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brunchable · 2 months ago

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Pregnancy Pillow vs Captain America

Pairings: Dad-to-be Steve Rogers x Pregnant Reader. Themes/Summary:Light-hearted. Steve is feeling lonely on his side of the bed, and it's the pregnancy pillow's fault. A/N: I haven't been giving Steve some love lately. . . so here a cute little oneshot of how he will react when y/n brings out the pregnancy pillow. I don't own any of the images ya'll credits to their owners.

tags: @mrsevans90 @haruvalentine4321

Steve comes out of the ensuite after his shower, his white t-shirt clinging to his body and hair damp. He throws you an easy smile, the kind that makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners, as he heads towards the bedroom. But the moment he steps inside, he halts mid-stride, staring at the bed like it’s personally offended him.

There it is again: the pregnancy pillow. An immovable, unforgiving barricade that now divides your once-cozy bed like a dam, stretching from one end to the other. Steve tilts his head, squinting at it as if that might reduce its size.

He throws his hands on his hips and sighs dramatically.

“You know, I fought Hydra,” he says, voice dripping with exasperation. “I’ve been through hell and back. But this—” he gestures to the pillow, “—is the one enemy I can’t seem to defeat.”

You burst into laughter from your side of the bed, propped up by a series of other pillows meant to cushion every conceivable ache or discomfort. “Steve, it’s a pillow.”

“It’s a monstrosity,” he argues. “It’s like the Great Wall of China, but made out of—” he pokes at it cautiously, like it might snap back at him, “—fluffy foam and… whatever this is.” He groans, flopping down onto his side of the bed with a huff.

“Pregnancy pillows are supposed to be supportive,” you say in an exaggeratedly sweet tone, rolling your eyes.

“Supportive?” He scoffs, attempting to squeeze his hand through the tiny gap between the pillow and your hip. “It’s so supportive I need to make an appointment to get within three feet of my wife.”

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you watch him contort, his long arms flailing. “I know it’s not ideal, but I need it, Steve.”

“Why does it have to be so big?” He sounds like a sullen child, tugging at the end of the pillow like he’s considering wrestling it out of the bed entirely. “Can’t they make a smaller one? One that doesn’t make me feel like I’m living on the opposite side of the planet?”

You shake your head. “Trust me, if there were a way to make it smaller and still work, I’d be using it.”

Steve finally manages to get a bit of his arm over the pillow’s edge, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder. He lets out a soft noise of triumph, and then—he leans in close, his forehead almost bumping the pillow’s fabric.

“Hey,” he murmurs, as if the pillow itself is an eavesdropper. “Wanna come over to my side?”

Your laugh breaks out fully then. “Are you trying to seduce me over a pillow, Rogers?”

“Absolutely,” he deadpans, his face all faux-seriousness. He wiggles his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I’ve got ‘plenty’ of space over here, you know. Might be a little lonely, though. Could use some company.”

You lean back into the pillow, giggling at the sight of this fully-grown super soldier pouting at a piece of fabric. “I’m not crawling over this thing. You’ll just have to wait until the baby’s born.”

Steve blinks, his face crumpling in over-the-top shock. “Wait. Until the baby is born? That’s months away!”

“Yup.” You nod solemnly, enjoying the way his mouth drops open.

“Months?” He repeats, shaking his head as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “I’m supposed to be a dad in a few months and I can’t even get a hug?”

You finally give in, shifting to face him.

“C’mere, you big baby.” With some maneuvering, you manage to reach over the pillow, clasping his face between your hands. He grins triumphantly and leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed as if it’s the greatest victory he’s ever won.

Steve kisses your palm, peeking an eye open at the pillow. “We’re not done yet, pillow,” he mutters dramatically, earning another peal of laughter from you.

He straightens and stares at the pillow again, rubbing his chin like he’s trying to come up with a strategy. “Maybe… I can find a way to make this work.”

“Oh really?” you tease. “You’re gonna outsmart a pillow?”

“Absolutely.” He nods firmly. “If I can’t get past it, I’ll just have to—” With sudden determination, Steve heaves his leg over the top of the pillow, straddling it awkwardly like he’s mounting a wild horse. You raise an eyebrow, biting back a grin.

“Steve—”

He shushes you, waving a hand. “Shh. Let me have this.”

You watch, thoroughly amused, as he tries to maneuver his entire body over the pillow without crushing it—or falling off the bed. He flops, shifts, and mutters curses under his breath, but finally—finally—he makes it to your side, lying beside you with a triumphant smirk.

“See?” he pants, a little out of breath. “I did it.”

“Wow,” you say, clapping lightly. “Captain America, conqueror of pillows.”

“Damn right.” He beams at you, his face flushed from the exertion. “Now…” He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close, despite the awkward angle. His hand, large and warm, comes to rest gently on your rounded stomach. His thumb makes slow circles over the fabric of your nightshirt, brushing against the small rise. The smile that spreads across his face is soft, almost reverent.

“Hey there, little one.”

The teasing, playful glint in his eyes fades to something softer, more intense as he gazes down at your belly. His palm splays wide, covering the bump entirely, and he rubs with a featherlight touch. You feel the familiar flutter of movement beneath his hand, and Steve’s entire face lights up.

“Did you feel that?” He whispers, eyes wide with wonder, his breath catching.

You nod, your hand covering his, sharing the moment with him. “That’s your baby, Steve.”

He swallows hard, blinking away the sudden moisture in his eyes as he continues to trace gentle patterns on your skin. “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I can’t believe… this is happening.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, the raw emotion he’s never been able to hide from you. “You’re going to be a wonderful dad.”

He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Only because you’re going to be an amazing mom,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand lingers on your stomach, his fingers spreading as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of it.

The baby shifts again, and Steve lets out a soft laugh, a sound filled with awe. “I’m pretty sure this little one already loves you more than anyone else.”

“And what about you?” you tease, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

He shrugs, eyes still fixed on your stomach. “I’ll just have to win them over.” He glances up, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Starting with getting rid of this pillow.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try, Captain. It stays.”

He sighs dramatically but leans down to kiss your belly one more time. “Okay, okay, you win,” he mutters, though the smile on his face is nothing short of blissful. “For now.”

You lean back, resting your hand atop his, and the two of you stay like that for a while—Steve murmuring quiet promises to the baby, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your belly. Even with the pillow still stubbornly wedged between you, it’s one of the most intimate moments you’ve ever shared.

Steve might be fighting a losing battle against the Great Pillow, but right now, with his hand on your stomach and your laughter filling the room, he’s never felt closer to you.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #captain america x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america x you #captain america imagines #captain america x y/n #captain america x female reader #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfic

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f1fnatic · 6 months ago

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WELCOME TO MIAMI ⤿ l. sargeant 22

→ ( in which. . . ) you are alex's little (half) sister. after inviting you as a guest to the miami grand prix, his teammate falls head over heels. part 1 of ?

