#Steve Rogers political au

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

I fucking love when Steve is in these political aus. I love a slow burn and a power couple. I'm so excited to go along on this ride!

Red, White & True: Las Vegas & Cleveland (2/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4k Summary: Three months has raced by since you agreed to join the campaign team of Rogers for America as Steve runs for President of the United States of America. You've settled in and are starting to hit your stride campaigning, but what the state of affairs for your marriage?

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

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[SEPTEMBER 2 - Las Vegas, Nevada]

“Mrs. Rogers!” “Mrs. Rogers!”

You exchange a brief look with your assistant Sophia. She nods to wordlessly confirm that you have a few moments and should engage with the press. Taking a deep breath, you turn and approach the bank of reporters waiting and eager to regale you with questions.

There are a few familiar faces who’ve been consistently covering the Rogers for America campaign, some of them even assigned specifically to report on you - mostly friends, but some that could be categorized in the foe column.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and your husband are in the same city for the first time in eighteen days.” This is one of the faces you aren’t familiar with in the gaggle of press. “Are you looking forward to being reunited as you support him in the first presidential debate tonight?”

Eighteen days… You hadn’t realized it had been that long, but you’ve become a trained professional when appearing in public now, and you don’t let your face betray any shock or unease.

“Yes, we’re eager to spend time together.” Consummate professional that you’ve become, you do play into showing a little bit of surprise. “Has it been eighteen days? Who’s been tracking this? Clearly we need you on our campaign team!”

It garners some good-natured laughs from the group.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and Steve had to cancel the traditional honeymoon, has it put a strain on your marriage, and will you be taking a honeymoon any time soon?”

“Oh, Ben, are you saying this isn’t a honeymoon? I thought all newlyweds took a five-month long zig-zagging trek all across America to kick off their marriage!”

A few more laughs.

“Steve is serious about this campaign, and we both knew the sacrifices we would be making along the way. Our time together is very limited, but I can tell you, without question, that Steve will be as dedicated to his roles and responsibilities as President as you have seen him be to this campaign. One thing we speak about frequently when we do have time together are the incredible people we’re meeting as we travel from state to state and get to talk with you, see what your life looks like in each new place.” This is true. It’s become one of the unspoken safe topics you can bring up at the drop of a hat with each other. “We’re getting the opportunity to experience first-hand that although we’re all so different, there’s so much that unites us as Americans, shoulder to shoulder, regardless of the part of the country we live in.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Sophia steps up and cuts in. “I’m sure we’ll see you all tonight at the debate. A reminder that the Rogers for America campaign will hold a brief press conference ten minutes after the debate concludes. For now, you have to let me get Mrs. Rogers in the car and on the way to the university or we’re not going to beat traffic - and neither will any of you.”

Then Sophia ushers you away, and you slip into the vehicle waiting for you both.

“Good answers,” she says, as the driver pulls away. “You’re really becoming comfortable fielding their questions and directing their energy where we want to see it go.”

You smile at Sophia's praise. She’s genuine but very no-nonsense, so she doesn’t throw out compliments to placate you or anyone else. It’s one of the reasons you promoted her to your assistant. "Thanks. I do feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. Though I have to admit, I was a bit thrown by that '18 days' comment."

Sophia nods sympathetically. "I know. It's been a whirlwind, but you're doing great. The public loves you, and your approval ratings are holding steady."

You lean back in your seat, letting out a small sigh. "Approval ratings. Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life now."

As the car weaves through traffic, your mind drifts back to the past few months. The whirlwind wedding, the campaign launch, the endless string of rallies, interviews, and public appearances. You've barely had a moment to catch your breath, let alone get to know your husband.

Steve. Your husband.

In name and public persona only, it seems. The campaign trails that are being charted and continually adjusted for you, Steve, the VP nominee, and his wife, have all four of you covering as much ground as possible, and there’s rarely any overlap, but it does seem like you’re rarely with the Mr. to your Mrs. It makes things simultaneously more and less complicated. More complicated because the lack of time together means it’s more awkward that you’re still basically acquaintances but have to look the part of happy newlyweds. Less complicated because at least you’re not messing with any deep or complex feelings.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Sophia's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

You straighten up, smoothing down the front of your outfit. "As ready as I'm going to be. What's on the agenda before the debate?"

Sophia consults her tablet. "You have a meet and greet with the VP and a group of the local campaign volunteers. Steve should be arriving about forty-five minutes before the debate starts. Twenty minutes before the debate, you all have a brief prep session with the communications team - updates on the developments over the day and reviewing the message for tonight."

You nod, trying to ignore the small flutter in your stomach at the mention of Steve's name. It's ridiculous, you tell yourself. You're married to the man, for goodness sake. And you both know it’s a marriage for the stability of this campaign and the future presidency.

The car pulls up to the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Nevada, and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the chaos that awaits. As you step out, you're immediately greeted by flashing cameras and shouts from the crowd. You smile and wave, but don't stop to answer any questions as you make your way inside, following someone from the debate logistics team to get to the staging and holding area.

Backstage is a flurry of activity. Campaign staffers rush back and forth, last-minute preparations are being made, and there's an electric tension in the air. Your eyes scan the room, looking for one person in particular.

And then you see him. Steve is standing off to the side, deep in conversation with one of the communications strategists. Even after all these months, the sight of him still takes your breath away. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably handsome in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he listens intently to the woman in front of him.

As if sensing your presence, Steve looks up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. His face softens slightly, and he excuses himself from the conversation, making his way over to you.

"Hey," he says softly as he approaches, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. It's for show, you know, it’s important that even your own campaign staff thinks this marriage is more than surface level, and you stifle the small thrill that runs through you at the gesture. It’s only a gesture.

"Hi," you reply, managing to offer up an encouraging smile. "How are you feeling? Ready for tonight?"

Steve nods, his expression determined. "As ready as I'll ever be. We still have a long weeks ahead, but I think we're in a good position - and that’s what they keep saying across the team at this point."

You nod, studying his face. Despite his confident words, you can see the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. You've learned to read these subtle signs over the past few months, even with your limited time together.

"You've got this, Steve," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture feels both natural and strange - you're still navigating the boundaries of your unique relationship. "Just remember why you're doing this. Speak from the heart, like you always do."

Steve's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flash of vulnerability there. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "I -”

But before he can say the rest of what he was going to, Sophia approaches, tablet in hand. "Mrs. Rogers, we need to go to the reception with the volunteers from the local campaign team."

[SEPTEMBER 7 - Cleveland, Ohio]

The campaign strategy meeting is in full swing, the air thick with tension and the buzz of caffeine-fueled ideas. You're seated at a long table in a nondescript hotel conference room, surrounded by a sea of laptops, notepads, and half-empty coffee cups. The walls are covered with maps, poll numbers, and hastily scribbled strategies.

Steve sits at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the latest polling data. You're positioned a few seats away, close enough to appear united, but not his most trusted. Sam, Bucky, the VP nominee Young and his assistant, the campaign press secretary, the communications director, all sit closer to or directly across from Steve, at the heart of the table. But you are closer than the finance director, legal advisor, speech writers, and the policy directors.

You're seated next Sam on your left with Sophia on your right, taking notes and pulling up memos on her laptop.

Steve is leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the campaign manager, Jake Thompson, deliver his latest assessment.

Jake, a seasoned political operative with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense attitude, stands at the head of the table, remote control in hand as he flips through a report on polling and focus groups that have been conducted over the past two weeks with Gen Z in urban, suburban, and rural pockets of the country.

"As you can see," Jake says, his voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, "this is where we’re making progress. Enough of them are tired of the rhetoric that’s been recycled all their lives, problems that never seem to be resolved because they’re too useful as campaign issues. That’s why an independent candidate is beginning to look a lot more appealing.”

Jake clicks to the next slide, which shows a breakdown of key issues that resonated most with young voters. "Climate change, affordable education, and social justice are their top priorities. They appreciate your strong stance on these issues, Steve, but they're still skeptical about whether you can actually deliver real change."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "So how do we bridge that gap? How do we convince them that we're not just another set of empty promises?"

You lean forward slightly, your mind racing with ideas. This is an area where you feel you can contribute significantly, given your background in non-profit work and your ability to connect with younger generations.

"If I may," you begin, and all eyes turn to you. You feel a flutter of nervousness but push through it. "I think we need to focus on concrete, actionable plans. Not just broad strokes, but specific steps we'll take in the first 100 days. I think it would speak to Millennials as well.”

Jake nods appreciatively at your suggestion. "Mrs. Rogers, did you hack into my laptop sometime in the last 24 hours?” He’s not smiling - he never outright smiles - but he has a proud glint in his eyes as he looks at you. “What you’re suggesting is exactly in line with what I wanted to bring to the table today. We need to show them we're not just talking the talk, we’re ready to his the ground running when they put us in the White House."

Steve nods, his eyes meeting yours with interest. "Go on," he encourages.

You take a deep breath, feeling more confident. "We should consider hosting a series of town halls specifically targeting young voters. Not just to talk at them, but to listen. Let them voice their concerns directly and then demonstrate how our policies address those issues. We could even live-stream these events, make them interactive."

Jake looks intrigued. "That should work. It plays into our strengths - Steve's authenticity and your ability to connect with younger demographics."

"We could also leverage social media more effectively," you continue, warming to your topic. "Not just posting sound bites, but creating engaging content that breaks down complex issues in accessible ways. Maybe even collaborate with some respected influencers who align with our values."

Steve leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I like it. What else?”

Elsa, communications director jumps in, "These are excellent strategies we can absolutely put into play, but we're still facing challenges with this demographic. Many of them feel disconnected from the political process entirely. They see you, Steve, as part of an older generation that doesn't understand their issues."

You watch Steve's reaction carefully. His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods, absorbing the information.

"What do you suggest?" Steve asks, his voice calm but tinged with frustration.

Elsa hesitates for a moment before responding. "We need to make you more relatable to younger voters. Show them that despite your... unique background, you understand and care about the issues that matter to them."

"And how do we do that?" Steve presses.

Jake glances your way before answering. "We think Mrs. Rogers could play a key role here."

You straighten in your seat, suddenly very alert. "Me?" you ask, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Yes,” he confirms. “We have a problem and an opportunity that’s developing. That 18 days comment last week heated things up again with the public perception and scrutiny of your marriage. You handled it exactly as you should have, Mrs. Rogers,” he assures you, “that’s not our concern. But now that someone has brought up numbers for days apart, it’s becoming part of the narrative, and we already had to tame concerns over your sudden nuptials, we don’t want the state of your marriage to be the focus again.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that Steve isn’t thrilled about this either.

“But the opportunity here,” Elsa jumps back in, “is that we can put that to rest and capitalize on what we’re beginning to see as the Mrs. Rogers effect on the campaign trail. Her approval ratings were never bad, but they keep climbing. The public still wonders if Steve is a politician, if he’s ready to be the next President, but they already see a politician’s wife in you, Mrs. Rogers.”

You feel a mix of pride and unease at Elsa's words. On one hand, it's gratifying to know your efforts are making a positive impact. On the other, you can't help but feel like you're being used as a prop.

Even though that is what you are at the most elementary level.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Steve asks, his tone careful but with an edge to it.

Jake leans forward, his expression earnest. "We want to increase the number of joint appearances you two make. Show the public that you're a united front, a team. Town halls, rallies, even some more casual, candid moments. Show the public that you're a team, that you support each other. It'll help soften Steve's image and make him more relatable to younger voters."

You glance at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is impassive, but there is a slight tension in his jaw.

You can see Steve is uncomfortable with the idea, but he's considering it carefully. You decide to speak up.

"I appreciate the strategy, but I have some concerns," you say. "We don't want to come across as inauthentic or like we're using our relationship as a political tool. That could backfire, especially with younger voters who are already skeptical of politicians and doing things for clout."

Jake nods, "You're right to be cautious. We're not suggesting anything overly staged or fake. Just more opportunities for the public to see you two together, interacting naturally."

Steve finally speaks up. "I agree with my wife," he says, and you feel a small, unexpected thrill at hearing him refer to you that way, even though you know it's just part of this gig. "We need to be careful about how we approach this. I don't want to exploit our relationship. But let’s make it work."

Jake wraps up the meeting quickly at that point, instructing his staff to update each candidate’s logistics team over the updated schedule that will play to the ‘Rogers & Rogers Strategy,’ and putting the policy advisors and communications team to work on implementing your suggestions into the direction they were going to propose. As every minute of the campaign season is instrumental, nearly everyone clears out of the room at that point.

You’re at the elevator in the lobby when you realize you left your jacket in the hotel conference room. Sophia says they can have an aide bring it up to your room, but you insist you’d like to stretch your legs a little more before heading up to sleep. As you head back down the hall, you’re relieved to see the door is still open, and you pick up your step. But then you come to an abrupt halt when you hear voices and your name drifts out into the hallway in a conversation between Steve, Sam, and Bucky.

“I don’t like it.”

“What a surprise! The anit-social, bionic man with a staring problem doesn’t like the idea of pal-ing around with the new Mrs. Rogers! Man, I know you only recently started to like me, but can you get on board with her.”

“Who says I like you?” he counters.

“Ha ha,” Sam retorts dryly. “You should be so lucky that next time we put you up for president so we could canvas the country for a girl who could put up with you and all your bullshit.”

Steve chuckles - something you realize you’ve rarely heard him do.

“But it’s you I’m surprised by, Steve,” Sam continues. “Why are you still holding this girl at arms’ length?”

Steve heaves a heavy sigh, and you can just imagine him putting his hands on his hips.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Sam presses him, his tone incredulous.

You hold your breath, straining to hear Steve's response. There's a long pause before he speaks.

"It's not that simple, Sam," Steve says, his voice low and weary. "This whole situation... it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Sam presses. "She's smart, she's kind, she's dedicated to the cause. And let's be real, she's not hard on the eyes either. What's holding you back?"

You feel your cheeks flush at Sam's words, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's not about her," Steve says firmly. "She's... she's great. Better than I could have hoped for, honestly. But this whole arrangement, it just feels..."

"Fake?" Bucky offers, his voice gruff.

"No," Steve says quickly. "Not fake. Just... I don't know. Forced. This whole situation - it's not the same as the tour for war bonds back in ‘43, but it’s still a production. I never imagined being in a situation like this again."

"None of us imagined this, Steve," Bucky chimes in, his tone softer than before.

Steve sighs again. “And I know it’s another thing I’ve chosen that neither of you signed up for, and I appreciate you being here by my side.”

"And she's here now, too,” Sam circles back to you, “and she's trying. You can't keep pushing her away."

"I'm not pushing her away," Steve protests, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"Really?" Sam challenges. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing enough to conveniently keep your distance. She's your wife, Steve. On paper, sure, but she's also becoming a real partner in this campaign. You've seen how she handles herself out there."

You lean against the wall, your heart racing as you listen to the conversation. You know you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but you can't bring yourself to walk away, not when - even if you’re not involved - someone is finally talking about the state of your marriage.

"I know," Steve says, his voice tinged with frustration. "I see it. She's incredible out there. The way she connects with people, the way she articulates our message, she’s all in and she's a natural."

"So what's the problem?" Sam presses.

"If I let her in and this doesn't work out..."

"You mean the campaign?" Sam asks.

"No," Steve says.

And then - because of course it’s that exact moment - a door just a bit further down the opens, and you have to pretend you were not just standing in the hallway eavesdropping on anyone, and you abandon jacket retrieval and pretend you were on your way to the hotel bar to catch a quick nightcap with some of the staffers.

[SEPTEMBER 8 - Airspace over Ohio]

The next morning, it’s wheels up at 7am for the presidential candidate campaign plane, and you’re on it. You’re being sent with Steve to Wisconsin.

As the plane climbs to cruising altitude, you stifle a yawn and make your way to the "war room" - a section of the campaign plane that serves as a mobile strategy center and occasional dining area. The smell of coffee and pastries wafts through the air, a tempting lure after the early morning rush.

Sophia’s intern had already supplied you with your go-to morning drink, but you grab a plate and fill it with some fruit, cheese, bacon, and a surprisingly and delightfully warm croissant. The plane's engines hum steadily as you settle into one of the seats at the table. The early morning sunlight streams through the small windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wood table. You've barely slept, your mind still reeling from the conversation you overheard last night.

You pull out your tablet, intending to review the day's revised schedule, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Steve's words. The weight of them sits heavy in your chest, a mix of disappointment and something else you can't quite name.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice someone approaching until they clear their throat. You look up, expecting to see Sophia or maybe one of the campaign staffers. Instead, you find yourself faced with Bucky Barnes.

"Morning," he says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. "Mind if I join you?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off balance. In all the months of campaigning, you've barely exchanged more than a few pleasantries.

"Of course," you say, gesturing to the seat across from you.

Bucky nods and takes a seat, setting down his own plate of food. There's an awkward silence as he settles in, and you can't help but study him. His hair is short again - the style he’d adopted when he was pardoned not long after the Snap. He's dressed casually in jeans and a dark henley. Despite his relaxed appearance, there's an undeniable intensity about him, a coiled energy that seems barely contained.

"So," Bucky says, breaking the silence. "Wisconsin."

You nod, grateful for the opening. "Yes, big day ahead. Are you joining us for the rally?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I’ll be backstage, but no."

Another silence falls between you, but it feels almost companionable, and the two of you enjoy your breakfast. Usually people try to fill any potentially silent moment around you these days, and so the reprieve itself is nice, but it doesn’t last long. Soon you’re joined by some of the staff - some seeking breakfast, some looking for you or for Bucky. And so the next wave of action for the day begins.

next part: coming 11/8...

I KNOW! WE JUMPED FROM THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING TO THE BEGINNING OF SEPTEMBER! But that's by design.

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[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence" Pt5

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, predatory behavior, teacher/student, bathroom use control

Summary: Bucky's parents ship him off to Steve's reform school to help him get straightened out into a "proper young omega."

Part 5 - In Science-Based Practice, cont'd

(Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter! Masterlist)

Handing the Barnes kid off to Sharon is … more difficult than it should be. And it bothers Steve once he’s alone in his office again and can really think about it. How easily he’s crossed the line with this boy already. 

It’s not the touching or the dominating. That alone is nothing out of the ordinary, practically par for the course when dealing with a troubled new student. But as soon as Bucky’s gone, his scent still lingering in the room, Steve is feeling guilty for how personal he’d made it. It’s not even his behavior so much as it is his thoughts. Steve is affectionate with many of his omega charges, especially the more high needs boys, but it’s what was going on in his head that was so inappropriate. 

He’d been picturing Bucky in situations—namely situations with him. He can’t lie to himself that he hadn’t been imagining the heated aftermath of a well-deserved spanking: Bucky bare-assed and red faced, crying, crawling, mewling for permission to warm Steve’s cock. Or the boy in his bed: in the morning after a long night spent breeding him up, that sweet, soft body underneath Steve, sleepy and pliant, getting fucked lazily into the sheets …

He spends a moment at the door after he’s closed it behind Sharon and Bucky. That entire wall is dark woodwork, bookcases surrounding the elaborately carved doorway. He leans his weight through his arms and stares at the floor, taking in a few deep breaths and trying to convince himself that all of this has just been a reaction of circumstance. Surely, he thinks, it must have more to do with the divorce, with his heavy workload and his dealings with Peggy and the lawyers. It must have to do with all the stress; brought on by the restructuring of Carter Academy, by nights spent sleeping on his office couch, and by the uncertain future of a house that he’s currently persona non grata in. It’s all of that, plus his ever growing need to get laid that’s made him so sensitive to being around an omega, not anything particularly special about Bucky.

Steve pushes away from the door and turns around. His eyes fall on the discarded set of underwear on the floor in front of his desk. He tenses, belly swirling hard at the memory of that sweet little whimper Bucky had made when he’d lost control and wet himself. Fuck, it’d been amazing. Steve had almost popped a knot right then and there, watching the way the boy’s eyes had gotten all big and watery and confused, his cheeks pinked up so nicely, not fully understanding what his body had just done …

Nostrils flaring, Steve stalks over to where the underwear lie on the carpet and snatches them up, intending to chuck them straight into the bin. But … something stays his hand. He winds up walking around the desk with them, sitting down in his chair and holding them in his lap, staring at the tiny wet patch of release that Bucky left behind in the cup of the jock. It’s wet like urine but clear and sweet-smelling like slick, and Steve is struck by the urge to bury his face in it.

Even from this distance, the scent is noticeable; pungent and rich, an obscene perfume that Steve instinctively wants to rub on himself. It calls to all of his baser urges, making his skin feel hot and his dick feel heavy. Hesitatingly, because he knows that he shouldn’t, Steve lifts the underwear closer to his face. Halfway there and already the scent is enough to make his mouth water, his throat aching from a repressed growl. There’s something buried in that scent that Steve wants to tease out, something earthy and floral that’s uniquely Bucky, that promises so much more of what the omega has to offer. Steve groans quietly at the thought of tasting it. When was the last time a student released for him so easily? Bucky had responded to him so naturally …

He growls and shoves the soiled underwear away, pushing them halfway across the desk. It’s nothing, he thinks. He’s just pent up, stressed. He just needs to get laid. Maybe he’ll go into the city next weekend, rent a room and find some company. He’s never had much trouble chatting up the nearest person at a hotel bar, or attracting a willing partner to his bed. Omegas flock to him and have ever since he took control of his dominance in his late twenties.

Steve’s never been unfaithful to Peggy, and even now with the divorce, he’s been waiting until everything is finalized, not wanting to tarnish the vows that he’d meant so earnestly when he’d said them fourteen years ago. But an alpha his age has needs, and he’s been suppressing them for years. Maybe it’s time to cut himself some slack, call up a pairing agency and buy a companion for an hour or two. Get his mind off of this kid.

He’s dealt with thousands of students over the years, seen plenty of fresh-faced omegas pass through the school’s halls. And sure, sometimes there’ll be one or two that stick out in a given year; an especially defiant boy or a sweetly virginal girl, with beautiful faces, ripe young bodies, and a soul-deep yearning to be handled, but there’s never been one that especially stood out to him like this. Not like this. 

Steve groans and cards his hands through his hair in frustration. He’d felt more in-tune with himself as an alpha during that short time with Bucky in his office than he has in a long time. He’d enjoyed himself with Bucky, had indulged himself in provoking the boy’s reactions, and even crossed a few lines of propriety if he was being honest with himself. It plagues his mind for a while, as he leans back in the desk chair and frowns, remembering all of the various ways he’d let himself be a little too intimate with the boy. 

Bucky’s such a pretty young omega, and he’d smelled so good. Watching his defiance warring with his natural submissive urges had been delightful, every little twitch of insolence and natural, mewling submission going straight to Steve’s cock. There’s just something about him. He’s uncommonly beautiful, with his dark hair and soft chin and stormy blue eyes, but it’s his behavior that has Steve enthralled. 

All that hurt and neediness he’s trying so hard to hide, not only from others but from himself as well. A hastily cobbled-together shield of promiscuity and callousness. It’s pathetically see-through, terribly desperate, and it gets Steve’s cock harder than anything he’s dealt with recently. Right from the very first, bratty word that emanated from Bucky’s mouth, up until that last, puny whimper. Steve hasn’t been completely flaccid since the boy started mulishly snarfing scones off the tea tray in front of his parents.

“Christ.” He pushes out from the desk when he feels his pants growing uncomfortably tight again. His office has a private bathroom, and he abruptly decides to make use of it. He won’t get any work done if he just stays sitting here, stewing in his own pheromones. 

He stomps over there and shuts himself into the tiny water closet, leans against the door and jerks himself off ruthlessly, efficiently, coming into the toilet bowl with gritted teeth and a laboured grunt, his hand gripped viciously over the base of his shaft to prevent an inconvenient knotting. It’s unsatisfactory because he’s still denying his body what it really wants, but it’s enough to release most if not all of the tension for the moment. 

Not having been given their fair due, his balls still do kind of throb and ache in complaint as he tucks himself back into his slacks. But on the positive side, he was already so worked up when he started jerking it that he’s able to honestly say that he didn’t really think of Bucky while he was at it. He didn’t really think of anything besides the feeling of his own hand on his dick.

