#post-serum steve rogers x reader

[swan-of-sunrise]

Hawkeye (Part I)

Summary: Six days before Christmas, a four-month pregnant (Y/N) accompanies Sam and Bucky to a performance of Rogers: The Musical while Steve and Carina stay home, and any hope of a quiet Christmas for the growing Rogers-(Y/L/N) family is dashed when the married couple catches a shocking news report that threatens to expose their friend as the world’s most prolific vigilante.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Hi there and welcome to the 4-part series centering around Hawkeye and the Christmas of 2024! This is such an underrated and underappreciated show, and I always knew that I wanted to write (Y/N), Steve and their growing family into it (and give a little extra love to Clint, ‘cause he deserves it!). This’ll be very faithful to the show, but expect a few surprises along the way lol thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoy!

Hawkeye (Part I) December 19th, 2024 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Steve Rogers, Brooklyn (Previous One-Shot)

With Christmas only a week away, the Rogers-(Y/L/N) house was filled to the brim with festive cheer. Their beautifully adorned tree stood tall in the living room beside their grand piano and throughout the rest of the house, they’d set out their plethora of holiday decorations; thanks to Steve’s growing proficiency at baking, the air was laced with the mouthwatering aroma of peppermint, gingerbread and vanilla. The only thing that could improve their cheerful home was the laughter of close friends inspired by the greatly anticipated opening of Broadway’s newest hit show, Rogers: The Musical.

“I’m tellin’ you, Steve, you missed out on one hell of a show!” Sam twisted the cap off his beer and smirked as he took a long sip. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but watchin’ these two trying their damndest to keep their cool was way more entertaining than watchin’ Nick Fury sing.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at her best friend’s exaggeration, taking off her jewelry piece by piece and looking through the living room mirror that she was stood before at her highly-amused husband seated behind her. “Don’t listen to Birdbrain, sweetheart, he’s embellishing the truth yet again; as long as you ignore all the blatant historical inaccuracies, it’s a perfectly enjoyable musical.”

“That’s easy for you to say, doll, they didn’t have you doin’ a corny tap dance number to somehow symbolize the hell of war,” Bucky grumbled under his breath, still miffed by his out-of-character portrayal in the musical and Sam’s overly-enthusiastic reaction whenever ‘Sergeant Bucky Barnes’ had appeared onstage to sing or dance. “Trust me, buddy, you saved yourself a whole heap of annoyance and justifiable indignation by staying home.”

“Well, I figured that my brief brush with showbiz back in ’43 was plenty enough for one lifetime,” Steve replied with a grin, patting his best friend’s shoulder as he got up from the couch and crossed the living room to help (Y/N) undo the clasp of her necklace. “Even one as long as mine. But hey, I had a stack of unfinished sketches and my little angel to keep me company here at home, and I didn’t have to watch the guy playing me sing a power ballad to a giant poster of Uncle Sam.”

When the necklace’s chain loosened, (Y/N) turned around and pressed her lips against her husband’s in a brief but sweet kiss of thanks. “I should count myself lucky; the rest of the world has to buy a ticket to a hit Broadway show to hear Steve Rogers belt out a power ballad, but all I have to do is listen in on him whenever he takes a shower.”

Sam and Bucky laughed at that and after a chuckling Steve retaliated by tickling the sensitive skin of her neck and stealing another kiss from her, (Y/N) headed upstairs to change out of her black cocktail dress and into her pajamas. She breathed a sigh of relief when she kicked off her black kitten heels and after peeling off her dress, she hung it over the back of her vanity’s chair and smoothed a hand over the satin slip that covered the slight swell of her four-month-pregnant belly. “Thanks for being so cooperative in there tonight, gumball. I had a really fun time with your Uncle Sam and your Uncle Bucky.”

Unfortunately, (Y/N)’s second pregnancy was almost the polar opposite of her first; where she hadn’t begun to show until her second trimester and she never once experienced morning sickness, she was already transitioning into maternity wear and she’d been plagued with intense nausea for over a month straight that was only just beginning to ease up. Their night on the town served as both an enjoyable evening with friends at a so-bad-it’s-good musical adaptation of her husband’s life, and a test to see how well she’d do during her latest book promotion tour in January.

It seemed as though she’d be able to physically handle all the interviews, press conferences and book signing, but she was still working on preparing herself mentally to discuss the chapter of her life that had brought her the greatest joys and largest despairs. While Assemble: The Unabridged History of the Avengers was the definitive chronicle of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, it wasn’t quite as unabridged as one would expect; the remaining Avengers had agreed on what details should be kept from the public – namely, their utilization of Pym Particles to achieve time travel, the entirety of the time heist and Clint’s five-year-long stint as the vengeful Ronin – so not only would she be tasked with discussing the deaths of her friends and allies, she’d also have to carefully work to keep those certain details a secret. Not an easy feat when you’re already experiencing pregnancy brain, she thought to herself with an inward sigh, slipping into her satin nightgown and tugging her robe on as she crept across the hall into Carina’s dimly-lit nursery.

Predictably, her fifteen-month old daughter was fast asleep in her crib, curled up under her colorful Wakandan-made blanket and clutching her stuffed white wolf; Indy, their senior German Shepard rescue, was nestled in his dog bed at the foot of the crib and when (Y/N) quietly entered, his head snapped up at attention but he immediately relaxed when she scratched behind his ears and the thick fur of his neck. Once their protective family dog was placated with scratches, she leaned over the crib and took a moment to observe her peaceful daughter; as energetic as the half super-soldier was throughout the day, she absolutely loved to sleep and hardly ever complained when they put her down for her two daily naps. Greg and Mara warned her that her daughter’s mild-mannered attitude could always fade away once she entered her ‘Terrible Two’s,’ but (Y/N) had a gut-feeling that Carina’s early adventures through space and all the battles against un-dead Asgardians and Thanos’ bloodthirsty army that she’d been present for gave her a resilience that most grown adults would never come to possess.

“Sweet dreams, my little lemon drop,” (Y/N) murmured, her fingers gently brushing her (Y/H/C) locks out of her face before she leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss onto her forehead. “I love you.”

After tucking the blanket around her daughter’s sleeping form, (Y/N) gave her one last smile and turned away from her crib, unsurprised to see Steve leaning against the nursery’s door frame with a content smile playing on his lips. “Sam and Buck already turned in for the night, so I thought I’d check in and see how my three lovely ladies were doing.”

“Two, sweetheart; you know as well as I do that we haven’t found out the sex of the baby yet.” She quietly closed the nursery door and looked at her husband with playful suspicion as they strolled hand-in-hand into their bedroom. “Unless you called up Dr. Prince behind my back.”

“Nope, just some good old-fashioned fatherly intuition.” Steve chuckled, bending down to press a kiss onto her small bump before they went about getting ready for bed, with him changing into his pajamas while she removed her makeup and applied her nighttime skincare in their room’s adjoining bathroom. “The guys mentioned that Barton and his kids were there, too.”

(Y/N)’s fingers momentarily stopped massaging moisturizer into the skin of her face as she recalled the grief etched into the archer’s face when Natasha’s character first twirled onto the stage. “Yeah, they were kicking off their Barton Family Christmas with a little trip to the city to see the show. They left about halfway through; Clint texted me later saying that it was because the kids were a little restless and they wanted to go out for Chinese food before it got too late, but…but I think it had something to do with Nat.”

Steve sighed but remained silent; when (Y/N) finished her nighttime routine and walked back into the bedroom, he was already sitting on his side of the bed with a downcast expression on his face. “He still blames himself for what happened on Vormir.”

“I think so, but I also think he knows that nothing he could’ve done would’ve stopped Nat from making that call…” With a sad sort of smile, she slipped out of her robe and climbed into bed beside her husband, adjusting the comforter over their laps and meeting his saddened azure eyes. “Most of all, I think he just misses her.” And I know exactly how he feels, she thought to herself as her throat burned and she tried her hardest not to imagine the faces of those she still grieved over.

Not a day went by when (Y/N) didn’t think about all the friends they’d lost over the past several years: Tony, Natasha, Vision, Loki and most recently, T’Challa; just as suddenly as they’d lost their four friends and teammates in the battle against Thanos, the King of Wakanda had passed away after a private battle with illness over two months ago. It seemed that with each blessing that appeared in their life, there was an equally devastating blow waiting just around the corner for them and as each one was dealt, (Y/N) started to truly comprehend the all-consuming grief that had followed Clint like a shadow since Thanos’ Snap in 2018.

Being with Steve and Carina and knowing that there was a new baby on the way certainly helped, as did sharing memories of those they’d lost with her husband and their two best friends and focusing her attention on her upcoming book tour. Steve, understanding all too well the emotions that were brewing within her, brought a hand up to cradle her cheek and drew his thumb across her cheekbone as his eyes softened with empathy. “When Cari dumped her entire bowl of spaghetti onto her head the other night and we had to give her an emergency bath, one of the first things that went through my mind was that Nat would get a kick out of hearing that story. It took me a second to remember that she…” Steve’s voice cracked and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “I’ve fought gods and monsters, I’ve traveled through space and time and I’ve lived long enough to believe that in this universe, anything is possible. She knows, sunshine…they all do.”

With tears in her eyes, (Y/N) let out a watery laugh and accepted the tissue that he offered her. “You sure you’re not the New York Times best-selling author in this family?”

“Nah, it’s just easier to land an emotional speech when your wife’s hormones are constantly being thrown for a loop by a four month old fetus,” Steve replied with a lopsided grin while she shook her head in playful exasperation and dabbed at her tear-filled eyes. “We should probably get some sleep; Sam and Buck have an early flight to New Orleans tomorrow, and we’ve still gotta take Cari to the mall for her picture with Santa.”

(Y/N), recalling her best friend Greg and his wife Mara’s many horror stories of taking their little Abbie to see Santa, bit her lip and replied, “Our daughter spent the first month of her life surrounded by Sakaarians, un-dead Asgardians and Chitauri soldiers, so I’m sure that a picture with a complete stranger dressed as Santa Claus’ll be a piece of cake.”

“Of course…” The longer her husband thought it over, though, the more hesitant he appeared. “But maybe we should pack her stuffed wolf just in case-?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Ever the true gentleman, Steve discarded her tissue for her and switched off their bedside lamp before burrowing under the bedcovers beside her, leaning over to brush his lips against her brow while she slipped her arm over his torso. “I also have to text Scott; when we were finishing up my interview for his book last week, he made me promise to give him a review of the musical. I think he wants to take Hope and Cassie when the touring company comes to San Francisco in the spring.”

Steve chuckled and carefully wound his arm around her to hold her closer. “He’ll be happy to know that they decided to add him to the Battle of New York. Speaking as one of the six people who was there, though, I’m not too sure what the presence of Ant-Man’s meant to add to one of Earth’s first alien invasions.”

“That’s the beauty of historical fiction: you can play fast and loose with dates, times and events for the sake of dramatic purposes while still portraying a person’s real-life story. In this case, adding one of the most popular Avengers to one of the most famous Avengers battles doesn’t change the fact that you – the main character – really were there.” (Y/N)’s eyes drifted closed and she could feel her body relaxing against Steve’s as sleep began to take hold. “With that being said, I just know he’s never ever gonna stop talking about it…”

Their tired laughs were suddenly interrupted by a sharp rap on their closed bedroom door and before either of them could say anything, the door opened and the light flickered on to reveal Sam and Bucky entering their room with matching frowns on their faces. “Sorry for barging in, guys, but you’re gonna wanna see this.” While Sam crossed over to retrieve the television remote from (Y/N)’s nightstand, she and Steve exchanged a look of confusion as they sat up and Bucky sat himself down on the edge of their bed as Sam switched their television on to NY1.

“…following a breaking news story, a high society gala rocked by an explosion when it went off at Park Avenue and 68th Street tonight. The cause of the explosion is still under investigation, but witnesses captured cell phone footage of a masked assailant fleeing the scene.” The news anchor’s face was replaced with an unsteady video of a bustling 68th Street; a masked figure dressed from head to toe in black vaulted over a speeding car and scooped a matted Golden Retriever up into their arms, both sliding out of the busy traffic just in the nick of time. The amateur footage paused on a close-up of the masked figure, and (Y/N)’s heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the imposing black and gold leather suit. “Authorities believe the assailant could be-”

“The Ronin,” (Y/N) breathed, and the implications of the infamous suit’s reappearance were not lost on her or the other three men in the room.

“-Who once terrorized organized crime here in New York and around the world for five brutal years. This is the first potential sighting of the Ronin in years, and his identity continues to remain a mystery to this day. We will continue to follow this breaking news story and report on any developments as they come in-”

Sam muted the television and turned to face them with a troubled expression written across his face. “That sure as hell wasn’t Barton in that video.”

“Which means one of two possibilities: either somebody with a sick sense of humor’s running around New York in a handmade Ronin suit and playing out their little fantasy of being a vigilante…” The fingers of Bucky’s vibranium hand traced along the raised lettering of his old dog tags as his brows furrowed, his earlier pleasant mood long gone and replaced with a dark trepidation. “Or someone found the real suit in the wreckage of the Avengers Facility.”

