#sharon and steve are so cute

[meidui]

your cute neighbour ♡

[marvins-linguinie]

i start writing a fic and everything is fine, i update it weekly, and then i start another one, and get so stressed out, then i drop both of them. in conclusion, I WANT TO WRITE A STEDDIE DADS FIC SO BAD BUT I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN BECAUSE I'M ALREADY WRITING TWO ENTIRELY DIFFERENT FICS

[burninblood]

I'm in bed with the flu, I deserved at least a glimpse of Bucky and Alpine in SoL #7 🥺

[wanderingandfound]

So on one hand rereading all this MCU fic does make me wanna finish, edit, and publish the fic I had so much inspiration for back in, oh, summer of 2016. On the other hand, it turns out I just completely forgot about some characters from AoS, which is fine because I don't need them in my fic, but like this is just reminding me of how I don't really wanna rewatch that show.

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training VI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You were helping Christine out in the kitchen when Margaret brought her daughter downstairs. The brunette was really kind, you’d come to learn, patient in making sure you got everything right. She didn’t seem bothered by your quiet disposition, instead content to simply talk to you with no expectation of any responses in return.

When the other brunette made herself known, Christine had awed.

“Oh, she’s getting so big,” she cooed, pausing in what she was doing. “Almost a year now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Margaret breathed, a bright smile on her face. “Steve’s already talking about trying for another.”

You turned away, resting your gaze on kneading the dough, afraid to screw it up and afraid to stare in the face of your possible future. Although, you supposed that there was nothing possible about it, and you struggled to accept that. Your chest grew tight as you heard them fuss over the baby girl behind you, not wanting to entertain the thought of that being you one day, all smiles and sparkly eyes as you held Peter’s baby.

“Do you want to hold her?”

It took you too long to realize that Margaret was talking to you, and you hesitantly looked over your shoulder. They were both quiet as you looked between them, an encouraging smile on Margaret’s face as your gaze eventually fell to the little girl in her arms. You felt unsure, glancing down at your hands before brushing them on your apron.

“I…” you gestured to the dough. “I’m a mess and…I don’t know if I should…”

“It’s okay,” the new mom softly encouraged. “She loves meeting new people.”

She was approaching you before you could protest any further, and you carefully took the baby when she handed her off. You supposed that Margaret was telling the truth, her daughter taking you in with wide eyes and studying you just as much as you were studying her. She was very sweet, very cute, and you felt yourself frowning a bit.

“I’m taking her for a walk around the property,” Margaret mused, and Christine hummed at that as she continued cooking. “Get her some fresh air and sun. Maybe even let her crawl around a bit.”

She poked at her daughter’s cheeks, a fond smile on her own rosy lips, and she let out a sigh.

“Pretty soon there’ll be more babies filling up this house, and then Laura, Sharon, and I won’t feel so alone.”

Margaret said it so casually, and you blinked for several reasons. For one thing, you didn’t know that Laura and Sharon had children too, and again, you were reminded of how isolated you felt from the other women. They probably sat around and chatted with each other about these things, those three in particular maybe even watching their children play.

In the same train of thought, your stomach churned at the mention of more children. You wondered just how long Margaret had been here for her to be so casual and content with her situation, to talk about everyone’s situation this way. Then again, you wondered if it had more to do with who she was married to. With a husband like Steve, there probably wasn’t any other choice but to find happiness in this predicament in some way.

Either that or be wholly miserable all the time.

Be humiliated all the time.

Her words had you handing her child back to her, and it was then that Steve appeared at the entrance of the kitchen. The sight of him had you flinching, and you almost felt like you were wrong to touch his child, stepping away from Margaret just as she smiled at the blond.

“There you are,” he said, smiling back at her and fully stepping into the kitchen.

You discreetly returned to the dough, but you could feel his gaze on you.

“I was just bringing Sarah down for a walk and wanted to visit whoever was in here making breakfast for everybody,” she sweetly replied, and you wondered if it was exhausting to have to appear to be that happy all the time.

You couldn’t imagine Peter expecting that of you, and you looked down, thinking of that morning in which Peter had forced you to watch Steve punishing Margaret. You felt your skin grow cold as you recalled his brutality, just the sheer act of treating someone that way, and especially for something as minor as messing up food or not smiling as big as he expected.

In the back of your mind, there was a stray thought of gratitude that you weren’t in her place.

“That’s great, honey,” you heard Steve tell her, and it sounded genuine. “Especially since Y/N is here.”

You paused at that, hesitantly looking over your shoulder, shuddering as your gaze met his. Despite the smile on his pink lips, the look in his blue eyes didn’t quite match, an emptiness to them that had your stomach sinking.

“It’ll be good for her to be around the children more,” he mused, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead, never taking his eyes off of you. “It’ll help her get…acclimated to how things are around here.”

You understood the words that went unsaid, turning back around and fighting back tears.

Steve wanted you to face your future, to stare at it head on and accept your fate. He wanted you to see the wives with their kids and maybe even interact with the small children, slowly opening up to the idea of children your own someday. At that thought, you wondered if Margaret had even come down here of her own volition, or if it was carefully orchestrated by the same man who’d orchestrated everything else in this house.

You only released a shuddering breath when they both left, and you found your thoughts drifting to Peter. He was still in bed when you’d made your way downstairs per the routine, something you were a bit better at now. You were still a God-awful cook, but as long as Steve wasn’t standing over you, you were fine. Funnily enough, outside of the night you’d cooked fish, the only time you’d come close to that was when Peter had helped you that morning.

There was a brief thought that you wished you had his help, now.

You immediately paused at that, gently shaking your head with a frown. You shouldn’t want Peter’s help for anything, even if only to make your time here easier. The hand he had in your kidnapping was astronomical. After all, he was the sole reason you were even here. As much as you didn’t want to subject anyone else to this, you sometimes wondered about what would’ve happened if you’d never gone into that diner that day.

Maybe you, Pietro, Wanda, and MJ would be almost to Florida by now. Maybe you’d be in some town a lot nicer than this, enjoying historical monuments and whatever shopping mall Wanda would no doubt be excited for. Tears kissed your eyes at the thought, and you wiped your face with the back of your hand.

Thinking about your friends made you sad, but not thinking about them felt…disrespectful. You couldn’t forget them, for as long as you lived, but reliving your time with them and wondering about what could’ve been hurt too much. It made your chest ache in ways that almost brought you to your knees, and you were grateful when Christine gently reminded you to roll the biscuits out small.

“Will I ever get to go outside?”

Your question was so quiet that it was a wonder Peter even heard it, and you looked over your shoulder at him as he took his utility belt off. So much of your road trip had been dedicated to nature and outdoor activities, courtesy of your contribution, and being stuck in this house and only able to gaze up at the stars from a barred window was getting to your head. It was even worse during the day, unable to step outside and soak in the sun.

You knew why, of course.

“Eventually,” he finally answered, slowly making his way to you. “Probably not anytime soon though…”

His word choice was not lost on you, and you blinked at him, frowning slightly.

“It’s just like with the basement,” Peter explained, drinking you in. “The same way Steve wouldn’t let you out if he thought you were a danger to anyone or was going to escape…”

He trailed off, letting you fill in the dots, and you turned back around to look up at the sky. You could feel Peter’s gaze on you as you pressed your forehead to the window, just standing and watching the outside world. You were sure that if you were let outside, right now, you would run. You probably wouldn’t even be able to help it.

However, the thought of being caught mentally scared you away from the mere possibility.

You glanced over your shoulder when you heard Peter walk away, watching him disappear into the bathroom. You stared at the door for some time before turning back around. You didn’t like sleeping next to Peter…but you’d unfortunately found that sleeping without him was impossible.

The nightmares still woke you up sometimes, and in your delirious and fearful state, it was easy to accept his comfort as he shushed you and held you. It was shameful really, and your gaze found the floor. It was usually why you took this time to get into bed before him. You liked to pretend like you were asleep whenever he got out of the bathroom, unwilling to watch him crawl into bed and lay beside you.

It was easier to pretend this way.

You pulled the covers over you, still staring at the window, and you pressed your lips together. You felt like you were in some screwed up purgatory, stuck between the traumatic events that led to your capture and your inevitable future. You were unable to go back to before it had happened, but your mind wasn’t ready to go forward either.

You weren’t ready to become like Jane and find happiness here, smiling at Peter whenever you saw him, and you for sure weren’t ready to become like Margaret or Laura or Sharon. You couldn’t imagine having a baby with the man who’d kidnapped you and ruined your life, smiling at the child like a gift instead of what it really was.

Physical evidence of just how in deep you were.

Thoughts of your nightmarish future guided you to sleep, and the next time you woke up, Peter’s arm was around you, holding you in place and attempting to keep you from flailing. Your chest was heaving, and his other hand was on your head, smoothing over it as he gently shushed you.

“You’re okay,” he breathed. “You’re safe…”

The cool air hit your face, and it was then that you realized you’d been crying in your sleep. You couldn’t stop though, because your nightmare wasn’t just a nightmare. It was real, and you were currently living it. Peter’s soft and soothing tone wasn’t doing much, and your forehead pressed into your pillow, your tears wetting it.

“Y/N…”

You really didn’t like Peter saying your name, the sound of it coming from his lips causing a shudder to climb up your spine. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping them around you, and you were wetting his chest with your tears now instead. He rocked you, gently, wiping your face and telling you that you were okay.

…but the last thing you felt like was okay.

You felt so far from okay.

“Are…are you going to make me have a baby too?”

Your voice was but a whisper in the quiet room, and you felt Peter pause. He didn’t answer right away, and the more his silence stretched, the lower your heart sank.

“We don’t have to figure that out, right now,” he whispered back. “It’s just you and me, okay?”

You sniffed.

“…but…but Steve wants the house to be full of children…” you heard and felt Peter sigh. “He expects me to have children. I know he does, I could see it on his face.”

You continued when Peter didn’t respond.

“…and what he wants he gets, right? Right?” you tearfully wondered, trembling at the thought.

“That’ll be between you and me,” Peter softly told you, playing with your hair and stroking your back. “…and we don’t have to talk about that, now. It’s okay.”

You swallowed, tearfully staring into the darkness and feeling pathetic that of all people, Peter was the only one you found yourself confiding in.

“I’m scared, Peter…”

“Of what? Of me…?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that Peter almost sounded offended at the thought. You didn’t know how to tell him that you were afraid of him. You were afraid of him and Steve and every other man here, afraid of their capabilities and the predicament they’d put you in. Of course, you were afraid of Peter.

The power he held was what got you here in the first place.

Everything about Peter terrified you. He looked like an angel, but one word from him silenced your friends forever and forced you into captivity. You supposed he was the nicer of the bunch, yes, but there was something about him that Steve clearly respected, something about him that could talk you out of being punished and buy more time for you to adjust.

Your mind drifted to that day in the kitchen, the finality in Peter’s tone as he addressed Margaret. You thought about her lack of argument, how easily she’d accepted something that evidently wasn’t normal all because Peter had made his position on it clear. You thought about how at ease he was around the men who’d killed your friends, how he talked with them and laughed with them and probably thought of them as friends. Brothers even.

Yes.

You were very afraid of Peter.

…because he was both the source of your torment and your comfort.

The same man who’d put you in this situation was the one who held you late into the night, keeping the nightmares at bay. The very same nightmares that he caused. Peter was the one you turned to whenever you were unsure about anything, unable to get direction from anyone else. He was the one you hid behind or sought out whenever Steve’s cold blue eyes fell onto you.

Peter had put you in this predicament…and he was the one you needed to survive it.

It twisted you up in ways you couldn’t even understand, and you hated the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I’m scared of everyone here,” you honestly told him. “I want to go home.”

Peter didn’t say anything to that, just softly rubbing your back. It was something you said often, and even though you both knew it wasn’t going to happen, you couldn’t stop saying it aloud. It was something you just needed to say, and Peter let you.

“Sweep up every last bit of glass…”

Steve’s cold voice had you trembling harder, and you kept your gaze on the mess before you.

“We have children that crawl around here, and I’ll be damned if one of them hurt themselves because of your clumsiness.”

You fought back tears as the blond loomed over you, shaking as you brushed more glass into the dustpan. Natasha had thought nothing of telling you to dust the foyer, an easy enough task. That was what you’d thought anyway, but somehow, you’d managed to knock over the vase on the table by the entrance, and you’d heard the thunder of heavy footsteps before the sound of shattered glass had settled into the air good. Even before Steve had rounded the corner, you knew how badly you messed up.

An apology was barely on your lips when Steve had started tearing into you, ordering you to hurry up and clean the glass. You knew he had a point about the children, and you did feel bad, but it was a genuine accident.

“That vase has been in this family for years,” he said, making you feel even worse. “…and one afternoon with you and it’s gone just like that.”

When all the glass was in the trash, you got the feeling that Steve wasn’t quite done with you, evident in the way he still stood by the foyer. Your stomach turned as you faced him, and your mind drifted to the basement. If Steve would punish his wife like he had over the smallest of things, there would be no telling what waited for you over a family heirloom.

Then again, you didn’t belong to Steve…and you hated how much that comforted you.

“Peter’s at work,” the blond hummed, and you warily eyed him. “…so, you’ll have to be punished in a way that won’t upset him too much.”

You frowned at that, eyes widening at the yard stick Steve revealed from behind his back.

“You’re adjusting…but not fast enough.”

You glanced around, and you weren’t hopeful enough to think that no one was around to witness your scolding. They were there but were no doubt hiding from the blonde’s wrath lest it latch onto anyone within the vicinity.

“That vase has been dusted a hundred times, and only with you did it become a broken mess.”

You blinked back tears, struggling to find your voice.

“I’m sorry, Steve. It…it won’t happen again,” you forced out, and he hummed.

“You’re right. It won’t,” he breathed. “Hold out your hands.”

You weren’t quite sure you heard him correctly, and you looked at him in confusion, brows drawn together. Steve’s face was as serious as ever, and at the sight, your tears finally spilled over. You pulled your lip between your teeth, shaking as you did as he told you.

“Flatter,” he said, flattening the yard stick underneath your hands until they were flat and even.

He tapped them twice.

“Palms up.”

If it was possible, your eyes widened further, but the fear of worse had you obeying him, and the deep breath you took didn’t prepare you for the pain you felt when Steve struck your hands. Against your best interest, you snatched them towards you, holding them to your chest. You held in a sob as Steve tsked.

“Hold them out,” he slowly demanded, and they were shaking even more now as you did.

Your palms were up, and Steve raised his hand, raising the yard stick with it before bringing it down across your palms again. You hissed this time, hands lowering some, but you kept them upright, knowing that was what he wanted.

He’d brought the long piece of wood down onto your palms fifteen times, each time hurting worse than the last. By the time Steve was done, you were a sobbing mess, your palms red and aching. He’d given you another lecture on the importance of being careful, but you’d been in too much pain to clearly hear a word he said.

You stumbled up to your room the second he dismissed you, clutching your hands to you the whole way.

Your back met your door as soon as you closed it, shaking so bad it was a wonder you were still standing. At that thought, you stumbled to your bed, tripping over your feet and collapsing onto the mattress. You knew that you should run your hands under some water at least, maybe even ask around about something to put on them, but you were in too much pain and too humiliated to do that.

