#allcapsbingo2023

[holylulusworld]

Windfall

Summary: You are the last unmarried lady. A spinster.

Pairing: Royal!Stucky x Royal!Reader

Warnings: 30+ reader, modern royal au, old fashioned society when it comes to the age of unmarried women (kinda), polyamorous, throuple marriages are allowed in this world, mentions of rejection, the reader is a loner, bitchy ladies, established mlm relationship,

Square filled for @allcapsbingo: B5: Loneliness

Words: 940+

The ladies sneer when you pass them by. You don’t spare them a glance, aware that they do not like you.

People always fear what they do not understand. Like a woman who wants more in life than being her husband's arm candy.

“I don’t know why she holds her head high like that. She’s the last unmarried daughter. Even her younger sibling and almost every cousin are engaged to a gentleman. The last one will be married soon and the poor soul not getting the chance to marry one of the younger ones will settle for the windfall.”

The other women giggle at Lady Dorothy’s words. “You’re right. No one wants the old spinster. A man wants a young woman, a beautiful innocent blossom. Not a withering rose.”

You don’t take their words to heart. They are not wrong. All the gentlemen roaming your parents' house only came for your sister or the cousins your father took in after their parents passed away.

“Lady Y/N,” you sigh when Lady Sharon makes her way toward you. At least she’s kind enough to talk to you in public. “There you are!”

“My dear,” Lord Loki, Sharon’s husband greets you. He bows and presses a chaste kiss to your hand. He’s one of the few men seeing you as more than an old spinster. Loki appreciates your wit. “How have you been?”

“Fine, Lord Loki,” you reply. Unlike the other ladies in the room, you look him straight in the eyes. You’re not the kind of woman cowering in front of a man only because he has a cock between his legs. “I hope you are well too.”

“Very well,” he smiles at his wife. “My brother finally got engaged.”

“Again,” Sharon adds. “He’s a little fickle when it comes to courting for a woman. He should grow up and settle for one lady.”

“I understand him well,” you nod thoughtfully. “It isn’t easy to find the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. You should choose with your heart and mind.”

You barely escaped the nagging ladies and their gossip. Now you are hiding at the library to read another book. Loki and Sharon wouldn’t mind. They invited you to use their library when you are around and read as many books as you want to.

Nose burying in another book you don’t recognize someone sneaking inside the library.

“Stevie, you look so good today.” Your eyes flit up when you hear voices behind one of the shelves. “I can’t wait to put my hands on you.”

“Buck, we can’t. Not here.”

Frowning you listen closely. There is commotion behind the shelf, and you are sure, the men are up to no good.

You close the book and get up to find out what’s going on. If someone tries to steal Loki’s books, you will stop them at all costs.

Silently sneaking toward the shelf, you practice your speech in your mind. You’re not shy, but two men can be intimidating. Especially when they try to commit a crime.

You round the shelf, stopping in your tracks as you face the men. Your breath hitches in your throat because the men do not try to steal Loki’s books. No. They are kissing each other passionately.

You recognize the men. James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers. You heard rumors about them being in a relationship but never talked to them before.

You swallow thickly. What can you do? Say something? Tell them to not do such a thing at Loki’s library.

The only thing you can do is turn back around and walk toward the armchair to read your book. If you leave the library now, they will know you saw them. If you say something, they will get mad.

So, you sit back down, open your book, and start reading. You can still hear them kiss and moan but try to blend the noises they make out. It’s inappropriate to listen to their lovemaking. Not to mention sinful and forbidden.

You close your eyes and bite your lower lip. Their moans go straight to your lower half, the sacred garden you only touch at night, hidden in your bedroom.

“Aw, Bucky. Look at that pretty angel touching herself for us. Do you think we should help her out?”

Your eyes snap open as you feel eyes on you. You didn’t realize that the book slipped from your fingers and that you bunched up your skirt to slip your hand into your panties.

“I-no. I didn’t,” you lick your dry lips. “I wouldn’t… no. This is a misunderstanding.” You furiously shake your head.

The men watch you move your fingers, smirking as you cannot stop yourself from touching your clit.

“Doll, you are rubbing your sweet pearl for us, huh?” Bucky’s eyes are glued to your spread legs. “Tell me, did you like watching Stevie and me?”

You nod.

“Did it make your petals all wet?” Steve husks. “Did you touch yourself because you wanted us to touch you?”

You nod again.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers lowly. “Do you know who she is? The angel no one dared to marry. It’s said that she’s a fiery little thing. Untamable and mouthy.”

“I’m not!” You grunt. “How dare you say such a thing!”

“Fiery and naughty, my beloved,” Steve cups his lover’s face to kiss him deeply. He moans into Bucky’s mouth, making you gasp loudly. “I guess she needs two strong pairs of hands to tame her.”

“Indeed,” Bucky smirks. “I bet her father will be so happy when she gets married to not one but two Lords making her an honest woman…”

Tags in reblog.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

Epilogue imagine/outline

Masterlist

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup!

This has been a fill for:

@steverogersbingo

Card: #sb3088 - stark-contrast

Square D2: "I've always wanted to do that"

@allcapsbingo

Card: sarahyellow AC1105

Square: FREE SPACE (wedding night)

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square N4: daddy kink

[darsynia]

Hand(s) Off | Ch 5: Chemistry

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @chrisevansedits

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: You and Steve have to navigate the aftermath of the overexposure to Mistress, and something tells you that your mood swings and inability to self-satisfy is directly related to the drug...

Length | Warnings: 3,880 | sexual situations MINORS DNI

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads @mrsevans90 @hails270105 @venusfalling

Excerpt:

He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 

“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.

“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.

His brows furrow. “If you’re--”

“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.

“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.

“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud.

Chemistry

You wake up the morning after your 1940’s performance feeling more refreshed than you have for weeks. The constant, low-level irritation you’ve had to learn to live with is not entirely gone, but it’s lessened, and for that you’re very grateful.

The plan is to meet Bucky for… something, but he hasn’t made clear what. You opt for a skirt to swish around your legs, voluminous but not bulky. Restrictive or tight clothing has been a no-go lately, making you feel anxious and closed-in at worst and kind of turned on at best. It’s another data point in the line of ‘things that are different since Mistress,’ but you don’t really know what to make of them all. The worst out of everything is your mood, but is that worsened by your inability to come, or is it an actual after-effect?

When you get downstairs after getting Bucky’s text, you’re surprised when he opens the door of a taxi for you. The two of you usually walk everywhere.

“Where we going?” you ask.

“It’s a surprise.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead choosing to deflect in the most unfair way possible: “Steve liked the show last night.”

You keep your expression tightly controlled, but your anxious tone gives you away. “You could have warned me about that! I’m glad he enjoyed it, but--”

“I didn’t plan all that far ahead, okay? I did it because he said yes. To the thing you asked me about.”

Embarrassment blooms from your chest and across your body, and you dart your eyes over to the taxi driver. There’s no way he can know the context, but holding a conversation about impossible orgasms with Bucky had been embarrassing enough, so alluding to it around a stranger is pretty stressful.

“Uh, thank you, then.” Your mind skips past the awkwardness to the substance of the comment, and you slump back into your seat. “That means it’s definitely related.”

“Yeah.” 

He looks out the window, and you smile down at your lap. Bucky isn’t the kind of person to smoothe over awkward things with platitudes (which often makes them worse). If he had, you’d never have had the courage to ask about Steve in the first place. You’d probably have rather withered away and died of sexual frustration instead. Not that dying isn’t still on the table.

