#dad!steve rogers x reader

[tldrthor]

Promises, oceans deep - peter parker x reader

peter parker x f!reader // you said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me // based on the song 'Peter' by Taylor Swift

Summary: the misfortune of being left behind in the blip, and the consequences of aging without him.

Part two <3

tw: mention of bad eating habits/food disorder; insomnia; angst

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The night was cold, dark. The halls of the compound were as empty as they had been since the blip. That's the thing about this place - in it's hayday, it was a wonderful place to live. Laughter and camaraderie filled every corner, every crevice. There was always music, dancing, movies, games, whatever. That was before. Now, the halls were a stark reminder of everything that is lost. Every step echoed in this hollow home.

Forgive me, Peter My lost fearless leader In closets like cedar, Preserved from when we were just kids. Is it something I did?

The glow of the fridge was the only light in the kitchen as you searched for anything to eat. It hadn't even occurred to you to look earlier, when you could do something about the empty shelves. You sighed, taking the milk and setting it on the counter, prepared for another night of cereal for dinner.

"You need to eat better, (y/n)." You jumped at the voice behind you. How, when your steps were so cacophonous, were his so silent? You turned to face him, turning to pick up the blanket that had slipped off your shoulders as you jumped.

Steve. As he turned the light on, he looked tired. The bags beneath his eyes aging him by at least a couple of years at least. You had always considered him to be almost immortal, un-aging. But these past few years, you saw him looking older, much more tired. You weren't really sure if it was a result of the pain of the times, or if he really was biologically aging. The thought of either was too painful to dwell on.

"Yeah? And you need to sleep better, Cap."

He chuckled and shrugged with a small, sad smile on his face. You both knew the other was right, and also knew that neither of your words would make a difference. After two years of your comrades being missing, dead or blipped, the Avengers had stalled. So, each of you, the remainders that is, seemed to have set about to destroy yourselves in a myriad of different ways.

He walked around the counter, taking the milk out of your hands. He opened the top and gave it a whiff, visibly recoiling. "That's so out of date." He poured it down the sink before bumbling around the kitchen, bringing out a pan, some eggs and various herbs and spices. "Sit down, let me make you something substantial."

You followed his orders, knowing that if you told him that you weren't hungry, felt sick, he wouldn't believe you. You knew he had too much on his plate with all the council meetings you had long gave up on. Just tonight, you would give him the win. God knows he needed it.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of you as he crafted up a meal with anything usable he could find in the kitchen, "God, we have to get better at doing food shops." He muttered, mostly to himself.

He broke the silence as he handed you a plate of food, having made on for himself as well. He sat next to you at the kitchen island as you both ate. "So, how's school?"

You almost laughed at the mundane question. You tried to remember the last time you were asked such a question. You missed this, you supposed. The small talk, back when life was normal. Back before Thanos.

"School is... okay." You didn't want to tell him that actually, school was a constant reminder that your boyfriend and two best friends were missing, presumed dead. "It's boring, pointless."

"You graduate this year, right?" He asked.

The question made your bones go cold. You hadn't even thought about it, but yeah. You would be graduating this year. Without them. You swallowed harshly. "Yeah."

He could see the emotions written all over your face and gave your shoulder a squeeze, reassuringly.

You went back to silence.

The goddess of timing, once found us beguiling. She said she was trying, Peter, was she lying? My ribs get the feeling she did.

The day was a blur. You walked up to the stage to receive your diploma, looking out into the crowd. They were sitting in the guests of honour box, being the avengers and all. Natasha and Steve smiled at you and waved, Bruce and Tony cheered while Thor gave you a hearty thumbs up. Rocket sat on his shoulder, looking bored. You wandered across the stage in a fugue state, accepting the scroll and the valedictorian award. The school hadn't asked you to do the speech, which you were grateful for. They knew you never really talked anymore.

As you returned to your seat, the principal called out "And now, we want to take a moment to remember those that we lost..."

When his photo flashed across the screen, you were sure you were going to be sick.

And I didn't wanna come down I thought it was just goodbye for now.

"Good job, kid." Natasha opened her arms and enveloped you in a hug. You returned it, almost desperately. You didn't feel like it was a good job. It was an empty achievement without them.

You both turned to walk back to the parking lot, with Steve putting his arm around you. "What do you want to do to celebrate, bud? You wanna go out to dinner?"

While your heart screamed absolutely not, your head said that they needed the win. "Sure, yeah."

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me.

When you moved to college, it was almost a breath of fresh air. You felt bad, leaving Steve, Natasha and Bruce since Tony had left to live with Pepper and Morgan, and Thor had gone to settle the Asgardians into New Asgard. But the silence in the halls of the compound was chest-crushing, and only grew worse by the day.

You heaved your things up the stairs into your dorm. A single one, thank god. Being one of the surviving members of the Avengers really did have its perks sometimes. You struggled to carry things that you probably wouldn't have before, and recently you had noticed that you were so tired. You tried to hide your shaky legs and the sweat on your forehead from Steve and Natasha. But they noticed, and exchanged worried glances behind your back.

Steve obviously insisted on helping everyone else in the parking lot, ever the good samaritan. You and Natasha arranged your room together, putting up posters and decorations and trying to make the space feel homely.

You picked up a picture frame and turned it around. Him.

You said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me. Words from the mouths of babes, promises, oceans deep. But never to keep.

The assignment you were working on was rough, like, really rough. You had been conducting some research and there was just something alluding you. You ended up scrolling through instagram instead, when Steve's contact flashed across the screen. You looked at the time - 2am. Way past Cap's bedtime.

"Hello?"

"(y/n)? Were you asleep?" He asked, worry immediately flooding his voice.

You rolled your eyes. "Yes."

"God, don't... don't lie to me, kid." He sighed. "Either way, you've got to come back to the compound, it's... Scott Lang. You remember the giant guy from Berlin? He's back, we're not really sure how. It might... It might be something."

You breathed out. "What?" You squeezed your eyes closed and breathed for a few seconds. "I'll be there, I've... fuck, I've got an assignment due tomorrow."

You could hear Steve smile at the absurd normalcy of what you had said. "Hey, let's mind our language. I'll get someone to send a letter to your professor to excuse you, I'm sending a quinjet to you now. Be ready."

"Sure thing, old man. See you soon."

"See ya, kid."

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From there, things moved quickly. Too quickly. Your life descended into utter chaos from writing papers in college to time travel, other worlds, alien species and infinity stones. Natasha's death.

And then there was the snap. The second one. Bruce screamed in pains as rainbow colours flashed up his arm, a thousand little lightning strikes. Steve stood in front of you, protectively. If this explodes, we're all dead. You thought, rather pessimistically.

As Bruce finally gathered the strength to snap, you were almost shocked to see he survived. Everyone ran forward to check him, Tony cooling the nasty looking burns on his arm, neck and face.

"Clint, your phone." You spoke, but it was perhaps too quiet. "Clint! Answer your phone!" You shouted, getting everyone's attention. It was the first time you had spoken in a long time, never mind shouted.

It was Laura. Oh my god. It was Laura.

Scott looked out of the windows, admiring the birds. There were so many more birds. He spun around and laughed.

And that's when it hit. You weren't even sure what it was, but then you were falling through the air. Your surroundings were crumbling and it all happened so fast you couldn't even react. Steve grabbed a hold of your arm and drew you to their chest, protecting you as you tumbled.

As you collided, your mind swarmed with so many thoughts. What the hell had happened, and was Peter back?

The battle raged. You didn't even know if everyone was out of the rubble. The battlefield was the now ruins of the only real home you had ever known. You lined up with Cap, and the others. And stared down what you were almost certain would be your death.

As the alien army marched closer, Steve turned to you. "You should run, (y/n). You have your whole life ahead of you."

You smiled, almost sadly, at him. "Cap, I don't think there is a life after this." He sighed, knowing that it was no use. You had been raised better than to abandon your family, and he knew that it was his fault. He couldn't save you.

Suddenly, sorcerer circles opened behind you and the ones you had lost came pouring in. Including him.

Are you still a mind reader? A natural scene stealer. I've heard great things, Peter. But life was always easier on you, than it was on me.

There was little time for rejoice as the army advanced towards you.

"Avengers!" Steve called. "...assemble."

And with that, you were running. You watched as spider-man flitted in and out of the hordes, doing his bit. You ran towards him, and held no mercy for any rogue soldier who dared to come near you and him. The others protected him too, and you were glad of it.

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The battle was won but Tony was lost. You stared as Pepper cried by Tony's body, his eyes open, his body and face badly burned from the impact of the stones. There was a circle of Avengers around him. Just staring. No one knowing what to do, or say.

Peter. Your Peter. Collapsed into a heap near him, his emotions taking over. It was instinctual, the way you ran to him.

"Hey," You whispered, gathering him up into your arms. "I've got you. He's resting now. He saved us." You tried throwing every phrase people had ever thrown at you, at Peter. You knew it all meant nothing to him.

You looked down at his face, and horror crossed your face as you realised how much older than him you were now.

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Steve watched his youngest team members in the puddle on the ground, the kid who had given him a run for his money in Germany, and the girl he had raised these past few years. He watched as your heart broke, and Peter couldn't even see it. He knew exactly what was going though, watching the now 21-year-old you holding a still 16-year-old Peter.

As emergency services and the military started to pull into what used to be the Avengers Compound, he knew there had to be a co-ordinated effort to resolve the tragedies they had just witnessed.

He walked over to you both and whispered softly, "Come on, kids, there's work to be done."

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And sometimes it gets me, when crossing your jetstream, We both did the best we could do underneath the same moon but in different galaxies.

"(y/n)." You didn't hear him say your name until that night. Well, the next morning, you suppose. You didn't even know what time it was.

Your face softened as you saw him. After the compound was destroyed, Clint was kind enough to bring you all to his house with Laura and the children, just until something more permanent was sorted out. It had been a couple of weeks now, and you had barely exchanged a word with anyone.

"Hi, Pete." You breathed out. He looked at your face, intently. Like he was searching for something he recognised, and couldn't find it. "How... how are you?"

"I'm alright. Um... yeah. Doing okay."

"Good, good." You hummed, sipping your cup of tea.

There was a moment of silence as the two of you looked out over the farm.

He cleared his throat. "(y/n), can we talk? I..." He faltered. "I miss you."

You looked at him, a little panicked, you'll admit. You didn't even know where to begin thinking about how to go about moving on with your relationship with Peter. You had been together for a year... but that was five years ago. That's not even considering that fact that he was still in high school and you were now of drinking age, at college. Shit, you still hadn't done that assignment.

"Peter, I..." His puppy eyes made your heart break. "I'm an adult now... it's been five years for me, and I... I changed a lot, in that time."

"Right, yeah." Tears swelled to his eyes. "You're right, yeah." You knew he was putting on a brave face.

"I'm sorry, Peter. For now, we have to go our separate ways, I think." Tears crashed down his cheeks, but he never broke eye contact with you. "I... I have to go back to college, and I won't see you for a while."

And I didn't want to hang around... We said it was just goodbye, for now

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Thank you for reading! I'm really new to posting on this blog, so any likes and reblogs are so appreciated! <3

[thatcoolweirdgirl]

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I just KNOW Tony was insufferable about it before his redemption arc (¬_¬")

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi would it be possible if you could do a dad bucky and daughter reader fic where she was born in the 40s but kidnapped by hydra whilst he was at war. then when bucky is free he finds her in an abandoned hydra base but she blames him for her being taken by hydra and it’s just really angsty cuz she wants nothing to do with him but he just wants to be her dad again. idk if this should be a happy ending or not though anyways ty if you do this

Be A Dad Again » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Teen Daughter!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and the Avengers

Summary: You blame Bucky for being taken by HYDRA and all he wants to do is be your dad again.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, language, HYDRA, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of child endangerment (not Bucky), crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 14 years old

A/N: Italic text is flashbacks and nightmares. Also, I imagined this took place during Captain America: Civil War. Pretend that Bucky and Steve didn’t fight Tony in this. Bucky is an Avenger in this too.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Steve was explaining what him and Bucky are about to do as they stood at the entryway of the quinjet. Bucky knew what they’re about to do, but he wasn’t listening. His mind wandered elsewhere. He frowns softly at a memory that came to his mind.

