#Steve Rogers x reader

[witchywithwhiskey]

in the woods with a couple of masked men

pairing: bucky barnes & steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've been flirting with steve rogers and bucky barnes for a month at the bar you all frequent with your friends, and on Halloween, when you tell them about your fantasy of being chased through the woods by masked men or men, they decide to make it a reality.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), threesome, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (m receiving), chase kink, mask kink, light bdsm, light degradation, praise kink, light choking, roughness, check-ins, pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty girl, sweet girl) aftercare, halloween shenanigans

word count: 3.6k

a/n: this was my idea for my third and final halloween fic this year and i was really disappointed that i ran out of time to do a fully developed version, but i figured i'd put together something short and (hopefully) hot. this still ended up longer than i expected, but it's much shorter than my normal halloween fics so i hope that's ok 😅 happy (almost) halloween y'all!! ♡

halloween fics masterlist

"What do you want for Halloween, pretty girl?"

"I want a masked man—or men—to chase me through the woods and fuck me to within an inch of my life," you answered, a wicked smirk curling the corners of your mouth. 

Your eyes slid away from the men you were talking to, casting a glance around the dingy dive bar that was more crowded than normal on Halloween night. You cut your eyes back to them and lifted a single shoulder in an apathetic shrug, your smirk still flirting at the edges of your lips.

"Y'know, just what every girl wants for Halloween."

You were talking to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, who you’d met a month before Halloween. One of their friends had started flirting with one of your friends at the bar you all liked to frequent, and as that relationship blossomed into more than flirting, you started seeing them more. 

You'd gravitated to the handsome best friends, unable to resist talking to them, drinking with them, commiserating with them as your friends grew more and more flagrant with their public displays of affection. Besides, Bucky and Steve hadn't seemed to mind the way you'd laugh at their jokes—even the not-so-great ones—or lean against them when you grew tired late into the night. 

Still, you didn't know what impulse had prompted you to tell them about your deepest, darkest fantasy. It must've been some deadly combination of loneliness and recklessness, and the ease you felt when you were around Steve and Bucky. But you couldn’t bring yourself to take it back. 

Not when the men reacted by sharing a look like they planning something. Just the thought that they might be thinking about indulging your fantasy made you squeeze your thighs together and lean into the heat emanating from them.

Of course, you were also a little chilly, having worn a skimpy little dress as part of your Halloween costume, but you leaned closer to Steve and Bucky in the crowded bar for warmth and to inhale the intoxicating scent of their cologne, which sent more curls of heat dancing through your veins. 

Without looking away from each other, their arms wrapped around you and they crushed you between their chests while they continued their silent conversation. You waited patiently, soaking up Bucky and Steve’s warmth until they turned to you, matching grins on their faces.

After a hushed conversation and a couple rounds of Steve and Bucky asking, "Are you sure you want this, sweet girl?" you found your friends and told them you were leaving with the men. 

You told your friends you had your phone on you and promised to keep your location turned on, to check in when you were on your way home. Your friends cackled happily for you and shooed you off with Bucky and Steve. 

When you got to the woods, Steve and Bucky each slipped on a Ghostface mask. Your breath caught in your lungs when you saw the big, muscled men dressed in all black and wearing the masks, your heart beating faster in your chest as excitement and desire churned in your belly. 

One of them said they were giving you a 30-second head start, so you turned and bolted into the trees, running as fast as you could to put as much distance between you and them in the short time they’d given you. But only 10 seconds later, you heard them start to chase you. 

You didn't have the breath to call out and accuse them of cheating, you were too focused on making the game as hard for them as possible. So you ran harder through the woods, losing them in the spindly trees cast in shades of silvery blue by the light of the moon.

For long moments, you ran without hearing anything behind you. You didn't know if you were truly giving Bucky and Steve a run for their money or if they were playing with you, but you didn't hear them chasing you until your lungs were burning and your legs were aching. 

All at the same time, you heard a twig snap, the rustle of leaves. A hand snatched at your skimpy little dress, snapping it against your skin when you pulled out of their grasp. A grunt of frustration sounded as a scream welled in your throat, but you couldn't let it loose through your panting, gasping breaths as you ran on. 

Fingers closed around your wrist and you shrieked in surprise, whirling around to wrench yourself free as you ran, turning to look over your shoulder and catching a glimpse of the eerie white Ghostface mask with its yawning, wide open mouth. 

That glance you spared for your pursuer would be what got you caught—the first time.

With your head turned to look over your shoulder, you didn't see where you were going, and you crashed right into a big, hard chest. You bounced off it with your momentum, but strong arms wound around your waist, holding you pinned to the warm body pressed flush to your curves.

"Got you, baby," came a muffled voice through the mask.

You couldn't for the life of you tell which man it was, whether it was Bucky or Steve. Although, it didn’t really matter to you, your body burned with desire for each of them equally. 

"What're you gonna give me to let you go?” the man taunted, his mask tipping down in such a way that you knew his eyes were dragging down to your cleavage, which was in danger of spilling out over the low neckline of your dress. "C'mon, slut, you look like you know how to please a man—so please me, and I'll let you go."

Arousal swirled through your body at the degrading way he spoke to you—you’d told Steve and Bucky back at the bar that you liked a little degradation and you were pleased that they were running with it. You couldn't help the impish smirk that spread across your face in response to the man’s filthy request.

"You're right, dirty man, I know exactly what to give you," you purred running your hands down the man's chest and trying to catch his eye through the mask. 

Staring into the spooky visage of the Ghostface mask, you began lowering yourself to your knees and the man helped guide you down. His hands worked open the front of his jeans, undoing them and pulling out his cock while you settled on the cold, leaf-covered ground.

Without preamble, you sucked the man's half-hard cock into your mouth, relishing the way he groaned above you. His hands cradled your head, petting you idly while you licked along the velvety soft shaft, humming happily as you felt him harden against your tongue. He tasted musky, his scent filling your senses and making you gush with wetness between your thighs.

The man’s moans were loud in the forest as you bobbed on his cock, sucking him harder and faster and pushing him closer to his release. Distantly, you wondered where the other man was, but didn't concern yourself overmuch with it as you focused on making the man in front of your cum.

When you could feel that he was just about to let go, his thick cock throbbing against your tongue, you pulled away and broke free from his hold, leaping to your feet and darting off into the woods. His ferocious, frustrated roar followed you through the trees and you couldn't help the cackling laughter that tumbled from your lips as you ran.

Immediately, you could hear the man crashing through the underbrush after you and you had to wonder if he'd even paused to put his cock away before bolting after you. 

It seemed you hadn’t learned your lesson, because you risked a glance over your shoulder, trying to get a peak of whether he was chasing you with his cock out, and at that moment, a hand reached out and grabbed your arm, towing you into another strong, broad chest.

"What'd you do to him, sweetheart?" came another muffled voice as the second man pinned your back against a tree, caging you in with his thick arms.

You couldn't help but laugh as you told him how you'd left the other man with his cock out and throbbing with need, teetering on the edge of his release. From behind his eerie Ghostface mask, the man in front of you tsked, shaking his head slowly, almost like he pitied you.

"You're gonna pay for that, pretty girl," he murmured in a husky, muffled voice. His hands slid down the sides of your body, making you shiver at the way he groped you softly, reverently. He was cupping your tits and squeezing your hips in a way that made your body hum with heat as he said, "If you're a good girl for me, maybe I'll convince him to go easy on you."

Warm palms skimmed down the outside of your thighs, fingers curling in the hem of your dress before pushing it up higher and higher… 

You almost wanted to give in, to be good for him. Almost.

Instead, you scoffed, "Yeah, right,” and shoved roughly against the man's muscled chest. Though he barely budged, the movement dislodged his hands from your body and you managed to slip away from him, taking off again into the woods.

The man's loud laughter followed you, which was even more deliciously terrifying than the other man's roar had been. 

Fleeing from both of the men, you tried to run harder, but you were growing tired—both of running and the game.

It was a good thing, then, that you didn't get far. 

It seemed Bucky and Steve were sick of the game as well, because only a few seconds after the man’s laughter died in the night sky, a large body crashed into your back, tackling you to the forest floor. 

Whoever caught you wound an arm around your waist and braced a hand against the ground so you didn't get hurt, but you still landed with a soft, "oof," of surprise. The body at your back covered you with its weight, pushing you deeper into the cold, damp leaves blanketing the dirt.

"I'm gonna make you regret leaving me like that, slut," said a gruff, menacing voice in your ear. A hand was pushing up your dress and ripping your panties down your legs while another was fumbling with a zipper, his knuckles grazing your bare ass. 

The head of a cock grazed your folds, which were drenched with your desire, and your fingers sank into the soft soil beneath you as you arched into him, biting back a desirous moan. The man's hand grabbed your waist, leaning over you so the cold plastic of the Ghostface mask butted into your shoulder. 

"You good, pretty girl?" he rumbled, his voice gentler as he checked in with you.

Your body, which had been tense an intoxicating mix of fear and arousal, relaxed at the question and you smiled, turning your head to catch the man's eye through the mesh of the mask. You shot him a playful smirk.

"Fuck me hard, filthy man," you purred, arching beneath him and pushing against the hard ridge of his cock so it slid through your slippery folds. "Show me how a dirty little slut like me deserves to be fucked."

The man groaned, shifting his hips so he could sink into your wet heat with one thrust, wringing a cry from your lips as his thick girth stretched your tight cunt. When his hips were pressed flush with your ass, he paused and you both took a moment to breathe and adjust to the feel of him inside your pussy.

You didn’t know if the other man had been watching you, timing it perfectly, but it was at that exact moment that he stepped in front of you, dropping down onto his knees as he undid the button and fly of his jeans. He spread his thick thighs and sank down onto his haunches so his cock was level with your face when he pulled it out. 

"Why don't you show me what that pretty mouth can do, sweet girl," the man cooed, his voice distractingly patronizing even muffled through the mask. "Be a good girl and suck my cock while your pussy gets pounded."

You didn't need any more encouraging than that, lifting yourself up onto your arms so you could lick along the thick ridge on the underside of the man's cock, smirking when he groaned. 

"Ya like that, perv?" you teased in between pressing wet, suckling kisses to the velvet-wrapped steel of his shaft. "Like getting your cock played with by a slut you caught in the woods?" 

"Fuck yes," he groaned, cupping your head in his hands and urging you closer to the tip. You wrapped your lips around the head, enjoying the taste of his precum leaking onto your tongue, and sucked him hard. "Oh fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good, sweetheart."

You'd planned to tease the man's tip a little longer, but the man behind you seemed to be done letting you adjust to having two cocks in your holes. He pulled his hips back and slammed inside you again, burying his full length in your pussy and pushing you forward, forcing you to take the other man deeper. 

The cock in your mouth brushed against the back of your throat and you gagged at the unexpected feeling. The man in front of you sat back quickly, pulling free of your lips and letting you suck in air while you coughed and recovered.

"Careful, dickhead," he growled, his voice still muffled through his mask so you couldn't tell whether he was Steve or Bucky. His hands idly stroked the top of your head and you found yourself leaning into the soft gesture.

"Sorry," the other man mumbled, his hands squeezing your hips apologetically.

"No, no, I want it rough," you said in a husky voice, straining your body to get your mouth back on the cock in front of your face. You pressed a kiss to the underside of the man's length, looking up at him from under your lashes. "I told you not to hold back—I want everything you can give me, please.” 

"Fuck," the man in front of you grunted at the same time the man behind you groaned, starting to thrust into you slowly, making you feel every inch of his cock dragging along the inside of your pussy. The man who'd spoken stroked his fingers down your cheeks, catching a tear that had escaped when you'd gagged. "You're gonna spoil us, sweet girl, letting us use your pretty holes like that."

"Good," you said firmly, before swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, moaning at the taste of him. You couldn’t wait to swallow his cum, to be filled of both of them. “Then maybe you guys will do this again with me."

"Fuck yes we will, baby," the man behind you groaned, covering you with his body and pinning you into the forest floor while his hand wrapped loosely around the front of your throat. His mask bumped against your cheek as he spoke in your ear. "We'll fuck you anytime and anywhere you want, pretty girl—all ya gotta do is ask."

A delirious smile curved your lips and you were just about to make some sassy comment, but then he thrust hard into your pussy, wrenching a sharp cry from your mouth as pleasure spiraled through your body. The other man used the opportunity of your parted lips to thrust his cock inside your mouth, careful not to go too deep. 

Steve and Bucky worked your body in tandem, one of them pinning you to the cold ground and fucking you from behind, while the other held your head steady and fucked your mouth. All you could do was take everything they gave you, never knowing which one was which, moaning as they pushed you to the edge of pleasure.

You were writhing on the ground, your hands grasping at the damp leaves and the thick, jeans-clad thighs of the man in front of you, searching for something to hold onto as your pleasure spiraled higher. You were arching your back to take the cock deeper into your pussy, whining pitifully as you begged wordlessly for your release, unable to control yourself when you were so desperate to cum.

The men must've understood because they hauled you up onto your hand and knees, never removing their cocks from your holes. As they continued to fuck you, they positioned your body so that the man behind you could slip his hand between your thighs and find your needy, aching clit.

"Cum for us, slut," he growled in your ear. 

The other man thumbed the tears from your cheeks as he pushed his cock deep into your mouth. He'd opened your throat enough for him so you didn't gag too much, but he fucked you through it anyway, until his cock was rubbing against the other man's hand as it bulged in your neck. 

"Be a good girl, sweetheart, and cum on our cocks," the man in front of you urged, his balls pushing against your chin as he buried himself in your mouth and groaning when your muscles contracted as you swallowed around him. "Wanna feel you scream on my dick."

"Yeah, baby, gotta feel your sweet cunt milk me," the other man groaned into your ear, rubbing your clit unrelentingly while he pounded into you hard enough you could hear the sharp sounds of his hips smacking against your ass. "C'mon, don't you want us to fill your holes with our cum—cum for your masked men, sweet girl.”

You didn't know what tipped you over the edge—whether it was the muffled, filthy words or the fingers on your clit, or the pair of cocks ruthlessly fucking your holes—but something set you off, and you came harder than you ever had before.

A shrieking scream worked its way up inside you, making the man in front of you moan loudly when your throat constricted around his hard length. The man behind you grunted as your pussy clenched on his cock, and he buried himself to the root, moaning at the feel of your inner walls sucking him in deeper.

Pleasure consumed your mind thoroughly, overwhelming you entirely as your body trembled violently. You tried to stay in position for the men, but you knew it was their hands more than your own strength holding you up as the ecstasy of your release wrecked you.

The man in front of you came first, holding your head pinned to his abdomen and spilling his seed down your throat while you swallowed weakly, some of it spilling out around the shaft of his cock and joining the spit and tears making a mess of your face. 

The other man followed a moment later, pressing his hips flush against your ass and coming with a filthy groan, his mask pressed to your shoulder blade and his arms wrapped around your waist while you felt his cock twitch deep inside you.

In the cold, dark forest on Halloween night, the three of you rode out your pleasure together for long, hazy moments. But when the chill of the air seeped into your cooling skin and you began to shiver, Bucky and Steve pulled themselves free from your body and gathered you up in their strong arms. 