They burned, and the only thing you were capable of doing was crying yourself to sleep.

It wasn’t an easy sleep, drifting in and out, the pain bleeding through your subconscious and waking you up here and there. With the form of punishment Steve had chosen, you surmised that you weren’t expected to carry out the rest of your duties for the rest of the day.

The next time you opened your eyes, you weren’t alone.

Peter’s fingers were on your forehead, smoothing them along your sweat-kissed skin. You thought you were dreaming at first, but when your eyes remained open, the brunette gave you a rueful smile. The sight made your face crumble, and a fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he sighed. “Steve told me what happened.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at the mention of the blond.

“It was an a-accident,” you choked out. “I didn’t-.”

“I know,” he exhaled, fingers gently trailing down your arm. “I wish I had been here. I should’ve been the one to…”

He trailed off, but you knew what he was going to say. As crazy as it sounded, you also would’ve rather Peter had been the one to dole-out your punishment. With his hands on your arms, Peter helped you sit up, guiding you to your feet. You couldn’t stop shaking, sobs still climbing out of your lips as he pulled you into the bathroom.

He turned the cold water on, and you hissed when it ran over your palms. Peter left you for some moments, and when he returned, he turned the water off. You noticed that one of his hands were occupied, and when he sat you back down on the bed, he gently told you to hold out your hands.

You watched him kneel before you, rubbing some salve on them, something that made you initially hiss, but his circular movements with his fingers were gentle.

“A lot of things won’t be tolerated around here,” he quietly started, and you looked down. “It’s taking a lot for you to adjust, and that’s okay considering…”

Silence descended over you both for a few moments.

“…but Steve doesn’t have the patience for it. Not like I do,” he softly told you, glancing up at you as he wrapped your hands. “I can only protect you if I’m here because when I’m not…”

He continued wrapping your other hand.

“Your responsibility falls to Steve…or Sam…or Bucky, or Tony. Basically, any of the other husbands that can take it upon themselves to punish you themselves…or leave it to me.”

Peter set the gauze aside, fixing you with a gentle look as he rested his own hands on your knees.

“…and Steve isn’t the type to leave it to me.”

More tears fell, and Peter reached up to wipe them away.

“…but you work,” you tearfully said. “You’re not always here.”

Peter took a deep breath, gently grabbing your hands. You winced at the action, and you watched him bring your palms to his lips, kissing one and then finally the other.

“Do you want me to be here more?”

The question took you by surprise, and Peter looked up at you from beneath his lashes, dark strands kissing his forehead.

“I can take some time away from work if it means helping you…adjust.”

You sniffed.

“If it means looking out for you…”

More tears escaped, skipping down your cheek.

“Steve terrifies me…and I… If I have to be punished,” you struggled to say the word. “I would rather it be by you.”

Peter studied your face for a while, eventually nodding as he stood. He sat beside you on the bed, and you laid down, holding your hands to you. The balm helped with the pain some, but it was more so the humiliation and the recollection of the act that still had you crying.

Peter stroked your face, maneuvering you so that your head rested in his lap.

“It hurts, I know,” he said, tone soothing. “It’ll barely feel like anything at all in a week.”

His other hand rubbed your back, traveling to your waist and kneading the skin through your dress. The softness of his touch was a nice contrast to the flare of pain in your palms, to the memory of Steve’s punishing movements. When Peter took your hands again, pressing gentle almost nonexistent kisses to your palms, your lashes fluttered and disappointment filled you when he pulled them away.

[imtryingbuck]

Happy Ending?

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader, Future Bucky x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader dates Steve but he’s not a good boyfriend

Word count: 967

Warnings: Angst. Steve not being a good boyfriend, low self-esteem, no smut but smut? Idk I’m sorry. Self-body hating – plus size reader.

A/n: pt 2&3 will be on Bucky’s masterlist

Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

You see the love of your life kissing Natasha. Then in the car she jokes about it being his first kiss in 70 years, he doesn’t correct her of course he doesn’t otherwise he’ll have to tell her he’s dating you. For the past 6 months. He tells you that it meant nothing and that they had to do it so they didn’t blow their cover. He takes you to bed has you on all fours and as he’s nearing his release, he says Natasha. You cry and he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in the backseat of the car next to Bucky Barnes, having to see the love of your life kissing the next best thing he’s going to get to Peggy Carter, her niece Sharon. You can’t say anything though as nobody knows you two are dating, still. He tells you it’s for your own safety but you know it’s not for that reason. You know he’s embarrassed of you, you’re not skinny. You’re fat. Overweight. Plus-size. However you want to put it you’re not skinny. You’re not perfect like Natasha or Sharon or any other woman he could have. He tells you he loves you in a whisper. He kisses you behind closed doors. Hell he doesn’t even touch you in-front of anyone. Yet you stay with him because you love him. 

Later that night he tells you he loves you and only you. You believe it. Your face gets pushed into the pillow, arse in the air and like last time as he’s about to get his release it’s not your name nor Natasha’s that slips past his pretty lips it’s Sharon’s. You cry, again.

You stay silent about the pain he keeps causing you because you are so afraid of being alone, so desperate to be loved by him or anybody for that matter. All you want is real love but you’re too scared to leave. The worst part is even Steve knows this. He knows how much you love him, and he knows himself that he could never love you, not really love you.

A few months goes by, and everything has calmed down so you decide to take him to meet your parents for the first time. He’s so nervous it’s actually cute. He meets your parents, brother and sister. Dinner goes by smoothly, Steve talks to your dad and brother about everything and anything whilst you’re in the kitchen talking to your mum and sister about how much of an amazing guy he is, how much you love him and how happy you are. Your mum tells you you’re absolutely glowing. The night comes to an end you’re sitting in the passenger seat eyes going from him to the stars in the sky, your happy for the first time in months. You both get home, and he tells you how incredible you are, says he wants to make love to you so you let him. Before you know it he flips you onto your hands and knees face being shoved into the fluffy pillows, your brains working overtime wondering which name is going to make its way out of his mouth. Your whole body is hurting because of how rough he’s being with you, your head hurts and your poor stupid heart is breaking all over again as he empties all his worth inside of you while the name he’s keep chanting like a prayer is that of your sister.

How you manage to do it is lost on you, but you push him off of you with what little strength you have left and make a beeline straight to the bathroom locking the door as quickly as you can, you stumble to the toilet in time to empty the contents out of your stomach. In the mist of being sick and crying you hear Steve pounding on the door pleading with you to let him in asking if he’s hurt you. Asking ‘what did I do wrong’ which is ironic as that’s the same question you’ve repeatedly asked yourself. You hug the toilet trying to get some kind of warmth from it.

But it doesn’t happen.

You fall asleep naked, face covered in tears on the cold bathroom floor. Steve falls asleep on the bedroom floor against the door.

The next morning you wake up sore with Steve knocking on the door telling you he has to leave on an important mission that he loves you and when he gets back you both can talk about why you ran off hiding in the bathroom. You remain stuck to the floor long after he’s left. 

You know you can’t keep doing this, going through the pain, blaming yourself for not being good enough for him. ‘You need to stop being scared of being alone’ you told yourself and finally after nearly a year of crying yourself to sleep every night you pick yourself off the tiled flooring and with timid steps you head into the bedroom. As you pack all your stuff into suitcases and bags you thought you’d be crying whilst doing this but no tears have made an appearance, you’re completely numb and done with everything. Walking around the apartment taking your things as you go you head to the front door and like a naive silly girl you’re arguing with yourself to put your stuff back and just wait for the love of your life to come home. ‘He loves you idiot’ even though you know it not to be true and with that and your broken heart you take a look around visibly seeing the good times that took place within those four walls, you walk out of the door and into the cold December morning.

You thought he was going to be your happy ending.

~ banners credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[aurumacadicus]

69 🫡🫡🫡

There were eight 69's in my inbox I just want you all to know.

--

"Hey, um, so, hello," someone said, voice cracking.

Steve blinked slowly, not quite understanding. He'd heard that tone of voice before, but never directed at him. Normally Thor, or Bucky, or even Natasha, when she was wearing a tank-top that showed off her arms. Someone seeking help, needing muscle. Steve was scrappy, but he also wasn't the first person anyone ever turned to for help. He turned, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

The man who had sidled up to him was wearing clothes way too nice for the bar Steve and his friends called home base. As he watched, the man shifted, and he saw a peek of a red sole on the bottom of his shoe. His watch looked expensive, too. He bet the guy's buttons were more expensive than some of the liquor behind the bar.

"Hello," Steve answered belatedly.

"I'm gonna be frank with you," the man said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "My ex is following me. I have a restraining order and the police are on the way but. You know. New York. So. Just pretend to be my date? Please? So I don't look like I'm wandering around helplessly. I need to look like I came here on purpose."

"Okay," Steve answered, the novelty of the request sort of making everything else absorb slowly. Then the rest of what the man said hit him, and he straightened up from where he'd been slouching over his beer. "Restraining order?!"

"You said okay no take-backs," the man answered, eyes darting back and forth as if he was already choosing someone else to ask if Steve really said no. "I'm Tony. Can we hold hands? Or. Like. I can go. Is there a bathroom here? Is there a window in it?"

Tony was panicking, Steve realized. He was about to shake out of his skin. Whoever his ex was, he was really scared. And he should be, Steve figured belatedly. From what he'd been told, restraining orders could be hard to get.

He reached out, bypassing Tony's trembling hand to instead grab Tony's chin, gently forcing him to turn to face him. "I'm Steve," he offered kindly. "Hi, Tony."

Tony squeaked, cheeks taking on a pink tinge. "Hi," he managed, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Don't worry," Steve told him, trying to convey that no matter what, here, he'd be safe. If Steve couldn't protect him, his friends were here to take up for Tony instead. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Tony exhaled shakily. Steve took a moment to wonder if it was from relief or if it had anything to do with the shocked blush on his cheeks. Now probably wasn't the time to figure it out, he lamented, even as he stood from his stool to offer it to Tony and subtly waved over at Bucky and Clint by the dart board. They noticed, and Clint got Natasha's attention where she was talking with Maria and Sharon.

Good. Everyone was on alert.

Steve turned his attention back to Tony, giving him a kind smile. "So. Can't say I've ever been someone's first choice when it comes to choosing a fake boyfriend."

Tony swiveled his gaze away from the menu to blink at him, stunned. "Why? You're very cute."

It shocked a laugh out of Steve. "Yeah, but I don't look very strong," he offered.

"...I don't. Want him to go after you," Tony answered after a brief, uncomfortable pause. "He'll just feel sorry for you. That I'm your date. So."

Steve bit back the urge to grip his hands into fists. "...Hmm," he offered, instead of 'what the fuck' or 'lemme at him.' He patted the back of Tony's hand soothingly. "Well. If he says even one thing wrong, rest assured, my fists are up."

"Huh?" Tony asked, but Steve just patted his hand again.

[your-eternal-lies]

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME (chapter one)

Main Navigation || Please follow @your-eternal-library for all my fanfiction updates.

PAIRING — Steve Rogers x f!Reader SUMMARY — As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

WARNINGS — None.

YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME

CHAPTER ONE HELLO, NEIGHBOUR

Steve Rogers stands before the sleek new digital coffee maker on his kitchen counter, his fingers fumbling with the confusing array of buttons. 

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, blue eyes narrowing in concentration. The machine beeps in protest, flashing symbols that might as well be hieroglyphs for all the sense they make to him. 

Back in his day, he reminisces as he jabs futilely at the modern contraption, all he needed were some grounds, water, and a bit of heat. So, why does this have to be so complicated? 

But the LED display just flickers mockingly at him before flashing an error message, which only adds insult to injury. 

As Steve stands there, engaged in his silent battle with technology, his phone vibrates on the counter. It’s from Natasha, and for a minute, he thinks he’s being called into work. Instead, her words pop up on the screen like tiny grenades: 

Natasha: Have you asked out Sharon yet?  Natasha: She’s cute AND a nurse—practical for a guy who gets shot at for a living.

He sighs, pocketing his phone as he leans against the counter. Sharon is cute, he relents, but asking her out means stepping into unfamiliar territory. 

He tells himself that he can’t afford any distractions, thinking about his duty to SHIELD, about the literal shield that feels a bit heavier with each passing day. After Peggy, Bucky, the ice… he didn’t feel like it was fair to drag an innocent civilian into this crazy life of his. 

A lot of the time he still feels like that awkward and skinny Brooklyn boy, who had never even danced with a woman before, let alone go on a date with one. They had always looked at him with a sad mix of pity and derision, would much rather hang off the arm of someone like Bucky. 

And despite his now… enhanced, shall we say, appearance, the looks of admiration he often gets now just seem to ring hollow. 

He knows Natasha means well. She understands the weight of history he carries in his heart, as she’s got her own demons she fights to keep at bay. So, Steve never faults her for encouraging him to have a life outside of work… even if she doesn’t necessarily take her own advice. 

Well, he knows shockingly little about her, so he doesn’t know that for sure. 

Shaking his head, Steve decides to give the coffee machine one last chance, pushing what he hopes is the right combination of buttons. The machine whirrs affirmatively, and victory seems to be within reach for one hopeful minute—until it sputters pathetically and then goes dark altogether. 

“Ah, forget it!” Giving up, Steve unplugs the machine, deciding that he’ll just have to conquer the world of espresso another day. 

Clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from his Captain America garb, he decides to head downstairs to the Starbucks on the first floor. 

At least there, getting coffee is easy. 

Just down the hallway, you stand before your dresser, rummaging through its contents. 

When your hand finally emerges victorious, it’s clutching the lone survivor of your clean underwear collection—a single polka-dotted testament to your chronic procrastination. 

Laundry day cannot be ignored any longer, not unless you wanted to start fashioning outfits out of your dish towels. 

Resignation slumps your shoulders as you zip around your apartment to gather the scattered attire strewn across the floor, each garment snatched up and tossed unceremoniously into the gaping maw of your laundry basket. 

With the basket brimming, you wedge a hip against it to keep everything contained. You move slowly towards the door, putting on a pair of slippers, only to be stopped by the sound of whimpering coming from your couch. 

“No, Chuck,” you remind your unofficial roommate, a German Shepherd who goes by the name of Charlie—or Chuck, as you prefer to call him. “You can’t come. You are banned from the laundry room after ‘the incident’.” 

But Chuck’s tail continues to wag hopefully, his large brown eyes shining, his head tilted to the side in the very picture of innocence. 

You soften, but only a touch when you remember him peeing all over your freshly washed, neatly folded laundry, meaning you had to start all over again. 

“Nice try, buddy,” you give him a half-hearted glare. He lets out a soft woof, and you swear you see judgment in his eyes as he looks at your leaning tower of laundry. Well, what does he know, the big oaf? He licks his own butt. “Couch fortress until I return, okay?” 

The hallway outside your door is its usual self—stale air, the faint smell of someone’s burnt breakfast, and the muffled echo of someone’s TV playing what sounds like a rerun of I Love Lucy. 