Bucky was holding you while sitting on the couch. He’s been trying to get you say daddy or dada all day.

“You can say it, doll. I know you can.” Bucky encourages softly. “Say dada or daddy.” He says softly.

You maybe a babbling noise that’s not remotely close to saying a word. Your mom walked in the living room in the midst of your babbling.

“What are my favorite people doing?” Your mom asks as she sat down next to Bucky on the couch.

“I’m trying to get Y/N to say daddy.” He says.

“I see the problem. It’s pronounced mommy.” She playfully jokes.

“I see what you’re trying to do, sweetheart and it’s not going to work.” He says, looking at your mom.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey.” She grins.

Your mom kissed Bucky. Their kiss was short lived when they heard a little voice come from you.

“Da- Dada.” You say.

Your mom and Bucky stared at you in surprise when you said your first word.

“Did you say dada?” Bucky asks you softly.

“Dada.” You say again.

“She said her first word! Good job, doll!” He says happily.

“Bucky?” Steve says, bringing him back to reality.

Bucky blinks and looks at his best friend.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks.

“Yea. I just remembered something.” Bucky says.

“What did you remember?” Steve asks.

“I have a daughter.” Bucky says, looking at Steve with teary eyes.

“You do.” Steve confirms softly.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath and wipes the tears away that rolled down his cheeks. Steve put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Let’s get this over with.” Bucky says.

Steve nodded. Him and Bucky got off the quinjet and approached the open door to the abandoned HYDRA base. They cautiously stepped inside the base and looked around to make sure no one was going to jump out and attacked them.

“Besides the equipment, it looks empty in here.” Steve says.

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” Bucky says.

You froze in your hiding place when you heard the voices of your dad and your uncle. You haven’t heard their voice since the 1940s. You poked your head out of your hiding place to see them walking around the cryogenic chamber room. Your breath hitched when you seen them for the first time in years. They must’ve heard your shaky breathing, because they stopped in their tracks.

“Did you hear that?” Steve asks, looking at Bucky.

“Yea.” Bucky replies.

They already heard your breathing, you might as well make yourself known to them. They were facing the opposite direction as you when you came out of your hiding place.

“Glad to see you two are still alive.” You say.

Bucky’s and Steve’s eyes went wide when they heard your voice. They thought they were hearing things. They turned around to see you standing a few feet away from them. They couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“Y/N?” Bucky says softly.

“Hello, dad. Hello, uncle Steve.” You say.

“How- What-” Bucky didn’t know what question to ask first.

“If you’re going to ask how I’m still alive, you should know the answer to that. Both of you know the answer.” You say looking from your dad to Steve and back to your dad.

Anger began to course through Bucky’s veins at the thought of HYDRA injecting you with the Super Soldier serum. He’s scared to know what else they did to his baby.

Bucky put his gun down on the ground and approached you to hug you. That set something off inside of you. You grabbed your gun out of your thigh holster and aimed it at your dad. He put his hands up in surrender.

“Y/N, please. Let’s talk about this.” Bucky pleads softly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, dad.” You say.

“At least put the gun down.” He says.

“Give me one reason to put it down.” You say.

“I’m your father.” He says.

“You really think that’s a good enough reason to keep me from shooting you?” You scoffed.

Bucky walked closer to you. You cocked the gun, thinking he’d stop approaching you, but he didn’t. Bucky put his metal hand on the barrel of the gun as you pulled the trigger. He took it out of your hands and emptied all of the bullets from it. You tried to run away from him, but he grabbed you before you could get away by wrapping his arms around you.

“Let go of me!” You shouted, trying to squirm out of his grasp on you.

“No. You’re coming home with me.” Bucky says.

“No I’m not! This is my home.” You say.

“This place is not your home, Y/N. Your home is with your dad.” Steve says.

You gave up on trying to get out of your dad’s grasp and went with them. Bucky held onto your upper arm so you didn’t try to get away as he led you to the quinjet.

———

You made yourself at home at the Avengers compound, but it doesn’t feel like home to you. You’re so used to living in the abandoned HYDRA base that you forgot what home feels like.

You haven’t said a word to your dad since that day, which was a few days ago. Bucky has been trying to get you to talk to him.

“Y/N still isn’t talking to you?” Steve asks.

“Nope. I don’t know why. I just wish that she would tell me what’s wrong.” Bucky says.

It hurts Bucky to see you like this. All he wants to know what’s going on with you so he can help you. He just wants to be your dad again.

“Try talking to her and getting her to open up.” Sam suggests.

“How am I supposed to do that? Anytime I try to talk to her, she leaves the room.” Bucky says.

“Tell JARVIS to lock every door and window in the compound.” Sam says.

That’s not a bad idea. If it’ll get you to open up and talk to your dad, that might work.

Bucky told JARVIS to lock every entrance and exit in the compound, along with the windows. He knows that you know how to climb in and out of windows. He then went to your bedroom to talk to you.

“Y/N?” Bucky knocks on your bedroom door. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.” He says.

You groaned loudly before getting off your bed to open the door.

“What the hell do you want?” You asked with an attitude.

“First of all, drop the attitude.” He says.

“I don’t need to do anything.” You say.

You went to close your bedroom door, but your dad stopped it with his metal hand.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” He says.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You say.

You managed to push past him to go somewhere else in the compound. Bucky grabbed your arm.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You shouted, hitting him to get him to let go of you.

Bucky let go of you. He followed you as you continued to walk through the compound.

“Don’t you have anything else better to do than following me around.” You say.

“I want to talk to you.” Bucky says.

“I already told you that I don’t want to talk.” You say.

You went to the main entrance of the compound to go outside, only to find out that door is locked.

“What the hell?” You mumbled to yourself. “JARVIS, unlock the door.” You say.

“I can’t do that, Miss. Barnes. Sergeant Barnes told me not to unlock them.” JARVIS says.

You sighed and narrowed your eyes at your dad.

“Fine. Let’s talk.” You say.

“I want to know why you’re so angry. You used to be my sweet little baby.” Bucky says softly.

“You want to know why I’m so angry? I’ll tell you. You’re the reason why HYDRA kidnapped me!” You say, raising your voice at him.

“Why are you blaming me for something I didn’t even do?” He asks.

“Cause you left me and mom to go off to the Army!” You say.

“I did not leave you and your mom! I joined the Army to protect you and your mom!” He says.

You scoffed and shook your head.

“You did a shit job at protecting your own child.” You say.

“I did protect you! That’s all I did since the day you were born!” Bucky says.

“You didn’t do a good job of it.” You say.

You walked away. Bucky followed you, stopping you by grabbing your arm.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He asks.

“Do you want to know what my life was like after you went off to war?” You asked. “HYDRA kidnapped me from my own home. They injected me with Super Soldier serum and trained me how to fight. I never got to be a kid because of them!” You tell him.

Bucky’s heart shattered into a million pieces and his eyes teared up when he heard you say that.

“Doll, if I would’ve known that. I would’ve done everything to save you.” Bucky says.

“No.” You shook your head. “You don’t get to say that. It’s your fault that I went through all that shit! That’s years of my life I’ll never get back because of you.” You say, raised your voice.

Bucky knows you’re angry and upset. You’re just looking for someone to blame and that person is him. You’re also just unloading all of your anger onto your dad.

“HYDRA poked and prodded me with needles for years! It hurt so fucking bad! I hated it! You have no idea what that felt like!” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“Yes I do.” Bucky says sympathetically.

“No you don’t!” You say, almost gritting your teeth.

“Yes I do.” He said. “How do you think I got this metal arm? They hurt me just as much as they hurt you.” He says.

“Oh really? Did they wipe your memories to erase everything from your mind? They made me not remember who my parents, my uncle, and my family were!” You say, your voice cracking.

“They did that to me too, but I never forgot about the most important people in my life. My wife, my daughter, and my best friend.” He says.

You wanted to say more, but you couldn’t. You leaned against the wall and slid down it and sat down on the floor, letting out a loud cry instead. Bucky could hear the pain in your cries. He sat down next to you, wrapping his arms around you to comfort you. You tried to push him away, but he only held you tighter. Seeing you like this upset him. He started crying too.

“If I could go back in time and change things, I would.” Bucky says.

“You don’t mean that.” You cried against his chest.

“Yes I do.” He says.

You shook your head no. As you continued to cry in your dad’s arms, a memory flashed in your mind.

You curiously stared at your dad as he stood you up on your feet and walked a couple feet away from you and sat down on the floor. Your mom was sitting next to him. They were holding their arms out to you. You grinned happily and waved at your parents.

“You can do it, sweetie.” Your mom encourages.

You made a babbling noise, wondering what your parents want you to do. You then looked down at your feet and took a step. Your parents were cheering you on. You looked up and smiled at them as you continued to walk over to them.

“Oh my god! James, she’s walking!” Your mom exclaims, tapping his arm repeatedly.

You got over to your parents and lost your balance, falling onto your butt. You stared up at your parents and giggled. Bucky picked you up and hugged you, along with your mom.

“You walked, doll! We’re so proud of you!” Bucky exclaims softly.

As you came back to reality, your anger and resentment towards your dad began to slowly fade away.

“I want nothing more than to be your dad again.” Bucky says softly.

“Do you really mean that?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Of course I mean that, babydoll.” He confirms.

You began to realize what you’re blaming your dad for what HYDRA did to you was never his fault. If allowing Bucky to be your dad again means repairing yours and his father daughter relationship, you want that too.

“I want you to be my dad again.” You finally say.

Bucky felt a warmth in his heart when you said that. It’s the same warmth from when your mom told him that she was pregnant with you.

“I love you so much, doll.” Bucky whispered kissing the top of your head.

“I love you more, dad.” You whispered back.

Bucky hearing you call him dad without all of the hate and resentment gave him hope that you two can repair yours relationship and picked up where you two left off before he left to go to war years ago.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[lovelybucky1]

fuzzy pink handcuffs

summary - you accidentally call your boyfriend dad in front of bucky and bucky becomes very curious about the nature of your relationship.

pairing - dad!steve rogers x reader, minor bucky barnes x reader

warnings - fauxcest, mentions of bondage, bucky being a lowkey shitty friend at the end

bucky was sitting at the counter of steve's apartment eating breakfast like he does every sunday morning after they get back from their ridiculously long run. he and steve have a chat while you gather your things -purse, wallet, keys- so you can go back to your own apartment to get some fresh clothes.

you and steve technically don't live together, but you spend way more time at his place than you do yours. you only really go to yours to pick up your mail and to store your belongings.

once you're ready, you walk past the pair on the way to the door. "i'll be back soon, dad," you say casually on your way out.

that word, that little three letter word, sucked all the air out of the room. steve froze and silently prayed that bucky didn't take notice, but of course steve isn't that lucky. bucky is looking at him with eyebrows raised comically high on his forehead, waiting for an explanation that steve doesn't want to give.

"steve-"

"bucky."

"y'know-"

"please."

"my ears aren't as good as they used to be, but i could've sworn she just called you dad."

steve doesn't dare to look at his best friend; he keeps a straight face as he stares at the front door. he can feel his cheeks burning, flushing a bright pink like he used to when they were kids. the serum hadn't changed everything about him.

"earth to rogers," bucky says. "i know she's young, but calling you dad is kind of crazy. how old is she, by the way?"

steve tells him your age in a quiet mumble, but bucky's with enhanced senses, he heard him loud and clear.

"really robbin' the cradle there, stevie," bucky says. what a hypocrite.

steve turns his head to look at him, the blush thankfully subsiding a bit. "I'm a hundred and ten, buck. it's not like i can date within my age range," he defends.

"i heard the nursing home down the street has tons of eligible widows," bucky jokes, but then he gets an inquisitive look on his face. "but really, what's up with calling you dad?"

steve doesn't know what to say. he doesn't want to air out all of your private business to his best friend, but what other explanation is there? steve racks his brain, trying to come up with something, anything, but bucky is waiting for a response and he can't stall anymore.

"she likes it," steve says simply, immediately feeling guilty.