His features drawn with a solemnity reminiscent of his days as Captain America, Steve carded his hand through his rumpled blonde hair and stared at the muted footage of the imposter. “Either way, Barton and his kids are in danger; if they manage to find out the Ronin’s true identity, then every single member of the city’s criminal underworld is gonna go after him for revenge.”

(Y/N) let out a weary sigh and reached for her cell phone that was charging on her nightstand. “So much for that Barton Family Christmas…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there you have it! How do you think the Rogers-(Y/L/N) family will fit into this show? What're the surprises that are gonna pop up? I guess you'll have to tune in for the rest of the chapters to find out! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Hawkeye (Part II)

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ @groovyqueer​​​​​ @ljej95​​​​​ @innersublimefury​​​ @prettysbliss​​​​​​  

[questionableratatouille00]

𝕺𝖚𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕿𝖎𝖒𝖊

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: Whenever Steve was sick before the serum, you were there for him. But all these decades later, he finds just how much time he wasted back then.

Note: This is my submission for day one (drugging/sick/poisoned) of @ailesswhumptober! Does this count as whump? Probably not! Either way, I really wanted to be able to put something out, so here we are!

Warnings: Sickness, technically main character death (??), mention of medicine.

---------------------------------------------

ʙʀᴏᴏᴋʟʏɴ, 1930ꜱ

“For fuck’s sake, Steve. You’re sick. Now sit your ass down.” Bucky sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. The three of you, you, Bucky, and Steve, had been a trio since practically birth. You’d helped each other through a lot. Bucky always had his sights set on some beautiful lady, and your sights were set on Steve. You know, if he’d notice it. 

“‘M not sick.” Steve slurred out, and you resisted the urge to laugh. His fever was high, and the pain medication only amplified the effects.

“Steve, you’re burning up and shivering at the same time. Just..at least sit on the couch.” You attempted to bargain with him. “Please? For me?”

“Fine.” He grumbled, plopping down on the couch. You glanced at Bucky, who was looking at you. Bucky shrugged slightly, not sure what to do. 

“Thanks. Buck’s gonna go get you some soup, okay?” You sat down next to your smaller friend as Bucky walked a few steps away to the kitchen.

“M’kay.” Steve yawned. 

“Are you feeling better? At least, compared to earlier?”

He nodded, still a bit loopy. Bucky came back with a bowl of soup, setting it down on the coffee table. “Eat up, punk.”

After he finished eating, you walked him to his bed, hoping that he wouldn't resist. And he didn’t, opting to quietly lay down. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Stay?” He asked quietly, his small and ice-cold fingers finding their way to yours. 

“Course I will, Steve.” Rubbing circles into the back of his hand with your thumbs, you let out a sigh. “I always will.” 

He smiled at that. “I like you a lot, Y/n.” 

“I like you too. A lot.” 

He drifted off to sleep, his hand tucked in yours.

------------------------

ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ ᴄɪᴛʏ, 2016

Steve’s eyes drifted away from his notebook at the faint sound of sneezing. A younger couple, maybe in their early twenties, walked hand-in-hand down the street. A woman and a man, the man significantly smaller than the woman. Steve noticed the way he looked at her, eyes filled with love and admiration. Her eyes were bright and excited, and she looked at him every so often as she talked about something. 

They were both dressed in their cold weather clothing, scarves and gloves and hats and jackets. Steve smiled softly, imagining you like that. 

The man coughed, more of a wheezing, painful sound. Steve winced. He didn’t have to imagine himself like that. He could remember it clearly, the struggle to breathe, his throat feeling like it had been clawed by a raccoon. 

He missed you. He misses you every day. He was lucky to have Bucky back, and he was grateful. But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. Your kind smile, your gentle gaze. The way you made him feel less…less. 

But you weren’t coming back. He was sure of it. Hell, he’d found your gravestone. You’d died unmarried, with no children. You’d become a nurse at a children’s hospital, which he'd found out from Natasha searching for information about you online.

Steve felt a pang of sorrow as he watched the couple walk farther down the street. With them, it felt like his past and everything he knew was walking away too. He wished he’d had more time to spend with you, to tell you how he’d really felt about you back then. He yearned for you, to be able to take back all of those times where he could’ve kissed you, yet didn’t. Before he knew it, he’d run out of time to spend with you. He couldn’t replace you. Not with Sharon, or Natasha, or Sam, or even Peggy. In a world full of people, people who idolized and adored him, people who dedicated their lives to collecting his trading cards, he still felt alone. 

He truly was a man out of time.

[ieatadoptmepets]

Soundtrack and timeline to my fic And It All Leads Back To You, with explanations, 1-10. Check out my other posts for more info!

You Are My Sunshine (1940)- You discover this song again in the mid 40s when steve and bucky die. This song reminds you of them because for a long time they were your only family. You cry to it many nights. It's given a new meaning when you discover that howard, jarvis, and peggy are your family as well

When you wish upon a star (1940)- two meanings. A) you are grieving for steve and bucky. You wish them to be back so long, or that it'd stop hurting. B) you're on earth and have been for almost 150 years. You love Loki. You wish to see your best friend again

Dream a little dream of me (ella fitzgerald) (1950)- you've been dating howard for a while now, and you've accepted that you can love someone new and still hold your love for Loki. Howard reminds you of everything good in the world and shows you a life you never thought you could have

Fly me to the moon (1954)- a romantic song howard plays for you to express his love, and you love it, but you can't help but take the lyrics literally and dream about taking howard above the stars and to asgard. This became your wedding song with howard

Great balls of fire (1957)- one of the sillier songs you know but a testament to time. Always gets you dancing and having a good time

Johnny b goode (1958)- if you go out somewhere upbeat dancing, this song always plays somehow. howard has his ways, and knows you like this song

Put your head on my shoulder (1959)- stands as one of your favorite old love songs. Who knows how many times this plays on a vinyl in your and howards home?

At last (1961)- a beautiful song that reminds you that after all that time of searching you've finally found the love you were looking for

Sway (dean martin) (1961)- howard loves to play this song and dance to it with you, either early morning or late at night- you never could agree on what time it was when you pulled at-home all-nighter dates together

The lion sleeps tonight (1961)- not particularly a love song like the rest but it still is one of "your songs"

[marvelstucky]

Hi everyone! I am currently rewriting the earliest chapters of a new series and they will be up soon!

Its called A Piece Of Me Is Gone and is a Stucky x OC fic. It will take place throughout the MCU, and have many extra scenes that are not in the movies!

Teasers and other info will be out Saturday, October 22nd

[whereireid]

˚ · . 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark!steve rogers x fem!reader | masterlist

SUMMARY: Is it hard being married to the most influential man in America? You most certainly think it is. — Steve Rogers: Captain America, the heart of his nation, the soul of his country. After returning home from a particularly bad day at work, Steve finally snaps, deciding you need re-educating on how to be the perfect housewife.

warnings: dubious consent ! (reader does consent but it can be interpreted otherwise) fingering, oral [m recieving] manhandling, — arguments, swearing, verbal insults, toxic ideas of marriage [nuclear family, gender roles] mentions of post-partum depression.

Some may say a clean home creates a clean mind. Others say, happy wife, happy life. Steve Rogers strives for both of these things.

Because in Steve Rogers' line of work, it's tiresome to return home to a messy house, a dissatisfied wife, and a crying baby. Exhausting is actually probably a better term. Constantly picking up dirty laundry which should've been thrown in the washing machine days beforehand, not managing to eat dinner because there is no dinner prepared for him, having to listen to a screeching baby which pierces his ears and makes his head throb.

It is hard. Steve Rogers has enough to deal with at work, what with saving the world and actually representing the entire nation of America as a whole. And you? His cute little suburban housewife, who he slaves around for at his job just so he can shroud you in bliss and heaven? You just don't seem to get that. You cry and wail over your position as a mother, saying that it’s too much to handle and that the workload is too much.

The fucking workload. By which, you mean doing the dishes and the laundry and occasionally cooking dinner. Meanwhile, Steve will come home from work, after fighting off actual terrorists and criminals, sometimes even aliens, to a home that is so messy it looks like it’s just been broken into. And he’ll try to be rational - argue that it is hard for you because you’re dealing with your son, and that you’re a first-time mom, and that James has inherited his dad’s serum which has made the four-month-old a stupidly advanced little shit. And Steve does admit this - your son is very good at pushing buttons and misbehaving and throwing tantrums, but that’s what kids do. You knew this. But still, he'll try to be rational - because you're perfect in every other way and it must be so hard to manage this, but then also...

...It shouldn’t be that hard to stay on top of things. And then, when Steve will come home and try to rest - when he drops on the sofa tiredly, unable to hold back the temptation to succumb to hours of missed sleep, you’ll call over to him: “Stevie, can you put food in the oven? I forgot," with no apology! - Hell, no genuine sincerity either! Yet, like the good husband he is, he'll do it - no questions asked, and then you'll follow up with, "oh, and stick the washing machine on, please! And maybe the dishwasher too, whilst you’re at it?”

...It shouldn’t be that hard to stay on top of things. And then, when Steve will come home and try to rest - when he drops on the sofa tiredly, unable to hold back the temptation to succumb to hours of missed sleep, you’ll call over to him: “Stevie, can you put food in the oven? I forgot," with no apology! - Hell, no genuine sincerity either! Yet, like the good husband he is, he'll do it - no questions asked, and then you'll follow up with, "oh, and stick the washing machine on, please! And maybe the dishwasher too, whilst you’re at it?”

He'll do all of it. He won't even say a word. Won't mutter a complaint. Then you'll both sit in silence as you eat, not even a "oh, how was your day, Steve?" or a kiss on the cheek. Two seperate showers, two separate bedtime routines - the only time the two of you really talk is when you both put James to bed, but then, what? You'll drag yourself to your bedroom, and Steve will put his hands on your bare thighs needily, his cock so hard in his pants it actually hurts, only for to waft him away and say you're tired and need sleep? Only for him to wait until you're breathing softly next to him to go on his phone and look at the photos of you he has saved when you're bare and naked, sultry and ready for him?

God, what has happened to him? Is this what fatherhood is?

Steve can deal with all of this. He thinks you're depressed - he's pretty sure of it, actually. Post-partum depression is what they call it. He's asked you to see a doctor - no, has begged you to, but to no avail. So he sits and watches as you cry and stress, soothing you at every possible opportunity, only to have his head bit off for doing so.

Today has been rough. So rough that Steve’s actually pondered whether coming home would be more beneficial to him than drinking his sorrows away at a bar, despite the unbelievable curse that he can’t get drunk. He decides the former – you might need him, and he's hoping that you're going to put a pip in his step. There's no-one he needs more when he's down than you. And he's sure it will be fine, because a happy wife allows for a happy life!

Right?

Wrong. Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an exasperated sigh as he gazes over his living room. It is a state, and he's wondering how it looks exactly like an actual bomb has gone off. No. It looks worse - there’s shit everywhere. Toys and baby clothes and an open pack of clean diapers lay scattered around the living room floor, and he’s almost certain there’s apple sauce on the white rug that he spent $5,000 fucking dollars on.

“Sweetheart, what is this?” It genuinely feels like Steve’s heart is about to be pulled out of his chest. Like someone’s actually ripping their hands into him and scratching away at his heart like a deranged psychopath. Is disappointed even the word? Is angry better? “What the hell is on this rug?”

When you appear from the kitchen, running out wildly, hand movements frantic in concern, Steve genuinely winces. You look a mess - exhausted, worrisome, and on the brink of collapse. When Steve always pictured coming home to you as his housewife, he’ll be honest, he never imagined this. “On the rug?” You wheeze, cursing softly as you graze a wet rag over the applesauce stain. “I have no idea. It isn’t - shit - it isn’t coming off.”

“It looks like applesauce. It - it doesn't matter,” Steve reassures, wrapping his hands around your shoulders. When you ignore him, rubbing harder at the stain, he repeats, “doll. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just - I’ll go and buy a new one.”

“No, Steve. We can’t afford a new one right now. I have to get this out.”

“What do you mean, we can’t afford one right now? Of course we can - just - Jesus, doll, stop it!”

The sudden reminder that Steve is much, much stronger than you suffocates you in a wave when he lifts you up by the underneath of your arms. You wail pathetically, defeatedly, dropping the damp rag on the rug, admitting that attempting to salvage it is a lost cause.

Silence prods at the air. When Steve finally lets go of you, he puts his hands on his hips and sniffs slightly. How the hell has he let this happen?

“Is dinner almost ready?” his voice sounds hoarse as he speaks, and he genuinely feels like he could cry when you answer,

“No.”

“Right. Okay.” A shaky breath slips past Steve’s lips, and his shaking hands find their way into your hair. He rubs your scalp softly, caringly, as one does to their partner if they’ve had a bad day - though he’s almost certain that his had been worse. “Is dinner even prepped, doll?”

When you shake your head in response, Steve shuts his eyes. He shuts them so hard he sees stars and he tries to wash away the frustration that threatens to bubble over like a tsunami wave. It’s impossible to hold back the annoyed sigh that slips past his lips, though - it’s so dramatically loud that your head snaps up, the corner of your eyes pricking with fresh tears.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs your concern away, peppering a gentle kiss on your head, hoping that you won't press on.

Of course, though, you do.

“What, Steve?”