Together, they helped you stand, fussing around you as they fixed your dress and tugged leaves from your hair. One of them draped a hooded sweatshirt around your shoulders while the other used your discarded panties to clean the mess from between your thighs.

You'd lost track of who was who as they circled around you to clean you up, so even when Steve and Bucky pulled off their Ghostface masks, you didn't know which of them had fucked your mouth and which had fucked your pussy. 

You didn't care overmuch, it was fun not knowing. Besides, you knew if you asked, they'd tell you which man was which.

"Doing good, pretty girl?" Steve cooed sweetly, dropping his lips to kiss your cheek. His fingers smoothed away the grit of your ruined makeup, making you smile.

"Yeah, so good," you said in a dreamy, breathless voice, catching his eye so he could see the honesty in your gaze when you told him, "Best Halloween ever." 

Bucky chuckled at your statement and tucked you into his side beneath his arm, turning you in a direction you assumed would bring you back to the car they’d driven out to the woods.

"Let's get you home, sweet girl," Bucky murmured, brushing a kiss against your temple while Steve slid in on your other side, his arm wrapping around your waist. They held you clutched between their bodies, and you felt nothing but warm, sated and happy. "You've had your halloween fun with your two masked men, now it's time to rest."

"Yes, sir," you said on an exhale. Though you'd been trying for a playful tone, your voice was soft and sweet and you found you meant it. You trusted them to take care of you, and you let your head fall on Steve's shoulder, snuggling into him while you let the best friends guide you back to the car.

Once Bucky had tucked you into his lap on the passenger’s seat, you texted your friends to let them know you were ok while Steve drove you home. The men helped you inside and, at your request, stayed the night, cuddling up with you in your bed. 

That night, you fell asleep with a smile on your face snuggled between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes knowing you got what every girl wants (or, at least, what you wanted): some fun in the woods with a couple of masked men—and a Halloween night to remember.

halloween fics masterlist

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

young ladies shouldn’t waltz with vampires

a/n: happy halloween!!! here's the fic you guys voted on and shaped a few weeks ago

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

summary: “so, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

warnings: vampire!bucky barnes x innocent!reader x vampire!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, historical au (1840s), mind control/vampire compulsion, blood, biting, age gap, ball, dancing, polyamory, threesome, first kiss, kissing, loss of virginity, somno, cockwarming, dirty talk, size kink, pain kink, pussyjob, overstimulation, penetrative sex, anal, double penetration, unprotected sex

word count: 3511

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“I have to admit, out of every rose here, you’re the most breathtaking.” 

Glancing up from the table before you, cluttered with crystal glasses brimming with refreshments, your eyes flickered to the man now standing beside you, his own piercing blue stare firmly directed at you and no one else in the buzzing ballroom. 

Your stunned lips parted slightly before the gentleman boldly spoke up again, “how come I’ve never seen you before?” 

Feeling your breath hitch, you managed to babble, “oh, it’s probably because this is my first time at a proper ball. I haven’t really previously been allowed to come stay at my family’s London estate and–, I’m sorry…” you swiftly stopped yourself, sensing the heat that had ridden in your cheeks, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this…”

“Well, lucky us that you got let out of your cage and the rest of us finally get to gaze upon your beauty,” he flashed you a dazzling smile before his eyes flickered to someone behind you, “if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I recognise, but would you perhaps grant me the pleasure of a dance a little later?” 

Averting your gaze, a smile tugged at your lips as you uttered, “you’d have to ask my brother.” 

“But I’m asking you,” he dipped down to catch your vision, “would you care to dance with me?” 

Blinking back at him, you couldn’t help but let out the truth.

“Y-yes.” 

As a smile swiftly tilted his lips, the gentleman then bowed slightly before you as he plucked up your gloved hand and pressed his lips to the back of it before disappearing into the merry crowd. 

Feeling slightly dizzy, you finally snatched up the drink you’d originally wandered to this corner of the chamber to fetch. 

Though as you granted yourself a small sip, fingers suddenly grasped your arm and yanked you deeper into a corner. 

“Sister!” you blinked up into your brother’s eyes as he’d evidently spotted you from across the ballroom and, judging by his tone, not approved of what he’d seen, “what in the world do you think you’re doing?”

Ripping your arm free, you furrowed your brows, “what are you talking about? I was just getting some punch.”

“No,” he hissed at a hushed volume, “why were you talking to him?”

A confused scoff then bubbled out past your lips, “I’ve talked to plenty of men at this party, with and without you at my side, so why is he any different?”

“Because, sister,” he leaned down a bit further, “he’s not a man. He’s one of them,” his eyes scanned your own before he spelled it out, “a vampire.” 

Though you’d never previously encountered one yourself, you still weren’t so naive to not be aware of the known influential status such creatures of the night had in the society you lived in. Them being in attendance at a fine ball was nothing compared to the other privileges they had achieved over the centuries. 

“Really?” you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder, though didn’t spot the bloodsucker again. 

“God,” your brother groaned quietly, “I know mother and papa have kept you rather sheltered compared to myself, but trust me, you have to stay away from them. They’re monsters, killing is in their nature,” with a hand on your cheek, he guided your gaze back to his, “promise me you won’t speak to one ever again.”

Blinking back at him, you then uttered sincerely, “I promise.”

“Good,” a visible weight then faded from his shoulders as he let go of you and straightened back up to his full height. 

As you stayed on the outskirts of the party, one of your fingers curved to trace the lines of the fine glass still clutched in your grasp. 

Soon your eyes flickered up from the liquid remaining in the goblet and landed on the other guests. Elegant crinoline gowns swooshed and swayed to the music emanating from the small string quartet in the corner, acting as a heartbeat for the lords and ladies of London as they danced the night away. 

“Well, as I live and breathe,” a voice then found not only your brother’s ears, but yours as well. 

Twisting slightly, you watched as a wide grin swiftly stretched your brother’s lips, “Thomas!” he spread his arms out for the redheaded man nearly within his reach. 

As they pulled each other into a tight hug, your brother’s friend chimed in his ear, “how you doing, old chap?” before withdrawing from the embrace, though still kept one palm fast on your sibling’s shoulder. 

“Not bad, not bad–, oh, Tommy,” your brother then suddenly glanced back at you, “this is my little sister,” gesturing betwixt you both, “sister, this is Thomas, we went to boarding school together.”

Extending a hand, you smiled politely, “it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he shook your palm before casting his gaze back upon your chaperone, “would you mind if I stole your brother for a moment?”

“Uhm,” you glanced to your sibling before uttering, “no, of course not. Go, have fun, catch up.”

And before the pair slipped away, your brother leaned down to whisper in your ear, “be good till I get back,” to which you offered him a nod in return right before they both vanished from your sight and left you alone at the edge of the dance floor. 

Though as you slowly began to wander along the perimeter, your gaze once again affixed upon the sea of swaying pairs in the centre of the ballroom, your gentle stride then abruptly halted as a bulky figure shifted to pass you, though as the stranger attempted to, the two of you collided and the remainder of the drink in your hand splashed across his jacket.

You both froze as you slowly peeled your wide eyes up from the stain of your drink, that lightly dripped from his clothing, and instead flickered up to find the stare of the aristocrat you’d accidentally bumped into. 

“Oh god…” your heartbeat swiftly hammered in your ears, deafening out the elegant music that filled the chamber, “sir, I am so sorry, I-I wasn’t looking at where I was going and–”

“It’s alright,” he hastily put an end to your blubbering as he eyed the soaked patch, “it’ll dry,” he uttered, running a broad palm down over the wetness. Though as his gaze flickered back up to find yours, a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he then said, “well, spilling your drink on me, the least you can do is offer me your name so that I know who to warn about to the people who actually are precious about their attire.”

“Lady Y/n Y/l/n,” you averted your gaze as your knees bent in a gentle curtsy, “delighted to make your acquaintance, even under the circumstances–, again, I am so incredibly sorry…”

“You’re a lady but with such lack of grace? Well, now I understand why you aren’t on the floor dancing with someone,” he jested in a teasing tone. 

The heat that had already crept up in your cheeks fiercely worsened, “I am a great dancer, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh really?” a smile dazzled his features, “I think I’ll have to see that to believe it,” he spoke as the current song came to an end and he extended a hand out to you, “shall we?”

For a moment, you let your glance flicker about the chamber in search of your brother, though when you couldn’t spot him, you found your own palm thinking for itself and gliding into the man’s standing tall before you. 

Once he’d led you out onto the floor, the palm he slid across your waist, and used to guide you a smidge closer to his own frame, caused a shy gasp to slip past your lips long before your feet began to shift below your poofy plum coloured gown. 

“Well, I guess you weren’t lying after all,” you soon heard him note after you’d danced for a minute, your movements having been nothing short of perfection since the very first step. 

Blinking up at the blonde man holding onto you tight, you finally asked, “what is your name, sir?”

“Lord Steven Rogers,” the title rolled off his tongue as his own gaze kept yours captive, “at your service, my lady.”

“Are you from here? You don’t sound it,” you commented on his accent, “but are you?”

“That’s a good question,” a slight tilt found his head, “London is one of my favourite places and I have spent many of my years here, but it’s not where I’m from, no.”

“So, you’ve travelled a lot?” you asked as he spun you an arm’s length away from himself. 

“You could say that…” he smirked as he twirled you back into his hold, “are you?”

“Am I what?” you found yourself slightly dizzy, though not from the dancing. 

“From London?”

“Well, my family does have a place here, but I haven’t spent much of my time in the city. At least not yet, I’m hoping I can begin to now that I’m grown, though to be quite frank, I have no idea where to start.”

“I could be your guide,” his offer caught you off guard, “it might have been a few years since I last called this city my home, but I still know it like the back of my hand.”

Mouth shyly agape, you simply blinked back at him a second before uttering, “perhaps if my brother came along as a chaperone.”

“I thought you said you were grown,” the tone he used to deliver his teasing seeped directly into your bones and made you thankful of his firm grip on you as the pair of you continued to sway to the music, “a girl asks for permission and can’t be trusted on her own, but a woman however, takes exactly what she desires and doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way…” his smouldering stare then briefly dipped before you heard him murmur, “so, what are you? A little girl or a woman?”

“I–…” you blinked back at him, struggling to navigate the exhilaratingly foreign situation you found yourself in. However, before you could stammer any further, the song came to a close and the surrounding couples parted ways. 

Though before you could take even one step back, his hand kept you close a moment longer as he dipped down for his breath to tickle the shell of your ear. 

“Meet me in the garden,” he whispered, causing even more goosebumps to erupt across your skin, “then you can give me your answer...” 

The cool night air kissed your cheeks as your glance flickered away from the candlelit terrace you’d abandoned only moments prior in order to stand beside the bushy mouth of the dark hedge maze further down the expanse of the estate’s garden. Faint music still found your ears as it echoed out the open windows of the grand manor where the ball still boomed. 

Then suddenly, as you were lost in your thoughts of disbelief at what you were doing, just before you could talk yourself into returning to the party, you felt your hand be grabbed before your eyes fluttered up to find the lord you’d been awaiting, his arrival haven been so sudden that it nearly caused you to jump straight out of your skin. 

Without a single word, Steve began to drag you into the maze, far away from any prying eyes and where the darkness could swallow you both whole.

“Where are you taking me–,” you attempted to ask, though as the man then abruptly stopped, what he did next stunned you to your very core. 

Pulling you close, closer than you’d ever been to any man before, he then pressed his lips to your own, sufficiently shutting you up before you could elaborate your question any further. 

The kiss was abrupt, fevered and entirely your first, leaving you dazed and reeling to catch up to the reality, to the dream you were finally expecting.

When Steve finally felt you relax into him, his feet began to shuffle and shift you back till your spine was pressed up against the denseness of the hedge behind you. 

But just as a shy whimper from you vibrated against his tongue and your fingers drifted up to whisper around his silky necktie, the snapping of a twig suddenly found your ears and caused you to jump away from your dance partner. 

Casting your glance over Steve’s broad shoulder, you spotted as the dark-haired gentleman, that your brother had so fiercely warmed you about, slithered out from the embrace of the shadows. 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” the man smirked, folding his arms across his wide chest as he continued to stare. 

Eyes wide, you then began to stammer, “Steve,” lightly patting your partner’s arm as he hadn’t yet shifted to protect you with an air of understanding, “h-he’s a–” 

“A vampire?” the aristocratic creature raised an eyebrow, “how about you take another look at the lord that just had his tongue down your throat.” 

Your panicked glare then fluttered back to Steve in front of you, however, before you could manage to push him away, his hands flew up to either side of your face and he dipped down to stare into your eyes with an intense you’d never witnessed before, somehow locking you up in his gaze as he then compelled you, “don’t scream,” and under the moonlight, you swore you saw his pupils briefly dilate as his wish slithered into your soul, “stay calm.” 

Continuing to cup your cheeks, Steve then kissed you once again. Even though his previous words had turned you completely docile in his hold, the sensation of his lips as they soon pecked away from your own, on a determined journey down over your jaw, caused you to melt away that much further.

The neckline of your deep purple gown was so wide that it exposed not only your shoulders, but also crept down scandalously low on your chest. 

Your eyes fluttered shut once more as his kisses tickled in their path down your neck, the sensation shooting straight down between your thighs. However, as soon as Steve’s lips were devouring the tender spot where the base of your throat blossomed into your shoulder, a sharp pain suddenly caused your eyes to snap back open as the vampire had sunk his teeth into you. 

You winced slightly as blood began to trickle free, your gaze locked with the other man’s as he took a step forward and closed the gap. Standing directly behind Steve, his hand then raised up to stroke your hair.

“So, here’s the thing,” his ocean eyes then flickered in the same manner Steve’s had, mystically bending your mind to his will, “you’re gonna come with us, be ours to play with for the night. You can go home when the sun comes up, but without remembering the time we shared…” 

Though you’d barely gotten to sleep an hour, you began to stir as the vampire sprawled out in front of your slumbering form kissed down your neck and swiftly sank his fangs into your shoulder. 

Wincing awake and still weak from the blood the two lords had already drained you off, your hiss soon faded into a mumble, “Buck…”

Tilting his chin back a bit, Bucky lapped up the crimson that trickled down from the bite before he whispered, “shh, you can just stay asleep…” and you noticed his hardness straining against you below the covers, “it’s okay, I don’t mind…”

You couldn’t fathom how the vampire still wasn’t satiated after everything that had happened that night, things a lady such as yourself had never dared to even imagine possible. Even now, you were still slotted in between the two naked men under the canopy of a bed in the grand estate they’d taken you to, your virgin blood still staining the sheets, or the little of it that they hadn’t lapped up for themselves to savour. 

Though the restless one before you had stirred you for another taste, Steve was still sleeping like a rock. He was laying directly behind you, his burly chest still pressed up against your spine as earlier, when he’d impulsively tried to stretch out your ass, made the decision to do something about that impossible tightness and have that little hole warm his intimidating girth while he slumbered. It made it difficult, to say the least, for rest to come to you as the sensation of his fat cock plugging you up was nearly too much for you to bear. 