"she likes it," bucky repeats. "it's a sex thing?" steve doesn't have to say anything. bucky's known him long enough to be able to read him like a good. "what kind of shit does she have you doing?"

it could be worse. bucky isn't judging, per se. he's certainly curious and desperate to know more about what you two get up to, but he isn't disgusted at the idea. steve supposes this is best-case scenario.

"she doesn't have me do anything." steve looks away. "i like it too," he adds on.

"damn," bucky chuckles. "didn't know you had it in you, rogers."

"you're not... gonna tell her i told you, are you?" steve asks, suddenly worried. he wants to save you the embarrassment he's experiencing now.

"of course not," bucky scoffs. "but i do have questions and you have to answer all of them."

steve sighs and sits down on the stool next to bucky, figuring this conversation would be easier if they weren't directly facing each other. bucky proceeds to rattle off question after question. how did she tell you? what did you say? does she act like a little kid? steve explains the nature of your relationship while bucky listens, his intrigue evident on his face.

"that's fucked up," bucky says, though not judgmentally. he's chuckling like he can't believe his clean-cut best friend and his seemingly innocent girlfriend are so kinky.

“does that make me, like… uncle bucky?”

steve’s face twists in disgust. “definitely not.”

“hey, i was just asking. i don’t have any experience with this kind of stuff,” he says, raising his hands.

their conversation went on for so long that you interrupt them talking about it when you return to steve’s apartment. you have a big bag filled with your clothes for the week slung over your arm, and steve rushes over to take it from you.

“i got it, baby,” he says as he holds it in one hand without any bit of struggle.

“thanks, steve,” you smile at him.

bucky knows that you’d be calling steve something else if he wasn’t sitting right here. now that he knows your little secret, he’ll never be able to forget it. every time he sees you, it’s all he’ll be able to think about. maybe he shouldn’t have pried.

steve heads into the bedroom to put your bag away and leaves you alone with bucky in the kitchen. you're none the wiser to bucky's eyes carefully watching you.

you really don't seem like the type to be into something like that. you're so sweet and fun, and bucky has liked you ever since he met you. you don't scream daddy issues or anything like that. you seem too normal.

"buck," steve says when he returns to the kitchen and catches bucky staring. "you okay?"

"yeah, all good," bucky says, giving a tight-lipped smile.

you draw steve's attention away by asking him to help you put away your clothes. he agrees and leads you back into the bedroom where you shut the door behind you.

your hushed voices and thick walls are no match for bucky's hearing which, at this moment, seems more like a curse than a useful skill.

"i brought over a little surprise," you say, the smile evident in your voice.

"what's that, honey?" bucky can hear the zipper of your bag being opened, followed by a metallic jingling. "look at those," steve says.

"i thought we could use them tonight," you suggest.

bucky tries to figure out what you could be talking about. your words combined with the sound makes him think of handcuffs, and that image is one he can't get out of his head. little miss sunshine and captain america getting down and dirty in the bedroom with a pair of handcuffs.

"pretty please, dad?" you pout, which makes steve chuckle softly. hearing that word is so strange. bucky wonders how long it took for steve to get used to it.

"yeah, sweetheart. whatever you want, you know that." god, steve is so whipped.

bucky then hears a soft, wet noise that is unmistakably the sound of you two kissing. the sound grows in intensity, then suddenly stops. it's followed by a small whine from you, and bucky is trying to imagine what just happened.

based on the sound of your protest, steve must have been the one to break the kiss. maybe he pulled you away by your hair because you were getting too eager, too needy.

nothing else is said, but he can hear the quiet mix of laughter and the sound of drawers opening. after a few more minutes, you and steve return to the kitchen. you look perfectly normal, as pretty and bubbly as always, while steve looks a little uncomfortable.

he avoids meeting bucky's eyes and he has a pink tinge to his cheeks. he must know that bucky was able to hear you through the wall.

bucky clears his throat and stands up from the counter. “i think i’m gonna head out,” he says.

steve gives bucky a hug, pats him on the back and tells him he'll see him soon. then, per usual, you give bucky a hug. he's never thought anything of it before, but now that he has you in his arms, he realizes how much bigger he is compared to you.

your adorable face looking up at him, those big, wide eyes keeping him from looking away. he feels stuck for a moment, caught in your little web that steve must be similarly ensnared in.

"bucky?" you say, making him realize he's been holding onto you for far too long.

"sorry, doll," he apologizes as he lets you go. "see you guys."

on his way to the door, bucky briefly catches steve's eyes and this time, bucky is the one wearing the blush. he shuts the door behind him and doesn't look back, desperate to get away from the cause of his sudden onset madness.

before today, before being exposed to your lifestyle, he never would have considered being someone's dad. daddy is one thing, but dad is entirely different. it's fucked up, sick, twisted, and not at all something bucky would expect such a perfect couple like you and steve to be into. but now he can't get it out of his head. more specifically, he can't get you out of his head.

[deniable-masterpiece]

fusillade | dad!chris evans x son!reader

a/n — okay, i want to start by saying that this has FARTS. if you don’t like that, please, do not read‼️ scrolling is free, let people live, hate will be deleted and not tolerated, etc etc. i waited posting this for the longest time because i haven’t written anything like this before officially and it’s a relatively new kinky exploration. can be reader as any era of Chris, i just imagined him with some sort of beard and dilf look to him since he’s a father in this

summary — Chris tries to enjoy his day off but it doesn’t start the way he expected. The downsides of raising a teenage son lead to some weird resolutions of conflict.

warnings — age gap, incest, farts, face riding, face sitting (chris sitting on reader). 18+ only.

words — 5.8k

oh also, in case you missed it this has farts farts farts farts farts farts farts aaaaaaand some incest oh and farts too. enjoy!

Monday mornings weren’t fun for anyone. The harsh sunlight passing through anyone’s window is the sign of a long day to come, the first light of many fires that start and would continue to burn throughout the week. Even your blackout curtains couldn’t change today’s sunshine. Everything seemed to be in order, the sun had risen, your alarms had gone off at every time they were supposed to, without fail, at their projected volume. The only thing that was out of place in the typical morning routine was you. Your blaring alarms made no difference because they didn’t keep the key part of your morning routine—you—in the loop. Still in dreamland, you enjoyed the wondrous world.

But on the other side of the thin walls in your home, your dad had been rudely woken up on his day off to the sound of your alarm. For fifteen minutes, it rang continuously. It would fade out occasionally, but every five or so minutes, it would return to its loudest volume. And just when he thought it was over, your next alarm would start the cycle over again. It was a closed loop that you had yet to close. He tried giving you the benefit of the doubt. No one wakes up to their first alarm, not when they’re an active night owl, and they usually don’t wake up to their second. Chris knew that your most active hours of the night were past eleven p.m. On the few times that he did stay up late—usually on the eve of his days off—he heard you take multiple trips to the bathroom from inside his own bedroom until he heard the water from the sink running. The last time you used the sink, it would always run longer than the other times because you were usually doing your nightly routine and needed a steady flow. He always laughed at your antics, because they were something he would have to figure out on his own since you would never tell him. For all the times you called him an “old man,” his hearing never really let him down.

Now he wish it had, he wished his hearing loss would accelerate until he became deaf in the same way that the coffee he sipped at would accelerate his process of waking up. He thought that, maybe, just maybe, getting up early on his day off would be the key to enjoying it. He could drown out your sound with last night’s football game or catch up on that show you kept pestering him to watch. He was already enjoying the brief time in which he didn’t have to wear any clothes beyond a pair of boxers. The cool air tickled his body, unfamiliar but not unknowing of the feeling of being able to walk around while freely exposed to the cool air flowing through the house. He felt the need to wear more clothes that he normally might because you got easily distracted by him, more than two dudes living in one empty house should be making you feel. And you tended to stare or fail to get to the point when he was standing before you in his boxers. Chris naively thought it might be because you’re intimidated by his physique, that you haven’t quite reached the same levels of “man” yet and seeing him be so confident with what he naturally had was making you feel insecure. So, for his boy’s sake, he covered up. Being this close to naked was just one thing to enjoy about being awake before you, and maybe there would be more to come, Chris hoped. But no. The annoyingly vibrant alarm tone that echoed from your room was impossible to escape from. Even in the kitchen, down the carpeted stairs and anything in the thick flooring couldn’t stop him from hearing it. The sound itself wasn’t as loud as when he was laying in bed, but it had gotten on his nerves for daring to repeat again. The sonorous, pulse-like ringing matched his quickening heartbeat. It made his coffee-stained teeth grit, he felt like he could easily squeeze the ceramic mug in his hands to bits at the first chime of another alarm going off. One that would last for another fifteen minutes, one that was bound to play again after he waited for this successive round to end. 

He swished the last of his typical dark, bitter roast around his mouth before swallowing it, letting it be the warmth soothing his throat that he so desperately wanted to let bile rise from. His stomach flipped with his anger, he was ready to say some unsavory things to you about needing to be more responsible. Even while barefoot, his steps were heavy and hit the carpeted stairs hard. Maybe that would wake you up, but he didn’t know if anything could. All he knew was that your alarm needed to be silenced, and somehow, he could wake you up another way.

On his way to your room, heading to the third door on the left, he saw the door to the bathroom right before it. His stomach twisted and rumbled, already feeling the motions of coffee running through him, but anger made it to shore first and crashed into the front of his head. That damn alarm needed to be turned off.

Chris came into your room wearing a pair of plaid boxers. Deep, navy blue, a size too small for him but that’s how everything seemed to fit even if it was a size up. His figure seemed to show no matter what he wore. His boxers were far from loose, being weighed down by his overfilled pouch for his crotch in the front, the single-button fly keeping the fabric from splitting down the sewn-in gap and letting his girth and balls spill out. And in the back, his oceanic boxers had their limits and Chris’ plump ass bobbed in them. They constantly gave him a wedgie, the fabric digging deep into his crack and his thighs being mostly exposed since the boxers couldn’t even fall low enough, functioning more like boxer-briefs as a result. Grey and black stripes formed squares over the deep blue color, little white squares filling in the middle of each square the intersectional lines made. The lines curving over his cheeks, they were like a netted stress ball. One squeeze and all that fat would just slip through your fingers.

Your hands were the perfect shape to cup something as round and doughy as his ass, sleeping face-up with both arms splayed out in irregularly polar directions. At the bend of your elbows, one pointed towards the headboard above you and the other reached out to your phone. Chris would have taken a picture of that moment—your head turned away from the incoming sunshine and nestled into your pillow, something he would have thought put Sleeping Beauty to shame… while you would have blabbered on about how out of it you look, quick to use the excuse that you can’t control how you sleep to justify why you look so “horrible.” But that word wouldn’t have been the first to come to your dad’s mind when he looked at you. Quickly, his anger towards you goes from a raging sea to a slowly ebbing current. You’re just his baby boy, he could never stay mad at you for getting your beauty sleep! Your phone on the other hand… that nuisance still remained wretched and horrible. It was the cause of all your horrible behavior, like a friend who’s a bad influence, except there is no one else to blame when it caters to you. Chris would have to do the same thing he does to people who harm his boy.

He picked up your phone off the night stand next to your bed. It has been vibrating so much that it was halfway sticking off the stand and would have fallen during the next alarm.

Chris’ thumb hovered over the snooze button. Maybe if he put an irregular break in your alarm’s incessant blaring, it would throw your mind off schedule. An untimed noise would no doubt work in startling you awake. But, he was already in your room. He might as well do it himself, even if he expected you to act like an adult by now and get yourself up and ready. As much as it pained him to admit, this was one of the things he wished you didn’t need him for anymore. He knew that he would be greeted with an annoyed “Daaaaad” and complaining from your end instead of just thanking him for doing what you couldn’t. No, he could already hear the whining in his head that you were “just about to get up,” and that he “never gave you a chance to prove him wrong.” 

He hit the stop button, setting that alarm in stone as being done and over with. But what if there were more? He had just sat through two painfully long alarms that managed to wake him up but not you, and then a third from downstairs. If he was going to leave you here, he might as well enjoy a moment of peace and quiet by turning off the rest. Chris went to unlock it and was met with the screen asking for a passcode with a set of numbers appearing, showing that he needed to input a six-digit code to get into your phone. He could have just taken your phone and turned them off as they went, but he knew that if you woke up and saw that your phone was gone, he would have to deal with the complaints about that. Maybe you’d accuse him of snooping, and if he could guess your passcode, he might do it just to see what his boy is up to. 