“I haven’t said anything, doll.” He shakes shoulders slightly, trying to brush away the anger which flickers throughout his body.

Steve hates this. Despises how you gaze up at him with such ferocity - such anger, like he’s actually done something wrong. Your brows furrow together sharply, and you mutter, “you didn’t have to. Something is clearly bothering you.”

“Okay." Steve nods carefully, not wanting to overstep, not wanting to make you more frustrated than you are. "You’re right. Something... Something is bothering me.”

You huff from beneath him. Your cheeks flush a shade darker in frustration, and he can hear how your little heartbeat begins to quicken in your chest. You have the audacity to be frustrated right now? After this is what he comes home to?

Of course, you do. Because you've had a hard day. But his has definitely been fucking worse.

And his patience is running indefinitely thin.

“Yeah, and what is bothering you, Steve? Because I can’t do anything about it if you’re always going to go fucking radio-silent on me.”

Steve’s jaw twitches. He hates it when dames swear. Especially when that dame is you. “I’ve had a bad day at work, sweetheart. I really think it’s best we don’t do this today,” he warns sweetly, his hands coming to grip your shoulders reassuringly. You shrug off his touch, and Steve glares at you intensely. “Give it a rest, doll, please.”

“Me, give it a rest? You’re the one huffing and puffing like you’re the big bad wolf all of a sudden. Like you’ve had such a terrible day sitting around filling out paperwork whilst I’ve had to deal with your son-“

“Our son,” he corrects quickly, jaw clenched as he reaches out to grip your cheeks. “I really hope you’re not going to keep rambling on. It’s not going to go well for you if you do.”

Steve thinks his warning is enough for you to back down. You’ve defied him in the past. You’ve had a fiery attitude that has almost burnt ablaze before, and Steve blew it out as though it were a candlelight. You know what he’s capable of when he’s angry - know when you’re pushing his buttons too much.

"There's no point. If I do, you won't listen to me anyway."

"I do listen."

"You don't." Your voice strains slightly as you cross your arms over your chest, looking up at your husband, blissfully unaware of just how quickly he's tiring of this conversation. "If you listened you'd be here a little bit more rather than at work all of the time."

"I can't exactly take a vacation from saving the world, doll. Just - let's just drop this, okay? I don't want to get into this anymore. You're not going to like where this goes."

"Of course, you don't want to get into it! You never do."

Your little hands waft at Steve's chest, flapping at him softly. And he tries to keep his cool as you rant - he really does, but he is so tired and he's had just such an awful day that he can't help it. When did you both discuss the boundaries of your relationship, again? Four years ago now, Steve's sure of it. And he hasn't had to be harsh with you in years - hasn't really had the heart to be mean to you at all, in fact...

... but when you're acting like this, he thinks he needs to blow out that annoying, fiery spark you're blazing.

"Jesus fucking Christ, doll, you really don't know how to shut the hell up, do you? You think Bucky or Sam would let you run your mouth like this?" Steve seethes suddenly, his body pressing against yours. It happens in one quick motion - first of all you're standing below him, pressing your finger into his chest and complaining about his working hours, and the next you're thrown over his lap, thrashing around like a bird, trying to slip out of his touch.

It just so happens that Steve is so, so much stronger than you. And he hasn't been this hard in weeks - God, he hasn't touched you this much in weeks, you've both been so... busy. Perhaps that's why you're acting up - perhaps he just needs to show you your place again as his subordinate and your flame will dull, smothered by his love.

"Get off of me, Steve! Get off!" You wail awkwardly as Steve pushes the band of your sweatpants past your ass. It makes your body flood with warmth as his fingers skim against your panties gently, the touch sending shockwaves throughout your body.

"You've been so wrapped up in this make-shift hell of yours that you've forgotten about the most important thing in your life," Steve says, pinching the inside of your thighs, making you squeak. "Me. Remind me, again, doll - what is a wife's duty?"

You flinch as he brings a hand up to smooth down your hair. It feels like you're a newlywed again and you've just burnt the lasagna after Steve's had an excruciating day training rookies at the Avengers Tower. When was the last time you had been punished?

Gosh, you couldn't even remember. You'd been so good. So obedient - the perfect little housewife, which Steve had molded you into carefully. When was the last time you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek? When was the last time you'd sunk to your knees after he'd had a bad day and served him like a good wife should? You'd grown too comfortable in defying him - grown too oblivious to who he actually is.

He's Captain America. He's your husband. He's the most important man in your life - right next to James.

And you'd been neglecting him.

"What is a wife's duty?" He repeats cooly, his tone like ice. It makes you feel frostbit - warm but numb at the same time.

"To take care of the home."

"And?"

"... to serve her husband?"

Steve sighs, exasperated. He pinches your thigh again, to which you grumble in discontent. "So you do know. You just choose to forget, day in and day out."

Steven Grant Rogers is a nice man. The best man you could've ever asked for. Charming, doting - forever showering you with compliments and extravagant gifts. He has never expected anything of you, except your complete and utter submission to him. Stege has only ever wanted you to be a loving, doting partner to him, to which he vowed to be the same.

"I haven’t… chosen to forget," you try to justify, a broken mewl slipping past your lips as Steve's fingers run up and down your clothed pussy. "It's just - it's been hard, with James, and everything."

“And you think it’s been easy for me? Easy coming home to a messy home and an upset wife?” Steve asks, pushing the band of your panties aside. A soft gasp passes your lips as he pushes one digit into you, and warmth succumbs your body in response. “I’ve only expected one thing from you, sweetheart. I think you need to learn how to please me again.”

You should learn. You need to - need to be re-educated on how to be his perfect wife. Again. Steve’s eyes rake over the living room once again, and he tuts, sliding another finger inside of you. It’s heavenly how your body arches - how your skin pricks with goosebumps as he slowly moves his fingers in a ‘come forth’ motion, as you mewl beneath him - every bit of fight pooling out of you, the light from your fire beginning to flicker out.

“A good wife never neglects her husband." Steve’s voice is cool, and your eyes flutter shut in response. He hasn’t made you feel like this in so long - you’ve practically been celibate, and the feeling of his fingers pressing lovingly on that little spongy spot inside of your pussy makes your knees feel weak. Your stomach grows warm with lust and your pussy slick with arousal when Steve’s other hand grips your ass harshly. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“Never. I’d - ah - I’d never forget that."

"Then why haven't you been taking care of me, doll?" He coos, so sickly-sweet it makes your stomach churn.

God, he takes care of you so good, and here you are neglecting him. Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach and you begin to feel hot flashes throughout your bodies as he keeps curling his fingers inside of you - the sound of your slick bouncing off of the living room walls.

"I've been trying," you whine pitifully, shuffling as he speeds his fingers up, caressing you just perfectly. Just how you like it.

"Trying, huh?" And just as you're about to cum, he stops. "Trying isn't good enough."

"Steve!"

The blond stares down at you with a painfully unreadable expression. His face is so blank it actually sends shivers throughout you, and he taps the side of your cheek softly. "You know what to do when you've been bad, don't you?"

Steve's voice is an octave lower. Subtle fear pricks at the back of your head as you nuzzle your head in his crotch - embarrassed at the feeling of his bulge pressing against you. He's just as desperate as you for this - maybe more, but he's not going to let you go down without apologising to him first.

In his eyes, you've put him through hell. Unhappy wife, unhappy life.

You remove his cock from his boxers swiftly. You pout at the sight of it - thick angry and red - before licking a soft stripe up his tip. Steve's length is so pretty - complimentary to the man himself. Slick with his own precum, you hum, wondering how you ever went so long without it. But before you could even think, even comprehend how you went without such luxury for so long, Steve's big hand wraps around the back of your head and forces you down onto his cock.

To begin with, you thrash and gag. Steve is huge and he's always taken some time to get well-adjusted to, and your throat is nowhere near wet enough to take him all in... yet, but he doesn't care. Steve's tired of waiting - he's practically huffing as he pushes your head up and down using one of his hands, grunting as your throat tightens around his cock. He wishes you were kneeling in front of him so he could see your teary eyes, and he knows they're teary because you sob like a baby when he uses you like this.

It's hsi right to do that, though. He's your husband, your saviour - quite literally your Prince Charming. He's been so good to you, so patient, and so accepting of your need for time and adjustment, because James is quite literally a whirlwind. But he's also tired - he's Captain America, America's Saviour, and a father to one.

He just needs some relief. He just needs his cock sucked.

So, yeah, no more teasing - no more thrashing, either, Steve decides as he holds your body in place and opts to thrust up into your mouth. And it's a much better choice, gives him easier access, and you gasp against him as he thrusts his hips up into you, a drawly groan climbing from his throat as he does so. Your mouth is so, so, so fucking wet and your lips wrap perfectly around his cock. The only thing that can make this better is if - "oh Jesus Christ," Steve grumbles, - is if you move your tongue in time with his thrusts which you do!

It's like clockwork with Steve. After being with him for almost half a decade you know him so well that you know what he likes. Knows exactly what gets his cock to twitch. Your tongue runs over his veins and his cock begins to throb inside your mouth, his fingers curling in your hair.

"This is how a good wife treats her husband," Steve tells you, his teeth grinding together as he comes undone in your mouth. His cum paints your tongue beautifully, and you swallow the salty mixture eagerly.

As he pulls out of your mouth - making sure to smack his cock against your tongue a few times, he looks around the living room again. All feelings of anger has washed away, his cock is still hard and leaking against your mouth as he goes to reach for his phone, but as he does, you stop him.

"Hey! What about me?"

It's funny. Hilarious, actually, how you think your pretty little pout and teary eyes and high-pitched, whiny voice will entice him to give you a reward. But good girls get rewards, not bad ones - and you haven't really been good, have you?

"What do you mean, 'what about me'? You've had what you deserve."

"What?" His words feel like a smack in the face, and you cling to his plain white shirt pathetically. "You haven't let me cum yet, Steve, that's not fair."

It makes you feel embarrassed when he laughs at you. You shrink into yourself slightly, looking up at him with big doe-eyes. When you don't get it, Steve coos slightly, brushing a curl from your face. "Oh, my pretty little girl, you don't get it, do you?" And when you shake your head, Steve mumbles, "what is your duty as a wife?"

"To - to serve you, which I've done!"

"Yes, you have, doll. Incredibly well. What else?" He places a soft kiss on your head, lovingly, and you lull at the contact.

"To... to clean the home, and make sure it's cared for."

"And is it?" He says plainly. "No, it's - it's a shit-hole, honey, I can't sugar-coat it anymore. Your job as a housewife is to clean it up. Do you really think it's fair for me to get home from work and be forced to do this as well when this is your job? I've done my part."

When you think it over - well, no, it isn't really fair, because Steve works like a dog - slaves away for America and for you to have the life you've always dreamed of, and you've been... excepting him to clean up after your mess.

You feel slightly... shameful.

Steve reaches over to pinch your thigh again. "I promise though, doll, as soon as you're done cleaning this all up, I'll take you however you want to be taken."

You can't help the rush of excitement pool in your lower-belly. Steve swears he's never seen you get up so quick - you don't even bother putting your sweatpants back on, abandoning them completely and rushing around like a complete fool.

He watches you, content.

This is what life is supposed to be like.

[thesecretwriter]

more than just friends (part 4) – steve roger

pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: angst – steve has a nightmare, fluff – sweet sweet floof and a little kiss from steve.

summary: It’s the middle of the night and you’re awoken by the screams of Steve. Making your way to him without hesitation is your first instinct. The small display of care lead things in a direction which assures a good outcome. Steve had always found comfort in you, even when it was something mundane.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here’s part 4! hope you like it. more to come in part 5 – would you guys wants smut in that part? genuinely curious bc i feel like i haven’t emphasised the tension between steve and the reader.

minors/ageless blogs dni.

Masterlists

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Steve finds himself in a room that resembled a 1940’s infirmary.

A nurse walks in with a clipboard claiming that she needs conduct a routine check-up.

Something’s not right…

He wakes from the bed and pushes past the nurse as the screams and shouts of the howling commanders echo from the door the nurse walked through. He needs to find them; he needs to help them. He ran out the very same door the nurse came from.

“Captain Rogers, wait!” the nurse’s voice fades as Steve finds himself now walking on the battlefield alongside Bucky – who looks like his usual 40’s self.

“I knew you always had it in you, punk” Bucky said as they marched across the battlefield together. Steve smiled at Bucky, knowing his friend was safe and at his side.

When Steve moved his gaze straight ahead of him, his surroundings changed.

He was now stood in front of a mirror with his post-serum self staring back at him.

“The great Captain America, God’s righteous man,” a menacing voice said behind him.

He turned around to find the source of the voice, however no one was there. When he looked back to the mirror, the red skull was looking at him in his reflection.

“Changing your appearance with that serum did nothing but show me how weak you are. How it took such a modification for people to actually listen to you,” The red skull mocked him.

Steve diverted his gaze from the reflection and clenched his fists to retain his anger, but a choked sob made his return his gaze.

There the red skull stood, with his hand around your neck causing your feet to barely touch the ground.

“Steve,” the broken tone in your voice made his heart stop.

Without hesitation, he began to run towards you. However, the ground beneath him seemed to move on its own, preventing him from reaching you.