As you round the corner, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. There, leaning against the wall with a casual grace that flies in the face of a man who leaps out of planes and fights aliens for a living, is him. 

Captain America himself, in all his star-spangled glory, waiting for the same ride down to the lobby. 

Oh, no. Nnnnope. 

You are not taking the elevator with Steve freaking Rogers, carrying an arm full of your unwashed unmentionables while dressed in old PJs and a tank top. There is no way! 

The urge to run back to the safety of your apartment is strong, where neither your couch nor your dog have arms that could bench press a Buick. 

Maybe you could step back behind the corner, make a run for the stairwell, or maybe even pull the damn fire alarm—

But it’s too late. He’s heard you, already twisting slightly at his narrowed waist and tossing a glance back at you over his shoulder. 

“Hey, neighbour,” he smiles. Your heart does an unwelcome somersault. 

Well, at least the elevator ride would be quick… right? 

« Series Masterlist || Chapter 2 »

Taglist — My taglist has been discontinued. Please follow @your-eternal-library and turn on notifications for all my fanfiction updates.

Notes — So, to encourage my writing, I’ve decided to make each chapter exactly 1,000 words, no more and no less. It’s harder than I thought it would be! But it also takes the pressure off to hit a longer word count and helps me manage the pacing. I hope you enjoy!

[sosa2imagines]

I had my dance and now I'm where I belong.

Warning- Angst, cheating and hopeful fluff. ----------------------------------------------------- Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Completed -----------------------------------------------------

When they say love is blind it truly is blind cause all the red flags turn color blind. You had noticed changes in his behavior and you also noticed the little things he’d stop doing. Even when Bucky was in Wakanda you remained by his side like glue. Slowly he started to regain his memories and the old Bucky was back not completely though. So when he started to flirt with other girls or when someone random made a pass at him he never denied them you foolish thought he is acting his old 40s self just like Steve had told you once the evergreen womanizer so you ignored it till it was getting out of hand so one day you confronted him but he just said you are overreacting and it's cute to see you getting jealous and the confrontation would end up with a kiss followed by sex every single time when he did it again.

Thanos took a toll on all of you but thankfully everyone were back safe and sound. Tony took semi retirement and Clint too, Nat handle the tower Wanda was in and out cause Vision was in Wakanda and Steve you best friend and once upon a time crush was getting ready to return the stones. "Hey" you coo, "Hey" he beams at you "Ready?" Looking at the compass he looked at you with a sad smile "Yes as ever I will be" "Enjoy your dance Steve and know where you belong ok?" the true meaning behind your words were that you were begging him to have his dance with Peggy and to return back to you guys but that didn't happen as soon as Steve told Bucky not to do anything stupid and when he complained Steve is taking all the stupid with himself you knew he won't come back and just like that he was gone. You cried all night long and Bucky held on to you tight he was equally sad and cried along with you.

It had been fifteen days since Steve left and new recruits had joined Nat and you were training them Bucky helped in between but that didn't stop him from flirting with the girls Nat found it weird and you tried to cover it by saying he is missing Steve and everything is tough for him at the moment but Nat was not having none of it and banned Bucky from training the recruits. Soon he and Sam left on a mission in London and here begins the downfall of your relationship. "Sharon?" Bucky was shocked to see her "What are you doing here?" "Undercover Barnes shield sent me to help you guys" So just like that she was helping them and when they both got separated from Sam and their cover almost blew up Sharon thought it is a great idea to kiss Bucky and he kissed her back and one thing led to another for the time they were in London they had sex daily. When Sam found out he was furious but Bucky told him he would come clean to you but not in the way Sam had thought.

Once they were back Sharon accompanied them she told you all she was helping them in the mission. The day Bucky arrived he went straight to his old room instead of your shared one you decided to let him be it was not new for him to stay alone after a mission but for days Bucky avoided you your heart was paining the glob in your throat wanted to explode Nat was worried about you and Sharon was still living in the tower and now Bucky would only train with her and it killed you when he would talk with everyone except you day by day you were getting killed by the love of your life you would cry to sleep every night, Bucky would sleep far on his side of the bed he would only enter the room late in the night. You started to miss Steve terribly if he was here he would have helped you even kicked Bucky's ass. Weird sexual noises would come from Sharon's room but it was none of your concern except it was. Sam had enough he gave Bucky last warning to come clean and Bucky was ready as if he was tired hiding his 'relationship' with Sharon. It was like almost on purpose both of them decided to show you what was happening behind your back Bucky and Sharon were making out in your shared room you were standing there numb tears flowing freely you gave them few more minutes before opening your mouth "are you done?" Bucky sighed and got up he told Sharon to wait in her room on her way she smirked at you like she won some competition. "I’m sorry Y/n it's over I'm in love with Sharon, I have packed your bags please go back to your old room." You scoffed at him "Just her Buck? So what about those, who you flirt with?" Bucky was quiet he knew he deserve your venom. "I have loved you so deeply but James I can’t forgive you, maybe one day in the future, I have been stood by your side through every single thing that has happened to you and yet you betray me." "Can you give an hour please", he nodded and left the room. You open the packed bags just like you had thought he had packed the things he gifted you, you picked out every single of them and kept them on the bed. Once you were done it was time to face the music the time you were busy re packing since Sam and Wanda were out Bucky told Nat you two broke up hiding the real reason. So when Nat came and asked you what happened you went along with Bucky's lie but karma was in your favor Wanda and Sam had just arrived Sam called Bucky a liar Nat was confused that gave Wanda time to read your mind you begged them not to tell Tony the whole truth you were like sister to him and it took a lot of hard work and trust for Tony to forgive Bucky and you did not wanted to ruin what Steve had worked upon. "Where are you going Y/n?" Nat asks, Wanda was crying feeling your suffocating pain, Sam was saying sorry over and over for not telling you sooner but you forgave him, it's not his fault Bucky couldn't keep it in his pants. "I need some alone time Nat please I can't breathe here give me some time" "You call us everyday ok no call we will bring you back!" Wanda warned understanding your need to go away, you nodded hugging Wanda and Nat, Sam was furious "He should go not you" "No Sam please be nice to him for Steve" and with last look you left. Once the team knew about what had actually happened they gave Bucky hell for what he did to you. Bucky however was feeling very guilty for how things did go down he did love you at one point but that didn't stopped him and Sharon making things official just after a week you left. Things were awkward for him with the team.

Meanwhile in the past Steve did have his dance but he was not happy Peggy had moved on but that was not what was bothering him he was worried about you, he open his compass that had your photo truth is Peggy was his first love but you made home in his heart Peggy was only a memory he only loved you wanted a family with you but when he saw Bucky falling for you he took a step back the ever thinking about other's happiness he let Bucky take you away. Steve decided it was time to head back to his love but most importantly his best friend you.

----------------------------------------------------- Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Completed

[evansbby]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 (𝒑𝒐𝒚𝒕 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒃𝒍𝒆)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!Reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: noncon, dubcon, somnophilia, daddy kink, dark Steve, lactation kink, breeding kink, a/b/o dynamics, some feet stuff, oral (female receiving), 18+ minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve is horny but you’re asleep. That doesn’t mean he won’t have his fun...

(𝑨/𝑵): This is heavy with the somno, so please beware of that! If it isn’t your cup of tea, feel free to ignore and move on! 

It’s only 11 at night when Steve walks back into his house. Sam and Bucky are still at the party, but Steve had grown bored within an hour. The truth was, parties didn’t hit the same anymore. Just a bunch of drunk assholes and slutty cheerleaders grinding against each other in a dark haze of alcohol and weed. And as much as Steve tried to enjoy himself, his mind would always drift back to you.

His little omega, perfectly quiet and shy. Safe and sound in his bedroom (he’d locked the doors of the house before he’d left, lest you sneak out. Not that you ever would). Sometimes, he drags you along to these parties only because you look so deliciously uncomfortable and cling to him in the sexiest way. He also likes showing you off from time to time, knowing that the other alphas would kill to have you.

But mostly, Steve likes keeping you safe in his bedroom. He likes walking in to you studying on his desk or his bed, with your little Steve Junior under your arm. Wearing Steve’s old football jersey that completely dwarfs you, his mark on your neck peeking out from under your hair and reminding him of his complete and utter ownership over you.

Fuck, now Steve’s hard. He hopes you’re not asleep, because he can’t wait to sink into your tight little snatch, feel you squeeze around his cock like it’s your job. You’re always so ready for him, so needy for his dick and so snug around it, all weepy and grabby as your feral desire overtakes your shyness. Jesus fucking Christ, his dick is harder than a rock, and he all but sprints up to his bedroom.

You’re asleep. And goddamit, you look so fucking cute. Wrapped up in the comforter like a little burrito in the middle of his king-sized bed. Your head resting on Steve’s pillow rather than your own, and your Steve Junior teddy cuddled up in your arms. Steve feels his mouth quirk up into a smile before he stops himself – he’s no pussy simp! But you do look cute as fuck, so sweet and innocent. So different from all the other sluts he’s used to.

Slowly, Steve peels the comforter off your body before rolling his eyes because underneath that, you’ve covered yourself even further with your little fuzzy blanket that’s more ratty than it is fuzzy. Omegas and their damn nesting tendencies. Steve makes a mental note to order you a new blanket as he sheds this one off of you, only to be greeted by a host of stuffed animals covering your body in yet another layer that he has to get past.

“Fucking asshole toys.” He mutters, before shoving all your toys (except Steve Junior) into a haphazard heap on the floor, making sure to give one or two of them a hard punch in the face for being annoying.

And sure, Steve realises that his room is a lot more feminine now ever since you moved in – flowery bedsheets and stuffed animals everywhere and your beautiful perfumey scent covering everything he owns. But he doesn’t mind as much as he initially thought he would. When Sharon was his girlfriend, he never let her live with him but she would spend the night and try to mess with his stuff by putting her own things on his desk. Best believe, Steve would chuck her random shit in the trash, but you? You’re different.

“So fucking cute…” He murmurs to himself, watching you shiver and hold on tightly to Steve Junior, your nose digging into his fur and a sweet little frown on your face at the loss of warmth from the lack of comforter. He can’t help but stroke your cheek with his knuckles, loving how soft you are. So sweet and pretty and perfect. And most importantly, all his. Every inch of your body belongs to Steve, and it makes him so fucking hard.

“Baby, you have no idea how horny I am right now.” He tells you, continuing to stroke your face while you lay asleep on his pillow. He casually palms his dick with his other hand, already feeling like he’ll blow his load just from looking at you sleeping. “And look at you, fast asleep when you’re the one who gets daddy all riled up in the first place.”

“Steve?” You mumble, scrunching your nose cutely, and it looks like you’re stirring. But you only toss and turn a bit before getting comfortable again, and Steve resumes stroking your cheek for a while before his hand starts slipping down. Down past your delicate neck which bares not only his mark, but often also the imprints of his fingers after he’s choked you during a particularly rough fuck. Down to your chest, covered in his old jersey filled with holes.

He pushes the jersey up over your breasts, watching, almost hypnotised, as your nipples harden in the cool air. God, he loves your tits so fucking much, and you look so pretty all nude and bathing in the moonlight.

It reminds him of the early days, before he’d claimed you. Sometimes, he’d follow you home. Well, that ratty dorm room you called home. And it was all too easy to stand outside your window, watch you change because you were too dumb to draw your curtains. And those moments when you were bare, the moonlight painting you a pretty silver and you being completely unaware that Steve was watching you… Fuck, how beautiful you’d looked. And how hard Steve would cum every time he’d jack off to the memory.

Except not anymore, because now he has you in his bed. His own personal omega to do with as he pleases. Awake or asleep, it doesn’t matter to Steve – he owns you after all. In fact, you should thank him for being thoughtful and not waking you up. And a part of him does want to wake you up so he can fuck the living daylights out of you while you whine and cry all sleepily. But there’s just something about you, asleep and innocent, not knowing he’s watching you and touching you.

Fuck, he can’t help but lean down to suck your nipple. You’re practically begging for it, after all! Lying there with your nipples so hard they could cut glass. And you let out the cutest little whimper when his mouth latches onto one of your breasts, almost as if you’re having a dirty dream about him. Steve really hopes you are, because he has sex dreams about you all the time. He has ever since he first saw you.

“God, your tits are so sexy, baby.” He tells you as he squeezes and sucks. And Steve loves sucking your nipples, he could do it for hours if it was feasible. He loves how you card your fingers through his hair (when you’re awake, that is) and press his face more into your breasts while you whine like a baby. Sometimes, he likes to pretend you’re pregnant and he’s sucking your milk as you let him feed from you. God, that would be so fucking sexy – he can’t wait till he knocks you up.

“Mmhmm.” You mumble in your sleep, and Steve smirks against your nipple, licking and biting and grazing his teeth against it, sucking your whole breast into his mouth obscenely, wishing he had set his camera up so he could’ve got all of this on tape. And then he’d make you watch it tomorrow morning and threaten to post it online. (Not that he ever would, but he loves making you cry and beg).

“Daddy knows,” He tells you when he glances up to see you still asleep but your lips have formed the shape of an ‘o’ and there’s a tell-tale furrow between your brow. “Daddy knows what a dirty girl you are, how you like it when I use your body while you sleep.” He switches to your other breast, wanting to bite down hard but knowing you’d wake up if he did. He squeezes and pushes your tits together as he sucks obscenely, his hard dick poking against your leg through his jeans as he hovers over you. Damn, he can’t wait till you’re pregnant and lactating, and your tits would be so fucking huge and heavy when you’d breastfeed him.

“God, you’re teasing me, aren’t you, baby omega?” Steve lets go of your nipple with a pop, admiring his saliva shining all over your bare breasts. “You just had to look all sexy while you slept, didn’t you? It’s all your fault that I have to use you like this, baby. All your fault. But that’s okay, because daddy’s gonna make you feel good too.”

And with that, he continues exploring your body. Stroking and fondling and licking his way down your stomach, making sure to poke his tongue into your belly button. You shuffle a bit at that, but Steve holds your body in place and watches intently as you mumble something unintelligible before relaxing into deep sleep once more.

“Let’s see how wet your little baby pussy is, shall we?” Steve asks, and he can feel his excitement because his blood is rushing straight down to his dick. If he was hard before, he can’t even describe how uncomfortable his boner is now. Quickly, he undoes his fly and pulls his dick out, hissing in relief once his throbbing length bobs up against his abs.

He grabs your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate how soft you feel, before prying your legs apart. And he knows you’re not wearing any panties because he forbade you from doing so in bed. (He needs easy access at night and in the morning when he fucks you). And your bare pussy glistens in the moonlight and fuck, Steve feels like a salivating animal. He gets the sudden feral urge to mount you and fuck you so hard, fill you up over and over again with his seed while you scream for him to stop because he’s being too rough.

Instead, Steve closes his eyes for a second and savours your sweet scent. God, your pussy smells so good. It’s like your scent but amplified. And the best part? You’re completely soaked. He can’t believe just how wet you are, your pussy glistening in the moonlight as you lay all spread out before him. You’ve even dripped down onto his sheets, leaving a damp patch underneath you and Steve is utterly transfixed.