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) smau

→ ( face claim. . . ) momona tamada + pictures from pinterest/instagram

→ ( pairing. . . ) logan sargeant x fem!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cursing, fluff, alex trying as a wingman

→ ( author's note. . . ) back again and with another smau! this is my play on he fell first/she fell harder. also, this is to set the plot, part 2 will explore the relationship! i hope you enjoy! see end for more

→ ( masterlist )

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

williamsracing

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, y/nalbonnn, oscarpiastri and 25,907 others

williamsracing hey siri, play welcome to miami by will smith 🎵😎🍹

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─ MESSAGES ↴ (y/n + alex)

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/nalbonnn has added to their story!

view replies

alex_albon see you soon 🙈🙈

y/nalbonnn i cant believe you 🙄

alex_albon you're welcomeeee

lilymhe cant wait to see u !!

y/nalbonnn so excited <3 !!

user5 👀

yourbff i am in your luggage 🫢

─ MESSAGES ↴ (y/n + alex)

─ INSTAGRAM ↴

y/nalbonnn has added to their story!

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alex_albon hehehe 😈

lilymhe surprise!!!! 🎊

y/nalbonnn you guys are so sneaky 🙁

logansargeant cant wait to meet you! y/nalbonnn reacted 💞 to this message

yourbff cant say im surprised

y/nalbonnn me either 🙄

y/nalbonnn

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, lilymhe, yourbff, and 48,923 others

y/nalbonnn need a better tour guide :/

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alex_albon hey 🙁

y/nalbonnn i said what i said.

yourbff stunning!

y/nalbonnn all you babes!

landonorris slowly converting you to mclaren

alex_albon no she already spends enough time over there

user6 shes so pretty

user19 where did you get that shirt?

y/nalbonnn i thrifted it :) !

user65 hope you're having fun!

lilymhe you can run me over and i wouldn't be mad 🤷🏻‍♀️

y/nalbonnn GIRL RUN ME OVER

yourfriend1 pretty girl! liked by y/nalbonnn

georgerussell63 great seeing you again y/n! liked by y/nalbonnn

lilymhe you busy later ???

y/nalbonnn not anymore

alex_albon what the hell 📸😓

logansargeant i can show you around

y/nalbonnn that be nice

user51 mr america shooting his shot ???

user87 i think he took some lessons from mr lando norizz

landonorris i am way better at flirting than that

─ MESSAGES ↴ (alex + logan) (y/n + logan, alex)

idk what is happening but another fic done! this one was super fun to make, i had a great time :D anyways, if you would like to be on the taglist, comment!!! requests and feedback are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well (only if you want :P)

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sassypossum · 21 days ago

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You're Welcome

Steve Rogers x Reader ~ Meet Cute

Reader wears glasses: everyone suffers from social awkwardness, Bucky makes a cameo appearance

“Just great.” You grumbled to yourself. Placing your hands on your hips you craned your neck to squint at the chips on the top shelf. “Of course, they’d move my brand to the top shelf.” With a sigh you laid your purse in your shopping buggy and rolled up your sleeves. Looking both ways to make sure no one was coming you crouched and gave your hips a little warm up wiggle.

“Where there's a will there's a way.” Taking a deep breath, you pushed off the ground, and you just barely brushed the bag with your fingers. Landing on the balls of your feet you shoved a hand roughly through your hair and huffed.

"Excuse me?” A gentle voice broke through your frustration.

“Oh!” Covering your mouth with one hand the other quickly flew to your heart as you flinched. Patting your chest, you narrowed your eyes and turned to find the owner of the voice. “You can’t just come up on someone,” The words dried up on your tongue when you were met with the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. No, that wasn’t quite true. It wasn’t the hue of his eyes that was so striking, it was the subtle hint of something that was dancing just on the edge of description.

“Ma’am?” The stranger was staring at you intently, concern punctuating his furrowed brow.

“Hm?” Your eyes had drifted from his eyes down to his insanely built frame before drifting back towards his face. Slowly your vision cleared, and to your utter horror you realized you’d been gawking. Snapping your mouth shut, you shook your head and coughed. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, dandy!” Closing your eyes, you winced at the crack in your voice. Cracking open one eye, you noticed he was still staring at you in concern. Clearing your throat, you opened your eyes and turned your attention back towards the top shelf. He followed your eyeline.

“Were you trying to reach those?” He nodded towards the chips.

“Yeah, some genius stock person thinks we’re all giraffes.” The stranger chuckled. For some reason, the warm sound sent a fuzzy feeling spreading through your body. Reaching up, he easily swiped a bag from the top shelf and held it out to you.

“Here you go.” Gingerly you took the extended offering, averting your eyes in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice that you’d practically been gaping again.

“Thanks,” Pausing you realized you didn’t even know his name. Folding your arms around the chips, you glanced back up at him. “I don’t know your name.” The stranger tugged on the brim of his baseball cap and coughed. Tilting your head to the side you considered him. For some reason he seemed awfully familiar.

“Steve.” He said quietly. With a gasp you clutched the bag tighter, and your eyes flew open as it all began to make sense. No wonder he looked familiar, this was none other than Captain America.

“Steve as in Steve Rogers?” You inched closer in interest. Steve’s face flushed and he took a step back. One never to be deterred by social etiquette, you inched closer still with a growing smile.

“Ma’am, please.” Steve’s voice had taken on a pleading tone, and it only took a moments observation to realize that you had him practically pinned against the shelving behind him. Quickly you took several steps back to give him breathing room. With a sigh, Steve brushed an invisible wrinkle from his shirt and righted his hat. Entirely unintentionally, you inched closer towards him again.

“Mr. Captain America Rogers, sir, can I ask you a question?”

Steve froze internally at the look in your eyes. He’s seen that look so many times before. And the questions. Always something about the suit, the shield, ‘a day in the life of captain america’, or heaven forbid, some lewd intimations about the… effects of the serum. Still, he didn’t want to seem rude, and so, he steeled himself and gave you a cordial smile.

“Ask away.” His placid expression wavered slightly at the way you quickly looked in both directions before giving him a sly smile and inching even closer. His attention flitted to the poor chip bag in your arms, well not so much a chip bag anymore. Bag of confetti would be a more apt description.

“Mr. Captain America Rogers sir,” Pushing your glasses up your nose, you looked up at him excitedly. Steve fidgeted and folded his arms.

“Please, Steve is fine.” Your smile only grew. You almost chuckled at the unease in his expression when you inched closer.

“Steve, was Don Ameche really as good looking in person as he was on the screen?” Steve stared back at you blankly.

“Don Ameche?” Steve raised a brow at your eager nodding. “I never had the chance to meet him.” At the way your smile faltered, he continued. “Now, the dames really seemed to like Clark Gable.”

“You met Clark Gable?!” Without thinking you reached out excitedly and grabbed his arm, before quickly releasing him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cap, Steve.” You sputtered, wrapping your arms soundly around your bag of chip dust. Steve glanced first from his arm back into your eyes.

“Do you want a different bag?” His eyes dipped towards the bag as if to punctuate his question.

“Oh,” You clutched the bag closer, feeling how broken up the remnants were. Meeting his eye, you chuckled. “Yeah, these are kinda flat.” Steve turned and retrieved another bag.

“Here you go.” He handed you the second bag. Reaching for the second bag you dropped the first, and when you bent to reach for it, you none too gently bumped foreheads with Steve Rogers, or as you’d come to lovingly call him, rock head.

“Ow!” Forgetting the bag, you shot up rubbing an already appearing lump on your forehead. Steve reached out to touch your forehead gently.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, boy did that hurt." Looking up, your breath caught in your throat at how close you were to those gorgeous eyes. "You have lovely eyes." You blurted out and instantly wished the floor would turn into quicksand." Steve coughed, and stepped away from you like you were a burning stove.

Ping.