The ominous laugh of the red skull along with the choked sobs coming from you was pure torture to Steve. He watched as a final squeeze caused all colour to drain from your face, and then the red skull let you go. You lay limb on the ground.

Steve woke up with a loud ‘NO’ leaving his lips and a thin layer of sweat coating him. As he took deep breaths in to calm himself, his room door opened to reveal you.

Even with concern etched on your face, Steve was relieved to see that you’re okay.

“I heard screaming,” you made your way beside him and sat on the bed.

It took a moment for Steve to say something, and you observed the way his hands were shaking, and his breaths were laboured.

“I-I had a nightmare,” his words were broken, and his tone held a hint of fear in them as he tried to maintain a tough exterior.

This wasn’t the first time you had come to Steve’s aid in the dead of night when he awoke from a nightmare, but it was definitely the first time in a long time since its happened.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask him, knowing that this has worked in the past, however when Steve shook his head in reply you knew it was a bad one.

He reached out for your hand.

“Can I hold you, please? Like I use to?” he looked so vulnerable in that moment.

“Of course,” you replied and moved the blanket to lay beside him. His big hands tucked you alongside him, holding you close as if you’d disappear before his very eyes.

The room was silent as you both stared up at his ceiling, which was still decorated with the glow in the dark stickers you got him. The familiarity of being in his arms brought about the feelings you were trying to forget. Being with him like this felt normal, it felt like this is where you belonged.

After his confession of his love for you, things had been somewhat normal. Only this time you knew how he felt about you, but you and him knew he needed to overcome things before moving forward.

“I think… the more I talk to my therapist about my trauma, the more it subconsciously plagues my mind,” he explained.

You moved your gaze to look at him.

“Has it been helping you? Talking about everything?” you ask curiously.

He nodded his head in reply.

“Its putting life into perspective for me, making me realise all the rights and wrongs…” he trailed off as though he had more to say, the conflicting look in his eyes confirmed this.

You moved closer to him and let your hand cup his face, so he was now looking at you.

“Y’know you can talk to me, right? Even if its something about therapy or mundane things,”

“I know,” he said with a sigh and let his eyes move from your eyes to your lips.

“I saw something that reminded me of you today,” you changed the topic to ease his mind.

“Yeah? What was it?” he was curious.

“A golden retriever,”

Steve raised a brow at your words and even in the dimly lit room, he could see the smile on your face.

“I was at the park, and he ran over to me, completely knocked the air out of me. Then there was this little black cat. And you’d assume the dog wouldn’t like the cat or vice versa, but the cat warmed up to the dog and he proceeded to play with the cat, in such a gentle manner,”

Steve loved when you rambled on about everything and anything. It brought ease into his mind.

“So, you think I’m gentle?” is what Steve was getting from what you were saying.

“Pretty much, it reminded me about how you are with me… or any of us. You’re a good leader with a strong will to do the right thing, but you’re also the gentlest giant. When I get hurt on a mission, you make sure to handle me with care,” your hands draw patterns on his clothed chest as you distractedly complete your sentence.

“Is that how you see me? Even after…” he trails.

“Yes, even after everything. What I’m trying to say is despite everything you’ve been through, you’re still a good person. You’ve been a good person from the start,”

His chest vibrated in laughter.

“This started off with me reminding you of a golden retriever and ended with you saying the sweetest thing about me,” he leaned over you and kissed your forehead.

“Just trying to fulfill the part of my being your…” you stopped yourself short, not thinking before speaking.

He smiled at your words and looked into your eyes, seeing the panic.

“By being more than just a friend,” he completed your sentence.

And ever so gently, he brought his lips to yours. Capturing them in a sweet kiss which spoke and expressed every emotion the two of you shared for each other.

tagging those who reblogged/commented:

@paarthurnax59 @terry2227 @sweater-bee @niffala @superforgottensoul @haruvalentine4321 @steve-language-rogers @slxttyro @themrsrogers @smhnxdiii @loumaaria-blog @buckywifey @themrsrogers @moonstruckbirdie @nana1000night @borkybawnes

[ramp-it-up]

The Sweetest Nectar

Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader. Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Steve is pining for you and the fact that you are Sam’s girl doesn’t mean a thing.

Word Count: 1K.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. SMUT, 

Warnings: Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Soft Dark Subby Nomad Steve Rogers. Darkish reader. Mention of pre-serum Steve, Lap dance in public, voyeurism, masturbation, mention of drugs and alcohol, pining, angst, teasing, exhibitionism (on reader’s part), possible non con exhibitionism (on Sam’s part). Oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up), sloppy seconds, possible cheating. All errors my own.

A/N: Thanks for this ask! It streched me.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

You were giving your boyfriend a lap dance on Steve’s couch, and it made the host irrationally happy. 

Steve was glad that Sam had someone, especially someone as sweet as you. Damn, you were probably so fucking sweet.

Steve licked his lips as he watched your hips undulate in front of Sam’s face. This was the perfect opportunity to watch you and ogle your body, because everyone was a little tipsy and a little high and doing it too. 

It was all in fun, right?

You glanced at Steve upside down as you gyrated on Sam’s lap now, and bent backward all the way over, your braids touching the floor, giving the room a view of your luscious tits. 

Yeah. You were perfect. And this night was the highlight since Steve came out of the ice.

You winked at Steve and his face grew red, but he played it off by taking another drink and rubbing his beard while flipping his long hair out of his face.

It worked on countless other women, but you just sat back up and pulled Sam’s face into the valley of your breasts, gasping as he motorboated your clothed breasts and grabbed the glorious globes of your blue-jeaned ass. 

People laughed, but Steve’s mood changed; he started plotting dismemberment and where to scatter body parts when Bucky came up to stand beside him and watch.

“Hold it up a little higher, buddy.”

Steve didn’t tear his eyes away from you as he took another drink and replied.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That torch you’re carrying. Maybe she’ll see it if you hold it up higher, Lady Liberty.”

Steve just scoffed and drank some more, not denying anything that Bucky had said.

Bucky laughed and went to get another beer, as Steve practically cried in his, his heart silently aching for you.

—-

You and Sam were in Steve’s bedroom, taking advantage of the fact that everyone else was doing body shots in the kitchen.

“F-f-fuckkkkk! Samuel T-t-t-hom… fuck, Samuel Thomas W-w-wilsonnnnn.”

You were grabbing Sam’s ears as he skillfully ate you out, looking down on him between your legs as he sucked and pulled and played with your clit.

“Fucky, Baby… where did you learn to do … goddamn…”

You panted to try and catch your breath as he inserted three fingers inside you and spread them out.

“Holyyyyyy Shhhhhhh!!!!!!!!” 

You came like a freight train, your knees clamping down around Sam’s head. Sam’s large hands pried you from around his face and came up for air, a triumphant smirk on his face. He held your legs open and gazed at the pretty dark, wet lips of your cunt and the creamy liquid oozing out between them.

“Learning new techniques every day. Just to keep you satisfied, darlin’,”

Sam shook his head and watched as your pretty pussy lips sheltered your still quivering folds.

“It’s a beautiful view.”

Steve silently agreed from the closet, watching your beautiful cunt shine in the dim light from the street. He had his hand wrapped around his cock, fisting himself brutally at the sights, sounds, and faint smell of you. Steve silently willed Sam to action, wanting to hear how that wet pussy sounded when it was fucked good. 

It was just like before the war, when he watched Bucky…

“Hmmmm, Daddy. Give me some. Please? Pretty please. Will you give me some of that thick dick?”

You leaned back, legs still open, looking up at Sam, who was standing now, in front of you.

Your face, fucked out and glowing, looked up at his friend as you licked your lips was everything in the world to Steve Rogers right now.

Steve imagined it was him you were begging, and he didn’t know if he wanted you to suck Sam off or let him fuck you senseless. He just knew that wanted to bust this nut.

“Assume the fucking position then.”

You whimpered, and Steve nearly bust in his hand.

“Yes, Daddy.” 

You got on all fours on the bed and that view was even better than before. Oh, how he’d eat that ass, Steve thought.

Sam smacked both cheeks three times, and your moans and sighs alone were enough to make Steve cum. He watched his friend line up his thick dick and swipe it through your folds, and could almost feel your beautiful wetness. Stevehad to bite his lips to hold in his own grunts as Sam slowly, wetly, and solidly sank into you. 

“Ohhhhhh… shit….DADDY!!!”

“Fuuuuuccccckkkkkk!”

Sam’s head lolled back on his shoulders as he bottomed out and Steve’s eyes practically rolled back in his head as he witnessed the ecstasy. 

Then, Sam looked down and smacked your ass again. Steve watched, rapt, as Sam slowly pulled almost all the way out, then plunged quickly back into your wet goodness. He bet you were so warm. Sam did it again and again and again, faster and faster, and faster. Steve stroked in time as you moaned louder and louder and louder, oblivious to the others at the party.

Steve watched your back arch, and your flesh shake and ripple with every back shot delivered. He was so fucking close.

“Daddy? Daddy? Please Daddy.. I wanna, I wanna….I neeeeeed to…”

“Cum, Darlin’... give it to me. Fuck yeah!”

Sam’s voice was a growl and as you started shaking, Steve’s cum started spilling into his palm and the sock that he was using to contain it.

“Shhsshhhhittttttt….” Steve’s whisper was not silent, but quiet enough that you two wouldn’t hear it over your own noises.

You and Sam collapsed on the bed..

“That was great, Darlin’. You shouldn’t tease me like that in public. ‘S not gonna stop me from giving it to you.” 

Sam kissed your nose.

“I am well aware of what that does to a man. Makes it that much better, Daddy.”

Sam laughed, and then moved toward the bathroom.

“We better get outta here, before Steve catches us in his bedroom.”

You looked toward the bathroom and then sat up on the edge of the bed, legs open again.

Steve saw your wrecked pussy, the combination of you and Sam seeping out, and his cock swelled again. He nearly yelled when he saw you playing in it again. It was like you were doing it just for him.

But you stopped when Sam came back out to get dressed.

“I need a little more time to get cleaned up. You go ahead.”

“Ok Darlin,” Sam leaned over and kissed your forehead and you reached for a peck on the lips.

“You made me hungry, took all my energy. I’m going to go eat some food.” 

Sam winked and left the room smiling and happy.

When the door closed, you stared straight at the closet.

“Well? Are you going to stay in there and jack off again, or are you going to come out and clean me up?”

You leaned back on your hands, legs wide.

“Now’s your chance Steve. I know you’re in there. Are you going to come out Captain?”

Steve gulped. Then he couldn’t help but comply.

“Fuck…”

Steve emerged from the closet, the tip hard cock glistening and stiff at the opening of his undone pants. He walked toward you and dropped to his knees.

You threaded your hand in his hair, brushing it away from his forehead as he closed his eyes at your touch. You guided his head toward your throbbing cunt.

“You get sloppy seconds, but I bet that’s what you like…”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Steve nodded vigorously as his tongue collected the sweetest nectar he’d ever tasted.

[nekoannie-chan]

Week 15 Reblog Masterlist

Welcome to Week 15 2024 or Week 223, as always, fics would be listed in the order I read them.

I hope you enjoy it!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

♥ You can check my reading guidelines here.

♥ You can check my masterlist here.

♥ You can check my main reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check my April reblog masterlist 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 14 2024 here.

♥ You can check Week 16 2024 here.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

𝙺𝚎𝚢𝚜: 💛 ᵒʳᶤᵍᶤᶰᵃˡ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ

💜 ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ

🖤 ᵈᵃʳᵏ

❤️ ˢᵐ���ᵗ

💚 ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

💙 ᵃᶰᵍˢᵗ

🧡 ᶜᵒᵐᵉᵈʸ

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

This is the list of the fics I read and recommend in Week 15 2024:

Dangerous places part 11 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @kaunis-sielu 💚

A broken soldier part 2 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @caplanbuckybarnes ❤️

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 6 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Game day by @queen-of-the-avengers 💚

Fic (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork 💚

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 7 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Flood by @biteofcherry ❤️

Moral of the story chapter 6 (Wanda Maximoff X Reader) by @lemonnsss 💚

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 8 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Battle scars (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @lokischambermaid 💚

Unbreakable chapter 9 by @crazyunsexycool 💚💙

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 9 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Stressed out (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @sergeantbarnessdoll ❤️

Dating Post-Serum (1940’s) Steve Rogers/Captain America Would Include… (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @just-a-hardcore-simp-who-writes 💚

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 10 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Double trouble (StuckyX Reader) by @marvelavengerspovs1 ❤️

The Best Birthday Gift part 2 (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @cevansbaby-dove 💚

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 11 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

Inappropriate attire (Steve Rogers X Reader) by @witchywithwhiskey ❤️

Cuddle bug(Steve Rogers X Reader) by @nicoline1998enilocin 💚

Civil war Brooklyn chapter 12 (Stucky X Reader) by @saiyanprincessswanie 💚💙❤️

[imyourbratzdoll]

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

💌𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄💌

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 18+ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊. 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆! 𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐎𝐅 18 𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘

AGE AND SIZE DIFFERENCE IS ADDED TO ALL! ALL MEN ARE LARGER THAN THE READER! THE ELVES ARE THE SIZE OF HER PALM!