“Oh, what is it?” Bucky chuckled lowly at the wince you let out as he began to nudge his dick against your puffy pussy, “are you sore?” he asked in a mocking tone, grinning wider as you nodded hazily in response, “but you like it, don’t you?” he torturously tapped the weight of his length against the creamy mess between your thighs, the sensation causing both your holes to throb and clench, making Steve’s cock still embedded deep within you seem that much more enormous, “you like it when it hurts, when the sting of pain mixes with pleasure…” he then caught your eye and compelled you, “tell me that you like it.”

“I like it,” you hear the desperate word flow out your lungs, “please don’t stop, please keep hurting me, keep biting me, drink every drop of my blood, use me however you wish, it all feels so good–, ah!” the pleas he’d made you utter were then cut off by a rippling moan as his bulbous tip suddenly caught your entrance and greedily slid back into your warmth. 

The fierce rhythm Bucky swiftly found rocked you so roughly that the movements didn’t just split your poor pussy open as he bucked up into you, but it also caused your frame to shift back against Steve and sink you down that much further on his cock, letting his heavy sack nuzzle tightly against your slick skin. 

As your whimpers filled the room and mingled with Bucky’s own grunts of pleasure, you felt the girth in your ass twitch and rapidly grow painfully hard before the arm the slumbering bloodsucker had slumped around your waist tightened as he stirred with a low rumble directly in your ear. 

“Mmm… having a little midnight snack, are we?” Steve groggily hummed from behind you as he nuzzled his nose into your tousled hair, “you know she’ll pass out soon if we keep drinking like this.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky then slid his palm down the length of your arm, plucking up your hand till his lips ghosted against it. However, just as you let yourself hope that he’d just plant a peck upon your palm, his teeth instead pierced the flesh, right below your thumb. Although, the vampire did show some restraint as he only offered you a little nip before ripping your hand away from his mouth and holding it out for his partner to grasp, “here, you look parched,” blood already began to pool like a little puddle in your palm from how it slowly oozes out of the wound. 

Accepting the delicacy, Steve first dragged his silky tongue over the bite, before he let his fangs sink into you with a deep groan, the taste of you only making him harder. As he began to drink from your palm, his hips greedily began to rock, making you tremble between the two lords of the night from the dizzying manner they both now fucked you. 

As your moans filled the night air, Bucky’s fingers found your face in a caress before he leaned in to snuff out your sounds and let you taste the tangy iron of yourself on his tongue. Soon, his kisses began to dance down over the column of your neck, till his face was buried in your heaving tits, leaving a blossoming trail of hickeys to mark his path as he moved down to capture your nipple between his lips.  

“I know we usually only keep our dinner till the morning comes,” Bucky muttered as he nipped at your boobs, only pausing to briefly glance over your shoulder at the man behind you, “but there’s something different about this one, don’t you agree, Steve?” 

“She’s fucking delicious…” you heard him purr in your ear, “maybe you could be more than just a quick bite to eat…” both of their cocks continued to rock in harmony, filling your holes up to more than the brim, “maybe you can be our girl…” 

Sucking in a shaky breath, you tilted your head to catch both of their eyes, “for how long?” 

Keeping his neck tilted, Bucky blinked up at you and uttered, “…forever,” before he buried his teeth into the soft peak of your tit.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

When We Begin Again

Warnings:this fic will include dark content such as blood and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find the man of the dreams, but your life slowly distorts into a nightmare. 

Characters: Steve Rogers

Note: And so we come to the end of Halloweek 2024. Thanks for those who read.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me❤️

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You hear the murmur from across the office but don’t look up. You're too enraptured by the cells of the spreadsheet, trying to figure out what won’t balance. There’s something missing. Something obvious and you just can’t see it. 

Your eyes narrow, nearly turning inward to your nose, and your name yanks you out of your Excel-induced trance. You sit up sharply, nearly sending yourself and your rolling chair to the ground. You grasp the arm rests and snap the seat straight on the axle. 

“My, my, looks like someone special’s thinking of you,” Louise plunks down the crystal vase of flowers on your desk, nearly demolishing your mouse at the same time. “Roses. Red? Three dozen, looks like.” 

The office clears and you glance around slowly as the fog dissipates. You have an audience. You’re not used to being the center of attention. Not until recently. 

You know who the flowers are from but it’s still a surprise. A pleasant one, yet a bit awkward. You take the card from the long plastic stem and read the message inside. It’s signed S. Rogers. 

“So, you’ve got a new man?” Louise prompts, still hovering by your desk. 

“Ooh, do tell,” Sella rolls over in her chair. 

“Please, we’re just getting to know each other,” you put the card in your pocket. 

“Just getting to know each other,” Sella guffaws as several other women turn to eavesdrop. “Seems like he wants to know a lot about you.” 

“Really. We only had one date.” 

“One date?” Louise exclaims. “Well, you must’ve put out if he’s sending roses.” 

“Lou,” Sella warns. 

Louise gives a naughty look, “pardon. I’ll file the HR report myself.” She cackles and a few others join in. You’re burning hot in embarrassment. 

“It’s new. I don’t want to get my hopes up,” you stand and grab the vase. “These are too big and pretty for my desk. I’ll put them in the break room.” 

“Is he handsome?” Louise goads. 

“Oh, I hope he is,” Sella chirps. “To be young and fun again, ah.” 

You carry the vase away, an odd clink against the glass with your steps. You keep your head down, overly aware of the eyes watching you. You enter the shared kitchen and put the flowers on one of the empty tables. Something dangles against the back of your hand. 

You turn your palm to catch the small locket before it can slide free. You don’t know how you didn’t notice before. A rose is engraved into the gold and the chain is a length of delicate links. You can tell it’s genuine gold. Oh my. 

You quickly wrap it up and slip it into your pocket with the card. You hurry back to your desk and sit. You try to focus on the spreadsheet but your vision is blurry with self-consciousness. A soft buzz draws you from your deconstruction. 

You swipe up your phone. It’s Steve. You can’t leave him hanging. Not after all that. 

You get up, keeping your cell up your sleeve as you march into the hall and to the restroom. You lock yourself in and answer. 

“Hello?” Your voice is wispy. 

“Hey, honey, did you get it?” Steve asks. 

Honey? He’s too good to be true. One date and it’s like it’s been one year. 

“The flowers, yeah.” 

“What about the necklace?” He asks. 

“Oh, yes, that too. Um, all the other ladies at the office love the roses.” 

“But what about you?” 

“Yeah, they’re pretty,” you assure him. 

“Are you wearing the necklace?” He asks. 

“I hadn’t had a chance--” 

“Put it on,” he says abruptly then clears his throat. “I mean, you should wear it. Send me a picture.” 

“Right, yeah. Totally. Sorry. I just started work and... oh Steve what a lovely surprise that was,” you chime. “I’m kinda in shock. It’s so sweet of you.” 

“You’re easy to be sweet to,” he purrs. “Did you have a good night?” 

“I did. Dinner was great.” 

“And... after?” 

Your cheeks are blazing. Your lips press together as you think of the kiss. So soft and tender. 

“I liked it,” you babble. 

He chuckles, “me too. So, we’ll have to set a date for the second.” 

“Of course.” You agree as you cradle your hot cheek. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your work, as much as I do want to,” he says. “Oh, don’t forget the necklace.” 

“Yeah, I’ll put it on now,” you promise. “I should go.” 

“Alright,” he says reluctantly. “See ya, honey.” 

You hang up and put the phone on the edge of the sink. You fish the necklace out of your pocket and untangle the chain. You admire the little rose before you stretch it around your neck and clasp it into place. It hangs perfectly around your throat, right at the hollow of your collar bone. 

You marvel at it, stroking the edges, and feel a tingle on your chest. It’s beautiful. 

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” A lilted voice drifts through your ears. 

You flinch, startled. You look around the empty bathroom. You frown. Who was that? 

You check your phone. It’s locked. Then you go to each stall and peer inside. No one. 

It... must’ve been in your head. Yet it was so clear. Like someone was speaking right next to you. Even as if the voice were inside your mind. Well, that’s it, isn’t it? You’re imagining things. 

You turn back to the mirror and raise your phone as you open up the camera. You should send that picture before you forget. You snap the shot and check it. 

Oh. Doubt needles at you once more. Just like yesterday before your date. That disbelief you can’t shake. Steve is too good for you. You’re the mousy woman who can’t help but trip over her own toes and rambles about old BBC period pieces. He’s tall and blond and handsome. 

Yet he likes you. He has to. He would give you such pretty things if he didn’t. 

🥀

“One month already,” Steve sweeps in with a glass in each hand. 

“Oh gosh, that’s not--” 

“Champagne,” he declares. 

“Really?” You squeal. 

“Nothing’s too special for you, honey,” he nears and hands you a glass. You take it and keep it over the edge of the couch, afraid to spill even a drop on his pristine white cushions. “I just love to spoil you.” 

“You do,” you agree. “It makes me feel a little... lacking. I wish I could give you more.” 

“You’re more than enough,” he assures you as he sits down next to you. “Cheers.” 

“Cheers,” you echo and clink his glass. 

You tip the glass to your lips and a weight shifts in the crystal. You hum in surprise and trickle a drop over the corner of your mouth. You dap it away as you examine the golden champagne. Tiny bubbles flow up from around the band sunk to the bottom. You gasp. 

“Steve,” you nearly choke on the dregs. “What--” 

He slides off the couch and sets his glass on the table. You shake your head. He’s not... 

“Honey,” he takes your other hand as he kneels. You’re overly aware of the moisture left on your fingers. Of course, you’re that ungraceful. “I know it’s early but I don’t want to wait. I just feel... this is everything. I want you forever.” 

“Huh?” The noise makes you cringe. You sound so dumb. 

“Please, will you make me the luckiest man in the world--” 

“You can’t...” you gulp. 

“Marry me. Please.” 

You stare at him. Stunned. Your hand shakes. You reach to put the glass down and fan yourself. It can’t be real. So soon? 

“I’ll beg,” he squeezes your hand. “Honey, please.” 

“Steve,” you eke again. “I... I’m just so... surprised.” 

“I love you,” he says. “I love you so much, you’re all I think about.” 

“I...” you look at the glass and the ring at the bottom. “Yes, Steve. Oh my god. Yes.” 

He smiles triumphantly and grabs the champagne. He drains it and reveals the ring between his teeth. He takes it and dries it on his shirt. You lift your hand, trembling and let him slide it on. 

“Oh, yes, a lovely ring, indeed. His mother’s, you know? Cushion cut and look at the trim...” You recoil and scratch your ears. It’s that voice again. 

It can’t be Steve. His lips haven’t moved and it isn’t a male voice. It’s a woman. Her tone is rich and sultry and she has an accent. It doesn’t sound like anyone you know. 

“Honey?” Steve blinks at you with concern. 

“I... I’m sorry, I just... can I use the bathroom?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he looks disappointed. “Sure.” 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to ruin the moment, I just have a tickle,” you pat his hand gently and let him go. 

You stand and hurry away. 

“He asked me on London Bridge. At midnight. Wonderful. Back home, lovely weather,” the woman speaks again, booming in your brain. 

You swallow a yelp before you hide behind the bathroom door. You shake your head and cup your ears, but that only makes her louder. 

“Then we went to Paris. Oh, it was splendid.” She sighs dreamily. 

You look in the mirror. You appear maddened as your eyes are round and your mouth is twisted in dismay. You lean in as you notice the glint in your iris. There are flecks you’ve never seen there before. A subtle pigmentation. You blink. Is there something in your eyes? 

It’s unmoving. That slender grey speck. You bat your lashes again. They’re longer too. 

You grip the sink as you lean into the mirror. 

“He always liked it when I wore red lipstick.” She preens in your ears and you whine. You push yourself back and look down at your hands. You step back and raise them to examine your fingers. They look more tapered than before. Not so stubby and thick. 

You shake them out and take a breath. There’s something wrong. Something strange. With you. 

Yet, what can you do about it now? You can’t run out on Steve after such a nice night. And a proposal. You’ll wait until the morning and you’ll call the doctor. 

You shrink and lean against the wall. It’s just your luck. You meet the man of your dreams, get engaged, and now your mind is fraying. You’re terrified. 

“Please,” you whisper, “be quiet.” 

You wait. There’s no answer. You must sound as deranged as you feel. You’re talking to yourself. There’s no one else there. 

“Honey,” Steve taps on the door gently, startling you, “everything okay?” 

“Um, yeah,” you croak out. “Yes, I’m good.” You unlock the door and make yourself smile. “I was just admiring the ring.” 

“Nice, huh?” He takes your hand. “It was my mother’s. If you need it fitted, we can go tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” You wonder. “Mm, well, I have to see the doctor.” 

“Oh,” his brows draw together, “maybe after then.” 

🥀

“I can’t offer you answers today,” Dr. Lichten drones. “I can refer you to someone who can. It could be a temporary episode. Or something more... chronic. The best place to start is with someone who can determine which.” 

You nod solemnly. His expression remained unmoved as you explained the voice in your head, almost as if he didn’t believe you. You didn’t bother to mention the changes you could see. You fear doing so might land you in a room with soft walls. 

You take the referral form and leave. Your phone is buzzing. It’s Steve. You love how attentive he can be but at the same time, you feel suffocated. You just need space to figure out what’s going on. 

“Quite simple, dear. You’re not me.” The voice taunts. You stop short in the hallway, nearly bowling over a nurse. You apologise and keep going. 

You continue out of the clinic and idle in your car as you call the psychiatric office. You have an appointment set. You’ll be okay until then. 

“He could never be happy with someone like you. Look at you, honey. You are a mess.” 

“Shut up,” you growl as you shift into drive. 

The voice is saying all the things you’ve said to yourself before but this time, it’s not the same murmuring doubt. It’s bold and brazen and cruel. And that accent. 

Your eyes flick to the ring shining on your finger. You nearly forgot it that morning until Steve reminded you. It’s so beautiful. 

“And you’re not,” the voice mocks. 

You sigh and close your eyes. You’re not doing this. You’re not arguing with whatever this is. 

You drive back to your own place. You’ll sleep and hope it goes away. You haven’t been doing much of that since Steve came around. He fills your evenings and the mornings comes too quick. Can you really keep up with him? 

“You cannot,” she snickers and you smack your ear as you push through your apartment door. You groan and try to rub away the stinging pain. 

You lay down but don’t get much sleep. Even as the voice recedes into silence, you’re unsettled as you wait for it to pipe up at any moment. When you surrender to your consciousness, you run a bath and ease into it. 

You close your eyes once more and linger in the steaming water. As it cools, you open your eyes. You look down at yourself. Surely it must be the water distorting your body. Where did that freckle come from? Is your skin a different shade? 

Strange things. You wish they’d stop. 

Steve calls as you wrap yourself in your robe, as if he knows. You answer. 

“Hey, whatcha up to?” He asks. 

“Nothing. Just... chilling out.” 

“You back at your place? I can swing by with lunch,” he offers. 

“Oh, Steve...” 

“I might already be here...” he chuckles. 

That’s his way. He doesn’t leave room for no but it’s never a bad thing. You sigh. 

“Alright, come on up.” 

🥀

“We can do some evaluations for schizophrenia but you have no genetic markers for it. No family history. Dissociative Personality might be something too,” Dr. Percy explains, “even a degree of body dysmorphia. Unfortunately, your systems are inconsistent with anything in the DSM-5.” 

You nod. 

“So that means?” 

“We have work to do,” she says. “But we can figure this out. Patience.” 

“Patience,” you frown. You don’t know how much longer you can handle this. 

“I’m patient,” the voice sneers and you wince.  

Percy inclines her head curiously, “you hear it now?” 

You give a quiet, “yes.” 

“And?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as your head rattles, “she’s laughing!” 

You wrap your arms around your head and fold over. Percy rushes over. She puts her hand on your shoulder. The voice goes silent. You whimper. 

“What is it?” She asks. 

“Nothing,” you utter. “It’s gone.” 

She clicks her tongue. “You need sleep. I can prescribe sedatives. I want you to be careful, alright? You only need one at night. Just so you can rest.” 

“Thank you,” you sniffle as you sit up. “I just want to be better.” 

“I know. We will find stability,” she stands and takes her pad from her desk. “Come back on Friday.” 

“Okay,” you rise grimly. 

Outside the office, you sit in your car and cry. You feel yourself splintering apart. The seams are unraveling in your mind, the voice getting louder and louder as yours fades away. 

“Look at us,” she trills. “Dear, please, have a look. You can be so foolish. Come, the mirror.” 

You lift your head and grab onto the rear view. You tilt it down and grimace. Red lipstick. You don’t even own a stick, you didn’t put that on... huh? 

“Just a bit of touch up in the ladies’,” she drawls. “Better, don’t you think?” 

“Why-- what are you? Why are you doing this?” 

“Those are my favourite pearls,” she ignores your desperate plea. You touch the earrings Steve gave you. “They made it through the Blitz, you know?” 

“No, you’re not real. Not. Real!” You shriek and beat your temples, “get out. Get out! GET OUT!” 

Your nails scratch your scalp and you recoil. Oh, heavens. Your nails. Oval, pedicured, pretty. No, those aren’t yours. You turn your arms over. Another freckle that doesn’t belong. 

You lean back again and look in the mirror. Your eyes are a shade of blue you don’t recognise. Your face is longer too, cheekbones more defined. That’s not you. You’re hallucinating. 

“You’re right, it isn’t you,” she chimes and laughs again. 

You bend over the steering wheel and scream. You need it to stop! Stop! Stop! 

🥀

You take another pill. The third one that day. She’s still there. You’re barely. 

You should be happier than ever. You’re engaged. Your wedding is almost there. You’re miserable. You want it to end. 

“Honey,” Steve calls through the door. 

“I said leave me alone,” you snivel and pull the blanket over you. “Please, leave me alone.” 

“Are you okay? You’ve been in there all day.” 

“I just want to be left alone!” You snarl. 

“You want to be left alone, dear, you can go,” the voice sneers. “Go on, then.” 

“No,” you mutter. 

“I’m not leaving so...” she insists. 

“No, no, you won’t win!” You holler. 

“Honey?” Steve turns the handle and you keep the blanket around you. 

“Go.” You tell both of them. 

“Please, don’t do this. I know there’s a lot going on but we can face it together.” 

“No, Steve, we can’t... I... I’m not good enough for you. I’m... I’m... I’m going crazy,” you whine. 

“Crazy? Honey, no. You’re fine. The doctor said--” 

“I lied. She doesn’t know what’s wrong,” you groan. “So leave me alone. I deserve to be alone.” 

“Dear, you can end this. You just have to go.” The voice chirps.

“No!” You snap at the lilting jeer. “No, I will not let you...” 

Your head swirls as the drugs seep into your blood flow. 

“Isn’t that nice, hm? The darkness?” She asks. 

“Mmmm,” you grumble and go limp. 

“Honey,” Steve rubs your arm through the blanket, “you tired?” 

You garble. The pills smother you as the edges of your mind haze. Your body is heavy and warm. You cling to the relief. You just can’t be you for a little. You just want to sleep. 

“That’s it, darling,” she goads, “close your eyes. Relax.” 

You drift down into the depths, swirling slowly through ribbons of silk. They wrap around you and cover your face, drawing tight until they suffocate you. Until they silence you. You whimper as the fabric draws tight around your throat and you flail through the void. 

You spin and open your eyes. A swath of light sears into your eyes. You see Steve, distant, far away. He leans in and cradles your face but you can’t feel his hand. His thumb strokes your cheek. 

“Margaret?” He says breathily, “Peggy,” he brings his other hand up as your vision narrows, “I’ve been waiting.” 

That voice hums as the light turns to a slit, “so have I,” she slithers and the darkness glazes over, dragging you down into the abyss.  

You are bound in a shroud within yourself. You cannot speak, you cannot move. You have no mouth, no body to do so. You have nothing. You are nothing. 

[ronearoundblindly]

Love Bites

Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader

Summary: In animal form as Bucky's buddy, Alpine, you toy with his handsome house guest overnight...

Warnings for horrible puns, use of petnames (unintentionally sexual), teasing and innuendo, bit of body worship through lusty thoughts. Yeah, I get that this might be a bit weird for pet parents, but also, is it? You know we all want to snuggle Steve in any form.

"Alright, sweetheart," Steve groans, gently pushing you away from licking his face, "let’s go to bed, okay? It's sleep time."

But you don't want to sleep. You want to rub all over him. You want to feel his broad palm across your body and his meaty fingers in your fur.

The compromise is to fall against his chest, cheek smearing over his on your way down.

Steve chuckles while tucking you under his arm. The weight of it soothes you, making you purr, and he absently scratches at your chin in encouragement.

"You like that, baby girl?"

Staring up at his glittering eyes, their own starry night in the dark, his hair shining silver in the moonlight, your eyes grow heavy in comfort, in the peace simple affection delivers straight into your veins like a catnip high.

You're overwhelmed by the hard line of his chest along your back and the drag of his hand down your belly to still you.

No. That's not what you want.

For a split second, you think you should do it; you should change back, unfurl into the grown woman who could do more with those broad, meaty paws taunting you now, but you strike back against the urge.

It's too soon. Steve and Bucky won't understand. You can't risk losing the only safe home you've known.

A quick flicker of fear grasps you hard. What if they're never ready for the truth? What if this is all you get?

Then...you must relish him not push your luck.

Your back legs coil and bunny-kick at his forearm draped over you.

"Hey," Steve softly yelps, "I thought we were doing good. I'm not--" your fluffy paws grab onto him before he gets too far away "--oh okay, doll. Make up your mind."

He snorts in fake annoyance, settling you higher on his chest to plant a kiss between your ears.

"That's it, good girl."

But you're not a 'good girl.' You're lying to him, to them both, and you wish he knew that, so you nip at the knuckle closest to you, brandishing teeth and claws but not sinking into his flesh.

He lets go on instinct, giving you leave to do whatever you want.

You stand, stretch your back and legs, and chirp, sharply, several times. You look him over while he lays open and paralyzed until you make your decision.

Steve points over his shoulder. "That way?" He tentatively rolls over onto his back, and you immediately jump, kneading furiously at his muscled pecs.

"Ouch, honey. Soft paws on the nipples, yikes..."

What a wuss.

You'll make it your mission to break him in. Guaranteed.

This time, you sooth him with a bite to his perfect jaw, purring, never ceasing your massage.

Steve rests his head back on the pillow. "Fine. Whatever you want," he mumbles, starry eyes going dark as they close, moonbean locks relaxing to his forehead, hands petting your sides until you cave in exhaustion.

Whether it's you keeping him or him keeping you, the both are pinned in place all night long.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[that1geek06]

Me scrolling thru tags:

I just want a good fluff story 😔

Also me one hour into a deeply plotted smut that has an even dirtier part two:

YES!! GIVE ME MORE!! 😩😈

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Happy Hoelloween! 🎃❤️ Please accept this lil hoe treat just for you:

Oh noooo. He’s all sweaty. And cranky. You should help him shower. Maybe even get on your knees and get him a little dirtier first before shower time? 🫠🤭😘

oh my god, sweaty and cranky steve is SUCH a good inspiration!

Late Halloween - Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: You remind Steve that it doesn't matter what day you celebrate the holidays on

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics​

Masterlist

Halloween was your favourite time of the year, the perfect time to dress up in whatever the hell you wanted and nobody batted an eyelid. You were super excited for it this year because it was your first Halloween with Steve and you couldn’t want to show off your couples costume. 

Steve wasn’t into Halloween as much as you but he said he was looking forward to it solely because you were and if it made you happy it made him happy. But as it turned out this year just wasn’t the year. The morning of Halloween, Steve got called away on a mission and he wouldn’t be back until the next evening.

You told him that it was okay, you understood that sometimes the world needed him more than you did. You could tell he was still pissed though.

“You’ve been looking forward to this for months” Steve pointed out as he shoved stuff into his bag.

“I know but it’s okay, you aren’t a big fan of it anyway” you reminded him.

“But you are, and this is ruining the night I wanted for you to have” he argued as he turned to face you.

“It’s okay, we’ll have plenty of Halloweens to celebrate together” you reassured him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulder and press a kiss to his lips.

Steve sighed and nodded his head “Okay, but still go to your friend’s party, I want you to have fun still” 

“I will now go save the world for me” you smiled.

Like you promised, you went to the Halloween party. It was fun but you had to admit you did wish Steve was there with you. But you got it, he had responsibilities that were bigger than you and him.

The evening of November 1st you were sat on the couch when you heard the door open. You looked over and frowned when you saw the stormy expression on Steve’s face. He’d clearly come straight here, his blond hair messy and sweaty. There were streaks of dirt across his face, ones that made his frown more prominent.

“Steve? What’s wrong?” You asked as you stood up.

Steve just huffed as he dropped his bag down by the front door with a loud thud “The mission was pointless” he grumbled.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you walked over to him. 

“The intel was wrong” he explained “We just camped out in the rainforest for a supposed Hydra base which wasn’t a Hydra base at all, it wasn’t even a base, it was all perfectly legal” 

“Oh, that’s annoying” you muttered. 

Steve’s fists clenched “Annoying doesn’t cover it, I could have been here with you and false intel took me away” 

You sighed softly “Steve it’s okay, I’m not upset that you missed Halloween”

“But I am! I should have been here! This meant so much to you!” He argued, his anger at the situation boiling over.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, you didn’t know it was bad intel, we’ll have more Halloweens in our future” you reminded him.

Steve scoffed “But what if I get called away then too, or for Thanksgiving, Christmas or Valentine’s Day!” He ranted.

“Okay, okay,” you said putting your hands on his chest to stop him, he was too pissed to see clearly right now. You understood where he was coming from, but he couldn’t see that you didn’t care about those holidays. Any holiday could be celebrated early or late if it meant he could do his job. You just needed to let him see that “Why don’t I go run you a bath? You rest up and I’ll grab you when it’s ready”

Steve sighed but nodded his head letting you lead him to the couch. Once he sat down you cupped his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead before heading away to ‘run the bath’. 

Instead of doing that though you walked into your closet and grabbed the costume you had saved for after the party. It was gonna be a cheeky and spooky surprise for Steve that evening but tonight was also a perfect time. 

It didn’t take you long to slip into the costume, there wasn’t much to it at all. You walked back out to Steve who was pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat on the couch, his shoulders still tense. 

“Ready soldier?” You asked grabbing his attention, you smirked when he looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened when he saw your costume.

“Sweetheart” he muttered as you walked over, his eyes roaming over the sexy army officer costume you wore. 

“I got told our captain was in a bad mood and needed cheering up,” you said as you came to stop in between his legs “that he needed reminding that holidays are just days and can be celebrated whenever the hell we want”

To your relief Steve let out a small huff of a laugh, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk “I just don’t want to let anyone I love down” he pointed out.

You leant in “You could never let me down Captain” you whispered before kissing him deeply. 

Steve moaned as his hand moved to cup the back of your head as he deepened the kiss. You felt him move to stand up but you put your hands on his thighs to stop him.

“You’ve had a long couple of days captain, you just relax,” you told him as you got down onto your knees.

You ran your hands up his thighs to the belt buckle of his suit. He watched with hooded eyes as you undid the belt and tugged his trousers down enough. You wrapped your fingers around him, feeling him harden with your touch. 

You licked your lips before bending down to press an open-mouth kiss to a tip, smirking when you heard him groan. You took your time giving every inch of him attention before taking him into your mouth as deep as you could take him. 

His hand returned to the back of your head, fingers gripping your hair tightly. You moaned at his rough touch, you were the only person in the universe that saw this side of him. You loved the rough commanding side of him, you were completely at his mercy and you loved it. Heat pooled at your core, if you were wearing underwear they’d be ruined. You were desperate for friction but you resisted the urge to touch yourself. This was about Steve.

You could feel that he was close so you went to do the trick that always pushed him over the edge but before you had the chance Steve pulled you off him and kissed you forcefully.

“Want to finish in you” He murmured against your lips. 

You smirked into the kiss as you moved to straddle his hips. You heard him swear when he realised you weren’t wearing underwear, you moaning as you rolled your hips coating him in your arousal. Steve gripped your hip before lining you up, you kissed him deeply as you sunk down onto him.

You didn’t hesitate and started rolling your hips, taking him as deep as possible. The both of you were so close that neither of you lasted long. You held Steve close as you found your peak, Steve following soon behind. 

You ran your hands threw his hair smiling softly down at him as you both came down from your highs. All the tension in his body was gone and he was glowing, sweat covering his body for an entirely different reason. 

“Do you still want a bath, or a shower instead?” you asked him.

“Shower, it’ll get you naked quicker” he smirked.

Sharing is caring so please reblog if you enjoyed this and maybe even leave a comment to make my day!

Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist so follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to be kept up to date!

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

🔪Kinktober Masterlist🔪

✨Here’s me putting everything into one collection and also in order so I can actually realize what I’m writing and where it’s going because imma be dumb and post something twice I swear or not post at all and that just hurts my feelings✨

Anyway 😌

Day 1: Public sex

Sink or Swim - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Day 2: Collaring

Captured, with Love - Buddie x Reader

Day 3: Cock Warming

Farm Boy - Clark Kent x Reader

Day 4: Fingering

Summer break 1987 - Jim Hopper x Reader

Day 5: Obsession

I Was Made For Lovin’ You - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Day 6: Face Fucking

Bridgerton (But Not Really) -Bucky Barnes x Reader

Day 7: Breeding Kink

Lucky Rabbit - Steve Rogers

Day 8: Glory hole

Sleepy Hollow, 1999 Buck x Reader

Day 9: Somnophilia

You Were Made For Lovin’ Me - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Day 10: Titty fucking… and a whole host of others

Scream, 1996 - Buck x Reader

Day 11: Edgeplay

Edge of Sanity - Loki x Reader

Day 12: Cardiophilia

Halloween, 1978 - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Day 13: Desperation

Jennifer’s Body, 2009 - Anakin x Reader

Day 14: Sex Pollen

It, 1990 - Eddie Diaz x Reader

Day 15: Innocence Kink

The Exorcist, 1973 - Buck x Reader

Day 16: Thigh Job

The Shining, 1980 - Buck x Reader

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

I WAS NEVER THERE - PART 1

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Summary: Steve returned to the 1940s to find the life he thought he wanted. But desire has its own plans—and he’s found someone who knows exactly how to feed it.

Paring:  Steve Rogers/Reader Steve/Peggy

Warning: 18+ mature dark themes. Smut, Drama, Romance, BitterSweet / Possessive / Obsessive behaviour, Cheating.

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact. 

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Steal my writing or the writing of others and karma will get ya.

Dinner parties always bore you. 

The fakery. The snobbery. The same faces. The same drivel. Did you know so-and-so’s son just got accepted into Harvard? Did you know so-and-so is engaged? It was always the same stories, recycled, retold on the last Friday of every month. Births, deaths, marriages, followed by a barrage of questions about your personal life.

You had slipped up once and made the mistake of mentioning to an acquaintance that you were single. Since then, these monthly shindigs came with an onslaught of introductions, with someone constantly trying to pair you with their son, their friend, or even their grandson. Their personalities, just like their names, blended together in bland tedium. 

Tonight, you were huddled in a corner with Nancy, trying your best to avoid your latest suitor, Harold—the accountant from Scottsdale, when Nancy gave you a quick jab with her elbow.  

“Peggy’s arrived,” Nancy hissed. “And she’s with Steven”. Your eyes followed the direction of her not so subtle head nod.

“Ah yes, the infamous fiancé back from the dead. What year did he supposedly time travel from? Twenty nineteen?” you whispered back, sarcasm thick in your tone as you scanned the crowd.

You had overheard snippets of conversations over the last few weeks about a love story transcending time and space. Brave and valiant, Steven had apparently given up a life full of every technological advancement imaginable all for Peggy, the love of his life. 

Naturally, your mind reeled with disbelief. What kind of man would sacrifice a future brimming with endless possibilities just to return to his past? Was a domestic life with Peggy really that rewarding?

You thought back to your own past relationships—acquaintances and budding romances alike that had barely stayed faithful or fizzled out over trivialities. Men who chose women based on looks, status, or in your case who your father was.

The more you considered Peggy and Steven’s so-called love story, the more absurd it all seemed. He had to be a fool, you reasoned—a handsome one, no doubt, because despite her pretense otherwise, Peggy was always a sucker for a pretty face.

You weren't surprised when your gaze finally landed on the blonde colossus of a man standing next to Peggy. His perfectly styled blonde hair and the way his suit complemented Peggy’s cocktail dress made him look more like a model than anything else. Peggy stood beside him with a smug, sugar-coated grin that was enough to make your teeth ache.

“Wow...He’s something, isn’t he?" Nancy whispered, clearly smitten by the man who shook the hands of Peggy’s friends with a cordial smile.  "I was never one to believe in angels, but he’s made a believer out of me.”

"I’m sure he has.” you chuckled.

“Oh, stop it! He’s handsome, charismatic—”

“Prince Charming, right out of a fairy tale…”

“I know you’re being sarcastic.” Nancy said with a ruffle, “But he could have nothing, not a single dime to his name, and I’d choose him over all the Harolds of the world.” her smile turned catty. ‘Wouldn’t you?”

You could feel her eyes gauging your reaction. “Wouldn’t you choose him over all the mugs pulling at your skirt?”  

You felt her gaze lingering, waiting for your response, and you knew what she was doing—trying to provoke you. It was for this very reason why you always declined Nancy's invitations for brunch, her shopping trips to Barney's or god forbid, her weekend socials in the Hamptons. Nancy possessed a mean streak unlike any other that made her delight in poking fun at others.

Even with her limited knowledge of you, she managed to unleash her mean streak at every opportunity, often without any provocation.

She turned her attention back to the adoring couple and sighed while twirling a lock of her auburn hair around her finger, her massive engagement ring glinting obnoxiously in the light.

"I don’t know… If it were me and Harold were my only option, I'd be jealous."

“It's quite comical to me how you think looks equate to a good personality?” you replied coolly. “Have you ever stopped to consider why people make certain life choices? Because I have.”

For once, Nancy was quiet, and you savored the brief silence. Laughter erupted nearby as someone cracked a joke, Peggy’s laugh ringing out—loud and genuine. But when your gaze landed on Steven, a strange chill crept up your spine. He was smiling, but his eyes were distant, the warmth never quite reaching them.

“He could live anywhere, be anyone,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “So much power and freedom lies in Steven Rogers hands and yet he chose to come back here. To the past.” You paused, letting the weight of that choice sink in. “And for what? To chase ghosts, to piece together a life long dead and gone?” You shook your head, feeling the oddness of it all. "Can you imagine clinging to that forever?"

Your voice softened, “Sooner or later, he’ll have to face reality—that his happiness is nothing but an illusion.” You looked back at Nancy, meeting her gaze, steady and unblinking. “So no, Nancy, I don’t envy them. I pity them.”

Suddenly you felt a prickle at the back of your neck. A strange, electric pull. You looked ahead and saw piercing blue eyes locked onto yours.

Steven.

Had he heard your conversation?

It seemed impossible—he was all the way across the crowded room, surrounded by Peggy’s friends, and the jazz number blaring from the gramophone drowned out most conversations.

But somehow, his gaze cut through the noise, piercing and direct. It was as if he hadn’t just overheard your words but had found your analysis… amusing. And then, against all odds, he smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips.

There was something in that smile, a peculiar weight that felt almost like acknowledgment. It caught you off guard, and you couldn’t look away.

“Are you okay?” Nancy’s voice snapped you out of your daze.

You blinked, dragging your eyes from Steven. “Hm? Yes, of course, I’m fine, silly."

“You sure?” she pressed. “I called your name several times. You looked like you were in a trance.”

“It’s so stuffy in here, don’t you think?” You said quickly as you handed your half-drunk glass of champagne to a nearby waiter. “I swear, this heat will be the death of me,” you laughed.

His gaze was still on you, making it impossible to breathe.

“If anyone misses me, I’ll be on the balcony,” you said, not waiting to hear Nancy’s response as you ushered your way through a sea of suits and cocktail dresses.

Off to the side, cigarette in hand, you peered down at the bustling city below. New York always shimmered in the summer, its lights twinkling like stars. You found solace in the hum of the streets, the distant sounds of cars and chatter. Up here, you could get lost in the lives of others—an observer in the chaos. Grateful for the privacy, you took a drag of your cigarette and exhaled. You felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Haven’t you heard? They’re bad for you.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood to attention. Slowly, you turned to see Steven standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over the small balcony. His hands were casually tucked into his pockets, but his presence was anything but casual.

“Steven, isn’t it?” you asked, exhaling smoke as you pulled another cigarette from your silver case.

“Just Steve,” he corrected with a smile, and you were immediately reminded of those billboard Arrow Collar ads in Times Square—the kind where men stood tall and proud, their smiles oozing confidence.

He walked toward you, every step deliberate, his head held high like he owned the space around him.  An Arrow Collar man indeed.

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage." he drawled. "You know my name but I don’t know yours”

You mentioned your name as you handed him a cigarette. Steve took your hand in his, and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it. 

“Beautiful name,” he murmured, and there’s that arrow smile once again. Gently, he slid the cigarette from between your fingers and lit it with a match. The flame flickered between you, casting a brief glow on his chiseled features.

You took a drag, watching him for a moment.

“So,” you began, as you leaned against the stone balustrade, “how long have you and Peggy known each other?”

“A while,” he drawled, the low timbre of his voice slipped under your skin, causing goosebumps in its wake. “Met through work.” His blue eyes, though bright like a summer sky, carried a weight that felt far more dangerous than their color suggested. He didn’t look at the city; he looked at you.

“Same division?” You glanced away when his stare grew too much.

He paused, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Same division.” he repeated as he flicked ash from the cigarette, then turned the question on you. “And you? How do you know Peggy?”

“She used to work for my father. Now she works for my uncle. Mutual interests and all that.”

"I see," Steve said, nodding slowly. "Small world."

The silence that followed wasn’t just empty—it was loaded, buzzing with an undercurrent of something forbidden. Steve didn’t break it with meaningless small talk or faux politeness.

Instead, he just stared at you like you were the only thing that mattered, his eyes dark and intense, stripping away any façade.

As he lifted the cigarette to his lips, his tongue brushed over its edge with a deliberate slowness—a move meant to unsettle, to pull your attention and hold it there. Smoke curled upwards, but his gaze never wavered, a silent challenge sparking in his eyes: You think you know me? Here, let me show you.

Gone was any attempt to hide behind propriety. The mask of the charming fiancé slipped completely, and what was left was startling in its intensity—. Steve wanted you and he made no effort to disguise it. And in the heavy quiet, an unspoken question lingered between you both: Were you interested?

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to maintain composure despite the relentless pull of his gaze, the softness of his lips as he pulled from his cigarette and exhaled. This was Peggy’s fiancé, after all, what was there to even say?

“It was nice meeting you,” you said finally, your voice calm and collected even though you felt it tremble “I’ll let you finish your cigarette.”

You stubbed yours out on the stone plinth beside you and turned, heading back inside. As you reached the glass doors, you caught his reflection, and you saw him crush his cigarette beneath his shoe, his gaze still following you as he watched you retreat.

As you stepped back inside, the noise and chatter of the party seemed to blur, fading under the weight of what had just happened. You felt him before you saw him—Steve, now beside Peggy, the mask of his perfect relationship slipping neatly back into place, as if nothing had happened. But you knew. And so did he.

Thanks my lovelies. I hope you've enjoyed it. Part 2 coming soon...Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

STORY MASTERLIST / MY MASTERLIST

[buckets-and-trees]

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.

Previous Chapter | Series

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

[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.

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

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

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sigh and back up through the file explorer. Come on. Your frustration bubbles up until you feel sweat on your scalp. You squint at the screen, searching for what you need. You blow out through your lips and reach for your mug. The white one with the small agency’s logo on it. 

“Mr. Brenner,” you pivot your chair as you put your cup down, “I can’t find the Dubeau files. I was almost finished--” 

“Dubeau? Never heard of ‘em,” he doesn’t look away from his screen. You tense and nod. 

“Of course, sir, I must be misremembering.” 

You don’t argue. Not out loud. Just like always, you roll over and take it all. You hold it all in. When you lost something, you resign yourself to it. When you miss the train, you sit down and wait for the next, and when you’re told something is a certain way, it must be. And if not, you’ rather wait for the truth to leak through then speak up and make yourself the fool. 

You click around the files. That means you can move on. There’s a backlog of accounts to get through as it is. Ever since Wallace quit, you’ve been doing his work too. It was so unexpected. Strange how abrupt that was. He left his jacket behind but he still hasn’t come to get it. Well, once you find a better firm, you’re out the door just as fast. 

“Carson. It needs to be done,” Brenner says as he clicks his mouse lazily. 

You glance over. You can see the reflection of his screen in the glass of his framed accountant certification on the wall. It doesn’t look like a spread sheet. The colours move and you try not to think about what they resemble. 

“Got it, sir.” 

“What about Williams?” Geraldine suggests. 

Brenner clucks, “delete that. Thought I already did.” 

The tapping of keys continues. Geraldine is old and slow. Her work is reliable but not timely, and Brenner, the senior accountant, tends to do better at sweet talking clients than the paperwork. 

You focus on the Carson file. Like many of the clients, it’s a mess. Assets all over. Photos of wrinkled documents and few of loose cash on indeterminate surfaces. You don’t ask questions. You just figure it out. The place isn’t your first choice but with zero experience, it’s the only way you’ll have any. It’s a pathway to a better destination. 

The office is stagnant but for the clacking of keyboards and clicking of mice. Only Brenner’s heavy huffs and Geraldine’s incessant sniffling interrupt. You lean on your elbow as you compare your two monitors and input values. 

The front door opens and Geraldine stands. She deals with the walk-ins. She enjoys chatting with them. Sometimes too much. You suspect she doesn’t get much conversation with her two cats. 

“Oh, hello, aren’t you a strapping young man. My, oh, I know you,” she chimes, “Mr. Rogers. Yes, I recall.” 

The man sighs in response. You glance over as Mr. Brenner stands so quickly that his chair rolls back into the wall. He clears his throat and hurries around his desk. You haven’t seen him react like that for anyone. 

You stare at the man across from Geraldine. He’s tall and well-dressed. He wears a pinstripe suit with a pressed white collared-shirt, a sleek grey tie down his chest. Despite his tailored attire, his hair is overgrown, his beard too. There’s a permanent stitch in his forehead. 

Rogers... it sounds familiar. 

“Sir,” Brenner extends his hand as he approaches the other man, “how are ya? What can I do for ya today?” 

The other man looks at him dully and ignores his handshake. He sniffs and peers around at the beige walls. The place is enough to drive anyone mad. 

“I need an accountant.” 

“I didn’t know you were looking? Brian--” 

“Shut up about Brian,” the man snarls. “I’m not hear to chat.” 

“Well, I can take care of it--” 

“You won’t,” Rogers insists. “The things you click on, I don’t need that risk. It’s off the books. No digital trail.” 

“Right,” Brenner agrees, “Wallace is... gone--” 

“Didn’t ask,” Rogers turns away from him and looks past the empty desk to you, “her. Come on.” 

He snaps then curls his fingers. Brenner bounces on his heels anxiously, “um, right, but Geraldine is more experienced--” 

“She’s wearing orthotics. I need someone who can run around,” the man snaps.  

“Yes, sir, of course, sir. I don’t mean to overstep,” Pete shows his palms. “Get your bag, sweetie. You’re gonna help Mr. Rogers for the day.” 

“More than a day,” he says as he checks his watch. 

“As long as you need,” Brenner agrees. 

You save the spreadsheet and slowly close down the Excel sheet. You wheel back in your chair, unsure, and reach beneath for the leather briefcase you splurged on when you got the job. When you still thought it was a professional office. 

“I heard about the engagement,” Brenner lowers his voice but the place is too small not to hear, “Sorry, buddy, that’s tough--” 

“I didn’t ask what you think,” Rogers bristles. 

You peer over again and find him staring. Impatiently. 

“Right, right, was just saying--” 

“And I’m not your buddy,” he growls. 

“Of course, sir,” Brenner preens. “I’m digging the new look. Growing out the hair. Very in vogue--” 

“Enough,” he waves past Brenner to you. “Let’s go. Boss is waiting.” 

You get up and snap the clasp on the plum briefcase as you shuffle in your kitten heels. You approach the man as you grip the handle and offer your other hand formally. “Hi, sir,” you introduce yourself. “What can I help with?” 

“We’ll get to it. For now, stay close,” he looks at his watch again. 

“Glad to be of service, sir,” Pete says. “I’ll waive the invoice--” 

He’s once more ignored as Rogers spins and marches for the door. Tension curdles in his wake and you look around. Brenner gives you a toothy cringe and shoos you, “don’t keep him waiting and for god sakes, smile.” 

You raise your brows as Geraldine returns to her desk. She sits stiffly as she rubs her hip and offers a sheepish look, “good luck, dearie.” 

Their nervous demeanour fills you with dread. Who exactly is this Mr. Rogers and why are they all so afraid of him? You can only be sure that you should be too. 

[syntheticavenger]

Fatal Diagnosis - Two

I hope you enjoy the little twist I've placed in the first chapter. We'll be getting a visit from three others throughout this mini series starting with Part Three.

Series Masterlist

Recommended Listening: Disease by Lady Gaga

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of religion, mentions of death, language.

Words: 1.5K

Demon Doctor! Steve Rogers x Angel Nurse! Female Reader

Summary | Despite your best efforts, some of your patients that you care for start to pass away under mysterious circumstances. The intimidating doctor with the soothing bedside manner seems to always be one step ahead of you.

Mr. Hillman is fast asleep, unaware of you standing at his bedside. You can tell someone has been in this room – despite everything being where you left it.

You can still smell the burned flesh when you reached the door.

And it wasn’t just his door.

Whatever lurks inside these halls is testing you. It’s suffocating when you enter the recovery wing, the sense that something is watching you under the bright lights and sanitized spaces not lost on you as you go through your rounds. It hides in every corner, through the corner of your eye, heavy on your chest and heart, almost waiting to pounce.

Your patient will be discharged today, looking at his chart in relief that he was able to pull through, saying a quick prayer in thanks before you feel a dark presence that makes you go still, your feet braced on the floor.

Footsteps pause at the door and for a moment, your eyes darken, ready to protect Mr. Hillman when the footsteps continue on. Still, you watch the door for a moment, a whispery voice breaking you out of your concentration.

“Angel,” Mr. Hillman says sleepily before he slips back into a deep sleep.

“Rest up,” you reply softly. “They won’t succeed.”

When your hand reaches for the door, you take one look back at him, committing him to memory. He’d been at death’s door with his illness and his daughter will be happy to know her father has pulled through.

A miracle, really.

-

Darcy inspects her painted nails, ignoring you when you sit next to her to finish his discharge paperwork. She’s been immersed in this podcast, the host still talking as she lowers the volume for a moment.

“Dr. Rogers was looking for you,” Darcy says after a moment, holding up her index finger to the light. “Does this look crooked to you? I swear I didn’t file it right.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“Nope,” she says with a loud pop of her mouth. “Man of little words around me. He was going into check on Miss Farmer, I think.”

“Why? She was stable this morning, wasn’t she?”

Darcy shrugs, inspecting another nail.

“Darcy, she’s your patient.”

“She’s fine. I’m just telling you where he went. Maybe he’s checking on her because she’s,” Darcy pauses, holding her hands out near her chest. “You saw her. Melons.”

You want to say something to her about her comment but Dr. Rogers comes into view, his eyes trained on you when you straighten your shoulders. He’s dressed in his usual white shirt and black slacks, his white coat immaculate.

“Good morning,” he says warmly, flashing you and Darcy a smile. “I hope you were able to sleep well last night. You were here late, weren’t you?”

“A little but I had some last-minute things to do,” you say in reply, seeing him nod in agreement.

“How is Miss Farmer?” Darcy asks him, trying to hide a smile.

“She’s your patient, Darcy. How would I know?” Dr. Rogers snaps.

Darcy’s smile fades at his biting remark, getting to her feet as she locks her computer.

“Say no more.”

She leaves you and Dr. Rogers alone, your eyes going back to your monitor to finish the paperwork.

“Do you know anything about Latin?” Dr. Rogers asks, leaning over the counter. “I came across a phrase last night and I was a little confused by it.”

“What phrase?”

Pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket, he slides it over to you.

Non Mortem Timemus, Sed Cogitationem Mortis.

You read it silently, aware of how he’s staring, waiting for you to translate. You won’t do it, knowing that you’ve seen this phrase before and reciting it out loud would bring about something you won’t want.

“Confused by what, Dr. Rogers?” you ask, seeing him look down at the paper.

“It’s a death quote,” he says, pointing to the word ‘mortem’. “Almost a warning if I didn’t know better.”

“A warning for what?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. The quote mentions death, doesn’t it? Some people think I’m the Grim Reaper around here,” he says with a wry smile as you look down at your keyboard. “I hear you all talk.”

“I don’t think that,” you reply quickly. “How could I? You’re a doctor, you’re here to save people.”

“You’ve been a lucky charm in this place. I don’t think we’ve lost anyone in at least a week.”

He’s never talked to you this much before, let alone maintain this much eye contact. You force yourself to look up from your monitor, dipping your chin in response.

“Bedside manner, I guess. I learned from the best.”

“Who is that?”

“My mentor,” you answer him. “She was a wonderful teacher.”

He tilts his head to the side at your response, amused in a way that you are reminiscing that seems almost condescending, the way he nods along.

“What was her name?”

Why he’s suddenly so invested, you aren’t sure. 

“Dr. Maria.”

“Did she have a last name?”

“She does, yes,” you answer him quietly. Something about this question puts your defenses up, in a way that you’re unsure of where it came from.

Dr. Rogers flashes you a quick grin, cold and unfeeling before he moves away from the counter.

“It was nice chatting with you. I need to go check on Darcy and make sure she’s not on an extended break.”

-

Darcy knocks on the door, opening it slightly to find her patient still in bed. The once vivacious woman can barely lift her head as Darcy moves closer. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish, a flutter of something in her mouth before Darcy blinks and it’s gone as if she hallucinated.

“Miss Farmer?” she asks, equipment all around her beeping quickly. “What’s happening?”

The woman’s head falls back on the pillow, losing consciousness as Darcy hits a button for assistance, an alert sounding out on the machine.

“Fuck…. Fuck… fuck,” Darcy whispers to herself, beginning CPR. “Don’t die on me.”

The door opens as a team comes in, Darcy continuing, so focused that she doesn’t see Dr. Rogers enter the room. An eerie silence comes over the room, Dr. Rogers’ voice commanding her to stop.

“No,” Darcy says. “I need to keep trying!”

“She’s dead,” Dr. Rogers says calmly. “You did everything you could.”

Darcy watches as he calls her time of death, turning on her heels to collect herself outside.

“What a shame,” Dr. Rogers says, holding his hand up as a team of nurses stops in their tracks. “No need. I’ve got this covered.”

Standing near the door as they leave, you see him lean over, Miss Farmer’s chest rising and falling slowly.

On cue, a Code Blue alert gets attention, rushing out of the room almost too eager for your liking, leaving you alone with Darcy’s patient.

-

Dr. Rogers inhales deeply, smiling to himself as he calls another time of death, reinvigorated by his recent meal. It’s almost too easy, these poor souls that have no idea they will never leave this place.

He remembers Miss Farmer and Darcy, getting a notification that makes his eyes darken. Darcy’s excited text means that Miss Farmer has survived, her vitals stable once more. 

He knows it’s you.

There was never any doubt in his mind, but his irritation grows at the thought that he could have had another meal if you had no interfered. He’ll deal with Darcy, bringing her back from the brink of death.

That will put you in your place.

It’s laughable for the moment, missing another meal and having another lined up.

He can’t wait to see you cry when your peer isn’t there to feed you lines about his supposed nature.

-

“She made it through,” Dr. Rogers says, your head lifting at his greeting.

He seems relieved but once again, something is off, the way he seems to be slightly annoyed. You want to chalk it up to his relentless morning but he stands over Darcy’s patient for a moment, as if he can’t believe she’s alive.

“She did. Darcy took a break. I still think she’s in shock from what happened. We almost lost her.”

“I know, I was ready to call time of death,” he agrees.

You stand, looking over at Miss Farmer as she sleeps, perspiration dotting her forehead as Dr. Rogers looks over again.

“That would have been unfortunate. But she pulled through, Dr. Rogers. That is a miracle.”

“So it is. Perhaps you’re the blessing.”

Walking toward the door, you pause when you get near him.

“I found these,” you say, opening your hand as you drop something in his hand.

Three moths fall into his hand, still moving as you stare up at him.

“Can’t imagine where they came from. You know what they’re called, right?” you ask, seeing him look down at his open palm.

“Enlighten me.”

“Acherontia Lachesis. You don’t find them here very often, if at all.”

“Acherontia Lachesis,” he repeats. “A type of moth, I’m guessing.”

“Death’s head hawkmoth, to be exact. I found them in her mouth.”

His hands close over the moths, your own hand reaching out to touch his own, ignoring the searing pain of touching his cold hand.

“I have no idea where they came from, but I have an idea,” you continue.

“We’ll have Dr. Banner call the exterminator.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rogers, I appreciate that.”

Lifting your hand from his, you look back at Miss Farmer for a moment.

“She’ll make a full recovery.”

“You seem convinced. Let’s hope so.”

You give him a smile, your eyes hovering at her empty glass on the table.

“Just a feeling. Have a good night, Dr. Rogers.”

-

Darcy cracks open a can of soda, filling out reports when the lights flicker. She’s on graveyards this week, annoyed that she tried to be nice to MJ and now she had to change her entire schedule. Her podcast skips as she pauses it, noticing the WiFi has gone out. 

“Damn technology,” she mutters, standing up to inspect the connection, only to see Dr. Rogers standing at the counter.

Jumping back, she laughs nervously, her hand flying to her chest.

“You scared me! God,” she mutters, trying to breathe. “I think I almost died.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your rounds?”

The lights flicker back on, her podcast at full blast as he shakes his head in disapproval. A flash of light catches his eye as his focuses on her necklace.

“I’m going,” she counters, grabbing her pen and clipboard. “Just needed a break.”

“A break,” he repeats, his eyes going black rapidly before changing back as he follows behind her. “I don’t think you’ve worked a whole shift since I got here.”

When she whirls around, he’s closer than she expected, her eyes narrowing at him.

“Why are you always on me? No one else, just you. Some of these other nurses may suck up to you because they think you’re hot but I’m not one of them.”

“I expect professionalism from you. Decorum, even.”

“You get what you get with me,” Darcy shoots back. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes,” he snaps. “It is.”

Darcy fingers her necklace, Dr. Rogers glaring in response as she raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Get back to work.”

[innorogers]

Vigil

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

Warning: Mention of sex / Fluff & Angst / Protective Steve / Jealous Steve /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff / John Walker

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull

It ended just as expected. Steve cummed twice in the shower—once in your mouth, because, damn, he tasted amazing after cleaning up, and again inside you, because you smelled just as irresistible with that jasmine scent in your hair.

So here you are, three cups of coffee later, and about to nap on your desk. The body Hydra gave you was strong, but you’ve been in a car chase, with the Iron Army hunting you down, fought in a nightclub, and probably had four or five rounds of sex with Steve. You honestly don’t know what was more exhausting. You’d guess the mission that had gone rogue, but honestly, the sex just left you breathless.

"Oh, rough night?" Robert handed you a fourth cup of coffee, eyeing the dark circles under your eyes. "Need the adrenaline shot?"

"Um…" You actually considered it for a moment. Your body metabolized stuff like that too fast, though—it would only last for a couple of hours, tops. "Nah, forget it.” You need your brain clear to process everything that happened. 

“I’ve heard…” Dr. Lin’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he leaned casually on your desk, his eyes scanning the room where your colleagues were clearly whispering about you. “That Captain America had quite the adventure yesterday. Right after leaving the UN, too.”

He tsked and pulled out his phone, showing you a few grainy clips. Footage from CCTVs and some shaky handhelds—probably from people who had their phones out at the right moment. “A broken bridge, streets on fire, and…a fight in a nightclub? You’re gonna need more than coffee to survive this shift, I think.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Too late for damage control, huh? Is it all over the news?” You could only imagine the hell Steve was going through with Commander Hill: ‘I gave you 1,278 security protocols, and you ignored them all?!’ Yeah, you weren’t setting foot in the command room today.

“Not quite all over the news yet—mostly social media.” Dr. Lin was clearly enjoying the UN’s PR disaster a bit too much. “I think they’re working overtime behind the scenes to sweep it under the rug. Captain America gets attacked his first time outside the compound during ‘The Reconciliation of the Century’? Yeah…someone’s having a bad day in PR.”

“Anyway…as I was saying…You’re gonna need more than coffee, we’ve got company today…”

“What? Company?” You were surprised. “They’re letting people in?!” After yesterday’s security breach?

“Seems the first New Era Project agent that the UN sent was a fraud or didn’t work. And since we visited them yesterday already, today, they’re sending some new guys.” Dr. Lin looked at you, lowering his glasses: “Yikes, right? So for today, we need to pretend we’re working. ‘Cause we’re not sharing our real stuff…which will make this day unbearable.”

Oh. You grimaced after Dr. Lin turned around and began “working.” Yeah, you knew everything about how the last agent went wrong. But actually, this ‘pretend to be working’ thing was good—you needed to analyze everything that had happened.

You opened a document connected to Tony’s hub and started typing, outlining the details for him in your usual style. (It was your private little system—documents stored in The Crib, or what the three of you called the ‘Geniuses’ Sticky Notes.’) You’d barely finished bullet point five when someone in a crisp military uniform appeared beside you, smiling next to your screen.

“Hi, Ilithya. Ilithya Lancaster—whose phone number is still confidential. Nice to see you again.” John Walker said smiling, quoting the line you’d once used to refuse giving him your number.

Oh dear Lord, he really should have taken a nap with you when he had the chance, instead of those three—no, four rounds of sex you had in the dressing room and the shower.

Steve thought after suppressing another yawn, trying to focus on the screen, where Thadeus Ross was losing his temper again, explaining why the UN had nothing to do with the attack he and you got yesterday.

But who was he kidding? Steve almost smiled. Nope, no way he’d have preferred the nap over the sex. That was exactly what he needed after being hard almost the entire afternoon. And four times weren’t enough—he would have gone on if you weren’t in the dressing room.

For fuck’s sake, when is this over? He couldn’t wait to get back to your private lab-slash-home, have a light dinner, and get in bed with you.

Oh, that’s a nice thought: a sex marathon for the weekend is all he needs after this hellish week. He started thinking of your intertwined bodies, your begging moans that sounded like heaven... Yeah, okay, he needs to focus. Maybe listen to what the Secretary has to say instead of thinking about your messy hair, your heavy breath, your skin that felt like silky sweet milk, and your mouth... Yup, stop. Let’s hear Ross, so he doesn’t get hard again in the middle of a full meeting room.

He felt a glare on him, so he looked around and saw Agent Sharon Carter staring with her eyebrows raised, as if saying, “Gotcha, pay attention.” Steve suppressed a smile and looked down. Oh boy, this was going to be a long day.

“I thought your super friends were going to be attending this meeting too.” Once the screen was off, Sharon smiled at him while picking up the folders and files.

“Well... Hill and Sam are still in Fraser’s interrogation. Tony and Bruce are tracking back the security breach. Natasha and Clint took over my place in training since I’m busy with other things. So...”

Basically, what happened was that when Tony asked who would be taking this mission, everyone stepped back, and I was the only idiot at the front. Steve shook his head internally.

“In that case.” Sharon gave him the usual confident wink. “I’m glad. It’s been forever since we shared a mission.” She grinned. “Last time almost cost me my career.”

“Yeah...um...lucky, things sorted out on that one...” He was a little embarrassed but still grateful for Sharon’s help during the Civil War chaos.

“I’m kidding with you, okay?” Sharon teased. “It’s not like I almost got into federal prison or anything.” She sighed a little, lowering her voice: “Although, I wouldn’t have minded if I had to.” She said with a soft voice and a sparkle in her eyes, looking at Steve with sincerity, which made him stiffen.

“So, how have you been?” Steve nodded and asked with a polite smile, pressing the elevator button for her as they headed to the cafeteria floor. “How does it feel to be at the UN? I heard the benefits are better than the CIA, though unfortunately, you’ll need to deal with us again.”

"Ah, I don’t know what you're talking about," Sharon said with a wink, grinning playfully. "Every agent’s dream, right? Dealing with the Avengers, working alongside the great Captain America... even if, well, my boss would rather face another alien army than deal with the politics of this initiative."

“Well, that’d make two of us.” Steve chuckled, and opened the cafeteria door for her.

The hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes filled the air. The compound’s cafeteria was large, efficient, and—much to Steve’s relief—quiet at this time of day. It was near lunchtime, but still a little early for food service, so the air was full of a coffee’s aroma that lingered from breakfast. They got in line for coffee and a quick snack, and Sharon gave him a sideways glance, her expression teasing as she grabbed a sandwich.

“Oh wow, you guys have affogato as dessert? I could consider getting back to work with you guys just for your catering service.” Sharon said, breaking the brief silence as they moved along the counter.

“Well, if you consider that, I could make my best effort to get your agent’s number back.” Steve grinned, grabbing just a cup of coffee.

“Oh yes, lucky number, huh?” She stopped for a second as she laughed and said, “Remember that place we went to… Venice? What was it called, the best affogato in the world.”

“Benicio’s?” Steve nodded. “Yeah… it’s closed now. I mean, gone during the Blip, hopefully reopened now.”

“You didn’t have the affogato, though,” Sharon said with a playful hint in her voice. “Mr. ‘I don’t know how to relax since I got into a fight with Stark and we’re on the run.’”

“Hey, I was the international most wanted. I think it was okay for me just to stay out of the loop. Imagine if I got caught because of ice cream. That would’ve been…”

“Funny? Quite a story to tell? Best date I’ve ever had?” Sharon shrugged.

“...Embarrassing.” Steve said with a smile. “Or awkward, or even humiliating.”

Sharon shook her head and laughed. They found a table by the window, where sunlight poured in, and Steve took a seat across from her. He could see the curiosity in Sharon’s eyes, the slight hesitation before she spoke again.

“It really was, actually. One of my top three dates.” Her smile turned more serious, her voice low enough that only Steve could hear over the ambient noise. “Too bad it ended so… abruptly.”

Steve wanted to say, "We would never have made it too far", but he only sighed.

He didn’t want to dismiss her feelings, and he couldn’t deny that something had existed between them. It was brief, but also real. A shared history they couldn’t quite forget or ignore.

Sharon was strong, smart, and capable—someone he admired deeply and cared about. He appreciated her confidence and her courage, but that connection, though meaningful, was nothing compared to what he felt for you now.

That had been a stream. With you, it was tides, waves, the entire ocean.

“We made a good team.” Steve said with a smile, being honest and looking directly into her eyes.

Something about it made Sharon hold her breath. 

She could remember moments in the past when Steve had the same effect on her. He would just gaze at her, and her heartbeat would skip or beat too fast.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t pushed harder when it didn’t work. If she had fallen, completely and madly, as she’d wanted to, the power he held over her would have been overwhelming.

She had risked her entire career just to help him, and they were… nothing. Just a kiss, just some kisses or dates. So what would have happened if they’d continued? She couldn’t imagine a life where she had so little discipline about her feelings, mind, or heart.

“I know.” Sharon spoke softly, still holding his gaze. She was taking a leap of faith now. Cause she couldn’t help to wonder—could it have worked?

What if…they gave it another chance? They didn’t have the menace of the universe’s destruction now, the chances of Steve (or her) being a fugitive again were none after Thanos, so what… what if…?

“But…” She began, but Steve suddenly turned as something caught his attention.

It was lunchtime, and the employees began to arrive at the cafeteria, you among them, with Dr. Lin at your right and John Walker at your left.

“Captain Walker, I really don’t need a date. I have a boyfriend, no, um… fiancé.” You said as you picked up a tray and started serving lunch on your plate, remembering how Steve just highlighted this morning that the ring was indeed, a ring.

“It’s John.” Said a very cheerful John Walker, who was not stepping back from asking you out, even though you had been determined and clear about your “NO”s and reasons.

“Well, does this fiancé have a name? And where’s the ring?” he said while picking lunch and placing food, walking backward with a gracious wink.

“OH MY GOD!” You and Dr. Lin said at the same time, your eyes widening as you noticed the ring was missing from your finger.

“Where’s the ring? D…did you lose the ring?!” Robert was panicking. Did you just lose the engagement ring Captain America gave you?!

“I don’t know, it was on my finger...” You were looking in your lab coat pockets and in your clothes.

“It’s a tracking device, equipped with the last of Stark technology, how...how can you lose a tracking device?!” Dr. Lin couldn’t believe it. 

“Your boyfriend put a tracking device on you?” John hmph'd with a laugh. “What a douchebag!” He put a hand on his chest. “I promise, I would never do such a manipulative, controlling freak thing to you.” He winked. “I’ll look out for other guys who come close, of course, but that’s another level of jerkiness. Ugh...a tracking device, what is he, a psychopath?”

“It’s an engagement ring,” you replied, frowning, though you didn’t think of giving out too much information to him. You thought back to the last time you saw the ring, which was before you took it off when you entered the UN HQ.

You pulled out your phone, wanting to send a message to Steve just to confirm.

Some strands of hair curved in front of you when you looked down, and John, who was standing in front of you, couldn’t help but stretch out his hand and brush them to your shoulder. His fingers ran through your hair, and his fingertips touched your ear as he accommodated it for you.

Before you could react, a loud crash echoed through the cafeteria, like the sound of a broken cup or mug.

Sharon stood in shock as Steve slammed his cup down so hard the porcelain shattered. His face was livid, veins bulging in his neck, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

He abruptly stood, the chair scraping loudly behind him, and stormed in your direction.

"I've got it, babe." Steve said. He didn’t miss a moment of the interaction and was at your side in an instant. He took your hand, his eyes locked on John Walker, and carefully slid the ring back onto your finger. “It was in the pocket of your gear.” 

Both captains exchanged tense, serious looks. You could feel the sparks fly between them as they made eye contact, and after a long moment, Steve finally smiled.

“I’m guessing you're here as a representative of the New Era’s Project, Captain Walker?” He said, placing a firm hand on your waist, his grip tightening slightly.

“Yes.” John replied with a polite but sneering smile.

“The knowledge exchanges from R&D have been…quite enlightening. I can’t wait to see what the best of your team has to offer…to me.” He said as he raised his jaw and tilted his head toward you. You could feel Steve’s body tense, like a bow stretched to its full capacity and ready to snap back.

"Take whatever gear or armory you want, Walker," Steve said in a cold, measured voice, as the entire cafeteria fell silent, all eyes locked on the tension between the two men.

"But the best of this compound is far beyond your reach. And don’t think for a second that you could ever put a finger on that." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, teeth clenched. Touch my girl’s hair again, and I’ll cut your arm off.

"Steve." A calm voice cut through the tension as Commander Hill appeared at the doorway. She walked in with steady confidence. "We’ve got news. I need you and Dr. Lancaster in the Command Room."

Steve didn’t immediately move. His gaze lingered on Walker for a few more seconds, with unspoken warnings in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turned to you, gently taking your hand in his, and led you out of the cafeteria. The weight of Walker’s stare followed behind you both, but your focus stayed fixed on your fiance's figure.

No one spoke in the hallway as you walked toward the Command Room. You could see Steve’s rigid expression. He was pissed, his jaw tight, shoulders tense as if holding back more words.

But you were… well, trying your best to hide the curve of your lips. Just like he had back in the car when you sobbed that you’d go to Wakanda and talk to plants for the rest of your life if he ever left you to go back to his gorgeous ex.

Oh, so he was this jealous? Even a little possessive? He got this mad just because a guy touched your hair? Now, if Steve were any other guy, maybe this would seem like a giant red flag, but this was the love of your life, so…

You slid your hand into his palm, pressing your skin to his, and intertwined your fingers with his. 

Steve’s expression softened, and he looked at you, letting out a quiet sigh. He smiled when you mouthed, I love you.

Commander Hill, however, wasn’t in the mood for your lovebird moments. Her face remained stern as she waited for the door to close behind you, sealing the room.

"Agent Frazer was found dead this morning."

The words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. Steve’s hand tightened around yours as his expression shifted from softened warmth to immediate alertness.

You lowered your sight.

Somehow, you had a feeling this was coming anytime soon. It was weird, though. Agent Frazer was not your brother; he just pretended to be for some time (and then actually tried to brainwash slash attack you). But for a moment, you wished that had been true, that your brother was alive, even if he had been turned against you. So now he is dead, and you feel strangely sad.

Your way of dealing with it? Throw yourself into the facts.

“How?” you asked, almost mechanically. “Was it because… his neural synapses overloaded, triggering an energy surge that short-circuited his cerebral cortex in under a millisecond? Like… like someone or something… wired his brain to self-destruct?”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she gave a quick, silent nod.

Steve’s grip tightened, haunted by your words. At that moment, he panicked, cold sweat through his shirt, fear dominating his senses when the possibility of losing you suddenly struck hard in his mind. So, could anyone do that? Snap their fingers and cause you a brain dead? 

His body was merely processing under this thought. He felt the urge to hug you, to feel your warmth and heartbeat under his skin, to feel you entirely safe in his arms. But you were in the command room, so he didn’t move.

“Can we make sure that…” His voice trembled slightly. “What happened to Frazer…” doesn’t happen to you?

Commander Hill noted his panic, so she gave him some time to process.

“Oh no.” You noticed too, so you reassured him, squeezing his hand back: “That won’t happen to me. I’ve only been through one brainwash. It takes more than that—multiple processes, open surgery. And Hydra… they didn’t have the tech to pull it off. Not back then.”

“But…” Your mind raced ahead, piecing things together. “Whoever did this? They’re desperate.”

You rubbed your forehead, and as your hands dropped, Maria noticed it: that look on your face.

The same intense, calculating look Steve wore when he was seeing things no one else could—analyzing every possibility, tracing out the most brilliant, cunning plan, whether on a battlefield or at a table of white collars and power brokers.

“Jarvis, any chance Bruce and Tony are in the crib?” You needed to process your ideas, but you also needed someone who could remember everything you’d said.

“They are on their way here, Dr. Lancaster.” answered the A.I. “Crossing the elevator’s door at this moment.” said Jarvis as both entered the room.

“Please tell me you already have a preliminary conclusion?” said Tony, stepping into the room.

“Okay…” You stood in the middle, your mind moving faster than words as you started laying out the analysis.

“They have access to Hydra files—there’s no other way to explain it. Clearance levels that aren’t just high for regulars; files that were locked, or used to be locked, behind old S.H.I.E.L.D. encryption. And the remains of my file? Only a few could access those after Hydra was dismantled.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, tracking your every movement. Bruce sat at the edge of a table, hands loosely folded, but his furrowed brow betrayed his concern.

“So, leftover Hydra goons or former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Tony asked. He didn't want to say it aloud, but there was also another possibility: a breach, here, inside the Avengers.

“Or both.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives who went dark when Hydra fell. People who know how to stay hidden but had deep ties to the old Hydra infrastructure.”

“Even if they had the files, they’d need money. A lot of it, if they’re working with the kind of tech that got into Frazer’s head.” Bruce said, swiping through the files on the screen.

“Yeah, this doesn’t sound like some underground merc group.” Maria said, standing beside him as she watched the files on the main screen.

“This is serious, billionaire-level investment. Whoever’s backing them has access to bleeding-edge tech. Retinal implants, memory manipulation… that’s not standard black-market operation. The kind of power they’re throwing around is something only the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to—the old S.H.I.E.L.D. when they were still around.”

“So, they’re gearing up for something big, or they’re hitting a wall. What are they trying to accomplish? Why use Frazer as a puppet?” Tony followed the line of thought.

You hesitated: “I think… They’re close to something. A breakthrough, maybe. Or…” You stopped and narrowed your eyes, thinking aloud. “Or they’re failing. Desperate. They’re making bold moves because they need something critical. And that something is… me.”

Steve’s expression shifted. His fingers locked onto yours, tightly.

“The attack was directed at you. Frazer was pretending to be your brother. And to confirm your existence.” Tony sighed, frustrated and feeling a pang of guilt. He hid you all these years, thinking you would be safe. He should have let you out of the New Eras Project. The Avengers had so many ways of detecting enemies without using your powers. Fuck, he should have listened to Steve when he warned him to let you out of the Project.

“Of the twelve of you, you’re the only one with… those powers.” Steve murmured, almost clenching his teeth. He felt the urge to hug you, as if you were going to disappear or vanish in the next second.

“And a success case.” You said, not wanting to scare him but knowing you all needed the entire picture. “The only survivor, the only… prototype. Still alive. In my body is the source code for why these experiments or creations worked.”

“Wait…” Tony’s glare was fixed on you. “If the endgame is to copy your ability… What could they even use that for?” But it was a self-answering conversation. He was just thinking aloud: “…a soldier who could walk into a building and identify every weak point before the first shot is fired. Or worse, detect something we’ve built to be undetectable.”

“Why stop there, Tony?” Maria’s expression was serious and cold. “Why would there be only one? Hydra made a dozen back then, and they didn’t even have half the tech we have now.”

Bruce frowned deeper, his voice low: “If they’re that close, then we’re on borrowed time. They’ve already brainwashed Frazer, and now they’re playing with neural implants and synaptic overrides.”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “And they are so desperate, they don’t care if we know they’re out there now, because they’re so close they can taste it. Once they succeed, they won’t even fear the Avengers’ powers anymore.”

Tony exhaled sharply, his glare cold. “So, they’re building something. A super soldier, or an army of them—enhanced with tech that would let them see through just about anything.”

“And they’re not far from getting there. But for now, I’m still the key to unlocking that power.”

The room went quiet for a moment as the weight of your words settled in.

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic.” Tony applauded, the whole thing giving him a headache. “We’ve got super soldiers with x-ray vision on the horizon. And they’ve got you in their crosshairs.”

“So basically, we need to see what triggered this sudden desperation.” Bruce leaned forward, and his mind began to analyze: “We could scan for energy centralization around the globe. Human creation needs vast electromagnetic fields to power high-level bioengineering, especially when manipulating neural pathways at this scale. We need to track when or where all this is happening. But…”

His voice was tense.

“I’ve got a feeling they’re at the door already. Because whatever they’re building… they’re almost done.”

The way back home was silent. You could feel the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. Steve hadn’t said much since you left the command room. His usual warmth and quiet strength seemed overshadowed by something deeper—fear and anxiety, clunging over him like a dark shadow, haunting him at his heels.

You wanted to speak, but your mind was processing too. You were trying to remember everything you knew about yourself and your siblings, every memory, every piece of paper you’d seen in Hydra labs, every layer of analysis they’d made you go through.

The ride home was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road, even your house slash lab was after all the securities protocols and protective layers Maria had put, he was still alert, as if there were something in the grass and trees of the compound that would attack anytime. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

"Babe there's no need…" You said as Steve moved around the house once you've arrived.

He checked every window, every door, securing them with an almost obsessive care. He paused at the front door, his hand lingering on the lock as if it was the only thing standing between you and the threat he couldn’t control.

You watched him, knowing that this wasn’t just about protecting you—it was about the fear within him.

"Steve, I'm here." You stopped him. Placing your hand on his back: "I'm here. With you."

He turned to you, his face pale. His eyes were haunted, wide with the kind of fear you rarely saw in him. He’s worried.

No, not worried, he’s terrified.

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you like you might disappear if he let go. His grip is firm, desperate, as trying to shield you from an invisible danger that only he can see.

His breath is uneven, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

You don’t say anything at first. Words won’t soothe him. So you just hold him back, resting your head against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently press them on his neck, cupping his face to make him look at you.

"I'm here. And we will be ok." You say softly.

These words made him tremble. Will you? How can you be sure? How could he know? What if…

He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost you.

“I won’t let them take you.” He said, as a sacred oath, tatooed in his soul. “I’m going to set up more protocols.” He muttered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression one of steely resolve beneath the worry. “More security. I’ll have Tony upgrade the system. I’ll have guards outside. I’ll—”

You stayed still in his arms, feeling the rawness of his fear. His body was tense, and you could feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of his panic pressing against you. He wasn’t just holding you for comfort—he was holding you like you were the last solid thing in a world that was quickly unraveling.

“Steve,” you interrupted softly, placing a hand on his chest. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

His eyes locked onto yours. “I can try. And I will.”

"Babe…this is the Avengers compound. This is…the safest place on earth. Or even the universe."

"It took only one protocol. One permission. Approved by me." He said with teeth clenched. "I gave him clearance. One, to bring Frazer in front of you, I won't ever, ever let that happen again." He said with conviction, his expressions somber as he remembered everything you went through.

But beneath his determination, you could see the cracks: the anxiety gnawing away at him, the overwhelming fear that no matter what he did, it might not be enough.

"Steve…"

“You don’t understand…” His voice is strained, thick with the fear that he hasn’t been able to shake since the moment he realized you were being targeted. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve lost too many. If something happens to you—”

He pauses.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. He was a man made of iron will and conviction, but here he stood, vulnerable and raw, stripped bare of all his usual defenses.

“Hey, hey, hey…Listen.” You said, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. I'm here, with you, I'm safe.”

He looks at you and feels a pang of pain to your innocent even naive words.

Safe? Were you safe when he was on the other side of the wall and couldn't do anything but watch as you almost fell under Frazer's brainwash? Were you safe when you pressed a tranquilizer to yourself?

The memory of you in his arms, unconcious and slipping away was so vivid.

His hands tightened around you again at that thought, his grip shaking slightly. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted, his voice strained. “What if I can’t get to you in time? What if something happens and I’m not there? What if…”

“I can’t take that risk.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. “ I can't. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. His blue eyes are filled with a vulnerability you’ve only seen in rare moments— when the weight of the world is too much, even for him.

“Steve.” You say soft but firmly: “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find reassurance in the depths of your gaze. Slowly, he exhales, but he doesn’t let go. That deep-rooted terror of losing you, isn't going away anytime soon.

His arms remain wrapped around you, protective and unyielding, as though he’s made a silent vow that nothing—no person, no secret organization, no force on Earth or beyond—will ever take you away from him.

If only that could be true.

THE End but TBC

Alright I'm SO SORRY I'm late!! 2 Full time jobs really is consuming me!! I hope you enjoyed it!! Sooooo I have a really serious question RN, could you doooo me the favor to lmk your thoughts!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[stellar-solar-flare]

For your Stella's Halloween Shenanigans! 👻

Steve Rogers + cuddles

Just cause I’ve have a long day and I’m exhausted tonight 😅

Thank you for sending a prompt. Stella's Halloween Shenanigans 👻

You let out a long breath as soon as the door swung closed behind you. After dropping your purse on the floor, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

Despite your exhaustion, the positively decadent aroma floating in the house tugged the sides of your mouth up. Spices, and some baked good, perhaps your favorite.

It didn't surprise you to feel strong arms slip around your waist and tuck you gently to instead lean against a chest that was even more steadfast than the wall. You breathed in the familiar aftershave and felt the stress of the day melt away as you were being held.

"Hey there," Steve murmured into your hair. "Long day?"

"Very much so," you whispered, still keeping your eyes closed, just enjoying the closeness.

"When you're ready, dinner and dessert are waiting," he whispered.

That didn't surprise you either - Steve took his responsibility of taking care of you very seriously. Unless the world was ending, he prioritized the time the two of you spent together.

"You are the best husband ever," you whispered. "I can't wait to taste everything. But just a moment more of this?"

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. As if he would ever deny that request.

"As long as you need, honey," he whispered, kissing your forehead. "As long as you need."

[bigtreefest]

Woman in Black

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Warnings: kissing, rings hehe, mostly fluff, some plot holes that will be filled eventually, Halloween?

Word Count: 387

A/N: Enjoy this little look FAR into the future for Steve and Decks. What does it meannnn? Muah hahahah. Happy Halloween!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

You pulled your jacket down in the mirror, brushing imaginary dirt off of it as you turned side to side. This costume wasn’t your idea, but the second you told Steve about it, he was practically sprinting to make it work.

The suit you wore was one of his. An older one, which took some convincing from you, but still the fabric was soft and of far too high of quality to be on your body right now, let alone tailored per his insistence. The black material fit you like a glove.

His smile was bright as he came up behind you in a different suit, one that you could only call Godzilla-like. The way the monster head sat atop his darkening locks was laughable. The kids effortlessly convinced him to dress up like that, but he was surprised you folded so easily for their little sparking eyes.

Steve snaked his hands around your waist, admiring you in the mirror before he placed a gentle kiss on your neck, then one on your cheek. You turned your head to look at him, that dopey little smile of his perfectly matching the lime green lizard costume that covered his body.

You leaned up for a peck, which turned into your giggling lips against his as he turned you to him by his grip on your waist and pulled you closer. He could never get enough ever since you said yes to him. Steve pulled away, his bright blue eyes, as loving as ever, roaming your face before he cleared his throat.

“Sweetheart, you forgot these.”

He held out a pair of dark sunglasses between the two of you and you plucked them out of his hand, sliding them on to complete the costume.

“How do I look? Like a secret alien-fighting government agent?”

Steve held out an open palm for you to place your left hand in as he slid the ring with a sparkling diamond on your finger. The ring you only wore around friends and family. He reached in your breast pocket, pulling out his own gold band and slipping it in your hand for you to do the same to him, looking him in the eyes and smiling the whole time.

“I think you look perfect. Now let’s get downstairs and pass out some candy.”

Bonus A/N: WHAT DOES IT MEAN? WHERE ARE THEY? WHO ARE THEY DRESSING UP WITH?? I WANT TO HEAR ALL YOUR THOUGHTS!!!

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @stellar-solar-flare @otterlycanadian @kbear8863 @steviebbboi

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

SIX

SEVEN

You wake up hours later in a hospital bed, letting out a light laugh, genuinely relieved to be alive, though there’s a dull ache in your stomach. You lift your hospital gown and notice stitches—they must have operated on you. When you pass your hand over the bandage, you can almost feel the wound underneath. The hospital room is empty, and the solitude is striking. You can’t remember who helped you; you only replay the moment you were stabbed and the message your attacker demanded you deliver to Barnes.

Lost in your thoughts, a doctor enters your hospital room, quietly closing the curtains. Suspicion creeps over you—perhaps this is someone coming to harm you again. "Doctor, is it really necessary to close the curtains? I’d feel better if I could see the activity in the hospital," you murmur, shifting in your bed, discreetly glancing around for anything you might use to defend yourself if this "doctor" is not who he claims to be.

He then removes the hospital mask, revealing himself to be Barnes, dressed in medical attire. He approaches you swiftly, pulling you into an embrace, as though he needs to confirm that you’re truly there with him. "You gave me a scare. I thought I’d lost you," James Barnes says, holding you tightly and breathing in your scent as if he needs to ground himself in your presence. You, however, are not quite as thrilled to see him.

"No need to act like I’m important; I’m a grown woman. Or did you forget that you screwed me and then left in the middle of the night?" you say, pushing Barnes away with a serious tone. He looks at you, as if he desperately wants to explain but can’t. Yet, he reaches out, touching your face as if hoping a gentle touch might soften you. "I had to leave. Unfortunately, being hunted by several dangerous people, I can’t afford to spend the night with the woman I…" Barnes begins, but he stops, unwilling to reveal whatever it is he feels for you.

"You know, it’d be easy for you to fool me with the way you act. But let me finish that sentence for you—I’m the woman you use when it’s convenient. Or, at least, I was. Now, how did you know I was here?" you ask, adjusting yourself in the hospital bed once more, this time shifting your body further away from him. Barnes offers a strained smile, clearly displeased with the direction of the conversation.

"‘I knew you’d be my hero.’ Does that ring a bell?" Bucky's tone is tense. "You were probably delirious, which explains why you were so sweet to me, but I was the one who brought you here. Yeah, the jerk here saved the princess from dying in front of her own bakery. And all I get for saving your life is hearing you question my intentions." He steps closer, anger simmering in his voice and expression. Does he look incredibly attractive like this? Absolutely. Are you going to let him know that? Absolutely not. It’s probably just the meds making you feel drawn to him in this ridiculous situation.

"My life wouldn’t be at risk if it weren’t for you, darling. The least you can do is save me every time I’m in danger," you reply, your tone steady, making it clear you’re serious. Yet he gives you a sly smile, slipping his hands around your waist and pulling you closer.

"I will always save you, no matter the situation; that’s a promise." He says, kissing your cheek slowly, with a tenderness that catches you off guard. You close your eyes, feeling the warmth of his lips against your skin, only to open them and find him leaning in for a kiss. It’s slow and gentle, as though he’s afraid of causing you harm. When your lips part, you murmur, "Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Barnes."

"I promise you, I’ll keep you safe. And to prove it, know that I’ve asked Steve to come keep an eye on you. He’ll be here any minute, so I have to go. Behave yourself," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead before standing and slipping the hospital mask back on. His blue eyes linger on you, watching intently. Yet there’s something you’re forgetting to tell him, something important. But your eyelids are growing heavy as you watch him leave. Perhaps a little nap will do you good.

Hours later, you wake feeling like you’ve finally rested. To your surprise, you see Steve asleep in the uncomfortable hospital chair beside your bed. You feel a pang of sympathy for him, injured and forced to sleep in such an awkward position. But he looks so endearing as he sleeps that you can’t help but watch him. "You really do look like a teddy bear," you murmur, smiling softly. He then smirks, eyes still closed, and murmurs, "Care to come give me a hug?" startling you enough that you almost jump out of the hospital bed.

"It’s quite rude to pretend to be asleep, Mr. Rogers," you chide him, watching as he opens his eyes, a laugh escaping him at your startled reaction. He shifts in the chair, now fully alert, and gazes at you with a warm expression.

"I apologize for my behavior, Miss Y/L/N. Now tell me, did you miss me so much that you decided to get stabbed just to see me again?" Steve asks with a hint of arrogance in his tone. You throw the pillow that was propping you up at him, laughing as it hits his face.

"As if I needed an excuse to make you come see me. Don't forget, you're the one who asked me out for a second date, clever boy," you respond, watching as Steve rises from the chair, the pillow in his hands. He tosses it behind you, leaning in close. "I still want our date to happen, so try not to die before then," he says, his breath warm against your face, making you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You look up, suddenly face to face with him.

"Seriously, you could have really gotten hurt. So no matter what you say, I'm going to stay here to take care of you," Steve states, as if your opinion doesn't matter. "Was that your idea or Bucky's?" you ask, your tone serious and a bit annoyed that neither of them includes you in discussions about your own life or safety.

"Consider it our idea. I should thank you; he wouldn’t have reached out to me without your help. But right now, the most important thing is keeping you safe," Steve replies, still close to you. "That’s foolish. You still have a hurt arm, even if you’ve taken the splint off. Not to mention, I wasn’t the target of that stabbing," you say, feeling uneasy and inadvertently saying more than you should. Steve seems to understand immediately what happened.

"If Bucky was the target, someone wanted to send him a message when they attacked you. Did the person who hurt you say anything?" Steve asks, leaning down slightly beside the bed to meet your gaze, studying your eyes as if trying to decipher your thoughts.

"He mentioned something about an Alexander Pierce sending his regards or something like that. He also talked about something called Hydra." You see no reason to lie to Steve now. But before he can respond, you spot your mother approaching your hospital room. "Hey, Steve; I need you to follow my lead and not think too much about what’s about to happen," you murmur, pulling his face closer to yours and giving him a kiss. You're secretly hoping it will embarrass your mother enough to make her leave, but instead, she stands at the door with her usual judgmental expression, clearing her throat to announce her presence. "Am I interrupting the lovebirds?" she asks, prompting you and Steve to separate your lips.

There’s an elderly man approaching your hospital door as well, a gray-haired gentleman. He’s holding a bouquet as he nears your mother and kisses her on the cheek. You and Steve exchange glances while being observed by what appears to be your mother and her new boyfriend. "Mom, come in. This is my boyfriend, Steve. Steve, this is my mother, one of the most famous cooks in the United States, Mrs. Y/L/N," you introduce them, watching as Steve stands up to greet your mother, who approaches you along with her partner. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve. I had no idea my daughter had a boyfriend," your mother says, giving Steve a light hug before turning to face you.

"And actually, dear, I’m now Mrs. Pierce. Come here, dear. Since we're introducing our companions, meet my husband, Alexander Pierce. It's a shame we didn't get the chance for me to introduce your stepfather to you before you were almost killed, but now seems like a good time," your mother says, and the man behind her steps forward, shaking your hand as he greets you. But you’re too shocked to react. Steve seems to have noticed, as Alexander tries to hand you the flowers he brought, and Steve grabs them while you struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet my beloved wife’s daughter. I’ve heard so much about you," Alexander Pierce says, wrapping his arms around your mother’s waist and gazing at her affectionately. You and Steve exchange a look that conveys a silent question: "What the hell is happening?" Your mind races, realizing that your new stepfather could be the reason you find yourself in a hospital bed now. The only person who can clarify this situation is James Barnes.

TO BE CONTINUED...