He would have to figure out what the password is, though. Six digits… Chris took a moment to think about it before trying birthdays. Those were common, he used your birth year as his own passcode when you berated him for leaving it without one for the longest time. Maybe you used your own birthday as your password, but it wouldn’t prove to be that easy. The numbers appeared at the top of the screen as he entered them in and just as he finished putting them in, they shook from side to side in error, like the device was shaking its head at him for being so wrong. By nature, he immediately went to the next one in his mind—his. 061381, that was the passcode! He was shocked that you had been so subtly kind to him by making his birthday the password, you remembered.

The lock screen faded to the back as rows and rows of apps and folders cluttered and congregated in front of it. He snickered at some of the folder names being things like “dumb shit” and one folder simply named: “fuck.” His eyes landed on the clock app after a quick scan of your rough home screen—it was nothing like his, his remained the stock layout of all the apps that came with his phone, all still in their original spots with the varying addition of the few apps he needed like banking and the one for the video doorbell installed outside. Clicking on it, he saw you had alarms scheduled until eight in the morning, and it was only six. He turned the seven between now and then off and was ready to set your phone back down when a notification appeared at the top of the screen.

The icon had a little white bird, one of the social medias that Chris wasn’t too familiar with. He would have ignored it since you had already gotten a text from your friend asking about a homework assignment due later today and a notification from some mobile game that was begging you to come back and play it, and he didn’t pay any mind to those. But for this one, the headline grabbed his attention. The first of a bad storm, making this young guy smell my DAD FARTS.

Surely, he couldn’t be reading that right.

While the notification loitered at the top of the screen, Chris’ thumb moved up to it. He clicked it without a second thought, and it redirected him to the app it was sent by. The layout of the app wasn’t anything Chris knew his way around, but thankfully it took him directly to the page and not the home screen. There was only one thing he could do, and it was simple enough: scroll. At the very top was the video with the caption that drew his attention. Chris clicked on the thumbnail of the video, which showed a man squatting over another guy’s face who had an open mouth just below his hole. Chris would have been concerned about waking you up, but if you slept through your alarms, you wouldn’t wake up to a video where the only sound were farts and moans. The video picked up in the moment that the thumbnail showed, the dominant man lowered his ass onto the guys tongue and started farting. He was telling him all of these commanding things that Chris, even as your dad, would never say as a parent. Slowly, the dominant man started replacing his words with grunting and making a plethora of satisfied noises. The man under him was younger, his responses sounded higher pitched and more innocent as the older man’s ass let out farts that were as deep as his voice. The sheer power dynamic was something unlike he’d ever seen. Sure, he had seen his fair share of porn on VHS tapes, and saw guys dominating girls, but it was never to this degree. In his tight little boxers, his dick started to rise.

As he looked deeper into the page, it was clear. The entire page was full of posts about farting and other forms of ass worship, but the caption above each video had one common theme: they were all about dads dominating their sons. It was always a pair of thick cheeks swiping a smaller boy’s head between them. Each video had a caption lingering above it from the point of view of the son or the father, about not telling their mother or being glad that she left so this faux dad and his son could have uninterrupted bonding time. And you were into it, almost every video was liked and saved in some way as indicated by the illuminated heart and blue bookmark at the bottom of each video. His tent only got bigger, pushing the already-cramped pouch to it’s limit. The fly of his boxers held together with one button was parted to show his length underneath. If it weren’t for that button, his girth would have filled the entire space and possibly even slipped through the slit. 

But as his dick sprung up, his brows furrowed. Why didn’t you ever tell him about this?

Sure, Chris blatantly fit your niche for sexual gratification but you didn’t want him. Your father. This was just a fantasy you had—probably one of many conjured in your horny head—and he wasn’t asking you to jerk off with him by any means, but just to be communicative. He would like to know the type of guys you’ll eventually bring home—or at the very least, he wanted to be able to give you the freedom to talk about a hot guy passing the two of you on the street. To say “he’s cute,” and your dad could agree. But where did the prospect of guys even come from? His son only ever talked to him about girls. Chris expressed that he would be more than happy to support his son if he was interested in anything other than that, but you insisted that girls were your only priority. But that was a few years ago… and any time he tried to pry and get you to open up to him about your crushes, you seemed avoidant of the topic. Avoidant of him for a reason that was slowly becoming more clear.

There was only one way to handle it. Face the problem head-on. If you weren’t going to open up then he would have to make the first move, even if it was unexpected and possibly unrequited on your part. You partially deserved it—well, mostly, but Chris loved you too much to actually hold you to your faults. He tried to see things in a good light; your alarms were waking him up earlier so that you could spend more time with him, your secrecy and privacy were something to ignore and push past like any good parent knows how to do. You were his perfect little boy who could do no wrong, so this wasn’t a punishment or a rude awakening like you had given him; it was a feast. 

So, instead of a slap to the face to awaken you, he did something much more soft and caring. All of those videos he looked at, the so-called “Dad” of each would usually hover over the guy under him or outright sit on his face. To do that, he had to make sure you were on your back, which you already were, his hand gripped your chin and fixed your head turned off to the side, making it so that you were looking directly up to the ceiling. And lastly, he peeled back your sheets and crumpled them up on the opposite side of the bed from where he stood. To his surprise, you slept without anything on at all. The boy he had taught to wear jammies and set and example by wearing loose-hanging fleece pants and a tank top to bed every night had found it more comfortable to wear nothing. To be so vulnerable, it was another side of you that he had never seen.

Chris leaned down and placed his hand on your chest. It stayed there for a second, too stiff to move because if it does go anywhere, it will move down your medial and end up groping areas he wasn’t ready to touch. He let out a sigh and softly spoke to you, “Get up, champ. Come on.” 

Chris wanted to you wake up in that moment with his voice, for his irrational parental decisions to be put to rest by you finally fluttering your pretty mother-like eyes open. His stomach started to swirl with anxiety. This wouldn’t mean anything, right? It was payback with a bit of pleasure. You got your mother’s eyes, the same ones Chris stared into and fell in love with. The same shade that leaned into her inherited features and gave him ‘fuck me’ eyes countless times, the same ones she bestowed to you. The ones he saw looking back at him when he looked at the best achievement in his life—his baby boy. But you were lazy, sleeping in, hardly being the boy your dad talked so highly of at family gatherings. You were barely the boy he recognized anymore… when did you start to act like this? What would he say to them now? Would he talk about how bad you were or about his own bad behavior? What if you told them all that he did, after he did this, and he lost you? Well, he better just enjoy you before you leave him anyways, whether that’s for college or another man.

For now, you couldn’t get away from him if he was holding you down. This was like a warm bear hug when your kid leaves for college, it’s like a hug after they get their license and nearly get hit for the first time and you’re less worried about the car and more worried about your bairn. Chris repeated every excuse he could think of and welcomed the new ones that entered the fray to justify what he was about to do. He could never admit that he liked what was going to happen next. No, the tent pitched in his boxers by his painfully hard dick—harder than it had ever been—was because of the porn, not because of his son. It couldn’t be. 

Chris placed his bare foot on the edge of your bed, he then propelled himself up and was able to stand next to your sleeping figure with both feet. He had to hunch down a bit so that his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling. Then, he stepped over you so that his feet were on either side of you. His weight shifting on your bed and the creaking of your mattress frame still wasn’t enough to breech through whatever your sleepy head was dreaming about. He tried to align himself with his heel starting at about your shoulders and his big toe ending just shy of your elbow, his front half had the perfect outlook to your room from the highest possible angle. Everything you would never grow into could be seen from up there, including the dust on your ceiling fan.

His mind spiraled as it twisted. The Earth still lingered closely to the sun, so the warm days that were soon to turn cold still needed a reprieve. But both things still orbited around one perfect little center, and in this case, it was you. Chris planted his ass squarely over your face. At first, he hovered. Holding his breath while he felt yours hit against the back of his legs. Each soft breath… so carefree. In minutes, he’d have you fighting for the same air you were about to be cut off from. He hated to admit, even if it was just to himself, that the idea nearly made his boxers prematurely soaking wet. 

Chris’ ass was big, and sealed off your face completely when he sat on you. He could feel how your face only impacted the space between his doughy cheeks, and he could feel the fat on his ass—one that’s all smackable plush with no tension to stop any ripples. He didn’t even have to wedge them apart with his hands for them to be wide enough! He fell into one of those “don’t look down” situations where, if he did see how he completely smothered his boy’s face with his ass, he probably would have shot up and made sure you were okay. But you wanted this, this force that he couldn’t give you in every day life. Why else would you turn to porn instead of your dad? 

You woke up when the entire weight of your dad was resting on you. He made sure to not absolutely crush you—but who knows, maybe you would like that—since he was well built and covered a lot of your upper body with his thick thighs and ass alone. Now, parking it back on your face, he might actually suffocate you.

“Mmm,” you groaned, your body reflexively trying to stretch and turn the muscles that had been still for hours. In just a few brief seconds, it immediately knew what it was under—your dad’s full moon. “Dad?”

All of your noise was filtered through layers of fat, barely escaping around the mound on top of you. You were talking directly into his clothed ass, eyes staring up the run of his back. Chris could feel your hot saliva and breath already seeping through the fabric and to his skin. He shuddered, but remained cool. Chris reached down and palmed at his tented erection and pressed his other hand on your chest to shift his weight forward to his knees and the supporting hand. He slid that hand down your body and moved the rest of the covers out of the way that he had missed on his first go-around. He wanted to see you, imagining your legs kick while under him. While he was far from that point, you were already chubbing up. You were a bit smaller than your dad and his crown jewels—and he was being generous with ‘small’ because you’re his boy—but it was more reassuring for him because it meant that you were enjoying it.

He was wearing boxers. Something you hadn’t seen him do in a while. The last time you caught him this stripped down was about a month ago when he was preparing to take a shower and had to cross the hall in a pair of his briefs to grab the shampoo he left in his bag. You’re pretty sure he left it in his luggage after a work trip, but that quick glimpse was enough to stop you and your heart for a second as you were heading to your room. You picked up that he might just have been adding extra layers because you felt intimidated by him—by his muscles, his generally wide and commanding physique, and his voice and tone. Little does he know that you don’t want to become a man like him. You want a man like him, a man that makes you feel inferior to yourself.

“Sh-sh-sh,” he made the noise softly with his mouth. “Daddy’s here, and he’s got breakfast.”

Chris sat up straight again after leaning down to reveal your dick, putting all of his weight back on your face with his ass. As if on cue, he let out a relaxed sigh and the first of many farts sputtered out. 

A muffled—but expected—protest squeaked out from under him, much quieter than his fart, “Dad!”

Your dad didn’t expect to feel his dick beading with pre-cum as soon as it had. Each moment his dick throbbed hard shifted it up in his boxers ever so slightly and caused the cum to smear against the fabric it was sheathed in. It didn’t help that he occasionally groped his tent, but he had to stop or else he would cum too soon. Hearing your voice from so far away, so devoid of the bratty pedestal you put yourself on, put your father on a power trip.

“Call it a truce. I accept you and you get a little slap on the wrist for making your daddy cranky.” Chris lifted himself up again, moving back this time so he was closer to your headboard. The hand palming his tent lightly smacked the side of your face that wasn’t covered by skin and blue fabric, and you could feel the gloppy pre-cum at the ends of his finger tips. He must have been aching under those boxers to the point that they were wet on the outside. While his tent hung over your face now that he had moved back, it didn’t stay like that for long. You got a break from smelling his farts to smell his equally intoxicating musk before being gassed up by his farts again just moments later. 

“It stinks,” you whined underneath his hefty ass. Your hands could have worked their way up to push him off, but he would be too heavy. His ass would be too fat, easy to grab but too hard to hold.

“Good, I know you like it like that. When it’s all… in your face.” Maybe he should keep his dirty talk to the short side of things, but Chris was still learning. Another fart came rolling out that lasted well over ten seconds and made him sigh in relief. He accompanied it after with a stern, “Sniff it, boy."