Sighing, he washes his hands and goes back out, settling in at his desk to submit the form he’s filled out on Bucky’s heats and to compose a preliminary assessment. Already, he thinks he’s got a good handle on where a lot of the boy’s issues stem from. He opens a new file for student assessment and types in a few points that he’ll return to elaborate on later, once he’s had more interaction with the boy:

“Boyfriend” + brief, insufficient pairing aged 14 — unfulfilled?: Abandonment complex, betrayal complex, trust issues.

Parental situation: lacking authoritative father figure, preoccupied beta mother, dominant unrelated male beta in the household. No healthy A-o relationship modeling.

Values: liberal school system, beta peers, common social expectations (not being a burden, not displaying strong needs, etc.) Emotional repression, mock-dominant behavior, cutting.

Review: history of suppressant use, medical exam

It’s a shorthand that he’s typed out for many other students, reflecting a devolving behavioral pattern that Steve could recognize in his sleep at this point. Just another classic example of what you get when you try to ideologize a pubertal omega out of their biological needs, urges and instincts: catastrophe. 

He hopes that Sharon will be a good fit for the boy. She’s one of the more laid back Handlers, and Steve is hoping she’ll be able to ease Bucky into his new lifestyle here at the school. If not, then more severe dominance will be needed, and Steve might have to take a more hands-on approach. 

He closes out the documentation on Bucky and navigates to his email, shooting off a message to the school nurse informing her that he needs an exam scheduled for a new student. Bucky being on suppressants for two years shouldn’t make Steve as uncomfortable as it does. There are omegas out there who take that poison for decades or more, after all. As long as Bucky stays off it from here on out, there should be minimal chance of long-term harm. Irrational as it is, Steve still knows he’ll feel better once he’s seen the results of a full medical workup on the boy. He marks the appointment request as 📨*Stat: urgent priority.

There’s a message from Schuyler & Banks—Peggy’s divorce lawyers—and rather than ignoring it like he wants to, Steve forces himself to open it and deal with whatever drama they’re lobbing his way now. The email informs him that his soon-to-be ex-wife is requesting his signature to agree to listing the house. Steve growls at the screen and immediately starts typing out a response that uses a lot of big words and essentially amounts to another adamant No.

This may be the biggest thing he and Peggy have fought over since the separation started. They bought the Pendergast Street house nearly ten years ago, with full intentions of growing old and grey there together. It’s a two hundred year old cottage, practically picturesque with its wattle and stone exterior, thatched straw roof, and one of the village’s canals running directly behind the back garden. It’s small and cramped and thoroughly lived-in, and it’s the place where Steve thought he’d spend the rest of his life with the person he loved. It kills him that Peggy wants to sell it. 

She doesn’t need the money, Steve thinks angrily. And he’s already offered her fair market value for it. Pegs is just being vindictive and trying to deny him the ability to keep the place and the memories it holds, bitter about Steve wanting to one day maybe have a family there with someone else. He emails his refusal on the matter and cc’s his own attourney, pissed off at Peggy all over again, and moves on to dealing with his actual work-related matters.

There’s an email from P. Potts, informing him that Stark will be flying in for the upcoming parents’ weekend, and requesting coordination on a suitable landing site for the man’s personal helicopter. Steve rolls his eyes and forwards the email to his secretary to sort out. If the Stark foundation didn’t give a hefty endowment to the academy each year, Steve wouldn’t put up with the man’s antics. But it does, so he does.

Peter Parker is an intelligent and precocious student who attends Carter Academy at Tony’s behest. The two are of no relation, as Steve had initially assumed. Rather, Parker is Stark’s ward and attends through a STEM scholarship program. The Stark foundation sponsors several such scholarship slots each year, of course; but Tony has maintained a keen eye on the boy’s education since he started there, and Steve has gradually become aware that the billionaire’s interest is … more than strictly philanthropic. 

It’s not unheard of for an older alpha to care for an omega that way, even in this day and age. Steve himself has considered the prospect before. Taking on an omega youth as a dependent partner wouldn’t be frowned upon, and especially not in the circles he himself travels in. It’s more his role as headmaster that might act as an impediment to propriety, and Steve has always been careful to avoid worrying the parents, alumni, and other various benefactors of the school that he may have any conflicts of interest with respect to their sons. 

Some of the most posh and exclusive families in Britain and Continental Europe send their children to Carter Academy, and they certainly aren’t dropping sixty grand a semester so that their children can be matched up with some stodgy academic. Steve may be educated and financially stable, but he still isn’t the sort of match that most of Carter Academy’s parents are looking to fix their sons up with. He has no vast fortune, no estate, no title, and—perhaps the biggest offense of all—he’s American. 

With a student body made up of nothing but omegas in their prime breeding years, it’s fair to say that Steve is—and always has been—surrounded by prospects for temptation each and every day. He’d honestly thought himself rather numb to it at this point, able to separate work from pleasure, students from everyone else. All those years married to Peggy and he simply had to be that way, if he wanted his marriage to work. 

But now he’s getting divorced. That changes things. With the Barnes boy, he’s finding the temptation to take on an omega mate newly rekindled. And Bucky would be so easy to mold and shape the way he wants. Steve could help him, he could care for him. Bucky’s young and healthy, he could give Steve pups, and his fiery temperament would only make the act of subduing him that much sweeter.

Steve’s eyes slide back over to the underwear on his desk, to the wet patch of release that Bucky’s body had given up so readily for him. Steve’s not sure when the last time was he came across an omega to whom he felt so naturally inclined. The draw of the boy’s scent alone is … considerable. 

Unable to get it out of his mind, he opens a new email and begins to compose a short letter to Tony. Maybe it’s time the two of them have a bit of a sit down chat. They can have drinks, catch up, review next year's endowments from the Stark Foundation, and perhaps even veer into discussing more personal topics … such as the intricacies of responsibly grooming impressionable young omegas.

Bucky doesn’t see Steve again for the rest of that day, and he’s both relieved and disappointed. 

Relieved, because he definitely needed a break from that high pressure situation. Naked or no, he certainly couldn’t have sustained much more interaction at that level of intensity. He’s not sure if he would’ve gone to his knees and face planted in Steve’s crotch first, or thrown a tantrum and tried to punch the guy square in the nuts, but he’s smart enough to know that either choice would’ve been a disaster. 

Disappointed, because he’s left feeling utterly bereft once all of that rich, heady stimulation is removed. 

It’s one of those times where he doesn’t realize that he likes something until he’s had it taken away. Instantly, he misses being in Steve’s presence, the realization peeling back as he’s led about by Sharon in a sort of informal orientation session. He wonders why Steve chose her to be his handler, because she’s not at all similar to the overbearing Headmaster.

Sharon seems really laid back and chill. Bucky doesn’t feel on edge or self-conscious around her, and she doesn’t seem to be overly concerned with his behavior in any outward way, either. Sure, she keeps her eye on him, she explains the rules, but the vibe Bucky gets from her is more like a slightly disinterested older sister who’s showing him the ropes, rather than someone who’s going to be exercising any kind of severe authority over him. It’s not that bad, or at least not like what Bucky was picturing it would be like. Sharon’s okay, he decides. Sharon he can live with.

But, if Steve truly thinks that Bucky needs so much structure and discipline or whatever, then Bucky can’t fathom why he’s been paired with Sharon. She’s certainly a poor substitute for the utterly dominating, older alpha male that Bucky encountered earlier, and he winds up distracted and reimagining the things Steve had said and done to him in the office, daydreaming about it while Sharon shows him the library, explains school rules, tells him she’s a low-protocol Handler, etc., etc. 

Even the things that’d made him so mad and humiliated at the time; now they elicit different feelings. Bucky’s body thrums hot and sensitive when he remembers the low rumble of Steve’s Voice, the woodsy smell of his cologne over top of his natural scent, the firmness of his thigh muscle against Bucky’s face, how big and rough his hand had looked when he’d cupped Bucky in between his legs and purred threats at him like another kind of oral sex … how he’d called him things, called him a “good girl” …

… Ohh, he thinks, as he’s walking along with Sharon. Maybe padded underwear and loose dresses aren’t the worst thing he could be wearing. They definitely do a lot to hide … reactions that would otherwise be quite noticeable in slacks. People joke about alpha teenagers getting unfortunate stiffies, but the thing about having an omega-sized prick is that there’s really no pushing it down or tucking it this way or that. Nothing between Bucky’s legs is ever gonna make it up to the helpful elastic of a waistband when he’s inconveniently aroused. Nope, he just gets a stiff length that pokes straight out from his body and can’t be concealed with anything short of a book in his lap. 

So the uniform winds up having a bit of a silver lining. And Bucky does start to feel less ridiculous the longer he goes around in the outfit. It’s not as though the thing is all frilly and girly or anything like that. In fact if it’s guilty of anything, it's the cardinal sin of frumpiness committed by all private school uniforms. Nobody bats an eye at him as he goes about the campus with Sharon, which helps. 

And of course Bucky’s aware that omegas dressed like this in the past, he’s just not used to it. The only other place he’s ever seen omega boys in skirts is in history textbooks or period dramas. It does help to see all the other first year students going about wearing the same thing as him and acting like it’s no big deal, and with the school being such an old, castley-type setting, it almost seems appropriate.

Plus, the boner-concealment thing. That’s good.

When Sharon asks him how he liked meeting “Headmaster Rogers,” Bucky’s left to bumble out a flustered reply that mostly consists of ‘ums’, and ‘erms’, and ‘fines’. Sharon shoots him a smirk like she knows what the problem is, and when Bucky promptly points to something random to change the subject, she indulges him.

It’s a good thing he got out of Steve’s office when he did, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t think he could’ve taken much more of the alpha’s domineering presence without doing something he’d come to regret. And as much as he’d maybesortakinda liked the things that Steve made him feel, he still feels like he’s run an emotional half-marathon in the span of little more than the hour he actually spent with the man. It’s good to have breathing room, time to think, to process … whatever the hell that’d been.

He’s never felt like how he felt in Steve’s office, and it’s embarrassing because he’s pretty sure that Steve: A) knows this, and B) wasn’t nearly so affected himself. Steve had kept his cool perfectly, had seemed more amused by Bucky’s reactions than anything else. He probably knows exactly how muzzy-headed Bucky was feeling by the end of it all, how hot and tight his belly was, how much his hole was pulsing and leaking into his underwear. Hell, Steve had as good as told him that he could tell, just by sight and smell alone. 

‘You don’t have to deny it, honey. I already know.’

Ugh. God. It’s so cringeworthy. Bucky’s body had betrayed him in about a half dozen ways, back in Steve’s office, and he feels frustrated that he didn’t act with more composure. He wants a redo of the whole, horrible encounter. One where he doesn’t act just like the desperate, mewling loser that Steve already thinks he is.

Sharon takes him to settle into his bedroom that evening, and it’s a typical dorm room setup: bed, bedside table, dresser, desk, chair. There’s a small wardrobe that’s stuffed to the brim with all sorts of extra blankets and pillows—for nesting, Sharon informs him. Bucky’s never been one to indulge in the habit, but maybe it could be nice to try it here. Maybe it might feel cozy. There are a lot of really nice things inside the wardrobe, to which he feels instinctively drawn when he drags his fingers over their soft and poofy textures. He actually starts to get mildly enthused: about the idea of nesting, and about the fact that he’s getting his own private room rather than having to share a communal dorm room with a dozen other boys like he’d been imagining … 

Until he spots the cameras that are up high in two of the bedroom’s corners, their little red lights blinking ominously down at him. Bucky stares up at them, calculating. The way they’re positioned …

Shit.

They cover every square inch of the room. Bucky’s heart sinks with dismay as he realizes what this means. 

“Oh, yeah,” Sharon says when she sees him looking. “We call those the nanny cams.” 

Bucky fights back a cringe. He hears Steve’s “no masturbation allowed” speech playing on a horrible loop in his mind as Sharon delivers a practiced spiel about how “privacy is not something students are entitled to” at Carter Academy, and that he’ll be monitored “pretty much everywhere” he goes.

Shit-fuck-shit and goddammit.

If Sharon notices his internal freak out, she doesn’t say anything. She just supervises from the doorway while Bucky changes for bed, ensuring that he puts on a fresh pair of the ridiculous double-underwear and reminding him of the no masturbation rule. It’s humiliating, and Bucky almost snaps something nasty at her, but by that point he’s so fucking tired from the overwhelming day he’s had that he merely grunts out an unhappy, “Got it.”

He briefly considers asking her if she’ll “milk” him like Steve said he could, but his embarrassment gets the better of him and he just turns to lie facing the wall instead, pulling the blankets up to his chin and ignoring Sharon as she turns the lights off and bids him goodnight from the doorway. There is no door for her to close.

Bucky sleeps surprisingly well, though his dreams are intense and filled with a certain Alpha Headmaster. He wakes the next day to the unpleasant combination of a morning erection, and Sharon rapping her knuckles on his bedside table.

“Morning! Time to get up, get dressed. Breakfast in ten minutes!”

She escorts him around campus like the world’s most overpaid babysitter, first to the dining hall for breakfast and then to class after that. She seems to understand that Bucky isn’t at all happy to be there, so she doesn’t get overly bossy with him or try to force much conversation. Bucky begrudgingly appreciates her for it, and he starts to think that maybe it won’t be so bad here with her as his Handler. Maybe Steve knew what he was doing, assigning them together.

Sharon’s like having an older sister—one who feels free to nag you and boss you around. Bucky thinks he can deal with that. She’s kinda hot at least, and Bucky doesn’t think he’d mind being bent over and milked by her if push came to shove, so he tries to get along to go along, so to speak, doing his best to follow the rules she points out and to not piss her off too early in the game.

The Handlers are all grad students, it turns out. People in their twenties who are studying to become educators or therapists themselves. Some are women, some are men, but all of them are alpha. They go around in stuffy tweed suits that are almost as dorky as the outfit Bucky’s being forced to wear. Overall the look is pretty unremarkable … except for the leashes that they keep on hand. Those are worn at the hip, rolled up and attached to their belts as a constant threat to keep their charges in line. 

Or at least that’s how Bucky reads it, because all of the students wear collars. First years like him wear the orangish-brown, with the gradient of the leather turning a shade lighter for every year up the wearer is. There are other first years who seem to be his age, but there are also some who seem younger and some who are obviously older. Bucky’s confused about it until Sharon explains to him that, as a reform school, Carter Academy sorts its students by years of attendance, not by age. 

She points out the coloring system with the collars as they pass different students, and explains the symbolism. Turns out, the little metal placards aren’t engraved with their own names, but rather with the initials “S.G.R.”—Steve’s initials—to remind the students that while they’re under the custody of Carter Academy, Steve is their acting Alpha. Mortifyingly, Bucky pops a boner the first time he hears that, and the only verbal thing he’s able to squeak out at Sharon afterwards is a strangled little, “W-what does the ‘G’ stand for?”

Bucky knows super conservative people sometimes wear collars as a sort of political statement, but it’s rare to see in the area where he’s from. At first it doesn’t seem like the collars serve much purpose other than such a statement, but it isn’t long until Bucky starts noticing the way his shoulders untense and his insides relax, even within the first ten minutes or so of wearing it. Every time he swallows, he’s reminded of the band around his throat, and he instantly relaxes all over again in a sort of weird little feedback loop. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s the way the leather mimics the sensation of a Hold. Bucky can still remember how his legs had all but gone to jelly when Steve Held him in his office. The collar only provides a fraction of a fraction of that feeling, but it’s still nice.

Nice for now, anyways. He sees some of the other students being led around from place to place with their Handlers’ leashes clipped to their collars. Most of them act like it’s no big deal and walk around calmly like nothing’s amiss. When Bucky asks if they’re being punished for something, Sharon says no, blithely remarking that while it can be used as a ‘consequence’, it’s more often just a part of some students’ regular wellness regimens. 

It’s pretty darn easy to spot the few students who are being led around on leashes for punishment purposes, though. Those boys get dragged around a little more sternly by their Handlers, all sullen expressions and watery eyes. Sometimes they’ve also been made to go around in just their underwear and sweaters, or even naked, their backsides visibly pinked or even bruised from recent spankings. Bucky is horrified by the realization that Steve wasn’t lying when he warned of clothing privileges being taken away. He wants to ask what on earth might warrant a punishment like that, just so that he knows precisely what not to do, but he’s too embarassed to ask. 

Instead he trails after Sharon to breakfast in the dining hall, and then off to his morning classes. Given that his entire schedule has apparently been made without an iota of his own opinion or input, he’s surprised, bordering-on-startled, when his first subject of the day turns out to be English Lit. And he’s been put in an advanced placement class so that the material is sufficiently challenging. 

This must be what his old Principal was making him take all that testing for, he thinks. 

The classrooms all have wooden desks—the old fashioned, two seater types where the student’s seat faces the worktop and the tutor’s seat faces the opposite direction on the side. The Handlers sit in the tutor’s seats, their backs to the teacher at the front of the classroom and all of their attention on their assigned students. It’s a very intense experience, Bucky’s coming to realize, to always feel like he’s being watched so closely. He won’t be able to get away with much under these conditions, that’s for sure.

His mood isn’t too bad, however, as he makes it through that first class and realizes that he’s actually going to be receiving a real education at this place. Ever since he found out yesterday that Carter Academy was an omegas-only reform school, he hasn’t held high hopes that he’d be taught many real academic subjects, only silly homemaking lessons and child rearing classes and maybe, like, ballroom dancing or something.

So he’s quite happy to pay attention in English Lit, and then in his second period class of French 2, his spirits slowly and cautiously lifting because the teachers don’t seem to be dumbing down the material at all. Bucky may be someone who’s easily distracted, occasionally with alternative priorities, but he’s always been an A-B student. He starts to believe that he might actually receive a decent education at this place. It helps lift his mood from sullen and sour, to cautiously optimistic.

He goes about the morning in a suspended state of “maybe this won’t be so bad,” only for it to come crashing down in a series of brutal reality checks. And all before lunchtime, too.

First, he witnesses something that turns his face red and his cock rigid. It happens when he and Sharon are walking down the hallway towards his next class. There’s a boy bent over with his hands on a bench, and his Handler is right behind: spanking him. The boy’s a first year, with an orange-brown collar and skirted uniform like Bucky’s, the hemline of which is flipped up over his back and his briefs are pulled down under the curve of his bare ass. 

Bucky realizes that the jockstraps can and do remain on for spanking activities, but he doesn’t stop walking to look. If anything, he walks even faster to get away from it. He’s suddenly very glad that he’s got his own padded jock on to hide his body’s reaction to the scene. “What the hell?” he mutters to Sharon once they’ve passed. Sharon just smirks and pats him on the shoulder, telling him not to worry: they’ve been having great luck with his behavior so far and he’s far off from earning anything like a spanking.

-

Well. That luck runs out when, halfway through the lesson of his next class, Bucky realizes he has to go to the bathroom. He glances over at Sharon and whispers, “Hey. I ah, I have to go to the bathroom.”

Sharon raises her eyebrow, which by now Bucky knows means: Ask me the right way. 

He blushes and mumbles even more quietly, “Please, may I go use the restroom?” 

Sharon nods and signals to the teacher that they’re leaving, then she guides Bucky out into the hallway and down to the bathrooms. Nothing goes awry until they get down there and Bucky discovers that: 1) there are no urinals, 2) there are no stall doors, 3) he’s expected to sit to pee, and 4) that Sharon is fully planning to watch him do it. Like, not even avert-her-eyes type watching like they do for drug tests. She plans to stand there and attentively watch him take a piss.

“You’re kidding,” Bucky says, looking back and forth between the toilet and Sharon, as if she’ll suddenly declare it a joke and move away to give him privacy. When she does no such thing and merely stands there with her arms crossed, Bucky scoffs and turns away from the toilet in refusal. “No way. I’m not just gonna go in front of you.” Sharon’s eyebrow rises, and Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. “And I don’t sit to pee.”

“You do now,” she tells him plainly, looking very unimpressed. When Bucky moves to step out of the stall, she widens her stance and steps in closer, blocking his way out. “Are we going to have a problem here, James?”

Bucky glowers at her. “What possible reason could there be for you to stand there and watch me take a piss?!” he demands—quite loudly, too. He’s expecting Sharon to react by scolding him or grabbing him or something. What he doesn’t expect is for her to shrug as if she couldn’t give a crap, and pull out her cellphone. She taps the screen and then puts it to her ear, her eyes fixed smugly on Bucky as she calls someone.

Bucky scowls, but that expression slides right off his face when the call is answered and Sharon says, “Hello Headmaster,” into the phone. “You said to call if we ran into any misbehavior?”

Bucky blanches. “Seriously?” he hisses, and when Sharon simpers like a grade-A snot at him, he realizes that this is actually probably still what having an older sister is really like; he was just romanticizing the fuck out of it, earlier. Bucky’s always liked being an only child. 

“Yes, Sir. I’ve got James Barnes refusing bathroom protocol up at the west second floor loo. Should I handle it, or are you able to swing by?” Bucky’s eyes widen and his stomach sinks even further as Sharon responds to something Steve has said over the line and says, “Okay, sure. See you soon.” She ends the call and puts her phone back in her pocket, giving Bucky a patronizing smile once she meets his—no doubt horrified—expression. “Just hang tight,” she says. “Headmaster Rogers will be here in a sec.”

Fuck.

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Square O4: Floral scents

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 32/100

series Niccolò Machiavelli's The Politician by @spacerenegades & Deisderium

[Enemies to Lovers, 165 981 words, Explicit]

Summary:

Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

But okay, the thing that Descartes or whoever didn’t know was that Steve really tries, but Bucky Barnes has a mouth that should probably constitute an eighth sin or something.

Jesus fucking Christ, Sam’s going to kill him.

(or—Steve’s best friend is the U.S. Constitution and he can’t seem to stop fucking a hot Republican. They shouldn’t fall in love, but somehow they do. That’s it, that’s the fic.)

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[braveclementine]

Sharons' Secret

Warnings: 18+readersonly, political topics

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs, which consist of Penny Fury, Elizabeth Nelson, Elijah Chan, Katya Venice, Violetta Moscow, Lan Le, Josh, Trang Tien, Ahni Jallow, Mai Ito, and Ghaida Kashual as well as other OCs that will come up throughout the story.

Stephen let Tony pretty much drag him upstairs, where the rest of the group was waiting. Stephen decided to sit in the background, while Tony went and stood behind Loki, who was eating fruit, sitting on the bookcase.

"So what's the announcement?" Natasha asked, sitting on Penelope's lap.

"Oh." Elizabeth said, looking like she was glowing, "Well, Steve took me down to Tony's lab yesterday, and he found out that I was pregnant."

Stephen looked over at Tony, who looked pleased. Stephen smiled a little. He wondered if the child was Tony's, and that was why he was so excited. But then again, Elijah looked rather happy as well, sitting on the other side of Elizabeth, with Bucky on the other side.

"Congratulations." Ghaida and Trang squealed at the same time.

"Yes, we're having a baby!" Katya and Violetta shouted at the same time, jumping up and down, grabbing each others arms.

Elizabeth laughed at their actions. "It's more than one baby, to be fair."

"Really?" Natasha asked, and Clint moved closer to put a hand on her shoulder, "How many?"

"Triplets." Elijah answered. Stephen wondered if he too, was glowing, or if that was just the fire in his veins.

"Congratulations you two." Pietro said with a small smile.

"Well. . ." Elizabeth started to blush, "They all have different fathers."

"How is that possible?" Sam, Pietro, and Sharon all asked at the same time, gaping at her.

Elizabeth looked over at Thor who stepped forward, "Being the God of fertility-"

"Pardon? I thought you were the God of thunder?" Scott questioned.

"I am the god of many things!" Thor boasted and Stephen had to put a hand over his mouth to stop his laugh as he watched Loki roll his eyes and put a hand to his face, "Like the sky, war, thunder, and agriculture!"

"Alright, alright, stop the boasting brother and get on with it." Loki hissed.

Tony chuckled, wrapping his arms around Loki.

"Very well!" Thor said, "It is not impossible for multiple babies to have kids with different father DNA if the woman is with multiple men, even in the normal realm. However, if you take into account the enhanced super soldiers and Gods and other sorts of non-normal enhancements, it because six times as likely for multiple babies to have different fathers. There are even rare possibilities that one baby could have genes from two fathers, but not more than two. And the genes would have to be very similar, like Loki and me, or Steve and James. It couldn't pair, say Banner and Barton because they are to different."

