three established options for easy meals in the vicinity already. Peggy, for her part, viewed the accommodations as temporary. Even if the cat had poked around her doorstep, Peggy would be going back to New York soon to open the second branch of the nascent intelligence operation Phillips had tasked her with building. 

The neighborhood was filled with people who needed temporary housing, however, owing to its proximity to Washington D. C. One by one, the other cats’ owners moved on and with them, the dishes of food left on porches and back steps. The stray hunted for what she could, but the days were still short and the nights cold; her usual prey aren’t so easy to find this time of year. Late one wretched evening as Peggy returned from the office, the cat allowed the cold, stinging rain to thoroughly soak her sleek fur and positioned herself at the front door just before Peggy climbed the steps onto the porch.

“The milk delivery’s not for another three days,” Peggy informed the cat as she unlocked the door and shook out her umbrella. The cat gave a pathetic mew in response. Peggy toed her gently out of the way. She wasn’t unsympathetic, but she was above all practical. “I don’t even keep plants, you will not fare well here. Try a different house.”

The cat slunk back under the porch and Peggy went inside to make tea and go over the files she’d brought home. The tea had gone cold by the time she remembered to drink it. 

The rain continued the following day and, by the time Peggy returned home, late again, it had turned into an early spring snowstorm. The drive back had been atrocious, and Peggy was exhausted. The cat was back at her door, visibly shivering. This time, Peggy let her in.

Peggy and the stray still didn’t often acknowledge one another, but as spring turned into summer, the cat now had a cushion in the chair by the window. She didn’t always sleep in the house at night, but Peggy made sure to leave out food for her every morning on her way into the office. Some other personal touches had crept into the rented house, and Peggy didn’t immediately give away the fern Ana Jarvis gifted her. The timeline for Peggy’s move to New York had been pushed back indefinitely. 

The cat took greatest interest in Peggy when she brought home her groceries, an event that was admittedly sporadic. The tea, the apples, the tinned fish, the head of lettuce and the box of biscuits all received perfunctory sniffs. The bag of rolls, however, were thoroughly investigated while Peggy had her back to the table. When she turned back around, one was missing. 

Peggy never did find that first roll, though she learned to keep a close eye on the cat around any fresh baked goods. She wasn’t one to engage an animal in one-sided conversation, but privately, she began referring to the cat as Bread.

Summer wore on and Bread spent more and more of her time outdoors. Another home up the street now had two cats in residence, so even if Peggy forgot to leave out dinner, Bread was satisfied. And the sun-warmed porch of Peggy’s house was still her preferred spot to lounge on afternoons.

One such afternoon, Bread trotted back to her porch to find a man seated on the top step. She kept her distance as she slunk around the side and hopped up into the planter box. She settled in for a rest beneath the plant there, but kept her ears pricked in his direction. A rhythmic sound, a soft click followed by a snap, told the cat he didn’t move all afternoon. 

After that, there were two people coming and going from the cat’s porch. 

He went much less than Peggy, though. Often, for the rest of that long summer, he only made it as far as the porch. He would drag a chair close to the rail and sit with his lunch and a sketchbook, scratching away at the paper. 

The cat was no longer wary of him, and would sit by his foot as the hours wore on. Occasionally Steve would scratch her behind her ears, which she allowed. 

One day, Steve went in to answer the phone and left his sandwich on his chair. By the time he’d returned, the cat had neatly removed the slice of Swiss, a fact he only realized after taking two bites.  The following week, the cat managed it again when Steve was talking to the postal worker. Whenever he ate a sandwich, she would try to steal from it. She took to winding herself between his legs, vocalizing with begging little mews. Eventually, Steve relented. “Okay, okay,” he told the cat as she dug her claws into his pants just a little, intently watching as he deconstructed his lunch to give her a bit, “I guess I’m going to call you Cheese.”

[lilydreaming13]

Why do you describe Daniel Sousa as the asshole ex-boyfriend in some steggy fanfiction? That's totally a wrong description of Sousa. Ok, that many fanfiction's are AUs, but that's too much of an OOC writing of the character. You can say he's Peggy's ex without saying he's an asshole or an idiot. Sometimes it seems like you're describing Jack Thompson rather than Daniel Sousa

[steggyfanevents]

For Steve Week, we're looking for your Steve-centric fic recs! Share them on this post!

Can't decide? Tell us about the first fic starring Steve that you ever read — or the latest one you just couldn't put down!

And check out #steggymonth at @steggyfanevents to join the celebration throughout April!

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

“Break!” Peggy declared, stopping mid step. 

Steve, a step or two in front of her, halted immediately. He turned to her, a quick scan of her whole body to make sure there was no need to worry.

Peggy was bent over, hands on her knees and her breath slightly wheezing. Otherwise she seemed fine; if perhaps a little disheveled, but that was mostly due to the wind that lashed at their faces as they ran down the hill. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, walking back to her. 

“Yes, perfectly fine.” Peggy answered, still out of breath. 

After a moment, she straightened. Her face was flushed - exertion and wind to blame for that. A few ringlets of her hair escaped the tight ponytail, sticking out in various directions, some stuck to her sweaty forehead.