“You uh, probably should go talk to Dr. Banner,” Bucky says, his voice overloud and uncomfortable. “He’s been running tests on Steve, thanks to his lousy mood and the--” He makes a gesture, but you deliberately look at his face, not his hands.

“He’s been having problems with that too?”

Bucky’s is the kind of expression that anyone who’s ever lived with a grumpy roommate would instantly recognize.

“Yeah, okay,” you sigh, pulling your phone from your pocket. “Give me some kind of contact number?”

The taxi stops, and he points out the window with his thumb. “How about instead, we just do it right now?”

The vehicle is stopped in front of the tower. The taxi driver is already grousing, so as the two of you get out, you hiss at your best friend, “I can't believe you set me up! I didn’t mean now! I need more mental fortitude! Banner’s an Avenger! He knows Steve personally!”

“So do I!” Bucky says, affronted.

The taxi drives off as you glare at each other, and then he sticks his left elbow out like a frustrated chaperone. It’s manipulative in a really brilliant way, because he trusts you with the knowledge that there’s a metal weapon of war under all that fabric. You swallow your pride and tuck your hand in the nook he’s created for you, and he walks you inside.

“I thought you usually went through the side door?” you ask quietly as the two of you wait in the short security line.

“I didn’t want you to have time to change your mind.” Buck grins at you, right as the two of you are guided past the checkpoint and toward the bank of elevators.

“You’re really unbelievable-- and the worst part is, you know it!”

He just settles against the back wall of the elevator and looks smug. It’s midday, so the others who file into the elevator car with the two of you are all in business wear, and you feel intensely out of place in your casual skirt and blouse. Bucky, who is out of place practically anywhere, never manages to look anything but cool.

You settle against the wall beside him, but you must look nervous, because he bumps your shoulder with his as some of the office workers from the lower floors file out. Eventually, you’re the only two left, and Bucky speaks aloud asking to be taken to the floor where Banner’s lab is.

Shall I inform Dr. Banner of your impending arrival? the AI asks drily.

“What’s the fun in that?”

The rest of the trip is short. A few seconds after the two of you step out, Bucky stops you with a hand, his lips twisting apologetically.

“I’m gonna head to the apartment. This is private, and I want to respect that-- but you didn’t volunteer for this whole mess, so if you need an advocate, some of that fortitude you mentioned, just text me.”

You’re touched by this unexpected speech, but you also feel kind of adrift; this wasn’t what you’d expected your day to be like. There’s no chance to respond though, because Bucky ducks back into the elevator after gesturing toward the correct lab.

A surprised-looking man with salt and pepper curls opens the door to your knock, so you blurt out your name, explaining that Bucky Barnes had suggested you drop by.

“Oh! Oh, that’s great, come in, come in,” the man says, offering his hand to shake. “Bruce Banner. I hope Barnes passed on my sincere regrets about what happened?”

He didn’t (you hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all until you’d realized you had to ask about The Issue), so you don’t know what to say. Luckily, Banner has already hurried off to bring over a second chair beside the lab table he’s clearly been using as a desk. 

“Have a seat. I should warn you, I’ve already got--”

He breaks off as a woman in a lab coat walks over with purpose. “All blood tests are completed.” They continue talking, but the voice of Steve Rogers behind you derails your attention.

“Dee?”

You spin around in shock. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d be here! Not that I would, of course, but Bucky-- Oh, my God,” you realize aloud. “Did you… tell him you were coming to the lab today?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Actually, this is good,” Banner says, walking over to stand between the two of you with a placating hand held toward each. “I have some theories I’d love to expand on with a few blood and proximity tests. If you’re willing, of course.”

Proximity. You’d noticed last night that being in the same large room as Steve Rogers had mitigated some of the lesser symptoms you haven’t been brave enough to mention to anybody. The same thing is happening now, with the added complication of a really bizarre desire to move closer to him. Somewhere there’s a magnetism joke just begging to be told, but not by you.

“Is this scientific curiosity, or will it help figure out how to regulate this stuff?” Steve asks.

“My own exposure took care of the curiosity part,” Banner says, rubbing a knuckle against the side of his cheek.

“Wow, Bruce, I guess I figured the Hulk’s biology would have cleared that out for you,” Steve says, his expression a mask of concern. “At least you had more data for a solo expos--” He breaks off, embarrassment flushing his face as he looks over with dawning horror at the other occupant of the room.

“No worries, I was whisked home to my husband. We were happy to be part of the ‘control’ group,” the woman in the lab coat says with a bright smile.

“In the interests of reassurance, I’ll tell you I’m in a relationship, and that person and I, ah, handled things,” Banner says, occupying himself by studiously cleaning his glasses. “So yes, there’s data, both from the mitigation of my healing factor as well as the reactions of a wholly un-exposed partner.”

“It’s not often that I get to be a hero, but I think I’ll step in and ask if you’d be willing to give some blood while these two awkward it out? Doctor Lynette Lyonne, nice to meet you.”

You smile gratefully at Dr. Lyonne and nod. She seems like exactly the sort of down-to-Earth person to keep Banner focused.

“That’s a mouthful! I feel like if my dad met you, he’d be asking you if your parents had a limited budget for letters when you were born,” you say as you sit in the chair Dr. Lyonne indicates.

“Ooh, I haven’t heard that one in six months!”

You’re pretty sure the tourniquet that Dr. Lyonne puts on after that is the regular tightness, but you hold very still and keep things polite, just in case.

Dr. Lyonne leaves you alone in that side room after the blood test for a half hour , explaining that they need to keep you and Steve separated as they come up with some proximity tests to perform. You get it: they want to gauge various reactions between the two of you, but the anxiety you feel about being shoved into yet another situation beyond your control is almost making you sick.

Finally, the door opens and Banner ushers you out and down the hall to a different room. There’s a second, smaller space inside it made up of transparent walls and a vinyl ‘roof’ thing above it, and Steve Rogers is standing in there.

“We’ve rigged the room with all kinds of monitors, and if you are okay with it, I’d like to put some heart monitors and such on you. Steve is already rigged up with a microphone in case I need to tell you two anything, but I won’t be able to hear anything the two of you say. Steve?” Banner calls out, turning around and making some gesture you can’t see. In response, Steve lifts his shirt, showing that he does indeed have a series of medical patches connected to wires placed in various places on his splendid chest.

“Dr. Banner, you’re contaminating our results!” Dr. Lyonne objects, shoving a file folder over to block your view. “I guarantee that her heart rate just went up.”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that. Uhh…”

Grabbing Banner’s lapel mic, Dr. Lyonne leans into it and says, “Banner and Rogers, cover your eyes!” She grabs the patches and comes over. With her help, you unbutton your blouse and the two of you place them in record time. Under her breath, the doctor mutters, “Blessed with two of the most ethical red-blooded men on the planet, thank fuck…”

Two minutes later you’re closing the door of the half-room-sized enclosure they’d constructed, standing closer to Steve Rogers than you’d been since you’d met, nearly three weeks ago.

“Hi,” he says, clearly the most awkward person in the building. It’s absurdly charming.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

You’re both holding a clipboard with a pencil, and Steve nods at the one in your hand. “We’re supposed to fill out our initial reactions.”

There are two chairs placed twelve feet away but facing each other. Instead of sitting down, you plant a foot on the closest one and brace the clipboard on your knee. The questions are… a bit much, asking what your arousal level is (which is not zero, but you try having a zero arousal level around a man who can fuck like that) , how calm you’ve been in the last week, last twenty-four hours, and last hour before coming in the lab, stuff like that. They only take a minute or two to fill out, and when you’re done, you realize that there’s a stack of questions underneath that seem to be directed toward some kind of escalation.