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐬:

𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 (ma fée) - were-bear ari levinson x fairy reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 (ma lapin) - easter bunny logan howlett x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 (ma ange) - elf steve rogers x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 (ma coeur) - santa ari levinson x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓 (mon étoile) - elf ransom drysdale x mrs claus reader

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𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 (ma fleur) - elf jake jensen x mrs claus reader

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𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒚 (ma papillon) - elf frank adler x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒗𝒆 (ma colombe) - the grinch bucky barnes x mrs claus reader

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𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍 (ma perle) - lifeguard ari levinson x tiny reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 (mon trésor) - elf johnny storm x mrs claus reader

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𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 (ma princesse) - elf curtis everett x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒆 (mon biche) - elf lee bodecker x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 (ma chaton) - jock jake wyler x nerdy girlfriend reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 (mon amour) - bull hybrid ari levinson x farmer reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒚 (ma chérie) - were-bear henry cavill x bunny hybrid reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 (ma pêche) - steve kemp x girlfriend reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒆𝒆 (ma bourdon) - best friend’s dad ari levinson x young reader x his friend andy barber

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒘𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒑 (ma goutte de rosée) - willy wonka x lover reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 (ma douce rose) - best friend’s brother curtis everett x innocent reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 (ma lumière des étoiles) - rick grimes x best friend reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒏 (mon soleil) - elf lloyd hansen x mrs claus reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 (mon sucre) - luke danes x partner reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍 (ma poupée) - stepdad bucky barnes x stepdaughter reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒑𝒊𝒆 (ma tarte aux cerises) - stepdad steve rogers x stepdaughter reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎 (ma prune de sucre) - stepbrother curtis everett x stepsister reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒖𝒎 (ma prune) - winter soldier bucky barnes x pretty reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃

𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 - cupid pre-serum steve rogers x lovesick reader

೫˚🌹❀ *ૢ💌೫˚🧸

[pedrito-friskito]

Happy Sleepover lovely Kay!!

You know how I love me some Steve Rogers, I’d love to request him with the prompt…

“You have any idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you.”

Please and thank you!

🌹

ericca!!! thanks for such a fun request ☺️ the inspo jumped out of me on this one (but my apologies for taking so long to get it posted!) and out came a sequel/follow-up to walking the wire!!

would def recommend reading that before you read this (if you haven’t already 😉)

tell me your troubles - steve rogers x fem!super soldier reader (phoenix)

word count: 3k

warnings: lil more than canon-typical violence (i like netflix marvel more than disney marvel these days can u tell), lowkey possessive!steve, heavy make outs, shower sex, oral (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v (they’re supersoldiers ok but wrap it before you tap it) - also russian translations from google so if it’s not right I’M SORRY

Nat gives the order to fall back, and it goes against every fibre of Steve’s being to obey.

They have you. They have his girl.

It’s Nat’s op. She’s in charge, and he knows this isn’t her fault, that she’s not to blame for the fact that you’re not by his side right now, that you’re instead being hauled into the back of a large van, too-thick cuffs banding your arms behind your back. He’s having flashbacks to Berlin, to Bucky in a cage. They put a hood over your head, and you manage to catch his eye before your face disappears from view.

Go.

His every instinct is screaming at him to go after you, doubly so when the van starts to drive away. But there are bombs planted between you and him, obstructing his path. One wrong step, and no amount of super-soldier serum could save him from being blasted apart. And then where would that leave him?

Where would that leave you?

+

“I want a plan,” he spits as soon as they’re back at the makeshift base they’ve been calling home the last few months. It’s no Stark Tower, but there’s running water and a bed he’s shared with you most nights, a haphazard sign scrawled on the door — Cap & Phoenix. Bucky drew a little cartoon shield and a flame to go along with it.

He sees Nat bristle as he barks his order, but when her sharp gaze flicks to him, something in him softens. He tends to forget, that she cares for you on a similar level to his own affection. Not the same type granted, but the Widow holds you close to her heart, and despite Steve’s own confirmation that Nat’s not to blame for your kidnapping, he can see in her face that she doesn’t think the same.

“You didn’t do this, Nat,” he says, following her into the large office they’ve used to map out missions. Bucky and Sam make themselves scarce, disappearing from the corner of Steve’s vision. “We all knew there was a risk.”

“She was right there,” Nat replies, shaking her head, sinking into a crouch in front of the table, surveying the map you’d all reviewed before leaving. “She was right there, and I let them grab her.”

“We couldn’t have known they’d have the capability, the means to—”

“This is my fault, Steve.”

“It’s not,” he reiterates, hand clenched into a fist, knuckles pressed to the table. “I know it, Phoenix knows it. But letting it get the better of you isn’t going to bring her back. You think you made a mistake, then fix it. We find her.” He plants his other fist. “No matter the cost.”

Nat arches one perfect brow, and he can already see the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Sir, yes, sir.”

+

Tracking you down is the easy part; recovering you proves to be a touch more complicated.

Natasha’s plan is airtight this time, outright refusing to split the team, the four of them moving through the building silently. They have each other’s backs, and soon enough, they’ll have you. But it’s a maze from the moment they step in. The map they have is accurate, but it’s more heavily guarded than they’re anticipating. Nat and Bucky both put men down with acute precision — assassin precision — and Steve finds himself lagging behind Sam, his knuckles aching from the sheer number of punches he’s delivered.

Part of him feels naked without the shield. He gave it up for a reason, before he had you. It’s something he’s talked through over and over, you sprawled on his chest, chin propped on the back of your hand, watching him talk as he stares at the ceiling.

Talk to me, drevniy. Tell me your troubles.

That last night, before the mission went awry, it was the same. He’d talked himself in circles, until his voice went hoarse and he was losing himself to the soft press of your body against his, and then all he really wanted to lose himself in you instead, so he did.

You held him close after and murmured something in Russian he couldn’t quite make out. He lifted his head to ask you what the words meant, but you kissed him before he could get the question out, and you’d drifted off to sleep a few minutes later. He didn’t have the heart to wake you.

Damn the shield, he thinks now, trying not to flinch when Bucky pulls the trigger on his gun, more men dropping to the floor. Damn it all.

They round a corner, and Steve nearly crashes into Nat’s stalled figure.

“Hello, Captain.”

You’re strapped to a chair. Restrained nearly the exact same way that Bucky was back in Berlin. Only him, the man Steve had watched cart you away, he’s got his hand knotted in the back of your hair, your head yanked back, your throat bared, a large knife pressed against it. It could be steel, but Steve would bet good money it’s vibranium.

Steve darts forward, but Nat throw her hand out, stopping him. She tilts her chin imperceptibly, and Steve’s eyes follow the direction, spotting a generator in the far corner. From the corner of his gaze, he sees Bucky catch on, and wordlessly, the plan is formed.

“Let her go,” Steve calls to your captor, and when the man starts laughing, Bucky slinks into the shadows, towards the generator. Nat raises her gun, aiming at the thugs flanking either side of your captor, and Steve’s hands clench into tighter fists.

“I would not do that if I were you, Captain Rogers,” the man taunts, waving a finger in the air. “You have not even heard the bargain I propose, for the return of your sweet Phoenix.”

“I don’t make it a habit of bargaining with kidnappers,” Steve returns, and the man yanks your hair back harder. He can hear your slight whimper from where he stands. “Let her go, and maybe I let you live.” From the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky near the generator, hidden by the shadows — perks of super-soldier sight and stealth.

The man starts laughing. He sees the glint of the knife press against your neck, and a single drop of blood beads along the blade. Nat’s eyes cut to Steve’s, he nods, and Bucky’s metal fist connects with the generator, sparks flying as the room is plunged into darkness.

It comes in flashes. Bullets spark through the air as Nat takes down the two thugs who have started running for them. Bucky shoots forward, yanking the metal away from where it’s restraining your arms and pulls you out of the chair. Steve disarms your captor, the knife now streaked with your blood, but before he can do anything else, you grab it from him, whipping it over your shoulder. The blade buries itself in your captor’s chest, and the man drops instantly.

Steve reaches for you, hauling you into his arms, and you cling to him as you all turn tail, heading out of the building. It’s not until you reach the Quinjet that Steve finally feels relief, but remembers the blood and takes you to the back of the jet while Nat and Bucky prepare for takeoff.

“Let me see,” he murmurs, and wordlessly, you push your hair away, baring your neck to him. The scratch is barely visible, already just the remnant of a scar, but Steve knows it won’t go away, not completely. He wipes the blood gingerly from your skin, his movements gentle even though he knows he can’t hurt you, not truly.

His brow furrows as he looks the rest of you over. There are no other obvious injuries, or evidence of them. Your clothing is tattered, dirt and grime smeared on your skin, and there’s a brightness in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time — not since they pulled you out of that lab.

“I’m fine, drevniy,” you say, grabbing his wrist when his attention falls back to your neck, to the tiny scar now there. “It will take much more than a scratch like that to take me from you.”

Steve bristles at the mere thought. He feels like a live wire suddenly, exposed, vulnerable. You tug on his hand, pulling his palm until it rests over your heart, until he can feel the rapid beat if it against his skin. You lean up, fitting your lips to his pulse, a soft kiss to his throat. His whole body feels tight as a bowstring, and while the feeling of you has soothed it some, he can’t shake it.

“Steve,” you call, your voice low, almost cajoling. Suddenly, he feels guilty. You’re the one who was kidnapped; he should be comforting you, not the other way around. The corner of your mouth lifts. “Tell me your troubles.”

He groans, and the tether on his restraint snaps. Both his hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks in his palms. He hears your quick intake of breath right before his mouth covers yours, and you sigh into him, your body relaxing almost completely in his grip.

“You have no idea,” you murmur, and the purr in your voice makes his tac pants grow tight, “how much I missed your touch.”

“Baby,” he nearly growls, pushing you back against the metal wall of the jet. You’re tucked in the corner now, out of sight of Nat and Bucky, and Steve’s plan forms quicker than Nat’s rescue had. “I need you right now.”

Your breath hitches high, the noise catching in your throat, and Steve’s hands drop from your face to your waist, tugging your hips until they’re flush with his. “Right now?” you ask, a teasing smile on your face. “Buck’s hearing is as good as yours is, Steve. You want him hearing you take what’s yours? Want him to know what I sound like?”

The reminder tugs his restraint back into place. Something deep in his chest, something feral and wild, growls in response. Mine. He lifts you until you’re high enough to wrap your legs around his hips and his fingers press into your sides, feeling the rush of your blood beneath your skin, the heat of it. 

He kisses you until the jet touches down again. 

+

As soon as the ramp lowers, he hauls you over his shoulder and stalks down it, his boots clanging against the metal. He barely hears Nat’s low chuckle behind him and grinds his teeth when you palms settle on the small of his back, fingers tapping random patterns against his skin.

Once you’re inside, he heads straight for the bathroom you’ve been sharing. You barely get a word out as he turns the water on, nearly as hot as it’ll go, just like you like it. When he turns back, you’re naked, and more relief blankets him when he sees you’re untouched, unscarred.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Captain,” you grin, and Steve backs you against the wall, desperate to feel your bare skin against his. You bite your lip as his palms skim up your ribs, but he feels your hands on his belt, unhooking it with ease. But then the light in your eyes changes, and as his belt thunks to the floor, your hand roves up his chest, two fingers tucked under his chin, tilting his face to yours. “I knew you’d come for me.”

Something in his chest cracks. “Of course I did. I…”

He’d barely let himself feel it, when he saw you there, strapped to that chair, that man’s hands on you, the knife at your throat. The…intensity, the way he instantly knew he would do whatever was necessary to get you back. If Nat hadn’t pulled his focus, pointed out the more sensible path, he can only guess what might have happened, what mess he might have left behind. 

Your palm, light against his cheek, pulls him out of his head. “Hey, come back to me,” you call, your voice so soft, so sincere, it pushes away the violence in his head, the guilt that threatens to brew over things he hasn’t even done. “I’m here, krasivyy. Alive. Intact. Yours.” You get closer, your nose brushing his, lips grazing his when you speak. “Only yours.”

“Mine,” he repeats, like the word might bring him back down to earth. His hands grip your hips, lifting you with ease, growling when he feels your legs wrap around his waist. “Watching him touch you, you have no idea how I…” He bites off the sentence with a groan as you grind against him, your bare core leaving a wet patch on the spot just above his waist. Keeping you in place with his hips, he rips the shirt off, tossing it away as he pushes at his pants, barely getting them down his legs before his cock is springing free. The head taps between your legs and it makes you squirm.

“I’m yours, drevniy,” you say, and the nickname once made him bristle, but now it just lights a fire in his chest. “Only yours. No one else gets to touch.” You lean up, pulling yourself against his chest, nosing at his neck, scraping your teeth at his earlobe. “Just you.”

Steve growls again, holding you against him with one arm, wrenching the shower door open with the other. You hiss when the water hits you, but the sound drags out into a low moan as he positions you beneath the spray, steam filling the stall, smudging your outlines.

He lets his hands roam, massaging your limbs, cleaning the dirt from your skin. You hum along with his movements, your head tipping back between your shoulders when he works your chest, wiping away the dried blood and grime. Then he walks you back, pushing you against the tiles. You gasp when your back touches them, the porcelain so much colder than the water, but Steve’s made up his mind.