“Naughty little baby, look at the mess you’ve made,” he scolds, giving your thigh a gentle slap. He wants to hit you harder but he knows you’ll wake up if he does. “Look how fucking soaked you are for daddy.” He glances down at his dick which he’s slowly pumping with his other hand. Instinctively, he swipes the bead of precum from the head of his cock and looks up at your face wickedly, “Daddy’s hard for you too, omega.”

He rubs his precum on your lower lip, breath hitching at the sexiness of it all. And you look so pretty and sleepy, immediately licking your lips and moaning softly while he stares at you with wide eyes. “Mmm,” you whimper, and it’s the sexiest little whimper ever. And, as if things couldn’t get any hotter, your lips latch onto his thumb, sucking his digit while Steve swears under his breath.

“You’re a little freak in the sheets even when you’re asleep, aren’t you?” He marvels, letting you suckle his thumb while his dick throbs with need. “God, none of the guys would believe what a slutty little thing you are behind closed doors. Sucking on daddy’s thumb like a little slut? And after I’ve fed you my cum? Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking sexy and you have no fucking idea, do you?”

You don’t answer, of course, but you pout in your sleep when he removes his thumb from your mouth. He gives your cheek a few condescending pats before refocusing on your pussy. Fuck, Steve’s practically salivating at your sweet little cunt all splayed out for him, and you’re none the wiser while you sleep, clutching that damned Steve Junior in your arms.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to dig in like he’s a starved man. His lips immediately latch around your clit, which is puffy and swollen and so cute. He sucks hard, eyes widening when you let out the loudest moan yet. But then you settle back down, still asleep, and Steve continues as if he’s famished and about to start a five-course-meal.

“Your cute little button’s all puffy, baby.” Steve tells you, “I wonder what you’re dreaming about that’s got you all worked up.” He puffs his chest out, “Well, I know it’s me. And tomorrow you’ll act all innocent like you always do, and stutter all cutely as if you aren’t acting like a little whore in heat right now.”

And sure enough, you’re steadily grinding down on Steve’s face, unconscious as ever but he just loves the feel of your wet cunt against his face. Half of him wants to flip both of you over so that you’re sitting on his face, completely smothering him with your sweet folds while he bites and sucks and probes and brings you to one orgasm after another.

Instead, he continues licking you, loving how your thrusts meet his licks, and how your quivering thighs limply wrap around his head. He spits, watching his saliva pool around your engorged clit before he gives it another hearty suck. And fuck, he knows your body so well, he knows you’re about to orgasm because of the way you start panting, and how your knees try to lock around his head.

And Steve pulls away, because you’re his and he’ll decide when (or if) you cum tonight. And he loves the little pout your lips form into, and how you frown in your sleep and clutch Steve Junior harder. “Slutty little omega…” Steve murmurs before trailing sloppy kisses down your thigh. Stroking the smooth skin of your calf before he grabs your ankle, and his gaze shifts and eyes grow darker.

He’s still jacking off with one hand, the other holding your leg as he carefully examines the anklet he’d gifted you a few days ago. It’s a dainty gold chain with charms that spell out his name. Steve Rogers. He’d instructed you to put it on and absolutely never take it off unless he told you to. It’s another reminder that you are completely and irrevocably his, an omega who is claimed property, and his first before anything else.

The anklet is amongst the many different ways he plans to own you. First was his mark on your neck, of course. Then this anklet that spells out his name. And then what? Maybe a necklace with his initials? Or a tattoo above your pussy that firmly states: “S.G.R”? God, his dick twitches at the very thought.

But the anklet looks so dainty around your ankle, and he gets the sudden urge to nuzzle your foot up against his face, the feeling going straight to his dick. He can’t help but admire your pretty feet, how he’d paid for you to get a pedicure and they’d painted your toes a pretty white colour. Fuck, so fucking sexy. He presses a kiss on each toe before his lips trail downwards, leaving wet kisses on the pad of your foot before licking a tantalising stripe down the instep of your heel.

Your entire body jolts, and Steve can practically sense your pussy clenching and releasing more of your wetness to drip down on the sheets below. Your sweet fucking cream staining his sheets because your baby pussy is getting turned on by your alpha kissing your feet. Steve can’t help but smirk, and wonders how he’ll tell you this tomorrow.

He takes his phone out and clicks on the camera, recording while grabbing your other foot and repeating the same actions. Pressing little butterfly kisses on each toe while you wiggle and squirm in your sleep. And then he licks up your foot, gently sucking on your toes while he tries not to groan at how sexy this is.

He lets go with a pop, throwing his phone aside while he smirks down at you, “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that, baby. I know you did because I know what a slutty little girl you are.” He strokes your leg, “Don’t worry, daddy filmed it for my private collection. I’m sure you’ll love to see it tomorrow.”

He can just imagine how distraught and shy you’d be when he showed you the video, how you’d beg him to delete it. But he wouldn’t. He has almost hundreds of videos and pictures of you already taking up half the storage on his phone. He’s just so addicted to capturing you on film, addicted to how your naked body moves and responds to him. It’s fascinating, beautiful, so sexy and incredibly hot. And he can’t get enough.

Now, Steve crawls back up your body. And he knows he’s acting like a total creep, and that he could just wake you up and fuck you like how he usually does. But there’s something so vulnerable about you being fast asleep, and he’s nowhere near done playing with you.

You’re on your back, snoring softly into Steve Junior’s fur. But Steve gently manhandles you till you’re facedown, your stomach against the sheets and his favourite part of your body facing him. And he almost salivates at the sight of your bare ass, all cute and round and poking out at him as if you’re teasing him. As if you’re begging to be touched and groped and violated. (Not that it would be a violation, since Steve owns your body and can do with it what he pleases, and when he pleases).

He can’t help but give your ass cheek a firm little slap, watching with baited breath as you mumble something under your breath. Still asleep. He pinches and prods and squeezes to his heart’s desire, like your ass is his own personal toy. Which, in a way, it is. Under the dim moonlight, he can see his teeth-marks on your flesh where he’d bit you the last time he’d spanked you. He just couldn’t help it then, and his chest fills with pride now, hoping the mark will permanently mar your ass and remind you of who you belong to.

“Your sexy little ass is just begging to be fucked, omega.” Steve breathes, imagining how tight and sexy it would feel if he just shoved his dick up your ass. But instead, he leans down to give your smooth skin a light kiss, before turning you onto your back once more. And it’s crazy how deep of a sleeper you are, unperturbed by how he’s playing with your unconscious body which he jacks off.

“Steve…mhm…please…” You breathe softly, and the delicate sound goes straight to his dick. You were begging for his dick, even in your sleep. If that wasn’t the sexiest thing Steve had ever witnessed, he didn’t know what was.

“Oh. So you want me to take advantage of you while you sleep?” He tsks, giving your cheek another condescending pat. “What a naughty little girl you are, but I already knew that. You may be all innocent but that doesn’t mean you’re not a cock-hungry little slut when you’re under me.” He pinches your cheek and chuckles under his breath when you pout.

He carefully straddles your chest, making sure not to crush you with his weight. But now, he’s got his dick right above your sweet, sleeping face. He cant help but rub it against your cheeks and nose and forehead, making sure his scent and his precum is smeared all over your face. And fuck, he’s so ready to just blow his load.

“Slutty little omega…” Steve breathes, tracing the tip of his dick against your soft lips. And, as if on cue and by some fucking miracle, your lips part. Steve can’t believe it, “Good girl. That’s such a good little girl…” He praises you, inserting his tip into your mouth and watching in awe as you suckle it in your sleep.

“Mhm, daddy…” You moan sleepily, like a fucking porn-star or an actress at least. Steve is in complete awe at how whiny and needy you sound and it goes straight to his dick.

“That’s right, baby. Suck daddy’s dick like the obedient little slut you are.” He commands you, wanting to shove his whole length into your mouth but knowing he’d choke you if he did that. Instead, he lets you suck on his tip while he continues to jack off at the sight. With his other hand, he grabs yours and squeezes it, not really knowing why apart from the fact that he felt the need to do it.

He cums fast, and it’s no surprise since he’s been edging himself all this time whilst fondling your body. And he’s so used to cumming down your throat, that it takes all his willpower to pull out before he blows his load all over your face. And fuck, if it isn’t the sexiest thing in the world, your face coated in his cum, and you still don’t wake up.

“Fuckin’ cockslut.” Steve mutters under his breath, stopping to marvel at how beautiful you look before he gathers the cum on your cheek with his finger and slips it into your mouth, smirking when you suck it off obediently. Fuck, even in your sleep you’re obedient. He continues to feed you his cum until your face is somewhat clean (he leaves a bit of residue, something for you to wonder about in the morning). And then he climbs off you, something inside him compelling him to give you a soft kiss on the cheek for being such a good girl for him.

He takes a quick trip to the bathroom to piss and wash off before changing into a pair of sweats and returning. You’re still asleep, of course. It’s slightly alarming, what a deep sleeper you are, but you still look cute as fuck. You’re on his side of the bed, head resting on his pillow, and so he has to gently scoop you up and slip in underneath you before placing you down on his chest and covering the two of you with the heavy comforter.

“Steve? You’re home?” You say sleepily, cuddling up into his chest as his arms wrap around you. Your eyes are still shut and you seem to be half asleep still, and unaware of everything that’s just taken place in the past few minutes, but he can’t help but respond.

“Yeah. The party was boring.”

“Missed you.” You mumble softly into the hardness of his chest, and Steve feels a certain stirring deep down.

He yawns, “Oh yeah? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Always miss you.”

And then you’re snoring softly once more, and Steve’s left to stare at the ceiling in pitch darkness. You’re still and content, cuddled up on his side and practically on top of him, with Steve Junior in your arms. Sound asleep. And Steve can’t help but hold you just a little bit tighter, and give you a soft kiss on your forehead, before he follows suit.

THE END! 

Please do let me know what you think! I know this is a drabble but technically it isn’t bc it’s like 3.9k words!! So please do give feedback and tell me what you think and reblog and all that good stuff! Love you guys and I love writing for this pairing!!! I was hesitant to write more in Steve’s POV but I just focused on his horniness and not on any emotional stuff!!! THANK YOU FOR READING BYE

[stuckysbike]

Mine

I wrote this whilst drunk. Im still drunk so there’ll probably be mistakes and there all mine.

Notes: fluff, angst, possessive Bucky? happy ending.

Bucky/Reader various.

Your eyebrows furrowed and you scowled narrowing your eyes dramatically as you drew your straw between your lips. The sweet honey whiskey and soda flowed gently over your tongue.

Beside you Peter Parker giggled.

You ignored him. “I fucking hate that bitch.”

“Now now,” Peter Quill, the barman, chastised. You gave him the finger.

“Bugger off Quill,” he returned the sentiment as he walked away, clearing your view.

You sighed in irritation. “What were you wanting to happen?” Wanda asked softly.

“A sinkhole, big enough for her, to swallow her,” you muttered darkly.

“Are there sinkholes in New York?” Pietro asked.

“There are sinkholes wherever the fuck I want sinkholes to be,” you muttered darkly. You took another sip of your drink and waved at Quill for a refill.

There was another loud laugh and her hand brushed down Bucky’s chest.

“I also am suspicious of her,” Zemo leaned close. You elbowed him in the gut and he drew back with an oaf.

“Oh for fuck sake here comes fanboy number three,” you glowered as Sam walked through the door followed by Joaquin. Jay had the decency to roll his eyes and head towards you leaving Sam with Steve and Bucky to fawn over Sharon.

“She’s overrated,” Jay said taking the seat next to you.

“Thank you!” You cried.

“At least you have more friends than her,” Pietro said.

“I am honoured to be part of this friend grou-“

“NO!” You, Peter, Wanda, Pietro and Jay called.

Zemo pouted and you drew your attention away. In another life he’d be cute but he was, well he was Zemo.

Sharon had slid her arm around Bucky’s waist and his arm was on her shoulders when you looked back. Sharon was cooing at how cute Steve and Sam were as a couple. You imagined crushing her windpipe, but you were no special agent. You were just a normal girl with a normal life who happened to fall in love with your fuck buddy neighbour who was none other than Bucky Barnes.

“I could take her out,” Pietro said. “It would be so fast no one would know.”

You considered this but dismissed it. Instead you ordered another drink. And that’s how you found yourself dancing with none other than…Zemo.

God you hated his pretty smug face. “God I hate your pretty smug face.” You said.

Zemo didn’t care, just wiggled his hips. Behind him Sharon was dancing with Sam but she kept glancing back at Bucky.

This morning you woke in his arms, his lips dancing across your shoulders but now you hated him. Your chest hurt and you wanted to sit in a corner and scream like a petulant child. Instead you returned to your seat as the song ended.

Bucky moved over beside you and you studied his profile out of the corner of your eye.

“What?” You asked.

“What are you doing?” He nodded towards Zemo.

You followed his gaze. “He’s…cute.”

Bucky snorted and you turned to look at him. “You could do better.”

“You and Sharon looked cosy earlier,” you said.

“Yeah she’s a good girl,” Bucky murmured looking her way.

You made a face and took a drink. Bucky was looking at you again. “Meh, she’s not all that.”

“You don’t like her?” Bucky asked.

You shrugged a shoulder. “I hate her,” you admitted.

“Why?” Bucky sounded genuinely confused.

She’s got you, say it say she’s got you.

Instead you shrugged. “It’s a vibe I get,” you muttered. “She seems like your type, pretty, fit, skilled. You should date her.”

“She asked me out earlier,” Bucky admitted.

You nodded in understanding. This morning was the last time you would be with him. He’d move on and so would his friends and eventually you’d be a memory.

“Where are you going?” You asked. Your body ached, your heart most of all. You weren’t pretty it sexy enough for him. Bucky wanted a girl like her. You could already imagine them together.

“Said no,” Bucky told you. You turned to look at him. “I didn’t like it when Pietro hugged you earlier. Or when Zemo danced with you.”

“Why not?” You breathed.

Bucky leaned close until you could see the blue of his eyes. “I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” You cocked your head. He smiled again.

“Jealous. I wanted to cut their hands off for daring to touch you,” he growled as he leaned closer. You couldn’t resist resting your hand on his chest. His dog tags were nestled beneath his shirt.

“Touch me?” You repeated.

Bucky’s smirk was wide. “You’re my girl, and I’m about sick of other people not knowing that,” he said.

You made a fist, catching the tags under his black tee and pulling him closer. He tasted of whiskey and musk and Bucky and you sighed into his body. His kiss was hot and his stubble rasped against you but you didn’t care.

Cheers erupted around you and there were a few catcalls.

“About time,” Quill muttered darkly.

“Bucky. I’m drunk. I want to go home and have lazy sloppy sex.” You said kissing his cheek wetly.

“Yeah?” He asked as he looked at you. You nodded, and together you walked out of the bar. Before you left you caught sight of Sharon glowering your way. Bucky’s arm was on your shoulders and you snuggled closer to his body blowing her a kiss as you passed by. You didn’t see her response but you guessed what exactly it was.

Smiling, you leaned into your boyfriend as you walked home.