Just what are they about to ask the two of you to do??

“I think they should have fitted you with the earpiece,” Steve says. You straighten up to see that he’s walking to the middle of the room. “They want us to stand six feet apart. Bruce? I don’t want to tell her what to do, okay? That’s--” Steve breaks off and frowns. “Yeah, I understand that, but--” Another pause, and then he sighs. “Okay.” To you, in the most gentle voice you’ve ever heard, Steve says, “There’s no time to grab another one that will work. Please forgive me if anything I say sounds close to-- Inappropriate. I’m not ordering you around. You have every right to say no.”

“This is to help people who might get stuck in a similar situation, right?” you ask, dragging the chair over so you can stand the requested distance away without having to walk over to retrieve it for clipboard-steadying. He nods. “Then it’s worth a little discomfort.”

In truth, the questions on the clipboard are perceptive, because this is the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks. There’s something calming, something wonderful about being close to Steve. It’s as if you’d been wound more and more tightly the past few weeks, and finally, finally, you can relax. You’re certain it’s related to the drug, and you’re a bit worried about how much of yourself you’re going to put on display when you’re forced to admit that.

The two of you stand looking anywhere but each other, and after a few minutes of darting your eyes over to Steve and back to the floor, he says, “Clipboard time.”

You’re glad to have something to focus on other than whether you should be stealing glances of Captain America-- but then you start writing down your answers to the questions.

How much has your arousal level risen since the previous series of questions? 5%

How much has your comfort level risen or fallen since the previous series of questions? Risen 10%

Privately, you feel like that one is going to have bad data, because what’s 10% of ‘almost as comfortable around another person as I could be, despite the entire circumstances of our acquaintance?’

Do you feel an urge or compulsion to engage in sexual activity? Not really?

“Bruce, these questions!” Steve chokes out. He listens for a few seconds, and then says to you, “He says, and I quote, ‘We’re flying by the seat of our pants, here.’ No kidding!” Nodding as though he’d just heard something else in his earpiece, he then says, “Banner’s asking us to stand a foot apart now. And Dr. Lyonne wants me to tell you they printed a bunch of cards, so there are way more than they need.”

You drag your chair again, nodding. Given that there are something like twenty pages in the stack, you’re mollified. A little. Shit. The arousal thing is… definitely happening. A thought occurs to you, and you’re pretty sure you have an obligation to mention it.

Double shit.

“All right, can Banner hear me at all?” you say cautiously, seeking the mental fortitude you’d mentioned to Bucky. At Steve’s negative response, you nod. “Ok, one more round and then maybe they’ll ask us to stand close enough for that.”

Steve swallows hard. Both of you will clearly have different answers to the next set of questions.

“A little closer,” he whispers to you. 

You startle slightly before moving toward him. It feels much closer than a foot, because there’s almost nowhere to look but Steve. He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 

“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.

“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.

His brows furrow. “If you’re--”

“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.

“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.

“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud. “In fact, c’mere.” 

With a bravery borne out of guilt at ruining the findings, you walk right up to Steve and tug at his collar. He doesn’t resist, but he rests a hand on your bare lower arm. It feels as much of a comfort as a warning, and in the strangest way, it reinforces your need to call a halt to this farce.

“Bruce?” you say, lifting up to speak as closely to Steve’s earpiece as you can. Using Banner’s first name is deliberate, a hint at urgency you hope he’ll heed.

“He can hear you,” Steve murmurs. His mouth is close to your ear, and fuck, you’ve made a serious tactical mistake.

“Steve showed up to the restaurant last night,” you say as clearly as you can, given how fully immersed you are in everything Steve Rogers right now. He smells good, of soap and a hint of cologne or shaving cream, and he’s right there, gorgeous and obviously as affected as you are. His grip on your arm is just this side of painful, but you doubt he even realizes. “There’s--” you stop and clear your throat, because that one word was dangerously breathy. Steve’s clenched jaw and tightened grip sends your heart racing.

“The data is corrupted, she’s saying,” Steve breaks in. “Just mark down a hundred percent increase on everything and give us some privacy, will you?”

This is as much permission to push off and away from him as you need. It takes him a second to let go-- the look you exchange as he realizes this is electric.

“Bruce, do it.” The undercurrent of angry urgency in Steve’s tone has you scrambling at the door of your enclosure, and to hell with the clipboard and everything else.

You catch a glimpse of Banner and Lyonne leaving as you rush over to the window and press your overwarm hands to the glass, pulling in huge breaths like you’ve just run a marathon. Nearby footsteps on the tiled floor signal that Steve’s also left the quarantined testing zone.

“I’m--” You stop yourself. “I was going to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but I’m not. The data was already hopelessly corrupted.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“God, this is so screwed up. Do you know, this is the best I’ve felt in weeks?”

“You should be angry with me.”

“Why? Because I got confused, got lost in your apartment and put us in this position? Don’t be absurd.”

“I broke protocol,” Steve says in a hoarse voice. You turn around to see him shaking his head, his jaw set in a miserable line. “I was supposed to head to a quarantine room to get checked out. We get cleared and then we leave. Those rules are set up to prevent--”

You're not having it. “Does it help at all? To feel bad about it?”

“Does it help you to blame yourself?” Steve asks, walking forward, forcing you to listen by sheer command authority.

“Stop being a fucking leader, Steve, and just be a man, would you?” you snap, furious to incandescence that he’s drawing on his Cap persona at a time like this.

“Fine!” he thunders, and reaches out, catching your waist in one large hand as his momentum crashes the two of you into the wall by the window. You’re pinned there, both by his hips and his desperate expression, but Steve gathers the last scraps of his will, holding his hand up and away from where he’d been about to touch you, and fisting it. He closes his eyes tightly and says, “This isn’t me, I’m not--”

“So let’s figure out how to be ourselves and still live through this, yeah?” you say, moving to tug his fist over so you can kiss his knuckles. The raw contact is a pale shade of your previous ferocity under Mistress, but it’s still powerfully erotic. Steve lets out a tiny noise, but you don’t know him well enough to guess whether it’s a sound of distress or lust.

Then his eyes pop open and you suck in a breath at the intensity in his gaze. He’s nodding, turning the hand you’re clutching so he can slide it along your cheek and around to cup the back of your head.

“May I?” he breathes. He’s trembling. So are you.

“Please,” you whisper-- and Steve surges forward, tilting his head to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Everything about this moment is overwhelming, and you can do nothing but feel. You cling to his flannel, caught up in the exquisite sweetness of his kiss, the way he’s dominating you with his body but drawing you out and teasing you with his tongue. The tension of the past weeks melt away with the heat of Steve’s hand holding you still for him, each sizzling brush of his lips against yours burning through every question of propriety.

His other hand falls to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in a needy fist like he needs more of an anchor than the touch of his lips against yours. The rock of Steve’s hips against you is ruinous, incendiary, delightful, destructive. Inside you, a furnace-dam breaks, unleashing a firestorm of pleasure that rushes straight to your core.

“Oh!” you gasp, breaking the kiss as you recognize what’s about to happen. “Oh, God, oh, thank God,” you babble, even as Steve sucks a frantic kiss to your neck. “Are you --?” you manage to ask.

His incoherent noises of assent against your neck sound just as broken and relieved as yours. You clutch at any part of Steve you can reach as he hitches your leg up to angle himself just right to rut against you. Remembering that he’d needed a personal connection last time, you coax him back into a deep, desperate kiss with a gentle caress through his hair.

Steve pulls back after a few seconds and presses his forehead against yours. Something inside you drags your eyes open, and as soon as you make eye contact, your orgasm sweeps through you, arching your back and drawing a low, satisfied moan from your throat.