He starts at your lips. Kisses you rough, bites at you bottom lip, pushes his tongue past your teeth to tangle with yours. When your hands move to grip his hair, wet strands wrapped around his knuckles, he groans into your mouth, drags his lips along your jaw, down your throat.

He bends slightly, tracing your collarbones with his tongue. Your hands don’t leave his hair, only gripping tighter as he moves down, nose dragging along your sternum. But then he pauses, cheats left, scraping the scruff of his jaw along the curve of your breast. You breathe out his name when he closes his lips around your nipple, giving you just the edge of his teeth, pinching the other between his knuckles lightly before rolling it between his fingers.

“Steve.”

He grins against you, sure you can feel it as he pulls back, satisfied only when he sees your nipple is peaked, tight from his attention. Then he does it all over again on the right, only stopping when you tug at his hair, a panting mess as you look down at him, your eyes heavy-lidded with lust.

“What are you…” you start to ask, but the words drop off into a moan when he drops to his knees, using his shoulder to wedge your legs wide, leaning in to bite the inside of your thigh.

“Appreciating what’s mine,” he replies, tongue soothing the spot he bit. “Too much?”

You shake your head, rolling it against the tile, a blissed-out smile on your face. Fuck, he missed you. Can’t imagine his life without you. “Never,” you reply, meeting his gaze again. “Prityazhatel'nyy padezh.”

Steve’s brow lifts, and he puts his face against your thigh again, dragging his tongue up toward the heat between your legs. “Translate, please.”

“Possessive.” You moan the word, one hand staying in his hair while the other reaches up to squeeze at your breast. “Fuck, I should have gotten myself kidnapped a long time ago.”

The thought makes him see red, and you squeal as he grabs both your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders and diving straight between your legs.

“Steve!”

He eats your pussy like he’s never done before. Nips and sucks and licks until your thighs are quaking around his ears, until your cries bounce off the tile walls. You’re an oasis in a desert, his first meal after being starved for days. You’re everything. 

You’re his.

He doesn’t stop until you cum, your hand an iron vice against his scalp, tugging so hard it gives him just that little twinge of pain, and he’s reminded how evenly matched you are. He takes everything you have to give, drinks down every drop until you’re pushing at him, overstimulated, body lax in his grip. He works his way back up to standing, worshipping you on the way up the same as he had on the way down. Your chest heaves against his as he pushes his body against yours, caging you in against the wall, keeping you safe.

“Tell me something,” he asks, and you nod, the movement lazy, your hands dragging up and down his ribs as he straightens, reaches up to brush a wet strand of hair from your face.

“Mm?”

Steve leans in, nosing at the curve of your jaw before pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “How do you say I love you in Russian?”

Your whole body jolts as the words fall past his lips, and he chuckles into your skin, pulling you even closer, wrapping his body around yours. Your head tips back, eyes trained on the ceiling, but you hold him just as close. “You’re going soft, drevniy.”

“Only for you,” he replies, nipping at your throat. “Yours, remember?”

Your quiet laugh seems to echo around the shower until you speak again. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” You say, and Steve gives his best repetition, earning himself another chuckle from you. After his second try, your eyes lower, and he sees the wetness in them. “I love you, too.”

[holylulusworld]

A fresh start (2) - Post everything

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Pairing: Pre-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shy reader, plussized reader, virgin reader, fluff, falling in love

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1​

A fresh start masterlist

16.666 followers ‘16 days of requests’ celebration

<< Part 1

It was three months after you met Steve for the first time that you ended up inviting him over for dinner after the meeting ended.

He hastily agreed and smiled coyly. Steve Rogers is a hero, a strong super-soldier, but he’s still the shy guy from Brooklyn who tries to figure out how to talk to a woman.

“Steve, hi,” you opened the door the moment he wanted to knock. Eager to see him again. Even though, you parted ways with him not two hours ago. “Come in.”

Steve stepped inside, feeling his heart flutter when he looked around your apartment above your grandmother’s bakery. It was just like he imagined. Warm. Inviting. A home.

“Uh-I brought wine, and these,” he offers a bouquet of roses to you. “I didn’t know if you like wine, but I wanted to bring something with me. It’s white wine.”

“It’s fine. We can have it with the fish.” You smiled softly. “I have to admit, I don’t know much about wine. Sorry, I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Me neither,” he said. “I can’t feel the influence because of the serum. But I like the taste. Let me open it for you.”

“Ever the gentleman, Captain,” you teased and walked toward the dining room. “I’m ready to serve the food. If you open the wine, I can take care of the food.”

“Let me lend you a hand, doll. I can carry the food,” Steve pulled a chair for you. “Sit comfortably. You cooked for us. I’ll take care of the food.”

“I can do it too,” you said, but Steve was halfway toward the kitchen to grab the plates. “Steve, I can do it…”

“No, doll. You worked all day at the bakery, helped me with the meeting, and cooked. You need a rest and enjoy the food,” he sternly said, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Listen to your Captain and eat your food, ma’am.”

He placed a plate in front of you and pecked your cheek. “Thank you for inviting me. I’m honored that you allowed me to come to your home.”

You giggled at his words. Steve was such a gentleman, and so sweet. No other man was ever so sweet to you, or attentive. “Anytime, Steve. It’s a pleasure having you.”

For a moment, there was awaked silence before you both burst into laughter. “Sorry, I’m awful when it comes to dates,” Steve admitted.

“Oh my god, same,” you jumped up to hug Steve tightly. “I thought it was only me. I'm glad it’s you. I mean…I feel comfortable around you. Not like with other men. Not that other men are bad, but you are you…”

Steve didn’t mind that you nervously babbled. He was glad you felt about him the way you did. After everything he lost, especially so many friends, Steve needed a glimmer of hope.

And who was he to refuse a little happiness when it came with a warm smile and a soft voice?

“That’s kinda nice.” You broke the silence stretching out in the room. “I mean, this place. Uh-Steve said it’s okay to bring food.”

“Nat, that’s Y/N. I told you about her.” Steve watched his friend lift a brow. She looked you up and down before her eyes drifted toward the baked goods you placed on the table.

“I already like her,” she smirked. “Steve told us so much about you. He wouldn’t stop talking about you, your bakery, and how sweet you are.”

“Nat,” Steve’s cheeks turned red at Nat’s words. He didn’t want you to know he can’t stop talking about you, and how you helped him cope with what happened after the snap. “I think Y/N doesn’t want to hear about it.”

“No, no. I’d like to hear more,” you teased. You patted Steve’s back and tried to calm him when he inhaled sharply. “I was just kidding. I bet you didn’t talk so much about me.”

“All the time he was talking about you,” Nat enjoyed the struggle on Steve’s face. It’s been a while since she felt a little hope. But seeing you with Steve gave her hope. If he could find love in these desperate times, everything is possible.

Everything is still possible…

“What do you think about my friends?” Steve asked as he walked you home. “They were friendly to you, right? You felt safe and welcome…”

“They are very nice. I like Nat,” you smiled when Steve took your hand and interlaced his fingers with yours. “Of course, they are nice. All of them are your friends.”

You walked back to your home in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Steve didn’t have the heart about the things he and his friends discussed some days ago. If they can do what Bruce and Scott were talking about, the world will change once again.

At that very moment, all Steve wanted was to hold your hand and bring you home safely. Everything else was unimportant...

Part 3

[swan-of-sunrise]

It's been a while since I've posted a Superhero Snapshots mini-series, hasn't it? Well, I think it's about time we find out what the Rogers-(Y/L/N) family was up to during the Christmas of '24 (yes, it's currently March but idgaf lol) and how they tie into a couple of archers' mess of a holiday season...

...Stay tuned for Hawkeye (Part I)!

[wondernus]

˗ˋˏ When We Meet Chapter 1 ˎˊ˗

synopsis: there is only so much forgiving and forgetting you can do when you end up getting stood up by your date over and over again. so when you're stuck between the best friend, the first crush, and their mysterious roommate whose existence seemed like a myth, you can only hope the decision you've been making is the right one.

pairing: kmg x reader

chapter tags: food, university setting in the past

wc: 1.8k

message from nu: when we meet chapter 1!!! this chapter may be a little familiar for some of my longer followers bc I posted a portion of this as a snippet about a year ago. but I'm still excited to share this new series with you all hehe. - nu

masterlist | taglist | next chapter

DK is positive that if he sneezed, the puff of air that shoots out of his nose would be strong enough to knock over the guy he is currently helping hold steady.

But Kim Mingyu — tall, lanky, and irrationally stubborn, refuses to accept help from his obviously more capable roommate. He stands on his makeshift stepladder and attempts to shimmy out his giant hard-shell suitcase he somehow managed to store at the top of his closet the day he moved into the dorm. However, the only thing Mingyu seems to be taking out of his closet is the dust that collected on top of his belongings. And DK is trying his very best not to sneeze.

Who would have thought that Kim Mingyu would be built like one of those wavy inflatable tube guys you see while driving past car dealerships on the highway? His little self-intro on the university roommates request page painted him to be an outgoing type of guy — likes photography, running, and dogs; dislikes people who are rude to waiters, bad vibes, and heights. His profile picture was an aesthetic photo of him in some art museum in Europe. Mingyu turned out to be exactly who and how he described himself. However, had DK or Minghao known their literal pre-serum Steve Roger roommate wasn’t who they thought him to physically be, they would’ve assigned him to the loft bed with the standing closet when they were deciding bedspaces before moving into their dorms.

Now, DK can only stand behind his roommate with his two hands gripped firmly around the wooden chair’s backrest and hope the suitcase doesn’t take his roommate out before the mosquitos from wherever Mingyu is heading do.

For starters, it’s hard to believe a college sophomore — one who has to sleep on the bottom bunk because the floor is closer to the humidifier — is going on a journey to some place where he probably couldn’t restock on his precious Aquaphor that he has to slug onto his cracked heels every night and then protect with his aloe-infused fluffy bed socks. Mingyu is physically weak. He is like a Basset Hound puppy who keeps tripping on its long ears because it still needs to grow into them. He is a Victorian child experiencing EDM for the first time. He is the university dormitory Wi-Fi when everybody is back from vacation. A Lego Man figurine is probably more built than Kim Mingyu in every single physical aspect — and that is not an overstatement.

And his luck…Oh, how unlucky Kim Mingyu can be at times.

Minghao, their third roommate, tells Mingyu it’s puberty. But Kim Mingyu and his hardheaded personality firmly believes he is the unluckiest man in the world. Puberty, Minghao reminds him. He’s simply going through puberty. It just doesn’t seem like it because his growth spurt arrived ages before his puberty did. Mingyu digresses. He always digresses.

It is a bunch of small, often uncomfortable or inconvenient, occurrences bundled into one that leads Mingyu to believe he has somehow been cursed. Setting off the fire alarm after using the new microwave in their floor’s common room? In reality, some kid snuck in an illegal rice cooker and forgot to open the window while cooking some rice in his dorm room. Sleeping past an alarm the day after he accidentally stepped on a crack in the sidewalk? He didn’t know he accidentally set his alarm as P.M. instead of A.M.. His clumsiness? He wears clothes in sizes either too big or too small for his body. He’s never heard of tailoring before.

Mingyu claims his curse started when he was dared to download an Ouija Board app on his phone on the bus ride home from one of his high school field trips. DK reminds him that where there is a cause, there is an effect. It just so happens that Mingyu doesn’t realize that he is his own cause of his string of “bad luck.”

So, when Mingyu abruptly announces to his two roommates that he’s leaving in the middle of the semester for some Eat, Pray, Love type of trip with his rich aunt, the two roommates can only ask why and whether or not dormitory rent is going to be more expensive given that there would technically only be two roommates instead of three:

“I dunno-” Mingyu picks up his sub, trying to adjust his grip so the tomato slices don’t slip out when he takes a bite. “I think it’ll be a nice change.”

DK gawks at him while Minghao looks through his canvas tote bag for a hair tie. Mingyu shrugs and brings the sandwich to his lips. A thin and bright red tomato slice slips out from the backend of the sandwich and lands on the ceramic plate below. Mingyu sighs and sets his sandwich back down on his plate and opens it to tuck the tomato slice back into place.

The most level-headed of the trio, DK, stares at the guy who sleeps below him reattempt to take a successful bite of his sandwich. Minghao, whose long hair is now tied in a manbun, twirls his fork around his plate of limp spaghetti.

“You know it’s bad for your scalp if you tie your hair too tightly.” Mingyu gestures to his own head to show Minghao. There are bread crumbs in the corner of his lips, and some sauce on his fingers. He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean before taking another bite.

Minghao ignores him and stares outside the window at the family of ducks making their way into the shade outside of the dormitory dining hall.

A nice change is what newly divorced couples say in movies. A nice change is giving your childhood bedroom a makeover. A nice change is when Mingyu can finally take off his damn braces so he doesn’t spit on people while he talks. DK reckons it’s because Mingyu is having trouble adjusting to adulthood. He’s a second-year going through what Minghao calls a “prolonged puberty experience,” but DK thinks that all Mingyu needs is time. He has the braces, the lisp, and the inability to act normal in front of crushes. It’s normal. Everybody moves at their own pace. DK thinks that all Mingyu really needs is a little confidence and a major glow-up. 

“You said you’re going with your aunt?” DK pinches a fry between his fingers and decides to drop it back down. “What about our dorm and school?”