[sunnysideprincess]

There is tension brewing in the right wing of science department. The rumours talk of Professor Stark being ridiculously reckless about his experiments again. But that's just hot air. MJ knows this. He's a meticulous person when it comes to them blowing things up in the lab. And a little too wire brained about his students' safety. He walks barefoot when working with heavy equipment. But he sent Harley to detention for handling glass tubes without his safety gloves.

It's a part of the package of Professor Stark's "science bros" experience and the few select of them have wholeheartedly committed themselves to it.

Well, there's also the other thing they've committed themselves to. And it must be why half the school is talking about the return of hot firemen trio.

"I hear the blond one is married to coach Carter?"

"Miss Sharon? Eugh! Aren't they like— related?"

"No! For the last time, Kate, they just look similar!"

"Still, ew. I heard he used to have hots for our principal."

"Okay, I did not know about that."

Foolish children, MJ snorts and opens the group chat.

"Who was it this time?"

Peter's reply is quick. She will forever be jealous of his ability to type without even looking at the screen. It is insanely unfair.

"Gwen."

MJ grins and ducks behind her book to avoid the questioning looks from her study group. But Kamala and Kate are too busy comparing the merits of Coach Sharon and Mister Blond Fireman. And Yelena is just snoring on the table with her hand stuck inside Kate's hoody.

Amateurs. Also, weirdoes.

"Miles says it was his turn though," Peter sends again, followed closely by Miles' ", IT WAS 😫".

Gwen just flips them all the bird, and then goes offline. To either plead for her innocence or keep a close eye on their job.

Nearly half an hour later, she sends them all a picture.

In it Professor Stark is standing with his arms crossed, looking smug about something. While the hot, blond fireman is adorably flushed and a little bit embarrassed.

"He bet that Tony couldn't state even one fire safety rule," she adds below the picture. Then adds a little smug grin and ", he listed ten".

"I call enemies to lovers."

Everyone sends Pav the side eye and MJ almost hits enter on "why do we need to put a genre on their romance" before deleting the entire sentence. She doesn't need a redo of Banner-Odinson drama in the group. Nobody does.

"Guys guys," Miles suddenly adds and MJ's eyes grow wide reading the next text.

"Sarge just tried to flirt with Tony and guess who got jealous," Hobie adds and—oh no.

"Hobie!!!!"

"Too slow, sorry 😎" Then he signs off on them.

"Wait," MJ asks, just to give Miles another chance. "Which one's Sarge?"

Miles sends a picture. In it, a beefy, long haired brunette is slouching next to Tony, a smarmy smile on his face while the hot blond is stoically staring at the wall.

"Isn't he the guy who's shacking up with our councellor?"

"Yep," Miles adds then. "🤔 Maybe he's inviting Tony for a three way?"

"Like a poly thingy," Pav asks and MJ can almost smell the incoming barrage of texts from him.

"Omg, guys 🫢

That would be so cute though! 💖

Professor would be like the small, adorable filling in their sandwich!"

"Erm."

"What even????"

"Pav, no."

"But what about Steve?"

"Wait..."

And then they all ask, simultaneously, because her friends are all idiots.

"Who's Steve?"

[questionableratatouille00]

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 11

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n has accepted Natasha’s passing. She believes that it’s safe to say she’s moved on. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t still love Nat, and that she doesn’t care about the time they spent together, it just means that she’s able to continue living, even after a tragic event. But that’s not the only way she’s going to be moving.

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: dead romantic partners, moving.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

Things were going good with Wanda and the rest of the group. You and Wanda’s relationship was only getting stronger, and you didn’t even have to tell the group that you two were dating; they already knew.

You walked out of the therapy office, Wanda’s hand laced in yours.

“See you all next week!” She called towards the group, waving goodbye. You waved too, and grinned.

You hopped into the driver’s seat of your car, and she got in the passenger’s seat. As you pulled out of the parking lot, she flicked on the radio.

‘Fearless’ by Taylor Swift played softly.

“I know we’ve only been together for a while, but..do you think that you’d ever move in with me?” She asked suddenly, and you were shocked.

“What?” Your voice cracked awkwardly.

“Would you ever move in with me?”

You thought about it for a moment, before coming to your conclusion.

“Yes.” You murmured.

“Will you move in with me?” Wanda asked a week or so later.

“Yes.” You pressed a kiss to her lips.

And so, here you were. Packing up all of your belongings into boxes. All of your friends were there helping, so it wasn’t all sad. Even Sharon and Yelena had shown up.

“Hi.” Yelena greeted Bucky again, drawing out the ‘i’.

Bucky glanced at Steve, before greeting her back.

You just shook your head and laughed.

Sharon was making friends with your friends, and you were glad that they liked her and she liked them.

A year ago, you’d had no friends. And now you were surrounded by them.

Something about that sentiment made your eyes water, though you quickly pushed it away.

You were going to miss your apartment. You’d shared the apartment with Natasha. It felt like leaving the apartment was leaving the last traces of her.

But you’d realized that she’d always really be with you, no matter where you lived.

Sam and Bruce were packing up the kitchen, all of your plates and silverware you intended to keep.

Clint and Tony were taking care of all of the bookshelves and decor. Thor, Steve, and Bucky were packing up things like the mixer and the coffee machine.

You and Wanda were packing up your bedroom.

“This is a cute shirt,” she murmured as she held up one of your shirts. You chuckled as she tossed it to you.

As you folded it and set it in the box, she continued setting empty hangers in their own box.

The days went by quicker. And not in the ‘days-are-all-blending-together-and-I-feel-like-shit’ way. But in a good way.

Things were getting better.

Maybe you were moving on.

A/n: we’re getting close to the end. Makes me a bit emotional, if I’m honest. Thank you so so much for reading, and please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed!! It motivates me a lot.

[levans44]

Apartment #3 - Chapter 2

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

excerpt:

Jessica Grace Parker December 4th, 1989 569 Leaman Place Apt. #3, Brooklyn, NY 11201 Registered Nurse NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital

It’s the undercover alias she’s been assigned as a member of SHIELD’s Special Operations unit. The mission objective was rather simple—monitor the target and report updates as necessary.

She’s gone undercover more than a dozen times, so it’s not the details of the assignment or the temporary relocation she’s concerned about.

It’s just that her target was well… more unusual than most.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

“That the last of everything?” 

“Yup.” She grunts, unloading the last box of her belongings off the back of Thomas's truck and onto the sidewalk. She dusts off her hands, stepping back as her coworker closes the trunk and locks the vehicle. 

“Should you even be here right now?” She murmurs, glancing around nervously, though there are no pedestrians around. This mission was, funnily enough, one of SHIELD’s most coveted. Very few people knew about its existence—aside for Nick Fury, only Thomas and a few other couple agents in special ops were in the loop.

“Eh, what Fury doesn’t know won’t kill him.” Thomas dismisses her with a flick of his wrist, sliding the shades off his face as he surveys the neighborhood. She follows suit, getting a good first look at her new home.

 569 Leaman Place was located at a charming little street in Brooklyn Heights—idyllic brownstone row houses with red mahogany doors, bay windows, and black awnings. The entire area seemed like a welcome departure from her old neighborhood in Manhattan—low-rise architecture and narrower streets, lots of warm sun with lush greenery shielding the sidewalks. She could already envision herself sitting outside at one of the cute cafes around the block, sipping on an oat milk latte and spending a leisurely afternoon people-watching.

Yup, she wouldn’t mind living here for a while. 

“How are you feeling about the assignment?” 

Thomas’s question catches her off guard, breaking her out of her daydream as she glances up, squinting under the bright sunlight.

“What, you mean spying on a national hero? Not too psyched, to be honest.” 

“Don’t forget he’s also technically your superior advisor.” He eyes her amusedly, helping her pick up the boxes off the sidewalk and up the stairs of the row house. 

“Right.” She mutters, groaning a little at the reminder.

As soon as they drop off the last of the boxes at the entrance, Thomas's phone buzzes with a notification.

“I should be heading back. You want me to call someone to help with this?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Go take care of… whatever that is.”

Cut to half an hour later, when she’s panting and slugging up the stairs of her new apartment, lower back aching from the crushing weight of the box in her arms. 

Good lord, maybe she should have thought twice about refusing help—with no elevator or AC, the four flights of stairs between the lobby and her unit seemed longer than a hike up Kilimanjaro. 

She grunts, slamming the box down as soon as she reaches the fourth floor. The wooden floor creaks dangerously beneath her, and the sound of the ceiling fan in the hallway is almost deafeningly loud once she takes a second to catch her breath. 

Guess some things are better from the outside. 

She takes a proper look around the inside of the building—from the faded hardwood to the old carpeting, she’d guess that it was at least a century old. 

Out of all the places to live in the city, Captain America chose this place?

She pushes the box away from the stairwell, dragging it across the straggly carpet into a corner. Wiping the sweat off her brow, she stands up, giving her back a much-needed stretch. Then, with a loud sigh, she begins turning around sluggishly, dreading the trip to retrieve the rest of her stuff downstairs, when a voice sounds from the top of the staircase. 

“You alright?”

She swivels around, coming face to face with her mission target.

Her eyes flit over his tight compression shirt and a pair of grey sweats, a light sheen of sweat on his neck catching the dull lighting of the hallway as he tilts his head back for a sip of water. 

“Hey.” A flash of blue as his eyes meet hers, giving her a nod and a smile. Polite, and a little stiff. Valid, given she was a stranger.

She blinks, reciprocating his greeting with a jaw that feels a little loose at the hinges. He takes another moment to survey her closely before his eyes suddenly grow, brows raising in what she can’t tell is realization or surprise. Her stomach tightens, panic seizing in her throat.

“Oh! Are you…”  

The flight or fight instinct inside her flares up—could he really be recognizing her? Perhaps from a millisecond interaction at SHIELD headquarters? Maybe they had attended the same meeting? Passed each other in the lobby? Sat in close proximity during a press conference?

Shit, an hour into the mission? This must be some sort of record.

“…are you moving into that unit?” He sticks his head down the hall, gesturing to the second door on the right—the only one without a welcome mat out in front.

Faded, dark mahogany with the number 3 plated in dull gold.

Thank god. 

“Yeah, yes, I am.” She nods, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

She notices the friendly smile that starts to bloom on his face, wide and warm, small lines crinkling the corners of cool blue eyes.

“Oh, that’s great, are you new to the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, I just moved from Midtown.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, considering how she did use to live in a SHIELD-commissioned studio apartment in Manhattan. God, she was dearly gonna miss that under-5-minute commute to work. Now she’d have to suffer through a 40 minute train ride every morning, wearing hospital scrubs she would have to change out of as soon as she got to her desk job at SHIELD. 

He gives her another nod, holding eye contact for a curiously long time. Her eyes start to falter during the brief moment of silence when his brows raise in realization. He shifts his weight to his right foot, stepping forward, and flashes an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I’m Steve. I live just down the hall.” He gestures to the door across from hers, wiping his hand on the bottom of his shorts before extending it in greeting.

She glances down at his hand, blinking.

Out of all the details during this first encounter, she’s most surprised by the way he introduces himself—just Steve, an ordinary 30-something-year-old returning home after a run.

It strikes her, then, like whiplash.

To her, Steve was Captain America, someone she’s spent the last few days reading about tirelessly, nailing down every detail. 

To Steve, she was just… a neighbor. Someone new to the neighborhood, moving in down the hall. 

And with that reality finally sinking in, she accepts Steve’s hand, tentatively slipping her fingers into his palm. 

Ah, the famous Captain America handshake.

It’s firm, warm, resolute—nothing short of what you’d expect from America’s hero. She thinks briefly of her friend from work, Thomas, who refused to wash his hands for two whole days after getting a handshake from the man standing in front of her.

Up until this point, Captain Amercia had been little more than a public figure for SHIELD—a glorified symbol of all the values her company supposedly stands behind. 

Now, meeting Steve Rogers in the flesh, as he towers over her with his 6-foot-something frame, she starts to understand just why this man had been revered among family, friends, and coworkers alike.

(“He was more godly than, like, Thor, I swear.” Thomas had raved.)

“Jess.” She offers quietly, retracting her hand.

Ugh. Jess. Something about her new identity didn’t sound right. A little too doe-eyed, Zooey-Deschanel-esque for her liking, but perhaps even that had been an intentional move on Fury’s part. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jess.” Her fake name rolls off of Steve’s tongue so smoothly, slow and sweet, and she has to swallow down a sudden wave of nausea that hits the back of her throat.

Steve lingers, gaze flitting over to the messy array of boxes shoved into the corner behind her.

“Do you need help with your boxes? I noticed a few of ‘em were still downstairs.”

“Oh, I…” On one hand, she’s not sure if this would violate the whole ‘minimal contact’ clause of her mission assignment. But then again, her back feels like it’s seconds away from splitting in half, and how could she begin the mission if she can’t even move into her new place?

“It’s really no trouble, I promise.” Steve smiles reassuringly, as if sensing the conflict on her face. Misjudges her pause for polite hesitation. 

“… thank you.” She manages to breathes out.

Steve nods, jogging down to the first floor and re-appearing up the stairs in a flash, carrying all of her remaining boxes up in one trip. 

Jesus.

“Thank you for this, really.” She murmurs, shuffling down the hall to her door. She spares a quick sideways glance at Steve, who’s carrying four boxes at a time without so much as breaking a sweat. She’s barely keeping up with the smaller one in her arms, her bag hanging from her arm and her keys balanced precariously on top of the box. 

When they reach apartment #3, she leans forward to set her things down, the keys slipping to the floor in the process.

“Shoot.” She mutters, face burning with embarrassment as she quickly bends down, but he’s quicker.

“I got it.” 

And apparently superhuman power also mean superhuman reflexes, because he’s down at the floor picking up her keychain before she even has the chance to blink.

“… here.” 

There’s a slight pause in his movements when he hands her back her keys, and when her eyes trail down to what’s in his hand, she immediately understands why.  

A shiny Captain America shield keychain sticks out from the rest of the dull array of metal—the red, white, and blue plastic of honor hanging proudly from his fingertips.

It was a sick little joke played by the tiny group of people in her department that knew about her new gig—‘a good luck charm!’ Thomas had taunted. She had rolled her eyes, adding it to her keychain jokingly, and meant to take it off long before she was set to relocate to Brooklyn.

She feels her entire face burn a deep crimson as she tries to remain poker-faced, clearing her throat as she takes the keys from his hand and hastily shoves it through the door.

“Just… y-you can just set those down anywhere, thanks.” 

She steps aside for Steve to walk in, gripping at the doorframe as she makes a mental note burn the keychain into next week, alongside Thomas and the rest of her coworkers. 

By the time Steve sets down the last of her belongings in the middle of her empty living room, her cheeks are still flushed ripe with embarrassment.

“Thank you for your help, really.” She gives him a polite smile at the door, unable to make full eye contact. 

“No worries, let me know if you need anything else.” He smiles, and she finds the tiniest piece of respite in noticing that if he had seen what was on her keychain (which was virtually inevitable given the circumstances), he didn’t seem at all bothered. 

“… well, I’ll see you around Jess.” He smiles, giving her a small wave.