The smell wafted up to Chris’ nose. You’re right—it stinks. The addition of coffee made his bowels usher out the stirrings of last night’s dinner even quicker. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone all in on a savory dinner last night, because each blast from his ass smelled like that dish left out in the sun for days. 

Chris moved again—he couldn’t tell if it was because he couldn’t run the risk of actually hurting you or if he was almost too jittery from this newfound pleasure to know what to make of it. He went from sitting back to kneeling over your chest, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers clawing up the small of his back, desperate to not slip down and show his ass. Still not enough room for you to escape from under him, but you really didn’t want to, and Chris knew that. All of his clothes bore the burden of having to stretch themselves to fit around his fat cheeks. He gave his tenuously stretched boxers a break by pushing them down past his ass and to his thick thighs. It wasn’t so easy in the front, since he had to push his painfully stiff erection down with the waistband, keeping it that way until they went below his tip. It sprung up, and just the movement against the still air in the room was enough friction to put Chris over the edge. He left his boxers stretched out between his thighs, stretching them even more when he moved back in your direction.

“These are gonna be even worse, boy.” Chris teased. He sat back on your face again. The only difference is that the warmth of skin-to-skin contact was more noticeable. Your dad’s unwashed ass funk was more noticeable than it had been in boxers that mingled the appalling scent of ass sweat and musk with the floral detergent he used to launder the clothes. Your nose was positioned directly to his hole, and that reeked the worst. It smelled rancid and filled your lungs with rank gas, you could feel it quiver at the cold. The tight ring twitched and tightened—the clear sign that Chris was straining to push the next flurry of gas out.

You dreaded what his unfiltered farts would smell like when they didn’t have a thread count to work through. Each fart had no warning as they came out, like a gun that didn’t need to be cocked before firing. The blasts were rapid-fire, shot out with such force that it made it easier to sniff them up as they came out directly against your nose. 

He was right this time; they were much worse without some kind of necessary passthrough. The intensity and delivery of them was stronger, thicker as your nose immediately felt the gas burn as it entered your body and traveled down to your nervous system. Each intake made your breathing feel raspy, making his longer farts hard to sniff up in one draw. You had to huff—Jesus, you had to pant—to really get the full effect of some of his farts. 

Chris started to welcome a bit of movement into it, making it harder to sniff up all of his gas. Whenever Chris cause a waft of it, he’d move closer and grind harder on your face, but after a few consistent rips with no smell twinging his nose, he would go back to moving back and forth over your face. His hips would thrust forward before rocking back to your forehead, his ass being big enough to not miss a single spot of you.

He parked himself on different parts of your face; your nose when he had to fart, but when he was waiting for the next one to be ready to come out, he moved to your chin and mouth and ordered you to eat him out. He farted in your mouth a few times while you were tonguing his hole, but he laughed it off and just moaned at the feeling of your tongue recoil and mouth twitch in disgust before returning back to his hole. He didn’t really have to check up on your during this, because as long as you were doing what he said, it was enough of a sign to tell him to keep going. 

Chris tried to actively avoid his cock during this. The thought running through his head that he was sitting on his son’s face, coupled with a few pumps, might make him cum in a second’s minute. Something told him though that the feeling alone would catch up to him sooner than later, and it did faster than he thought. He wanted to continue, to keep this going, but it wouldn’t be revolutionary if it didn’t break the expected rules. His whole outlook on his son and his sex life had just been changed over the better half of an hour, and this trajectory just felt right.

With a mix falling somewhere between a cry and a moan, Chris shot his load, thick ropes shooting down your torso and his thighs. Some of them nearly made it to your own cock, that’s how hard it made him cum. The occasional spurt landed on your bed in wry sprigs before the short-lived high started to fall, and soon, Chris was sitting on your face. No rhythm, no care, just focused on the post-orgasmic glow of how he felt. It was enough to make him forget that he was sitting on you, letting his full weight rest on you again despite your breathing slowing. 

This was supposed to be a punishment, and at this very moment, he had gotten everything he wanted: relief on his day off, worked things out with his son, and he left you hanging when he got up off your face. Chris awkwardly got off of your bed, trying to not accidentally knee you in chest or fall over when he went to stand up, the boxers around his thighs making it a bit difficult to fully use his flexibility to help him. Your cock still stood in the swirl of sheets. He couldn’t deny that you looked so good laid out like that, ready for the taking. He wanted to do more, but it took years to raise you into the man you are. He would turn you into his slut if he hadn’t already, but today was the first step. Chris stepped out of his boxers, reaching down to pick them up and giving you a view of his fat ass. Now that he wasn’t telling you to not jerk off, your hand was already wrapping around your cock. 

“I had a moment to think, and you can jerk off with these.” Chris turned and threw his boxers, they landed on your face and you got his with the immediately smell that had just left your nose. It wasn’t as strong, but it was enough. “Your daddy won’t do everything for you.”

And with that, he left the room to let you get to your business. You savored the fleeting sight of his ass as he walked out, shutting the door like you had always asked him to do whenever he barged in. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t have separate rooms for much longer, though. Waking up would be much easier in the future.

[soelstress]

First Words

Pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader

Summary: Your baby boy surprises you.

Warnings: mild language (sorry Steve!)

Word count: 1.1k

A/N - Hello lovelies! I know I've not posted for a while. Sadly my plot bunnies are hibernating but I promise I've not forgotten the requests some of you have made. This is just a lil fluff piece based on similar real life events.

The divider is from the amazing @buck-star - Thank you Sydney! 🥰

The gif is sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

“Language!” 

When you heard your husband's voice from the adjoining room you figured he was on the phone or communicating via FRIDAY. When another shout sounded you grinned, thinking Tony or Nat were really teasing him today. But it wasn’t until Steve came through with a scowl that you paused in folding the laundry. “What’s wrong Steve?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that. Why are you cursing so much?”

Confusion swept through you followed by slight annoyance. “I’m not sure if your attitude or your hearing needs checking first, Captain.” Steve’s brow quickly melted when you called him by his title. “I’m not a child Steve. I can swear as much as I please. But I don’t for two reasons as you well know by now. And besides I’ve been in here humming ‘Baby Shark’ yet again. So whoever is offending your delicate ears, it’s not me.” You crossed your arms defiantly. 

Steve smiled contritely as he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry honey. You’re right. You’re not a child, you are my wife and though I’m not a fan of cursing I shouldn’t have asked like that. It’s just-” His head suddenly tilted before he darted out of the room. 

Nonplussed you followed and saw him peering into your son's bedroom. Your 10 month old child was toddling around his playpen on chubby little legs before falling on his bum next to his blanket and teddy without a sound. He looked around with blue wide eyes then began tugging his blanket and frowned when it wouldn’t move. Before you could take a step to help him, his mouth opened and you expected to hear the soft babbles of annoyance.

“Fuck.”

Your stomach swooped. At a loss for words both you and Steve stared at each other before silently creeping into the room and watching as your son managed to lift his blanket before dropping it again. “Fuck!”

“His first word?” You choked out, unable to believe what had just happened. 

Upon hearing your voice your son smiled and raised his arms while babbling excitedly. Steve picked him up almost robotically, mind still stuck that his son’s first word was a curse word. When you first met you had sworn like a sailor but dialed it back due to Steve’s discomfort, even more so after giving birth. Of course both of you had teasingly wagered if the first word would be ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’.

“Steve, I haven’t-”

Immediately Steve cupped your cheek with his free hand. “I know honey. You’ve not said that word since the day he was born.” Your gazes met as you both briefly before flicking back down to the child cooing away in his daddy’s hold. “So where did he-“ Your gazes met once more.

“STARK!” You stormed out of your shared quarters and down the hall to the living area where some of the Avengers were dotted about the room. Specifically the one whose armour would not protect him from your wrath.

Tony stood when he heard you shout, trademark smirk faltering when he saw you striding toward him with Steve hot on your heels as your son giggled at the fast pace. Steve carefully lowered the baby to the floor near the edge of the couch where Nat and Sam sat watching with wide grins. ”Woah Mama Bear, what’s going on?”

You poked Tony with every word. “What. Did. You. Do?” Steve stood close behind you, ready to step in though he too was beyond annoyed.  Although Tony himself was a father he was more likely to slip up with his colourful language than the rest of the team. 

Eyes wide, Tony shook his head. Usually he would snark and quip his way out of trouble but when he saw how angry you were, that Steve was making no attempt to stop you and that your child was close by instead of being kept away from the conflict meant this was serious. Tony opened his mouth to speak or more accurately plead for more details of what he had done. 

“Fuck?” 

All eyes darted to the miniature Steve Rogers who was looking under the sofa.

Natasha’s eyes darted between you and Tony and back to the eager scavenger near her feet. Sam looked stunned. “Was- did he-”

The colour drained from Tony’s face as he realised what had made you so angry. 

”Fuck!” Your son sat back on his bum, clutching something in his chubby little hand. 

It took you a moment to recognise the item and you frowned before exhaling heavily in relief. ”Oh thank goodness.”

Steve’s eyes, so wide and blue like his son’s, were dazed with confusion. “Honey?”

Smiling, you crouched to brush your hand through your child’s silky hair. “Truck. He was looking for his truck.” Sighs filled the air, soft chuckles turning into laughter.

“What’s going on?”

Steve glanced over to see his best friend standing at the edge of the room, totally bewildered at the scene before him with no apparent explanation. “Hey Buck.”

“Fuck!” Bucky crouched down to catch the little blur that rushed over to him. As Steve followed and started to explain to Bucky what had happened you glanced to where the abandoned truck sat on the floor to your son who currently sat in his godfather's arms and back again.

Your loud groan interrupted Steve’s story, his brows furrowing in concern. But your original suspect in all of this had also caught on to your realisation. “The kid was trying to say Terminator’s name!”

Bucky nodded but was slightly confused as to why everyone either looked amused or annoyed. “Yeah, I thought ‘Buck’ was easier than ‘Bucky’. For now anyway. He’s said it a few times already-“

”Woah hang on Buck. He’s spoken before now and you didn’t tell us?!” Steve’s face was a mixture of anger and disappointment. Not only was his son's first word his Godfather’s name but it wasn't even the first time and Bucky had said nothing.

“It was earlier this morning! I was gonna show you when I came back from my run!” Bucky pleaded, stepping back but giving big puppy eyes to Steve. 

Tony scoffed as colour finally returned to his previously pale face. “Barnes, you dipshit.”

“Sit!”

“STARK!!!”

[ericshoney]

Stark's Wit~ Tony Stark

Summary: You're not the best at hand-to-hand combat, but your the second best Stark with sarcastic responses.

Warnings: Platonic nicknames, possible swearing, sarcastic humour.

Reader's Age: 18

The biting wind whipped around Y/n as she stood on the training platform, a scowl etched on her face. Sparring with super soldiers in January was not her idea of a fun Friday afternoon. Especially when all she had to defend herself was the Stark family arsenal of sarcasm.

“Alright, kid, you ready?” Steve, radiating earnest encouragement, adjusted his gloves. Beside him, Bucky simply stared, his metal arm gleaming dully in the overcast light. Sam hovered behind them, a wry grin on his face. He knew how this usually went.

"Born ready, Captain Rogers," Y/n quipped, her voice dripping with irony. "Just try not to break anything too important. Dad would have a conniption if his precious lab assistant came back in pieces."

Steve winced. He still wasn't entirely used to Y/n's… bluntness. "We'll be careful, Y/n. This is just for practice."

"Practice for what? The Super Soldier Olympics?" She rolled her eyes. "Last time I checked, my skill set leaned more towards coding and caffeine addiction, not hand-to-hand combat."

Bucky finally spoke, his voice gruff. "Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves, Stark. Especially with your… family history."

That hit a little too close to home. Y/n tightened her jaw. "Right, because I specifically asked to be born into a world of interdimensional travel, rogue AI, and sentient purple grapefruits. My bad."

Steve sighed and stepped forward. "Alright, enough talking. Let's see what you've got."