"Fascinating." Bruce said in awe.

"Indeed" Thor said happily.

Stephen was deciding that he and Bruce should meet up later to research this.

"So whose kids are they?" Pietro asked, excitement laced in his voice.

"How old are they?" Stephen asked from the back of the room.

"Oh, um, I believe they are just under three months." Elizabeth said, thinking about it.

"Yep." Tony said happily. "They'll be at exactly three months- or roughly anyways- next week."

"Whose kids?" Clint asked.

"Well, there are two small ones, and those are Elijahs' and Heimdalls'." Elizabeth said with a small smile and Elijah grinned.

"Oh-" Tony interjected, "And because she's carrying Heimdalls' kid, she can't use her powers because he feeds off of them."

"Ah, so we're protection detail now." Sharon said and Stephen frowned because her tone seemed rather scathing. Stephen watched Elizabeth's happy expression falter for a second.

"I can take care of myself without weapons." Elizabeth retorted. Stephen watched Steve shift uneasily on his feet. Bucky was glaring daggers at Sharon. Stephen suddenly realized who the last child belonged to and he smiled.

The super soldiers had always wanted kids. But Natasha couldn't have them, Wanda felt she wasn't quite ready, and the rest of them just didn't want them. He was pleased that Elizabeth would be giving them a child. Well, not necessarily giving them. But it was sweet.

He glanced over at Penny, gageing her reaction. She hadn't been here long and he knew she was still getting used to the dynamic of even sleeping together. But she seemed at peace, hugging Natasha tightly around her waist, one hand playing with Nat's red hair.

"And the bigger baby is Bucky's." Elizabeth finished happily.

"Congratulations man." Rhodey said, clapping both Bucky and Elijah on the shoulders.

"Why is Bucky's bigger?" Wanda asked curiously.

"Because of the winter soldier serum, right?" Sharon asked casually. "The serum must've passed on to it."

Suddenly, Elizabeth paled drastically.

"What's wrong?" Penny and Trang demanded instantly.

"Are you alright Princessa?" Pietro asked.

"Oh." Elizabeth whispered. "I'm having Bucky's kid."

Stephen frowned and Bucky suddenly seemed nervous. "Hey, we did talk about this, you said-"

"No, it's not that I'm unhappy having your kid." Elizabeth said, her voice quavering. She sounded terrified, "But I was just thinking. . . if my mom found out I was having your kid. She's HYDRA, she tried to make me HYDRA, and you were HYDRAS' biggest weapon. They'll come after him."

She curled up on the couch and Bucky immediately pulled her into his arm while the atmosphere in the room became somber.

"Hey, it's going to be okay." Elijah said with a slight frown, "There is no way or reason for your mom to find out in the first place."

"I know." Elizabeth whispered. "I know that's true I just panicked for a min-"

"You could always abort it." Sharon said and Stephen found himself glaring at the blond idiot.

Bucky stood up so fast that Steve and Sam barely had time to grab his arms as he tried to launch himself at Sharon. "We're not killing my kid!" He snarled.

The room had shifted once more. Everyone was on their feet now. Natasha's eyes flashed and probably the only thing stopping her from killing Sharon was Clint, and Penny's calming hands on her shoulders.

"Look," Sharon said defensively, holding up her hands in peace, "It's technically not a kid yet. Just a clump of cells. And if you're so worried about her mom getting her hands on it, then the soluti-"

"Is not to kill my kid." Elizabeth's snarling words were almost on the same degree of ferociousness as Bucky's. "I'm not you."

Sharon's face darkened and the room went quiet.

"You had an abortion?" Steve asked after some silence.

Sharon huffed, "I was within the legal boundaries-"

Steve's face went black, "Whose kid Sharon?"

Suddenly, it was as though only the two of them existed. Everyone was just staring at the two of them.

Sharon didn't answer, just shaking her head.

"Sharon." Steve asked, letting go of Bucky's arm. "Was he mine?"

"It Steve! It!" Sharon replied furiously. "And I don't know! I didn't care enough to find out! I was on my way to getting a promotion, a baby would've killed it for me! I had to-"

"Had to?" Steve scoffed. "Had to? No, you didn't have to. There were so many other options-"

"Like what?" Sharon shouted at him.

"Like me!" Steve roared. Elizabeth shrunk back against the cushion and Wanda clutched onto Vision. Penny sat back down in her chair, curling into Clint. The submissives in the room were clearly reacting to his anger. "I could've taken care of our child if you wanted that promotion so badly!"

"You don't even know that it was yours." Sharon replied scathingly.

"Was." Tony said. Heads whipped over to him and Stephen saw that he was on his tablet, leaning back against the counter. He looked up and said, "Fury had made an order that doctors had to take the DNA of any children either aborted or birthed on S.H.I.E.L.D. premises, especially from Agents. He wanted to know who was frolicking with who. Steve's DNA is attached to Sharon's file."

"How long ago?" Steve bit out.

Tony scrolled for a moment and then looked up again, "Six years." He hesitated and then added, "Gender was female."

Stephen did not like watching Steve's face break. He turned on his heel, leaving the room at such a quick pace he was nearly running. Penny and Sam quickly ran after him. Elizabeth stood up, not looking at Sharon, taking Bucky and Elijah's hands, dragging them from the room.

The minute the door closed, Sharon let out a yell and Stephen looked over to see that Natasha had pinned her to the wall with her hand to her throat.

Natasha pulled out a knife and Pietro rushed to her side, grabbing her arm. "N-"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY OF US WANT KIDS AND CAN'T HAVE THEM?" Natasha screamed at Sharon. Stephen had never seen the Black Widow cry before, and it was not easy to see. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY OF US WOULD KILL TO HAVE OUR OWN CHILD? AND YOU THREW YOURS AWAY LIKE IT WAS NOTHING! NOTHING!"

"Nat, come on." Clint said, dragging her away from Sharon. Bruce took her from there, and Natasha sobbed into his shoulder as Bruce led her gently from the room.

"You should probably leave." Rhodey said calmly, glancing over at Sharon. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was chewing on his bottom lip.

Sharon scoffed, heading for the doors.

Stephen finally moved, getting up and heading over to where Tony was standing, "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Tony nodded, "Just worried about Stevie."

"He'll be okay." Loki said softly as the three of them watched others file out. Thor looked upset the most and Loki said, "Thor, there's nothing you can do now."

Thor just nodded, leaving the room. But they all heard something smash outside and Loki sighed. Tony looked at him questioningly.

"It's his fertility thing." Loki muttered, pulling away from them and heading to the kitchen, "He feels that he has a responsibility to all of the children in the world. And to find out that they are killed before they get a chance to live upsets him. He wishes he could do something about it."

"It's not his fault." Stephen said softly.

Loki shrugged, pouring himself a glass of apple juice, "Tell that to him."

🛴🧯 Ƥ𝐨Ѷ Ćђⓐ𝓷Ǥ𝔢 🧥🦟

"Steve, are you. . . do you want some company?" Penny asked, lingering in the threshold of Steve, Bucky, and Sam's bedroom. Sam was standing next to her, watching the large, blond super soldier weep into his hands as he sat on his bed.

Sam couldn't take it anymore, heading over to sit behind Steve, wrapping his arms around him. Penny moved in front of him and Steve wrapped her into his arms.

Penny cupped his face, seeing his red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. "Oh Steve."

"She killed my child." Steve sobbed. "She killed my little girl and I didn't even know. I didn't even get a say."

Bucky, Elizabeth, and Elijah joined them. Elijah waited patiently in the corner of the room, while Elizabeth and Bucky joined them on the bed. Elizabeth was crying too, hugging Steve from the side.

"I'm sorry Steve, I didn't know." Elizabeth whimpered.

"I know." Steve choked out. "I'm sorry I'm a mess."

"You have every right to be." Bucky and Penny said at the same time.

Penny cupped Steve's face, wiping his tears away with her fingers. "Steve?" Penny asked softly. "I know. . . I know this won't fix anything. But I want kids too. Do you, do you want to um-" She blushed desperately.

Steve sobbed harder, wrapping her tighter in his arms, "Yes cookie. I want to have kids with you."

Penny smiled, but could also feel that she was about to cry too. Watching Steve, seeing Steve so broken like this was painful.

"Do you think, do you think she has a grave?" Steve asked, his voice breaking.

"I can ask Tony to look into it." Elijah said from behind, "I'll be right back."

"We can get her a little grave if she doesn't have one already." Bucky said softly.

"What would you have named her?" Sam asked softly.

Steve let out a shuddering breath, looking down at his hands. Penny moved to sit on the other side of him, curling into him.

"I. . . Delilah." Steve answered softly. "Delilah Rose Rogers."

"Then that's her name." Sam said softly.

"If she hadn't. . . we'd have a little girl right now." Steve whispered. "A little six year old girl that we'd be kissing good-bye as we sent her off to first grade. Teaching her how to ride bikes-"

"And punch little boys who pick on her!" Bucky said excitedly. Penny was glad that that made Steve laugh.

"It's okay Stevie." Elizabeth said softly, wiping her eyes with both hands, "You and Penny can have a thousand little girls."

"Not sure about a thousand." Penny said softly, "But at least three hundred."

Steve chuckled and then looked at all four of them, "Thank you. For. . . for coming after me."

"Till the end of the line punk." Bucky mumbled kissing Steve on the cheek.

"Till the end of the line." Sam murmured, hugging him tighter.

"Till the end of the line." Penny laughed.

They all looked at Elizabeth who just smiled.

"C'mon cookie." Bucky teased, "You can say it. You're part of this family."

"Till the End of the line then." Elizabeth whispered.

And though none of them knew it, Elizabeth's line was a bit shorter than all the rest.

🛍️🥍 ＰⓄ𝓥 匚𝕙𝒶ᶰ𝔾𝔢 🦗🍅

A figure moved through the halls of Stark tower, finding a quiet place to make a phone call. They ducked into the bathroom, pulling out their non traceable phone.

"Any news?" A harsh female voice asked on the other side of the phone.

"The best." They replied smoothly.

"Care the elaborate?"

The figure's mouth curved into a cruel smirk, "Your daughter is carrying the child of the Winter Soldier."

Lucinda laughed on the other side of the line, "Well then, it's time for a little reunion." 

[holylulusworld]

Overdue

Summary: You’re a strict librarian.

Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x Librarian!Reader

Warnings/Tags: short reader, mafia au, size kink (Steve), kidnapping?

I changed by posting schedule to match @navybrat817's Monday ask. Go, have a look a her blog and stories.

I had this one in my finished WIPs so here we go with Steve Rogers saving us from our job and boring Mondays. :)

You yawn and rub your tired eyes. It’s a slow day today. The library is almost empty, except for two teens hiding between two shelves to make out. You give them a pass for now if they don’t overdo it.

You turn your attention toward the books on your desk. Your colleague left them there after their shift for you to take care of. Just like always, they are selfish and lazy.

You huff and throw the pencil in your hands onto the desk. Your eyes are blurry, and you are ready to fall asleep. With only the two teens around, you allow yourself to close your eyes for a moment.  

Close to drifting toward your favorite fantasy you sigh dreamily. Your bed is calling for you, and you already miss your fluffy pillows. “So…tired…”

The door suddenly slams open, hitting the wall and you shriek in terror. Even the teens stopped making out to watch a tall man step inside the library.

He sticks out of this place like a sore thumb in his black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and expensive grey overcoat. You can’t see his shoes, but you assume they’re expensive too, just like the rest of his outfit.

“Hi,” you put on your best-faked smile. If only he stayed away, you could’ve daydreamed a little longer. “What are you looking for?”

“A book,” he gruffly replies, eyes roaming the library. It seems like he’s searching for more than a book. “Where do I find the—” His tongue darts out to wet his perfect pink lips, “law books?”

“On the left side, the third shelf. Are you looking for a specific book, Sir? I can tell you where to find it if you know the title,” you offer, but he shakes his head. He’s halfway toward the shelf before you end your sentence.

You huff and turn your attention toward the stack of books left on your desk. You still have to handle the books, check them for damage, scan them, and return them to the shelves.

Engrossed in your task you don’t hear the man return to your desk. He clears his throat, drawing your attention toward him. You flit your eyes up to watch him run his hand over his thick, but well-trimmed beard. His blue eyes search yours for moment before he speaks again.

“How can I help you, Sir?” you repeat the line you said so often in your life you can’t even count it anymore.

“I’m looking for a book,” he repeats, earning a smirk from you. “A specific book.”

“Do you have a title?” You slowly get up from your swivel chair and round the desk. “Sir?”

“Hmm…” he simply watches you step next to him. Compared to him, you’re small, tiny even. “You’re short.” He states a fact you already know about. “Very short.”

You frown at his attitude. Yes. You are short. This doesn’t give him the right to call you short. “What?”

“Oh, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he takes a step closer to get a better look at you. “It’s cute, really.”

“Cute?” you are fuming and would love to shove your shoe up his ass. But you cannot risk getting caught while hurting a customer. “Do you know the title of the book, yes or no.” Your polite smile is fading, and you can barely hide that you’re pissed at the stranger.

“I know the title,” he lowers himself to whisper the title in your ear. “Do you have that one?”

“Yes,” you spin on your heels and march away, not waiting for him to catch up with you. He’s a stranger at this place, but you know it like the palm of your hand.

“You’re not very talkative,” he comments while following you.

“It’s not my job to entertain the people coming here. And it’s forbidden to be too loud at a library.”

“Ah,” he laughs. “You’re very strict, huh? I like someone following rules. I have a few too.”

“Hmmm…” you browse the shelf, finger sliding over the back of the books. “There it is.” You pull the book out of the shelf to hand it to the man. “That’s the one you are looking for.”

“You’re very helpful too,” he muses while his eyes roam your smaller figure. “How long are you working here?”

“Do you want to borrow the book? Are you already a member of our library? If not, you can fill out the application form.” You point toward the application forms on your desk. “I must warn you. Do not overdue the books, Sir.”

“Doll, do you honestly believe I came here for a book?” His features darken, and he licks those plump lips again. He dips his head to drink your trembling form in. “Do you?”

“What?” You splutter.

“You, out!” He jerks his head toward the teens. “Now!” They run out of the library, never looking back. “And you…” He turns back toward you, still that smirk on his lips, “will come with me.”

Your eyes widen in fear. “No.” You shake your head. “I won’t go anywhere with you. I don’t even know you, Sir.”

He chuckles darkly. Before you can blink you end up thrown over his shoulder. You slap him and scream. It’s no use. You wiggle and beg but he walks out of the library, with you hanging over his shoulder.

“I told you to take the day off, doll,” Steve laughs as you mutter under your breath. “Sometimes your man must take matters in his hands…”

Tags in reblog.

[amethystarachnid]

MATCHMAKING

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, a little spicy

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ AU: Steve plays rugby and reader is coach's daughter, they're in college

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve Rogers, the new boy who just transferred from Brooklyn and the new captain of the Rugby team your father coaches. The attraction between you and Steve is undeniable, his teammates can't help but notice it and decide to pull a little stunt during a fame of 'truth or dare'.

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ TW(s): heated kisses and a little mention of reader and Steve getting freaky but it skips to the morning after with just a few jokes about that night

ᯓ★ Request: not requested but I really wanted to write for Steve <3

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the college’s rugby field. It was early fall, the crispness of the air mixing with the faint scent of freshly cut grass. The clatter of cleats on the hard ground echoed across the open space, and the sound of a coach’s whistle cut sharply through the air.

Y/N stood at the sidelines, clipboard in hand, watching her father—Coach L/N—run through drills with the team. As the coach's daughter, she'd spent more time on this field than she cared to count, but it wasn’t bad. She liked the sport, even if she wasn’t on the team. The players respected her, knowing she had as much knowledge of the game as her father did, and she'd always been a presence during practice.

Her father’s voice boomed, calling out instructions to the squad as they shifted from one drill to the next, sweat pouring down their faces. Everyone was focused, pushing hard—it was that time of the year where everyone needed to prove themselves for a spot on the starting lineup.

"Alright, guys, that’s enough! Gather round!"

The team jogged over, panting as they crowded around the coach. Y/N tucked her clipboard under her arm, her eyes flicking over the group when she noticed someone she didn’t recognize. He was standing slightly off to the side, leaning down to retie his cleats, but something about him stood out.

Broad shoulders, tousled blond hair peeking out from under his helmet, and sharp blue eyes that flicked up toward her for a brief moment before looking away. He had an easy confidence about him, though he hadn’t been on the field as long as the others—definitely new.

“That’s the transfer from Brooklyn,” her dad said beside her, noticing her staring. “Steve Rogers.”

Y/N nodded, the name vaguely familiar. She’d heard rumors around campus about a hotshot rugby player who had transferred in last minute. Apparently, he was a big deal at his old school, but this was the first time she’d actually seen him in person.

“Steve, over here!" Her dad called him over, and Steve straightened up, jogged the few feet separating them, his eyes locking with Y/N’s as he approached. Up close, he was taller than she’d realized, and his expression held a mixture of politeness and curiosity as he glanced between her and the coach.

“Steve, this is Y/N,” Coach L/N introduced, nodding toward her. “My daughter. She helps out with the team sometimes. Keeps us all in line.” There was a teasing tone in her father’s voice, but the pride was clear.

Steve offered a small smile, one that lit up his eyes. “Nice to meet you.” His voice was deeper than she expected, a soft Brooklyn accent coloring his words.

Y/N smiled back, a little flustered by the intensity of his gaze. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard you’re pretty good on the field.”

Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I try.”

“Well, if my dad lets you on the team, I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.”

Her dad rolled his eyes, already turning back toward the rest of the players. “Alright, enough chit-chat. Steve, get back with the boys! We’ll see what you’ve got.”

Steve gave a quick nod and jogged back to the team, but not before throwing one last look over his shoulder at Y/N. There was something unspoken in his glance—maybe curiosity, maybe intrigue—and she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter of nerves in her stomach.

It wasn’t often that someone new caught her attention on the rugby field, but there was something different about Steve Rogers. Something she couldn’t quite place.

As the practice continued, Y/N found her eyes drawn to him every now and then. His form was impeccable, his movements sharp and controlled. He was strong, that was obvious, but there was a gracefulness to how he played, almost effortless.

Her father had been watching Steve, too, nodding his approval every now and then. By the time practice ended, it was clear Steve was going to be a valuable addition to the team.

The players started heading off to the locker rooms, but Steve lingered a moment, catching Y/N’s eye once more as she gathered up her things.

“You staying around for next practice?” he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Maybe,” she replied, her own smile growing. “Depends if you’re worth watching.”

Steve laughed softly, his eyes twinkling. “Guess I’ll have to keep proving myself then.”

With a small wave, he headed off, leaving Y/N standing on the sidelines, a smile still playing on her lips.

The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of practices, games, and long afternoons spent on the rugby field. Steve quickly became a star on the team, just as everyone expected. His natural athleticism and leadership on the field made him a perfect fit. The team had gelled around him fast, and the coach was thrilled with his performance—though that didn’t stop Y/N’s father from pushing him even harder than the others.

And then there were the moments off the field.

Every practice, Steve seemed to find some excuse to talk to Y/N. At first, it was casual—small talk after practice, a few jokes shared while gathering equipment, or a friendly wave when their eyes met across the field. But soon, it started to feel like more than just passing conversations. He’d linger after everyone else had gone, catching her before she left or inviting her to walk with him toward the parking lot.

Y/N didn’t mind. In fact, she looked forward to their chats. There was something about Steve—despite his rugged appearance and commanding presence on the field—that felt so down-to-earth and real. He made her laugh in ways she hadn’t in a while, and his Brooklyn charm was hard to resist.

But her dad wasn’t oblivious.

Coach L/N had noticed the subtle changes, the way Steve’s eyes would drift toward Y/N during practice or how his smile always seemed a little wider when she was around. At first, he ignored it, chalking it up to a friendly dynamic. But after a few more practices, he started getting a little… protective.

It started small. Her father would call Steve out for minor things on the field—things he probably wouldn’t have mentioned otherwise.

"Rogers, stay focused," Coach barked during one practice when Steve glanced over at Y/N after scoring a try. Steve's brows furrowed in confusion, but he nodded and went back to the drill.

Then, there were the glares. Every time Steve was nearby, talking to Y/N or even laughing with her, her dad’s eyes would narrow ever so slightly. At first, Y/N thought she was imagining it, but even Steve had started noticing.

“Does your dad hate me, or is it just my imagination?” Steve asked one evening as they walked toward the locker room. His voice was light, but there was a hint of seriousness beneath the joke.

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s just… protective, especially when it comes to me. He probably thinks you’re too much of a distraction.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Am I?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile spreading across her face. “Maybe a little.”

They paused near the entrance to the locker room, the evening sun casting a warm, golden light around them. The sounds of the team inside were distant now, muffled by the thick walls of the building. For a moment, it was just the two of them, standing close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

Steve's blue eyes flickered over her face, lingering on her lips before meeting her gaze again. "Well, I don’t mind a little distraction."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, the teasing in his voice making her breath hitch. He leaned slightly closer, just enough to make the space between them feel smaller, more charged.

Y/N swallowed, feeling the tension crackling in the air. She had felt it for weeks now—the growing connection between them, the unspoken attraction that simmered just beneath the surface. But this moment was different. It felt like they were standing on the edge of something more.

Just then, the door to the locker room swung open, and her father stepped out, eyes immediately landing on the two of them.

"Steve, you still here?" Her dad’s voice was sharp, his expression unreadable. But Y/N didn’t miss the brief glare he shot Steve’s way before turning his attention to her.

"Y/N, we’re heading home in a few minutes. You coming?"

Steve took a small step back, clearing his throat. "Yeah, Coach. I was just, uh… heading in."

Her father nodded, but there was something in his gaze that made Y/N’s stomach twist with awkwardness. As Steve turned to go, her dad’s eyes flicked back to her, brow furrowing.

"You two seem to be getting pretty friendly."

Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head at her father. "Dad, it’s nothing. We’re just talking. Besides, you’re always pushing the team to bond, right? Steve’s no different."

Her father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know, I know… but Steve’s new. You don’t know him like the others."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, sensing the real issue. "Is that what this is about? Or is this just you being protective because he’s… you know, him?"

Coach L/N gave her a look, the protective dad look. “Look, Y/N, I’m just saying… don’t get too close. He’s focused on the game, and I don’t want things getting complicated.”

Y/N rolled her eyes again, though this time with less humor. "I’m not a kid, Dad. I can handle myself."

Her father exhaled sharply, clearly torn. “I know. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” she said softly, offering him a small smile to ease his concern.

Her father gave her a brief nod before heading off, leaving Y/N standing there, the echoes of the conversation lingering in her mind. She knew her dad meant well, but the connection with Steve… it wasn’t something she could easily dismiss.

The following days were a mixture of thrilling tension and underlying awkwardness. Steve, still as charming as ever, seemed to tread lightly whenever her father was nearby, though his lingering glances and soft smiles were still there. And Y/N found herself drawn to him more and more, the weight of her dad’s protective stance feeling like a storm cloud hanging over them.

After one particularly grueling practice, Steve found Y/N sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through her clipboard. He jogged over, a grin plastered across his face.

“Hey, you free after this? Thought we could grab a coffee.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing over at the field where her dad was talking to some of the players. She bit her lip, then met Steve’s gaze. “I’d like that… but my dad—”

Steve laughed softly, cutting her off. “Your dad will get over it.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You say that now, but wait till he glares at you again.”

He took a step closer, leaning down just enough so their faces were only inches apart. “I can handle a few glares,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

Her heart skipped a beat, and for the briefest moment, she thought he might kiss her. But then he straightened up, offering her his hand to help her stand.

“Come on, let’s see if we can get out of here before your dad sends out a search party.”

Y/N smiled, her heart racing as she took his hand, feeling the warmth of his fingers wrapping around hers.

The rugby team had won the big game, and the adrenaline still buzzed in Steve’s veins as he stepped into the frat house. The place was packed, music pulsing from the speakers, red solo cups in hand, and the air thick with excitement. The team was on a high, celebrating the victory with their usual wild energy, and the whole campus seemed to have turned out for the party.

Steve had been to a few parties since transferring, but this one felt different. Maybe it was because of the win, or maybe because his eyes kept drifting to one particular person in the room.

Y/N.