“Yeah, you too.” She nods, trying to conceal the tight lines around her lips. Steve steps back in the direction of his apartment, fishing out his keys from his pocket. She starts to turn around, fingers trembling with the details of her first encounter with Captain America, when she hears his voice calls out again from across the hall. 

“Oh, I almost forgot…”

Shit, what?

When she turns back around, he’s leaned against the faded doorway of apartment #4, flashing her a charming smile—classic all-American, pearly-whites and all.

“…welcome to the building.”

Apartment #3 Masterlist

[seenoversundown]

Sparrow Of The Dawn : Chapter Five

Sam x Willa (Fem OC)

Warnings: Swearing, One mention of the word 'Daddy', mentions of boners? Mild accidental groping, light talk of spit kink if you squint, a lot of movie references, Jumpscare Warning: Jeremy Allen White, mentions of very minor injury, Girls Night (gender neutral term), guys being dudes, mentions of avoiding a car accident, fluff, and per usual Sam just being his usual self.

Word Count: 8k.

Author’s Note: Taco Bell IS on the boycott list and just included for entertainment purposes. Also, if you need help with figuring out which companies are on the boycott list you can download the “No Thanks” app to keep track!

Summary: Sam unfortunately finds himself in not so meet cute with Willa. Hopeful that he doesn't cross her path again; the world works in mysterious ways and not always in your favor.

That's Not My Name - The Ting Tings “Are you callin' me darlin', are you callin' me bird?”

‘If it weren’t for bad luck, we wouldn’t have any luck at all’ is a phrase my grandfather repeated growing up. I feel that a little more deeply these days, especially when it comes to my truck. As I sit here, willing her to turn over every time I twist the key, I lose a bit more hope. I have got to get her looked at. I pull my phone from my back pocket and text the group chat, praying that someone is awake this early. 

Me: Is anyone awake that loves me enough to drive me into work. Edith wont start again ☹️

Tweedle Dee 🦐: It’s your lucky day.

It only takes about ten minutes before Josh pulls up in his white Jeep truck, and I’ve never been more thankful that we all live so close. 

“You look awfully dapper for 7:30 in the morning,” I remark, eyebrow cocked. 

“And you are just a pair of cargo shorts away from being Steve Irwin, but you don’t hear me questioning you.” He retorts. Touche. “I thought I was dropping you off at the newspaper office?”

“You are, but we’re going to Wolfe’s Neck to take some nature photos for the assignment we’re working on. I’m meeting her at the office first.” Josh and I haven’t spoken much in the last few days; he’s always busy lately, working at the bar or devoid of his phone for hours, so I fill him in on the project.

“An incredible idea, Sammy. All hers, I assume?” He chides.

“Not.. all hers. I helped.” I speak a bit more defensively than I mean to. 

“Convincing.”

“I did! We’re even using a couple of my film cameras because I’m so nice.” I further defend my stance.

He pulls up to the curb, effectively cutting our conversation short, thankfully, and I exit his car.

“Sam!” He yells jovially, and I turn around, his window fully unrolled. “Have a good day, Sammy Boy! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” He twists the dial on his stereo volume. The soundtrack of my suffering plays to the tune of ‘Barbie Girl’ by Aqua. I wave him ‘goodbye’ with a simple middle finger as he drives off. As I make my way back to the front door, there she is. 

Birdie. 

She greets me with, “I bet he’s a nightmare in the morning.”

“You have no idea.” I reach for the door, opening it for us both and letting her walk in first because I am a gentleman; however, I am still a pain in the ass. “Is it not too early in the morning for my voice today?” 

“It's always far too early to hear your voice, Samuel.” She presses the button on the elevator and twists her shoulders toward me. 

“How are we supposed to work together if you refuse to talk to me, huh?”

“It’s not like taking pictures requires conversation.” The sound of the elevator dinging catches our attention, and we both enter. Birdie reaches to press the correct floor button.

“How about,” I start, facing her and smirking with a cocked eyebrow, “we stop for coffee and breakfast, my treat? Since now, I don’t have to break the news to you that you have to drive.”

“You.. have my attention.” The elevator arrives, and we exit right, down the hallway, through the glass door, and past the reception desk. Sharon greets us warmly with a wave; she’s no Daisy, but she is lovely. Once we reach the cubicles, we separate, unloading our belongings on our own desks. Birdie looks good today. Her earth-toned Patagonia pullover fits snuggly, along with the black leggings on her legs. The tail ends of her brown bob poking out the bottom of her tan Carhartt beanie. 

“I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”

“Oh, uh yeah. I couldn’t exactly wear my Steve Maddens in the forest.” She stares down at the white socks and brown hiking boots I know are on her feet. “Where are we going, by the way? You never told me, just said, ‘I have a place.’”

“Wolfe’s Neck State Park, you been before?” 

“Surprisingly, no. It’s on my list though.”

“It doesn’t open until 9, so we have a little bit of time to kill before we have to leave; it’s only a half-hour drive. Maybe forty-five or fifty with breakfast.”

“Did you wanna hit up Dunkies for breakfast?” she asks.

“Please, god no. They can never get my food right. I swear they have a secret vendetta against vegetarians.” 

“I didn’t know you were a vegetarian. Is it an animals with faces thing?”

“Nah, Daniel, bet me fifty bucks I couldn’t do it. I never turn down a bet.” I sit down on my desk and cross my arms. Looking at her over the divider.

“How’d that turn out for you?”

“A new diet and fifty bucks richer,” I snicker. 

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The trail I lead her down is not a very long one. I can hear her small feet padding behind me, breaking branches and rustling leaves in quick steps. She takes two to match my every one. I figured one of the shorter trails would work better for getting in and out with enough time to head back and finish our project. 

“Ooooh, it's giving Twilight,” she beams, eyes huge with excitement.

I turn to follow her gaze toward the large, moss-covered rock wall. A few fallen, slimmer trees lay around the bottom. She runs over toward it.

“This is the skin of a killer, Bella.” Reenacting a scene from the movie. A movie I’ve definitely never seen. “I don’t care. You won’t hurt me.” she quotes dramatically, switching from Edward to Bella. She matches Bella’s awkward movements perfectly. It’s hard not to laugh, her head bobbing, arms flailing, jumping back and forth between spots for each character. I haven’t seen this side of her yet, A fun side. Who knew Birdie had it in her? 

“You know I’ve never seen Twilight before.” I lie as I slip one strap off my shoulder and pull my bag around to the front of my body. Unzipping the compartment that has her camera in it, I pull it out and give it a wiggle. She walks over to meet me. 

“Never had a girlfriend in high school who forced you to watch it?” she smiles, jokingly as she takes the camera from my hand and slips the strap around her neck, checking over her settings.

“Nope.” popping the ‘p’, “Never really dated til I got to college.” I take out my own camera.

“Aw got no game huh?” She makes a mocking frown at me as we walk down the trail. 

“Got no game, huh?” I mimic her. Way to go, Sammy. Wicked come back. That’ll teach her. 

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We take our time, snapping photos as we go until we reach the water. It's beautiful here. Large formed rocks surround the lake that makes up an amazing scenic view. The sunshine only adds to the effect. It's breathtaking every time. I can’t believe she’s never been here before. We slowly walk up to the edge of the water. She finds little crevices that the water runs through. In her continued child-like wonder she can’t help but kneel down to run her fingers through it, picking up small rocks to inspect before dropping them back into the tiny flowing river. The sun’s rays bounce off the water, the reflection a bit blinding, but I’ll take it on a day like today. It sparkles off the waves created by the small gusts of wind, which keeps me comfortable, but I notice the little shivers that run through her shoulders. Despite the minimal clouds in the sky, the sun isn’t strong enough to truly warm you from within this time of year. 

I watch as Birdie steps onto one of the taller rock formations. She brings the camera to her eye, the clicking sound pleasantly mixed with the sound of all the petite rivers running nearby. She drops her camera and tilts her face toward the sun, eyes closed, taking in the warmth from the sunshine above. She looks as peaceful as it feels out here. I snap a photo of her. She brings her arms out as if she's standing at the head of the Titanic; I snap another one. That is what Maine is about, the simplistic beauty of being with nature. Any time of year, any weather. Just enjoying the feeling of connecting to nature. Water, trees, rocks, sunshine. All of it. Always. 

I’m so lost in thoughts of her and home I don’t notice her suddenly standing in front of me. 

“Earth to Samuel.” She sing-songs, fingers waving in front of my face.

I shake my head, willing my brain to focus on the task at hand. “Yeah, what.”

“Can I put this in your bag?” She’s holding a rock. A damp, white-ish looking rock clutched between her delicate fingers. 

“Uh, sure?” I’m very confused. I open a compartment, and as she places the rock inside, she shivers again. I guess it is chilly despite the day’s sunshine. It's still March after all, though I’m not a great gauge for temperature because I run warm.

“Are you cold, Birdie?” I question.

She scrunches her nose in response. I fight with the thought of how cute that is. “I’ll be fine,” she dismisses. “I’m always cold.”

“Here, take my scarf. I’m hot anyway.” Pulling my scarf from around my neck.

She immediately gives me a side-eye. 

“It’s.. not gonna bite, Birdie?” I tease her with a little wave of the scarf.

“Not my name,” she scrunches her nose again, apprehensively reaching out to grab it. “Biting I'm not worried about. It being magically cursed into strangling me when I least suspect it, on the other hand.” She tosses her hands back and forth like an invisible set of scales. Her hands work intently as she folds the scarf in half and places it around her neck, taking the ends through the loop and pulling it tight. 

“What am I? Harry Potter?” I scoff. 

She lets out a cackle. “Not even remotely. More like Lucius Malfoy.” She raises an eyebrow at me. 

“Wow, straight to Lucius. Not even Draco, huh? Yeah, I guess I am Daddy.” I stop in my tracks as I watch her pluck another rock from the tiny river leading out toward the water.

“Ew. God, no.” Her infectious laugh hits me right in the gut.

“See, Lucius was evil.” She stands, and her eyes give me a once over before placing the rock in my hand, presumably to be put in my bag with the other one. “Draco had a good heart even if he was a little chicken. Plus,” raising her pointer finger, “he was hot. And you are neither of those things.” She turns back to the small river of flowing water.

My mind flashes back to the other night at the bar, where she’s sitting with her friend. “No, you’re right, Wilson. Sam IS cute.” Replaying in my head. 

“Oh, really?” my mischievous side coming out to play. I step toward her. 

“Mhmm.” 

“OH, REALLY??” I repeat louder, taking another step. She stands to face me.

“YES,” she says pointedly. 

I smile wide, now looking down at her. 

“That’s not what your friend said the other night.” I bite my lip, tilting my head to the side and running my hand along my jawline. I watch as her eyes follow my movement, a fire lighting behind them. I know I’ve gotten under her skin by calling her out. 

She raises both of her eyebrows, this time taking a step toward me to fully bridge the gap between us. Nearly chest to chest, nose to nose, she says, “Wow, I’m actually shocked you were able to pull your head out of your ass long enough to hear someone speak besides yourself.”

I chuckle, running my tongue along my teeth. “I don’t hear you denying it. Go on, you can say it. You think I’m hot.”

“And why would I need to deny such a clearly false statement, Samuel?” Confusion etched across her face. “You know, when you come up for air, usually you can hear better. You should try it sometime.”

“So, that’s not what I heard, huh? ‘You’re right, he IS really cute.’ ? Your friend never said that?”

“No, you didn’t. Because no, they didn’t.” She huffs. I pick up on the use of ‘they.’  

“Right, right.” I nod my head. “So, do they frequently lie to embarrass you?” a silent acknowledgment between us. 

She pulls out her phone, tapping away. 

“Whaaaat are ya doing?” I question her clear deflection. 

“Just looking to see if there is a quick care clinic open on our way home because, obviously, you need to have your ears checked out,” She pockets her phone. “Can we continue, please?” A swift eye roll follows as she turns to walk back toward the little river.

“Wait, wait, wait,” a breathy chuckle falling from my lips. “If it's not you who thinks I’m cute. Then it must be your friend, right?” She opens her mouth to try to cut me off before I even get started, but, “So, can I have their number then?” slips out before she can manage. I relish in the fact that I know I’m bothering her. 

“No, no. Absolutely not.”

“Wow, for being Birdie, you’re not much of a wing-woman, are you?”

“First off, they would hate you. Second off, what makes you think I’d ever be your wing-woman. And THIRD-OFF, that’s not my name.”

I feel a bit of satisfaction and a warm swell of my belly when her nose scrunches in distaste. 

I wander off back toward the trail we came down, keeping my gaze pointed toward the opening in the trees. Trying to focus in between the little gaps for anything interesting or photo-worthy. The leaves are not quite growing yet, and the ground still wet with leftover melted snow. I can hear the squish of the damp soil with every step I take. The lead into spring is probably my favorite time of year. Most people enjoy the summer because the weather is nice and warm and the surrounding cities are alive with tourists and events. But those moments of fresh life leading into spring show you that despite the dark coldness of the winter, you can still grow and bloom into beautiful potential. The hope of it all, to come out the other end of the darkness to greet the sunshine, is why it's such a valued season to me. 

Just then, Birdie comes padding over to me with two more rocks in her hands.

“Sam, I found more.” She calls on her way over. I, once again, pull my bag to the front, and she opens a pocket, attempting to deposit the rocks herself.

“No, not there, I have a lens in there.” I zip it back up and choose a different one. “Try this one.” As she’s trying to fit the larger of the two in there, something clicks inside my brain.

“You’re one of those girls, aren’t you?” 

“One of what?” Her brows are knit in frustration when she realizes the rock is too big. She picks another, thankfully empty, pocket.

“One of those girls that sits around with her crystals and her tarot and her moon water.” I chide.

Her hands stop what they are doing and she slowly looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “How do you know about moon water?”

“It’s a long story.” I shake my head and sidestep the comment so I don’t have to talk about ‘she who shall not be named’. “You know my brother is into all that shit. He’s got crystals all over the place.” 

“The brother that owns the bar or the one with the mustache?”

“Uhh.. both of my brothers have a mustache.” 

“You sure about that.” She smirks. Oh, they’re both gunna just looove that. “Actually, why don’t you give him my number since we seem to actually have things in common.”

“No.” immediately denying her. “If you refuse to be my wing-woman. I refuse to be your wingman. No way.”

“Fine then, at least make yourself useful and find some space to fit this in your bag.” Flashing the rock, she couldn’t fit before. 

“Seriously, how many more of these do you need, Birdie? My bag is getting heavy.” 

“How about you hold this one.” She pulls a small crystal from her bra, and drops it into my open hand. “It’s good for grounding. Maybe it’ll help center you. Woo sah, Sam. Woo Sah.” 

Very funny.

I offer to drive the way home and now I’m curled uncomfortably in the driver's seat of Birdie’s car. Partly to get warm again and partly because of the intense growling of my stomach. 

“We should stop for lunch before we head into the office,” I suggest.  

“Where?” She pulls out her phone, searching for options.

“Is there a Taco Bell nearby?” 