To Steve she looked beautiful, as always. 

“Turn around.” Peggy pointed at Steve with her index finger and made a circular motion. 

“Why?” Steve’s eyebrows drew in confusion, at the same time he turned his back to her, peeking at Peggy over his shoulder as she stepped closer. “Do I have something on my back?” 

“Not yet.” He thought he heard a chuckle in Peggy’s voice.

A second later and she jumped up, bracing her hands on Steve’s shoulders and wrapping her legs around his hips. 

On instinct, Steve quickly reached back, hands gripping Peggy’s thighs and helping her secure her weight on his back. She squeezed his sides with her thighs and propped herself up. 

“We can go now.” She announced, pressing her cheek to Steve’s. 

“We were supposed to be jogging.” Steve snorted. 

He changed his hold on her thighs, making it easier for the both of them to carry her weight. Though for Steve it made little difference. He could carry Peggy in any position. He’d carry her to the top of the world, if she asked him to. 

Which he told her one evening, when he was feeling extra sappy as they laid in the little backyard behind their house, cuddling on a blanket and stargazing. 

Peggy laughed then and brushed a kiss on his jaw. She said they have enough adventures in their lives and she’d rather have him hold her against a wall when they feel impatiently needy. 

“You wanted to go jogging.” Peggy corrected Steve. “I decided I want a doughnut.” 

“Which we were supposed to get at the end of our run.” He pointed out. 

“So you better end your run quickly, because I really want that doughnut.” 

Steve shook his head and chuckled. He didn’t break into a run, though he could do it even with Peggy clinging to him like a monkey. He set a brisk pace, but limited it to walking. 

“Instead of promises of carrying you to the top of the world, I should simply vow to take you to any bakery you wish.” He joked, grinning at the elder couple they were passing, who had to hear part of their conversation because they exchanged knowing looks. 

“That’s why I married you.” Peggy tightened her hold around Steve’s shoulder and pecked a sweet kiss to his neck. 

“And the guys were warning me about the dangers of never satisfying a wife. Idiots.” 

“Well, things may get dangerous if you don’t get me that doughnut

 a little gift for @doctorhelena for finishing her workout challenge 💪💞

[theawkwardterrier]

Working Women

Summary: Agent Gloria Delgado notices the Wednesdays are particularly busy for her boss.

For November's Saturday at the Stork Club - thanks to @steggyfanevents for hosting!

On her first day at SHIELD, Gloria is so nervous that afterward she only remembers three things. One of those is, thankfully, the location of the restroom, the second, even more thankfully, where to find her own desk.

The third is Peggy Carter’s office. The agent touring her around, barely more senior than she is but significantly cockier, points it out just in passing, as if she’ll never have a reason to need to find it again.

“You’ll probably end up disappointing your boss at some point,” Agent Pollack tells her as they continue down the hall, “but I wouldn’t recommend disappointing her.”

Gloria swears to herself that she never will.

There are only twenty-four women in the first group of a hundred inducted as agents of SHIELD, but that seems an almost incredible number to Gloria, especially considering the job requirements that have been put in place for even being considered. Some of the women served before as spies or nurses or pilots or support staff during the war, but most, like Gloria, were WACs-in-training recommended for transfer by Colonel Hallaren herself. Gloria knows other girls who were given the offer too and turned it down, but she reads the paper back to front every day that she can; Peggy Carter’s name doesn’t come up often in newsprint, but when it does, she’s staring down congressmen and being appointed director of a brand new intelligence organization. Gloria can’t wait to meet her, at the same time that she’s terrified of the very idea.

Continue reading on AO3!

[rogers-the-musical]

What are your favorite Steggy fics?

Ooh, I like this question!

First, literally anything by @melliabee. She’s fantastic-I haven’t read anything that holds up to her writing and characterization. (She may or may not be the author of the fic I hooked my mom on). They all mostly take place in the same universe, but even those that change slightly from canon (Sarcophagus and Cradle) are still compliant with anything she wrote that happens before that. I’d say start with the First Avenger stuff, and work your way up to Cradle. Also, go read Laundry Agent. Absolutely charming. She also has a post-Endgame fic that I love.

The other big one I really love is A Second Chance at Keeping Him Safe by RobotRollCall on fanfiction.net. Otherwise known as, Steve gets pulled out of the ice early, but with complications. I’ve read some of their other works, and they also have pre and post-Endgame fic (along with some friendship Steve and Bucky). I haven’t read everything, but A Second Chance at Keeping Him Safe is my favorite, probably because it’s both heart wrenching and lovely at the same time. It is very much a happy ending story, but just to warn you, there’s a lot of sadness beforehand.

Lastly, Sweet Dreams by doctorhelena on A03. A bet with the Commandoes about Peggy’s lipstick. That’s all I’ll say.

[behindthelabels]

That Great-to-be-alive Feeling

This is a massively overdue Secret Santa for @bearholdingashark. I intended to give you something else but it's giving me grief and since it's April and still not done, I'm giving you this instead.

Summary: Steve finds a vibrator in the Sears catalogue and convinces Peggy they should try it out. Post-endgame, set in 1956.

Rated: E

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55118254