He spotted her as soon as he walked in. She was standing near the drinks table, laughing with a group of friends, and for the first time, Steve saw her out of the usual sweatpants and hoodie. She wore a fitted shirt that hugged her in all the right places, paired with jeans that accentuated her curves, and her hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the game, or maybe the way she lit up when she laughed, but seeing her like that made something in Steve’s chest tighten.

"Damn," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, you’re screwed, man." Sam, one of his teammates, appeared at his side, giving him a knowing grin. “You’ve got it bad for her.”

Steve shot him a look, trying to play it off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, you don’t,” Sam teased, patting Steve on the back before heading off into the crowd.

Steve sighed, shaking his head, but his gaze drifted back to Y/N. She caught his eye for a second, her lips curling into a smile as she waved him over. He hesitated for a moment, then made his way through the crowd toward her.

“Hey, captain!” she called, teasing him as he approached. “Good game.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, smiling as he grabbed a drink from the table. “You watched?”

“Of course. Couldn’t miss your debut as the campus hero.” She nudged him playfully, her eyes sparkling.

Before Steve could respond, the rest of the team joined them, a group of guys and girls from the rugby squad already half-drunk and buzzing from the win. Bucky, Steve’s best friend, grinned mischievously as he threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, we’re starting a game in the living room. You two are coming, right?”

“What game?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow, though she was already being pulled along with the rest of the group.

Bucky smirked. “Truth or Dare.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “That’s so middle school.”

“Exactly. It’s gonna be fun,” Bucky said with a grin. “Besides, we’ve got some good dares lined up.”

Steve laughed softly, catching the gleam in Bucky’s eye. He had a bad feeling about where this was going, but when Y/N shrugged and said, “Why not? Let’s see what you’ve got,” he found himself agreeing too.

The group gathered in the living room, sprawled out on couches and the floor, the vibe easy and relaxed. Steve ended up sitting next to Y/N, their knees brushing slightly as they settled into the circle. Bucky sat across from them, a devilish grin on his face as he spun the empty beer bottle in the center of the circle.

“Alright, let’s kick this off,” Bucky announced. The bottle landed on Sam first, and the dares started out simple—chugging drinks, making prank calls, the usual college party antics. But it didn’t take long for things to shift.

The bottle spun again, this time landing on Y/N.

“Truth or dare?” Bucky asked, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye.

Y/N hesitated, but the competitive side in her won out. “Dare.”

Bucky’s grin widened. “I dare you to sit on Steve’s lap for the rest of the round.”

The group burst out laughing, and Y/N’s cheeks flushed pink. She shot a mock glare at Bucky. “Seriously?”

“Rules are rules,” Bucky said with a shrug, though he was clearly enjoying every second.

Steve shifted slightly, trying to seem nonchalant even though his heart was suddenly racing. He caught Y/N’s eye, offering her a lopsided smile. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Y/N bit her lip, the playful glint in her eyes betraying her shyness. “It’s fine. Just a game, right?”

She stood up, stepping over to Steve and gingerly sitting on his lap. He felt the warmth of her body immediately, her weight settling against him as she tried to find a comfortable position. It was awkward, but also… nice. His hands instinctively went to her waist, barely resting there as the group continued to laugh and joke around them.

Y/N leaned back slightly, her back pressing against Steve’s chest. She turned her head, her lips close to his ear as she whispered, “This is so stupid.”

Steve chuckled softly, his breath catching at how close she was. “Yeah, but it’s kind of fun.”

They both fell into a quiet, comfortable silence as the game continued. But then, a few minutes later, the bottle spun again—this time landing on Steve.

“Truth or dare, Rogers?” one of the guys called out.

Steve didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

Bucky exchanged a glance with Sam, a smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, we dare you to kiss Y/N. Right here. On the lips.”

The group erupted into laughter again, some of the guys cheering, and Y/N’s face turned crimson. She shot Bucky a glare, but he just shrugged innocently.

Y/N shifted in Steve’s lap, turning to face him slightly, her heart pounding. Steve’s face was red too, but there was a soft smile tugging at his lips. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as his hand gently cupped her cheek.

“You okay with this?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N’s stomach flipped, her nerves a mess, but there was something about the way Steve was looking at her that made her feel safe. She nodded slowly, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah.”

Without another word, Steve closed the distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was brief—just long enough to send sparks racing through her body—but when he pulled back, Y/N felt like the whole world had shifted.

The group cheered again, and Y/N, flustered, buried her face in her hands, laughing despite herself.

“Well, that was… something,” she said, her voice muffled by her hands.

Steve laughed too, his hand still resting on her waist. “Yeah. Something.”

For the rest of the game, it seemed like every dare had something to do with the two of them—holding hands, giving each other compliments, and, at one point, Y/N had to feed Steve a piece of pizza. It was clear the team had caught on to whatever was brewing between them, and they weren’t shy about pushing it.

By the time the game ended, the tension between Y/N and Steve was undeniable, and she wasn’t sure if it was the game or just the fact that they had been dancing around this for weeks.

As the night wound down and people started to leave, Steve caught Y/N’s hand, pulling her aside into a quieter corner of the house.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “I know the game was just for fun, but… I’ve been meaning to ask you if you wanted to go out sometime. Like, on a real date. If you’re interested.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, her smile widening. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Steve grinned, his eyes lighting up. “Great. I’ll text you?”

She nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Sounds perfect.”

As they stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background, Y/N couldn’t help but think that maybe the team’s little matchmaking game had worked out after all.

The week leading up to their date was a blur of nervous anticipation. Y/N found herself replaying the kiss they’d shared at the party more times than she cared to admit, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Steve had done the same. Every time they crossed paths on campus or at practice, there was an undeniable tension between them—charged looks, teasing smiles, fleeting touches that left her heart racing.

The night of their date finally arrived, and Y/N felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she stood in front of her mirror. She’d chosen a casual but flattering outfit—something that said she wasn’t trying too hard but still made her feel confident. A soft, fitted sweater paired with jeans that hugged her curves just right. She took a deep breath, smoothing her hair one last time before heading out.

Steve had offered to pick her up, and when she opened the door to her apartment, he was standing there with that easy smile that made her stomach flip. He looked good—too good, in fact. His jeans fit him perfectly, and the dark shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest and shoulders in a way that made it hard to focus on anything else.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he gave her an appreciative once-over. “You look… amazing.”

Y/N smiled, feeling her cheeks warm. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck as he held out his hand. “Ready?”

They’d decided to keep things simple for their first date—dinner at a cozy little restaurant near campus followed by a walk around the city. But even as they sat across from each other at the restaurant, sharing stories and laughing over their plates of pasta, the undercurrent of tension between them was impossible to ignore.

Steve’s eyes lingered on her lips whenever she laughed, and every time his hand brushed against hers on the table, a spark shot through her. It was like the air between them was charged, thick with unspoken desire. And as the night went on, the playful flirting they’d started with grew heavier, more intense.

After dinner, they walked along the quiet streets, the cool night air swirling around them. Steve’s hand found its way to hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as they walked. The conversation flowed easily, but there was something electric in the silence between words, in the way their eyes met and held just a little too long.

They ended up near a park, the glow of streetlights casting soft shadows around them. The streets were nearly empty, the city quiet as they found a bench to sit on, just off the beaten path. Y/N settled beside Steve, their shoulders touching as they sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the distant city fading away.

Steve turned toward her, his thumb tracing light circles over the back of her hand as he looked at her with a soft, unreadable expression. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he admitted quietly, his voice low and rough in the cool night air.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yeah? What have you been thinking?”

Steve’s gaze dropped to her lips for a moment before flicking back up to her eyes. “About that kiss. About how I’ve been wanting to do it again.”

Her pulse quickened, the heat between them building as the words hung in the air. She leaned in slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then why don’t you?”

Steve didn’t need any more encouragement. In one smooth motion, he closed the distance between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck as his lips met hers. The kiss was different this time—deeper, more intense. There was no crowd around them, no game, no laughter from their friends. It was just the two of them, and the fire that had been simmering between them for weeks finally ignited.

Y/N’s hand slid up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt as she leaned into him, her body pressing against his. Steve responded instantly, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that matched her own, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

The kiss deepened, growing more heated with each passing second. Steve’s hands roamed, one sliding up her back, the other resting firmly on her hip as he pulled her even closer. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps between kisses. Every touch, every brush of his lips against hers sent a surge of heat through her, and she found herself craving more.

Steve’s lips left hers for a moment, trailing down to her jaw, then her neck, where he pressed soft, teasing kisses that made her shiver. Y/N tilted her head back, giving him better access as her hands gripped his shoulders, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Steve…” she breathed, her voice barely audible as he kissed a sensitive spot just below her ear, sending a wave of heat pooling low in her stomach.

He pulled back slightly, his breathing just as ragged as hers, his blue eyes dark with desire as they met hers. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

Y/N nodded, her lips curling into a breathless smile. “More than okay.”

Steve grinned, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her again, slower this time, but no less intense. The kiss was full of promises—of everything that could come later, of everything they both wanted but weren’t quite ready to rush into just yet.

Eventually, they pulled apart, both of them breathless and flushed. Steve rested his forehead against hers, his hands still holding her close as they sat in the quiet park, the tension between them simmering but not overwhelming.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you on the field,” Steve admitted with a soft chuckle, his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N laughed, her fingers still playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve been waiting for you to do it since that stupid truth or dare game.”

Steve smiled, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her hip as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way… how about we head back to your place? Watch a movie or something?”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing at the suggestion. She knew exactly what he meant by “or something,” and the idea sent a thrill through her. But she also liked the way they were taking their time, savoring the slow build of tension, letting things unfold naturally.

“Yeah,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his. “I’d like that.”

With a final lingering kiss, they stood up, hands still intertwined as they made their way back toward campus, the night stretched out before them, full of possibilities.

The door to Y/N’s apartment clicked shut as she and Steve stepped inside, the quiet hum of the city outside fading away. The soft glow from a few scattered lamps lit up the cozy living room, but neither of them paid much attention to their surroundings. The air between them was thick with unspoken desire, the kind that had been building for weeks and was now ready to erupt.

Y/N barely had a chance to kick off her shoes before Steve’s hands were on her, pulling her close. His lips found hers again, just as hungry as they’d been in the park, but now with a deeper urgency. She responded in kind, her fingers tugging at his shirt, her body pressing against his as they stumbled toward her bedroom.

Steve lifted her effortlessly, his strong arms holding her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Their kisses were heated, breathless, the sound of their soft moans filling the small space as they tumbled onto her bed. Clothes were shed with a kind of frantic need, leaving them bare to each other in the dim light.

It was a night full of passion—skin on skin, lips tracing each other’s bodies, whispered words that were quickly lost in the haze of desire. They moved together as if they had known each other far longer than a few weeks, their connection undeniable, their chemistry electric. Every touch, every kiss, was an exploration, a discovery of each other that left them breathless and wanting more.

By the time they finally fell asleep, tangled in each other’s arms, the early morning light was already creeping through the curtains. It had been a night neither of them would forget.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of clattering from the kitchen. She stretched lazily in bed, her muscles deliciously sore from the night before. A slow smile spread across her face as she glanced down at herself—she was wearing Steve’s shirt, the fabric soft and slightly too big on her. It smelled like him, all clean soap and something uniquely Steve, and it sent a warm feeling coursing through her.

Curious, she slipped out of bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Steve. He was standing at the stove, his back to her, wearing nothing but his boxers, his broad shoulders and back on full display as he worked on what looked like breakfast. The sight was domestic and unexpectedly sweet, making her smile grow.

“Morning,” Y/N said, her voice still thick with sleep as she leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed. “What’s all this?”

Steve turned, a spatula in hand, and grinned when he saw her. “Good morning, beautiful. I thought I’d make you breakfast. Figured it’s the least I could do after…” His eyes traveled over her, and a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Last night.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but she couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You’re pretty good in the kitchen for a rugby captain.”

“And outside of it too, if I remember last night correctly,” Steve teased, his tone low and full of mischief as he flipped a pancake.

She rolled her eyes, though her heart fluttered. “You’re terrible.”

“Just trying to impress the coach’s daughter,” he said with a wink, turning back to the stove.

Y/N laughed, settling herself on the kitchen stool, her legs swinging idly as she watched Steve work. The smell of pancakes and bacon filled the air, and everything felt so easy, so perfect in that moment. She hadn’t felt this comfortable around someone in a long time.

Just as Steve was plating the pancakes, there was a sudden loud noise at the front door—the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as the door swung open, and in walked her dad. Her dad, Coach of the rugby team, holding a newspaper in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, completely unaware of what he was about to walk into.

“Oh shit,” Y/N muttered under her breath, panic flooding her as she shot up from the stool.

Steve turned toward the door, his eyes widening as he froze, spatula still in hand.

There, standing in the doorway, was Y/N’s dad—mid-sentence as he walked in. “Hey, Y/N, I figured I’d stop by to—” His voice trailed off as he took in the scene in front of him: Y/N, sitting at the kitchen island wearing nothing but Steve’s shirt, and Steve—standing in front of the stove, in just his boxers, holding a spatula like a deer caught in headlights.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Y/N’s dad blinked, his eyes narrowing as he registered exactly what he was seeing. His gaze flicked from Y/N to Steve, his expression hardening as realization dawned. His grip on the coffee cup tightened, and Y/N could have sworn she saw his eye twitch.

“Dad,” Y/N started, her voice high-pitched, trying to keep things light, though her heart was racing. “What are you doing here?”

Her dad didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes locked onto Steve, who still hadn’t moved. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife, and Y/N felt her stomach drop as her father’s mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Well, I didn’t expect to find this when I came over to check on you,” he said, his voice low and calm, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

Steve, finally snapping out of his frozen state, cleared his throat, carefully putting the spatula down. “Coach, uh… I can explain.”

Y/N’s dad raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But I don’t think I want to hear it.”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole. She quickly stood up, stepping toward her dad in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “Dad, listen—”

“No, Y/N, I’m not mad at you,” her dad interrupted, though his eyes never left Steve. “But this… this is unexpected.”

Steve, ever the soldier, stepped forward, trying to keep his composure despite the fact that he was standing half-naked in front of his coach. “I swear, sir, it’s not what it looks like.”

Y/N’s dad gave him a flat look. “Really? Because it looks like my daughter is wearing your shirt, and you’re cooking breakfast in your underwear.”

Steve opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He was at a loss, and Y/N could see how badly he was trying to keep things together. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Her dad let out a long sigh, shaking his head. “You know, Rogers, you’ve been a damn good player since you transferred, and I had high hopes for you this season.”

Steve swallowed nervously. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” her dad continued, his voice calm but firm. “Because after this little display, you’re benched for the next two games.”

“What?!” Y/N blurted out, her eyes wide as she stepped between them. “Dad, come on—he didn’t do anything wrong!”

Her dad didn’t budge. “He broke the number one rule. No dating the coach’s daughter.”

“Dad!” Y/N groaned, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. “That’s not even a real rule!”

“It is now,” he said, giving Steve a hard look. “Two games, Rogers. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before…” He gestured vaguely to the two of them, his expression unimpressed. “…making pancakes in your underwear in my daughter’s apartment.”

Steve winced but nodded. “Understood, sir.”

Y/N couldn’t help but groan in frustration, burying her face in her hands. This was not how she had envisioned the morning going.

Her dad sighed, looking at Y/N with a softened expression. “I’ll talk to you later, kiddo. But next time, maybe give me a heads-up before I walk into something like this.”

Y/N could only nod, mortified beyond belief as her dad turned and walked out the door, leaving Steve and Y/N standing in stunned silence.

After a moment, Steve let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced over at Y/N. “Well… that was something.”

Y/N dropped her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that just happened.”

Steve gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I guess this means no more pancakes in my boxers?”

Y/N snorted, despite herself, stepping into his arms and resting her head against his chest. “Yeah… probably not the best idea.”

Steve chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “On the bright side, we’ve got two weeks free to spend together.”

She looked up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re taking this pretty well, considering you just got benched.”

Steve grinned, his arms tightening around her. “Hey, for you? I’d sit out the whole season.”

Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Steve said, leaning down to kiss her softly. “But I’m ridiculous about you.”

And just like that, the tension melted away, leaving them in the warm, quiet aftermath of what would undoubtedly be a story they’d laugh about for years to come.

my boy Steve deserves more recognition!! So don't forget to leave a like, a reblog and a follow if you want to read more of my works!

[booksandabeer]

Steve-Centric Stucky Fics: 5 Recs + 1 TBR

As promised, here is the rec list for Steve/Bucky fics with a focus on Steve-centric stories—all of them not EG-compliant, as requested. It's not quite as long as my usual rec lists for two reasons:

(1) I'm still sick and I can barely sit up straight, so please forgive the brevity of the list, and

(2) I deliberately wanted to include exclusively fics that were written in 2022 and 2023 to shine a spotlight on a few of the many wonderful writers and artists who are still creating absolutely fantastic works for the Stucky ship and who deserve to be read just as widely and passionately as older works in the fandom. Recency bias, but make it positive!

So without further ado, here are five Steve-centric Stucky recs and one more fic that I can't wait to get to:

1. say it soft and it's almost like praying by Somanywords | 41K, M

Author's summary: Natasha says, “Look, whatever the truth is about you, we have no way of really knowing the Winter Soldier's intentions. He’s not all there, he’s not who you remember. He’s a hot mess, Steve.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Steve says, and he’s nearly yelling, but not quite, because he doesn’t need to, not when they’re so close. “Why does everyone keep saying he’s a mess—have you seen me?" 

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. I literally finished this fic about 15 minutes ago, so I haven't even left a comment yet. I'm still processing, you could say. The author tagged this with "just another post catws fic (but by me)"—and yes, that's what you get. All the usual ingredients are here, but the joy of TWS canon divergence is of course in the endless possibilities of how these well-known ingredients are used, re-arranged, and re-imagined as something new, exciting, and often much more satisfying than in canon. This fic excels at all three and is an absolute joy from start to finish.

2. Daybreak by BonkyBornes, art by PottersPink | 9K, NR

Author's summary: They called it project Rebirth because the person was supposed to be reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. Steve was supposed to be the phoenix. He was supposed to rise from the ashes of his old body, he was supposed to leave behind his deafness and his limp and the scoliosis that bent his entire body to the left. He was supposed to leave behind everything that held him back.

In the end, the only thing that left was the only thing that mattered.

Shrinkyclinks canon-divergent AU. What if Project Rebirth didn't go right...but it didn't go entirely wrong either? A story about ghosts but not a ghost story. Or maybe something else entirely? Steve fights his body and time and the memories that keep haunting him. Beautifully written, with gorgeous art by PottersPink that perfectly complements the story.

3. Exhale by seapigeon, art by dudewhereismypie | 15K, M

Author's summary: After the Chitauri invasion, Steve parts ways with SHIELD, unsure if he can trust an agency that tried to deceive him and built weapons from the Tesseract.

He finds himself alone in an unfamiliar future, penniless, not even legally alive. Fortunately, he knows how to survive. Steve Rogers is used to getting by on his own.

The thing is, he doesn't have to.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A fic that asks the question: What if, after the battle of New York, Steve had told SHIELD a polite but firm 'No'? Follow him as he strikes out on his own, finds an apartment, a job, and friends, figures out life in the 21st century...and of course falls in love!

4. Preberseeschießen by Ginny_Potter | 6K, T

Author's summary: Bucky breathes out and shoots. The bullet hits water… and there it is, the zapping sound of paper tearing.

The light turns on and off three times. Third circle. Just a lick out of bullseye. The Howlies explode in cheers.

Or, the Howling Commandos play a shooting game with the Austrian Resistance and Steve has lots of unresolved feelings about himself, his new body, and his changing relationship with Bucky. In other words, comrades are comrades, angst looms, and Steve feels.

Wartime fic. Would you like to read some excellent gay angst full of yearning and unresolved tension, peppered with interesting and wonderfully specific historical details and Howlies camaraderie? Would you like to get your heart crushed a little? Yes? Here you go. And if this makes you feel too sad by the end of it and you crave a bit of a happier resolution, just jump straight into a fistfull of dollars (5K, E) by the same author, which is not intended as a companion piece or even set in the same universe, but it works just as if it were. (Look at me sneaking in extra recs.)

5. Not In The Answer But The Question by aimmyarrowshigh, art by PottersPink | 27K, T

Author's summary: It rankles that his drink was made before he even got a chance to order it. What if he wanted a change? What if he were adventurous and bold? What if he tried something new?

---

Or, Steve Rogers shakes up his gray daily routine in 2014 by going back home to Vinegar Hill. To his surprise, the Jewish deli he used to frequent with Arnie is still standing.

And Steve's whole life changes again.

Shrunkyclunks. Post-Avengers canon divergent. A lost and lonely Steve tries to figure out who he was, is and most importantly, wants to be in this new century he's found himself in that is both terrifying and full of possibilities. Told in vignettes (I did not count, but I believe all of them are exactly 100 word drabbles) that perfectly illustrate the fragmented mind and life of its protagonist and his experience of constantly shifting and adjusting between past and present. A story about identity, memory, self-acceptance, and finding the courage to love and let yourself be loved. And food. So much amazing food!

+ 1 TBR: Operation: Gros Michel by SquadOfCats | 358K, E

Author's summary: “It starts with bananas. Of course, it's not really about the bananas. Just like a camel isn't bothered by one single straw, just like a dam doesn't break because of one extra drop. Obviously, Steve's mental breakdown isn't about bananas.”

Steve is overwhelmed and hanging by a thread, doing his best to take care of Bucky while still deeply traumatized himself. He finally has a breakdown over the stupidest of things: bananas. So Bucky takes care of him.

In which Steve learns to surf, Bucky becomes a gardener, and they both begin to heal.

Post-CA:TWS canon divergent. No, I did not make a mistake, the word count for this story really does come in at an impressive (or intimidating, you decide) 358,225 words! Which is the only reason why I haven't read it yet. I do want to make time for this asap because the snippets I've read so far were very intriguing and everything I've heard about it from people who have finished it, sounds absolutely amazing. So, this is the wild card pick!

Happy reading! <3

[mrs-barnes-rogers-writes]

Angel - Part 5

Marvel AU

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Enhanced Omega Reader x Alpha Bucky Barnes

Theme: A/B/O / True Mates

Summary: It's different when you're enhanced. Everything is different, every smell, every sound, touch, feelings. The way it's different doesn't make sense unless you are enhanced. Throw in what comes with Alpha and Omega instincts, and the intensity of your presentation is even more than any other. When you find yourself in need of help you can call on the alpha you trust the most, Natasha Romanoff. You just don't expect to find your alphas at the same time. Are you really enough for them? And can you really be the Luna to the Avengers?

"To be loved, to be loved by your mate is everything." - Wanda Maximoff

Reader is enhanced, has wings and has powers connected to electricity.

Chapter Summary: The reader takes the rescue mission in hand but will Bucky's self loathing lead to problems?

Chapter Warning: Mentions of an abusive childhood, injuries, blood, drowning.

Being enhanced made you different, but how it made you different was also interchangeable from person to person. Jean Gray had once tried to explain it to you, but science and DNA was never your strong point. The one part you did understand was that for some that the DNA activation that made you mutant (or enhanced to be politically correct) was caused by a crisis and your body reacting. Yours was the need to protect yourself as a child. It had started with the flickering of lights when you were upset. With parents like yours that was often. One violent outburst from your stepfather gifted you with static shocks. The next time electricity waved through your fingers. He kept his distance for a few months until your mother heard of undesirables hunting out mutants. Some parents hid their children and others, those like your mother, offered you to them.

You jumped from your bedroom window in a bid to escape, hoping for a soft landing. But the landing never came and you found yourself in the air, your hoodie ripped from your back, and the bralette you were wearing underneath barely hanging on. Your mother had gasped as she rushed to the window to grab you.

At fourteen you had literally ‘flown the coop’. Eventually you found yourself at Xavier’s door. He and the X-Men had taught you to hone your skills but the damage of your life back home had always lingered and you didn’t stay anywhere long. Trust and fear fuelling your worries.

Your work as an AFH, Agent For Hire, led you to Barton and Romanoff, and in turn now, as you dipped through the storm it led you to your alphas. Now though, that wasn’t the priority. Getting them and Sam off the roof of the jet and out the water was. Your enhanced senses confirmed that Bruce was right, Sam was the worst injured. A broken wrist and ribs, a punctured lung, shrapnel to his leg, that although torqued was bleeding heavily. You were sure from his slowing heartbeat he was probably bleeding internally too.