“Yes,” Steve crows, and his hips thrust against you multiple times in rapid succession as he is taken by a release of his own. His free hand comes up to cup your face as he pants for breath, but it’s the way Steve holds your gaze through it all that completely strips your soul bare.

Next chapter...

[nolanfa]

Illustration for sara_holmes 's fic I'll keep you safe here with me (read it it's very good) Here on AO3

fill for @winterhawkbingo's prompt "target practice" fill for @allcapsbingo's prompt "Clint Barton" fill for @anyfandomgoesbingo's prompt "first day" fill for @marvelartparty's bingo's "complete a WIP"

Title: barn - Pairing : Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton - SFW - Medium: digital art - Description: Clint shooting his bow while Bucky watches.

[nekoannie-chan]

Signals

Title: Signals.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 436 words.

Rating: Teen.

Square: I1 Oblivious to lovers.

Summary: You love Steve and Steve loves you, none of you know each other feelings.

Warnings/Tags: Miscommunication, happy ending, fluff.

A/N: This is my entry to @allcapsbingo AC1078.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

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My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou  @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz​ @white-wolf1940​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @xoxonotme​ @bluemusickid​ @leyannrae​  @harrysthiccthighss​ @marvelatthisone​ @caplanbuckybarnes​ @sapphire-rogers​ @lizzieolseniskinda​ @notyourtypicalrose​  @hallecarey1​ @nana1000night​ @talia-rumlow​ @writingshae​  @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare​  @endlesstwanted​ @chemtrails-club​  @marigoldreamer​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @here4thefanfics​  @theestorm​ @patzammit​  @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga

You offered Steve the biggest slice of the cake; you had saved it, especially for him. In fact, you had to give a few hand slaps to the others to prevent them from taking it.

He smiled at you when you gave it to him, although it could be a bit desperate that Steve didn't understand your hints regarding your feelings for him since, since you didn't dare to tell him, you showed them to him with small acts.

"Well, my advice is that you tell him, come on, Y/N, Steve is..."

"He is?" "If you know something, Natasha, you better tell me what you know, so I know whether I'm still trying or not."

"Just tell him how you feel; he's not the smartest person that way either, and I'm sure he hasn't figured anything out."

You arrived at your office; however, when you opened the door, you were confused to see the flowers on your desk. You hadn't put them there, so who had sent them?

You approached them and looked for the card; there was supposed to be one there, but there was nothing. You even looked under the desk; maybe it had fallen underneath; there was no trace of the card.

What struck you most was that they were your favorite flowers.

When Steve saw you, he smiled; it looked like you liked his gift, although he was disappointed that you didn't say anything about it.

You saw Steve eating the cookies you had baked for him, but he didn't say anything. You were starting to get tired of the situation, so you decided it was time to tell him that Natasha was right.

You wanted to solve the situation once and for all—to know if he loved you back or if it was better to forget about him.

You approached him and started to talk, but he didn't seem to understand anything, so you thought it was the right time.

"You know, Steve, I've had enough, so I'll just say it: I like you; I'm in love with you," you confessed; he looked at you as if he didn't understand; you sighed; maybe that was the answer. "Well, now that I've said it, I'll go."

You headed towards the exit, but he stopped you, putting one of his hands on your shoulder. "The flowers, I sent them to you, but I forgot to ask for a card," then he made you turn around and kissed you.

After all, neither of you realized that you were in love, but you were glad you had taken the first step.

[cobrafantasies]

You Make Me Feel Alive 

SamBucky | Rated M | 4,266 words | Complete | AO3

Written to fulfill square I2: Vibranium for All Caps Bingo 2023, Round One, from @allcapsbingo!

Summary: When Bucky is gifted his new arm in Wakanda, he thinks it’s malfunctioning when Sam arrives. Eventually, he discovers his arm is trying to tell the whole world he’s got his first crush in seventy years.

Excerpt:

Bucky glides his vibranium hand across the surface of the water. It’s cool and wet. He can’t get enough of how when the water is cold enough, it’ll send a shiver through his skin. Telling his whole body what he’s touching on his left side. So he touches the water, then waits, letting the metal warm under the sun. Then he dunks his hand under the water again. Feels the shiver.

He hears footsteps approaching behind him. It could be a number of people but it’s not a Wakandan because the sound of heavy boots digging into the sand sounds as the person walks. Regardless, Bucky’s in no rush to turn around. He’s sitting on the sand, his hand in the water, still appreciating the cool sensation under his fingertips.

“Hey.”

The voice is familiar and Bucky recognizes it as fast as his heart skips a beat. His gaze snaps around, he hauls his hand out of the water and feels it drip onto his thigh as he drinks in the sight of Sam Wilson.

Bucky’s on his feet in the next second. His heart feels like a kick drum in his chest because why is Sam visiting him? He’s never visited before.

“Hi,” Bucky says.

Sam smiles and it’s enough to make Bucky’s almost lungs give out. That’s when the first whirl echoes from under the plates of his arm. Bucky ignores it, the prosthetic has made minor sounds from time to time.

“You in the middle of something?” Sam’s smile turns to a smirk and he points to the body of water.

Read on AO3

[cable-knit-sweater]

If it feels right (then it must be)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word count: 2.1k

Rating: E

Tags: Dom/sub, Dom Bucky Barnes, sub Steve Rogers, cockwarming, face fucking, dirty talk, facials, daddy kink, come play, memory recovery, flashbacks

Summary:

He’d stared up at him. “What did you call me?” Bucky asked, a little nonsensically. “What did I… Buck?” Steve had a lopsided smile on his face as he made his way into the room. “I call you lotsa things,” he said, but whereas usually, he’d say something like that with an amused voice and a shit eating grin, Bucky could just hear worry shine through. “No, I meant,” Bucky shook his head, trying to find a way to explain, to ease Steve's worries, “before, what did you call me before.” “I really don’t-” “Before,” he said, trying to infuse his words with as much meaning as he could. “Before, when we were together, when we'd-” He could see understanding slowly dawn on Steve, his frown easing. “Oh.” A light blush started to cover his cheeks. “You remembered?” he asked, voice soft, eyes hopeful.

In which Bucky remembers what Steve used to call him, and Steve starts calling him it again.

Read on AO3

Written for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer || Week 2: June 8th - June 14th || “What should I call you?” || [Daddy | Alpha | Sir] and @allcapsbingo card AC1005 || Square: G2 - Facial

[abitnotgoodiebag]

title: person of the year

rating: g

square: the only power I have is that I believe we can do better

for @allcapsbingo

art only under the cut

[smutconnoisseur]

♡ Cherry Claimed ♡

Pairing ♡ RetiredCap!Alpha!Steve Rogers x Baker!Omega!Bucky Barnes

Word Count ♡ 4.5K

Rating ♡ E

Read On Ao3

Tags ♡ Diner AU, Non- Traditional A/b/o, Shrunkyclunks, Older man/younger man, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Gratuitous use of Cherries, Explicit Sexual Content, Everything Is Beautiful & Nothing Hurts

Summary ♡ Steve has been a simple man since he retired. Goes to the same small-town diner ‘Barnes, every day. He’s not the best cook, and it’s the warm home-cooked meals he’s missed out on.

Initially enticed by the sweet aromas drawing him in by his nose past the front bell. The family-owned restaurant is friendly staffed. But it’s the smell of sugar, ripe sweet cherries, and homemade dough that he wants. Every day he orders the same burger at the same booth.

Every day he asks for the dessert special, and every day he doesn’t get what he wants.