Outside the dining hall, a Resident Director leads a group of elementary school students on a tour around the dormitory area. The students look around the several tall dormitories and point at the ducks when they see them. The teachers who walk behind their students are too busy staring at their phones to care if the students chase after the animals.

“Hey, do you think ducks are easy to pick up?” Xu Minghao gently sets his fork down and cups his hands, placing them side-by-side. He looks at his imaginary bowl and ponders out loud, “They look like they’ll fit perfectly in my hands, yunno. Perfectly scoopable.”

“My aunt isn’t married and doesn’t have any kids so she says she’ll give me her money if I travel with her.” Mingyu chews with his mouth open and pauses to wash it down with some milk, ignoring Minghao’s question. Or maybe he didn’t hear the question over his loud chewing. He exhales and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Something about going on a journey to prove that material wealth isn’t all there is in the world.”

Having lost his appetite from looking at his roommate, DK pushes his plate of fries away from him. He asks Mingyu, “Isn’t it counterproductive because you need money to travel the world?”

“Ehh.” Mingyu slinks in his seat, but reaches over to grab some of the abandoned fries. “But don’t worry about my grades. I’ll be studying abroad and will probably be back in time for graduation. Hopefully my credits can transfer. And my aunt is paying for my dorm so you guys don’t have to worry about paying more.”

“And the school is okay with you paying even through you’re not going to be here?”

“Universities don’t care as long as they’re earning money,” Minghao huffs and stabs a meatball with his fork. “But God forbid I take more than three free yoga classes at the rec center and all of a sudden I’m banned for the rest of the month.”

A new group of friends set their bags down at the table next to where the trio are sitting. One of them seems to recognize DK and politely waves at him before catching up with their friends to line up for food. DK smiles and waves back — he only met them a few days ago.

“I- I think taking that trip will be good for me,” Mingyu stutters when he realizes he has been staring at DK’s friend who waved the entire time. His eyes quickly travel back to looking at his best friend’s fries. He fidgets his fingers before reaching for another one, trying not to make it obvious that his cheeks are not glowing red just because of the inflammation from his acne. “Maybe I can meet some new people, learn a few things, and bulk up from all the traveling I’ll be doing.”

In the present, Minghao opens the dorm door and enters with a duck tucked under his arm, American football style. He makes his way over to his desk and drops off a few textbooks. From behind the chair he is helping hold steady, DK swears the duck looked at him straight in the eye.

“Yn said you should come to the beach hangout on Saturday,” Minghao tells DK while grabbing his water bottle and yoga mat.

“I’ll think about it,” DK replies while staring at the duck who seems perfectly content with being held by the Second Year.

“Who’s Yn?” Mingyu calls from his uncomfortable position above the chair. He thinks he finally found a way to pull out his suitcase without his roommate’s help.

Minghao shrugs and swings the mat over his shoulder, choosing to completely ignore his roommate’s question. The duck quacks, and Minghao waves goodbye before exiting their shared room.

Mingyu, who finally and successfully managed to start pulling out his suitcase from an angle, sneezes from the falling dust and pushes the suitcase back into place. 

“Bad luck,” he mumbles to himself. “Bad luck.”

Copyright © 2023 Wondernus. All rights reserved.

[ieatadoptmepets]

Welp it's been many months and my fandom hyperfixations that tumblr needs to know about are back

What if I said 🤨 I was kinda making a fic 🤨🤨 and only the first chapter has been up for weeks but I'm back in the feels again and instead of writing I'm gonna make a soundtrack to my fic and talk about them all 🤨🤨🤨

The fic is an oc (kinda a reader-) x howard stark and both Loki??? Reader* is asgardian and grows up on asgard, until they get into trouble with Loki and cover for him, leading to them getting exiled. Inspired by "where mischief lies". Then about a hundreds years later they meet steve and bucky, and then howard taking the place of maria. It follows the fanon plot of the normal mcu with a few tweaks to add in my oc lore and for it to be a fix it no one dies fic. Throughout the series secrets, prophesies and relationships will be uncovered and put through the rest. Will they all survive?

I'm bad at summaries but the fic is And It All Leads Back To You on wattpad. Ironically enough only the prologue chapter is up but who cares. Many queer headcanons and reader/oc may or may not be explicitly bi or nonbinary but will not be straight and will use they/them. They will be afab but that won't be an important detail until they become tonys mother

*it's an oc, again kinda, because they take the place of freya in norse mythology and im take the russo brothers route by being minimally lore accurate but I did find many norse myth info to put in here. When they're exiled to earth, they gotta go by a different identity and that's when it'll be y/n, until they can go back to being freya

[darsynia]

Just Right | Ch 4

(Steve Rogers x F!Reader, post-Ultron Multichapter)

Summary:

You’ve been in love with Steve Rogers for at least a year, but he treats you the same way he treats every other member of the team– with respect, but nothing more. It takes an inter-dimensional mistake and a whole second, more assertive, actually interested Steve for you to realize that you don’t want just any version of Steve Rogers– you want the one you’ve been pining for all this time.

Length: 3,456

FIC MASTERLIST | LAST CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Want to be tagged on this or any other Steve fic? Please ask! @ronearoundblindly @munstysmind @tiny-anne @themaradaniels @starryeyes2000 @chickensarentcheap

Excerpt:

“He’s me, ‘Dine. He’d never dream of revealing something like that. I was thinking about it-- I think the only reason he went on the mission is because it happened for them already. It’s hard to resist the comparisons.” He lifts his eyebrows to see if you want him to take your tray, and you nod.

“How is that going?” you ask carefully.

Steve immediately looks at the ceiling, then over at the window, before finally glancing your way, letting out a little sigh. “Can someone be better at being you than you are?”

You let some of how you feel about him show, since you’re practically bursting with it anyway. “No, but you can know yourself well enough to recognize that you and he are working on different things, and they don’t overlap.”

He’d been priming to stand up, but your words physically send Steve back in his chair. The look is back, the one you wish you could bottle up and overdose with, on nights when you talk with your married friends.

“I-- That really helps. Thank you.”

Chapter Four

You don’t change clothes for lunch; it’s only when you walk into the cafeteria area that you realize this could be very loosely construed as a date-- but by then it’s too late, because Steve’s seen you and he waves you over to the smaller table by the wall.

“I waited, hope you don’t mind. Natasha told me it’s very rude to set things up so that the woman is eating when the man isn’t.”

Does that make this a date? your traitorous brain pushes you to ask as the two of you make your way over to get food. You could probably phrase it in a way that gives you cover if his reaction is negative-- but you just can’t do it. Instead, you ask him about the stuff that didn’t make it into Natasha’s rather clinical report.

He talks about the secrecy the government had asked them to employ, how they’d worn sunglasses and ball caps to get to the site, their gear stowed away in backpacks.

“Tony took one look at the group of us and went back into the Quinjet. He came out wearing a leather jacket, reflective sunglasses, and a motorcycle helmet. Said we all looked like a ‘tourist group’ of undercover FBI agents!”

You laugh. “Glad he put it to good use, even if it wasn’t the one I’d intended.”

He looks down and smiles at his sandwich, shaking his head a little bit. “I should have known you were the one who put that in there.”

“Hey, stashing an extra helmet is a no brainer, pun intended! Not everyone is a super soldier, but all of you sure love your motorcycles.”

“You’ll be happy to know we avoided self-destructive behavior as much as possible, this trip. The NRC guys were very careful, only let Stark go into certain areas.”

“Well,” you say, pointing at him with a celery stick. “Based on Howard’s notes you would have been fine, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

“Howard Stark?” Steve asks, voice going quiet.

“Yeah. I mean, he was heavily involved in the serum development, and man, was he a note-taker!” Something about the look on Steve’s face hits you. “Did… did no one ever tell you about that? There are notebooks’ worth of--”

“No,” he says, posture straightening. “No one said anything.”

Now you feel guilty and indignant on his behalf, all at once. “They’re all scanned in, I bet you have access? I’m not sure anyone thought to tell you, sadly enough. Either that or they just assumed you knew.” You fumble around for your phone, but he stretches out a hand into your line of sight in that way he has, gentler than using his voice. It’s a leadership thing, the knowledge that a command to stop means something different when you’re both a friend and a team leader. You’ve always loved that about him.

“I’ll check it out. Thank you.”

You nod, offer the olive branch of a redirect back to the original conversation. “So, was Stark able to find the source of the radiation?”

“Yeah, flew it right to the disposal site. Probably saved days worth of decontamination work. Problem was, the HYDRA base-- well, you saw the report.”

“Booby traps, Tony Stark’s favorite.”

He wheeze-coughs through the sip he’d been taking. “Yeah, and his work defusing them was the lynchpin of the whole operation. He’ll be insufferable for days.”

“How will we be able to tell the difference?” It’s a joke, but after the two of you share a chuckle, Steve’s expression turns serious.

“Yeah, about that…”

“Oh, I walked right into that one.”

“Humor me? It’s been a strange experience, having a doppelganger. You seem like one of the only people who can instantly see the difference, so when you didn’t--” He breaks off and doesn’t continue.

You shrug. “It’s honestly just instinct? Or maybe I’m hypersensitive to hair length. Got to make sure that helmet fits you without slippage!”

Steve finishes off the last bite of his sandwich and regards you thoughtfully. It’s familiar (still thrilling, though), and you shove away the thoughts that everything you’ve been saying and doing here could have just as easily been done as a function of your job. You suddenly wish you could change the subject, but you know Steve. He’s wrestling with something. You suspect you’re one of the only people who see the differences between him and Gold Steve enough to help.

“He won’t say anything about what he may have gone through-- and I wouldn’t ask,” Steve says quickly. “It does feel like he’s more… maybe ‘comfortable’ is the word? It’s hard not to worry that it’s from some kind of shared trauma.”

“A shared trauma you’d avoid, if only you knew it was coming?” you guess gently.

Steve’s look of relief carries with it an undercurrent of gratitude that could very easily be tuned to the romantic. After spending hours of your life syncing yourself to his resonance, your body can’t help but respond, quickening your breathing and heating your blood.

“He’s me, ‘Dine. He’d never dream of revealing something like that. I was thinking about it-- I think the only reason he went on the mission is because it happened for them already. It’s hard to resist the comparisons.” He lifts his eyebrows to see if you want him to take your tray, and you nod.

“How is that going?” you ask carefully.

Steve immediately looks at the ceiling, then over at the window, before finally glancing your way, letting out a little sigh. “Can someone be better at being you than you are?”

You let some of how you feel about him show, since you’re practically bursting with it anyway. “No, but you can know yourself well enough to recognize that you and he are working on different things, and they don’t overlap.”

He’d been priming to stand up, but your words physically send Steve back in his chair. The look is back, the one you wish you could bottle up and overdose with, on nights when you talk with your married friends.

“I-- That really helps. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you say, and mean it.

When you’re finished with your work for the day, something in you just cannot stand to be indoors any longer. That doesn’t mean you’re going to go for a run or anything, but a walk among green things is a necessity. You head straight for the woods when you get outside, aiming for a particular clearing that’s a favorite, the one with a tree that angles just so, perfect for leaning against and thinking.

It had been a gamble to move into the Avengers Compound, because it cut you off in some ways from your friends in the city. Not everyone who works there lives on-site, it’s not required-- and you didn’t do it just because it’s where Steve lives. After all, he’s been looking for months for a place in Brooklyn, so he could move out at any point. He refuses to let anyone help (and you suspect that Stark actually has a place rented or bought for him and is just looking for the right way to trick Steve into living there), but you’re sure it’s only a matter of time.

The lunch today has you all twisted up in knots, even hours later. On one hand, you’re elated that he’d invited you to lunch at all, that you got his full attention for such an extended period of time-- especially in such a relaxed, no-pressure setting. On another, it was… more of the same, from him. 

You let out a long, frustrated sigh. Meeting Gold Steve has made you dissatisfied with the status quo, there’s no other way to put it. Without his attentive interest, you’d have seen your lunch with your universe’s Steve Rogers as one of the most exciting events of your tenure here.

“That’s a weary sound,” a voice says. Speak of the devil…

“Haven’t they sent you back yet?” you quip, mostly kidding. You’re vulnerable and combative right now, and if you can chase Gold Steve away, you really ought to.

He walks over into your line of sight and shoulders up against a tree, one hand in his pocket. “Tony’s been in the lab since last night, or so FRIDAY says. A couple more hours and Natasha’s planning to break in to give him a care package of food and fresh coffee.”

“That’s… actually pretty encouraging.” Your back has started to hurt, but if you stand up to leave, you know he’ll offer to accompany you, and your universe’s Steve has seemed a little… protective of you, when Gold Steve is around. 

That thought actually pisses you off, because the word your mind is dancing around is ‘jealousy,’ and in order for there to be jealousy, there need to be feelings. You’re pretty sure that’s not what’s going on.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you need to talk something out.”

“You’re probably simultaneously the best and the worst person to do that with right now,” you groan.

“It’s ‘other me’ related?”

You close your eyes and scrunch up your face in regret. “Pretend I didn’t say anything?”

“And squander your chance to figure him out?” Gold Steve actually makes a ‘tsk’ noise.