Both Steve and Bucky were holding on to him, the latter yelling at him to stay awake. Each had an arm across him as they used their free hand to grip the jet. Steve’s head was bleeding heavily from where the emergency line cradle had hit him in the head and his breathing was laboured.

Bucky spotted you incoming. His brow furrowed with confusion. He’d seen a shadow fall from the jet and had thought he was hallucinating when he didn’t see any of the others or the emergency line. Now he realised that shadow was very much real, had wings and was about to land on him. You also smelt very familiar.

You gestured as you neared for him to move and he rolled his body away slightly allowing you space to slot him between him and Sam. You tapped his arm and then Steve’s for them to release him, as you slipped one arm under Sam’s shoulder blades and another under his legs. Steve failed to move and his grip tightened. Bucky yelled at him to let go. Steve looked up confused, face bloody, struggling to see you through the storm and the blood that trickled down his face. He loosened his grip slightly as he tried to focus and you used the moment to  shoot upwards into the sky. You were in the jet quickly after and placing Sam onto one of the beds that Bruce had set up.

You signed to Clint.

“Rogers next. Head injury.”

He relayed to Bruce as you jumped from the jet again. The sky lit up with lightning and your hair stood on end reacting as your body responded to the storm around and the static electricity around it. The waves grew higher and more violent as you neared.

Steve and Bucky were battered by the waves and the jet had now tilted slightly causing them to be further into the water than before . Bucky now seemed to be half on top of his Steve and you realised that he was now unconscious, his body going limp as you approached. Bucky was trying his best to keep them both on the roof of the jet and stop Steve falling into the depths of whatever ocean or sea they were currently being thrown around.

You stopped short of landing on the roof of the jet and hovered above them both, wings keeping you in the air. You tapped Bucky’s arm as you gripped the harnesses that usually carried Steve’s shield. He released him as you flew upwards and you caught Bucky’s voice on the wind, you made out the word ‘careful’ and you weren’t sure if he meant with Steve or yourself. You were sure he meant the first. Moments later you manhandled him onto another of the beds. Clint and Nat were quickly by his side as Bruce worked on Sam.

You started to run towards the back of the jet, ready to grab Bucky. You leapt as you had before, your wings having stayed outwards since the first rescue. Your eyes went wide as they locked onto the sergeant below. A huge wave had formed and as it dipped and turned, it pulled Bucky and the jet with it and turned him under the waves. You went to shout but nothing came out. You flew upward and rounded back to pick up speed. The jet resurfaced but there was no sign of Barnes.

You tapped on your glasses and they picked up the pulse of Bucky’s heartbeat. It was getting lower into the ocean and you needed to act quickly. You flew at speed downwards towards him, your wings angled to give you more speed. Nearing the water you put your arms in front of you for a diving motion and took a deep breath. The speed that you’d picked up in the air propelled you into the water and towards Bucky. His eyes were closed but one arm was reaching out in front of him like he had tried a last minute grab of the jet before being buried by the waves. With a few strokes you were able to grab the harness that wrapped around his upper torso and held his weapons. You kicked your legs and fought against the sea, battling to get to the surface. You’d never been this far underwater before and definitely hadn’t had hold of a two hundred pound super soldier in the water either. You decided to use your wings and pushed them into a flapping motion in sync with your legs.

You broke the surface with a gasp. The waves grew bigger by the moment and a brief glance at Bucky in your arms told you he wasn’t breathing. Looking up into the darkness you could make out the lights of the jet, the door still open and Clint hanging out of it waving a flare. Your vision was blurred by the water on your mission glasses but it was enough to guide you back to them. A heavy pull of the water let you know you were in the trough of a huge wave and you knew it was now or never. You wrapped your legs around Bucky’s and slipped your hands into the back of his harness. You pulled and pushed with your wings until you were out of the water and battling your way to the jet.

You landed in a heap, still wrapped around the alpha. You heard Bruce yell to get him breathing and pulled yourself from around him. With Bruce working on Sam, Nat on Steve and Clint lining up a beacon arrow to fire to the jet it was on you.

You pulled Bucky onto his back and checked his airways. His heart was slow but still beating. You blew two breathes directly into his mouth, as Clint quickly joined you. He slapped his face and yelled at Bucky to wake up. You blew another breath into his mouth and decided to shock him with a little static electricity.

Water splashed across your face as he began to cough and you pushed him onto his side. You hit him hard on his back as he moved onto all fours. He coughed up more water and you hit him again before he gasped and gestured at you to stop.

Bucky was confused. One minute he’d been watching you take Steve. Then he was underwater. Now he was on the jet but it smelt like he was at Coney Island.

You watched as he took deep breaths before he muttered that you should have left him. It was quiet enough for the others to miss it with the noise of the jet but you certainly didn’t it and your brow furrowed as you looked towards Clint.

“What did he say?”

You signed back, concern across your face.

“He said I should have left him.”

It was at this moment Clint lost his shit. He grabbed at Bucky and pulled him from the floor, attempting to manhandle him towards the bed waiting for him.

“Hey asshole, she just risked her damn life for you, so you can quit with the self loathing bullshit.”

“I didn’t ask her to do that.” He replied shrugging Clint off.

“No, but she did it anyway. Didn’t even have to ask her and she’s throwing herself into a fucking storm for you three idiots. You’d be dead without her, all fucking three of you. Is that what you want?”

Bucky went to yell back but coughed again and struggled to catch his breath. You listened carefully and could hear he still had water in his lungs. You signed to Clint, who in turn yelled at Bucky.

“You’ve got water in your lungs dipshit. Get on the bed.”

Clint pulled at Bucky’s shoulder and he brushed him off harshly. You felt the mood in the jet shift further and the start of a growl rumbled in Natasha’s chest. A growl from Bruce followed but it sounded more like the other guy. Clint rubbed his face in frustration.

At this point you had really had enough. You were wet, cold and hurt. You were drained. You needed another shower and a warm bed. You heard Bruce ask Barnes again to get on the bed and his response was a growl. Natasha went to react but for once she wasn’t quick enough, as this time it was you losing your shit. You strode towards Barnes and pushed out your wings as a show of force and intimidation. You were almost surprised that it worked and he staggered back in shock and collided with the side of the bed as you crowded him. You grabbed the harness and lifted him up, sitting him on the bed. You were purposely rough as you lifted his legs and pushed him further on to bed.

You signed angrily.

“Get on the bed and do as you’re fucking told Sergeant.”

It was as you stormed off towards the bathroom that Bucky realised he’d fucked up. It was you that smelt of Coney Island. Well, sugar doughnuts and cotton candy.

The stirring of his alpha confirmed it. You were his.

Fancy a cuppa? My Ko-Fi.

TAGLIST

@animegirlgeeky @mrsevans90 @vicmc624 @elissanatok

[sconnie-doesnt-know]

Ups and downs, twists and turns.

I LOVE IT!

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. 😌

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[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Tags: age gap, boarding school au, a/b/o, dub-con/non-con, spanking, feminization, dumbification, sexism, misogyny, subjugation, prostate milking, discipline, D/s elements, societal issues, hurt/comfort, mentions of past self-harm, onlyfans, predatory behavior, gender politics

Summary: Bucky is not pleased when he finds out that his parents tricked him and he's being forced to stay at the school.

Author's Note: *reformatted with a few age and plot changes to adhere to Tumblr's ToS*

(Wait! I haven't read Part 1 Part 2 yet!)

Part 3 - A Pedagogy Steeped in Tradition, cont'd

Previously: “How long until you whip him into shape?” Ransom asks as they return back to Steve’s office. They’ve just walked in the room, and James is turning around to look at them as they come through the door.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve hems, catching the boy’s gaze and giving him a warm look. “I bet you he’ll be a new James by spring break.”

James’ eyes narrow. “Bucky,” he says.

“Excuse me?”

“My name is Bucky,” he repeats peevishly. “Nobody calls me James except my grandparents.”

Steve nods, ignoring the boy’s tone. “Nice to meet you then, Bucky. I take it Sharon had to leave?” Bucky shrugs in lieu of an answer, and Steve allows the attitude to go unchecked only because the boy’s parents are still present. “Sharon is a wonderful Handler,” he tells him instead. “I’m sure the two of you will get along famously.”

Bucky glowers at him. 

Steve catches the eye of the security officer. “Mr. Rollins, you can take up your post in the hall. Thank you for waiting with him.”

“Sir.” Jack nods and heads out.

“Oh, Bucky, just wait until you see this place, it’s so neat! It’s got such history.” Winnifred gushes about it to her son, trying to get him excited, telling him about all the different things they saw on their tour of Cragside. She calls it a “castle,” which draws a bit of a laugh from Steve. 

“Hardly, Mrs. Barnes,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it’s Drysdale,” she corrects. “My name.”

Steve looks over to Bucky. “Oh. But I thought—”

“I’m remarried,” she explains. “Bucky is from my first marriage. He chooses to use his father’s surname.”

“Ah. I see. My apologies, Mrs. Drysdale.” Steve doesn’t miss the sour expression that flits over Bucky’s face. Steve clears his throat and gestures towards the couches. “I’m just having the paperwork drawn up. It should arrive soon. Would you care to take a seat while we wait? Afternoon tea’s an entire thing over here, and it is about that time.”

“Paperwork?” Bucky says, attention sharpening on them. “What paperwork?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, little one,” Steve says, very aware of the displeasure that flits across Bucky’s face at being addressed that way.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’ve already decided I don’t want to go here anyway. It’s an all omegas school. Did you guys know that?” He’s asking his mother and stepfather, and Winnifred sighs while Ransom scoffs.

“It’s exactly the sort of environment you need, you little punk. Can’t be a skank here. All you can do is study. That’s what school’s for.”

“Ransom,” Winnie scolds.

“That’s the sort of thing pompous losers who can’t get laid say,” Bucky tosses back, and Steve makes a quick assumption that there is no love lost between these two.

“I’ll call for the tea,” he says, trying to stop their bickering. It works, somewhat, and the Drysdales sit across from Steve on the room’s conversation couches when the service has been delivered and set out on the coffee table between them. Steve catches Rollins’ questioning look through the doorway as the servants are leaving, but shakes his head smally, confident that he can handle an unruly pup like Bucky all by himself, if things get testy.

Predictably, Bucky stays standing while the real adults have tea. He ignores his mother when she suggests that he have a seat, and he keeps making aggressive eye contact with Steve each time he comes over to grab another petit four off the tiered stand to eat.

“Oh Bucky, honestly,” Winnifred scolds after the fifth one. “They’re not all just for you.”

Bucky doesn’t respond to her, just shoves most of the scone in his mouth while he confronts Steve with a blunt, “I’m not even gonna apply to this place.” Steve stares him down, but Bucky doesn’t break eye contact, the little shit. 

“Well,” Steve says calmly, “We’re not a university. We’re a boarding school. Our students are enrolled by their guardians. It’s more a transfer of custody than it is your traditional college application.” He watches as Bucky’s face screws up in confusion.

“What?” he says. “What are you talking about?” He turns to the couch where Winnifred and Ransom are sitting. “What’s he talking about?”

WInnifred leans forward anxiously. “Well, honey, we didn’t think you’d agree to come if we told you.”

“Told me what?” Bucky expression is rapidly darkening. He turns on Ransom with a scowl. “What is this place?”

“It’s a reform school. And you’re attending,” Ransom says.

“No. … You’re joking me right now … right? Are you shitting me?”

He shrugs. “I’ve already paid your tuition. You should be thanking me.”

“Thanking you?! I only agreed to this stupid trip because you promised we could go see Stonehenge and some castles and shit! Not so you could imprison me at some fucking oldworld boarding school in the middle of fucking nowhere! Fuck you!” 

Winnifred nearly chokes on her tea. “Bucky!”

“This is a very prestigious, traditional, very expensive school, you little shit,” Ransom grits, pointing at Bucky. “Maybe they’ll actually be able to drum some manners into you, teach you how to be a proper omega. You need some good old fashioned discipline. ”

“I really don’t care what you think I need, Rancid,” Bucky snaps. “God. I should’ve known the second I saw that one guy on a leash.” He looks over at Steve with a nasty expression. “You’re one of those red pill Alphas, aren’t you? One of those incels who can’t get laid and blames all your problems on the omegas of the world and modern society and feminism and shit, right?”

“What’s with the obsession with getting laid, Mr. Barnes?” Steve drawls, completely unaffected by Bucky’s tantrum. “This is The Carter Academy for Omega Excellence. We’re a finishing school and reform facility aimed at older teens and young adults; exclusive, secure, and very well-equipped to handle whatever hissy fit you might decide to throw at us. This is a school for the rich and overindulged, but not in the ways you’re probably used to. We tame some of the most spoilt brats in Europe here. So I’d advise you to behave. Things will go much harder for you if you don’t.” Steve knows immediately from watching Bucky’s face fall that this is the first time the kid is hearing the full name of the school said out loud. He resists the urge to laugh about how clueless that makes him. The school’s emblem is printed clear as day all over the place, but Bucky has clearly missed every single sign that litters the campus. “Kids these days,” Steve simpers, staring down the boy’s rapidly darkening expression. “Noses always buried in your phones, huh?”

Bucky’s fingers grip tighter around the cellphone in his hand, glaring, and then he whips around to scowl at Ransom instead. “You,” he growls. “You tricked me!”

Ransom looks like his mind is already elsewhere—perhaps on the rest of the vacation he’s already unashamedly told Steve he plans to take without his pesky stepson in tow. “What can I say? You’re pretty easy to trick.”

“You can’t just leave me here!” Bucky squawks from around another mouthful of food, crumbs scattering to the carpet as he flings the hand that’s holding his scone. “I didn’t even know places like this were a real thing anymore! Like a fucking convent? Like some sort of fucked up juvie-meets-Hogwarts?!”

“Bucky, really,” his mother scolds, lips pursed. “You’re making a mess on Principal Rogers’ floor.”

Steve waves her off. “That’s alright, Mrs. Drysdale.” He looks at Bucky. “You’ll be surprised just how well it works, Cupcake. You’ll have no distractions from your education here.” The ‘Cupcake’ obviously goes over like a lead balloon with Bucky, if his continuing glower is anything to go by. Steve ignores the kid’s petulance and turns back to converse with the parents. “The girls’ school still operates down in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, at our original campus. A generous benefactor donated this estate, so now all of our male students attend here at Cragside.”

“Finishing school,” Bucky grumbles over to the side, still displeased. “This is bullshit.”

 “Language, Mr. Barnes,” Steve corrects blithely, and keeps on with Winnifred, “My business partner, Ms. Carter, she’s to act as Headmistress there moving forward. ‘Carter Girls’ Academy’ is now its own entity and will operate independent of this institution.” He looks back to Bucky and locks eyes with him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but out here it’s just us boys, I’m afraid.”

It’s laughably obvious how Steve does not fit into any category with Bucky, let alone that of “boy,” and Steve is pleased to note a light dusting of color on the kid’s cheeks after that. Bucky goes tight-lipped once again, and Steve leaves him to his teenaged sulking as he finishes entertaining the parents and assuring them that their son will be well looked after during his time at school. The paperwork for Bucky’s admission arrives and is reviewed, and soon Mr. and Mrs. Drysdale have signed their son over to Steve’s care and are saying their goodbyes.

Winnifred pulls him into a long hug, which Bucky tolerates with limp arms. “Be good,” Steve hears her say. “And remember how generous your stepfather’s being.”

“Forty grand a semester,” Ransom mutters on the way out, reminding Steve that money can’t buy class.

One of the school prefects is waiting out in the hall to act as escort, Rollins standing directly against the opposite side of the hallway in his security guard gear. Steve catches Bucky looking at the man like he’s gauging his chances of making a run for it, but luckily the boy relents and turns away from the door with a huff. Steve sees the parents out and then finally pushes the heavy office door closed.

The room is suddenly twenty times more silent than it was before, though not much has changed other than who’s occupying it. 

Without turning to look at Bucky, Steve walks leisurely over to the office’s wall of windows. He waits there for a moment, until the Drysdales appear in the courtyard below. He watches placidly as they walk to their car and get in, heading off down the drive within the next few moments. Cragside is abutted by forest on every side but one, and soon the trees block the car from view, and there’s nothing more to see. Still, Steve remains standing there, looking out the windows at the grounds and letting the silence stretch out, the tension build, as the boy behind him stares his fill. (Steve is not unaware of what he looks like from the back in a tailored suit.)

Finally, he turns around. Bucky is still standing there in the middle of the room, looking rooted to the spot. He seems apprehensive now that it’s just the two of them, some of his earlier bravado leached away. But after a moment he seems to collect himself, and he winds up jutting his jaw out again. 

Steve’s mouth quirks at that lingering bit of defiance. He always has enjoyed the process of breaking in a new student. “Alright, Honey,” he says softly. “That was fun back there. But now it’s time for the two of us to get properly acquainted, don’t you think?” He beckons him closer with a finger. “Come over here and let me have a look at you.”

Bucky doesn’t move, so Steve sighs and goes to him, fitting one hand to the front of his neck when he gets there. He holds him right underneath his jaw, pushing up to make Bucky look at him. Steve’s hand looks massive against the boy’s delicate throat, and he digs in with his thumb against the glands. Bucky lets out a sweet little gasp of sensitivity that Steve absolutely relishes. “You’re nervous,” he observes. He watches the fluttering of Bucky’s eyelids at his firm touch, his deep tone. Something between fondness and yearning flares in Steve’s belly, pleasurable and aching, like pressing on an old bruise. He ignores it, instead murmuring, “You’ve never had an Alpha, have you?”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to him. “I’m not a virgin,” he sneers. “I’ve fucked alphas before.”

Steve scoffs. “That’s not what I said.” He sees Bucky’s brow furrowing, so he cuts him off with a little scruff. “I said: you’ve never had an Alpha before.” He pulls against his jaw a little harder, watching the reaction it elicits in those angry blue eyes. “Don’t play coy with me, boy. Answer the question. You haven’t, have you?”

“No,” Bucky answers tightly. “I haven’t.” 

Steve nods. He relaxes his hand some. “Then that means most of this is all going to be new to you. You’ve had a liberal education, a lax upbringing. A lot’s going to be asked of you while you’re here. There’ll be a lot you don’t know. You’ll make mistakes, you’ll struggle sometimes. And that’s okay. Rome wasn’t built in a day, now was it?” He strokes softly over the boy’s fluttering pulsepoint and Voices, “I do, however, expect you to be respectful and obedient. Do you understand?” 

Bucky whimpers, though Steve isn’t being unkind. In fact he’s Voiced very softly to him just now, letting the dominant tone of it creep into the words he’s saying, letting it enrich them without hardening them, so that Bucky can really start to get a taste for it. The boy’s eyelids visibly flutter and his lips part as he starts to breathe open-mouthed. Then his tongue darts out to lick his lips as he tries to get a handle on himself. It’s cute. 

Steve circles the pad of his thumb over his bonding gland. “Has anyone ever Voiced to you before, baby?” 

Bucky nods. “Uh huh.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Steve gently corrects. “Who?”

“Who ... huh?”

Steve chuckles. “Aw, don’t go stupid on me yet, honey. I asked you: who’s Voiced to you before?”

“Oh. Just, um, just some … some guys … n’ a girl, from school. Hey,” he frowns, “M’not stupid.” 

“Hush. You get worked up too easy. Just try and stay calm for me, yeah?” A thrill travels through Steve’s body as he watches Bucky’s lips part and his face slacken. He’s so easy for it. In his slacks, Steve’s cock pulses with interest. “Oh Sweetie,” he coos. “You don’t know what Voicing is, if you think one of your little classmates did it to you.” 

Under his hand, Bucky shivers. “What?” he croaks.

It’s no wonder. If all he’s ever experienced are the best attempts of a few pubertal teenagers, then a grown ass man like Steve is bound to feel like a lot. It’s like giving a shot of hard liquor to a kid who’s never drank before. The poor thing has no tolerance. Steve guides him over to the couch, where he sits and encourages Bucky to kneel with a guiding hand pressing down on his shoulder. “There you go,” he praises as Bucky’s knees hit the floor, not missing how the boy’s brow furrows adorably at the change in positioning. 

“I … I don’t …” He looks insulted and confused about how he arrived there, staring down at his knees on the carpet as if they’ve just betrayed him by folding so easily.

“It’s okay,” Steve soothes. “That’s normal. I know it can be a little unsettling at first, that won’t last. You’ll learn to enjoy it, embrace it, even. And it’s certainly nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Ashamed of … what?” Bucky asks, swallowing thickly when Steve touches his neck again. He jerks back, the Alpha’s hand left hovering in the air between them. 

Steve sighs sadly and lets his hand drop. “Submission, Sweetheart. That urge to bare your neck? Going to your knees for me just now? It’s what made that feel right.” He watches the realization bloom on Bucky’s face and the fear leak into his eyes, the way he glances back down to his own body like he’s never seen it before. Steve makes sure to be gentle with him as he says, “It’s not a bad thing to give in when you get the urge. Your body craves it. Your brain thrives on it.” 

“On what?” Bucky growls nastily. “Getting into blowjob position for my principal?”

Steve forces himself not to laugh and instead raises an eyebrow that he hopes looks threatening. “Thrives on submission,” he corrects. “It’s already in you, an innate reflex, but for whatever reason you’ve trained yourself out of it. You’ll have to relearn those behaviors.”

“What behaviors,” Bucky asks, “grovelling?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Hardly. Things like humility, and subservience, thinking before you speak. Don’t worry, most of our matriculating students are out of practice at best, we know you need a lot of help. That’s why you get the staff, your teachers, me. And of course your Handler, who’s in charge of you completely.” He sees Bucky’s expression sour and sternly adds, “Completely, Bucky. When your Handler asks you to do something, it isn’t a request. If they tell you to kneel, or to sit on their lap, or even strip naked in front of them in a public space, then that’s what you do. That’s how it works here. And if you resist, you can count on punishment.” He watches as Bucky’s visage darkens, a storm of contempt gathering behind his eyes.

“Naked?” he says, scowling. “What the hell are you talking about?”

 “Shh,” Steve chides, trying to calm him with a pet to the head. Bucky hisses in rejection though, trying to jerk away, so Steve acts decisively. He grabs the back of his neck, scruffing him and forcing him in close. “Don’t fight, Bucky. Just calm down, rest your head down here.” Bucky grunts and pulls, but that only lasts a second before the Hold and Steve’s Voice make him go limp with a confused whimper. Steve hushes him and strokes his hair. “You’re okay … Take a deep breath ... There you go, good girl.” He waits. “… Now, I'm going to explain a few things for you. I want you to listen.”

Bucky grumbles unhappily from his spot between Steve’s legs, his cheek smooshed against the Alpha’s thigh muscle. “What punishments?” he growls.

“Hush.” Steve presses Bucky’s face against his leg and waits until he feels the next shudder of submission travel through his body. “Okay. Okay, good.” He inhales. “So, punishment. That can be lots of things. It can be spanking, or lines, or restraints at bedtime. It just depends on the situation and what your Handler feels is going to help you best in that specific situation. Often it’ll involve losing privileges of some sort; to your favorite activities or your clothing, or even bathroom privileges if you—”

“What?!”

Steve squeezes his neck again. “We can start right now if you need it,” he purrs, the threat coming through loud and clear despite his calm tone. He waits, and is pleased when Bucky offers no further bratting over the issue. “Okay, good.” He returns to petting him, fingers carding through his short, soft hair. There’s product in it, and Steve would bet money it’s blow-dried. He finds himself wanting to feel it in its natural state. “If you leave your hair alone after a shower,” he murmurs. “Does it dry curly?”

Bucky whines and squirms and completely ignores the question. “You just wanna humiliate me.”

“No, baby,” Steve tuts sadly. “That’s not it at all. I know it’ll seem that way sometimes, especially in the beginning. But this is all for you, I promise. To benefit you in the long run. To make you happy. Everything we do at this school is based on what the science has proven, okay? Evidence-based practice, that’s all. We wouldn’t use these methods if they didn’t work.”

“... what methods?” Bucky asks, voice tiny.