“You can eat at Taco Bell? I wouldn’t think a Mexican food place would be vegetarian friendly.”

“Taco Bell is hardly Mexican, but you can sub almost anything out for beans. Plus, I’m craving a crunchwrap.” 

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We pull up to the drive-through speaker, and I place my order. “I’ll have a cravings box with a black bean crunchwrap supreme, a spicy potato taco, and cheesy fiesta potatoes, and a Large Dr. Pepper, please.” Her eyes are boring holes into the side of my skull as I pull out my card to pay. I scrunch my face in question. 

“Nothing.” is all she says.

She leans over the center console to place her order, elbows perched and ass off the seat. I know she’s trying to be able to project her voice from across the car, but she is so close. I shrink back into my seat to try and give her space, but I can't escape her sweet floral perfume. Oh, she smells so good. I close my eyes, reveling in the mixture of orange blossoms and vanilla as it clouds my brain.

“I’ll have two soft taco supremes and a medium Baja Blast, please.” She plops her ass back in her seat, “Ready?” 

I open my eyes again. “Yep.”

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I hand the cashier my card and receive the receipt and we pull up to the second window. She is staring at me again with the most unpleasant face. 

“Okay, what gives. Why are you looking at me like that?”

The worker opens the window and hands us our order. Birdie's own customer service voice shining through her ‘thank you so much!’ Unwrapping our straws and sticking them in our respective drinks while I slowly pull away from the building. I reach for my Dr. Pepper and take a large, satisfying gulp. 

“How can you possibly drink that?” 

“A Dr. Pepper?”

“Yes! It's like.. Against the law in at least 22 states to not order Baja Blast when you go to Taco Bell.” she quips.

“Oh, you’re not gunna like this.” I pause.

She stares intently.

I take a deep breath in and exhale slowly, “I.. don’t.. Like Baja Blast.” 

She stares some more. This time, the brown of her eyes barely peeking through the thin space between her eyelids. 

“Dr. Pepper just hits better.” I shrug.

“We- Are not friends.” Turning back to the food in her lap.

“Consider it one of my 19 crimes,” mumbling around a bite of my lunch. 

“Every sip is a little act of warfare, Sam.” She argues a bit further down the road. “I cannot believe you would commit such.. Such TREASON in my own car.” Her hands wave theatrically in front of her.

“Oh, you’re a Queen now, are you?”

“It is my car, so if I say I’m the Queen of my car, then I’m the Queen of my car. And I rule that drinking Dr. Pepper is an act of treason.” She crosses her arms, chin raised high, a playful smirk sitting on her plush, chapstick-covered lips.  

I laugh, a good, full-bellied laugh. She’s fun when she wants to be. When she’s not being so combative.

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” I respond and enthusiastically take a bite of my spicy potato taco. She rolls her eyes at me.

“How much food did you order?”

“What? I’m a growing boy!” I argue.

As soon as I take another bite, chipotle sauce comes out the bottom and lands right in my lap. “Oh shit!” I once again say around my food. She starts to rummage through the bag for some napkins. When she finds one, I reach my hand out to take it, but she bypasses me completely, leaning right over the center console with her head nearly in my lap, hands working to try and get the sauce out before it stains.

That’s how I ended up praying to the Gods above that I don’t accidentally pop a boner while she cleans up my crotch. What have I done to deserve this?

“It’s fine. It’s not on the seat. It’s just on your pants. Hold on.” I squirm under the pressure of her fingers as she tugs to flatten out the fabric of my khakis to make sure she gets it all. 

“It's fine, Birdie. Birdie!” raising my voice to catch her attention, to no avail. “I can take care of it when we get back. Or we can stop off at my apartment, and I can change.” I plead, desperately wishing for this to be over. 

“I almost got it. Stop moving!” I glance down as she slaps my thigh. Holy shit. She licks the napkin then and I swear I see Jesus in the middle of the freeway. I press the brakes to slow down to avoid a collision. Trying my best to focus on the road ahead, but instead, now all I can think about is her spit on my dick. Oh God. My eyes go wide as soon as the thought crosses my mind, and my dick definitely twitches. 

Oh, don’t go there. Not now. Think Sam, Think. Grandma Althea. Her house is old and smells like moth balls. Her hands are always dry from all the fabric she touches because she’s always sewing something. She coughs really loud and wet because of the cigarettes she smokes. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief when Birdie sits up. She clears her throat, “I uh think it should be all set.”

We drive the rest of the way back to the office in silence. I really hope she didn’t notice. But then again, I do have terrible luck.

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When I walk into the dark room, Birdie is already in there; the red lights casting a glow on her that reminds me of the first time she walked into my brother’s bar. Though now she’s rifling through the lower shelves.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?”  

“I uhh, I haven’t developed film since college. Tryna find some instructions.” Her ass in the air as she continues her search. 

“I don’t have nine film cameras for nothing, Birdie. I know how to develop film I can help.”

She stands and faces me, the uncomfortable expression on her face taking on a completely different view under the light. I wish I knew her well enough to know why she’s so uncomfortable. 

I get us set up with our film canisters and developing mixture while she grabs the rolls of film from my bag. We each carefully cut the film off the cassette. I try to focus on what I’m doing instead of how our fingers gently brush each other while loading the film onto the reel. I pour the developing mixture into each canister while she watches on. 

“We have to shake them every, like thirty seconds for a few minutes, and then we can do the stop bath,” I instruct her, and she nods.

Her small, delicate hands hold the rather large container as she shakes it back and forth. “Like this?” She questions, her brow furrowed. And.. I am only a man. Staring too closely at the motion of her hands, I freeze. For christ’s sake Sam. Be normal for 5 seconds. As I clear my throat to answer, I drop my canister. In her attempt to help me we end up crashing our heads together.

“OW.” “Oh Fuck.” We mumble at the same time. I feel around for the edge of the counter and end up knocking the other film canisters into the sink. 

“For fuck’s sake,” I whine. I reach to grab those, and Birdie bends down to grab the one I dropped. And, it is so dark in here she ends up ramming her head right into my junk.

“Fuck!” I yell. At the rate we’re both complaining, I’m sure they think we’re trying to fuck. If only I were that lucky. Instead, I now need to ice my goods.

I hold my breath, willing the pain to stop.

“Sorry.” her apology is small. 

A strained “It’s fine” tumbles from my lips.

We continue awkwardly fumbling around each other, trying to make sure the rest of the containers stay properly agitated, and instead, she gets properly agitated. If this was a cartoon, I’m positive that steam would be coming out of her ears.

“It’s too small in here; you are far too large, and it's too dark.” She huffs. 

“I don't know what to tell you, Birdie. It’s a darkroom, and I cannot get any smaller.”

“That’s not my fucking name.” Angrily, setting down the container with a loud thud. 

We add the stop bath and then the fixer, making sure to keep a good distance from each other, and then finally rinse and soak the film. 

When we hang the film up to dry, I realize I have about a foot on her.

“Need me to get you a stool, shortie? Or should you just hop on, and I could lift you up.” A cocky smirk spreads across my lips. 

“Nah, you’re the man you could do the heavy lifting,” she makes air quotes around ‘heavy lifting’. 

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 Once they’re fully dry, I gather the film strips and bring them to the lightbox. Scooting our stools close and setting each strip up one by one to see the negatives of our photos. Shooting nature is one of my favorite things but Birdie really does have an incredible eye for it. Of course, I’d never tell her that because she would hold it over my head. Our styles are very different, which is clear to see lined up next to each other, but they still look amazing together. 

“These.. Are really great, Birdie.” I smile down at her and bump her with my shoulder gently. Her face softens a bit and I can’t help but think how beautiful she looks. I am a man- I’m not blind.

“The hard part is choosing the best ones. It feels like choosing my favorite children.” Her infectious laugh plays through my ears, and I smile back.

We take some time discussing which ones have the best lighting or the best proportions. Which ones we think will make great features and finally settle on eight ‘prized children’ to print. The other eight photos selected for our presentation will be digitally edited and printed outside of the darkroom, making at least half of this project easy. At least the editing and printing we can do from the comfort of our homes in our PJs. Which is exactly what I will be doing after I see Daniel for dinner. 

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We settle back in the dark room using the projectors to print our respective photos. I don’t know what’s in the air today because I keep messing up. Either exposing for too long or too short and I keep running back and forth between the developing tray and my projector to try to correct it. On one of my passes, I run smack into Birdie. In my effort to stop the collision, I put my one unoccupied hand out to cushion the momentum and ended up grabbing her boob instead. For fucks sake. How does this shit keep happening?

I pause, slowly backing away. She just heavily sighs.

“Well.” She brushes her hands off and adjusts her beanie. “That’s the most action I’ve had in a minute.”

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Is that why you’re such a tight ass?”

“No, I have,” she emphasizes, “such a tight ass because I do squats.” And now I’m thinking about her in tight gym pants doing squats.

“Well, if you ever need help loosening up a bit, you know who to call.” 

“Jeremy Allen White?” 

“Who?” I match her confused expression.

“Oh, you know, he was in Shameless. The bear?” her brow further knits each second that passes. “He just had that big ad campaign for Calvin Klein?” Calvin Klein? As in.. models. Cool. First Edward, then Draco, now.. models.

“Yes, because I definitely seem like the kind of guy who keeps up with Calvin Klein campaigns.” Really trying to drive the point home with a snarky tone. 

“Oh..” I try to read the expression on her face before she continues, “I just thought because of you.. You know, actually know how to dress yourself.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t. Your competition is the genre of men who pick up a shirt off the floor and go, ‘yeah, this smells clean’.” She stands on her tiptoes as she hangs her last photo and then promptly exits the darkroom. 

A few minutes later, she returns through the circular door. It always reminds me of something a magician would have on stage. A weird sort of contraption to ensure the light stays out and doesn’t ruin the developing process for those inside.

“Sam.” her voice is quiet again, just above a whisper. I look up at her and can barely make out her petite frame in the dark. She’s just standing, a strip of film pinched between her fingers, head hung low. 

She continues just as quietly, “Did you.. Um. When did you take these?” The realization hits me. I forgot about the pictures of her. 

“Oh. Uhh. You were just.. Ya know in your element. And I sorta thought. Well, this is a big part of what Maine is like. Ya know. Outside, nature. You just seemed.. Happy. Thought it should be captured..” I trail off. Oh God, she’s gonna think it's weird. It's not weird, though, right? No, Sam, it's fine. 

The length of silence kills me. The longer she doesn’t talk the more I start to internally freak out. As if being a naturally warm-blooded person wasn’t bad enough, I feel myself start to sweat. I wipe my forehead of the perspiration gathering there and grab at my wrists for a hair tie, of which is conveniently missing at this moment. Please say something… please.

“This.. um.” she pauses, inhaling and exhaling a deep breath. “They’re lovely, Sammy. Thank you.”

Sammy.

“Yeah.. yeah. You’re welcome.” I shift my focus back to my photo.

“So, uh.. Anyways,” she says, calling my attention back to her. “Since we’re printing the photos here and we’re editing the digital ones at home, you can just email me the finished ones when you’re done, and we can talk about the bullet points we’ll go over for the presentation.” She turns on the projector light until she gets the desired contrast, and then turns it off and carries her photo to the developer bin. I grab my own photo and walk over to meet her, dropping it in the solution to join hers. She idly uses the tongs to move her photo around the bin to help the developing process. Just like shaking a Polaroid picture, it doesn’t really work; it only passes the time. 

“That sounds good, Birdie.” I reach to grab the other set of tongs and end up blindly bumping her arm in the process, knocking hers to the ground. She bends down to retrieve them, and I set my sights on a different pair of tongs to my left. Two things happen at once. First, I bend slightly to reach the other pair. Second, she headbutts my ass. That’s two parts of me she has head-butted today.

“We’ve touched more today than I ever thought we would in this lifetime.” She groans.

“Think about us touching often, huh?” because I can’t help but try to get under her skin every chance I get. 

“Why are you like this?” she complains. She tosses the tongs back on the counter and goes to fish the photo out with her fingers. I lunge to stop her, but I’m too slow.

Now, it’s definitely not life-threatening to handle photo-developing chemicals without gloves. But they are, at the end of the day, chemicals and can sting like a bitch if you have opened wounds. Given how clumsy she is, I anticipate –

“Ouch, FUCK!” she yells, cradling her hand. I grab her by the wrist and shimmy us over to the sink, where I turn the water on cold. When the temperature is cool enough, I pull her finger under the running water.

“That was stupid of you.” I gently scold her. There’s no weight behind my words, just concern. 

“How stupid, Sam? I didn’t realize I had a cut. Is it bad? Do I need to see a doctor?” She rattles off. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” I leave one hand on her wrist, keeping it in place under the faucet, the other one I place on her cheek. Settling in the crook of her neck beneath her ear. The palm of my hand burns against her cool skin; she really is always cold. Despite the darkness of the room I still pull her gaze to meet mine. “Calm down, okay? You’re fine, I promise. A little stupid, maybe. But you’re fine.” I rub my thumb along her cheekbone, hoping to soothe her worries. I can barely make out her eyelids as they flutter closed for a moment and then open again. 

“You promise?” I can feel the anxiety radiating off her.

“I’d pinky promise if you wanted me to.” I joke, and she lets out a small giggle. Pride settles in my chest, knowing a crisis is averted.

“God, that was stupid.” she laughs again and rests her forehead against my chest.

“Lil bit.” I shake my head and slide my hand down to rub her back. Part of me doesn’t want to move from this spot, knowing she's comforted, but I ruin the moment anyway. I pull back from her, hand resting on her shoulder now. 

“Lesson learned, huh?”

She zips the top portion of her Patagonia pullover a little higher when we make it outside. I pull out my phone to see who is available to be my chauffeur home.

“Did you need a ride home, Sam?” She asks, pulling her collar up to her ears. The ends of her hair start to stick out. 

“I was just going to see which brother was a spare and could swing by.” I drop my eyes back to my phone. 

“I can give you a ride home if you want? I know you’re not too far out of my way, I can just.. Drop you off?” placing her foot on the next step down and pointing toward the parking lot. 

“You don’t have to do that. None of them do anything productive anyway.” I laugh. 

“Do you have more than just the two?” I bite my lip and smile when her brow furrows in confusion. 

“No, but you know Daniel? The bouncer? We went to grade school together so he’s been my best friend since we were like six. He's basically a brother at this point. Ya know, brotha from anotha motha.” Her gentle laugh bringing forth another swirl in my belly. 

“Oh, I was about to say. I’m not sure the world could realistically handle any more of you Kiszkas.” She says when we finally reach the sidewalk. 

“Yeah, they broke the mold with me. Realized I was peak Kiszka genes and said, ‘all done’.”

“Seriously though, I can give you a ride. It’s no big deal.”

I fall in step with her, “Why not? None of my degenerate brothers are answering me anyway.”

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The drive back to my apartment is quiet. Almost too quiet for us. The awkwardness of the day still lingering in the air. I clear my throat to cut the silence, but I can’t think of anything to say to fill it. I just fidget with my fingers instead.

“How are you getting to Boston tomorrow?”

“Uhm, well, the plan was to ride the train in like I did last time, but Edith almost made me miss it.”