The next few minutes were, to put it mildly, humiliating. Steve, ever the gentleman, pulled his punches, but even he couldn't help but land a few glancing blows. Bucky, predictably, was less restrained. His metal arm was like a battering ram, and Y/n found herself mostly dodging and weaving, her reflexes surprisingly sharp despite her lack of formal training.

"Having fun yet?" Sam called out, leaning against the railing.

"Oh, I'm having a ball, Sam," Y/n gasped, narrowly avoiding Bucky's fist. "This is exactly how I pictured spending my Friday: getting pummeled by a century-old assassin. Living the dream, really."

She managed to duck under Steve’s arm and deliver a swift kick to his shin. It wasn’t exactly a knockout blow, but it was enough to make him stumble.

"Not bad, Y/n," Steve said, rubbing his leg. "You're getting faster."

"Years of dodging Dad's bad science puns have honed my reflexes," she retorted, then spun to face Bucky, who was advancing with a predatory gleam in his eye. "Alright, Tin Man, let's dance!"

Bucky lunged. This time, Y/n tried a different tactic. As he swung his metal arm, she sidestepped and grabbed a handful of his long hair, yanking him off balance.

"Whoa! Hey!" Bucky sputtered, momentarily disoriented.

"Sorry, Barnes! Didn't know you were so sensitive about your 'vintage chic' hairstyle," Y/n said, releasing him and darting away.

Sam burst out laughing. Even Steve cracked a smile. Bucky, however, wasn't amused. He charged again, his movements less precise, fueled by irritation.

Y/n knew she couldn't keep this up forever. She was already winded, and her sarcasm reserves were starting to run dry. As Bucky cornered her near the edge of the platform, she knew she was out of options.

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" she yelled, throwing her hands up in the air. "Uncle! Mercy! I admit defeat! You win, metal arm! You’re the best at… uh… arming metal-ly! Yeah, that’s the one.”

Bucky stopped, his expression a mixture of annoyance and begrudging amusement. “You’re impossible, Stark.”

“That’s what my therapist keeps telling me,” Y/n said, panting. She collapsed onto a nearby bench, gathering her breath.

Steve clapped her on the shoulder. "You did well, Y/n. You're quick, and you think on your feet. You just need to work on your… offensive capabilities."

"My offense is impeccable," Y/n said, gesturing to Bucky. "Just ask him. I practically incapacitated him with my devastating wit."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, wit doesn't exactly stop a bullet."

"True," Y/n conceded. "But it can annoy someone enough that they forget what they were going to do in the first place. That's a defense mechanism in itself, right?"

She looked up at their faces, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. They were her dad’s friends, family even. And despite the inherent strangeness of having super soldiers trying to turn her into a miniature Avenger, she knew they cared.

Steve, ever the optimist, gave her a reassuring smile. "It's a start, Y/n. We'll keep working on it."

"Great," Y/n said, her sarcasm returning full force. "Just promise me one thing: next time, can we at least do this in a heated environment? And maybe with a pizza? I'm pretty sure I can weaponize pepperoni."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Even he had to admit, Y/n Stark, with her sharp tongue and Stark-brand stubbornness, was growing on him. Even if she did almost pull his hair out. He smirked, “I’d pay to see that.”

As the three men began to pack up, Y/n pulled out her phone. Time to order that pizza. And maybe send Dad a text. Something along the lines of: 'Almost got murdered by Bucky today. Send backup (and maybe a new shield design. Sarcasm-proof, preferably).

Tags:

@parkjihoonsnudes @riowritesitall @mandmilovehim @onelesslonelygirlbieber6 @lgbtq-girl

Dividers by: @issysh3ll

[luvhotchner]

sleepover - avengers

summary: peter and y/n want a sleepover and decide to annoy the whole team.

warnings/pairings: platonic!avengers x fem!stark!reader, swearing, use of y/n, gen z’s being gen z’s, y/n flirting with bucky?

i’m in a writing mood for marvel, so send em my way! i also added scott lang to this one!

[moonlit-imagines]

warnings:

a/n:

not requested

“You told me you weren’t choosing sides.” Tony spoke through gritted teeth as you arrived with Steve and Bucky at the HYDRA compound. “You said that you wanted no part of this! That man is the reason I lost my parents! Your grandparents.” The growls of your father shook you, but you stood your ground.

“You know it wasn’t him, Dad.” You stepped forward, much to Cap’s dismay. The last thing he wanted was for you to stand in between him and your father. “You can’t possibly blame him for what those people did to him.”

“I can! I can and I will and for you to stand on their side—it’s…it’s betrayal!” Tears were rolling down his cheeks and yours weren’t far behind. You felt a hand on your shoulder—Steve’s “And you, you pull my own kid into this?”

“You think I wanted this? Trust me, Tony, the last thing I want is to rip your family apart.” Steve tried to reason, but it was futile.

“‘Trust’ isn’t a word I’d be using with you, Cap. Not after this. And my family was already ripped apart when your buddy back there executed my mother and father—and you knew.” Tony was disheartened by the course taken in all of this. Seeing you—his own child—standing in front of Steve and Bucky in his suit of armor felt like a knife twisted in his gut. “Y/N, go outside.”

“No—” You retorted and were quickly cut off.

“Now!” He screamed. “…Please.” A weaker, defeated tone followed.

“It’s for the best, y/n.” Steve whispered from behind you. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. It means the world to me—to us.”

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

[kitty384]

Operation: Talk Some Sense Into Your Best Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky’s overprotectiveness during your pregnancy hits an all-time high, and you enlist Steve and Sam to stage a much-needed intervention.

Warnings: Pregnancy, overprotective behavior (comedic), fluff, light swearing, established relationship, mentions of nausea and hormonal shifts

I love my husband.

I really do.

But if he tells me I can’t lift one more thing, I swear on all things holy I’m going to strangle him with the world’s softest maternity blanket.

“Bucky,” I say slowly, placing the folded stack of towels into the linen closet. “It’s laundry. I am literally moving fabric from one surface to another.”

“You’re carrying our baby,” he says seriously, crossing the room like I just lifted a car. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a feather.”

I blink. “Towels are not heavy.”

“Towels can cause accidents. Back strain. Slippery floors—”

“Did you just make that up?”

He gently takes the remaining towels from my hands like I’m an elderly Victorian fainting woman. “You’re pregnant. Not allowed.”

I stare at him.

He stares back, unbothered.

This is getting out of hand.

It started around week sixteen.

Just a slight uptick in Bucky’s worry level. Not too crazy. Just a few extra check-ins. Some hovering. The occasional “do you want me to carry you to the couch so you don’t have to walk there?”

Cute. Kind of funny.

Week seventeen? He downloaded three pregnancy tracking apps and started setting my hydration alarms.

Week eighteen? He wouldn’t let me walk to the mailbox alone. Said it was “uneven terrain.”

Today?

He told me I needed a spotter to get out of bed.

I’ve had enough.

I find Sam and Steve in the gym, predictably trying to one-up each other with pull-ups. Steve is winning. Sam is swearing.

I walk in, arms crossed, belly slightly more obvious in my fitted t-shirt, and glare.

They both stop mid-rep.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam says, wiping sweat from his brow. “You good?”

“No. Your best friend is driving me absolutely insane and I need backup before I fake a dramatic fainting spell and run away to Aruba.”

Steve blinks. “I’m sorry?”

I sigh. “Bucky is in full-blown dad-mode overdrive. He won’t let me carry a grocery bag. He walks me to the bathroom like I’m made of glass. I caught him googling pregnancy-safe shoelace techniques last night.”

Sam chokes on his water.

Steve raises a hand. “Wait—shoelaces?”

“He thinks I’ll fall over if I bend forward.”

Sam snorts. “Okay, that’s a little much.”

“A little?” I throw my hands up. “He almost tackled me for opening the fridge.”

“To be fair, that thing is kind of heavy—”

“STEVE.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I exhale, then lean against the wall. “Look. I know he means well. I love how much he cares. But if someone doesn’t talk him off this overprotective ledge, I am going to scream. Or cry. Or both. At the same time.”

Sam claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll handle it.”

Steve nods solemnly. “You’ll have personal space again in no time.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “Operation: Chill the Hell Out is a go.”

They corner him in the kitchen that afternoon.

I’m not even in the room—I’m just around the corner, eavesdropping like a professional.

“Buck,” Sam says, “we need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About how you’ve turned into the world’s most intense dad before the kid’s even born.”

Steve jumps in. “You’re stressing Y/N out.”

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky replies, confused. “She shouldn’t be stressed.”

“That’s your fault!” Sam yells.

“I’m protecting her!”

“You’re bubble-wrapping her soul, man.”

Bucky grumbles. “I just… I worry.”

“We know,” Steve says gently. “But you can’t hover her into safety.”

“She’s tough, Buck,” Sam adds. “Let her be.”

There’s silence.

Then, Bucky sighs. “She told you about the shoelaces, didn’t she?”

Steve and Sam answer in perfect unison: “Yes.”

That night, I walk into the living room to find Bucky setting up a foot massage station like I’m royalty.

I raise an eyebrow.

He gives me a sheepish look. “Truce?”

I sit beside him. “Maybe. Are we done banning me from bending over?”

“Yes.”

“And from picking up my own snacks?”

“Yes.”

“And from standing in the kitchen while a microwave runs?”

“That one was one time—”

“Bucky.”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll dial it down. I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. Or them.”

I reach for his hand and place it gently over my belly.

“We’re okay,” I say softly. “But I need you to breathe. And maybe… let me pee without an escort.”

He laughs.

“Deal.”

He still carries the laundry sometimes.

But now he lets me do it with him.

And when I tie my own shoes the next morning, he claps.

So… progress.

Masterlist

Request

[sosa2imagines]

Hiya! I have a Steve Rogers fic request! So, reader and Steve are together for about a year now. Reader is sick and not feeling particularly well. One day, reader falls with morning sickness and she takes a pregnancy test to check before hand. It comes back positive, however she panics because she knows it's not Steve's. She confesses to Steve. However, instead of breaking the relationship, he helps her and guides her through maternity, together.

Hope you have fun writing! 😊💕

Warning- Angst, fluff, unexpected pregnancy.

You wake with a heaviness in your chest, not the emotional kind, not yet. Your stomach churns violently, and the instant you lift your head from the pillow, you know what’s coming.

The bathroom tiles are cold against your knees as you throw up for the second time that morning.

Its been happening for ten days straight now.

Your fingers tremble when you reach for the sink, trying to steady yourself. You’ve told yourself it’s probably the flu, maybe some bad takeout. But deep down you know.

You grab your phone, check the calendar. One week late.

The test burns a hole in your drawer. You bought it days ago, just in case. You never thought you'd actually have to use it.

And now, you stare at the little window, eyes fixed, heartbeat pounding louder than your thoughts.

Two lines.

Positive.

You sit on the bathroom floor for a long time, unable to move. You want to scream. Cry. Run. But none of those things would change the truth you already knew before the test confirmed it.

It's not Steve’s.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year. The man who holds your hand like it's precious, who never forgets how you take your coffee, who stays up with you on your worst days and kisses your forehead like it’s sacred. The man who would have done anything for you. Who uses protection, because he does not want you to deal with anything, you both may or may not be ready for.

But this?

This is your fault.

And you have to tell him.

He's in the kitchen when you walk out. The morning sun filters through the window, casting a soft glow over his messy hair and tired smile. He turns to you, apron tied haphazardly over his sweatpants, flipping pancakes.

“Morning, sweetheart. Feeling any better?” His voice is laced with worry. Ever since the sickness started, Steve has been constantly worried about you.

You don't answer right away. You just watch him, memorizing the way he looks at you like you’re his world.

Your chest tightens. This might be the last time, so with a deep breath you decide to tell him, “I need to talk to you...” you say quietly.

He sets the spatula down, turning to face you fully. “What’s wrong?”

You hold the test in your hand, but your fingers refuse to let it go. “I’m… pregnant…”

His eyes widen, just slightly. He doesn’t speak. He waits, the way he always does, patient, calm, steady.

And it shatters you.