Steve hums and rubs behind his ear. “I’m sure a lot of it will seem old fashioned to you. It is old fashioned, or ‘traditional’ if you like. You met Sharon earlier, yes?” He waits for Bucky’s grunt of acknowledgement before he continues, “She’ll be your Handler. She’s personally assigned to you and nobody else, so she’ll be with you every day all day, almost everywhere you go.”

“Great,” Bucky complains

“It’s a good thing. She’s here to help you with your needs. Just think of her like … like a service animal, yeah? Just a tool to help you succeed.”

“Does she heel and sit?” Bucky mutters, and Steve laughs in surprise.

“No. The other way around, if anything. You have a schedule. You’ll attend the classes and activities that’re set out for you, and you’ll comport yourself with dignity and respect.”

“You assume I know how to do that,” Bucky grumbles, and Steve scoffs and scruffs him playfully,

“Don’t worry about if you don’t know certain things, Sharon will guide you. You’ll never be punished for not knowing something, Buck. Only for disrespect or disobedience.” He pauses for a moment, letting the information sink in. He pets Bucky’s hair and watches where the kid’s got his eyes closed tight. “Do you understand?” he asks, but Bucky doesn’t answer, not even after a few seconds, so Steve gives the back of his neck another firm squeeze. “You don’t have control anymore, Sweetheart. Not over anything. And far from upsetting you, that should make you feel relieved. By the time you leave here it will.” 

Not shockingly, Bucky growls. It’s just a piddly little thing from high up in his throat—an omega’s weak attempt at a sound their bodies aren’t equipped to make—but the intent behind it is clear. He struggles to pull away, Steve Holding him and pushing his face against his thigh until it passes. “Shhh. Calm down. Stop pulling away from me.”

Bucky continues to fight it for a second or two, but eventually he breaks off in an angry little sob. “Lemme go,” he grunts, embarrassed. “What is that? What’re you doing?”

“Holding you,” Steve tells him calmly. “Another thing I suspect you’re completely virgin to.”

Bucky huffs and shivers against him. “Shuddup,” he sniffles. “That’s not true.”

“Mhm. Some more of your school buddies?” Steve guesses, unsurprised when the kid’s flaming face tells him that he’s got it pegged just about right. “I see,” he says sadly. “So it wasn’t what people made it sound like, right? It didn’t make you feel any better. Then you got disappointed and you thought: ‘that’s it?’”

“No …”

“Mmhm. And since it wasn’t good enough, you decided you wouldn’t bother behaving the way anybody said you should. You figured there’s something wrong with you, so what’s the point in trying? Might as well act out, get attention that way. Because at least then you’d be getting a response from people. Am I getting warm?”

“Lemme go,” Bucky mumbles miserably.

“I’d like to, Sweetheart. But I don’t want to let go if you’re not ready.” Steve maneuvers his hand so that his thumb can dig more directly into Bucky’s glands. The omega moans, though he obviously hears himself and tries to stifle the sound. It’s both sweet and pathetic, and it makes Steve wince in sympathy. “It’s okay to react,” he tells him quietly. “Do you know why it feels like that?” 

He isn’t expecting an answer from the kid, and he doesn’t get one. Bucky just cringes and tries to hide as much of his face against Steve’s thigh as possible, holding back the sounds that obviously want to come and making a face like he’s trying with all his might not to pass gas.

Steve tuts in gentle reprimand. “They call them the ‘happy hormones’. Dopamine, Serotonin, Oxytocin, Omgestrin.” He lets up on the pressure of his Hold when the smell of omega arousal hits the air. Bucky exhales hugely and slumps against him, all the tension from holding back his vocalizations leaving him in a rush. Steve hums knowingly. “You’ll learn about the science behind it in your classes.”

“I have to go to class?” Bucky asks, sounding wiped out. “Today?”

“No baby. Today is just for getting you settled in.” Steve tilts his head as he considers him. “Do you think you’re ready to work with me, or do you still feel like you’re gonna act up if I let go?” He waits him out patiently, knowing that when it’s new and unfamiliar, the first response most omegas give to having all of their control stripped away is fear and discomfort. “It’s okay if you need time,” he offers. “We can stay here for a little while longer.”

Eventually, Bucky gives a strained little shake of the head, his flushed cheek moving against Steve’s pants leg. But it’s more the fact that he’s visibly thought about his answer before giving it that convinces Steve they might be okay to move forward.

“Okay, good,” he praises, letting up most of the pressure from the back of Bucky’s neck. He smiles in relief when the boy doesn’t pull away. “Very good, Honey. I can tell you’re trying, and I appreciate that. You’re doing okay.” Bucky makes an unhappy little sound in his throat, but it’s more privately grumpy than it is bratty, so Steve lets it pass. “You’re a smart boy,” he tells him, carding a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen your transcripts, so I know you’re very bright. Smart omega like you, I’m sure you’ve got an idea about what’s landed you here. Some clue about why you’re in my office right now instead of back home in Boston. Am I right?”

“... yes,” Bucky whispers, like he’s still recovering the ability to articulate.

“Mmhm. Thought so.” Steve pets his hair. “Think you can tell me a little bit about that?” 

“... I get in trouble for things.”

“Yes. Your parents told me that.” Steve feels him start to tense at the mention of his parents. “I know you disagree with them on this. Hell, you probably disagree on most topics, right? You don’t want to be here, don’t think you need to be, and they think you do.” Bucky nods teresely and Steve hums. “Well don’t worry, I’m not going to make you lie and say you’re happy about being here. I know you’re not. But can we at least agree on one thing? That for whatever reason, and no matter where you think it stems from, you’ve been uncomfortable for a while?”

Against Steve’s leg, Bucky is tense. He gives a tiny nod. “Yeah,” he breathes.

“Okay. And could we maybe agree that the way you’ve acted hasn’t exactly gotten you where you wanted to be?”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Steve smiles sadly. “Okay. Okay, good. So that’s two things we can agree on. I bet I have your parents beat on that front, then, huh?” He scritches playfully behind the kid’s ear, but stills when it doesn’t elicit anything positive. “So, why do you think that is, Bucky? Why do you think you’ve had these issues?”

“Dunno,” he pouts. “I don’t think about it that much.”

“Well why do you think a judge agreed that your parents should have custody of you for an extra two years?” Steve asks. “Would you say you do things impulsively?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess.”

“Hm. That doesn’t surprise me. I’ve met a lot of boys like you. Even helped a few of them, if you can believe it.”

Bucky grumbles at that, shifting restlessly on his knees. “You don’t know me,” he mutters. He tucks his face farther down, and then Steve catches the angry little “... this is bullshit” that he whispers under his breath. 

Steve pulls his hand away abruptly and widens his legs so that no part of him is touching Bucky. The omega sways in place and makes a fragile noise of surprise. He looks up at Steve and blinks, looking bereft. Poor thing hadn’t even realized he was taking such comfort from the contact until it was gone. 

“Stand up,” Steve says sharply, using his Voice and the abrupt switch in tone to catch the boy off guard. Bucky obeys without even thinking about it, rising to his feet in front of Steve with a light frown, once again looking like he can’t quite understand why he’s obeying Steve’s commands. Steve nods at him. “Good. Now take off all your clothes.”

“What?”

He prevents a tantrum by reaching forward himself and undoing Bucky’s belt. “Your clothes,” he repeats. “Take them off and show me your body, right now.” He plays on the boy’s pride by tacking on a scornful, “What? I thought you said you weren’t some shy virgin. Gotta get over that embarrassment real fast, Little one.” 

It works like a charm, Bucky’s countenance screwing up in anger before it smooths out again with false bravado. He squares his shoulders and makes direct eye contact with Steve as he toes off his shoes and finishes undoing his pants. He pushes them down and kicks them off to the side, then pulls his sweater hurriedly overhead. He stares at Steve once it’s off, and he probably thinks he’s acting so big and brave, but Steve sees him for exactly what he is: a scared little boy who doesn’t think he can depend on anybody else. 

“Panties too, Sweetheart,” Steve prods, and when Bucky can’t seem to bring himself to do it, he leans forward to help. He gently pulls the omega’s underwear down, easing the waistband past his genitals and down his thighs. He encourages him with gentle touches to step out, and then Bucky winds up holding onto his shoulders for balance as he helps him step out of the socks, one foot at a time. By the time Steve’s sitting back on the couch to have a good look at him, Bucky’s standing before him completely naked. 

Steve’s eyes track down to where he holds his arms ramrod straight at his sides, hands curled into tight little fists in an obvious effort not to cover himself. “Good girl,” Steve praises. “That was very good. Thank you.” He lets his eyes rake obviously up and down Bucky’s body, enjoying the sight of him, but more importantly letting Bucky see that he’s enjoying the sight of him. “You’re just lovely,” he tells him. On the Persian carpet, Bucky’s feet shuffle, shifting his weight in disquiet. “Shhh,” Steve chides softly. “Be still now, Honey. Let me look.”

The looking is, of course, not so much for Steve’s benefit as it is for Bucky’s. Steve’s already seen pictures and medical charts detailing every square inch of the omega’s body. This is about giving Bucky a taste of what it truly means to be vulnerable. He needs to feel seen, exposed, before he can ever truly learn to give in to his submissive urges. And he needs to learn to trust. Trust that the person caring for him won’t hurt him or let him down after he’s made himself vulnerable. It’s something that can only be gained through moments like this; experiences where he shows his metaphorical belly and bears his metaphorical neck. The more he learns to do that, the easier it’ll be to give in to what his body needs.

“Turn around and face the other way,” Steve says quietly, though still using his Voice to help him along in these first few moments of nakedness. Bucky obeys, turning, and Steve makes sure to rumble low in his chest for the boy to hear his approval. “Good girl,” he praises.

“M’not a girl,” Bucky grumbles, annoyed.

Steve tuts. “Come on, Buck. I’ve got two masters degrees and a Ph.D. And I just saw your little cocklet, didn’t I?”

“... yeah,” Bucky admits, though he also sullenly repeats: “M’not a girl,” under his breath.

“It’s a term of affection,” Steve scolds, eyes raking over the omega’s pert little backside. “Now be a good girl and stand still while Alpha looks at you.” 

Bucky’s buttocks tense, the sides flexing gorgeously in response to the domination of being called a “good girl” all over again. That flex of muscles is involuntary, and a dead giveaway that if Steve were to grab his cheeks and spread them right now, he’d probably find his little hole clenching and releasing, too. In his slacks, Steve’s cock thickens with renewed interest. Bucky starts to whine almost subvocally. He shuffles his weight on his feet again, and the motion causes the room’s light to catch on a faint sheen. It’s a small amount, but it’s there. Right by his taint and the swell of his little sac, he’s got some slick smeared on his inner thighs.

Steve has to take a deep breath and give his dick a cruel pinch while he’s still got Bucky facing the other way. “Good,” he murmurs, letting a few more seconds tick by. “Very good.” 

Bucky’s ass keeps flexing, muscles tensed and his hands still clenched up into tight little balls at his sides. “Can I move?” he grits.

“Not yet. Be still.”

Steve knows what’s going on in the kid’s mind and body right now. Most people watching Bucky would only recognize the anger, or the fear. It is those things, to an extent, but that’s not all it is. Even without that tantalizing little smear of slick, Steve would know, because can detect the deeper scent of satisfied omega. Bucky’s responding well to the orders and directions, miniscule as they are.

“Nobody wants to bully you here, honey,” Steve tells him gently. “It might feel like that at first. I bet that’s how you feel right now. I know you’re not used to such a … traditional pedagogy. But I want you to know I’m not doing this to be mean. Nothing that happens to you during your time here is done just to humiliate or demean you. It might make you feel that way at first, but in the end you’ll see that this is about helping you.”

Bucky’s facing the other side of the room, but Steve still hears the disbelieving scoff he gives. “I don’t feel like this is helping,” he says, tacking on a sarcastic “Sir” at the end.

Steve calmly leans forward and flicks the boy’s sac. Bucky yelps and all but jumps out of his skin, looking back over his shoulder with wide eyes and an outraged scoff. “Hey!”

“Hush. Turn back around and stand still.” Steve raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like another?” It’s almost amusing, how fast Bucky’s lips seal themselves into a thin line and he shakes his head with wide eyes. He turns around as ordered, and Steve softens. “Look,” he says gently. “I’ve been doing this for a long time now, and I’ve helped a lot of boys like you, okay? 

“You think you have,” Bucky counters mutinously, shoulders tensing a second later as he anticipates having his balls flicked again for brattiness.

The only reason Steve doesn’t do so, is because this is a point worth addressing. “No, Baby,” he counters sadly. “It works. It really does. This isn't just an Alpha’s ego talking, or whatever you may think it is. I haven’t been Headmaster at this school for almost two decades for nothing. Trust me, we produce the desired results.”

“... whose, though?”

“Excuse me?”

Bucky shifts nervously. “Whose? Desired results?”

Steve has got to smirk at Bucky’s backside, at that one. Even cowed, it’s clear this boy is going to be a challenge. “Let’s just put it this way,” he drawls. “If my methods here didn’t produce well-behaved omegas, parents wouldn’t still be sending me their children to educate at sixty-grand a semester. And if that doesn’t carry weight in your book, then think of this: If my methods didn’t produce happy, grateful omegas, then all of my omega alumnus wouldn’t still be donating millions of their own dollars back to their alma mater each year, now would they?”

He can see from the way that Bucky’s posture slackens, then stiffens, then slackens all over again, that the boy can’t come up with a counter argument to that one. “Good,” Steve says with finality. “Remember that. I really do mean it, Bucky. I want you to take it to heart when I tell you that everything that happens while you're here is for you. To make you happy and healthy.” He can practically hear Bucky’s brain working up there, and sure enough it only takes a moment or two more of bare-assed vulnerability before the omega is snottily asking,

“Any other advice, Headmaster?”

“Oh sure,” Steve says cheerfully. “For example, I’d definitely advise you to try and reign in your attitude while you’re here. You and your ass will have a much easier time of it, if you do.” He’s laying it on heavy right now, but he’s had plenty of students like Bucky, and he’s always found that it’s best to come in hard and fast with the dominance, take them by surprise and play to their bodies’ own instincts before they can gather too much of a defense. Still, he switches to speaking in his most gentle and reassuring Voice as he tells him, “You’re handling this well, Bucky. I’m pleased with you so far.” He gives it another long moment, and then he murmurs, “Okay, Honey. You can turn back around now. Face me.”

Bucky turns slowly, one foot at a time, shifting on the carpet until he’s made a full turn. Steve isn’t surprised to see his little cocklet at half mast. He smiles gently to let him know it’s okay. “I expected that,” he tells him. “Did you know that it’s normal for your body to react that way?” He waits, but Bucky gives no answer. He’s glaring at the floor and quite obviously clenching his teeth. Steve hums. “You’re probably pissed at me right now, yeah?”

“Yes.”

Steve chuckles. “I appreciate your honesty, Bucky,” he teases. “And I know you’re pissed. It’s obvious. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” He pauses, waiting until Bucky’s eyes flick up to him before he pointedly looks at the boy’s penis. “But you’re also aroused. Why do you think that is?” Bucky’s lips tighten into a thin, unanswering line, and Steve sits forward on the couch cushion. “C’mere.” He spreads his legs wider and pats his knee. “Step closer to me,” he Voices, and that time Bucky does listen and come closer, despite the attitudinal little huff he gives. Steve stills him with hands on his hips. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, before reaching to take him in hand.

Bucky gasps, his stomach sucking in and his body tensing up like he’ll pull away. Steve’s palm makes a loud ‘clap!’ as he delivers a quick smack to the side of his ass. “Be still.”

“... what’re you gonna do?” Bucky squeaks.

“I’m going to touch your genitals,” Steve tells him calmly. “And you’re going to hold still, unless you want to earn your first spanking.” He looks up at him, meeting those wide eyes with a calm nod. “I’ll put you over my knee right now if you need it,” he promises. Then he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need it, boy?”

Bucky’s face screws up, and Steve is honestly surprised when he controls himself enough that the only thing out of his mouth is a terse, “No.” 

Steve smacks him again. “‘No Alpha’. Let me hear you say it.”

Jaw working in frustration, Bucky acquiesces with a gritted, “No, Alpha.”

Steve gives him a few seconds more of the warning look, just to make sure that he knows he’ll make good on the threat if he needs to. “Good,” he says, looking back between Bucky’s legs. “You know,” he muses, as he takes his time admiring the omega’s little prick. “This school isn’t just a place for academic learning. We teach all the classics, of course, but that’s probably the least important part of our curriculum. There are a lot of other things to learn: Manners, etiquette, self-care … and how to listen to your own body, how to understand what it’s trying to tell you, how to interpret the things you feel.” He cups his hand over Bucky’s cocklet and balls, holding them delicately in his palm. “I’ve barely touched you, yet you’re harder now than you were even thirty seconds ago. Do you know why?”

Above, Bucky gulps. “... fear boner,” he whispers, and when Steve snorts at that, he pouts and asserts, “It’s a thing.”

Steve smiles. “That’s cute, but no.” Gently, he takes Bucky’s stiff little prick in hand and plays with the wrinkle of foreskin that’s bunched at the tip. “Omegas are less than four percent of the population,” he murmurs. “And alphas not even double that. Which means, that despite your natural inclinations, you wind up spending most of your time around a bunch of betas. Of course it wouldn’t have been that way historically. Those things used to be arranged, but in modern society it has unfortunately become all too common.” He peeks upwards, pleased to see that Bucky’s staring down at him with parted lips and flushed cheeks.

“S-so?” he breathes.

“So, right now you’re in a room with an adult alpha male who’s touching you, and talking to you, and dominating you. And you’re biologically geared to respond to those things, especially when you haven’t had much regular exposure to alphas. That just increases your sensitivity. So that when I use my Voice, when you smell my scent, or when you see my big hand covering your tiny sex …” he cups him fully between his legs again and gives a little jostle “It’s all hardwired into your brain as positive, pleasurable. Your body likes it, seeks out more of it. That’s why you’re even getting a little wet right now.”

Bucky bristles in defense, “I’m not—”

“Shh. You don’t have to do that, honey. I already know.” Steve holds his prick and eases the foreskin down, revealing the delicate pink tip of him with an approving hum. “Mmhm. There it is. Look at that sweet little nubbin.” 

Bucky all but stumbles into him, whispering a breathless, “Alpha …”

“That’s right. Good girl.” Steve steadies him with a chuckle. “You’re okay. Don’t lock your knees, honey. See what happens?” He trails a fingertip over the adorable little line of Bucky’s erection, eliciting another whimper from the boy. “It’s okay for you to call me that. I am your Alpha while you’re under custody here, and you may not think you care about that, but your body does. So even though you’re feeling all these other kinds of other emotions right now—anger, fear, embarrassment; your mind and body are still going to fight you on it. They’re gonna prioritize and respond to what you need, and if you don’t change your behavior to reflect those same priorities, then the only outcome you’re gonna get is dysfunction and illness.”

“I’m not,” Bucky says weakly, brow furrowed. “M’not dysfunctive.” 

Steve smiles sadly. “Well first off, that’s not a word, baby.” He pulls on Bucky’s hips and leans back further into the couch, urging the boy to come down to sit on his lap. When he does, Syteve cups his chin and pecks him gently on the lips. It’s the most chaste kiss to ever exist, but the boy is still blushing when Steve pulls back enough to see his cheeks. Steve wraps an arm around his waist to draw him in against his larger body. “Now Bucky, I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to answer right away. I want you to take time to really think about it. And when you’re ready, you tell me.” 

The boy’s looking up at him with wide, confused eyes that pluck at Steve’s heart, and Steve swipes his thumb just under his plush lower lip. “When’s the last time you were happy?” he asks quietly. Bucky’s expression instantly screws up, but Steve hushes him. “I don’t mean just happy from having fun in the moment, or from a specific thing that happened. I mean ‘happy’ as in content, consistently and thoroughly. When’s the last time you can remember when you felt truly settled in your skin?” 

Bucky frowns. “I …”

“Shh. Remember what I said. Not right now. You just think on it.” Steve offers him a tender look and squeezes his chin. “You think you can do that for me?”

“... okay,” Bucky whispers. 

Steve smiles. “Good girl.” He claps his hand on Bucky’s leg. “In the meantime, we’ve got quite a few things we have to do to get you set up: administrative and practical. Are you ready to see your room, get your uniform, a tour of the grounds, all that good stuff?”

Bucky nods, looking almost faint in relief—likely at hearing that he’s going to be given clothing. “Yes,” he breathes eagerly. “Please.”

Steve chuckles and pats his waist. “Thought you might say that. Alright boy, get up. We’ve got a lot to do.”

This story is an ongoing commission for an amazing supporter who wishes to remain anonymous. If you have a story that you'd like to see custom written, send me a message on Tumblr or reach out on my Kofi.

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Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall - Who's the Most Alien of Them All?

Pairing: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki, Thor, Brock Rumlow, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Frigga, Heimdall Rating: T Words: 3229 Content: 2nd person, kidnapping, chloroform, manipulation, soulmate AU, Hydra!SHIELD at work, set during/post Avengers 1 Summary: You'd never thought there was anything strange about your soulmate in the mirror, apart from how handsome he was, but as fate would have it - he's trying to invade New York. Ao3: HERE Notes: I am an absolute sucker for Soulmate AUs so here we are! I'm thinking of using this same AU for some others (Bucky and Steve) but I'm not sure if it'll be in same universe

In this AU, you see your soulmates face as your own reflection~ THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN WORK I accidentally deleted the original post so the read more doesn't work on my own blog 😭

Banners by cafekitsune

Something considered normal would rarely be considered wrong. 

So, registering your soulmate’s image via looking in a mirror at 18 and having a photo snapped had never worried you.

Everyone did it.

It was normal.

It was safe. 

It was how most people found their soulmates, and even then some just didn’t.

This early spring day started as every day usually did. You got up and ready for work, took public transport to the office, and logged in at 9 a.m. 

Lunch came and went, spent with the coworkers you got along with best, all venting about the small annoyances of the morning. You all returned to the office and the afternoon crawled by.

Last minute, your boss asked you to finish a report now rather than tomorrow morning and you waved goodbye to your co-workers with a shrug and a put-upon smile. They’d all been in your position at one time or another. No-one found it strange.

The report dragged on for a few hours and you had no idea why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but your boss was hardly known for his patience. He at least had the decency to stay behind too. 

You sighed and printed a quick copy before knocking on the door to your boss’s office. 

He called out and told you to come in, taking the report when you handed it over. His eyes barely scanned it before he spoke again; “Hey, I know it’s late, but we have a visitor in the conference room. Go keep them company, will you? It will just take a couple of minutes.” 

You bit back the sigh and the roll of your eyes, knowing both could lose you your job. Stupid, tight ass boss. “No problem, boss,” were the words that came out of your mouth, a false smile before you turned and left - heading to the conference room.

You took the liberty of rolling your eyes hard before you plastered the smile back on and pushed the door open. “Hello.” You stepped into the room and held out your hand as you gave your name. “Mr. Dickson is sorry to keep you waiting, but how can I help you?” 

Not the normal sort of client, if a client he was. Most clients showed up in suits or some sort of business attire, but this man wore a black T-shirt, combats, and a jacket certainly not of the suit kind. 

“Brock Rumlow.” He smirked over at you and you saw the way his eyes gave you a once over. Slowly. Urgh. Double ugh when he continued with; “No problem at all, sweetheart. Don’t suppose you could get me a coffee?”  He nodded over to the machine as he eased back into his seat. 

“Of course, sir,” you answered with a smile.

“Feel free to grab yourself one, too. Your boss sent you in here to keep me company, huh?” 

“Something like that, Mr. Rumlow.” The pot only needed warming before you poured two cups and offered him one, taking a seat opposite the man.

“I hope he doesn’t make you stay this late all the time, I hate it when my boss makes me work overtime.” He snorted and rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. “Do this, do that, clean up some mess, collect an alien’s soulmate, kill that politician, clean up more mess. Not a day’s rest I tell ya.” 