Square + Prompt ♡

Ⓝ ⓶ + Oblivious Pining | All Caps Bingo | Card # AC 1094 | All Caps Bingo Masterlist @allcapsbingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Retired!Cap (Free space) | Stucky Bingo | Card # R40101 | Stucky Bingo Masterlist @stuckybingo

Ⓘ ⓶ + Accidental Scent Bonding | AFG Omegaverse Bingo | @afgomegaversebingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Diner AU (free space) | AF AU Bingo | @anyfandomaubingo

Ⓖ ⓷ + Claiming Marks | Sebastian Stan Bingo | @sebastianstanbingo

Ⓝ ⓷ + Rimming (free space) | AFG Kink Bingo | @anyfandomkinkbingo

Author's Note ♡ Mood-board made myself 🍒/ The wonderful art in this fic is made by : @buckymilf | graphic credit : @firefly-graphics | Masterlist | AO3 |

[purpleicedteas]

I was inspired to write this fanfiction based off of the phenomenal art seen above by @kiu-k. Please go check out their original post and reblog this absolutely beautiful piece!!

Magic in Your Hands

The Avengers were hit with a spell turning them all into statues — all except Captain Marvel, who safely returned them to Earth.

Nick Fury knew who to call: Steve Rogers, the man who made statues come to life.

Steve was quick to take on the challenge to save the superheroes.

It didn't hurt that the statue of Bucky Barnes was easy on the eyes.

Ship(s): James (Bucky) Barnes/Steve Rogers

Rating: E

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Artist Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe, Not Canon Compliant

Warnings: n/a for Chapter 1

@allcapsbingo – N5: AU: Artist

CHAPTER ONE UP NOW!

[thatmexisaurusrex]

All-New, All-Different Magazine Sneak Peek!

This fic is for the @sambuckylibrary's "Sports AU" prompt. This also counts as my N3 "Free Space" fill for the @allcapsbingo card. Read the AO3 Version here for the transcript as well and see all the pages I made for this magazine sneak peek as well as the text for it under the read more. Thank you @runzu for the beta and help on graphic design. Enjoy! 🥰

WANT THE TRANSCRIPT? CHECK OUT THE AO3 VERSION!

[hannahwritesstuff]

Daddy and His Kitten

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Rating: Explicit

Square: G2 - Spread Eagle, O1 - AU: Modern

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Dom Bucky Barnes, Sub Steve Rogers, Sex Club, Anal Sex, Collars, Twunk Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Sex Toys, Butt Plugs, Spreader Bars, Humiliation, Name-Calling, Aftercare, Cuddles

Summary: “My Kitten. My Good Boy. Doin’ everything Daddy tells ya, huh?" “Yes, Daddy.” “Are you ready to give everyone a show? Let all those people out there know that you’re Daddy’s good boy?” “Yes, Daddy.”

Written for @allcapsbingo All Caps Bingo Masterlist

“Are you ready, Kitten?” Bucky purred in Steve’s ear as he clasped the collar around the blond’s neck. “Do you remember what to say if you want to stop?”

Steve nodded, “Yankee.”

Bucky kissed Steve’s neck where it met his shoulder, “Good boy.”

Bucky walked around Steve and admired his boy for a moment. The deep purple rope tied Steve’s arms behind his back and the same colored panties accentuated the younger man’s ass. The front of the panties cradled his cock and balls, which compared to Bucky are small. The thick, black collar with flat circular studs was clasped tight around Steve’s neck without constricting his breathing. Bucky attached the leather leash to the O-ring at the front of Steve’s collar. He wrapped it around his hand, shortening the length which caused Steve to stumble forward.

“My Kitten. My Good Boy.” Bucky captured Steve’s lips in a steamy kiss. “Doin’ everything Daddy tells ya, huh?”

Steve’s eyes glazed over as he nodded, “Yes, Daddy.”

Bucky licked his lips as he let the leash slowly unravel from his hand. “Are you ready to give everyone a show? Let all those people out there know that you’re Daddy’s good boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Steve’s eyes rolled back as Bucky cupped his rapidly hardening dick.

“Then let’s go show them.” Bucky grabbed the end of the leash and gently pulled, a signal for Steve to follow him. The dom led his sub out of the dressing room and through the hallway that led to the main club area. 

The club, The Cave, had couches along the perimeter walls with tables every six feet that people can use for anything. Some doms put their subs on the tables for everyone to see as they play with them, something Bucky is about to do with Steve. 

Bucky led Steve to the table where some of their friends were. Nat and her sub Clint, Sam and his partner Riley, and Tony, Pepper and their sub Peter. Bucky told Steve to lean over the table which caused his ass to be higher than his chest, the perfect height for Bucky to play with him. Once Steve was bent over the table, Bucky grabbed the spreader bar he had Nat hold for him and attached the cuffs to Steve’s ankles, forcing his legs far apart. Bucky chose a pretty long one on purpose because he wanted Steve spread for what Bucky had planned.

A small crowd started gathering when they saw Bucky and Steve. The two men were popular around the club because of the demonstrations they do on a regular basis. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled a small bottle of lube and a plug, the latter of which he held in front of Steve’s mouth. “Open.” Bucky commanded. Steve, being the good boy, opened his mouth and moaned when the plug was placed in his mouth. “Get that all nice and wet for Daddy.”

Steve sucked the plug as if he was sucking Bucky’s dick. Without the use of his hands, since they were tied behind him, Steve had to use the table to his advantage. He turned his head so he could balance the flat end of the plug on the table and bobbed his head. The mock blow job was sloppy with the strange angle Steve had but goddammit if he wasn’t going to be a good boy for his Daddy.

“That’s my boy.” Bucky gripped the side seams of the purple lace panties and ripped them causing Steve to moan in protest. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Kitten. I’ll buy you more.” Bucky flipped the cap of the lube bottle and drizzled lube between Steve’s cheeks. Bucky’s thumb spread lube all around the sub’s hole before dipping in. “God, Kitten. This hole’s just suckin’ me in. Does it want to be filled? You get that plug nice and wet?” Steve nodded. Bucky reached around and grabbed the plug. 

Strings of saliva connect the plug and Steve’s bottom lip. Bucky wiped the excess saliva on Steve’s cheek and then placed the tip of the plug against the younger man’s hole. The plug itself was smaller girth wise than Steve usually takes but length wise it would just graze his prostate. He also told Bucky he wanted minimal prep so he felt the burn and Bucky agreed but only if a thin plug was used. He didn’t want to hurt Steve in an unpleasant way.

“Alright, gonna fill you now. Remember, use your safeword if you need to Kitten.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Steve groaned as the plug slid into his hole. He squirmed at the burn but a slap to his ass from Bucky made him stop. That was Bucky’s way of warning him to be still so he didn’t hurt himself. Steve gasped as the whole plug slid home. The tip just grazed Steve prostate and when Bucky pushed his palm against the base of the plug, the tip pressed on that special button inside Steve.

“Yeeessss, Daddy.” Steve moaned and tried to rock against Bucky. The older man pulled his hand away and grabbed Steve’s shoulder so he was standing. Steve forgot that the spreader bar was still attached to his ankles and stumbled when he tried to take a step back to press against Bucky. 

“Oh, baby. Did you forget about the bar? Ya get that hole filled and just forget everything else, huh? Just a slut aren’cha?” Bucky teases. His hands slid to the front of Steve’s body and tweaked the sub’s nipples. Those small buds felt like they were connected straight to Steve’s dick when Bucky dug his nails into them. Steve’s nipples have always been sensitive to the nth degree and Bucky exploits that knowledge as much as he can. 