“It’s not yours…” you whisper. “It… it was a mistake. A stupid, selfish, one-time mistake before us. I thought it was over. I didn’t even think about it again until now. But, this happened. And I didn’t want to lie to you...and I can understand if you want to end things…I…I promise I won’t blame you…”

He says nothing for a beat. You wait for the sharp breath. The anger. The betrayal. Waiting for him to say “pack your bags and get the hell lost!”

But none of that comes.

Instead, Steve steps forward, gently takes the test from your hand, and sets it on the counter. He cups your cheek like you're made of glass.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Thank you for telling me…”

You blink, tears stinging, “Aren’t you mad?”

He smiles sadly, but full of love, “Yeah. A little. But more than that… I’m scared that you’re scared. And I’m not going to leave you to do this alone.”

“You shouldn’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay.”

He wraps his arms around you like an anchor, grounding you. Your body shakes with silent sobs, pressed against his chest.

You don’t deserve this. But he’s here. Still here.

And when he pulls away just enough to rest his hand on your stomach, his eyes glisten.

“We’ll get through this. Together.”

You never meant for it to be this complicated.

You never meant to sleep with Clark Kent again, not after he broke your heart for her. Not after all those tear-stained nights and the way your chest ached every time you saw him and Lois in a photo, smiling like they hadn’t left wreckage behind.

But one night, grief blurred the lines. One night, he showed up at your door with an apology and a broken look. One night, you let yourself believe he meant it.

And then, nothing. Silence. No follow-up. Just another goodbye, without any words.

You had no idea that night would leave you with something that would change the course of your life.

And now, Steve holds your hand with gentle strength as you whisper the truth.

“It’s… Clark’s.”

His thumb stills its rhythmic stroke on your knuckles. His jaw tightens, just slightly. But he doesn’t let go.

He never does.

“That was before us,” he says quietly, as if reminding himself too. “You didn’t cheat on me. And he left you. That’s not your fault.”

You stare down at the floor, words tangling in your throat. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I thought I’d never see Clark again. He made it clear that Lois was his future...”

Steve nods slowly, “You still should tell him.”

“I could try…but…” you admit, biting your lip. “he’s… blocked me. Everywhere. I guess he thought I might get in the way of their perfect life.”

There’s a flash of something in Steve’s eyes, anger, towards Superman. But it’s quickly swallowed by calm resolve.

“I’ll find him…” he says.

You blink, startled. “Steve…you don’t…”

“I don’t care if I have to fly across the damn globe. He should know. But more importantly…” he pauses, cupping your cheek, “you deserve peace.”

You nod, swallowing back tears. “What if he doesn’t want the baby?”

He holds your gaze. “Then he’s a fool. But either way, I do want the baby. And I want you.”

The tears come freely now. You fall into his arms, and for the first time since the test turned positive, you feel like maybe… just maybe… this won’t break you.

Truth to be told, Steve with the help from Tony, did contact Clark, but Clark dismissed him, telling him to do whatever he wishes to do, cause you are no longer his problem.

That was the last, Steve ever talked about him.

Then came the first ultrasound.

The examination room is quiet except for the steady hum of the machine and the soft static that preludes something life-changing.

You lie on the table, gown draped over your belly, Steve seated beside you, your fingers intertwined so tightly they’ve gone numb.

The technician smiles at you both, friendly and warm. “You two ready to see your little one?”

Steve squeezes your hand. “We’re ready.”

The gel is cold. You flinch. The wand glides across your skin, and you hold your breath. And then a sound is heard.

Rhythmic. Soft. Then louder.

Your breath catches. Steve’s hand tightens around yours.

“There’s the heartbeat,” the technician beams. “Strong and steady.��

You blink hard, trying not to cry. But Steve’s thumb brushes the tears off your cheek anyway.

The monitor displays a tiny blob, your baby. Clark’s baby. But it doesn’t feel like his right now. It feels like yours. Like Steve’s, even. Because he’s here. Because he cares. Because he’s already giving more than the biological father ever did.

The tech continues. “Looks like you’re around ten weeks. Everything’s measuring just right. Dad, want to see?”

You glance at Steve instinctively.

He leans forward, eyes glued to the screen, voice rough. “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

He doesn’t correct them.

He doesn’t say, I’m not the father.

Instead, he asks, “Can we get a picture of the heartbeat?”

The technician prints it out without question.

You don’t speak until you’re back in the car, the ultrasound photo trembling in your hands, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Steve starts the engine but doesn’t pull away, “Because I am the one who’s here. I’m the one who’s going to help you through every kick and craving and sleepless night. And when that baby comes into the world, I’m going to be the one holding them, whispering that it’s going to be okay.”

You look at him, this man who chose to stay, who chose you, who is choosing this baby even though he doesn’t have to.

Your voice is a whisper, “You don’t have to do this...”

“I want to,” he says with a smile, “Let me love both of you.”

You cry harder than you have since that first test.

And in your heart, you already know, this child may not be Steve’s by blood, but they will be his in every way that matters.

The bump starts to show around week sixteen. It’s small at first. A soft curve beneath your sweaters. But Steve notices immediately.

He stares at it sometimes when you’re asleep, his palm hovering just above like he’s afraid to wake the baby or you. He whispers to your belly when you’re not listening, voice full of wonder and low chuckles. You once caught him doing it and he flushed tomato-red.

“She kicked when I said her name,” he murmured like it was classified intel. “I think she likes me.”

You laugh. “That’s because she does…”

Your hormones are a menace. You cry over everything. A broken shoelace. A commercial with a puppy. One time Steve came home with the wrong kind of ice cream and you wept like he’d murdered someone. He apologized for an hour and drove twenty-five minutes back to get the right one.

You called yourself insane.

He only kissed your forehead. “You’re growing a human, sweetheart. You can set the apartment on fire and I’ll still think you’re amazing.”

You reply through sniffles, “I was actually considering arson, so thank you…”

You craved pineapple, pickles, peanut butter, and pepperoni all at once. Steve doesn’t flinch. He goes to four stores to find the right brand of pickles at 11 PM on a Tuesday.

Once, you cried when he brought you a warm grilled cheese just the way you liked it, cut diagonally, not horizontally and whispered, “You remembered.”

He blushed. “Course I did, doll. That’s my job now.”

“You’re too good.”

“Nah,” he smiled. “Just madly in love with you and slightly terrified of you.”

You laughed and cried at the same time.

The baby shower was a literal war for Steve.

Tony insists on throwing you a baby shower, and Steve agrees reluctantly. You have a vision board, a color theme, and approximately seventeen pages of Pinterest inspiration.

Steve has a nervous breakdown over centerpieces.

“I don’t know what the hell a ‘woodland chic’ aesthetic is…” he panics to Natasha on the phone. “Are mushrooms cute now? Why are we decorating with moss?!”

Natasha shows up just to babysit him.

Despite the chaos, it turns out beautifully. You cry again when Steve gives a heartfelt toast about how this baby might not be his by blood, but they're his in every way that matters. He thanks everyone for accepting your baby and him with open arms.

Even Bucky’s tearing up.

He later tells Steve, “You sap.” But he claps him on the back and adds, “You’re gonna be a damn good dad.”

The night your water broke, it happens at 3:47 AM.

You jolt upright in bed, gasping, “Steve!!!”

“Mmh?” he groans, groggy and tangled in blankets.

“My water just broke...”

He sits up like he’s been shot, “WHAT?! Okay…okay! Grab the bag, wait, I grab the bag! Do we have socks? You need socks. Is it too late for socks?! Okay…okay”

You groan in pain. “Steve, if you don’t get me to the hospital right now, I swear I will light this whole damn apartment on fire and use Clark’s ashes as fuel! And stop saying OKAY!!!”

He scrambles like his life depends on it. “Socks later, fire now, got it! Okay!”

He helps you into the car, holding your hand the entire time, whispering sweet nothings, “You’re doing amazing, doll.” “You can crush my hand if you need to. I don’t even need fingers.” “You definitely don’t look like a demon right now. No, you’re glowing. Glowing with… strength.”

You glare at him mid-contraction. “I want to kill Clark.”

Steve kisses your knuckles. “I support you. Just maybe after we get the baby out?”

At the hospital, he never lets go of your hand, not once. Not when you scream. Not when you curse. Not when you cry, beg for it to be over, or threaten violence on multiple innocent bystanders.

When your baby finally arrives, red-faced, crying, tiny fists curled against their chest, Steve is the one who cuts the cord.

The nurse turns to him with a bright smile. “Congratulations, Dad.”

And again, he doesn’t correct her.

He holds your baby like they’re the most sacred thing he’s ever touched. And when he finally places them into your arms, his eyes are full of unshed tears.

“You did so good, doll. Look at our little miracle.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, baby curled against your chest, and whisper, “Thank you for staying.”

He kisses your temple, voice thick. “I didn’t stay. I chose this. I chose you. And I’ll keep choosing you both, every day.”

You wait until everyone’s gathered in the hospital room.

Natasha bouncing on the balls of her feet, Pepper filming with teary eyes, Sam cracking jokes, and Bucky in the corner pretending not to care, but clearly wiping at his eyes every five seconds.

Steve stands beside you, cradling the baby, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips. Your head rests against his bicep, exhaustion still clinging to your bones, but you feel lighter than you’ve felt in months.

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Pepper asks, camera zoomed in.

You exchange a glance with Steve. He nods, a silent encouragement.

You turn to everyone, voice soft but steady. “We wanted to wait until he was born to be sure. But now that he’s here, it just… fits.”

Everyone leans in.

“His name is Jamie Steven Rogers.”

The room goes still.

Bucky blinks. “I…what?”

Steve's eyes widen, completely stunned, he knew you wanted to name the child after Bucky, but adding his name that was a surprise for him.

“You named him after me?” Bucky croaks, looking at you like you just threw a brick at his heart in the best way possible.

You laugh, a little breathless. “You’ve always had my back. You’ve been my brother before I even knew I needed one. You’re going to be the best uncle. And Steve… well.” You look at the man holding your son. “He’s already the best dad.”

Bucky exhales hard and runs a hand through his hair.

“Damn it,” he mutters. “I was supposed to be the emotionally unavailable, grumpy uncle who makes inappropriate jokes and teaches the kid to swear. Now I’m crying like a Disney princess.”

You smirk. “You can still be the grumpy uncle. Just a very loved one.”

He groans but pulls you into a hug anyway. “I swear, if this baby’s first word is ‘punk’ it’s going on the birth certificate.”

Everyone laughs, the tension melting into joy.

Later that night, the room has long since quieted. Visitors have gone home. Nurses come and go softly, but it’s just you and Steve now. Jamie sleeps peacefully between the two of you, a little burrito of blankets and soft snores.

Steve brushes a finger down Jamie’s chubby cheek. “He’s perfect.”

“You are…” you say, eyes fixed on him. “You didn’t have to do this. But you chose it all. You chose us.”

He looks at you like he’s still trying to believe this is real. “I’ll never stop choosing you.”

You lean over and kiss him soft, slow, grateful. His hand cups your jaw, deepening it just enough to make your heart thrum all over again.

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“For loving a baby that wasn’t yours. For making him yours. For being ours.”

He only smiles, kissing your forehead. “There was never a choice for me. You’re my whole world.”

As you fall asleep, Steve promises to protect you and his baby. Because you don’t know about the storm taking place and Steve will make sure you don’t get to know about it.

Earlier with Bucky, he had a private conversation.

Hours ago, while you were asleep and Steve had stepped out for a coffee run, Bucky cornered him just outside the nursery window.

“Hey,” Bucky said, voice lower than usual. “We’ve got a problem.”

Steve stiffened. “What kind of problem?”

“Clark.” Bucky glanced over his shoulder, then back at Steve. “I’ve seen him hanging around. Not close enough to make a scene, but… he’s lurking. Watching.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, the shadows under his eyes sharpening. “He’s not setting one foot near her. Or my baby.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

“If he even looks at them…” Steve’s voice dropped to a dangerous growl, “I’ll end him.”

“I’m in,” Bucky said without missing a beat. “We’ll make it look like an accident.”

Steve smirked, dark and knowing. “Appreciate it.”

Bucky’s tone sobered. “Just… keep her safe. Keep Jamie safe.”

Steve nodded. “With my life.”

They didn’t tell you. Not that night. Not then. Because that moment belonged to peace.