You nodded politely, staring down at your cup as you fully processed his words. Aliens, soulmates… killing politicians? You didn’t know which was the most out there. “I-’m sorry I’m not sure I follow…” 

He only looked more delighted at your confusion and the way your body had stiffened. “Well, you see, sweetheart, there’s this guy, Loki, who showed up outta nowhere and, see, he talks a big game about taking over the Earth and we figured, seeing as you’re his soulmate, that he might rethink those big ideas if we offer you up instead.” Brock shrugged as if this was just casual conversation and didn’t have you frozen in your seat. “’Course, if that doesn’t work, maybe threatening to harm ya will change his tune. But what do I know about aliens? I’m just part of the STRIKE team.” 

Brock smiled, as though he hadn’t just threatened you or spouted what sounded like absolute bullshit. A beat passed as you stared into the cup in your hands, eyes unseeing. “So why don’t we-” 

He growled angrily as you threw the coffee and the cup containing it at him and jolted to your feet, running for the door, pulling it open-

Your short-lived escape attempt ended when another similarly dressed and built man stepped into view. His hands clamped down on your arms and the panic really set in as you protested and tried to escape. “Let me go!” You kicked and thrashed, hoping the noise might cause your boss to call the cops, but that small slice of hope was soon ripped from you. He appeared from his office, face like thunder. 

“You said this would be quick, hurry up before someone hears this racket.” 

Brock huffed from behind you, fingers sliding into your hair and tugging hard to drag your head back. “We coulda done this the nice way, bitch, but that’s off the table.” He pressed a cloth to your mouth, harder than necessary.

The thought of not breathing hadn’t even crossed your mind before the fumes entered your body and you soon slumped into unconsciousness.

You woke already knowing you weren’t at home. Everything felt off and you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet as you laid on what felt like a bed. You took a shallow breath, trying to remember, but everything before falling asleep stayed fuzzy at the edges. 

You had been to work and… right, your boss had made you stay late and there had been coffee and…

Your eyes snapped open but so far it seemed like you were alone. The edge of the bed wasn’t far from the wall and you hesitated before rolling over. Good. No-one there either and this side of the wall had windows.

You shuffled over to them, eyebrows furrowing at their size. Small and curved at the edges. you slid the blind up to be met with the sight of clouds and uninterrupted sky. 

You scrambled to the edge of the bed and the one door that led in and out of the room. “Hey! Hey!” you yelled, banging on the door, fear skittering through you. How long ago had last night been? What time was it now? Where were you now?

“Quit ya banging!” A stern thump that made the door rattle had you stumbling back and falling down to sit on the edge of the bed. “We’re nearly there, no need to get your panties in a twist, bitch.” It sounded like the man you’d met in the office… Brock if you remembered correctly.

He’d certainly changed his tune, but you had thrown coffee at him. Bastard deserved it. 

“Where are we going?!” You had no idea if he would answer, if anyone would. Did it even really matter?

You were to be offered up as some consolation prize to an alien invader in the hopes he might go away. 

You weren’t convinced of the plan; who would change their plans for the mere idea and appearance of their soulmate. You probably wouldn’t if you were in Loki’s position. 

“New York,” came the answer before you heard footsteps leave the door. 

You sank to the bed and flopped back on it, unsure what to do with yourself or for the rest of the flight.

You sat in what had to be some kind of interrogation room, a bit rich considering these guys had kidnapped you. A window made up much of the wall in front of you; the blank expanse of glass left you with nothing to look at but the reflection of your soulmate. It hadn’t changed for several years, but you’d noticed recently his hair had grown longer and it didn’t seem as well kept as before.

The sharp lines of his face had always left you flustered, but now they left you worried at the gaunt paleness that clung to him. What had happened? You couldn’t possibly know, you didn’t even know his name. Well, you hadn’t.

Loki. An alien. An invader. 

You continued to sit silently in the chair, not knowing that an agent and your soulmate’s brother were busy deciding your fate.

“Father will not be pleased. Midgardians are not welcome to our realm and Loki is likely to remain in prison the remainder of her short life.” Thor spoke calmly but firmly. “Besides which, you tell me she is dangerous? A criminal? Why should Asgard take a criminal of Midgard to the golden realm? I do not think our prison is the best place to introduce them.” Thor couldn’t be certain, but he doubted the two would get along from what SHIELD had told him. 

His brother would likely perceive another criminal as a threat or he would keep his guard up. Loki was not one for letting people in so easily. Especially not now. Whether she deserved kindness or not, he doubted Loki would afford her any.

“What if your brother wants to bring her?” 

Thor’s eyes narrowed, giving the agent a sidelong glance. Hardly normal to accept a prisoner’s request… but he did love his brother fiercely - despite his recent tricks. “If,” Thor stressed, “Loki wants to bring her… I may agree,” Thor conceded. But he doubted such a thing would happen. “I will speak with him.” 

Neither you or Thor knew the thin thread by which your fate hung.

The car rumbled through central park, you seated in the back wearing handcuffs and some gag like thing over your mouth that stopped you speaking. You still wore the bright orange scrubs and white shirt as though they’d plucked you from a prison somewhere.

You were free of Rumlow at least, you didn’t even know if the agent driving knew that you hadn’t been picked up from a penitentiary. This new one aligned more with what you imagined an ‘agent’ to be. Black suit, white shirt, sunglasses. Very Men In Black, which, ironic, since you were about to meet two aliens. 

The car came to a stop and you looked out at the people milling around. You only recognised two for sure - one of them being your soulmate. Tony Stark confused you, for a moment, before you recalled his shift into heroism the last few years. 

An equally tall, blond man held your soulmate's arm just above his elbow, so you had to assume this was the brother you’d heard murmurs about. 

Your car door opened and a hand grabbed similarly below your elbow to help you out. Curious eyes turned on you and all you could do was silently, desperately, plead for someone to step in. Someone to take the gag off. You just needed one of them to be curious. 

“Er… I don’t remember any plus ones going out to this little party.” Tony Stark gave the agent at your side a look over the top of his sunglasses, his gaze briefly sliding to you. 

“She’s Loki’s soulmate,” the agent replied, no judgement but not much other emotion in his voice. He turned and marched you towards the pair of aliens. 

“Now, hang on a minute.” A different voice objecting this time and you craned your head behind you to see a blond dressed in a check shirt and a brown jacket. You thought you might have seen his face somewhere before, but you weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders and you couldn’t place him. “She might be a criminal of some kind, but you’re going to send her to another planet?” 

“I’m sorry, Captain, but it seems she may be more dangerous than a Midgardian prison could handle,” Thor answered. “My brother told me he has made many a visit to her on Earth.” Fucking news to you! Your eyes flicked to Loki, brows furrowed, but he didn’t meet your gaze. “I do not think he could have taught her many of the tricks he uses, but SHIELD assures me that they have indeed met before.” 

Now you understood the reason for the gag. Can’t contradict made up bullshit if you can’t speak. You were about to turn a furious gaze on the agent that brought you out of the car when the soft clinking of a chain drew your attention.

Loki curled a chained arm around your waist, grip firm, and tugged your back flush against him. The action forestalled anything you had been about to do or say and you attempted to catch his eye. He ducked his head and you felt the cool press of his own gag to the top of your head. 

The gesture had you stilling in surprise and seemed to only cement the story that Thor had been spun.

You felt eyes on the two of you, studying intently, before Loki’s little stunt seemed to be accepted as proof and preparations began again. You assumed for travel to this Asgard, but how exactly? There weren’t any space ships nearby and you were fairly certain the car you’d arrived in wasn’t about to escape Earth’s atmosphere.

Something with Loki here?

Thor reappeared in your line of sight holding one of two handles of some canister. A blue cube glowed inside, but it didn’t make any more sense than it had a few minutes ago. He caught your eye, his look intense and serious. “Make sure you do not let go or you will be lost to space as Loki was before he came here.” 

You felt like meaning lay beneath the words, something you were supposed to glean from them, but still struggling to process what had happened the last few days you simply nodded and took hold of the other handle. Loki’s hand settled beside yours, overlapping slightly. Unsure if this stemmed from kindness, or an attempt to be sure you didn’t let go. or something else to drag you further into the fiction and lies that had been created around you... Well, you had no way to protest, anyway.

You hoped nobody would spend too long looking for you. Maybe the local police had already told everyone you were dead, covering up the act that you still couldn’t quite understand. 

You wondered if you would ever see Earth again after this.

Your hand unknowingly reached for Loki’s at your waist, gripping tightly in fear of what was to come and in sorrow that you didn’t know what mess you were leaving behind. 

Silence as Thor turned the handle, anticlimactic, but you felt it as your stomach dropped similarly to when an elevator descends too quickly and you were pulled upwards. The blur of colours was almost too much for your eyes to bear as your vision blurred, but soon enough your feet settled on solid ground once more. 

You desperately blinked back the blurring at the edges of your vision to take in the bright gold that lined the room you had landed in. Or maybe an observatory of some kind.

“Welcome home,” a deep but firm voice greeted, your eyes drawn to a man in gold armour whose eyes glowed just as brightly as the metal. He sheathed the sword into the metal stand in front of him and approached the three of you.

You thought you could see something sad in his gaze as he touched the metal on your face, drawing it easily away from you and returning your ability to speak. “I am sorry you were dragged into this mess, miss.” 

“How did you…?” 

“My name is Heimdall and my duty is to watch over the Nine Realms. While I cannot see all at once, and some have managed to evade my sight in the past,” At this he gave Loki a look before returning his gaze to you - eyes softening once more, “I have kept an eye on your journey these past few days.” 

“Heimdall, of what do you speak?” Thor asked in utter confusion. 

But you found the words and breath to speak first. “They lied to you, I’m not an inmate! I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket!” you protested, courage mounting with every word you got out. “I was just doing my job like always and a couple of thugs came to the office and kidnapped me.” A squeeze at your waist reminded you of Loki’s presence and you pulled out of his grip, turning your annoyance on him. “And we have never met! I’ve only ever seen his reflection.” 

“Loki-” Thor growled at his brother, but received only a simple shrug and a look that lacked all remorse in reply. “Why did you-?”

Warm hands took your wrists and distracted you, your gaze drawn by watching Heimdall break the cuffs on your wrists as easily as if they were made of paper. “My apologies, miss. I had no way of letting anyone on Earth know of the misconception.” He didn’t smile, per se, but he seemed genuine and his greeting kind. 

He took a step back and you breathed with relief to finally be free of all your chains. “At least someone knows what’s going on.” Though Loki had to have known too, so why had he lied to Thor and SHIELD? “How exactly am I supposed to get home?” you asked, looking between the two brothers as if scolding children. 

“Heimdall is to use the Tesseract to restore the Bifrost and once it’s fixed, he will be able to send you home. If I can, I will return with you and explain the situation to the Avengers - they’ll be sure to help,” Thor rushed to assure you.

To be fair, they had tried, but Thor had been so convinced by SHIELD… Well, he just seemed to have gotten all mixed up in all of this so you nodded. “So, I’ll just have to wait until the bridge is fixed?” 

Thor smiled brightly this time, like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. “Yes, just until it is fixed. I’m sure Mother will be happy to provide hospitality.” 

“I see my son is already volunteering me.” Her voice sounded light and happy despite the situation, drifting over from some as yet unseen doorway off to the side. 

“Your Majesty.” Heimdall bowed to her and you quickly followed suit - you didn’t want to end up in the dungeons for however long it would take to fix the Bifrost. 

You straightened up to find her gentle smile turned your way, her beauty and motherly face stealing your breath. “I’m glad to finally meet you, though you are such a familiar sight that I feel as though I know you already.” Her arm settled softly around your shoulders and she started to steer you along the beautiful bridge you stood on. 

Loki huffed behind you and you wondered if he might be embarrassed? No, probably not.

“I’m sorry you were brought here under such circumstances, but welcome to Asgard.” Weird space travel and spy stories coming to life aside, maybe spending some time in the golden city laid out before you wouldn’t be so bad. 

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Loki fic? Go here

[missvelvetsstuff]

The Situation Room

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After a mission almost gone wrong, Tony brings back Bucky's former assistant, who is also Bucky's ex. Can they work together without hurting each other? Will the whole truth about their break up finally come out?

Avengers AU where Thanos never happened.

Chapter 5

Warnings: angst, swearing

Notes: I really got caught up in my own head between this story not working out how I wanted and the political BS going on in my country (US). I'm still a mess but pushed through to write this chapter. Idk if I'll ever finish or post the alternate to this story but am going on with what I started.

I hope it doesn't suck.

Vision sat with Wanda while she waited for Bucky to return, stewing in her anger, he knew she could make a real mess if she let her anger out so rubbed her back and whispered sweet words to help diffuse her wrath.

Friday announced that a quinjet was incoming and Wanda stood to walk to the hangar, Vision held her hand and felt her squeeze when Bucky came into sight.

Bucky saw Wanda and Vision in the hangar, presumably waiting for him, and shook his head, speaking before Wanda could "I'm not sure you can punish me any worse than I am." he ran his flesh hand down his face "I let my temper and insecurity take over and didn't even give her the chance to say anything."

He looked at Wanda sadly "I don't deserve anything but please let me just talk to her, I need to apologize. Even if she never forgives me, I have to tell her."

Wanda looked at him skeptically for a moment before giving a curt nod "Fine but she's sleeping right now. Listening to you and John set off her PTSD and I had to calm her down to bring her out and the whole thing exhausted her."

Bucky nodded "Yeah, that's fine. I'll ugh, I'll go take a shower and just let me know when she's available."

Bucky took a long shower, initially hoping to occupy himself while he waited for Radar to wake but his mind wouldn't let him stop going over John's words. Which triggered the memory of that day 2 years ago when Sharon greeted him with pictures of Radar, seemingly naked and intimate with Walker. The look on Radars face when she hurried to their room and saw Sharon with him. The way he yelled at her, uninterested in her attempt to explain.

He thought back to the last 2 years that he had spent cursing Y/N for breaking his heart, trying to bury his heartbreak in countless, random women none of whom could hold a candle to the one he believed had betrayed him.

He knew there was nothing he could do to make up for what he did, couldn't imagine any words or actions that could repair the damage that he had caused. The hurt he had inflicted on the woman who had meant more to him than he had words to explain.

The ache in his chest was worse than that awful day because he knew he was responsible for destroying his own happiness. He couldn't blame Hydra for this one, couldn't blame the Soldat. This atrocity was 100% on his own shoulders and there was nothing he could do but get on his knees before her and beg for forgiveness. Forget about reconciliation, absolution was the best he could hope for and more than he deserved.

Bucky was spooked out of his pity party by Friday's soft Irish lilt "Sargent Barnes? Miss Maximoff wants you to know Miss Radar is awake in her own room if you wish to speak to her."

He felt his knees buckle, a fear more intense and debilitating than he could recall ever feeling consumed him as he sat heavily in his shower.

"Sargent Barnes? Are you alright? You appear to be having a panic attack. I've contacted Captain Rogers to come help you."

Bucky tried to protest but couldn't get the words out and had given up by the time Steve arrived at his room. "Buck? You alright in here?"

When he didn't hear a response over the running water, Steve headed to the bathroom grabbing a towel. He saw Bucky sitting on the shower floor, mumbling and shaking his head. Steve turned the water off, causing Bucky to look up at him.

"C'mon pal, let's get you out of here."

Bucky stood, still shaking his head before looking at his friend "Stevie? When did you get here?" He grabbed the towel "I need to get dressed. I have talk to Y/N."

Steve nodded "Yeah, I know Buck but Fury wants to talk to you. Walker has a broken nose, jaw, eye socket, dislocated left shoulder and broken wrist plus multiple broken ribs. Fury isn't going to let us sweep this under the rug."

Bucky smirked for a moment "What? He's got some serum, he'll be fine in a day or two. I'll just avoid Fury for a few days and it'll blow over."

Steve shook his head "He's already on the warpath, you'd better talk to him before you go to see Radar. Don't want him busting in when you two are talking."

Bucky sighed before something occurred to him "Hey Steve, do you know if my conversation with Walker might have been recorded? If it was we could play it for Fury and prove what he did to Radar. Maybe get rid of him?"

Steve nodded "I don't know if it was recorded but I'll talk to Sophia and see if she can find anything."

He sighed "I'll try to keep Fury occupied but don't know how long I can hold him off. You better go talk to her."

Bucky dried off and quickly dressed "Thanks jerk. I'll let you know how it goes."

He looked in the hallway to make sure it was clear and headed for Radars room, avoiding all the main halls and gathering areas.

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

Radar woke up slowly, feeling groggy with sore eyes. It took her a few minutes to wake fully and figure out what happened. The last thing she remembered was the mission being finished and getting ready to log out of her laptop and back to her room before Bucky returned.

Her heart stopped when the memory returned, John telling Bucky about that day, the memories had come back faster than she could handle. She felt like she couldn't breathe and then peace. It all went quiet and then she woke up here.

Radar groaned and shook her head, fucking John couldn't keep his mouth shut. She didn't want to deal with this mess and get into the past. She just wanted to find a new Angel for Bucky and go back to Madripoor or anywhere that wasn't here. She wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with Bucky's guilt or whatever from the past.

Radar felt like she was drowning in her memories when someone knocked on the door. "Fuck!" She swore as she walked to the door and opened it only to be happily surprised to see Wanda and Vision.

Wanda smiled "How are you feeling?"

Radar just stared blankly for a moment before speaking "Really, Wands? I feel like I just relived the worst day of my life and it's not fun."

She started hyperventilating "Now Bucky knows what happened that day and is gonna want the whole story and I know he'll to want to talk about it. I don't know if I can do that." She started looking around her room, calculating how difficult it would be to pack the meager possessions she brought here and get out of the compound.

Wanda reached out and grabbed her hand "You can't just run away. You need to deal with this so you can have some closure and move on. You've been running for 2 years."

Radar shook her head "I'm pretty sure Bucky gave me closure when he told me to get my stuff and get out. He wasn't interested in my side of the story then but now since John fucking Walker told him he was wrong, I'm supposed to give him the time of day? Why do I owe him any more than what he gave me? Why should I care if he's sorry when he didn't care about anything I had to say?"

She grabbed her backpack "I need to get out of here."

Wanda squeezed Radar's hand and spoke softly, like she was trying to calm a spooked horse "Y/N, please. You've been running from this, from him since that day. You'll never be able to move on and be happy, or fall in love again if you don't face him. Even if it's just to tie a bow on it and be over him."

Radar pulled away "I can't do this Wanda, please don't make me. I-"

She was interrupted by knocking on her door and paled, then looked at Wanda "I'm gonna be sick."

Wanda hugged her "You can do this, Sestra. I'll be right outside if you need me."

Wanda opened the door to see Bucky's anxious face, telling him "You better not fuck this up, Barnes." Before she walked out with Vision.

Radar looked up, feeling shaky and nauseous, seeing the blue eyes she had loved so much.

Bucky tried to give her a reassuring smile but in his state it looked more like a grimace. "Y/N" was all he could get out.

"James."

@unaxv @calwitch @buckitostan @cjand10. @vicmc624 @sandrab02

Chapter 6

[sjsmith56]

The Visitor

Summary: A visitor to the Avengers compound causes concern for Bucky as she wishes to talk to him about his time as the Winter Soldier. Tony thinks she has something to hide.

Length: 4.3 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, name OFC.

Warnings: Emotional trauma, bringing up the past.

Author notes: In this canon based AU, the Avengers defeated Thanos in Wakanda. Bucky returned to the United States but was confined to the Avengers compound while his legal status was determined. Although Tony accepted his presence there is still awkwardness between the two men.

After the battle of Wakanda the world was in turmoil regarding the close call with the genocidal Thanos, that could have resulted in the death of billions of people.  The Avengers rallied together to fight the Titan, in a battle that saw the arrival of Tony Stark along with several non-human beings via a portal provided by Dr. Strange.  They met up with the force already in Wakanda that included the fugitives Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and the man most people knew as the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes.  The moment when Tony Stark found himself alongside the man who had killed his parents was captured by drone cameras that broadcast the battle to the world.  There was no denying that Stark wished he were beside someone else, but when Barnes took out an alien beast that knocked over Stark from behind then offered the iron-suited man a hand up, a hand that was taken, it was hoped the healing could begin.

After the defeat of Thanos, it was Stark who asked Bucky Barnes to return to the United States, offering him a place at the Avengers compound while his legal status was clarified, and providing him with legal counsel as the American political, judiciary and military complex began drawing their own battle lines over the former PoW's return.  When Bucky provided Stark a long list of names of HYDRA supporters in those areas, names that would have marked millions as enemies to be taken out, he went public with the information, turning attention towards the traitors who still hid openly in plain sight.  While Stark was the public face of the Avengers that handled this, Bucky was required to stay on the compound, wearing an ankle monitor to keep him there.  He was free but he was still confined.

The two super soldiers entered the common room, both fresh out of the showers after they ran close to 20 miles that morning.  As they helped themselves to the offerings of the breakfast buffet, then sat down at the large table, several others strolled in, having just awakened.

"We have a request from the legal team representing the families," said Tony Stark, entering the common room, looking like he had been up all night.  "Friday, display the request.  They wish to send another person to interview Bucky Barnes."

"Why?" asked Steve, looking up at the formal letter.  He frowned at the terse request.  "He already submitted everything he remembers.  What purpose would this serve?"

Tony looked briefly at Bucky, who sat quietly, as he often did at the compound, still trying to fit in there.

"Part of it is to question him themselves in a non-legal location so they can get an idea of what kind of man he is," he answered.  "That's what one of the lawyers admitted to me.  Personally, I think the woman they are proposing may be looking to find inconsistencies in his memories.  Our lawyers are insisting that anything he says to her would be inadmissible and unpublished by her in any way, shape or form."

"Is she a relative of one of the dead?" asked Bucky.

"No, she's not related to anyone," said Tony, bringing up a picture of a woman in her late twenties or early thirties, her dark hair cut in a stylish bob.  "Her name is Dr. Aline Clifton, a sociologist, PhD from Columbia University.  She's written several papers on the effects of imprisonment and torture on PoWs and kidnap victims.  Her papers have been ... interesting as she doesn't really come to any conclusions on whether a person can be forced to commit crimes when they are a prisoner, yet she appears to be sympathetic to those who have."

"Do I have to see her?"

"No, you're under no obligation.  It's just a request.  They would like an answer by tomorrow."

He nodded at Tony and got up from the table, leaving the rest of his breakfast untouched, followed by Steve.  Together, the two men went to Steve's quarters, which Bucky was sharing.  His nightmares occasionally needed an intervention from his friend.

"Why are they doing this?" he asked.  "She's the third one.  The first two concurred with my defence that I was in no position to counteract my programming.  I guess they didn't like hearing that.  Why do I have to go through this again?"

"You don't," replied Steve.  "It's just a request that you have already granted twice.  You don't have to see her."

"They'll twist that into saying I have something to hide.  I'll see her."

He left to tell Tony personally that he would agree to the meeting.  It wasn't like he was busy doing much else.

Two days later

It was stressful sitting in the conference room, waiting for the arrival of Dr. Aline Clifton.  Bucky had examined every vibranium plate in his left hand, tracing the seams between each section.  It was the equivalent of chewing his fingernails, which he had already done to his right hand.  He looked at the LED clock on the wall, noting it was only a minute since he last looked at it.  Then, with a sigh, he got up and went to the window, looking out over the nearby reservoir.  The waters looked so calm and peaceful, but he knew below that they were anything but, as currents drew the water towards the downstream dam that originally formed the body of water in the 1880s.  Hearing the door behind him open he was startled to see the woman in question standing in the doorway, alone.  She nodded her head at him, then entered, closing the door behind her.

"I'm Aline Clifton," she said.  "Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Barnes."

"Bucky is fine," he answered, then gestured to a chair.  "After you."

She sat, facing him as he sat across from her.  Quickly, he took in her appearance.  Her dark hair was cut in a modern style that accentuated her dark eyes and fine facial features, giving her an intensity that wasn't common on someone her age.  She had a septum piercing which drew his attention until he realized he was staring and looked away.  She smiled slightly at him, noticing his stare.

"A remnant of my youth," she explained.  "I embraced a goth lifestyle for a time.  There were many such piercings that I discarded over the years as I became more attuned to myself.  I keep this one as a reminder that everyone has issues, both exposed and hidden."

"I'm sorry.  That was rude of me to stare.  I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't and the sentiment is returned.  You're probably wondering why I'm here."  Bucky didn't answer.  "The truth is that I wished to meet you, and I put in a request to your lawyers, but they refused me outright.  So, I reached out to the lawyers of the families as I heard that two others approached you on a fact-finding basis.  I was hoping a third request would be accepted."