“Edith. Right. Your truck.” 

“She’s having trouble turning over.” I run a hand through my hair.

“Well, I don’t want to have to worry about you missing your train and messing up this presentation for us by not being there, so i'll pick you up at like 6 a.m. if that’s fine with you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I told you I live close to my brothers. I'm sure one of them can take me.” 

“It’s really fine. I have to make the drive anyway and I really want this presentation to go off without a hitch. It would make me feel better if I knew for sure you’d be there.”

I don’t read into that sentiment. She just wants the project to be successful, and I know that. So I agree, much to my dismay. I hate feeling like a burden to people, and with Edith giving me trouble, I feel pretty much like a burden to everyone who has to deal with me. 

When we reach my apartment, she pulls over to the sidewalk out front. 

“Why don’t you put your number in my phone, and I’ll text you when I leave my apartment. I’m only like ten minutes away.” She pulls her phone out from the center console near her gear shift, and I put my contact info in. Entering my phone number and email under Sammy Kiszka with the camera emoji.

“I put my email in there so you can flag it, but shoot me a text with yours when you get home so I know where to send the digitals.” I place her phone back in her palm. “Thanks again for.. carting me around.” I let out an awkward laugh and scratch the back of my neck. 

“No problem, see you in the morning,” she gives me a tight-lipped smile. 

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” I grab my camera bag and hop out of her car. Shutting the door with a small wave through the window. 

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When I hear the signature knock, I know Daniel’s arrived. Two quick knocks, a pause, a single knock, another pause, and ending with two quick knocks. I don’t know when he developed that habit, but he only uses it on my door. Penelope lets out a loud boof of a bark and runs ahead of me, her shaggy hair swaying with her little jumps. Well, little for Pen. When I open the door, she’s already sniffing and pawing at his legs. 

“I brought beer.” He says as he holds up the 12-pack of coronas, careful not to trip around her. “Hope you got limes.”

“It’s me. Of course, I do.” Gesturing to myself and stepping aside to let him in, “Plus, I have an extra large meat-lovers pizza on the way.” I resist the urge to make a joke about ‘meat-lovers and guys night.’ “So.. tell me what’s wrong.” I continue, following him into my kitchen. He's stacking the beers one by one inside the fridge to keep cold, Penelope impatiently waiting for her attention from her favorite uncle. Her words not mine. I can tell by the expression on his face he’s struggling with whatever is on his mind. He closes the refrigerator door and shrugs off his coat, setting it on a nearby chair. 

“Hello, Penny girl. I wouldn’t forget about you, I promise.” She laps at his fingers as he playfully pets her face. Still reaching for her head as he stands, he takes a deep breath. “I, uhh, went on a date last night..”

“Still living up to your name, I see. How was it? Awful? Terrible? Did she have a big head or lipstick on her teeth?”

“Very funny.” He snarks back. “It was terrible, thank you very much.”

Eventually, I get the full story out of him. His date, named Allie, a very adorable waitress he met through a friend of a friend, was completely horrible (pleasant), didn’t let him pay (she wanted to split the bill because her drink was expensive and she felt bad), and.. the kicker? She opened the door for him (she got to the door first). We’re each two slices and a few beers deep, and I can’t figure out where the awful comes in. 

“She sounded completely fine, Daniel. I don’t get it?” I lean back against the couch, Penny quietly snoring by my feet. 

“She ordered a salad, Sam.” he looks at me expectantly as if that answers everything. “A SALAD!”

“Oh no. A salad. How completely terrible of her.” I roll my eyes. 

“I.. want a girl who isn’t afraid of eating a burger.” he shrugs, drawing a sip of his corona and lime. 

“Do you want me to be honest with you?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and close my eyes in frustration.

“Always.”

“Bro.. you have got to get over Melody.”

He stands, effectively scaring Pen awake, and I watch him pace back and forth in front of my TV. She pads over to him, nails clicking against the hardwood until she can get her paws on him. 

“This has nothing to do with her.” He stops and reaches down to run his fingers through her fur for some comfort through this uncomfortable topic. 

 The subject of Melody has always been a touchy one.  He dated her in high school, and we were all pretty good friends for most of our childhood. I really liked her for him, actually. Until she broke his heart when we all graduated and ran off to college, leaving him in the dust and I was the one who was left to clean up the mess. The mess being Daniel because he was.. A full blown mess. He would never admit that, though. But what can you expect when you get your heart broken for the first time? I kind of get it. He has always been and always will be my brother, and I’ll always be there for him. No matter what. Which naturally means I’ll always harbor a severe distaste for her, even if I know I don’t have to worry about seeing her ever again.

“This has everything to do with her. You haven’t been able to make it past the first day with a girl since you broke up. It’s been what? six years?” I shoot him a pointed glare. He stops pacing and crosses his arms, waiting for whatever else I have to say.

“Have you considered that trying to get to know someone while eating food is actually incredibly awkward? Or is this really just about the monstrous salad?”

“She also wanted to go for a walk after dinner.” He defends. The sigh I let out.. My God. “Why would I wanna go for a walk when I stand all day at work?” 

He cannot be serious right now. The weakest arguments known to man.

“You’re an active guy, Daniel. Why wouldn’t you want to go for a walk? Doesn’t Linda always go on about your golf arms or whatever?” 

“No, that’s completely different, and you know Linda is the love of my life.” he smiles wide, his tongue poking out just beyond his teeth. 

“Right. So what other red flags did she have?” I dig a little more. 

“Okay, well, she tried to kiss me?”

“GASP.” I feign shock. “She wanted to kiss you? How very dare she. Daniel, that’s absolutely insane. It’s not like you guys went out on a date or anything.” 

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.” he plops himself back down on the couch beside me, his shadow following him until she perches her head on his knee. I swear, when he’s here, it's like I don’t exist. “Tell me about poking girl. How’s that going?” He lays his head back and pulls his trucker hat down over his eyes. 

“Good. Project is good. I still can’t ever tell if she likes me or not. We bicker and banter all day long. It’s entertaining as hell for me. Then, there are some moments where she acts like a sweet, normal girl. But most of the time, it's just bickering.” I take a swig of my beer. “I gave her a nickname to get under her skin, and she makes this face every time I say it. It's very.. Samantha from Bewitched.” I swallow my laugh down with another sip. 

“Whaddya call her?” he asks with a smirk, eyes poking out from underneath the brim.

“Birdie.”

“Birdie? Why on earth does that get under her skin?”

“Dunno.” I shrug. “But it does. And I take sick enjoyment out of irritating the fuck out of her.” I set my empty beer back down on my coffee table. 

A maniacal laugh escapes him. Clutching stomach, he bends forward. I start to wonder if he got high before he came over because what the hell is so funny?

“Oh god.” He wipes a tear from his eye and rights himself on the couch. “So you think she’s cute, huh?” 

“I mean.. I.. have eyes, yeah?” I answer with confusion heavily present in my tone. “But we don’t get along. As in cannot go five minutes without bickering, don’t get along.”

“You always did like em’ psychotic, Sam. None of us are stupid.” he chuckles.. to himself because I am not laughing. 

“No, I don’t!”

“Right, and Chelsea was what? Totally normal? You didn’t listen to a single one of us on that one, and we all told you.”  I forgot about her. The girl I dated right before ‘she who shall not be named.’ We saw each other for only a few months but what a whirlwind it was. We went to a concert an hour away, and she ran off with one of the roadies. A fricken roadie? Left me there to get home by myself, considering, yep, she drove. But again, she was hot, so what was I to do?

“Hey now! She wasn’t.. that bad.” I say innocently.

“Right, that’s what you always say. Sam – I never take advice from anyone – Kiszka.” 

“Yeah, alright, keep laughing. As if I’d take advice from ‘One Date Daniel’.” I elbow him in my defense. “Besides, I’m not sure I have much to worry about. Once the project is over, I won’t have to see her again unless we actually do well.”

I get up and head to the kitchen to retrieve another beer from the fridge, and my own dog doesn’t even glance up at me. She just rests peacefully by Daniel’s side. I open the drawer to the left and pick up the bottle opener, and pop the top. I take a long drink before I reenter the living room.

“I uhh, actually the receptionist at the Boston Globe is really cute. Her name is Daisy. We hit it off a bit when I was there last.” I point to the flowers laid on the shelf. “I stopped by the farmer’s market after work and picked up some daisies. Thought I might ask her out tomorrow.”

“Daisies for Daisy. Real creative, Sam.”

“Hey!”

“How’s Birdie gonna feel about that?” he inquires. I pick up the flowers from where they rest and give them a light sniff. 

“Oh, she’ll hate it. She already chirped me about hitting on Daisy last time we were there. Said something about ‘it's easier watching teenagers flirt.’ or whatever.” I set them back down and take up my spot on the couch. 

“Yeah, you never did have any game.” He tips his corona back, finishing the remaining liquid and setting it on the coffee table.

“You say that like your game is any better.” I shove his shoulder.

“I may be ‘One Date Daniel,’ but at least I get dates.” he chides, linking his fingers together with a crack of his knuckles in front of him and placing them behind his head.

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Chapter Four

Chapter Six

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Frozen in ice |Natasha x Reader

An: it's my first time writing so please your opinion and rebloging matters to help me grow, but only the nice once though I don't count any of your negativity things

Ps. English is not my first language

Reposting and translating my work to any other language is not allowed and any other kind of copycat stuff is prohibited. Happy reading Fellas.

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Just like any other stressful day here in the compound Me and Steve just got back from a last minute undercover operation on a fancy ball in Costa Rica.

After finishing the debriefings and giving the file to Nick and Hill.

we start our trek back into the living quarters area.

And we're currently talking about the things that happened in our lives.

While I'm still wearing a fitted black dress that has a long slit to the side under my coat and also some black high heels

And steve is still also wearing his navy blue suit

"So it's been a while since the incident happened between you and agent Sharon Carter.... any new people you seem to have interest with or some?" I tell Rogers.

"No... and why you seem so interested in my love life?"

"Nothing,just asking because seems like the lady from the diner we went into last day couldn't take her eyes of you and.... I can't believe I'm saying this but she's kinda cute".I smirked at the last part

Steve glance at me " You mean the woman that served us or the lady at the counter? "

"The curly haired woman that served us"

"Huh... yeah she's nice the one with nose piercing?"

"Yeah... Why? You also found her you know... Intresting or something?"

I raised a brow and smirk

"Kinda but the piercing yeah... not ready for that"

"Huh... So if she doesn't have you know any piercing or whatever on her head that is hanging, I mean would you... go for it.... "

"No"

I raised a brow and looked at him

"why?"

Before he could even answer an agent greets us when we enter the lift

"It's just that... it's hard to find someone you hade the same life experiences as you"

"Huh.... you have a point, but if you find that someone or anyone how would you like approach them?" I ask.

The lift opens and we head our way to the dining area

He raised an brow and looked at me "You mean flirt with them?"

"Yeah, Not like Flirt flirt more like you... know...something like how to approach them "

"Why did you ask

I look at him and say

"Nothing... just you know curiosity kills a pig that's all... plus I wanna know how much practice you had"

They reach the dining area where everyone was

"Practice I don't need practice. Why on earth would I need that?"

Natasha Pov's

After a long ass stressful day here in the compound it finally dinner time .

"Hey nat"

wanda greets as she is the one who first acknowledge my appearance, followed by the others.

"Hey" I greet back to them and also notice that both Y/n and Rogers are not here.

'Huh... wierd' I said to my self knowing that Rogers is not that late type of person.

His actually already here with the others every time I arrive that is why it's so strange.

And also Y/n the woman I secretly like for quite a long time now. They must be on a mission.

I mean who wouldn't like her she's beuatiful like me of course.... ,Ok fine as much as it pains me to say this but I gotta admit she is even prettier than me and she is also hot as hell she could be a Victoria Secret model if she is not an agent.

I wonder what type of creature or god mold her perfect beauty.

And also she's clever, wise, smartass, sassy, and maybe  many people would say that she's rude but the truth is she's really kind and caring in her on way.

She doesn't like to show to people but I've seen it quite a few times when we went on a mission and also,when we went grocery shopping she bought like a whole separate grocery basket for a homeless person 2 kilometers  away from here at the compound.

I snap back to reality when someone tap my shoulder "Romanoff", I  quickly twist there arm and bring them to the ground

"OH MY GOD!!"

" SWEET! LORD! JESUS!"

" MY!! GOD!!ROMANOFF!"

"ROMANOFF EASY!!"

"NATASHA"

Then I realized that is was Barton who tap my shoulder and also the that I bring to the ground.

I let go of him and help them get up.

"Jesus clint are you planning to give me a heart attack and that's what you get for scaring me."

"Ok.. first of all that hurts" he said as he rolls around his shoulder.

"And second of all I've been calling you for about a minute straight and your not responding... so sorry if I scared the living shit out of you.." he said as we sat back down

"Whatever..."

"What got you so far from your mind?"

"Nothing"

"We both know that, that nothing means something"

"So what is it"

But before I could answer an arrival of people interrupted us.

And... they have arrive

"Practice I don't need practice. Why on earth would I need that?"

Y/n Pov

"I didn't say anything about you needing practice. I ask about how much practice.... ok let's not say practice 'cuase now I think that's sound so trifling... let's just say... experience. There 'experience'... now let me rephrase the question and answer it. Steve Grant Rogers How much experience have you had with flirting with somebody in your time back then

"Fine many than once."

There satisfied?"

"Oh... real-" before I could finish I didn't realised that everybody is already here.

"Hey you two... how was the mission " Tony ask

"Fine everything goes as

planned. " steve said

"Yup.. Ahuh.. everything goes as planned" I said sarcastically while rolling my eyes.

"What... everything did go as planned" steve answered.

"Yeah everything except the distracting the woman part"

"Well what happened"

"Let's just say I instructed him to flirt with the woman at the bar so I can swooped in and get the USB from the back,but guess what"

"What...? What happened did he peed on his pants" Sam chimed in

"Haha that's hilarious sam"

"I know right"

"No thank God he didn't, but it looks like he almost did" I said smiling

"No. I did not "

I just smiled at him "What matter is we execute and did the job done on time without causing any harm".

"Awhh look at you covering up how awful your flirting skills are..." I said with a sass.

"I- whatever you say. In my defence I did my best to that woman and... the woman wasn't even invlove there".

I smile at him "I know just wanna see how fast can you go from bieng a 0-10... and my..my... if I may say I would rate it a 5 if you aren't that good looking"

"Ouch"

I walked pass him towards the fridge to get my self some refreshing water before turning around to look at him straightin the eye." Looks like your body might be defrosted from the ice but your flirting capability hasn't...." I pause to drink.

"would you want me to go and do you a favor of going down there and check if it still frozen and defrost it for you so you can use it..??" I said it playfully.

He look at me with a slight annoyance in his face "whatever I'm gonna go take a shower" and walks away.

I laugh as he struts away.

"Very clever" Nat said and I just wink at her in response as I also walk away and grabbing my coat along the way to

Get change in my room.

And that dress was already enough to sweep Nat of the feet by the agent but damn she got got her by the hook with that wink.

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