Back in the Room

Jamie stirs slightly in his bassinet. You and Steve both move at the same time, instinctively in sync, soothing him with whispered hushes and gentle touches.

You rest your head against Steve’s shoulder again, feeling his warmth, his steady breath, the beating of his heart.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you…” you whisper.

He kisses the top of your head. “Whatever it was, I’m glad you did it.”

The room goes quiet again.

You both fall asleep like that, your hand on Jamie’s back, Steve’s arm around you, wrapped up in a family that wasn’t planned but was meant to be.

Taglist- @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@pattiemac1 @peaches1958 @hzdhrtss @kpopgirlbtssvt

[buckystevelove]

[literaryavenger]

Tony during a team dinner trying to make a point while talking about Y/N and Peter: I'd like to point out I raised two fully functional children.

Steve, shocked: You have two kids we don't know about??

Tony: Come on, they're good people.

*Meanwhile Y/N and Peter across the table*

Y/N to Peter: Can you pass me a napkin?

Peter: Is milady's arm broken?

Y/N: Yours is about to be.

Peter: Move!

Y/N: You have room!

Peter: No, move out! You're 40!

Y/N: *gasps*

The team after watching Y/N and Peter throw each other pieces of food like children: *They look back at Tony with raised eyebrows*

Tony:

Tony: Don't look at me, it's Pepper's fault. I was barely around!

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Maybe how would bucky react to his daughter having her period? Perhaps she has really bad cramps and tries to hide it from him and her uncles because she is embarrassed so she tries to find a way to sneak out to get pads herself?

Growing Up » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Teen Daughter!Reader

Summary: Bucky realizes you’re growing up when he finds out you got your period.

Warnings: Fluff, language, periods, pads, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 12 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Waking up with bad cramps from your period is something you didn’t want at all. Hiding it from your dad is not an option. That goes for your uncles. You already know your dad is going to ask you if you’re sick or not. You’re just going to play it off and tell him you’re fine.

You plan on somehow sneaking out of the compound to buy pads at the store. That’s going to be difficult due to your dad, uncles, and aunts being Avengers. Lucky for you, you know how to be sneaky. You’re not sure how well that’s going to work out when you sneak back in the compound.

You know your dad and the Avengers are in a meeting for an upcoming mission, which is perfect for you. You made sure to be quiet as you made your way out of the compound. You then made your way to the store. You know you’re going to have to suffer the consequences if your dad finds out that you snuck out. That’s a risk you’re willing to take.

You bought pads and made your way back to the compound. You were still in the clear. Or so you thought. Sam was walking past the main entrance at the same time you were walking inside the compound.

“What were you doing outside?” Sam asks.

“I uhh- I got bored and wanted to hangout outside for a little bit.” You lied.

“What’s in the bag?” He asks curiously, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nothing…” You lied again.

Sam could tell there’s something you’re not telling him. You walked away before he could ask you anymore questions. You seen Steve walking towards you.

“What’s with the bag?” Steve asks.

“Nothing…” You lied once again, walking past him.

Steve frowns as he watches you walk away. You managed to get to your bedroom without running into your dad, your aunts, or the rest of your uncles. You sighed after you closed the door. You opened the bag, looking inside of it.

“Have you guys seen Y/N?” Bucky asks Steve and Sam.

“I seen her near the main entrance with a bag of something. When I asked her, it was like she was trying to hide something from me.” Sam says.

“Me too.” Steve chimes in.

Bucky frowns to himself, hoping that you’re ok.

“JARVIS, where’s Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“She’s in her bedroom, Sergeant Barnes. Would you like me to call her down here?” JARVIS asks.

“No. I’ll go to her room.” He says.

Bucky went to your bedroom and knocked on the door. You jumped at the sound.

“Who is it?” You asked.

“It’s dad.” Bucky says.

“One second!” You say.

You tossed the pads in your bathroom, which landed in the doorway before opening your bedroom door.

“What’s up, dad?” You asked.

“Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam told me you were acting like you were hiding something. Is that true?” He asks.

“No…” You lied.

You knew better than to lie to your dad, but you did it anyway. You then winced from a bad cramp.

“Are you ok?” He asks.

“I’m fine.” You answered, wincing again.

“Doll, seriously. What’s wrong?” He asks with worry in his voice.

“I’m fine, dad.” You answered again.

Bucky caught a glimpse of the bag in the doorway of your bathroom. Steve and Sam told him that you had a bag of something when you were in the main entrance of the compound.

“What’s in the bag?” Bucky asks curiously.

“What bag?” You asked, pretending to not know what he was talking about.

“The one in the doorway of your bathroom.” He says.

“Nothing…” You lied.

“So you won’t mind if I looked in it?” He says.

Your eyes went wide. You ran over to the bathroom and grabbed the bag, holding it behind your back. That was enough to tell Bucky that you’re hiding something from him.

“Now, I know you’re hiding something from me. What is it?” He asks.

You didn’t want to tell him that you got your period, but he’s going to find out one way or another.

“I got my period.” You say quietly.

“You need to speak up, doll.” Bucky says.

“I got my period.” You say a little bit louder.

Bucky’s facial expression softened. You looked down to avoid eye contact with him.

“Oh, doll.” He whispers, hugging you. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled.

Bucky heard you sniffle. He held you tighter as you started crying softly. He wishes that you had a mom to help you out with this, but lucky for you, you have two aunts to help you out with this.

“It’s going to be ok, doll.” He whispers. “I’ll take you to the store and you can get what you need.” Bucky says softly.

“I already did.” You say.

“What?” He asks, looking down at you.

“I snuck out and went to the store while you, uncle Steve, uncle Sam, and the rest of the Avengers were in the meeting earlier.” You tell him.

You feel bad for sneaking out. You know you should’ve told your dad that you needed to go to the store, but you didn’t want to bother him.

“You can’t be sneaking out, Y/N. If you want to go somewhere, you need to tell me first and I’ll take you to wherever you need to go. That goes for your aunts and uncles.” Bucky says sternly.

“I know and I’m sorry.” You apologized. “Are you mad at me?” You asked, your eyes tearing up.

“I’m not mad at you, babydoll.” He almost whispers.

You smiled when your dad kissed the top of your head.

“Is there anything you need?” Bucky asks.

“Is there anything that will make cramps go away?” You asked.

“Aspirin might help with that. At least, that’s what your mom took for hers.” He tells you. “Since you already bought pads, how about I take you to the store to get some aspirin and snacks?” He suggests.

“Yes please.” You smiled.

Bucky stares down at you with a smile on his face, realizing that his baby girl is growing up.

“Why are you looking at me like that, dad?” You asked.

“You’re growing up.” He says softly.

“I’m not that grown up. I’m only 12.” You giggled.

“To me, you are.” He says.

You giggled and hugged him.

“I love you, kiddo.” He whispers.

“I love you too, dad.” You whispered back. “Please don’t tell anyone that I got my period.” You say, looking up at him.

“I won’t, doll. It’ll stay between you and me.” He says.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[lovelybucky1]

you stumble into your apartment, making far too much noise for three in the morning. you passed tipsy three drinks ago, and you’re honestly surprised you even made it home without having to call dad!steve to come get you. which, speaking of…

he is waiting for you on the couch, arms crossed and chest straining at the thin tee he’s wearing. he seems unhappy; that classic disappointed look he wears so well.

“it’s late,” is all he says.

“i’m sorry, i meant to call,” you say as you kick off your heels, sighing in relief as your bare feet touch the cool wood of the floor.

“i was worried about you.”

you sigh. “i’m fine, steve. look, i got home in one piece.”

steve sighs in return. he opens his arms, inviting you to climb into his lap. “come ‘ere,” he says softly.

you cross the floor and collapse into his lap, letting your big, strong man support your tired body. you lay your forehead on his shoulder and he wraps his arms around you.

“missed you, dad,” you mumble.

“missed you too, honey. did you have fun?”

“uhhuh,” you nod. “lena bought me so many drinks.”

“yeah? it’s never a good sign when a spy tries to get you drunk.”

you giggle softly and he smiles down at you. you trace the angles of his face with your eyes. strong jaw, sharp nose, plus lips, gorgeous blue eyes. he’s so perfect.

“pretty,” you say.

“pretty?” he parrots with a raised eyebrow. “you talkin’ about me?”

“uhhuh,” you giggle. “so pretty, dad.”

“you’re the pretty one, sweetheart,” he says as he rubs your back soothingly.

your drunk, exhausted body started to move on its own accord and next thing you know, you’re kissing and bitingbsteve’s neck. you smear your lipstick over his pale skin as you suck even darker marks.

“what’re you doing, baby?” he asks.

“kissin’”

“i can see that, i mean why?

“want you, daddy.”

you pull away and sit up straighter in his lap so you can look him in the eye. you give him your best pout, complete with the glassy puppy dog eyes, but it doesn’t work. he chuckles.

“christ, you’re drunk,” he says, shaking his head. “we can in the morning if you’re feeling up to it, okay?”

“no,” you whine. “i want you now.”

you grab the hem of his shirt and tug at it, attempting to pull it off. steve, foolishly, aids you and pulls it over his head, exposing miles of gorgeous muscles to you.

“i’m not gonna fuck you while you’re drunk, baby.”

you pout even harder. “why not? you know i trust you and i know you won’t do anything i don’t wanna do.”

steve stays firm.

“it’s time for bed, honey. let’s get your makeup off.”

“no.”

“what?”

“no,” you say, crossing your arms. “i’m not going to bed.”

steve sighs through his nose as he moves you off of his lap and stands up. he then scoops you into his arms with ease and throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his arm tight over the back of your thighs to keep you steady.

“dad!” you whine.

when you reach the bedroom, he sets you down on the bed and stands above you, once again wearing that disappointed look.

“keep it up and you’ll be in for a punishment in the morning,” he says. “you can either go to bed in your dress and makeup, or you can let me help you get ready. choice is yours.”

the two of you have a stare down for a moment, but eventually you give in. if there’s anything steve rogers is good at, it’s being stubborn. even more so than you.

“good girl,” he says when you get up from the bed and head off towards the bathroom.

[lizzie-harper]

Avengers (MCU) Incorrect Quotes with Y/n!

Tony: Tell them to eat shit, Natasha.

Natasha: Tell them yourself.

Tony: Eat shit, asshole. Fall of your horse.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Vision: Here are two pictures. one of them is your room, and the other is the garbage dump.

Thor: *points at a picture* That one is the dump.

Vision: THEY'RE BOTH YOUR ROOM!

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Bucky: I scare people a lot because I walk very softly and they don't hear me enter rooms. So when they turn around, I'm just kind of there and their fear fuels me.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Clint: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance?

Peter: No.

Sam: No.

Clint: Didn't think so.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Y/n: Do you have a self-care routine?

Peter: "Keep going bitch" said to myself in different accents.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Thor: How many children do you have?

Tony: Biologically, legally, or emotionally? Because there is a difference.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Y/n: How do ethical philosophers feel about murder?

Steve: Well, it’s frowned upon.

Y/n: Okay, but what if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier?

Y/n: That’s okay, right?

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Wanda: New year, new me.

Dr. Strange: Bitch, it’s August.

Wanda: Time is an illusion.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Vision: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you.

Vision: Ask me to kill for you.

Y/n: ...First of all, calm down-

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Peter: Strawberry milk doesn’t taste like strawberry OR milk.

Y/n: Go the fuck to sleep Peter.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Tony: Have I ever told you that you cook well?

Y/n: Awww, no, you haven't!

Tony: So why do you keep cooking?

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Peter: Yeah, we’re free thinkers.

Y/n: *starts playing Sneakernight by Vanessa Hudgens.*

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Clint: I feel so burnt out.

Bucky: Don’t worry, it'll be over soon.

Clint: Are you gonna... assassinate me?

Bucky: Well not if you’re expecting it.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Natasha, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Peter: I was going to suggest we do Marilyn Monroe and JFK roleplay, but I’d get way too into it.

Y/n: What- how?

Peter: You’d be like “come to bed … Mr. President” and I’d be like, “I need to increase the amount of American military advisors in South Vietnam by a factor of 18.”