Steve could feel the fabric of Bucky’s shirt brushing against his hands and gripped it in his hands. Bucky threw the tattered remains of Steve’s panties to the side with one hand while his other hand wrapped around Steve’s dick stroking it to full hardness. 

“Look at that little thing.” Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder at the dick in his hand. “Just a tiny thing. That’s why you’re my boy, huh?” Bucky ground his erection into Steve’s ass. “Feel that, Kitten? That’s a Daddy cock. Not a tiny boy dick like yours.” 

Steve’s knee buckled at Bucky’s words. His dick is smaller than Bucky’s, yes, but not by much. But hearing Bucky talk about Steve’s dick like that makes his insides tingle.

“Now why don’t we show this crowd what a good cockslut you are?” Bucky chuckled darkly in Steve’s ear. The dom helped Steve shuffle over to the couch, laying Steve on his stomach. The spreader bar kept him spread eagle and Bucky grabbed Steve’s ass, a cheek in each hand.

Bucky tapped the base of the plug and Steve groaned with every hit to his prostate. Bucky then gripped the base and slowly slid it out, letting the widest part catch on Steve’s rim. The plug wasn’t as thick as Bucky but he knew his boy loved the burn. The dom pulled the plug all the way out and set it on the table. He then grabbed the lube, that Sam so graciously held for him, undid his pants to pull his cock out and lathered it in lube.

“You ready, Kitten? Ready to show everyone what a cockslut you are?” Bucky lined his dick up and slowly pushed into Steve’s tight hole. The warmth that encompassed him made curses fall from his hip. Bucky gripped the rope that tied Steve’s arms and used it to pull Steve’s body on his dick. Everything thrust caused Bucky’s balls to slap against Steve’s and the noises coming out of his boy was telling Bucky he was nailing Steve’s prostate on every thrust. Groans were heard all around Bucky reminding him they had an audience. He saw someone take a few steps to them and Bucky glared at him.

“Mine.” Bucky growled. The man looked like he didn’t want to listen until Sam and Riley stood up from their seats and stared the man down. The idiot made a smart move and turned away with a scoff. Bucky pounded Steve and the blond’s dick swung with every thrust. 

“I’m close.” Bucky warned as his thrusts sped up. Steve moaned under him as his dick slapped against his stomach.

“M-me too-oo, Daddyyyy.” Steve whined.

“Yeah? Gonna come when I tell ya?”

Steve nodded.

“Gonna come on Daddy’s cock?”

Steve whined.

“C’mon then, Kitten. Come on Daddy’s cock.”

Steve’s voice left his body as he came untouched, something that has never happened. He was cognizant enough to feel Bucky’s release but blackout shortly after.

When he came to, Steve was wrapped in his favorite fuzzy blanket that smelt like his Daddy and fingers were running through his hair. Bucky was speaking softly to him slowly bringing Steve back to the land of the living. Once Steve felt more in control of his body, he snuggled into Bucky’s chest.

“There’s my snuggly kitten.” Bucky kissed the top of Steve’s head. “How do you feel, Steve?” Bucky always used his name when Steve was coming out of that floaty place to hopefully keep the sub from dropping. It also gave Steve something to latch onto if he was having a hard time coming out of that floaty place.

Steve took stock of his body. His shoulders were a little sore from his arms being tied behind his back but no sharp pain. Just the same soreness he feels after a long gym session. His ass was the perfect, post fuck soreness that he always craved and the rest of his arms and ankles felt perfectly fine.

“I feel good, Bucky.” Steve smiled up at Bucky who placed a kiss on the younger man’s nose.

“That’s good, Kitten. Could you eat a little bit for me? I got your favorite candy.”

Steve perked up, “Jellybeans?”

Bucky chuckled as he grabbed the Ziploc bag next to him, “Absolutely. Only the best for my baby.”

Steve preened as he grabbed the bag. “I love you, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled as he watched his boy dig into the bag, “I love you too, Kitten.”

[buckyismybicycle]

Title: I'm the futhest thing from heaven but the closest to him (Chapter 1/5) Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: Explicit (eventually) Tags: Major character death, Major Character Undeath, Temporary Character Death, Wingfic, Guardian Angel Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Memory Loss, Masturbation, Wing Kink, Wing Grooming, Pining, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm Summary: When Steve loses Bucky in Kreischberg, he’s lost the only thing left he cares about. He crashes the Valkyrie into the Arctic, ready to be reunited with his love, but instead, he’s saved by an angel.  Except this angel isn’t like the ones he’s read about — no, his angel is armed to the teeth and has wings the colour of blood and night. Yet, there’s something eerily familiar about this angel.

>> READ ON AO3 <<

This is for @buckybarnesevents Connect 4: Alternate June-iverse (C3 - Guardian Angels), @allcapsbingo B1: AU - Guardian Angel and a small, belated bday gift for @circaclementine 💗

Thank you to my betas/cheer-readers @controlofwhatido & @mxaether for making this coherent 💕

[darsynia]

Shipping and Handling | Ch 2: Urgency

(Stucky x Reader slow burn, Steve x Reader fast burn, Friendship all around)

SERIES MASTERLIST | STORY MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: There’s a chance you and Steve aren’t the only people dealing with the strange chemical bond from Mistress, so you agree to submit to daily tests that should help Dr. Banner figure out what’s happening, and maybe how to stop it. The problem? Seeing each other every day brings a new set of side-effects that both of you hide from each other and Banner until things come to a head– not just for the two of you, but also for the man who has to deal with you: Bucky Barnes. Length/Warnings: 3,028 / sexual situations Prompt: @allcapsbingo April Adoptable: Sex Pollen ((I know, right??))

Tags: @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreblogsfics @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee @eralen @mrsevans90 @myinconnelly1 @thorinsmistress @cjand10 @wckedheart @samfreakingwinchester @blind-devil @sanniegirl1214 @karimac @dispatchvampire

Excerpt:

Steve’s expression turns sheepish. “I was trying to persuade him to walk you out.” 

“Let me guess, he was doing the same?”

He nods. The elevator protests the doors remaining open, and he murmurs some kind of command that changes the red color to green.

“You could escort me down?”

“That’s probably a bad idea,” Steve says solicitously. There’s a light in his eyes that sends a thrill along your spine, and you almost wish you could push him to change his mind-- but then you remember how important it is to figure out what the hell Mistress is doing to the many people exposed to it every day. Encouraging Steve Rogers to take an elevator ride so you can stand near him and wish he would kiss you is probably not furthering the cause of science.

Chapter Two: Urgency

In retrospect, inviting you over for dinner has clearly made things more complicated, not less. Bucky had figured you’d show up, they’d order food, and then the three of you would have an uncomfortable but necessary conversation (one he’d get to enjoy observing, which would make up for the awkwardness).

Instead, he’s barely holding in his amusement at the way things have devolved into an R-rated I Love Lucy episode.

In a strained voice, you observe, “The connections are hopelessly stretched. You’ll probably need a whole new stove.”

Bucky just nods.

“It’s actually kind of impressive, the way the metal crocheted with the cotton in this tea towel withstood the stress like that.”

He clears his throat to cover his need to laugh, but the sound ends on a wheeze.

“Damnit, what?”

“You practically knelt down in front of him. Take pity, will you Doll?” 

Bucky only realizes the endearment after he’s said it aloud, and to minimize the damage, he clenches his jaw and twists his lips into an inconsequential smile.

It doesn’t work.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you say, your lovely eyes lit with surprise and something else, something he shouldn’t be looking for. 