"I didn't hear about you until two days ago but now that you're here, you seem familiar.  We haven't met before." 

She shook her head; her mouth set in a grim line. 

"No, we haven't met but I did manage to be in the courtroom several times during your appearances.  Perhaps you remember me from that."

"Perhaps."  He caught himself staring again, trying to reconcile exactly where he knew her from.  "Why did you want to see me?  Everything that you see or read about me is true."

"I know, but I was hoping to provide you with some comfort, for lack of a better word."  She looked outside the window then, and he saw how she was choosing her words carefully.  "My whole career has been spent in studying individuals who were indoctrinated by others.  Some were subject to it by proximity; their parents were members of a cult, or they were looking for personal enlightenment at the hands of charlatans.  Others, like yourself, were captured, imprisoned, and tortured.  Sometimes, the treatment they received was just for the hell of it, to satisfy the sadistic desires of their captors.  Other times, it was with a purpose in mind, such as manipulating them into becoming agents or supporters of their cause."

"I didn't choose to be the Fist of HYDRA," interrupted Bucky.  "I was a prisoner of war, who was experimented on before my rescue, then I fell into their hands again, in a broken body that couldn't defend itself, and they continued the experiment for decades.  It was only Steve saying my name, and me recognizing him as being someone I once knew, that everything they did to me began to unravel."  He breathed out steadily.  "That's all public knowledge."

She nodded again, then looked out the window.  "Can we go for a walk and just talk?"

"I'm not allowed to be off the grounds."

"That's okay," she smiled.  "I just want to get out of here.  It feels confining."

He agreed, leaving the room with her, stopping to tell Steve and Tony they were going for a walk.  As they left, Tony looked at the pair and shook his head.

"There is something off about her.  I don't know what it is."

He whirled around, retreating to his lab while Steve stepped to the window and watched as Bucky and Dr. Clifton moved further away from the building.  Frowning, he went outside but hung back until he could barely see them, then he followed.

For some time, the couple didn't speak as they walked.  It was calming to Bucky then as they approached the path beside the reservoir, he put himself between Aline and the water, an action she noticed. 

"That's something that men of your time did, place yourselves between a woman and something that was a potential danger." 

"I guess the old habits came back quickly," he said.  "I can move to the other side if you want to be closer to the water."

"It's fine."  They walked a few more steps.  "Do you ever think of leaving?"

He stopped, frowning slightly at the question.

"No, I promised I would stay on the grounds until my case is decided.  I gave them my word."  He looked down at his ankle.  "They made me wear an ankle monitor but I wouldn't go back on my word.  I'm not that type of man."

"But if you could leave here, would you?"

"Not until my case is decided." 

"Did you try to leave HYDRA?" 

Ah, there was the question that was always asked.  It always came down to that.  So many of the politicians on the various committees that Bucky had appeared before had asked him the same question.  Why didn't he try harder to get away?  With a sigh, he answered.

"Many times.  They always found me, partly because they made me so dependent on them that I couldn't function in society anymore but also because I consistently tried to go home.  Even if I didn't consciously know that home was Brooklyn, a part of me knew and repeatedly headed there so they always knew where to find me.  The punishment for leaving was without exception worse than the time before.  You've read their files on me.  Do you really want me to say out loud what they did to me?"

Bucky stopped and looked at her, seeing the regret on her face.  Aline shook her head.

"No.  It was an obligation from the families' lawyers that I ask.  They are of the opinion that you could have left at any time, but you didn't because you were a believer.  They're surprised you don't try to leave now and go into hiding.  But you're done running, aren't you?"

He nodded, then looked out over the reservoir at the deceptively calm placid waters.  Even though he felt the anxiety and fear churning inside of him, he was still conditioned to display nothing on his face.  One of the psychiatrists he saw said it was a coping mechanism borne from years of abuse, a way not to give his captors a reason to hurt him any further.  Not that it ever really worked as HYDRA never saw him as human and most of his guards and handlers had strong sadistic tendencies that they expressed fully on him.

"Bucky, did any of your captors have families that you were aware of?"  Her voice was so quiet that it drew his attention to her face.  She was also looking out over the reservoir, her face an emotionless mask but he detected a note of anxiety in her voice.  "Were you allowed to interact with anyone outside of their duties?"

"No, although I did see children at times.  Most were told to avoid me, and I was ordered not to engage with them.  I wasn't seen as a person.  Just like most parents wouldn't let their kids play with weapons, I wasn't seen as being child friendly.  That's all I remember about that.  There are still a lot of missing memories."

Now she seemed distressed and wrung her hands a little.  Then she breathed out heavily and turned away from Bucky.

"I want to go back now, please," she said.  "I shouldn't have come."

"Okay," he replied, gesturing to her.  "Are you alright?"

"Yes ... no," she breathed out shakily. 

As they walked, he could see she was almost crying, and he reached out to touch her arm.  She pulled it away as if his touch was fire.  Then she shook her head and began walking quickly away from him.  He watched, concerned, then started following her.

Steve, who was close enough to see the expression on Dr. Clifton's face, frowned.  What happened that she looked like she was about to have a breakdown?  The sound of footsteps behind him made him look back to see Tony approaching.

"What's going on?" asked Tony. 

"I'm not sure.  She's walking fast and looks upset."

"Somehow I'm not surprised."  Steve's expression was curious to which Tony shrugged.  "I do know she wasn't completely truthful with us.  Bring her inside.  She has some questions to answer."

She came closer and made to walk right past them, but Steve reached out and grabbed her arm.  She pulled away briefly then stopped, breathing heavily.

"Please, let me go," she begged.  "I shouldn't have come."

"No," said Tony.  He nodded at Bucky who had just caught up.  "You owe Barnes some answers."

"I can't."  She shook her head, trying to pull away again, then began to hyperventilate.  "I can't do this."

"Do what?" asked Tony, staring intently at her face.  "Barnes is not the enemy, Dr. Clifton, but you already know that."

Agony was written on Aline's face as she looked everywhere until finally settling on Bucky again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.  "I'm sorry for what they did to you.  I could have told someone, but I was so afraid they would come for me ... please forgive me, please."

Burying her face in her hands, she slumped to the ground and bent over.  Bucky looked at Tony, questioningly, but he shook his head. 

"Give her a few moments then we'll go inside.  She can unburden herself in there."  He shook his head angrily.  "You and I weren't the only victims of HYDRA.  They hurt their own just as much."

It was several minutes before Aline was composed enough to go with them.  As they settled in the conference room, Tony poured a glass of water, placing it in front of the woman.  She smiled slightly at him then sipped it. 

"Where do you want me to start?" she asked.

"Allow me," said Tony.  He waved his hand, bringing up a holographic display.  "Alice Meyer, born April 10, 1985, the daughter of Dr. Ludwig Meyer and his wife Eloise.  Although you were born in Austria, your father worked in Siberia, in a HYDRA lab.  After a shipment of stolen serum was wasted on several individuals that became too violent to control, your father was transferred to a HYDRA lab outside of Washington, D.C.  You and your mother joined him.  You grew up in the small town that was built for the employees.  How am I doing so far?"

She swallowed nervously then nodded her head.  "I was seven years old when Mama and I arrived.  We lived a quiet life in Austria, seeing Papa every few months.  All I knew was that it was government work.  I wasn't allowed to ask about it and he never spoke of it when he was home.  But when we moved to the United States, it was like being dropped into the middle of a cult.  Everyone was HYDRA.  We woke up to the call of Hail HYDRA, on speakers throughout the town.  The only visitors that were welcome were other HYDRA followers.  Outsiders were made to feel very unwelcome and basically run out of town.  It was stifling and frightening all the time."

"You were HYDRA?" asked Bucky, a sense of anger in his voice.

"Not by choice," she answered.  "I soon learned that if I didn't display the proper attitude, I could expect punishment, both corporal and psychological.  It became easier to pretend that I belonged than to fight it.  My parents told me to go along with it, as my behaviour would reflect on them.  They used the Winter Soldier as an example of someone who didn't comply and look what they did to him."  She looked sadly at Bucky.  "You were the boogeyman, what we children were threatened with if we didn't behave and follow HYDRA's way.  Although my parents sometimes let slip that you were a prisoner, they never said you were being tortured or forced to do what you did.  Even when I heard the rumours of what was done to you, it was always explained that you deserved it for your crimes.  At that time, I thought my parents were good people caught up in an unpleasant situation, trying to get through the day without being punished in a similar way."

"What changed your mind?" asked Steve, sympathetically.

"September 11, 2001.  I was 16, in high school, a normal school, and all the TVs were tuned to the news, showing what was happening in New York.  It was frightening.  Who would do such a thing?"  She sipped some more water.  "The school bus took us home and it was like a party there.  Everyone was happy, hugging and laughing, celebrating this great moment for HYDRA.  I walked into the house and my parents both had a drink in hand.  No one else was there, so there was no need for them to pretend that this was anything other than a tragedy.  My father said it was a great day for HYDRA.  Now the world would know that they needed a firm hand on them to guide them properly."  She slumped a little and closed her eyes then opened them.  "I was staggered by their behaviour and for the first time in my life, realized that monsters had raised me.  It made me look at you, Bucky, with new eyes.  I noticed the bruises on your face, the way your hair wasn't tended to, of how they made you wear that mask and that heavy black clothing even on the hottest days of summer.  There was always a threat of violence around you, in the circle of people who surrounded you."

"You tried to run away," said Tony, bringing up a picture of her in her high school yearbook.  She looked like she was on the edge.  "You were screaming for help, but the police always returned you to your parents."

Aline nodded, transfixed by her high school photo. 

"HYDRA always tried to recruit from within," she said.  "Career day was a tour behind the scenes.  I saw Bucky in his cryogenic capsule, then we were shown the whole support team that went into reinforcing his missions.  It was like being in a nightmare and I wanted no part of it, but I couldn't say that as it would mean my own imprisonment and probable torture.  I was a coward."

"No, you weren't," said Bucky, quickly.  "Don't say that.  You were afraid with good reason.  How did you get out?"

"I took on a job as a driver," she said.  "We would be sent to safe houses to restock groceries, clothing, medical supplies, cash, false IDs, etc.  One day, they trusted me enough to go on my own.  I kept the money and staged an accident with the vehicle, made it seem that I drove it off a bridge to avoid an animal.  Then I went full goth makeup, clothing, and piercings.  I mentioned that to you, remember?"

He smiled at her and nodded his head.

"They found the car but never found my body.  I went to Canada, with a false passport for Aline Clifton, born in Montreal, May 12, 1986.  I registered in the sociology program at McGill University and got my bachelor's degree, then master's there and my PhD at Columbia, in New York, specializing in the indoctrination of prisoners of war, cult members and abductees.  Then I was offered a position at the university, where I was when you fought against Thanos.  They announced that Bucky was part of the force that fought against him, and that he was coming back.  I wanted to know for sure if what I always suspected was true."

"That he was coerced into it," said Tony.  "I had my doubts too, but the files and the videos were damning testimony against HYDRA.  They were monsters.  As much as I wanted to hate him for killing my parents I couldn't in good conscience do it.  I killed more people with Stark weapons than he ever did.  Yet, I'm supposed to be one of the good guys."  He smiled apologetically at Bucky.  "I'm sorry I tried to kill you.  You had no choice but to obey your orders when you killed my parents."

"I'm sorry I killed them, your mom, especially.  I'd give anything to see my mother again."

"You could always try binarily augmented retro-framing."

"Did it work for you?"

"Not really as it never really fixed my issues that I had with my dad before he died.  It was nice to see Mom again."  Tony huffed a little.  "Sorry, getting a little off topic.  Dr. Clifton, is there anything more that you want to say?"

"Yes, most of the legal team behind the families are connected to HYDRA," she said.  "I'm sure of it.  They want Bucky in prison and likely want him in a specific location where he can receive very special treatment."

"The words don't work anymore," said Bucky.  "Wakanda took their power away."

"They don't care," she answered.  "They'll try and keep trying to bring the Winter Soldier back.  They spent billions on you and you're the only one they had success with.  You're too valuable to give up on now."

"How do you know?"

"I'm a sociologist, trained to observe human behaviour.  I know how to question both perpetrators and victims of torture to get to the truth.  I know liars when I see them and all the tells of someone who is under stress.  I never told anyone about you before because I was afraid of them finding me and forcing me back but I'm not afraid anymore.  I'm not a monster but I know one when I see one.  You're not one, Bucky.  You never were."

A rush of emotion went through him, and he couldn't speak for a moment.  Then he whispered out a thank you and left with Steve, wanting to cry in the privacy of their shared quarters.  Aline looked at Tony.

"You're not a monster, either Mr. Stark," she said.  "I'll write down the names of the lawyers who are true believers.  Make sure they don't get away with this."

"I'll make sure," said Tony, sliding a virtual keyboard over to her.  "Just enter their names and Friday will investigate their backgrounds before I notify the proper authorities."  He watched her as she used the virtual device as if it were no big deal.  "Dr. Clifton, have you ever thought of working for an organization like the Avengers?  Your training would be a great asset to us."

"No, I like being a teacher," she replied.  "But I could visit on a regular basis, if you wish.  Say, once a month?  Maybe more, if circumstances permit?"

"That could work," said Tony, smiling at her as she stood up.  "Will you be alright?  I'm guessing this was the first time you disclosed your real past to anyone."

"Yeah, I think I will be," she said.  "It was freeing."  She looked towards the door.  "He really is a good man inside.  It was obvious to me very quickly that he still feels tremendous guilt for what they forced him to do.  A monster would feel nothing."

Tony walked her out of the building, then waved as she drove away.  He headed for his lab, but instead found himself in the residential part of the building.  Knocking on Steve Roger's door he looked past him when the door was opened.  Steve led him in to where Bucky sat at the couch, the thousand-mile stare on his face.  The man still carried so much on himself, and Tony knew that words alone weren't enough.  Standing in front of Bucky, he offered him his hand.  When Bucky took it, Tony pulled him up, then hugged him until he felt the other return it.  The tears followed and both men wept until they had nothing left.  Their visitor, Dr. Aline Clifton, was right.  Bucky really was a good man inside and so was he.

One Shots Masterlist

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[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

I'm watching the mixed archery competition today (teams of 1 man and 1 woman) and I can't help but think about Clint and Kate going absolutely HOG WILD watching this together 😂 they're shouting loud enough that the whole neighborhood can hear it

Alternatively, they compete as Team Hawkeye and are unaffiliated with any country but they're here and no one is sure why they're here??? Like they're winning but are they even allowed to be given medals???? They didn't enter as Team USA they just showed up with a homemade flag that's actually a purple sheet with a slice of pizza drawn on with fabric paint????

Oh my godddd they WOULD compete under a flag of their own making. (this flag is very important to me. there's a dog paw print in paint that was NOT on purpose, Lucky just got excited. the sheet? from Kate's bed. The drawing of pizza? Very bad. You can tell it's supposed to be pizza. For the most part.)

How did they get into the competition? Unclear. They just showed up on the range and refused to be removed. Not in a mean or loud way, but in a politely redirecting questions or answering with things that don't really pertain. such as:

"How did you get here?" "Oh, we took a plane!" "No, how did you get here, on the range." "The door that everyone else used...?" "You can't compete." "Oh, we totally can! No injuries or anything." "This is an international co--" "We brought a flag, though!"

The Olympic committee is really perplexed, kind of angry, the other archers are having a BLAST. Lucky is using his service dog training to help the others with Olympic jitters!! He becomes the unofficial mascot of the archery competition

And competing with Hawkeyes really changes the tone of the competition. The rest of the field knows they're not going to win, so the pressure's off, they can just have fun!! Because of this the majority of competitors get personal bests.

The Olympic committee decides they AREN'T allowed to get medals, so the team that gets gold (actually silver, whatever) wears the medals WITH the Hawkeyes and gets a picture like that.

i want to say some of the other teams are lowkey like "that's bullshit, we should get them something" which winds up being croissants that they spray paint gold and glue on to ribbon. They get together some time after the event and have a "medal ceremony" for the Hawkeyes who are crying very touched.

Snoop Dogg decides they're going to hang out with him, they try to teach him to use a bow, they wind up hanging out with Martha Stewart, ALL OF THEM HAVE BEEN IN PRISON? actually I don't know about Clint but anyway. Basically they hijack the Olympics, they want to meet Simone Biles!!! they are having the greatest time (Kate telling Simone how brave she is and how her being public about everything she went through with the last Olympics meant a lot to her and Simone is like "omg is this avenger going to start crying oh god what do i DO". there's a cute picture of them hugging)

Steve Rogers is there for some event, and there's viral videos of them doing the "I've got my eyes on you" gesture at him very threateningly.

Someone points it out on Twitter "lol what did cap do to piss off the hawkeyes?" And Kate's like HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID (which he does)

GOD I LOVE OLYMPICS AUS

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (1)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Rating: Mature

Square filled for @stuckybingo Round 5: free space - mafia au

Square filled for @anyfandomgoesbingo: Free Space

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of illegal activities/mafia business/murder, strong reader, mentions of breeding/surrogate, wish for children, shady deals, shitty boyfriend, reader doesn't take shit from no one, tension, sexy mobsters

Words: 1,5k

Indecent Proposal masterlist

“Babe, how do I look?” Your boyfriend asks, almost stumbling over his words as the men he was hoping to meet at the fancy party walk inside the room. 

Well, they don’t walk like normal people. They are stepping inside the room, stopping in their tracks to look at the people in the room. It looks like the crowd parts like the Red Sea to form a path only for them.

Steven Grant Rogers. James Buchanan Barnes. – Two names you must know if you ever heard of New York City and its mob.

They are as good-looking as they are dangerous. A deadly combination of beauty and the beast hidden behind blue eyes.

If you don’t want to end up six feet under, you don’t mess with them. Or even look their way too long.

“Did you put on the underwear I told you to?” 

“What has this to do with the party?” You sigh, as you still don’t know why Scott brought you here.

You’ve been dating for a few months, and you had hoped that tonight, he’d do more than the bare minimum. He’s not a bad guy, but an awful partner.

A criminal too. Not a criminal mastermind, but you already figured out that the small business he runs is far from legal.

“It’s important, babe,” you roll your eyes at the awful pet name. You hate it and told him so before. “Okay, don’t say anything stupid. Or, just look pretty and don’t say anything at all.”

“What?” Now you square your jaw. You don’t understand what has gotten into Scott until you lift your eyes off him to meet two pairs of blue ones. “Oh…”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes,” Scott looks pathetic when he bows for the heads of the mob in town. “I’m honored to meet you again. Thank you for having me.”

The men ignore Scott and his offered hand. Instead, they look at you. Steve almost shoves your boyfriend aside as he holds out his hand to take yours.

“I see you followed our invitation,” he lowers himself to press a kiss to the back of your hand. You shiver. He seems so polite, and kind. But behind his blue eyes, you can see the beast wanting to break free.

“Stevie don’t scare her off right away,” you are a little overwhelmed when James Barnes turns his attention toward you. He takes your other hand and kisses your knuckles, glancing at your ring finger. “No ring, doll? He didn’t ask you to be his forever?”

“No-“ You’re usually not shy, or meek. But these men crowd you like prey and have their hands on you. You know they are in a relationship, but right now, they look at you as if you are their latest meal. “We’re only dating for a few months.”

“A shame,” Steve cups your chin, making you whimper. You never felt like this before. Confused and aroused at the same time. These men are strangers, but oddly you feel safe in their presence. “What do you say? Shall we lead this to a more private area?”

You don’t know why they are interested in leading you and your boyfriend to a private area, but this can’t be good. People like them never have good intentions, and you assume Steve and Bucky are no exception.

“I’m good here…I mean. You should enjoy your party. Don’t you have to greet all the people you invited?” You nervously babble. 

“Doll, they don’t care if we greet them or not. They are only here to show respect to us,” Bucky runs his index finger up your arm. He smirks as you involuntarily shudder at his touch. “Let’s lead this to our office.”

“Scott,” you dip your head to glance at your boyfriend. He looks up at Steve as if the man is carrying a halo on top of his head. “Scott!”

“Babe don’t be rude. We should follow them to the office,” your boyfriend is no help. He’s wringing his hands while staring at Steve Rogers. God, he’s such a pathetic little boy. You just see it now when you watch him interact with two real men.

“Fine,” you snap at Scott if only to end his pathetic act. “Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, please lead the way.” 

“Do you want a drink or a canapé doll? We can ask the maid to get you something you’ll like,” Bucky sits next to you on the couch, one hand running up and down his thigh, the other creeping toward your thigh. He brushes his metal finger over your exposed skin, barely listening to what his partner has to say.

“Buck, did you listen?”

“Seal the deal,” the brunette clicks his tongue, “I’ll take care of the main act in the meantime. You know I don’t care about the conditions. We already negotiated them. You can take care of the details.”

“I want to take over more important tasks,” Scott suddenly says. He glances at you, and then he looks at Steve. “Sir, I agree on the terms. I’ll do anything to prove that you can trust me.”

“Does she agree on our terms too?” Steve dips his head to watch you stop Bucky’s hand from stroking your thigh. “Buck, we are talking here.”

“I know,” Bucky huffs. “All you do is talk to that slimy little bastard. Give him what he wants so we can get what we want.”

“Mr. Lang, you know that if we seal the deal, that you cannot break it. We have rules for a reason.”

“She will agree,” Scott hastily says. You snap your head toward your boyfriend, wondering what he’s talking about. “Right, Y/N? You’ll help me with the deal.”

“I told you that I’m not going to do anything illegal,” you hiss at Scott. “I looked the other way when you sold stolen phones to my colleagues, but I won’t actively help you. I’m not a criminal.”

“You didn’t talk about the deal with her?” Bucky suddenly jumps up to fist Scott’s jacket. “You dare to come to our house and lie to us?”

“I didn’t lie, Sir…Mr. Barnes. Y/N said she finds you hot, and all. She even talked about ending up between the two of you to her friend.”

“You sick fuck spied on me and Maria?” You growl at Scott. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes…I’m sure she’ll help you have a baby and all…”

“Baby what?” You furrow your brows. “Okay. This is getting ridiculous. What is going on here?”

“Well, we want you to become our surrogate. Bucky and I love each other dearly, but I cannot give him what he needs, nor can he give me what I want. A baby…an heir. We were looking for the perfect woman, with the perfect bloodline.”

“I-what?” The room suddenly caves in. You feel dizzy and grab the edge of the couch. “You want me to be your breeder?”

“No, doll,” Steve walks toward the couch to crouch down in front of you. “We want you to spend time with us…or rather between us.” He grins. “I want you to have my baby. And then you’ll have Bucky’s. We haven’t figured out whose allowed to breed you first.”

“Breed me?” Oh. God. Your pussy just clenched around nothing. If not for the anger taking over, you’d gladly jump Steve’s bones to have all the babies he wants. “Are you fucking insane? I’m not a piece of meat you can just buy!”

“We believed he talked about the deal with you, doll. Please, don’t be mad at us,” Steve purrs, and runs his hand over your cheek. “We only wanted what we deserve. The perfect woman having our babies.”

“She will agree…” Scott nervously says. He looks at you, hoping you’ll agree to whatever the two men holding his fate in their hands want. “Right babe?”

“I hate it when you call me that,” you jump up, and push Steve aside. “What did you believe will happen when you bring me here to offer my uterus and pussy to these two? Huh? That I’ll just bend over the desk and let them have their way with me!”

“I-uh…kinda…yes…”

“Pathetic,” you click your tongue as you glance at Bucky. He cracks his knuckles, ready to rough Scott up a little for messing with them. “I knew you were no good. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct.”

You dip your head to watch Steve walk toward his partner. They are looking at you, like lions ready to pounce. Those two men set their eyes on you, and you are not foolish enough to believe that they’ll leave you alone.

If you end up in their clutches, you’ll make sure they only get their hands on you to your conditions. “You want me and my womb?”

“More than anything,” Bucky purrs. He steps behind you to place both of his hands on your belly. “And I can tell, Stevie, and will love filling you up.”

Scott hopefully looks at you. This is the moment he was waiting for. He’ll be a made man soon, and his ex will see, he's more than the loser she sees in him. 

You look at Steve, holding his gaze, “I’ll be yours if you get rid of him…”

Part 2