Steve rubbed his forehead and glanced up at you before checking his phone.

Bucky: get her number, punk.

Pocketing his phone, Steve looked around quickly, taking notice of Bucky standing at the end of the aisle with a smug grin. Narrowing his eyes, Steve motioned for Bucky to go away. The last thing Steve wanted was for him to try getting involved. Bucky shrugged and made his way towards where you were. Steve groaned.

“Hey, Stevie, I was wondering what was taking you so long.” At the sound of a new voice, you snapped to attention and whirled around. Standing next to Steve was a slightly shorter, but no less attractive brown-haired man. The new man gave you a smirk and held out his hand palm up. “Names James, but friends call me Bucky.” You flushed at the casual wink he tossed you.

“Y/N.” You found yourself saying as you reached out to take his hand. Giving it several firm shakes you tried to pull back, but Bucky merely raised your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back. Steve cleared his throat, causing Bucky to glance at him before releasing your hand. Steve stood to the side arms folded, giving Bucky a clearly annoyed expression.

“Well, I hate to break up this party,” Bucky clasped a hand around Steve’s shoulder and gave you a smile. “But, unfortunately we’re running late.” Squeezing his friend's shoulder, he regarded you again. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N, hope to see more of you.” Turning to pass Steve, he leaned in and lowered his voice. “If you don’t get her number, I’ll as her for you.” Steve flushed, and Bucky clapped him on the back with a chuckle. “Hurry up, punk.” This was said loudly enough for even you to hear. Both you and Steve watched Bucky swagger off towards the produce department.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” You said, turning to look at Steve. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth, but you cut him off, reaching for your bag. “Thanks again, Steve, you know, for the assistance.”

“Don’t mention it.” Steve gave you a lopsided grin and rubbed the back of his neck.

“See you around, Steve.” He nodded and watched you walk away.

Ping.

Steve closed his eyes and groaned. It wasn’t the right time. He was still stinging from his last break up. You seemed like a nice lady, he didn’t want to inevitably hurt you. It didn’t make sense.

Ping.

“Make a move, Rogers.” He muttered to himself. When Steve opened his eyes, you were gone. Feeling his stomach drop towards his feet, he quickly made his way to the end of the aisle in time to see you standing in one of the checkout lines, talking to Bucky. Before he could take another step, Bucky turned away from you with a wave and made his way to Steve. You glanced down at your phone.

Ping. Steve whipped his phone out of his pocket.

You: Hi. Looking in your direction, he saw you give him a warm smile before turning back around in line. Bucky snatched the wilted bag of chips out of his hand and clapped him on the back.

“You’re welcome, Steve.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes #meet cute #socially inept

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buckets-and-trees · 6 days ago

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Red, White & True: DC, Tampa, Athens [5/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Late September means things are only accelerating as election day grows closer. Steve is picking up momentum in the polls, and things heat up on multiple fronts before you hit a bump that may shake up the progress between you and your husband.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: You get another West Wing cameo in this chapter (but totally unnecessary to have ever watched the show). This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

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

[SEPTEMBER 26 - WASHINGTON, DC]

The late September sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the campaign's official DC headquarters, casting long shadows across the bustling office space. You're leaning against a desk, watching with amusement as Peter Parker, the youth outreach coordinator who's also become the campaign's unofficial creative director of the TikTok segment of the social media team, attempts to explain the concept for the video to Steve.

"Okay, Cap," Peter says, his enthusiasm palpable as he holds up his phone. "We're going to do a quick transition video. It's super easy, I promise!"

Steve stands in the middle of the room, looking slightly uncomfortable but determined. He's dressed casually in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, a stark contrast to his usual campaign attire. The goal is to remind the voters that Steve is relatable to the everyday American at the end of the day.

Steve nods, a mixture of bemusement and determination on his face. "Alright, Peter. Walk me through it."

Peter's face lights up. "Okay, so you're going to start in your casual clothes, then you'll spin around. As you spin, we'll cut and you'll change into your suit. When you finish the spin, you'll be in full Captain America mode, then we’ll have you spin and change one more time, and we’ll end the video with you in your presidential get up."

"And this will... resonate with young voters?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

You can't help but chuckle. "It's about showing your versatility, Steve. From everyday guy to national hero to the next president in the blink of an eye."

Steve shoots you a playful glare. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one spinning like a top."

Peter positions Steve in front of the camera. "Okay, Cap. Just spin naturally, and we'll take care of the angles and editing.”

As Steve prepares for his first take, Bucky saunters into the room, a smirk playing on his lips. He sidles up next to you, crossing his arms as he watches his best friend awkwardly position himself in front of the camera.

"I'm sure Steve must be loving this," Bucky murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, suppressing a chuckle. "It's written all over his face."

Indeed, Steve's expression is a fascinating mix of determination and mild discomfort, his brow is furrowed in concentration.

The rapport that’s been developing with Bucky over the last few weeks has also been nice. It’s its own brand of friendship, and it’s not rock solid yet, but it’s growing.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, phone at the ready. "On three. One... two... three!"

Steve begins to spin, his movements a bit stiff in the first take.

Peter's enthusiastic voice cuts through the air. "That was great, Cap! Let's try again,” he encourages, not leaving a beat for Steve to feel awkward or like he’s done it wrong. You can tell his approach will make all the difference with Steve.

As Steve prepares for another take, you can't help but admire his willingness to step out of his comfort zone. It's one of the things that's made him such an effective candidate - his ability to adapt and connect with people across generations.

"Okay, this time, try to relax a bit more," Peter suggests. "Just have fun with it!"

Steve spares a glance at you and Bucky, then takes a deep breath, shaking out his arms. "Right. Fun. I can do fun."

Bucky snorts beside you. "This ought to be good."

As Peter counts down again, Steve starts his spin. This time, his movements are smoother, more natural.

"Perfect!" Peter exclaims. "That's the one. Now, let's get you into your tac suit for the next part."

Steve nods, heading towards the makeshift changing area set up in the corner of the room. As he disappears behind the partition, Bucky leans in closer to you.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Steve would be doing social media stunts," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "He's come a long way from the kid who could barely talk to girls in Brooklyn."

You smile, picturing a young Steve Rogers, all skinny limbs and earnest determination. "I bet he was endearing," you say.

Bucky chuckles. "Oh, he was. A real charmer. Couldn't string two words together around a pretty dame, but he had a heart of gold." He pauses, his expression growing more serious. "It's good to see him like this, you know? Engaged with the world, trying new things and connecting with people again. For a while after the Blip, I worried he’d ride off into the sunset forever before the sunset was even really here. We’re out of the century we were supposed to live in, but we’re still here, y’know? Didn’t think it would be this, but it’s not all bad. Pepper wasn’t wrong in choosing him for who he is inside.”

You nod, understanding. “When I met with her about the campaign, she’d sent me the policy materials, the plans, the opposition research detailing his strengths and weaknesses as a candidate, and I was on board to take any position she offered me on the campaign team. I never imagined working on a presidential run, but her vision, her approach? I knew I wanted to be part of it.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “I thought… wait…” he’s mulling over what you said. “So, when you came in, you didn’t know she wanted you to marry Steve?”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh, no! Because that would have been crazy! Who would agree to that?”

Bucky's eyes widen slightly at your revelation. "But you just... agreed on the spot when she proposed it?"

You pause, considering how to respond. The truth is, it had been a whirlwind decision, one that you sometimes still can't believe you made. "Not exactly on the spot," you say carefully. "But...pretty quickly, yeah. It was a lot to take in, but something about it just felt right, you know?"

Bucky nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I get it. Steve has that effect on people. Makes you want to follow him into any fight, even if it's not your own."

Before you can respond, Sam walks in, eyebrows raised at the scene before him. "How’re things going here? I hear we’re starting a dance troupe?"

Bucky chuckles. "Social media campaign. Apparently, the kids these days like watching people spin around and change clothes."

Sam shakes his head, a grin on his face. “Glad I’m not going to miss it.”

“I’m suggesting you go in as back up dancer.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Barnes! You know I’d do it!”

You laugh at the easy banter between Steve’s two best friends, but then the man himself emerges from behind the partition, now clad in his tactical suit. The sight of him in the red, white, and blue outfit isn’t new, but as it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him dressed as Captain America in person, it unexpectedly takes your breath away a little.

Steve takes his position again, looking more at ease now in his familiar uniform. "How's this, Peter?" Steve calls out, adjusting the shield on his arm.

Peter gives him a thumbs up and starts the countdown. This time, Steve's spin is confident and fluid, ending with a slight smirk that's pure Captain America.

"Nailed it!" Peter cheers. "Okay, one more outfit change and we're done."

“Hang on!” Sam calls out. His eyes light up as he looks between you and Steve, a grin spreading across his face. "We've got a golden opportunity here."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Sam rubs his hands together. "Picture this: Captain America, in full uniform, getting a kiss from his lovely wife. It's the perfect Instagram moment!"

Steve's eyes widen slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sam, I don't think-"

"No, no, hear me out," Sam interrupts, warming to his theme. "We've been pushing the whole 'relatable Steve' angle, right? Well, what's more relatable than a guy getting a kiss from his wife? Plus, it ties in the Cap persona.”

Peter's face lights up at the suggestion. "Oh man, that's genius! The engagement would be off the charts!"

Steve looks slightly uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and you don’t know how to feel about it either. "I don't know, guys. Isn't that a bit... much?"

Bucky chimes in, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, give the people what they want."

“Et tu, Brute?” you direct this to Bucky, not at all surprised at the enthusiasm from Sam and Peter, but genuinely shocked he’s jumping on board as well.

Sam turns to you, his expression a mix of excitement and mischief. "What do you say? Want to break the internet with a kiss from Captain America?"

You hesitate, feeling a mix of emotions. On one hand, the idea of kissing Steve - even for a staged photo - sends a flutter through your stomach. On the other, you're acutely aware of the artificiality of the situation and the potential implications for the campaign.

You glance at Steve. His expression is unreadable, but you can see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.

Sam, sensing your hesitation, softens his approach. "Look, I know it might seem a bit much, but think about it. We've been working so hard to show Steve as both the hero and the everyday man. This could be a perfect blend of both."

Peter nods enthusiastically. "I think a good candid shot would be a great way to humanize the campaign. Show that even Captain America has a soft side."

You look back at Steve, and he gives a small nod. You see a mix of emotions in his eyes - uncertainty, but also a hint of something else. Trust, perhaps. "If you're okay with it, I am."

"I’m good," you agree, your heart rate picking up slightly.

Sam claps his hands together. "Great! Peter, get ready with that camera."

As Peter positions himself, you step closer to Steve. He reaches out, gently placing his hands on your waist. The tactical suit feels cool under your fingertips as you place a hand on his chest. You can feel the slight tension in his muscles.

"Ready?" Steve murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, managing a small smile. "Let’s do this," you reply once more because this is its own ‘public appearance’, and so the customary exchange only seems fitting.

Steve’s hands move from your waist around to your back, and he takes a deep breath, looking into your eyes.

You stop breathing for a moment, suspended there in his arms.

“Kiss her, punk!” Bucky shouts, and the electric moment is broken, but you both laugh, and then Steve dips you dramatically and kisses you soundly as you clutch his shoulders. The three men cheer enthusiastically and cat call you when the kiss goes on just another moment or two.

As Steve stands you back up, you both burst into laughter, the tension of the moment dissolving into genuine mirth and camaraderie. His arm is still around your waist, steadying you as you regain your balance. The warmth of his body radiates through the tactical suit, and you find yourself leaning into him slightly, your soft, round body pressing into his hard muscles.

"So, Peter," Steve calls out, his voice still tinged with amusement, "did we nail that shot, or do you need us to try again?" There's a playful glint in his eye as he says this, and you can't help but grin up at him.

Peter, looking slightly flustered but undeniably excited, nods enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, Cap! That was perfect! The internet is going to go crazy over this!"

You start to step away, ready to return to your spot by the desk, but Steve surprises you by gently pulling you back, his arm wrapping around your waist once more. The room seems to fall away as he gazes into your eyes, a softness in his expression that you've rarely seen before. Time slows as he leans in, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek.

His touch is feather-light, his calloused thumb brushing across your cheekbone with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The scent of him envelops you - a mixture of leather from the suit, a hint of aftershave, and something uniquely Steve.

Your heart races as Steve leans in, his breath warm against your lips. For a moment, you forget about the cameras, the campaign, everything except the man in front of you.

Steve's lips brush yours, soft and tentative at first. It's different from the performative kiss moments ago - this feels real, intimate. You respond instinctively, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. The kiss deepens, and you feel a warmth spreading through your body.

Suddenly, you're jolted back to reality by the sound of a throat clearing loudly.

You and Steve break apart, both slightly breathless. The room crashes back into focus, and you're acutely aware of the others watching. Sam has a knowing smirk on his face. Peter looks like he might explode from excitement.

"Well," Sam says, breaking the silence. "I think we've got more than enough material for social media now."

You step back from Steve, feeling the heat creep up your neck. Steve clears his throat, looking slightly flustered himself.

"Right," he says, his voice a bit rough. "I should, uh, go change for the final spin shot."

As Steve disappears behind the partition again, you catch Bucky's eye. He gives you a subtle nod, his expression unreadable. You're not sure what to make of it, but there's no time to dwell on it as Peter starts setting up for the final shot.

You return to your spot by the desk and try compose yourself. Your lips still tingle from the kiss, and you can't shake the memory of Steve's touch.

Bucky sidles up next to you, his voice low as Sam and Peter talk next to you. "That was quite a show," he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You glance at him, unsure how to respond. "It's all part of the job, right?" you say, aiming for nonchalance but not quite hitting the mark.

Bucky gives you a long look, then nods slowly. "Right. The job."

Before you can say anything else, Steve emerges from behind the partition, now dressed in one of his presidential suits - a sharp navy number that accentuates his broad shoulders. You can't help but admire how he carries himself. He exudes a quiet confidence, as ever, a perfect blend of the everyday man and the leader of the free world.

"Alright, Cap," Peter calls out, "let's nail this final spin!"

Steve takes his position, and as he begins to turn, you find yourself holding your breath. The transformation is mesmerizing - from casual Rogers to Captain America to Presidential Candidate, but all of them undeniably Steve.

[SEPTEMBER 27 - TAMPA, FLORIDA]

The campaign has rented out an entire floor of a hotel for debate prep, transforming the spacious suites into makeshift war rooms as Tampa provides some key and convenient access to key southern cities by plane. Maps, charts, and policy briefings cover every available surface, and the air hums with the energy of a team on a mission.

Jake Sullivan, Steve's chief strategist, has pulled out all the stops for this crucial phase of debate preparation. He's brought in Amy Gardner, a seasoned political operative known for her sharp wit and take-no-prisoners approach. Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy commands the room, even though she sits rather casually in an armchair ten feet from Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

Her presence adds an extra edge to the already intense atmosphere. You watch as Amy paces the room, firing off rapid-fire questions at Steve, who stands behind a makeshift podium.

"What's your plan for addressing climate change?" Jake asks, his voice stern.

Steve responds confidently, "We need to transition to clean energy sources while also supporting workers in traditional energy sectors. My plan includes..."

Amy cuts him off, her tone brusque. "Too long. You've got 60 seconds max. Hit the key points and move on."

Steve nods, taking a deep breath. "Right. Clean energy transition. Support for affected workers. Immediate action on emissions reduction."

“Too succinct,” she says.

Steve frowns, clearly trying to find the right balance. Squaring his shoulders, he goes again. "Our climate plan has three key components: First, an aggressive transition to clean energy sources like wind and solar. Second, robust support and retraining for workers in affected industries. And third, immediate action to reduce emissions across all sectors. This isn't just about saving the planet - it's about creating jobs and securing America's energy independence for generations to come."

Amy nods approvingly. "Better. Now, pivot to how this contrasts with your opponent's stance."

Steve's brow furrows in concentration. "Unlike my Republican opponent, who continues to deny the reality of climate change, my plan acknowledges the crisis we face while also prioritizing American workers and innovation. We can't afford to stick our heads in the sand any longer."

"Decent," Amy says, her tone softening slightly.

“Only decent?”

“You didn’t address the Democrats’ policy. Your battle is to convince enough voters in America to break with over two hundred years of choosing between red or blue.”

You can see Steve is fighting back a sigh of frustration.

"Mr. Rogers, your opponent claims your lack of formal political experience makes you unqualified for the presidency. How do you respond?"

Steve takes a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "My experience may not be traditional, but it's been forged in the crucible of protecting this nation and its values. I've led teams through impossible situations, made tough decisions with global consequences, and always put the American people first. That's the kind of leadership experience that truly matters."

Amy nods, but doesn't let up. "Good, but tighten it up. You need to hit harder on your unique qualifications. How do you respond to critics who say your experience is outdated?"

"I'd say that my unique perspective allows me to see both where we've been and where we need to go," Steve begins, his voice steady. "I've seen this country at its best and its worst. I understand the challenges we face because I've lived through similar ones before. But I also understand the incredible potential of our future because I've seen how far we've come."

You can’t help but feel inspired by that answer, but Amy's eyes narrow, her expression sharpening. "Not bad, but you're still playing it too safe. Your opponents will come at you hard. Let's ramp this up."

She stands and begins pacing in front of Steve like a shark. "Mr. Rogers, your critics say you're nothing more than a science experiment gone right. How can you claim to represent the average American when you're literally superhuman?"

Steve's jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. "I may have enhanced abilities, but my values and my heart are as human as anyone's. I grew up in Brooklyn during the Great Depression. I know what it's like to struggle, to feel powerless. The serum didn't change that part of me."

Your heart swells, but again Any interjects again.

"Weak," she says, her voice cutting. "You're not connecting. Try again."

Your mouth drops open slightly. That was powerful. You know it was.

Steve takes a deep breath, his knuckles whitening as he grips the podium. “I’m not a monkey on a unicycle.”

“Well, what a great start. No one wants a monkey in the White House,” she deadpans.

“I don’t need this. We did just fine in the first debate without you,” Steve nearly growls.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were aiming for just fine, I thought you wanted to win.”

Steve's eyes flash with a mixture of anger and frustration. The tension in the room is palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. You can see the muscles in his jaw working as he grinds his teeth, trying to maintain his composure.

"I'm not here to play games or put on a show," Steve says, his voice low and controlled, but with an undercurrent of steel. "I'm here because I believe in this country and what it can be. I've fought for it, bled for it, and yes, even died for it. So don't tell me I'm not connecting."

Amy opens her mouth to retort, but Steve cuts her off.

"I've seen this nation at its best and its worst," Steve goes again, his voice growing louder, more impassioned as he speaks. "I've watched it rise from the ashes of the Great Depression, triumph over fascism, and push the boundaries of human achievement. But I've also seen it torn apart by fear, prejudice, and greed."

His eyes blaze with an intensity that seems to electrify the air around him. The room falls silent, everyone transfixed by the raw emotion in his words.

"I may have been enhanced by science, but my heart, my values - they come from growing up as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn who couldn't stand by and watch bullies win. They come from the men and women I fought alongside, who gave their lives for the ideals this country stands for."

Steve's fist comes down on the podium with a resounding thud, causing several people to jump.

"I'm running for president not because I think I'm better than anyone else, but because I believe in the promise of America - a promise that's been broken too many times for too many people. I've seen what this country can do when we come together, when we fight for what's right. And I'm here to tell you, we can do it again."

Steve's voice rings out, filled with passion and conviction. The room is dead silent, everyone hanging on his every word.

"So no, I'm not a traditional politician. I don't have decades of experience playing political games or making backroom deals. What I have is a lifetime of standing up for what's right, of putting others before myself, of believing that we can always be better. I'm running because I believe in the power of ordinary people to do extraordinary things when given the chance."

He pauses, his chest heaving slightly as he looks around the room. The silence is deafening, everyone ensnared by the raw power of his words.

"That's what this campaign is about," he says, his voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "It's about reminding every American that they have the power to shape this nation's future. That their voice matters, their dreams matter, this country over politicians and political agendas. It’s not a show to me.”

Steve strides away from the podium and walks out, and no one stops him. No one even moves until the weighted door to the suite swings closed again. Jake and Elsa begin conferring. Amy seems unconcerned. You’re sitting with Bucky and Sam, who exchange a look, and Bucky moves to stand, but you’re quicker.

“Let me go after him,” you find yourself saying, surprised at how fast you were to seize this situation, almost like a natural instinct.

You hurry out of the room, scanning the hallway for any sign of Steve. You catch a glimpse of his broad shoulders disappearing around a corner and quicken your pace to catch up.

"Steve!" you call out, your voice echoing slightly in the empty corridor.

He stops, his back still to you, shoulders tense. As you approach, he turns slowly to face you. The fire in his eyes has dimmed, replaced by a weariness that tugs at your heart.

"Hey," you say softly, closing the distance between you. "That was... intense back there."

Steve runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. It's just..." He trails off, shaking his head.

You reach out, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Amy was pushing hard. Maybe too hard."

He looks down at your hand, then up to your face. “I’m fine.”

“I think you’ve told everyone you’re fine every day of your life, Steve Rogers, and no one needs to exist like that.”

Steve cocks his chin slightly. “But the President of the United States should have it together, shouldn’t they? People want a leader they can trust.”

You smile, but it’s not a happy smile, and his expression matches yours.

“Can I ask…?” you venture cautiously.

He nods. “Wife privileges. You can ask whatever you want. Wife duties, probably, to ask me questions I don’t want to hear.”

Wife. A flutter flares in your stomach, but you force yourself to concentrate on the moment, furiously tamping down your reaction.

He resumes walking down the hallway, but more slowly this time, and you fall into step with him as you pursue your curiosity. “A monkey on a unicycle is an oddly specific and highly uncommon comparison to bring up. Is that some reference from your time?”

Steve huffs and his eyes fill with a mix of nostalgia and resentment as he begins to speak. His voice is heavy with emotion as he remembers his past. “I used to sketch a lot when I was young. We didn't have much during the depression, but my ma always managed to scrimp and save enough to buy me a notebook for Christmas or my birthday. It stuck with me up through joining the Army.”

His expression turns somber as he continues, "And after the serum changed my body but I was put on tour to encourage people to buy bonds, it just felt...underwhelming. Discouraging. I knew I could be doing more, making a real difference. But I did what I could - I knew raising money still helped.”

You reach the end of the hallway and stand next to each other, looking out the window.

“When they sent us out to Europe to entertain the troops, it only got worse. The last day I performed, for the 107th regiment, I was heckled and booed off stage."

Steve's hands clench into fists at his sides, "I drew a silly picture of a monkey riding a unicycle; it felt like that's all I was worth to them - just another pawn in their production."

You want to reach for his hand, but it doesn’t seem like the moment. So you simply continue to listen.

“That ended up being the last day I performed a show. I found out part of the company had been captured, stuck behind enemy lines. I disobeyed direct orders, found the men, saved Bucky. After that, everything finally changed, and we got to go to work, doing good, fighting Nazis and Hydra.”

A slight smile tugs at Steve's lips as he finishes his story, "I never wanted to feel like that monkey again. But the closer we get to election day, the more this feels like just a production.”

You stay silent for a moment, mulling over the pieces of his past and the feelings he’s just shared. This isn’t an easy conversation, and it’s not the conversation you thought you would have coming out here, but you’re grateful the two of you are having it together.

You aren’t by any means a seasoned politician either, but you had seen and had to at some points play at politics in your own work. “It’s all a show, there’s no denying that. But you’re not the monkey unless you sit back and let that be the reality.”

“How do you figure that?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Steve, you knew from the beginning that this campaign would be a production. You agreed to it - all of it. Including," you gesture between the two of you, your voice softening, "this arrangement. Marrying a woman you'd never even met before."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passing through them. You continue, your voice gentle but firm.

"You didn't do all this just to be a figurehead or a puppet. You did it because you want to be president. You want to be the one steering the strategy, calling the shots, making real change." You pause, making sure he's really listening. "This campaign isn't just about winning an election. It's preparation for the presidency itself."

You turn to face him fully, your eyes never leaving his. "This campaign, as frustrating and exhausting as it can be, is its own kind of preparation for the presidency. Think about it - you're dealing with conflicting advice, responding to the platforms from the candidates and how they overlap and differ from your own, connecting directly with the people across the country, making tough calls on what is and is not a priority.”

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considers your words. You can see the wheels turning in his mind, processing this perspective.

"You're right," he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I did agree to all of this." He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you've noticed he has when he's deep in thought. "I just want it to mean something. To be more than just sound bites and photo ops."

You nod, understanding his frustration. "It does mean something, Steve. Every interaction you have, every speech you give, every policy you propose - it all matters. You're not just going through the motions. You're shaping the conversation, influencing people's thoughts and beliefs about what this country can be."

Steve's eyes meet yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper there.

"She’s right, Rogers,” a voice behind you makes you both jump and turn.

“This isn't just about winning,” Amy emphasizes. “It's about learning how to navigate the complexities of leading a nation, finding your presence as the leader of the free world, as commander in chief, winning the trust of the American people.

“The debates, the press conferences, the tough decisions you'll have to make as president - they won't always be fair or comfortable. That’s why I pushed you. You won’t answer every debate question like that, but I needed to know you could go there. That’s the kind of president America wants, but they don’t know it until they see it. If you can shake them to their bones, you’ll change hearts and minds.”

Steve smiles at her half in kindness, half in disbelief. “You say all of that pretty casually.”

Amy shrugs and returns the smile. “Because it’s true. I’m done beating you up now that I know you can go the rounds. If you want me to leave, I will, but I’m game to stay if you’re game for slightly less intense verbal sparring.”

“Oh, I can do this all day.”

[SEPTEMBER 28 - ATHENS, GEORGIA]

The campaign plane hums with activity in the minutes before take off. This cabin is filled with members of the press corps, their laptops open and fingers poised over keyboards, eager for any morsel of information they can turn into their next headlines.

Steve looks almost relaxed. His tie is loosened and sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The energy from the successful event you just wrapped up at the University of Georgia still lingers in the air. This was the fourth event of its kind - a town hall format called College Q&A limited to students and granting them access to dialogue with Steve. You can't help but feel a sense of pride as you recall how he connected with the students, his earnest answers and quick wit seeming to win over even the most skeptical audience members.

It’s become routine that Steve always takes questions from the press corps when he boards the plane before heading to the campaign team cabin, and he’s truly at ease with them in this interaction.

“We’ll take one more,” the campaign spokesperson announces to let both Steve and the reporters know it’s almost time for take off.

“Andy,” Steve calls on one of the familiar faces - the reporter from The Washington Post.

“Yes, Captain, do you have any response to Jeff Connor’s comments about your relationship with Mrs. Rogers?”

Steve's whole demeanor immediately turns serious, his jaw clenching. "I haven't heard Connor's specific comments, so I can't respond directly. My relationship with my wife is personal, and it's not up for debate or speculation."

He pauses, his eyes scanning the cabin before continuing. "What I will say is that she has been an incredible partner, both personally and for this campaign. Her intelligence, compassion, and dedication inspire me every day to be a better person and a better leader."

Steve's gaze softens a fraction as he glances in your direction. "I'm grateful she agreed to take this journey with me."

The press corps erupts with follow-up questions, but Jake holds up a hand. "That's all for now, folks, you know they won’t take off until we’re all seated and we don’t want to miss our take-off window. Thank you."

You, Steve, and the rest of your staff head into the first campaign cabin, and as soon as the door is shut, the atmosphere shifts. The professional masks slip away, replaced by a mix of concern, curiosity, and irritation. Jake immediately pulls out his phone, you assume to get the quote in question.

Elsa, your communications director, is already pulling out her laptop as she settles into a seat across from Steve. "That was the perfect response back there. Quick and heartfelt. It'll play well, especially given the context of Connor's comments."

Your personal aide Sophia is already handing you a tablet to read the quote. "Here, ma’am. It came out during the Q&A, and everyone got wind of it as we were boarding the plane."

You take the tablet, your eyes quickly scanning the headline: "Jeff Connor Speaks Out: 'I Hope They're Happy Together'" The article features a quote from Connor: "I wish them both the best. Marriage isn't easy, especially in the public eye. I just hope they've found happiness together."

You pass it over to Steve and then chew on your lip, pulling out your own phone.

It only takes him a moment to read as well. "Thanks,” Steve's brow furrows as he loosens his tie further and passes the tablet back to Sophia. “This seems fine, unless I’m missing something. But who is this guy, and why would we care what he thinks of our marriage more than anyone else?"

A beat of silence falls over the cabin. You can feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on you, a mixture of surprise and shock in their gazes.

“Okay, I’m clearly the only one who doesn’t know,” Steve concedes, a shade of irritation bleeding through his tone, “Anyone care to enlighten me?”

You take a steadying breath, then look up at Steve and say, “Jeff Connor is my former husband.”

next part: coming 11/29

I'll just say that I've been waiting for this chapter in the story almost from the beginning. 😌

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

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

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x yn #red white & true #aspen wrote something

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credince--writes · 2 years ago

Text

Scary Dog

You need a new printer. Sometimes you need to bring negotiation aids.

Useless, shitty little one-shot because I need something else to work on.

Konig x Medic!Reader

Scary dog privileges

Your pen tapped against the desk you sat at. The smell of sanitizer and printer ink was fresh on your nose.

And, well your skin too.

That goddamn printer, it was always breaking, half of the time you thought it would just catch fire.

It would be easier that way if it just did, then you'd be able to get a new one.

But, alas, you weren't the head bitch of the armed-with-alcohol-pads crew. That lovely position was reserved by Lud.

All the other doctors lovingly refer to him as Dud.

Because that is what he is.

A Dud.

A lazy, selfish, piece of-

You were getting sidetracked.

He would always deny your requests for a new printer, and at this point, it was a hindrance to your job.

The black ink splattered all over you, staining your shirt and skin was proof of that.

You prided yourself in your work,

your efficiency.

Your ability to get the things others couldn't get done, done.

Just so happened that because of this, you got the....

How could you phrase it?

Well,

you got the scary dogs.

They were big, and they looked mean as hell.

But all it took was a threatening glance and they were rolling over showing their soft puppy bellies to her.

Maybe it was the dum dums you brought back from America to give them as a treat for being a good patient.

"That's it!" You slapped your hands on your desk, throwing the muddled papers scatted across the floor as you swiped your arms across the desk.

All of the papers were useless, all thanks to that fucking printer.

Stomping out of your little office, you made your way through the hallway and into the main living space for the team.

"I need a dog!" You yell, catching everyone in the space's attention.

"What?" One of the men ask.

You promptly ignore him, scanning the room and walking- angrily - might you add to find the perfect scary dog.

"A big- scary fucking dog!" You flail your arms in the air.

And your eyes landed on him.

Oh.

He'd do.

He'd do just fine.

"König." You call out, sickly sweet.

He was already staring at you, giving you a cautious glance.

"Did you fight an octopus, doctor?" He asks.

His accent, it was thick.

Just like the rest of him, you suppose.

Music to your ears.

"Would you please accompany me to Doctor Dud?"

He stands, lifting his body to its natural heigh, towering above you.

Perfect.

"Is everything alright?"

"I just need you... to be my big scary dog." You smile.

That smile could make him do horrible things.

"Uh...?" He asks, confused.

"Be intimidating. Be my persuasion, can you do that for me? Please König?" You bat your eyelashes- not too much. A subtle blink or so.

His name falling off your lips.

He had to catch himself for falling forward as he zoned out, looking down at you as you so sweetly begged for his presence.

"Of course." He nodded.

"Great!" You grinned, that evil toothy Cheshire smile.

Pulling him along- not this his long stride took up two of yours- you stood outside of Dud's office. Knocking on the door twice, you pushed the door open and made eye contact with him.

He never really took the time to work with the special teams.

They were a little rowdy for him.

"What do I owe the pleasure....." His voice trailed off, looking up and meeting the narrow, deadly gaze of König.

"Oh, I think the printer is on the fritz again!" You laughed lightly, innocently.

Oh, how evil.

"... I can see that." He said.

"I think it would be best if I just got the new printer." You said, tilting your head to the side. "You see, König was in my office but he can't go about his day until his paperwork gets finished!" You laughed.

"Well... I don't think a new one is in the cards right now-"

"Oh no!" You fake pouted. "I'd hate to cause your mission to delay König." She glances up at him.

His eyes were fixed on Dud.

His presence loomed.

It was as if he sucked the heat from the room, leaving the air in a suffocating freeze.

"Oh- well-" Dud stammers.

"We wouldn't want to cause any inconveniences to König here, would we?" You ask innocently.

Dud swears that a red glint flashes in König's eyes.

"Of course not!" He all but heaves out, sweat collecting on his brow.

"So, new printer?" You ask happily.

"I'll have it brought down right away."

"Great!" You smile, turn, and quickly walk out of the door.

König doesn't move, opting to leave an impression by standing there in silence a few seconds longer, staring into his soul.

"König!" You call.

His head snaps back, releasing him from his trance. He spins on his heel and quickly exits the room, tailing you.

Man, maybe next you could get new linens!

#könig x reader #könig x you #mwii #call of duty mw2 #König

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azriona · 24 days ago

Text

Coffee Thievery

Pre-Bucky/Reader, ~500 words, Rated Gen (it's a meet-cute, guys, keep your clothes on). Set in the Not a Fairy Tale Kiss 'verse but not necessary to read that to enjoy this very fluffy ficlet. Today is Election Day and I wanted to give you a little bit of fluff on what is sure to be a stressful day. Please remember to vote if you're eligible and take care of yourselves! No coffee was harmed or spilled in the making of this ficlet.

Summary: It is a perfectly normal morning in Avengers Tower, and you are on a perfectly normal mission to steal Clint’s coffee, when a complication turns up at the breakfast table.

Read it on AO3 or just read it here!

The op is going perfectly when you realize you’ve been made.

It’s not your fault. Everything had been going exactly to plan: Clint’s coffee is sitting on the table, exactly where he always puts it. He’s forgotten the sugar – again, it’s a very reliable failing – and it’s not on the table like it usually is because you made sure of that as soon as you’d gotten back from the mission the night before.

So Clint’s digging in the deep well that is the pantry, trying to find the sugar, and you’re sneaking around the side like Indiana Jones, and that’s when you realize that it’s not just Clint in the pantry and Natasha on the couches reading her book.

It’s also the guy sitting at the other end of the table, holding his own mug of something and frowning at you like he’s about to blow your cover.

He’s cute, especially with his nose wrinkled like that, all frowny-faced. His hair’s dark brown and tucked behind his ears, like he normally wears it short but has missed a haircut or three, and you can tell even from here that his eyes are the bluest blue to ever blue. He’s wearing layers of soft cotton shirts and a strange shiny glove on one hand and he’s so clean-shaven you can see the slightly reddened skin, as if it’s been a while and he couldn’t wait another minute.

A little disappointing; a bit of stubble would probably look good on him. Contemplating how he would look more disheveled is probably why you’re distracted from your goal long enough to let him open his mouth, like he’s about to announce your presence.

You quickly start motioning to him Stop stop stop! Shut up shut up shut up! Slashing at your throat, one finger over your mouth, mouthing no no no, the works.

He stares at you, still incredulous, mouth open, before turning to look at Natasha.

Natasha looks up, looks at you, looks at Mysterious But Adorable, shrugs, and turns a page in her book.

MBA just looks back at you, still incredulous, but you grin and ease forward to slowly remove your goal from the table.

You’re already at the door to the stairwell for your exit when you hear Clint talking.

“We need to order more—fuck. Barnes! I thought you were watching my coffee!”

“I was,” says MBA – Barnes, apparently.

Barnes. Oh. It clicks.

“You were.”

“Yeah, I watched it as someone came in here, took it, and left again.”

“You…” Clint’s sputtering now.

“She went to the elevators,” offers Barnes helpfully, “if you want to try to catch her.”

“That little minx, I’m gonna—”

The door to the stairwell (conveniently on the other side of the floor from the elevators) closes quietly behind you so you can’t hear the rest of the exchange.

Which is really kind of too bad, because if that was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, fabled war hero, Captain America’s best friend, and just-returned-last-night-from-that-mission-no-one’s-telling-you-about, then he totally had your six and you kinda want to thank him.

(With your tongue. No no, bad thought, put that away, the guy was a brainwashed assassin for decades, you are absolutely Not Allowed to think about a teammate like that, nopity nope.)

(Well. Maybe once would be okay.)

It’s gonna be a great day, you think cheerfully, as you take a sip of Clint’s coffee and head down to Tony’s lab.

Read the rest of the series on AO3.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #pre-relationship #meet cute

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heich0e · 2 years ago

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take it easy baby, make it last all night - iwaizumi hajime/f!reader (1.5k) tags: cali!iwa, college!iwa, tit worship, dry humping, mentioned cumming in pants, no actual sex (sorry fellas), bi iwa is canon and if you disagree you're a coward xo!

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+

iwaizumi's biggest culture shock when he moves from japan to california for school isn't the different language, the heat, or even the party culture at UCI.

it's the SKIN.

hajime has never stopped to consider the conservative conventions of his home country at any great length, since it's all he's ever known. but suddenly he's in sunny SoCal, and everywhere he looks he's met with glimpses of exposed skin—of parts of strangers' bodies he never thought he'd see.

it flusters him at first; never quite sure where to look when he's speaking to a girl in a low-cut crop top, or a guy he meets out on a jog who'd forgone a shirt. but he acclimatizes to it eventually. comes to appreciate it in many ways, too.

take the humble tube top, for instance.

sure he likes bikinis, and mini skirts, and those skimpy skin-tight dresses girls wear on nights out. he likes those tiny running shorts that ride up on the track teams thighs when they go out for runs on campus near the athletics building, muscle tees cut low under the arms that the guys at the gym wear, or those grey-sweatpants whose infamy hajime has come to understand.

but there's something about tube tops that he just adores.

or, at least, something about you wearing one.

he's been watching you quietly for most of the night, flitting around the party like you normally do, nursing your drink in small sips to make it last. your tube top clings snugly to your chest, and fuck he's pretty sure you're not even wearing a bra underneath it. he watches the way your body moves, the way the top moves with it. the way your tits lift and settle again, pretty and soft, each time you subtly adjust the top with a little tug.

you gravitate towards him in intervals throughout the night, like a moth to a flame.

that's another thing hajime's come to like about america: no one bats an eye at PDA.

you sit comfortably in his lap on the sofa at the house party, playing with his fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. your body is warm. his body is warm. the party's crowded, the little house off campus jammed with students and driving the temperature up, but still he keeps you exactly where you are with his arm looped around your waist.

"hey," you say, peeking back at him over your shoulder after a while of idly tracing your fingertips along his knuckles. "you having fun?"

he is, but probably not for the reasons you think. he couldn't care less about the merriment around him: the happiest he's been all night are the moments where you've drifted back within arm's reach. he nods anyway.

you pout a little, and it surprises him.

"you wanna get outta here?" he asks curiously, picking up on your unvoiced disappointment. your eyes watch his lips as they shape the question, and then flicker back up to his.

"yeah."

the first year hajime spent in california, he lived in a tiny UCI dorm. the second, he moved into a small apartment off campus with some friends he'd met at school. the apartment isn't luxurious by any stretch of the imagination. it's austere; spartanly decorated; and with four college-age boys living in it, it isn't always the tidiest place. but one thing he appreciates about his living arrangement is that on a friday night, the place is usually empty.

not to mention it has a double bed.

hajime has you sprawled across it almost as soon as the two of you stumble through his bedroom door. you laugh a little at his eagerness as you tip back onto the mattress, bouncing lightly atop the padded springs, and then he's crawling in overtop of you, pressing his mouth against yours.

he's greedy as he kisses you, like he's making up for all the times he thought about it while he watched you that night from afar. his hands are just as intrepid, drifting along your body in careful but keen grazes and gropes. everything about you is so soft—it makes his head spin how delicate every part of you he touches feels. the soft swells of your curves, the silkiness of your skin, the little sounds he pulls from you when the presses against the places you like most.

he leans back on his knees, poised between your parted thighs as you lay flat on your back underneath him, and finally—after hours of praising its very existence—hajime tugs down the neckline of your tube top.

your chest spills out as the thin material is drawn away by a single finger looped under the edge as leverage. as your skin, all of your skin, is bared to him, hajime finds himself once again so so pleased with his decision to study abroad.

god bless america has never rung so true.

"fuck, you're so pretty," hajime groans, cupping a hand around each of your tits and pressing them together. you laugh but it's a breathy sound, more air than anything. his thumbs skim gently against the edges of your nipples, working them into stiff little peaks. after a moment, he dips down and catches one in his mouth, closing his lips around it so his tongue can take up the task.

he continues like this for a while, alternating between each breast, switching from his hands to his mouth as he lavishes your skin with attention and sates the thirst that had built throughout the evening. when he opts to use his hands, his mouth quickly finds its way to somewhere else, keeping itself occupied—your collarbones, your throat, your jaw, your lips. he kisses every inch of you that he can reach, but pays special attention to any little freckle or mark he finds along his way, dragging the tip of his tongue against them like he's savouring the taste of them most.

the two of you have been grinding lazily against each other while he devours you. iwa’s straddling one of your trembling thighs, his knee pressed firmly against the seam of your tiny denim shorts, and his painfully hard cock is pinned against your hip as he holds himself up over you. your tube top is still rucked down around your ribs, and iwa’s own t-shirt had been hastily tugged off over his head at some point during the excitement.

"hajime," you pant, tugging against the short hair at his nape as he suckles a bruise into the top of your left breast. he draws back only enough to meet your eyes, though his are unfocused and heavy-lidded, and his warm breath catches on the wet mark of spit left where his lips had just been attached. you look similarly wrecked: lips swollen and kiss-bruised, your stare glassy, your skin dewy with the flush of perspiration. your lips are still parted after having uttered his name so desperately.

that’s another thing iwa likes about it here. he likes being called by his name.

especially like this.

hajime rocks his hips against your own again, pressing his knee against you a little harder, groaning and he dips down and nips at your skin once more.

“i think i’m gonna cum,” he admits through gritted teeth, half-embarrassed and half-recklessly chasing the high he feels cresting in the pit of his stomach. he’s barely even touched you yet—at least not in any way that counts—but seeing you like this in his bed, tasting you in the way he has been, feeling your body react underneath his own, it’s all just a bit too much.

you could chide him for his clumsy eagerness and he wouldn’t even blame you for it, he feels like a pent-up teenager when he gets like this. but you don’t tease him, or reprimand him. instead, you take his cheeks in your hands and guide his lips back up to yours, letting his tongue slide—hot and wet and indecently noisy—against your own.

“cum then,” you whisper into his mouth, canting your hips up to meet the next roll of his. “wanna feel it, haji.”

and fuck if it’s not the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

iwaizumi moans brokenly, his hips picking up a steadier rhythm as he ruts against you. he’s being greedy, he knows that, but how could he deny you your request when you posed it so sweetly?

but he’ll make you feel good afterwards, just like he always does. unclasping the button at the waist of those tiny shorts, peeling them down with the same reverence he’d paid to your top and turning his rapt attention to what he bares there in just the same way too.

it’s friday night in sunny southern california, after all. and hajime intends to make the most of every minute.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing

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