Gruffly, he says, “Really?” It’s a shut-down tactic, because people are much less likely to elaborate on something they’re uncertain over. He maximizes its effect by leaning down to examine the oven door, which is indeed fucked.  

“Really. I liked it, don’t worry.” Your voice is soft. “Looks like you’ll be needing these menus, I doubt the stove is kitchen rated with the door off! Come on, I’m sure Steve is going to be hungry when he shows back up.”

Are… you joking about what Steve’s doing in his room right now? Bucky lunges over to block your way out of the kitchen. The shirt you’re wearing smells like the detergent he and Steve use, and something about smelling Steve on you sends heat straight to his groin.

He really should’ve punched Banner, too.

“What?”  

“Are you sure you want everything out in the open?” You look at him, uncomprehending, and Bucky’s a hypocrite, because there’s no way any of what he’s been thinking about lately can be in the open.

You’re shaking your head at him. “I don’t--”

He grips the doorframe so tightly it gives a little under his metal hand. “Steve is jerking off in there. He’d only do that while we’re waiting out here because he has to. If he comes out here and you make a comment like that, he’ll feel guilty for--”

“--weeks. Maybe forever. Shit.” you interrupt. He pushes off from the door to let you pass, and you continue; “Banner seemed certain that the… intensity was because we’d spent those two weeks apart, but this is--” You break off and drop the pile of menus on the dining room table with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m really worried it’s going to be untenable, but then I remember all the people out there this could happen to, you know?”

Bucky nods toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms, where Steve is probably touching himself right now. “Is that the ‘untenable’ you’re talking about?”

Your face wrenches in embarrassment, eyes closed, and you nod.

Because he doesn’t want to go through this whole ordeal without some amusement at his own expense, he says, “There are two bedrooms, if you need to borrow mine? You know where it is.”

Your eyes pop open, and you suck in a breath, tightening the blue shirt enough that he can see your nipples are hard. Then you smack him hard on the right arm.

“The look on your face! Stop fake-leering at me, asshole, I was already worried about that!”

That was close. “Worried about what?”

“Well I got to thinking, it’s not like the combined pheromones are inert, right? So anyone who spends time around the two of us could get hit with them. Hell, maybe even the solo ones we were making might be able to--” You retreat to the other side of the table like you need the fortitude of distance. “You’ve still been able to achieve-- I mean… Have you?”

“Roll that back. You think that stuff could turn me as horny as the two of you?”

You wince. “Promise me you’ll tell me if anything changes? For science?”

“I promise,” Bucky says. He is affected, but nothing whatsoever has changed.

“And you can still…”

He raises his eyebrows and pretends not to understand.

“Bucky!” Your exasperation is not a deterrent at all.

“Just spit it out.”

“Can you come?”

He cannot resist. “Come where?”

“Oh my God, I cannot believe you!” Instead of stomping off to cool down, you march right up to him and grab the loose sides of the dress shirt he’s wearing on top of his tee. “I am asking you if you can orgasm, you monumental dickhead!”

Maybe the pheromones you and Steve are emitting are doing something, because a number of inappropriate things leap immediately to mind.

He chooses the least offensive of the five. “Pretty sure I can, but I’m willing to go try right now, if it’s that important to you.”

Steve speaks up from the hallway before you can vocalize the affectionate fury Bucky sees written all over your face. “Everything okay?” 

Steve’s hairline is wet, like he’d stepped into the bathroom to splash his face with water, and his own shirt is untucked. By now, Bucky’s used to steeling himself against his attraction to Steve, but he’s not used to being so close to someone who can figure out what he’s thinking before he shoves it away. Your hands tighten on his shirt, and when he looks back at you, there’s understanding in your eyes.

Understanding and guilt.

Carefully, you reach up to adjust Bucky’s collar as if that’s what you’d been doing all along, patting at his chest maternally before stepping away. “Starting to think you had Steve help you dress before you’d show up at the restaurant for those 40’s nights,” you tease.

Shit. Shit. Are you trying to-- Shit.

Across the room, Steve’s body language is stiff, and he adopts a false joviality that has Bucky screaming in his own head at the multitude of misunderstandings.

“Are you kidding? He snuck out! Probably didn’t want me to ask why he was wearing all that leather on a weeknight.” A second later, Steve waves his hand in embarrassment and comes over to the table. “That came out like I was implying he dresses in leather on the weeken--”

“Stop!” Bucky groans. “I’m starving and the two of you are nuts. Pick something and order, would you?” He walks off toward the window and hopes that you and Steve will mix pheromones so much you’ll completely forget what you think you just saw.

The need to stare at each other (and feed him) seems to be enough to preoccupy the two of you. Bucky looks out at the bustle of rush-hour traffic and tries to tamp down his panic. Of all the struggles he’d faced in the past year, he’d never have picked ‘caring too much about his closest friends’ as the one to give him the most trouble. It’s an unfair thought on its face, because the burden of all his other shit has been lifted by having you and Steve around.

It’s not just caring, though, and as much as he wants to lie to himself, it’s not just physical, either. If there was any way to reassure you about the pheromones, he would, but if Bucky’s honest with himself, he’s glad you’re worried about that. It gives him cover.

He sighs. A thought that had occurred to him a few nights ago pops back up. To have friends is one thing, to want someone is another thing, but to know better than to act on it? To step aside for the sake of the people he cares most about in the world… that’s a sign that he’s more human than weapon. It’s cold comfort, but he’s used to the cold.

The knowledge of what Steve had been doing and why is burning through your insides. It looks like it’s burning through him too, but from embarrassment, since he’s just worked through his other discomfort.

Steve clears his throat and reaches over to scatter some of the menus. “Any preferences?”

“Let me see what we’ve got,” you say, and he nods, loosing a lock of wet hair that flops onto his forehead.

It suddenly occurs to you the reason why it’s wet-- he went to wash his hands, and just in case that wasn’t enough, he washed his face, too. Because he’s a gentleman, despite what it was he was doing. You feel such a rush of pure affection for him that it shakes your ability to stand. To cover it, you drag out the chair you’re standing near and fall into it, reaching for the brochures.

“Do you, ah…” 

He falls silent, and when you look up, he looks supremely uncomfortable. You lift your brows.

“Do you need to…”

You are completely baffled-- until you aren’t. “Oh, God, thank you, but no. I’ll--  I’ll manage.”

His nod is anxious, so you hand over the menu you had your eye on and do your very best not to worry that you should have taken him up on it. After all, you weren’t able to change your underpants, but if there’s a world where you have to ask Captain America if he can smell your arousal, you’d rather just disappear into the NYC sewers.

Dinner goes surprisingly well. You already knew that Bucky and Steve got on well, and over the course of the evening, you can tell that your rapport with Bucky is reassuring to Steve. Instead of making you uncomfortable, the simmering heat you’re afflicted with seems to keep you on your toes, a constant reminder to be careful about what you say and do, lest you awaken the same banked fire in Steve. 

You let the two men run the conversation, and at times they almost fall over each other to share anecdotes. When you’re ready to leave, you step away to use the bathroom and come out to Bucky and Steve deep in a serious discussion, almost an argument. Maybe it’s your full, happy stomach, maybe it’s your sense of impishness, but instead of alerting them to your presence in the room, you sneak over to the door and make it to the elevator before Steve catches up to you.

“Making me feel like a failed host,” he says, jogging over to hold his hand over the just-opened doors.

“Not at all,” you smile. “You two looked like you were having an important conversation.”

Steve’s expression turns sheepish. “I was trying to persuade him to walk you out.” 

“Let me guess, he was doing the same?”

He nods. The elevator protests the doors remaining open, and Steve murmurs some kind of command that changes the red color to green.

“You could escort me down?”

“That’s probably a bad idea,” Steve says solicitously. There’s a light in his eyes that sends a thrill along your spine, and you almost wish you could push him to change his mind-- but then you remember how important it is to figure out what the hell Mistress is doing to the many people exposed to it every day. Encouraging Steve Rogers to take an elevator ride so you can stand near him and wish he would kiss you is probably not furthering the cause of science.

“Good night then, Sir Knight,” you tease, dipping into a curtsey. Your skirt is tight along your thighs, but you’re able to use the tails of your borrowed blue shirt to aid in the look.

When you lift your head, the elevator doors are closing, and Steve is nowhere in sight. It’s not a big deal-- you’ll be seeing each other once a day for the foreseeable future anyway.

Not that you’re looking forward to that, or anything.

Steve and Bucky had agreed to show up at the performance the next day, to satisfy the proximity requirement. As expected, the 90’s crowd is different from the 40’s one, but the energy is high, and you end the night on a literal high note. The plan is for the two of them to come over after the set to spend a few minutes physically close by, but as usual, the band is crowded by admirers who ‘just want to chat a few minutes.’

You can see that Bucky’s temper is flaring by the way Steve’s fingertips whiten on his friend’s shoulder, so you try to hurry. The last person to push through to speak to you is carrying two of the restaurant’s signature ‘flagon’ beer glasses, and he enthusiastically thrusts one into your hands before you can stop him. The action sloshes the liquid over onto the back of your hand.

Before you can formulate a polite refusal, the restaurant’s bar bouncer Benji throws a collegial arm around the man’s shoulder and guides him away.

“Saved a life, right there,” Steve says in a low voice beside you. You actually slump over into him for a few seconds in relief, feeling him initially stiffen at first contact before his arm comes around to support you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, lifting your hand up to lick off the alcohol. 

To your surprise, Steve spins you the few steps out into the dance floor. The ballad currently playing means that the couples around you are slow-dancing in the ‘modern’ style, hands on hips or shoulders, swaying close with little to no artistry. His hand at your wrist is an inexorable band as he positions your palm flat on his chest, his other hand grasping the small of your back in defiance of convention.

“Okay, clearly you have panicked,” you say, blinking up at him. Your other hand is holding onto the lapel of his suit jacket as if for dear life, because holy god, the man sends your senses reeling.

“Inside pocket, Mistress test tabs. Swab your hand,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your steps falter, and you nod. Testing has become second-nature at this point, so you don’t even need to check the box for the color key. 

“Orange,” Steve says, when he sees the strip. His hand at your back sweeps you closer. Orange is more than the yellow or green of faint traces. 

The drink was dosed.

“On it,” Bucky husks as he brushes past the two of you, plucking the test strip from your fingers on the way. Because of Steve’s close stance, you’re helpless to stop him-- a point Steve makes very clear by spreading his fingers at your back. The possessiveness of the action works like napalm in your bloodstream, but the pressure of each fingertip against your skin sends a very clear message: you may not follow.

There’s napalm, and then there’s napalm.

Fixing your eyes on his chest, and with a bright smile hiding that your teeth are clenched, you hiss, “Steve, if we weren’t in my workplace, I would be pitching a fit right now. You are not in charge of what I do or say, do you understand me?”

The pained sound from his throat drags your eyes up to his. Steve looks stricken, and you realize you’d offered the man who tried to deliberately drug you with Mistress more grace than the one who dearly wishes he hadn’t. Your apology dusts in your mouth when he starts speaking.

“I couldn’t protect you when it counted. I can’t protect you from me. I will damn well protect you from everything else!”

As he speaks, Steve moves the two of you off of the dance floor and back past the bar into the alcove Benji usually stands in. He’s shaking, and you’re overwhelmed, the fear of what you’ve just dodged only prickling the edges of your consciousness. The only thing you can think of to defuse the moment is Bucky’s gripe about Steve’s reticence for swearing aloud.

At the very last second, you realize you can’t use the phrasing you’d meant to, because this man’s mother has been dead a very very long time.

“You kiss your lovers with that mouth?”

Time stands still for a long second as you regard each other. Then, Steve’s head tips to the side, eyes locking onto your mouth. His lips part, and the sigh he releases seems to release the angry tension he’d been holding since pulling you close in the first place.

“You tell me,” he whispers, releasing you and holding his hands up like a man being held hostage. In a way he is. You both are.

You can’t recall wanting to kiss someone more than you do right now. To hell with absolutely everything else! you think to yourself, reaching your hand up toward the side of his face.

The wetness on that hand reminds you, and you draw back. “Shit. Shit, Steve! Mistress!”

He looks at your lips again, then your hand, then your chest, and then dashes off into the crowd of people only to reappear again impossibly quickly with a damp washcloth from the bar. Without asking, he scrubs at your hand-- but you bite your lip at the sensations. Even that small amount of the drug is affecting you, having soaked in while you were distracted by the undercurrent of desire you always feel around Steve.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your voice low. 

He makes a little noise in response, then puts a hand on each of your shoulders. “We need to get to Banner. If what I’m feeling is related to the Mistress in your system--”

“Oh God,” you whisper.

Steve’s grip on you tightens, and he snaps his head back like he’d been about to lean in for a kiss before his instincts kicked in.

Your instincts are affected by Mistress, but you don’t give a shit. You reach up with both hands and cup his face. “In the cab.”

“Stark sent a car, actually. I sent a distress call.”

“Even better.”

To be continued...

[nolanfa]

Illustration for sara_holmes fic I'll keep you safe here with me (it's the fourth and last one I had planned for that story) fill for @winterhawkbingo's prompt "mission gone wrong" fill for @allcapsbingo's prompt "good plan gone horribly right" fill for @marvelartparty bingo's prompt "complete art for an event"

Here on AO3

[nekoannie-chan]

Suit

Title: Suit.

Ship: 40!!Steve Rogers X Chorus girl!Reader.

Word count: 305 words.

Rating: Mature.

Square: G5 “Cock bulge”.

Summary: Steve thinks his suit is uncomfortable in a certain area.

Warnings/Tags: Steve is huge, very tight suit, nervousness.

A/N: This is my entry to @allcapsbingo. AC1078.

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum  @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz  @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae   @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose  @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga  @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted  @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555  @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit​

It was the fourth time Steve had seen himself in the mirror. He still felt uncomfortable with that suit; he really didn't expect to wear something so ridiculous and that was so tight in that part, not to mention that it was too noticeable. He tried to cover a little with the shield since before the serum he was already gifted, but after... well, he had to look for other methods to hide it.

Or maybe he was just exaggeratedly nervous, and it didn't really show at all, nor did he look bad, apart from the fact that it was his first presentation in front of an audience. Oh, no, he had never spoken in public or done anything like that before in his life.

You gasped as you were told that in five minutes you had to go on stage.

You smiled when you saw Steve; you looked around him with your eyes and stared at his crotch; you bit your lip; you were going to do everything in your power to have sex with Steve.

"What do you see? "another of the chorus girls asked you.

"Nothing special," you answered without taking your eyes off her. The other chorus girl turned her gaze to where you were looking.

"Do you really think it's that big? "she questioned.

"Maybe it is bigger than it looks, and I will check it out.

"Are you ready?" Steve was trying to hide his nervousness.

"Of course, Steve, do you have anything to do after the show?" You quickly formulated a small plan; you were going to test your theory as soon as possible.

"No, I don’t."

"Well, let's go for a walk tonight," you proposed. Steve turned to look at you to make sure you weren't joking, then nodded.

You smiled again. It had been too easy.