“You don’t really mean that,” you say with your eyes still closed. “Even if you did, there’s no figuring. There’s just me reading into things.” You suspect he’s trying to learn more about his counterpart, so you decide to chase him away with this and then maybe dig a hole to fling yourself into until he goes back home. “He’s had lunch with any number of other people, and it’s just the way you look at me that made me mix the two of you up when he was jog--” 

You straighten up. If Stark’s really on the verge of a breakthrough, this might be your last chance to ask Gold Steve the thing that’s been nagging at you for weeks.

If you’re burning bridges, then you might as well light them up.

“What is with that, anyway? You know that’s how I knew, right? The way you look at me.” Most of your rational brain is in revolt, but you’re tired. If this avatar of the person you love can’t explain to you how to trigger the same reaction in your version, then you’re going to demand that he tell you what makes him different. He’s upended your neatly compartmentalized life, it’s the least he can do. And once he has, he’ll probably stop seeking you out, and you can start the process of returning to normal.

He looks guilty.

“I wasn’t going to--” Gold Steve presses his lips together. “I’m not trying to change anything,” he says, and it sounds more like he’s trying to persuade himself than you. “After I found out Bucky was alive, learned some of what he’d gone through, someone was there for me, and I fell really hard.” 

His wry smile is sad, and you feel a tiny prickle of alarm. It doesn’t feel like this is going to be a happy story.

He continues, “At the time, I didn’t feel like I knew enough about this decade, this century. I needed time. And the nature of the job, you know, the world always needs saving, so I wasn’t worried. I figured I had time. And then we lost-- she was gone.” 

Gold Steve stops and takes a breath. He’s not looking at you, and you don’t blame him. It seems like if he did, he might just lose the tenuous grip he has on his emotions. You can barely breathe just listening to him.

“I really regret that. I never took that chance-- and, I’d love to think we’d have made it work, that she’d have fallen for me just as hard-- but now I’ll never know. I’ll never know what it would’ve been like to wake up next to each other. To help her through the tough times, to maybe be the last loving thought on her mind, before the end.” He looks directly at you, and you can see it, the bone-deep regret, the determination to do whatever he can to prevent that kind of heartache. “Those days afterwards, they taught me you have to speak up, let people know what they mean to you. I can’t let the fear of letting someone down leave them to die alone. I told myself I had to use that horrible day to be better, to--” he lets out a tiny chuckle, like he’s reliving a bittersweet memory. “To wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“That’s beautiful,” you whisper. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

“Me too.”

Gold Steve wasn’t at dinner, but you didn’t blame him at all. You’d sat there trying to socialize with his words hanging around your heart until the burden was too heavy, and you’d excused yourself after barely eating anything. Now it’s two in the morning and you’re ravenous, and you only have yourself to blame.

You make yourself some cereal, a comfort food from your childhood, but you can’t bring yourself to eat it in the large, dark cafeteria, nor do you want to put the overhead lights on. Instead, you steal away with it to the rec room, even though it’s probably not allowed in there. If FRIDAY wants to tell on you, so be it.

It isn’t until you’re happily settling into the comfiest chair that you see you’re not alone.

“Jeez, Tony, are you okay?”

“Finally! Pay up,” he says triumphantly from his place on the couch. You swear for a solid twenty seconds; for months you’d avoided using his given name after he’d teased you for using Natasha’s first, telling him smugly that you’d rather pay him $50 than give him the satisfaction.

“I’ll pay you in the morning, but I think it’s cheating to stay up for forty some hours just for a lousy fifty bucks. I guess eccentric billionaire is as eccentric billionaire does,” you sniff. Inwardly, you’re mad that you’d forgotten Tony likes the rec room couch better than the guest beds.

“Fifty bucks and the solution to sending the Rog-elgänger back,” Tony says, adding quickly, “I think. I came in here to get a few winks and see if I still feel like a genius when I wake up.”

“And?”

“Fatal flaw,” he grins. “I don’t know what it’s like not to feel like a genius.”

“Well, run it by me, I’ll give you my honest, non-genius opinion.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to count yourself out of this equation, Brigandine. You’re a big part of how I figured it out,” Tony shocks you by saying. “Keep eating, don't let it get soggy. Okay.” He slaps a hand down on his right thigh. “Say this is our universe, and this--” Tony slaps his other hand down on his left thigh; “--is IMPOS-Steve’s universe. He’s said there’s no Avengers Compound over there, but he still walked out into the room when he showed up, right? Like there was a door in the wall?”

You’re still giggling from a minute back. “Only you would use your lap to symbolize the multiverse! But yes, it was like he’d just walked through a door.”

Tony ignores your gibe, caught up in his explanation. “That means it’s not a one-to-one transfer-- whatever chose that place in space-time, it’s not based on where he was when he left. Which is useful only up to a point, because to send him back, I have to do the same thing. With me so far?”

You nod, your mouth full.

“Not long after the attack on New York I got to thinking about how the Chitauri were able to connect from so far a distance. I mean, yeah, wormhole, but I figured there had to be more to it than that. I thought, what if there was something that was like DNA, but it was readable without having to look into a person’s cells. A molecular imprint, like your own personal resonant frequency.”

You’re completely fascinated. “The same way a big building or a bridge has a specific frequency, only unique?”

“Not at all, and yes,” Tony says. “It doesn’t really matter what it is exactly, just that it exists. The problem is figuring out how to detect it, so I went looking for Vision. The two of us did some testing--” He pauses for an extended, satisfying-looking yawn, scratches his forehead, and tries to remember where he was.

“Some testing?” you prompt.

“A lot of testing, but yes. I had set this aside way back when because there was no way to really test the theory--”

“I’m sorry, what theory? Connection over long distances?”

“Well, yes, but connection across universes, too. I mean, the worst possible nightmare, right? With the mind stone and access to every dimension, Loki might have had the largest army ever. An infinite army.”

There’s something about the expression on Tony’s face, like maybe he’d actually set this concept aside because it was the only way he could sleep. He shakes himself a little bit, sees you’re sitting there, and apparently, that’s enough to remind him of where he is in his explanation.

“Right. Faux-gers,” Tony says, grinning. Your stomach clenches in a not wholly uncomfortable way at the idea that your boss associates you with Steve enough to put him back on track like that.

“I think what you’re really lying awake doing is coming up with those,” you tease.

“You know it. Anyway, you’d think there’s no way to test it, right? You’d have to have two versions of the exact same person. Yes, exactly!” Tony says at your spark of realization. He absurdly makes two little ‘people’ out of the first and second fingers of each hand, and stands them up on his thighs, harking back to his ‘lap dimensions.’ “Vision was able to confirm it. Both Steves have the same resonance.” He sighs and lets his hands drop. “Another breakthrough I can’t win a Nobel for.”

You still feel like you’re right on the edge of understanding, and from the yawn Tony just fought through, he’s running out of coherent consciousness. “That’s great, but how does that send him back, exactly?”

“Because all I have to do is tune the thing I haven’t quite invented yet to the resonance of one of the other Avengers. That way I can feel confident I’m sending Pure Imitation Vanilla back safely, instead of in the middle of the concrete foundation for the Bezos Tower or something. And now I want cookies.”

You are taken by a yawn of your own, and Tony leans over and rescues your mostly-empty bowl before it falls off of your lap. Something he said when you first started talking is important, but you can’t remember what it is--

“I might send Nat to trick him into telling us how much farther along he is than we are,” Tony says, lifting up your spoon, making a terrible face, and setting the bowl down on the coffee table. “He tried to play it off, but there were times on that mission that he was definitely steering us away from some nasty shit.”

That confirms your similar hunch. “How far ahead do you think he is?”

“Very,” is the surprising answer. “Which brings me back to your role in all of this. Brigandine, I’m sorry to say, but I think you’re dead.”

You blink at Tony. “Dead? I figured I just wasn’t born in his--”

“Ah, but that wouldn’t work.” He pops his finger figurines back up on his lap, and you groan. “They have to match, remember?”

“Couldn’t the matching resonance thing have been Sam?” you protest. A film of unreality is forming across your skin, dusting up goosebumps and an accompanying chill.

“I don’t think so. You said he seemed pleased to see you, surprised to see the complex. What if something happened? Something bad?” Tony leans over. “Something preventable? If the resonance is tethered to a person instead of a timeframe, how do you ensure you arrive before the bad thing happened?”

“You choose someone who shouldn’t be alive,” you breathe, shaken. “But he’s been here for weeks! If something’s coming, wouldn’t he have said something by now?”

“Not if it’s a ways off. Not if he can’t go back. This is Steve Rogers, ‘Dine. His morals have morals. If we can’t send him back, he doesn’t need to say anything and change other things by accident. He just has to steer us away from the dragons at the edge of the map.”

Next chapter

[jen-with-a-pen]

Hello! Welcome to my OFFICIAL Masterlist!

Here you'll find links to my written works and other odds and ends. I hope you find what you're looking for– and if not, feel free to drop in a prompt, some inspo, or an idea you think you'd like to see! My ask box is always open and I try to answer any and all messages as soon as possible.

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Dirty Dishes

Bucky x F!Reader (CATWS/CACW time periods)

You and Bucky share an apartment in Bucharest. Some nights are fine, others are tough. Nights with storms are especially tough.

WARNINGS: Angst, Bucky having flashbacks, panic/anxiety attacks

18+ Impressions On the Inside of Your Thigh

Beefy!Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x F!RanchHand!Reader

Head Ranch Hand James "Bucky" Barnes has had a very, very long day. Only way to remedy it is to make you squeal.

WARNINGS: grinding, pet names/name-calling, making out, dirty talk, oral sex (f!receiving)

→ Fan Favorite on AO3!

18+ FOXHUNT

WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

Not only has HYDRA successfully executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

WARNINGS: being hunted, implied non-con elements, violence, cursing, blood, bruising, beating, passing out, forced nudity

18+ Chains Around My Feet

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader; established relationship/friendship and most of work is told out of Reader's POV.

Being held captive and experimented on definitely wasn't in your job description. After what seems like months in HYDRA captivity, rescue finally arrives– but what is rescue if not relief from the suffering?

PLEASE SEE POST FOR FULL LIST OF WARNINGS major warnings: graphics horror elements, blood + gore, whump, hurt and absolutely ZERO comfort, major character betrayal, major character death, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

18+ FILTHY, IMPETUOUS SOULS

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

Honeysuckle

Bucky x F!Reader

The adventures of one James "Bucky" Barnes and our reader, Honeysuckle, mixed with a lot of mutual pining, with some help from Sam 'Wingman' Wilson. No real story line, just a mix of one shots that might end up loosely connected one day.

WARNINGS: mutual pining, requited love, idiots in love, slow burn, tooth-rotting fluff, maybe a little angst, established friendship, yes this takes place in the Tower

This House Had Swing In It - Coming Soon/Being Rewritten

DEVILISHLY HANDSOME, ENTICINGLY BEAUTIFUL - Coming Soon

FALLEN STARS - Coming Soon

If You Go, I Go

CAFTA!Closeted!Pre-Serum!Steve x CAFTA!Closeted!Sergeant!Bucky Barnes

It's Bucky's last night before deployment. The evening does not go the way Steve, nor Bucky, thought it would.

WARNINGS: angst, loneliness, pining, closeted feelings, messing with canon

Dancing in the Kitchen

slightly possessive!Best Friend!Steve Rogers x Best Friend!F!Reader

Tony dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together again.

WARNINGS: fluff and angst, insecurities, verbal abuse and insults/language, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, emotions™

18+ ALL TIED UP (IN A BIG RED BOW)

Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

Inexperienced and still freshly-traumatized by his first heartbreak, Steve Rogers decides to finally move away for college after taking two gap years to work, save, and help his Ma around the house. It’ll be good for him. Away from his ex. Away from his hometown. He's excited to finally chase his dreams and begin again as a promising fine arts student at Richards College. Well, almost. Thanks to a generous scholarship spanning the next four years of his life, Steve is required to participate in on-campus Greek life. It’s simple: join a frat. They shouldn't be too intimidating. At least they're not as bad as they are in the movies, right? Right..?

general series warnings: frat bros being frat bros, sorority sisters being sorority sisters, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, fluff, angst, whump, explicit forced s3xual acts, slow burn, dissociation, nud1ty, dubcon (bordering noncon), forced drvgging, mentions of kidnapping, emotional damage, Steve's just trying his best, Bucky and Sam are major frat bros, Tony and Clint are somewhere I swear

18+ ALL WRAPPED UP (IN A BIG RED BOW) - COMING SOON

The Weight

Modern!Avengers!Stucky

Steve betrays Bucky in the worst way possible.

WARNINGS: angst, cheating, emotional damage/hurt, no comfort, swearing, mentions/desc. of vomiting

Coming Soon

Reading Lists

This House | Honeysuckle | DHEB

Fic Recs | Spicy Fic Recs | Not My Masterlist

OMEGAVERSE

DEVILISHLY HANDSOME, ENTICINGLY BEAUTIFUL

Honeysuckle Vibes

Hurt/Comfort

This House Had Swing In It

This House: The Swing Collection

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

@/natrace's Stardust Reblog Challenge Masterlist

@/flordeamatista's Jardin de Poemas Challenge

@/targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge

WHUMPTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST