#i'm just a kid from brooklyn (steve rogers)

[witchywithwhiskey]

🍻 beer and bad decisions 🍻

pairing: best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've been hooking up with your best friend, steve rogers, and when he walks you home after his birthday celebration, you end up drunkenly making out against your front door—which leads to some reckless decisions.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, porn with feelings, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, just the tip, drunken kissing that leads to sex (both are clear-headed by the time they get to sex though), consent checks, enthusiastic consent, dry humping, vaginal fingering, thigh riding, nipple play, cockwarming, sex toys, dirty talk, daddy kink, breeding kink, praise kink, brief degradation kink, begging teasing, pet names (sunshine, baby), aftercare, happy ending

word count: 7.3k

a/n: after angsting all week about what i was going to write for steve rogers' birthday, i had a stroke of inspiration yesterday and then i worked on editing this fic today—and i'm getting it posted just in time!! i really, really, really love this fic ☺️ i wanted to do something with 'drunk makeout session' and 'just the tip' and this idea came together so well it actually surprised me! it might be my favorite birthday fic for steve that i've written yet! so i hope y'all enjoy ♡

A cool breeze swept through the dimly lit Brooklyn street, rustling the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk and chasing away some of the July humidity that clung to the late evening air. 

An errant gust brushed along your legs, flirting with the edge of your dress as it swirled around your thighs. It teased you, as if hoping to catch your attention.

But you paid the summery breeze little mind. You had more important things to focus on, like drunkenly making out with your best friend, Steve Rogers, against the front door of the Brooklyn brownstone where you lived.

His big body was curled around yours, his thick, muscled arms feeling like bands of steel as they held you tight to his broad chest. His palms cradled your body, fingers splayed and digging into the bare skin of your back where your dress dipped low.

You could feel his need in every point of contact where he touched you, his hands clinging to you like he was afraid you’d be swept away on the summer breeze if he loosened his hold even a little bit. 

The way he held you made you feral, ravenous. You’d never get enough of Steve Rogers, and if he let you go—even for a moment—your body would combust, leaving only ashes and devastation in your wake.

A moan dragged its way up your throat, spilling into Steve’s kiss.

He slipped his tongue past your lips, messily licking the filthy sound from your mouth. His hands slid down your spine, bunching in the sweet sundress clinging to your curves as he hauled you even closer, until there wasn’t any space remaining between you.

Steve’s rumbling groan tasted like beer and bad decisions, and you gulped it down eagerly. 

The heady flavor of him went straight to your already hazy mind, making the edges of your mouth curl into a smile, before you met his tongue with your own, kissing him like you were starved for him.

Your fingers trailed up over Steve’s broad shoulders, reveling in the strength hidden just beneath the surface, before diving into his soft, blond hair. You raked your fingers through it greedily, mussing it up the way you’d wanted to all night. 

It had been torture to keep your hands to yourself at the bar where all your friends had assembled to celebrate Steve’s birthday, but you and your best friend were still keeping your hookups a secret. You’d both agreed not to tell everyone and risk blowing up the friend group until you knew what you had was real. 

It had occurred to you, though, while you’d been playing the part of the dutiful best friend and merely watching as Steve politely shrugged off the attention of other women that you were kidding yourself. What you felt for him was plenty real. 

But you weren’t ready to have those thoughts yet, so you’d drowned your feelings in beer and tried to have a good night at your best friend’s birthday party.

Steve didn’t make it easy to not think about him. You caught him staring at you across the crowded bar too many times to count throughout the night, even as his friends tried to get him drunk by buying him birthday beers. 

No matter what, though, Steve’s eyes always found you, and when the time came for everyone to go home, he’d insisted on walking you back to your Brooklyn brownstone. 

You’d hardly lingered even a moment at your front door before you were kissing your best friend, abandoning the pretense that you didn’t want his kiss more than you needed air.

“Invite me inside, sunshine,” Steve growled against your mouth, his hips grinding the hot, hard length of himself into your belly. “Or I’m gonna fuck you against your front door.” 

He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, dragging a whimper from you that had another, feral growl rumbling in his chest. 

“Unless you wanna give your neighbors a little show?” he mumbled against your lip, laughter in the warmth of his tone. 

You knew he was joking, but you still snorted at his suggestion. Your neighbors weren’t the type to take kindly to such a performance, but that wasn’t the real reason you didn’t like the idea—you didn’t want anyone else to see that side of Steve Rogers. 

He was all for you.

“No way, Rogers,” you shot back, your voice dripping with breathy excitement even as you tried for a teasing tone. “This show’s all mine,” you said, your hand slipping down his chest and palming his cock possessively through his jeans.

Steve’s hips kicked forward, grinding his hardness into your palm. He tried to kiss you, but he let out a groan so tortured, you began to take pity on him.

“You wanna—” you started to say, then you remembered something crucial and a bolt of sense shot down your spine. Your body stiffened in your best friend’s arms. 

Immediately, Steve eased back, giving you some space and straightening up so he could catch your eye. You’d known each other a long time, long enough that you could read the question in his blue eyes without him having to voice it.

“I don’t have any condoms,” you explained, your voice filled with anguish. “We used them up last week and I forgot to get more.” Hope made your body thrum as you asked, “Do you have any?” 

Your best friend grimaced, his expression one of misery, and all the hope you’d felt a moment ago shattered. Steve’s head dropped, his forehead pressing to yours as he confirmed what you already knew.

“I don’t,” he said. “I meant to pick some up and forgot.”

You hummed in resigned acknowledgement, but even with that knowledge hanging in the air, you couldn’t seem to untangle yourself from Steve’s arms. 

Your nails raked idly through the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and you breathed in the comforting scent of him—the cologne he always wore and the leather of his jacket. 

Steve didn’t pull away either, holding you in his arms while his hands skimmed lightly up and down your back. Eventually, they settled on your waist, his fingers groping lazily at your soft curves.

Without saying anything, your bodies drifted closer together, as if your hearts and hips were magnetized and there was nothing either of you could do to resist the pull. 

Steve’s bulge brushed teasingly against your belly, and heat surged through your body, making you suck in a sharp breath as you pressed closer on purpose. 

He was so big, his shoulders so broad. His hardness was so hot and thick against your stomach.

You and Steve had been hooking up for a few months—ever since that fateful night when you’d leaned in to kiss him on the cheek after he’d walked you home, and you’d ended up kissing him on the lips. 

Even so many weeks later, you weren’t sure if he’d turned his head or you’d somehow missed. Personally, you suspected it was a combination of both, your bodies giving in to the attraction you’d both kept secret for years. 

But it didn’t matter, because that accidental kiss had led to more, and the two of you had been hooking up every chance you got ever since.

And that meant you knew all too well how good Steve’s cock felt inside you while he was wearing a condom—and you imagined he probably felt even better bare. 

In your opinion, your best friend’s cock was perfect. 

He was big and thick and filled you so good, stretching you out to make room for him without hurting you. And if it was that good when he wore a condom, you knew that letting Steve Rogers bury his cock in your cunt without anything between you would be amazing.

It could even be life-changing…

“Y’know there’s plenty we can do without condoms,” Steve said, tearing you from your dangerous thoughts and towing you back into the moment. 

His big hands were sliding around to your ass, his fingers digging in so he could hike you up against his thigh, which he pushed between your legs. 

“Bet I could get you off without even putting it inside.”

Steve’s smirking mouth found yours and he kissed you deeply, his lips sliding slowly against yours as he guided your hips to rock against him. He knew exactly what he was doing, angling you just right so your pussy dragged against the hard denim of his jeans and the thick muscle beneath. 

When your clit bumped against his hip, you tore your mouth from Steve’s with a gasp, but he only let out a low growl and chased after you, drinking down the sound like a starving man. 

You moaned your pleasure into your best friend’s mouth, feeling the tantalizing breeze swirling around your bare legs, teasing against the heat between your thighs. 

Already, you could feel yourself making a mess of your panties, soaking through the thin fabric to the point that you worried you’d leave a wet spot on Steve’s jeans with how tightly your soft, sodden pussy was pressed against his leg.

You knew Steve was right—he could absolutely make you come just by having you hump his thigh, but it was a special day and that didn’t seem good enough.

“But it’s your birthday,” you whined, pulling back enough to pout up at your best friend, giving him your best pleading, puppy dog look. “I want to give you more than some dry-humping, at least let me give you a birthday bj.”

“Baby,” Steve cooed admonishingly, sending sparks of pleasure dancing in your head. “There’s nothing dry about what I wanna do with you,” he rumbled, his hand sliding down your ass and slipping under your dress, finding the drippy slit between your thighs from behind.

The moment Steve’s fingers brushed against your aching core, you buried your face in his shoulder, muffling the obscene moan that spilled from your lips. Your body flushed hot, your muscles spasming as you tried to hump against his thigh and push back against his fingers at the same time.

Steve was stubborn when he wanted to prove a point, so his fingers pressed deeper, pushing your panties into your drippy, throbbing heat. He rubbed his fingertips along your soaking wet slit, rumbling a sound of deep male satisfaction in his broad chest.

“See, sunshine, you’re already fucking soaked for me,” Steve purred, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It’d be a shame to let this go to waste.”

Between his fingers rubbing your pussy and his warm breath ghosting over your cheek, your best friend’s touches sent delightful shivers up and down your spine, and it wasn’t long before you were trembling in his arms. 

“Besides, it’s my birthday,” he went on, his voice dropping low so it wouldn’t carry on the evening breeze. “Which means you should let me have what I want—and what I want is to rub my cock against your hot, wet pussy until we both come.”

A breathy little laugh escaped your lips, and your shoulders shook under the onslaught of pleasure your best friend was wringing from your body on your front stoop. 

It didn’t take much thought to realize Steve was right. It was his birthday, and you wanted to give him exactly what he wanted. But that didn’t mean you had to make it easy for him.

“I guess that’s how it works,” you said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. Leaning back, you caught Steve’s eye and gave him a playful smirk to let him know you were joking, and were gratified to see his gaze sparkling with humor.

Then you did the hardest thing you’d ever done in your life—you extricated yourself from Steve’s arms, pushing his hand out of the way and easing off his thigh before digging in your bag for your keys. 

You spun around, grateful Steve still kept his arms looped around your waist since your knees were a little weak, and unlocked the door.

Before you opened it, you cocked your head to the side and turned to Steve, letting your eyes rake over his handsome face as you shot him a flirty smile and murmured, “But just so you know, the offer for a birthday bj is still on the table.”

He chuckled, the sound husky and hot as his hands gripped your hips and he ground his erection into your ass. “Good to know, sunshine—now get this cute butt inside,” he rumbled, pushing you gently through the front door of the brownstone.

You lived on the top floor of the building, which had been converted into apartments, and thankfully, you and Steve knew the way up the stairs well enough that you didn’t have to pay much attention. 

Instead, you could focus on more important things, like kissing and groping each other’s bodies, trying to make the other even more feral. 

You grinned when you felt Steve’s cock twitch whenever your palm or fingertips brushed against it, drinking down his groans of torture, just like he smirked and greedily devoured your moans when he copped a feel under your dress, cupping your pussy possessively in his big hand and making you clench pitifully around nothing.

At the door to your apartment, Steve barely gave you a chance to unlock it before he was propelling you through it and kicking it closed, reaching back to make sure the lock had latched. 

From there, the two of you made quick work of shedding your clothes. Steve helped you drag your dress up over your head, tossing somewhere in the hallway as you stumbled together toward your bedroom. 

His shirt joined it a moment later, and you paused in the threshold of your room, admiring the broad shoulders and golden, sun-kissed skin of your best friend’s bare chest. A dim lamp was on beside your bed, and you took a moment just to appreciate the gloriousness of Steve Rogers. 

After a slow sweep of his body, the urge to touch him struck again, and you crashed back into your best friend, your mouths fusing together in a fierce kiss while your hands continued exploring.

Your fingers trailed across the breadth of Steve’s shoulders, then down the sculpted planes of his pecs until you reached the little divots demarcating his abs. You loved the layer of softness covering his muscles, and the way his waist tapered down, as if inviting you to his cock.

Steve huffed a shaky laugh, his stomach contracting beneath your touch when your fingertips dug hungrily into his abs, and you felt him smile against your mouth. 

With a grin, you suddenly remembered your best friend was ticklish. But before you could exploit that knowledge, he was shucking off his jeans and boxer briefs, letting his cock bounce free, and distracting you entirely from thoughts of torturing him with tickles.

Steve Rogers’ cock was a thing of perfection. You swore it was sculpted by the gods themselves to turn you into a squirming, lustful creature with nothing on your mind besides touching him, stroking him, taking him inside your body. 

If you’d been able to speak in that moment, you would’ve blurted that he could take any hole he wanted for his birthday, just so long as he was inside you. But then you remembered what he wanted, and heat suffused your body, gathering between your thighs. 

Unable to hold back another moment, you reached for him, your fingers curling around the perfect girth of Steve’s cock. He was long and hard, and you knew from experience that he filled you up perfectly, like his body was made to fit your own.

When you gave him a firm, affectionate stroke with your fist, you wrung a pleasured groan from your best friend, his head tipping back and showing off the long length of his throat, his adam’s apple bobbing just for you.

“Sunshine,” Steve growled, his voice a low, delicious rumble that licked a long line of heat down your spine. 

You watched as he gathered himself and reached behind your back. 

With a quick twist of his fingers, he undid your bra and yanked it off your body. The garment had barely hit the floor before his hands were on you again, his big palms cupping your tits, fingers plucking at your nipples. 

The cool air of your room teased across your bare skin, warring with the heat building in your body, erupting in bursts of pleasure everywhere Steve touched you. It felt so good, but it wasn’t enough—you didn’t think you’d ever get enough of him.

So you kissed your best friend harder, your tongue tangling with his as you moaned into his mouth and stroked his cock. His fingers pinched your nipples and pulled, sending sparks of an aching, exciting pleasure through your body, and you mewled loudly, squeezing his cock tight in your fingers.

Steve thrust into your grip, chasing your hand as you pumped his cock in a slow, lazy rhythm. Your mouths slid against each other messily, the kiss devolving as both your moans grew louder. 

Steve’s hands skimmed down your sides, grabbing the plush curve of your hips in a delicious squeeze before slipping his fingers under your panties and shoving them down to your feet. 

Finally, you were both naked, and you pressed close to him, mindless moans falling from your lips as you felt the heat and solid firmness of his body against yours. It felt so fucking good, you could lose yourself in it.

Steve growled against your mouth, pulling you back into the moment as he muttered, “Get on the bed before I toss you down myself.”

A panting laugh burst from your lips even as a bolt of heat shot straight down your spine. The thought of your best friend manhandling you onto your bed was too good to pass up, so you hooked your free arm around his shoulders. 

“Mm, actually I think I’d like to see that, Rogers,” you shot back, an insolent challenge in your tone. To drive your point home, you nipped at his lower lip playfully, satisfied when it had the desired reaction.

With a deliciously deep growl, Steve grabbed the backs of your thighs and tumbled you down onto the bed. Your back landed on the soft blankets, but he didn’t stop there, his hands digging beneath your body and moving you up the mattress until your head hit the pillows. 

A delighted, breathy laugh tore from your lips and you wrapped your free hand around the back of Steve’s neck, dragging him in for another messy, filthy kiss. He licked your laughter from your tongue, your hand still pumping his cock while he manhandled you into the position he wanted.

His hands slid down to your legs, grabbing them and pushing your knees up toward your chest, spreading your thighs until they bracketed your breasts. Then he sat back, his cock slipping from your grasp, and stared down at you, a smirk on his flushed face as he admired his work.

You were folded in half, your pussy on full display for your best friend while he loomed above you like a golden god. You were entirely at his mercy, and you couldn’t possibly be happier.

Steve’s blue eyes were bright and shining in the dim light of your room, all remnants of the drunken haze having been burned away by his desire for you. He looked so handsome—his blond hair mussed by your hands, and his eyes burning with lust for you—that it took your breath away. 

Your heart thumped in your chest, butterflies whirled in your belly, and you knew right then that Steve Rogers was way more than your best friend. He was…yours. 

He was yours and you were his. But what that meant, and how exactly you felt about him, could wait to be unpacked and discussed in the morning. 

Still, you suspected Steve had an idea about what you were thinking and feeling by the way his eyes narrowed on you, darkening when they raked over your expression. 

He’d been your best friend long enough to know you, and somehow, you were sure he knew exactly how you felt—and he felt the same way.

A shaky smile tugged at the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him, feeling just as clear-headed as he looked—if a little drunk on the yearning desire simmering between you. 

Steve smiled back at you, his eyes filled with so much affection, it made your heart feel warm and cozy and secure.

“Ready, sunshine?” Steve asked, his words gruff and tentative. 

You got the sense he was asking about more than just what you two were about to do. But Steve Rogers was your best friend, and you knew you were safe in his hands. So you nodded, your mouth curving into a beaming smile. 

“Ready, Stevie,” you answered sweetly, tilting your hips up and holding your legs spread for him, giving him your pussy the way you’d already given him your heart. 

A grin stole across his face and Steve shifted closer, until his cock slid against your pussy, making you whimper while he grunted at the feel of you.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve groaned, staring down at his cock dragging between your slick folds. “You have the prettiest pussy, ya know that?” 

His hands stroked down your inner thighs, goose bumps raising in their wake, before settling in the juncture between your legs. Using his thumbs, he pushed his cock deeper into your slit, bullying between your soft, swollen lower lips to drench himself in your dripping desire.

“The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

His voice was ragged with barely leashed hunger, his blue eyes dark and focused as he stared down at where his cock was splitting your pussy lips open around his thick length. He rolled his hips, fucking against you at a steady, maddeningly slow pace.

“Steve,” you cried in a keening whine, lifting your hips up off the bed to roll against the underside of his cock. Your fingers clawed at the blankets of your bed, desperate to cling to something while he drove you wild.

You could feel every hard ridge and throbbing vein on his shaft, could feel the way the flushed tip bullied your clit as he pushed through your folds over and over and over again. You could feel the way your slick coated his hard length, making him slide more easily against your hot, needy cunt.

“Fuck,” you cursed, your body writhing on the bed. Your lips moved, words spilling from your mouth before you could even think to bite them back. “Oh god, daddy, you feel so good.”

A low, delicious chuckle sounded above you and you cracked your eyes open in time to see Steve flicking his gaze to your face. He wore a crooked grin that only highlighted his flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“Already calling me daddy, baby?” he teased, leaning down until he was hovering above you, his thumbs still pressing his cock as deep into your slit as it would go without pushing inside your tight hole. “I’m not even inside you—usually you don’t go dumb for me until I’m balls deep in your hot little pussy.”

Steve’s words sent a rush of heat through your body so devastating, your spine arched up off the bed and your eyes rolled back in your head. A loud, throaty, obscene moan wrenched from your lips, and you could feel your cunt clenching pitifully around nothing. 

You were so lost in the reaction of your body, your mouth opened and you spoke again without thinking. 

“Put it in, Steve,” you panted, still squirming beneath his larger form. With great effort, you opened your eyes and met your best friend’s gaze. “Just the tip, just a little bit. Please.” 

At your pleading words, Steve went completely still. 

You expected him to shut you down—gently, of course—so you were surprised when you saw the conflict in his eyes. 

His mouth twisted with desire, and his gaze turned scorching as he stared down at you. But his brows were pulled together, a divot of uncertainty marring his handsome face. 

“Sunshine,” he growled, his voice a deep, delicious rumble as he shifted above you, planting his hands on the mattress on either side of your body so he could lean down close to you. 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he went on.

“I don’t… I genuinely don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he confessed, his words rough and blistering, like he’d dragged them from the depths of his soul. “I know how good you feel with a condom—like fucking heaven wrapped around my cock…”

He trailed off, his fingers smoothing over your cheek before trailing down to trace along your lower lip. You stayed still, your breath caught in your throat, mesmerized by the sight of your best friend wrestling with your request for him to fuck you bare. 

“If you let me put it in without a condom, even just the tip, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop myself from pushing all the way in—from pounding into your cunt until I make you come on my cock and fill you up with so much of my seed, you’ll be leaking for the rest of the night.”

Shivers zipped through your body until you were trembling beneath Steve, and you had to close your eyes for a brief moment while you collected your thoughts, which had been scattered across your bedroom floor by his filthy words. 

When you blinked your eyes open, you found your best friend—your Steve Rogers—watching you closely, his brows still furrowed with concern. For a moment, you were so thankful that life had led you to him, because you didn’t want to be in this moment with anyone but him.

You knew it was risky to have bare sex. You were on birth control, but you knew there was always the possibility that it failed, which was why you used condoms. 

But in that moment, you didn’t care about the risk half as much as you wanted Steve to fuck you bare. And once you allowed yourself to want that, you wanted it so fucking bad. 

You wanted Steve to fuck you raw and come inside you, fill you up until his seed spilled over. 

Besides, you reasoned with yourself, if the worst happened, you knew your best friend wouldn’t abandon you. You’d never felt safer than in Steve Rogers’ arms, and you knew that if you got pregnant, you’d figure it out together. 

So you let a smile curl the corners of your lips and you turned your head, pressing a sweet kiss into the palm of Steve’s hand. He’d been cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek, while he waited patiently for you to make your decision. 

You could still smell the faint trace of beer on your breath as you exhaled against Steve’s palm, and you remembered what you’d thought when you were drunkenly making out against your front door—he tasted like beer and bad decisions. 

Maybe someone else would say your decision was a bad one, but you didn’t care. It was yours, and it was Steve’s, and you were excited to make it together. 

“I trust you, Steve,” you whispered, turning your face back to him. You stared deep into his eyes, showing him the surety of how you felt. Then you let your mouth curve into a playful smile. “What’s a little birthday breeding between friends?”

Steve’s expression was inscrutable for a moment. Then a grin broke across his face like the sun emerging from behind a cloud, and he huffed an amused laugh. 

Ducking his head, he stole a kiss from your lips before pulling back to hover above you again.

“You’re ridiculous, sunshine,” he murmured, nothing but affectionate teasing in his tone. He pressed his forehead to yours, and you stayed like that for a moment before he spoke again. “We’ll get the morning after pill tomorrow, yeah? I’ll take care of you—we can watch all those silly movies you like.”

Happiness bubbled up inside you and it spilled out in the form of a goofy laugh, which you silenced by wrapping your arms around Steve’s shoulders and dragging him down for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter, the two of you savoring each other as the heat between you began to build again.

“You’re the best, Stevie,” you said sweetly on an exhale, your lashes fluttering as your eyes opened. You met Steve’s gaze above you, trying to fight off a flirty smirk as you taunted him. “Now, will you put it in already?” 

Steve huffed a surprised laugh, stealing one last kiss before sitting back up on his knees and shooting you a good-natured glare. “Remember, sunshine, it’s my birthday—so be good.” 

At the steely, commanding growl in your best friend’s voice, you lost the fight against the smile trying to spread across your face. You grinned up at Steve as you settled back into the pillows on your bed, spreading your thighs wider and using your arms to push your tits together, offering them up for your best friend.

“Yes, sir,” you purred, watching Steve’s gaze rake appreciatively down your body until it fixed on your cunt, where his cock was still wedged between your folds. 

Before you could tease him any more, Steve pulled his hips back and pushed forward, dragging the hard length of his cock through your drippy, messy pussy lips. 

A moan tumbled from your lips, and your hands found their way to your tits, your fingers pinching your nipples while Steve slid his cock through your slit, coating himself in your slick juices. 

He thrust against you a few more times, his pace slow and controlled, driving you wild until you were whining and writhing beneath him, staring up at him with heavy-lidded eyes.  

“Please, daddy,” you panted pitifully. “Just the tip.”

Steve’s eyes flicked to yours, so much heat in his gaze that you felt it burning through your entire body and making your cunt pulse between your thighs. His blue eyes darkened as he watched you, a wicked smirk curving his perfect mouth.

“Ya want the tip, baby?” he crooned, his tone patronizing and a little bit mean. 

A woeful whimper fell from your lips as you nodded your head eagerly, your eyes opening wide and giving Steve your best pleading look. “Please, Stevie.”

His grin widened, turned wolfish, and it was your only warning. He pulled his hips back until the tip of his cock notched at the entrance of your tight hole, ready to give you exactly what you wanted.

Steve paused there, both of you holding your breath. Your eyes locked with his, a hungry, greedy smile curving your lips to match his grin, and then he was pushing forward.

Your chest heaved with a gasp, your tits bouncing, when the thick head of Steve’s cock slid into your pussy. He breached you slowly, making you feel every bit of your pussy enveloping the tip of his cock in your warmth. 

Once he was inside, Steve paused, his eyes sliding closed and his head tipping back. An obscene groan fell from his lips, and it looked like he was having a religious experience. 

You understood, because the feeling of having the hot, hard tip of your best friend’s cock inside you bare was searing itself into your mind.

Time stretched on, and it felt like the entire universe was rearranging itself to lengthen the moment, letting you live in it long enough to savor it fully—and then grow restless for more.

Before you could beg your best friend to stuff you full of even more of his cock, Steve pulled back. The tip slipped out of your tight hole, so he was only pressed against your entrance, and it left you feeling so empty you could cry. 

A whimper of protest tumbled from your lips and Steve cooed your nickname soothingly as he pushed the head of his cock back into your snug cunt. You moaned your appreciation, your nails digging into his taut forearms while he held himself above you.

“Christ, baby, you feel so fucking good,” Steve groaned, rolling his hips in steady, measured movements so he was fucking you with only the tip of his cock. “Your pussy’s so warm and tight—it feels like you’re sucking me deeper, sunshine, do you want me deeper?”

“Nngh, yes, please,” you cried, your arms hooked around the backs of your knees, keeping your body folded in half because you knew if you let go, you’d drag Steve deeper into your pussy in an instant. “Gimme your cock, daddy, stuff me full—please, Steve, I need it!”

“Then take it, sunshine,” Steve growled, thrusting into you another inch, his eyes closing as he reveled in the feeling of your tight heat wrapping around his cock. “Fuck, so good, baby. You feel so good on my cock.” 

“Steve,” you wailed your best friend’s name on a choking sob, pleasure sweeping through your body in dizzying waves. “You’re splitting me open—oh god, it feels so good, daddy, I want it all!”

Steve was burying his cock deeper with every roll of his hips and it felt so scorchingly good. His hot, hard cock was spearing into you, rewriting the very fiber of your being to etch himself into your soul—and you welcomed it happily, eagerly. 

“Please, Steve, give it all to me! I need it—I need your cock, please!”

“You want it all, you’ll get it all, baby,” Steve grunted, his hips snapping forward with a vicious thrust. The move pushed his hard length all the way into you, so you were completely connected in the most intimate way possible.

Pleasure surged through your body in a devastating swell, and a scream fell from your lips when Steve finally filled you up to the hilt. His cock was stuffed so deep in your pussy, you could feel his balls nestled against your ass. And it was exactly what you needed.

“Thank you, daddy,” you sobbed in pleasure, your mind scattered in the wind, your hands reaching blindly for your best friend. “That’s s’good—so full, ungh, yes.”

Steve chuckled, leaning down and gathering you up in his arms. His mouth found yours and he kissed you sweetly, sucking on your swollen lower lip before licking inside your mouth. His tongue stroked against yours, wringing a soft moan from you before he pulled back.

“Thank you, sunshine,” he murmured, the warm tone of his voice so drenched in affection it penetrated some of the blissful haze filling your head. “Feeling your precious cunt wrapped around my bare cock is the best birthday gift anyone’s ever given me—you feel like heaven, baby, like you were made just for me.”

“I was, Steve,” you babbled, your heavy-lidded eyes blinking through the fog of pleasure to focus on your best friend. “I was made for you, and you were made for me—you fill me up so good, Stevie.”

Your words dissolved on a whine, your hips writhing beneath Steve’s big body, wordlessly urging him to move and fuck you. 

With another sweet kiss that stole your breath, Steve took the hint. His hips pulled back a little, then he rocked into you, his cock splitting you open all over again. He cradled your head in his hands as he rolled his hips, fucking you in deep, firm thrusts. 

Your tits bounced against his chest, his warm, taut muscles rubbing the puckered peaks of your nipples, and you arched your spine to get more of that delicious friction. Needing him closer, you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, and you clung to him, your fingers tangling in his soft, messy hair. 

But it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know if you’d ever get enough of Steve, get close enough. You wanted to be wrapped around him, pressed so tight it felt like you were one.

So you curled your legs around the backs of his thighs, using the leverage to meet his thrusts and drag him deeper into your body until you were nearly fused together. The two of you were little more than tangled limbs and writhing hips, your cunt grinding down on Steve’s cock as he throbbed inside you.

And all the while, your mouths stayed slanted together, even though you were long past being able to kiss. 

You tasted beer on Steve’s breath as he panted into your mouth, and you moaned your pleasure right back, smiling wildly when he licked the sound from your lips. 

Nothing about this was a bad decision, you decided. It couldn’t be, not when it felt so fucking right. 

“Fuck, baby, ‘m getting close,” Steve rasped against your mouth, one of his hands cupping the back of your head. He curled the fingers of his other hand around the curve of your shoulder, holding you in place while he pounded into you. “Tell me what you want, sunshine.”

“Come inside me,” you gasped, tugging on his hair until you could look into your best friend’s eyes. “Breed me, Steve, fill me up over and over until your seed is dripping out of my achy hole.”

Your best friend’s eyes darkened so much they were nearly black, his handsome face twisting with feral hunger as he fucked you harder, rutting deep inside you with his thick, heavy cock. 

“You’re such a filthy fucking slut, sunshine,” he growled, staring deep into your eyes, his gaze reverent and wild, “And so fucking perfect.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek with a surprising gentleness, and then he was stretching his arm out, fumbling with the drawer in your bedside table while he held your gaze with his own. 

Your heart lurched in your chest when you realized what he was looking for, and your pussy squeezed excitedly around his cock. “Daddy,” you breathed, need dripping from your tone. 

The way you sounded made Steve’s lips curve into an arrogant smirk, but he had every right to be arrogant. He knew exactly how to use that perfect cock of his, and he knew that pairing it with the toy in your bedside table would thoroughly ruin you.

“You’ve been such a good girl for daddy, sunshine, I’m gonna make you come so hard,” Steve promised. 

He snagged the small, but powerful vibrator from the drawer and brought it toward you. With deft hands, he slipped it down between your bodies, wedging it against your clit and holding it steady while he fucked you. 

“I wanna feel your greedy cunt milking all the seed from my balls, baby—gonna fill you up and breed you good.”

Then, Steve pressed the button on the toy and it came to life, sending wickedly strong vibrations straight into your clit. 

Sparks danced across your vision and you sucked in a sharp breath, your body careening toward your release at breakneck speed.

Between Steve’s thick, perfect cock filling your cunt and the vibrator pressed to your clit, you never had a chance of holding on to the edge. Your best friend pushed you over and the tension in your body snapped, sending you into free-fall as you came apart on his cock.

A strangled scream tore from your lips and your body clenched hard, your cunt squeezing so tight around Steve’s cock, he grunted loudly. 

The flash of his feral grin and the hungry spark in his blue eyes were the last things you saw before your eyes rolled back in your head and you lost yourself in the ecstasy of your release.

Your body convulsed with pleasure beneath Steve’s heavy form, and he groaned his own need, his hips rutting into you as he chased his peak. He found it only a moment later, the vibrations from the toy and the tight squeeze of your throbbing pussy too much for him.

Steve came with a roaring groan, tossing the vibrator onto the blankets before wrapping you up in his thick arms. His hips shoved flush against yours, his cock filling your cunt as it twitched and spilled his seed against your cervix. 

You were still gasping for air, the waves of your release crashing through your body. You could feel him throbbing his load into you and you moaned softly, tugging on his hair until his mouth found yours for a messy kiss. 

You kissed as your bodies writhed together, eking out every last bit of pleasure from your releases. 

Even when you were both spent, Steve’s body slumping down on top of you—as much as he could without crushing you—you kept kissing. You made out for long, languorous moments until your mouths finally slowed to a stop. 

“I’ll never get tired of kissing you, sunshine,” Steve murmured against your lips, one of his hands cradling the back of your head while the other stroked your thigh soothingly. “You taste so sweet, like sunshine and summer breezes.”

You laughed breathily into your best friend’s mouth, voicing the thought you’d had earlier in the night, when you’d been making out against your front door. 

“You taste like beer and bad decisions,” you said, swallowing the grunt of protest from your best friend. “And I love it, Stevie—I never wanna kiss anyone else.”

A slow smile curved the corners of his mouth, pressing his happy grin into your lips, and it wasn’t until he spoke that you realized what you’d said. 

“You love it, huh, sunshine?” he teased, rolling onto his side and dragging you with him, hiking your thigh over his hip so his cock didn’t slip from your pussy. “Is that the only thing you love, baby?” 

Steve pulled back, giving you a mock serious look, the edges of his lips fluttering as he held back a smile. He looked so devastatingly handsome, his cheeks flushed pink, his blond hair mussed, his blue eyes sparkling with humor and affection. 

“It’s my birthday,” he said in an overly serious tone, fighting to keep the stern look on his face. “So you gotta tell me the truth.”

You knew what Steve was asking of you, but you weren’t ready to confess your feelings for him just yet. So you rolled your eyes in an excuse to look away from the all-too-knowing gaze of your best friend, and shook your head at him.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Rogers,” you hissed with little heat, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck and dragging him close. “Besides, your birthday’s probably over by now,” you mumbled against his mouth, nipping playfully at his lower lip.

Steve chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and making you shiver. His hand slid up your thigh and groped your ass, holding your hips tight against his body, making sure your pussy was keeping his cock warm until he was ready for another round.

“Guess I’ll have to wait until next year to get the truth out of you, huh, sunshine?” Steve asked teasingly, a laugh in the warmth of his tone. 

Instead of answering, you slanted your lips to his and kissed your best friend with all the love you had for him. 

You felt him take a deep breath, his arms tightening around your body, crushing you to his chest as he kissed you back, showing you he felt the same. 

The words and confessions of feelings could come later. For the rest of Steve Rogers’ birthday, you were happy sharing nothing more than beer and bad decisions with him.

[esoterium]

@chernayavidua || that's a meme right there || accepting!

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver. / for steve

there's always something so unsettling about the quiet that falls after the last shell casing hits the ground when the fight's, finally, over. it's as hollow as the bent brass kicked aside by tired foot inside a worn, scuffed boot. the ride there only takes about an hour. feels like a little eternity inside his chest, though. steve's limbs are heavy. like gravity's come up, wrapped itself around each one and is trying to drag him underground with every step and swing of his arm. it takes him forever to climb the stairs to the place she told him she'd be if he needed her.

he's got no idea if she's still here.

but the little key in the pocket of his uniform says he hopes so. maybe counting on it. no, not maybe. he IS. by the time he gets to her floor (cause with the messy state he's in? he can't just walk into the building and take the elevator) he's showing his discomfort in the way he grimaces and crinkles his nose while rolling his shoulder outside the short hallway that leads to the only door on this floor. her door.

the little key's pulled from the pocket on the inside of his vest. dirty, weather-beaten fingers hold it delicately and it wobbles as he puts it in the lock and twists. she's standing on the other side like she knew he had to take a second to compose himself the best he could as he gave himself the task of letting himself in.

a dull thud and his helmet hits the floor. there's bloodstains on it but they've long dried and mostly flaked off by now. he wish so much could be said about the ones dried along the corner of his mouth. the coagulated mark cut above his brow that won't leave a scar because of what's in his veins but damn sure looks like it should even though the road gave it a little bit of a healing grace. scuffed up knuckles and a bruised up face. this one took a little out of him. they haven't gotten to what's underneath the suit. bruises mostly. though the outline of brown red across a diagonal streak near his shoulder says at least one jerk landed their mark on a weak spot.

she takes his wrist and pulls him to the bathroom letting him have his silence like she knows he needs until he's the one who speaks up. the tub's running warm water by then, she's busying herself with taking off the top part of his vest. sometimes the captain and the soldier truly do show how alike they can be from growing up together. and she understands. she knows. "probably shoulda called you this time. honestly? barely knew where this was coming from..." a small grin. tired, guilty. "guess retirement's outta the question. least for now."

[mercurial-chuckles]

HIS FIORE - PART 1

Summary: Steve smexy Rogers moves into the neighborhood, and one evening, he catches you sneaking into the building opposite his through the fire escape. He watches curiously, slightly amused and, quite frankly, amazed by you. Guess what he does next? He writes a note, signs it with his middle name, Grant, and slips it under your door. How will you discover that Grant is none other than Captain America? Series Warnings: Language | Eventual smut | Mature content (minors DNI) | Steve’s naughty thoughts | Steve in-love Rogers | Steve possessive jealous Rogers | Drunk Steve (adorable, hot mess) | Neighbors | Secret identity | Steve watching the reader from a distance (slightly stalker-ish…ish) | A smidge of angst | Overloaded fluff | Happy happy ending

Chapter Warning: Language | Steve watching the reader from a distance (slightly stalker-ish…ish) | Good ol' fluff

A/N: Finally finished writing this! Originally, I wrote two parts as connected prompts for Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3, but I've decided to revamp the entire piece. Also, I'm going to try sticking to a schedule--wish me luck! 😉 Banner credits: Me | Photo credits: The internet | Divider credits: @buck-star (Sydney, thanks a trillion ❤️)

Note: Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work! Check out my other works: Masterlist

His Fiore Series Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Steve was happier, much happier now that the excruciatingly long recruiting was done. It was a nightmare to have Tony during the recruiting, and now that it was all over, Steve would get a good night's rest.

"Maybe you should try asking that nurse from the med-bay...Nina, I think her name is," Natasha had suggested casually as they walked toward the compound's parking garage after the painstakingly long day.

Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. He shot her a sharp look, trying to convey just how disinterested he was in this line of conversation. If Steve could, he would have sprinted away, but with Natasha, there was no escaping a conversation, especially this. She'd been too interested in his personal life or lack thereof.

He was happy with his hobbies: sketching and visiting museums. In fact, he could take up a side gig as a virtual museum guide.

"Look, can we drop it? I'm really not interested," he emphasized firmly as he approached his bike quickly.

Natasha smirked, undeterred. "Might be time to find someone to keep you in check, old man," she teased, climbing into her car.

Steve rolled his eyes as he swung his leg over his bike. Natasha had been relentless about his lack of dating life, going so far as to learn the names of agents and acquaintances she thought might catch his eye.

But she never understood that Steve didn't believe in casual flings or whatever the modern dating concept was. He was a man from another time, one where courting had a clear purpose, and the idea of dating left him uneasy. Maybe he just couldn't shake the insecurity of the scrawny kid from Brooklyn who barely mustered the courage to speak to a girl, let alone charm one.

"You need help setting up your place?" Natasha asked, snapping him out of his thoughts as his bike roared to life.

Steve grinned, slightly grateful she decided to drop the discussion. "I've got a duffel bag of stuff, Nat. I think I can handle it." If he was being honest, he was simply glad he found friends and family, which was more than he could ask for.

She huffed, shaking her head. "At least buy some furniture, Rogers."

"Don't need to. Sam helped me find a furnished place," he countered, his grin widening.

With a quick goodbye, Steve sped off toward his new apartment in Brooklyn.

'This place is a steal,' Sam had told him, a one-bedroom unit with just enough space and a cozy little balcony. Located in a six-story building with five units per floor, Steve's apartment was on the corner, offering a decent view of the street below and, if he leaned far far enough over the railing, a glimpse of Hamilton Park.

Sam, ever resourceful, had pulled some strings with the building's owner, a friend from the VA, to ensure Steve's identity stayed under wraps. Not that most people cared to look twice at the guy in glasses, a baseball cap, and loose clothing. Steve made a point of blending in, and it worked mostly.

By the time he arrived, the neighborhood was bathed in the warm glow of a quiet evening. Steve parked his bike in the designated cellar spot and headed upstairs.

His stomach growled as he stepped into his apartment. The serum gave him an insatiable appetite. Despite the hearty meal he'd had at the compound earlier, he was hungry again.

Making a bowl of soup and a few store-bought dinner rolls that tasted appetizing enough, he stepped out onto the small balcony that connected to the living room while balancing his plate in one hand and a water bottle in another.

Steve's unit was on the 5th floor, and his towering frame made the modest space look smaller, but he was still grateful to have it. On his left, there were two more units.

The view from the balcony stretched over the nearby intersection. A small window beside the balcony door allowed light to stream in. Framing the balcony were sleek black railings, their design simple, providing a clear boundary without obstructing the scenery. Thankfully, the balconies for each apartment were independent, offering a sense of privacy rather than being connected.

Modestly furnished with two petite metal chairs, a small table arranged neatly near the center, and a compact two-seater bench sat at the edge, positioned to take advantage of the view, Steve's balcony was more functional in comparison to his neighbor's, which looked cozy and inviting in the faint glow of series lights and vibrant looking furniture.

Settling into a chair, Steve let out a content sigh. The sounds of the city filtered out, and he felt a rare moment of peace. This was good, Steve thought. Perhaps he could get a larger chair.

The evening air was warm, and as the sky darkened, he finished his meal, settling back in his chair to enjoy the peacefulness of the moment.

He was about to head inside to play some music and sleep off the day's stress when he noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Curiosity piqued, Steve leaned forward, glancing toward the source. You were pulling down the fire escape stairs in the opposite building.

The stairs were only five feet from the ground, but you struggled to grip the first one and had to fight to get your footing on the next. With surprising speed, you managed to steady yourself, though nearly slipping. You quickly hugged the metal stairs, and Steve's heart raced, expecting you to fall at any moment.

You mumbled something, then began climbing.

Steve initially thought you might be up to something…a thief maybe, albeit a beautiful one.

Despite the precariousness of your situation, there was something undeniably intriguing about you. Steve was grateful for his enhanced vision because he almost had a clear view of you. Your silhouette in the dim light revealed a lithe figure, and the determined expression on your face only made him more curious.

Steve instinctively moved closer to the railings, ready to intervene if necessary. Either you were up to trouble or were going to hurt yourself, and it didn't seem like a good idea to let you keep going.

Just as he was about to call out, you jumped onto the balcony and, with a proud little flourish, did a victory lap.

Steve couldn't help but smile, silently chuckling at the sight. You wore shorts and a simple T-shirt with an angry dog saying, 'Bite me,' and a huge band-aid on your left knee. He knew this was going to be etched in his memory.

He decided to wait a moment, intrigued by what you would do next. If you gave him any reason to act, he was ready--but he watched in silence for now.

To his utter shock, you pulled a water jug from somewhere behind you on the balcony filled with plants, and you began watering them, which was when Steve's focus shifted to the balcony opposite him. It was beautiful. The garden was full of various plants and creepers, flourishing vibrant flowers.

Steve leaned forward, utterly captivated. You moved with such care while watering, gently wiping away the remnants of old leaves and tenderly touching the plants. At one point, you even blew a flying kiss to a few of them. And then, were you… talking to them? His surprise deepened, and he instinctively ducked behind the railing, hoping to remain unnoticed as he observed the scene.

After a while, you carefully descended from the fire escape, moving toward the edge. You hesitated, looking down at the ground with a mix of apprehension and determination.

From his vantage point, the height was nothing when he was so used to jumping from the buildings, and you looked adorable, silently praying before jumping.

But you miscalculated and landed hard on your butt with a loud thud.

"Every fucking time," you muttered to yourself, loud enough for Steve to hear.

He couldn't hold back a laugh at the sight of your disgruntled expression, utterly charmed by everything you did.

Steve bit his lip, trying to suppress a laugh. He didn't want to be too loud, though he couldn't help it. Watching you rub your ass and mumble about the pavement, he couldn't help but notice. You had a sexy ass.

What the hell? He was horrified at where his thoughts were going, shaking his head to clear it. No. Focus.

He watched as you crossed the street, disappearing into his building as you entered the main door and out of his view. He stood there, staring straight ahead, his mind caught in a swirl of thoughts about you. A small, uncontrollable smile crept onto his face.

You lived in his building.

He glanced across at the beautiful, tiny garden where you had just been and felt an unexpected warmth bubble up inside him.

Minutes later, he heard shuffling from the balcony next door. His heart raced. He quickly retreated into his apartment, hoping--praying--that it was you. And yes, there you were.

With the light still turned off in his unit, he opened the small window to the balcony beside the door, leaning out slightly, not wanting to be seen.

You had a tube of what looked like ointment in your hand, your smile bright as you gazed at the opposite balcony.

You sat down and removed the band-aid on your knee. Steve winced as you hissed in pain, muttering a string of profanities. He rolled his eyes, tempted to step outside and tell you off for your language, but his thoughts quickly turned to something else. I could totally spank some manners.

His mind immediately snapped back to focus. His thoughts had never jumped in that direction before. Never. He shook it off, blaming it on the fact that he'd not been so attracted to someone so quickly.

He focused on the injury you were tending. What appeared to be a small scrape was a large bruise, and Steve could feel a sharp pang of concern for you as you winced, applying the ointment carefully.

You disappeared inside, leaving him with a sense of disappointment. He peeked out, checking to see if you had gone to bed. To his surprise, you came out again, this time with a book.

Steve watched you for what felt like hours, a smile never leaving his face. He felt content, oddly happy to have moved here, and it was not just because it was a decently prized single-bedroom apartment with a balcony. It was more to do with you being his neighbor.

~

This continued for the next few days, and Steve wasn't proud of it. He had become that guy--watching his neighbor like some sort of creep. But he couldn't help himself. It was therapeutic, in a way, watching you.

You moved with such care. Steve could see you filling a watering can, tending to the plants with such gentleness. There was something almost reverent in the way you whispered to them.

He found himself wanting your attention and the need to know you, hear you talk, feel your touch, and hold him the way you did with the plants so tenderly grew in him every second of the day.

And he needed to hold you as tended as a flower. His flower. His Fiore. Delicate and beautiful.

~

Two weeks had passed, and Steve couldn't stop thinking about you.

With his hectic schedule and sudden missions, he hardly had a fixed schedule. He had to leave early and return late at night, and though he tried to adjust his schedule, it was no use. He had no idea where you worked, either.

'Maybe I could ask Nat for help,' Steve thought, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Getting Nat involved would be a disaster.

It was a catastrophe in his head anyway because the thought of you consumed him, and as the days went by, he decided to act. He'd leave you a note just to see what would happen. A way to break the ice, if nothing else.

He slipped a note under your door.

Was it creepy? Maybe.

Could he help himself? No.

Maybe, just maybe, you'd see it as romantic.

Dear Fiore,

I must say, the garden looks beautiful. Your nightly rescue missions seem to pay off.  Keep up the good work. This is your next-door neighbor.

–Grant

He'd changed the note a dozen times before settling on that, trying to keep it casual and sound cool, not revealing who he really was yet being somewhat truthful.

Steve hadn't felt that anxious outside of missions in his modest existence except when he got the serum, his palms were sweaty, and his nerves were dangling tenuously by a damn thread as he waited for your response.

The whole night, Steve was hyper-focused on every tiny sound around him. He slept in the wee hours of the morning, cursing his enhanced senses, worried sick if you'd knock on his door to tell him off, to mind his business.

The next morning, he found a note from you and finally could breathe again, a smile tugging at his lips when he read it. No one could dampen his mood all day, not the stubborn ass SHIELD secretary, not the stick-up-their-butts agents, and not even Tony calling him Cap, Capsicle or whatever the hell he seemed to come up with.

Hey Grant,

Welcome to the apartment, neighbor! Terry, from the third floor, told me someone had moved next door to me. You know about my secret plant ops! I'm not sure whether to be flattered or annoyed that you were watching me. But thank you? The plants need all the love they can get. I've seen those people bring tons of plants, let them die and replace them with new ones. Can you believe it? I couldn't just leave the plants to die now, can I?  :(

PS: Love the name Fiore! Name's Y/N, BTW.

–Fiore

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[ficsbyabby]

"Is that my shirt?" "You mean our shirt?"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: mentions of injury

Words: 392

a/n: Hey y'all this is my first time publishing my writing here so be sure to leave some feedback. This is being written at midnight because my body decided to be mean, so I'm sure I'll need it. This is for @omgrachwrites' 1k follower celebration, congratulations girlie!

You dug through Steve's dresser, trying not to make too much noise, though there was no reason to worry. You were the only one left in the tower; everyone else had gone on a mission and weren't expected back until the next evening. Your leg had been burned badly in an explosion during the last mission, keeping you benched.

It had taken you three hours to convince Steve that you would be fine on your own. The man was a mother hen. Eventually, with some gentle threatening from Natasha, he had agreed.

You now regretted encouraging him to go. Nightmares filled your sleep, waking you up drenched in a cold sweat. You missed Steve; he was a teddy bear and security blanket wrapped in one.

This led you to your current mission, stealing one of Steve's ridiculously comfortable shirts. Tight on Steve, they dwarfed you, making them perfect for sleeping in.

Finally, you found the shirt you were looking for. It was one of Steve's favorites, the one you had custom-made for him. The shirt was navy blue and read, "Just a kid from Brooklyn". Steve had grinned when he read it and now wore it constantly around the compound.

Smiling fondly at the memory, you slipped off your pajamas and replaced it with the shirt. You felt the tension in your body drip away as you realized it still smelled like him too. Contently, you crawled into the bed and fell asleep.

7 hours later, Steve hummed happily as he made his way to his room after the debriefing. The mission had taken much less time than anticipated, allowing him to spend the day with you. He reached his room and opened the door softly, expecting you to still be sleeping.

There you were, lying sprawled across the bed, hair a mess and mouth open. Steve quickly removed his clothing and got into bed, pulling you into him gently. You woke up immediately and promptly rolled over and kissed his cheek happily.

"You're back early," you remarked.

"Yeah intel overestimated the amount of agents they'd have and..." he answered before pausing and taking a look at you, "Is that my shirt?"

"You mean our shirt?"

"Oh now it's shared?" he asked, a smile on his lips.

"Yep, I'll draw up a custody agreement in the morning. Now, we're going to sleep."

[auroralwriting]

illicit affairs

chapter one

biker!bucky barnes x stark!reader (turf war au)

miss stark begins to have doubts about her "family."

chapter two | series masterlist

warnings: violence, language, small age gap (6~ years), angst, arguing, drinking, overall crime and gang stuff, sort of enemies to lovers

Back before The Fallout, as many outsiders dubbed it, The Avengers were a tight knit group of friends in New York who were founded to change the look of "gangs," as some called them. However, not long after its beginning, its end came just as fast.

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, the pivotal members, just couldn't decide on how The Avengers should be ran. So, they split up almost equally into two groups, each taking a part of the city to call their own.

The Northside Stark Syndicates (aka Queens) was now made up of James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Paul Bettany, who simply was nicknamed by everyone as "Vision," Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, and his little sister.

The Southside Avengers (Brooklyn), who kept the original name, included Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, and Bucky Barnes.

In the previous years, Tony had kept you out of the original Avengers due to your younger, more innocent age. Now, however, in your early twenties, Tony was quick to introduce you to the life you were somewhat protected from.

"I'm telling you," Clint whined, "they gave us a look."

Vision raised an eyebrow, "I highly doubt they gave us a look. I mean, were the biggest crime unit in the city." Oh, yeah, was it mentioned that nowadays the gangs were not made to change the look of gangs? "Plus, if they really gave us a look, we all would have seen it."

You sat on your chair, scrolling through you phone bored out of your mind. Honestly, who gives a shit if someone gives a look? You surely didn't care, and neither did Bruce.

"I really don'y think it matters anyways," Bruce commented. "If they do it again, we'll just beat their asses.

"I'm gonna check it out, it's worth it." Tony decided, clapping his hands. "And for the love of god, can we stop saying the bad words around the child?"

You rolled your eyes, "I'm not a kid, Tony. I take care of myself."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony waved you off. "I'm gonna go check it out. Let's go partying after."

Rhodey gave an obnoxiously loud sigh, "I don't want to party, I just want to chill and drink. We've been partying almost every night this week. Can't we just go to some bar, watch some tv, and drink?"

"All in vote of drinking at a bar?" Clint asked as everyone raised their hands. "It's settled then."

"You're all such losers," Tony moaned. "I need new friends, seriously, you're all so fuckin' lame." Tony grabbed his knife and shoved it in his pocket. "Happy told me about this new bar, Tito's. Let's try there."

Vision looked to Tony with a confused look, "Isn't that almost on the South?"

The room got tense as Tony stared blankly at Vision. "Almost. It's like, right in the middle. We'll be fine." Infamous last words.

"This place isn't so bad," Rhodey said as the group walked in. You felt eyes on you; that happened wherever you went. "It's casual, kind of relaxing."

The six of you got seats at the bar as you all ordered your drinks. "It's alright," Tony shrugged, "Not the same as a club, but not bad." His face was a little more blue than a couple of hours ago. It was clear he roughed up those guys from earlier.

"Oh my god, Tony, give up the clubbing idea." Clint grumbled.

You took a sip of your drink as the room became oddly silent. Your eyes fell to the door. Oh, shit. In walked The Avengers, whose eyes all fell on your group just as quick as it took for your friends to notice them as well. The stares were brutal as they made their way to a booth, Steve's eyes never left Tony's. Tony's never left Steve. It was an awkward tension. Soon, a quiet chatter, more quiet than before, fell upon the bar again.

"Maybe we should just leave," You muttered softly.

"I agree, I'm not liking this tension. Also, Romanoff won't stop staring at me." Clint sighed. The two of them used to be tight, almost tighter than any other duos in the old group. It was clear their tension was wild.

Tony shook his head, "No, we were here first." Your eyes fell back to the group. It only took a moment before Sam nudged Steve, who stared right back at you. The rest of the group followed suit as you felt yourself being turned around. "Stop that, don't look at them."

"But we were before," You protested.

"And that's not now, so stop." Tony replied as you gave a small sigh.

After a few minutes, it wasn't hard to hear mumbles from the table. The only words you could clearly understand were Tony, unsuitable, and fucker.

That was all it took for Tony to jump off his chair and make his way to the booth. You found Clint's eyes, who looked just as shocked as you. The rest of you scrambled to follow.

"Don't you dare talk about me," Tony sneered, grabbing hold of Steve's collar.

Steve only smirked, "Can't take the hits to your ego?"

Vision put his hand on Tony's arm, "Let's just go, man." It hadn't been long since Tony and Steve had it out last, and that left them both bloody and blue with new marks in their records. "Let's go clubbing."

"No, I want to know what this shit-face said about me." Tony snarled, "So tell me, what'd you say?"

"Let go of him, Stark." Sam warned. "We don't want any problems tonight."

Clint kept you almost hidden behind him. While you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, you were still young. The youngest of both groups, actually. You were freshly twenty-two, Wanda was only twenty-four, but she'd been in this business much longer than you had.

"Well we're gonna have some if Rogers doesn't open his mouth." Tony responded.

"You wanna add some more blue to that face of yours?" Bucky chimed in. That was enough to break the camels back. It was no secret that if there was anyone Tony hated more than Steve, it was his best bud, Bucky. Bucky used to be a part of the mafia out on the west coast. In some off handed way, he was the reason your parents got themselves killed. Even if it wasn't Bucky's hands, Tony saw it as such. Deep down, you knew that wasn't his intentions.

Tony's fist was nearly about to hit Steve's face as you jumped forward, letting it hit your palm. The pain that shot through your hand made you wince as you tried to push Tony's hand back. "Tony, stop it. We're leaving now." Tony gave one last dark look to Steve as he turned on his heel, walking away with Bruce and Rhodey close behind him.

"Stark," Clint muttered as he grabbed your hand. "Let's go wrap this up." Vision was quick to move your arm close to your chest as his arm wrapped around you, guiding you away from The Avengers.

As you three walked away, you turned your head to see them staring at you three. No, they were just staring at you.

Back at the table, Wanda's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you okay?" She asked Steve with concern.

"I'm fine," Steve muttered, unable to peel his eyes from you.

"What?" Sam asked, noticing his lingering stare as the three of you exited the bar.

Steve shook his head, "She just took a full blown punch," He muttered under his breath.

"Probably broke her hand doing so," Natasha chimed in. "Did you see the power in that punch? She had to have at least sprained it."

Wanda screwed her face, "And Tony didn't even care. Didn't even give her a second glance."

A low hum came from Steve, "Did anyone ever meet her?" A collective head shake came from the booth.

“Didn’t Stark keep her locked away like Rapunzel?” Natasha asked, her curiosity officially peaked. “I don’t even really remember him mentioning her, besides the fact that he had a sister and she was younger.”

“I think he said she lived with their parents at the time,” Sam thoughtfully answered. “Out on the west coast. She moved here after they died, I think.”

Bucky spoke up, “But why’d she do that? She had no reason to take a hit for Steve.”

“Maybe she’s the only level headed person there,” Sam chuckled.

“Not well enough to keep them out of the mafia’s eyes,” Steve replied. “Stark’s got their attention, at least for now.”

Nat clicked her tongue, “He probably wants their help to get rid of us.”

With a small nod, Steve chided, “Which he won’t succeed in.”

“Can you bend your fingers? Move your wrist?” Clint asked carefully as Vision finished wrapping your hand. It hurt like absolute hell. It had to be sprained, maybe even broken.

You gave a hesitant reply as you tried to bend your fingers. “It hurts too much,” You shook your head. “I’m just gonna let it rest for now. I’ll try again soon. Thanks,” You mused to Vision as he gave a small smile, walking away with the medical kit.

“We need to get them back.” Tony said as he entered the room. “Rogers can’t pull some shitty stunt like that.”

Clint sighed, “Why don’t we just drop it for now? I thought the plan was to get the Asgardian Mafia to help us run them out, not kill them.”

“Killing them sounds wonderful,” Tony almost sang as he sat down. After a moment, he eyed your hand. “Hey, how’s that hand?”

You rolled your eyes, “Not great, thanks to you”

Tony’s face fell, “Hey, you shouldn’t have blocked my punch!” Tony angrily responded.

“You shouldn’t have started a fight in the middle of some bar we’ve never been to!” You argued in response. “It was stupid and it was reckless.”

“I’m gonna get the Hydra boys to fuck with them a little,” Rhodey announced from his spot on the couch where he was silently observing. “Maybe let them fuck ‘em up a bit.”

The Hydra boys were no good around here. They weren’t necessarily a gang, nor mafia. Maybe at one point they were, but now they were now just asses who loved to put their noses where they didn’t belong. The south had their own, too, called Shield. They were known to be more tolerable, less willing to do whatever anyone wanted. You had to know them to get their help.

“Don’t involve Hydra. They’re no good, really. I think they do more than they say they do.” Vision called out from the bathroom where he was putting away the medical kit.

“Then I’ll call The Guardians,” Rhodey shrugged. “They’ll do anything for an extra buck.”

Tony shrugged, “Fine with me, Quill’ll fuck them up really good. Make sure they all bleed, and tell Quill to get it on photo.” You got nervous at his words. Sure, tensions had been high lately, but it had never been this bad before.

Tony’s words made you reconsider everything that had been happening. Things were getting too serious too fast. Even worse, Tony no longer listened to your warnings. He was getting angrier by the second. Deep down, you knew things needed to change, and that started with helping the other side to gain some trust.

[amethystarachnid]

Hello! Could I ask for Steve Rogers for your Marvel Christmas specials? Number 23 (Santa’s Little Helper  – You and your character end up volunteering together at a local holiday charity or helping out in a Christmas toy drive.) please.

I don't know why, but I think he's the perfect match for something like volunteering for charity, especially if it were for kids in need. Just some sweet sweet fluff, I know the kids would love to play around with him (climbing all over him y'know)

A PLACE TO STAY - part I

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

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

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, some angst, more fluff at the end

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★Part II

ᯓ★ Word count: 9k (I told you the fic wrote itself)

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve and y/n decide to buy some gifts for the kids in an orphanage, what they don't expect is to have a little girl attached to the hip. how will they leave now?

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abandonment and abandonment issues

ᯓ★ I'm so sorry I know you asked just fluff but I swear the fic wrote itself, and I will sure as hell write a second part where Steve and Y/n adopt Olivia because I'm crying.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The soft hum of Christmas music plays from the speaker tucked into the corner of your apartment, filling the room with warmth and a sense of the season. Outside, snow falls lazily, blanketing Brooklyn in a pristine sheet of white. Inside, the two of you are curled up on the couch, a fuzzy throw blanket draped over your legs and a half-empty mug of cocoa forgotten on the coffee table.

Steve’s arm is slung over your shoulders, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your upper arm through the fabric of your sweater. It’s a lazy December evening, the kind where the world feels a little slower, a little softer, and you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be than here, in this little pocket of warmth with him.

“You comfortable?” he asks, his voice low and rumbling, a touch of amusement in his tone as he looks down at you. You’re nestled against his side, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Mhm,” you murmur, not bothering to lift your head. “I could stay like this forever.”

His chuckle vibrates through you, deep and rich. “Not a bad idea. We can hibernate till spring.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, catching the teasing glint in his blue eyes. His hair is slightly mussed, one of your favorite looks on him, and his sweater—a soft navy one you’d insisted he get because it matched his eyes—clings to him in a way that makes you want to tug him even closer.

“I think you’d get stir-crazy after a day,” you say, smiling. “You’re not built for sitting still, Rogers.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “But if I’ve got you here with me, I think I could manage.”

Your heart squeezes at the way he says it, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way Steve looks at you, like you’re the most important thing in the room, in his life. You reach up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, letting your fingers linger against his temple.

“I love you,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer right away; he never rushes when he looks at you like this, like he’s savoring every second of it. Then he smiles, that slow, sweet smile that makes your knees weak even when you’re sitting down. “I love you, too,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into the quiet comfort of it all—the faint crackle of the fireplace app on your TV, the weight of his arm around you, the glow of the tiny Christmas tree you both decorated a week ago. Then Steve shifts slightly, his hand moving from your arm to rest on your thigh, and you catch the thoughtful look in his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, tilting your head to study him.

He hesitates, which is rare for him. Steve’s always been the type to speak his mind, but you’ve learned that sometimes he takes his time when it’s something that really matters to him.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he says finally. “Something I wanted to ask you.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, sitting up a little so you can face him better. “What is it?”

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing toward the window as if he’s searching for the right words. When he looks back at you, there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart ache a little.

“You know how much I love Christmas,” he begins, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And not just the lights and the music and all that. It’s always been about... giving back. Doing something meaningful.”

You nod, already feeling a warmth spread through you at the direction this is going. “That sounds like you,” you say, your smile matching his.

“Well,” he continues, his fingers brushing against yours, “I was thinking. This year, maybe we could do something together. Something for kids who don’t have as much. Like in orphanages, or shelters. We could bring them gifts, spend some time with them. Make their Christmas a little brighter.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes hold yours like this idea means the world to him. He’s always been like this—big heart, bigger dreams. And he’s always thinking about how to make the world a better place, one person at a time.

“That’s a beautiful idea, Steve,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Of course I’ll help. I’d love to.”

The way his face lights up is enough to make you forget the chill outside, forget everything but him. “You mean it?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe you’d say no but still needs to hear you confirm it.

“Of course,” you say, squeezing his hand. “We’ll make it happen. Whatever you need.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, his smile soft and grateful. Then he leans in, cupping your face with one hand as he kisses you. It’s slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl under the blanket and your heart feel like it’s trying to escape your chest.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and you can’t help but smile at how close he keeps you. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmurs.

“I try,” you tease, though your cheeks are warm from his words.

He laughs, a sound that feels like sunshine breaking through the snowstorm outside. “We’ll need to start planning soon,” he says. “I was thinking we could make it a mix of things—gifts, maybe some activities. And definitely food. Can’t forget the food.”

You nod along, already picturing the two of you wrapping presents and brainstorming ideas together. “Sounds perfect,” you say. “And you know I’m good with organizing stuff. Just tell me what you need.”

Steve’s grin widens, and he pulls you back against his chest, holding you close like he can’t quite let go yet. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, half to himself.

“You saved the world a couple of times,” you reply with a grin, earning another laugh from him.

“You make it sound so casual,” he says, shaking his head.

You just smile and settle back into his embrace, letting the warmth of him and the moment wrap around you like a second blanket. Outside, the snow keeps falling, and inside, you know this is going to be a Christmas to remember.

The following weekend, after a week of planning and buying supplies, you and Steve are seated together at the kitchen table in your Brooklyn apartment, an array of colorful gift bags, wrapping paper, and toys scattered around you. The room is cozy, the hum of the heater mingling with the faint sound of the radio playing a Christmas song. It’s the perfect kind of atmosphere, warm and inviting, for the task you’ve set out to do.

You unwrap another toy—a little plush giraffe—and place it carefully into one of the gift bags. Steve does the same with a toy truck, grinning as he reads the label on the back. “I’m just saying, I’d be pretty excited if someone gave me one of these,” he says, giving the truck a little shake as though testing it out.

“You’re 100% a kid at heart,” you reply with a laugh. “But yeah, I think they’re going to love these.”

Steve shoots you a sideways glance, eyes glinting with mischief. “Are you calling me immature?”

“Not at all,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m just saying you’re very easy to shop for.”

He pretends to look hurt, dramatically clutching his chest. “Ouch, that cuts deep.”

You can’t help but giggle at his theatrics, your heart swelling as you watch him. You’ve always known Steve had a playful side, but it’s moments like this that remind you how much you love his ability to make even the most mundane tasks fun.

The two of you have spent the last few hours going through the kids’ wishlists, some of which were surprisingly simple, while others tugged at your heart. One little girl, age seven, asked for a "doll with long hair." Another boy, maybe around ten, wrote that he wanted "a toy airplane, but one that could fly like a real one." You’re constantly amazed by the purity of their wishes, the things they dream of that seem so small yet are filled with so much hope.

“That’s a pretty big ask for a toy airplane,” you say, looking over at Steve. “What do you think? Should we get him something that flies, or...?”

Steve rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Something that actually flies?” He grins at you, his eyes twinkling. “You know I’m always down for a challenge, but I think we should stick with something more realistic. How about a remote-controlled one? They’re fun, and it’s not like the kid’s asking for a jet.”

You nod, smiling at his practicality. “Good call. We’ll grab one of those.”

After a few more hours of sorting through toys, checking and double-checking the lists, you and Steve are finally finished. You stretch your arms over your head and look at the pile of wrapped gifts you’ve managed to create. It’s a satisfying sight—brightly colored paper, neat bows, and the satisfaction of knowing these toys are going to bring joy to kids who might otherwise go without.

“I think we’re done here,” you say, smiling at Steve, who is just finishing the last bit of wrapping on a small box.

“I think you’re right,” he says, glancing around at the festive chaos of wrapping supplies scattered across the table. “This is actually kind of fun. We should do this every year.”

You beam up at him. “Agreed. And next year, we’ll probably need a bigger table.”

After packing everything up into several large bags, Steve helps you load them into the back of his car. The trunk is already half-filled, and as you stand side by side, looking over the pile of gifts, Steve wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs.

You glance up at him, your smile softening. “Right back at you. You came up with this idea, remember?”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who made it happen,” he says, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle, his gaze soft as he studies you. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you forget about the gifts, the plans, everything except Steve’s presence. “I love you,” you whisper.

He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “I love you, too.”

The drive to the orphanage is peaceful, the streets of Brooklyn decorated with twinkling lights and signs of holiday cheer. You both chat about your plans for the rest of the day—maybe grab a coffee afterward, or walk around the city—but the closer you get to your destination, the more your thoughts turn to the kids and what they might be like. You wonder if they’ll be excited, nervous, or shy. It’s all a bit of an unknown, but you’re both determined to make it special for them, no matter what.

As you pull up to the orphanage, a large, older building with a faded red brick exterior, you can see children peeking out from behind the windows, their curious faces illuminated by the soft glow of the Christmas lights draped across the building. You grab the bags of gifts from the trunk, and Steve takes the lead, walking toward the entrance, holding the door open for you.

The building’s interior is warm, with a low hum of activity—kids running around, laughing, some playing with older toys, others reading books in the corner. You both stand in the doorway for a moment, taking it all in.

A woman who must be one of the caretakers approaches, her face lighting up as she sees you both. “You must be Mr. Rogers and Miss Y/n,” she says warmly. “Thank you so much for coming. The kids are going to be so excited!”

Steve smiles, a little bashful as always, but his voice is confident. “We’re happy to be here. We’ve got lots of gifts for them.”

The caretaker’s eyes flicker between you and Steve, and you can see a hint of surprise, though she hides it quickly. “It’s really kind of you,” she says. “We don’t get many visitors, especially not ones with such... generous hearts.”

“We’re just glad to help,” you reply with a smile, adjusting the strap of your bag.

With the gifts handed off to the staff, you’re introduced to the children. There are a lot of them—some shy, others enthusiastic, but all of them curious about the strangers in their midst. You and Steve work together to hand out the presents, and there’s something magical about seeing the kids’ faces light up as they unwrap their gifts. A shy little girl squeals in delight as she pulls a stuffed unicorn from her gift bag, and a boy nearly trips over his feet in excitement as he gets his remote-controlled airplane. The joy in their eyes makes the whole experience worth it.

But there’s one little girl who stands out from the crowd.

She’s tiny, maybe three years old, with soft, curly brown hair and big, brown eyes that never seem to leave you. She’s holding a teddy bear close to her chest, and when you kneel down to give her a gift, her gaze flickers between you and Steve, her lip trembling.

“Hi there,” you say softly, offering her a brightly wrapped present. “This is for you.”

Her eyes widen as she takes it, clinging to her teddy bear with one hand while carefully unwrapping the paper. You watch her closely, noticing how she seems a little unsure of everything—her speech not quite clear as she murmurs something unintelligible under her breath. You don’t mind, though. You’re in no rush. You’re here for her, for all of them.

Steve squats down beside you, his large hand hovering just above her shoulder in a quiet show of reassurance. “What’s your name, little one?” he asks gently.

The girl looks up at him, her eyes wide as she shifts her gaze from you to him. After a beat, she gives a little shrug, her brow furrowing as if she’s unsure how to respond. You smile softly and tilt your head toward her.

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice gentle and soothing. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to. But we’re really happy you’re here.”

Her eyes stay fixed on you, still uncertain but drawn to the calmness in your voice. She pulls the ribbon off her gift, her tiny fingers fumbling with it for a moment before she manages to untie it, revealing a small, colorful doll.

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she looks up at you, her eyes a little brighter. Her voice is soft, but you can just make out the words she stumbles through. “Doll... for me?”

You nod, your heart swelling. “Yes, sweetheart. That one’s all for you.”

She hugs it close to her chest, glancing back and forth between you and Steve, before shyly reaching out for your hand. You gently take it, your heart swelling at the small but trusting gesture. She might be too shy to speak much, but her little hand in yours speaks volumes.

Steve’s gaze softens as he watches the interaction, his hand resting lightly on her head. “She’s got a good grip for someone so little,” he murmurs.

You nod, smiling at the way the little girl is clinging to you, her eyes softening as she curls into your side. “She’s a sweet one,” you say, your voice low as you kneel down beside her, letting her feel safe and calm in your presence.

As the day goes on, the room fills with more laughter and joy, and the connection with the children deepens. But it’s this little girl, the one so small and yet so full of trust, who tugs most at your heartstrings. She doesn’t speak much, but when she reaches for you or Steve, you know she’s found a quiet comfort in both of you.

The morning slips by in a flurry of laughter, bright eyes, and the shuffle of little feet. The toys you and Steve brought are scattered all around the orphanage’s common room, and the kids are absolutely absorbed in them—trucks zooming across the floor, dolls being tucked into makeshift beds, and a few kids giggling as they watch the remote-controlled airplane soar through the air.

Steve, of course, is in his element, kneeling down beside the boys to help them maneuver their toy trucks. The grin on his face is enough to make anyone believe he’s reliving his own childhood. You can’t help but watch him, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you at the sight of him. He’s so good with the kids, so patient, so kind. He’s always been a hero, but in moments like this, you see him in a new light—he’s not just Captain America; he’s just a man who wants to make the world better, one small moment at a time.

As he engages with the boys, you turn your attention back to the little girl who’s been quietly following you. She’s still clutching her doll close to her chest, her eyes a little unsure, but there’s something in the way she watches you—something soft, something tentative, that tells you she’s starting to feel a little less guarded. You smile gently, crouching down to her level, and the moment your eyes meet, she ducks her head shyly, clutching her doll even tighter.

“Hey there,” you say softly, trying to coax her out of her shell. “You like your new doll?”

She looks up at you then, her dark eyes wide, as if she’s not quite sure what to make of your question. Slowly, she nods, her gaze flickering between you and the doll. Her little fingers run over the fabric of its dress as she hugs it to her chest.

“Pretty,” she murmurs in a soft, childlike voice, the words almost too quiet to hear.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread in your chest at the sound of her voice. “Yeah, she’s pretty. Just like you.”

The girl doesn’t respond, but she looks up at you again, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles. It’s enough to make you feel like you’ve won a small victory. The quiet way she’s speaking, the way she’s reaching out to you, is a sign that she’s starting to trust you, even if only a little.

You reach out slowly, letting her take her time. “Do you want me to hold her for a while?”

The girl hesitates, looking down at the doll and then back at you. Slowly, she reaches out and hands you the doll, her fingers brushing yours. It’s a small gesture, but it means so much to you. You cradle the doll in your arms, and for the first time, the little girl seems to relax a little, stepping a fraction closer to you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice full of quiet admiration for how brave she’s being.

Just as you’re about to say something else, a loud burst of laughter rings out across the room, and you turn to see Steve kneeling on the floor with the older boys, showing them how to make the remote-controlled airplane do loops in the air. One of the boys is cheering, clapping his hands in excitement, while the others are watching with wide eyes.

The sight of Steve interacting with the other children seems to pull your attention away for just a moment, and when you glance back at the little girl, you’re surprised to find her standing right next to you, her gaze fixed on Steve with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

“Steve’s fun,” you say, offering her a gentle smile. “He’s really good at playing.”

The girl looks up at you with a small frown, still holding onto her doll but inching closer to you. “Steve?” she repeats softly, as if testing the name on her lips.

“Yeah, Steve,” you affirm, your voice gentle. “He’s a good friend.”

Her gaze flickers toward Steve, who’s still helping the kids with their toys. His laughter rings out, so easy and light, and the girl takes another step closer to you, her fingers tentatively reaching for your hand. You smile softly, taking her hand in yours.

“That’s Steve,” you say again, nodding toward him. “He’s nice.”

At first, the girl hesitates, but after a few moments, she seems to relax a little, still clinging to you, but her eyes on Steve now. It’s like she’s testing him in her own way, trying to decide if she can trust him, too.

“Play?” she asks in a tiny voice, pointing toward Steve. Her words are still so soft, and her speech is still uncertain, like she’s not yet comfortable with the world around her. But there’s an openness in her that makes your heart ache a little.

“Do you want to go play with him?” you ask, kneeling down to her level again. “You can. I bet he’d love to play with you.”

The little girl looks at you, and for a long moment, it seems like she’s not sure. But then, she takes another step closer to Steve, her doll still firmly clutched to her chest. You watch her with a quiet sense of hope, feeling your heart swell with the tiniest bit of pride. She’s trusting you. And now, it seems like she’s starting to trust Steve, too.

Steve catches sight of her moving toward him and offers a warm smile. “Hey there, little one,” he greets her softly. “You want to play with us?”

The girl looks at him for a moment, her eyes still uncertain, but she nods slowly, taking another cautious step toward him. Her tiny hand reaches for his, and Steve gently takes it, kneeling down so he’s at her level.

“Want to fly the airplane with me?” he asks in a calm, kind voice.

The girl looks at the airplane, her gaze lighting up for just a moment before she looks back at you. She’s still holding onto her doll, but she’s looking at Steve now, waiting for his next move.

“It’s really easy,” Steve continues, gently guiding her to sit beside him. “You just press the button here, like this.” He presses a button on the remote, and the airplane zooms into the air.

The girl watches, eyes wide with awe. She turns to you, her gaze searching for approval.

“It’s safe,” you assure her with a smile. “Steve’s really good at it. You can try it, if you want.”

After a long pause, she turns back to Steve, a little more confident now. “Try?” she asks, her voice a little stronger this time.

“You bet,” Steve says, his voice full of encouragement. “I’ll show you how. Just press this button.”

With a tentative hand, the girl reaches out, her tiny fingers brushing the remote. Steve guides her hand gently, and when the airplane soars into the air again, her face lights up with joy.

You watch the interaction with a quiet sense of happiness, but at the same time, there’s something pulling at your heart. The little girl is so small, so fragile, and yet she’s starting to trust not only you but Steve as well. It’s like she’s blossoming before your eyes, and it feels like a privilege to witness it.

But as the day goes on, a small pang of worry starts to creep into the back of your mind. You know how these moments go. You know that sometimes, when kids get attached, it can be hard for them to understand why people leave.

As you’re helping a few of the younger children color pictures, one of the caretakers—an older woman with kind eyes—approaches you. She’s got a solemn expression on her face as she quietly pulls you aside. Steve’s still busy with the other kids, so he doesn’t notice the exchange.

“Miss Y/n, Mr. Rogers,” she begins, her voice low and cautious. “I’m so grateful for the gifts and for everything you’ve done for these children today, but… there’s something you should know about the little girl who’s been sticking to you.”

Your stomach tightens. “What’s wrong?”

The caretaker looks over at the little girl, who’s still playing with Steve, her focus entirely on the remote-controlled airplane. “Her name is Olivia,” she says quietly. “She’s been here since she was about one, and… well, she’s had a hard time with attachments.”

Your heart sinks a little. You try to keep your voice calm. “What do you mean?”

The caretaker hesitates for a moment, glancing at the girl again. “She was abandoned. Left at the hospital when she was a baby. And ever since, she’s had a difficult time trusting people. She gets attached easily, but when people leave her, she—” The woman trails off, clearly not wanting to say it out loud.

When she speaks again, it’s with a quiet sense of warning. “She’s just starting to open up to you two. But if she gets too attached, if she starts to think of you as her… family, it could break her when you leave.”

You look at the little girl—Olivia—playing with Steve. She’s so innocent, so sweet, and the idea of her being hurt is almost unbearable.

“I understand,” you say softly, feeling a knot form in your throat. “We’ll be careful.”

But as you glance back at Olivia, sitting on Steve’s knee, her eyes wide with wonder, you know that it’s already too late. She’s already attached to you both in a way that no one can truly predict, and as much as you want to protect her, you know there’s nothing you can do to stop the inevitable heartbreak. The heartache that will come when she realizes you’re not staying.

And yet, despite the warning, despite the ache in your chest, you find yourself taking another step toward her, watching her smile up at Steve, her tiny hand resting in his. Some part of you knows that whatever happens, whatever heartbreak comes next, this moment, this tiny piece of joy, is worth everything.

As the day continues, the laughter and excitement in the orphanage grow louder, the sound of children’s voices mingling with the cheerful chime of Christmas music in the background. The toy airplane flies through the air again, spinning in dizzying loops, and Steve’s gentle voice guides Olivia’s small hands as she tries to control it, her grip still unsure but filled with an eagerness to learn.

You watch the two of them from the corner of the room, your heart swelling as you see how Steve is patiently showing Olivia how to work the controls, guiding her small hands with the same careful attention he always gives everyone. Olivia, in turn, seems captivated, her wide eyes focused solely on the airplane as it soars and dips. She lets out a small giggle when it flies low, and you can see a flicker of something like trust beginning to settle in her features.

A soft pull at your sleeve draws your attention, and you turn to find Olivia standing right beside you again, her big brown eyes wide and expectant.

“Y/n,” she says in a soft voice, and the way she says your name makes your heart ache. It’s still so fragile, so tentative, but there’s a quiet confidence behind it. “Pick up?”

You blink, surprised. For most of the day, Olivia has been content to stay a few steps away, observing, watching as you and Steve interacted with the other children. She hadn’t made any real attempt to get closer to either of you, and the fact that she was now reaching out in this way is a small but significant shift. Your chest tightens as you realize what this means.

“You want me to hold you?” you ask, your voice soft and full of tenderness.

Olivia nods, her tiny hands reaching up toward you, and there’s a quiet plea in her eyes—one that says she��s seeking comfort, seeking warmth in the middle of the excitement, something that’s just for her.

Without hesitation, you bend down, scooping her up gently, being careful not to disturb the doll she’s still clutching. Her tiny body relaxes as she’s lifted into your arms, and she nuzzles against your chest, her head resting on your shoulder. You feel the weight of her trust settle in your arms, and for a moment, you close your eyes, savoring the feeling. She’s so small, so fragile, and yet she has placed her trust in you so completely.

“Is this okay?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you hold her close.

She responds with a soft, contented hum, her little hand wrapping around your neck, clinging to you as if she’s afraid you might disappear. You tighten your hold on her, making sure she feels safe in your embrace.

From across the room, Steve watches the two of you, a soft smile on his lips as he continues to play with the other children. But his gaze flickers back to Olivia now and then, his protective instincts flaring in ways you can only imagine.

You shift slightly, carrying Olivia toward the group of kids Steve is playing with. As you approach, Steve looks up and gives you a quiet nod, his smile widening when he sees how Olivia has settled into your arms.

“She’s getting more comfortable, huh?” Steve says, his voice soft, but there’s a hint of both pride and concern in it.

“Yeah,” you reply, your tone full of quiet wonder. “She really is.”

Olivia doesn’t say anything, but her fingers curl around your shirt, her head still resting on your shoulder. It’s as if she’s found a place she can finally feel safe—something that, up until now, might have felt impossible for her. There’s something in the way she’s clinging to you that makes your heart ache with a mixture of love and fear. She’s so little, and the world can be so big and unpredictable, but right now, in this moment, she’s holding on to you with everything she’s got.

Steve moves closer, kneeling down to be at her eye level. He reaches out a hand, gentle and steady. “Olivia,” he says softly, his voice full of warmth. “You want to play some more? We’ve got a lot of fun toys.”

Olivia looks up at him with big eyes, her small face still somewhat wary. For a moment, she seems unsure. But then, she surprises you both by shifting her little body in your arms and turning toward Steve. There’s a softness in her gaze now, a hesitant trust that wasn’t there before.

“Play,” she says in that tiny voice, her words still so soft but filled with a quiet determination.

You let out a small breath of relief, your grip on her loosening just enough for her to be able to step away from you. But even as she moves toward Steve, she reaches back for you with a small, almost imperceptible gesture. Her fingers brush yours, seeking that connection.

You smile, touching her hand briefly before letting her go to Steve. It’s a small step, but it’s one that means everything.

Steve, ever the patient one, offers his hand to Olivia, guiding her toward a small table where the other kids are building with blocks. As he walks with her, his smile never fades, even as she seems to shy away slightly from the other children. He gives her space, letting her explore on her own terms.

“You wanna help me build a tower?” Steve asks her, his voice warm and encouraging.

Olivia looks up at him, her lips curling into a shy smile. “Tower?” she repeats, sounding out the word carefully.

“Yeah, a big one,” Steve affirms. “I think you’re gonna be great at it.”

She nods, her focus now entirely on the colorful blocks in front of her. She picks one up carefully, turning it over in her small hands. You watch her from where you’re standing, a quiet sense of pride swelling in your chest. This little girl, who had been so withdrawn just hours ago, is now actively participating, engaging with the world around her.

As you step back, you join the other children who are sitting on the floor, coloring pictures or playing with dolls. You try to keep an eye on Olivia without hovering too closely, giving her the space she needs to grow and trust on her own terms. It’s not easy, though, because your heart keeps pulling you back to her. You can’t help but worry about her, about what’s going to happen when the day comes to an end and you both have to leave.

For now, though, you try to focus on the present. The kids around you are still deep in their own activities, and there’s a sense of joy in the room, one that you can feel radiating from them. It’s infectious, this energy, and it makes you grateful for the opportunity to spend this time with them, to give them a small piece of happiness.

Olivia, it seems, is growing more comfortable with Steve. She’s fully immersed in building a tower now, and when she picks up another block, she looks up at him for reassurance. “More?” she asks, and Steve chuckles, nodding.

“Of course, more. We’ll make it the biggest tower ever.”

Her eyes light up, and she enthusiastically starts stacking more blocks, the tower growing taller and taller with each passing moment. Steve doesn’t rush her, doesn’t push her to go faster. He simply watches her, offering encouragement when needed, making sure she feels proud of every little step she takes.

The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the orphanage as the day winds down. The cheerful chaos of children’s laughter and playful chatter starts to quiet, the toys being gathered up, the Christmas music fading to a gentle hum in the background. The once-bright room is now filled with a soft, melancholy glow, signaling the end of the day.

You can’t help but feel the bittersweetness of it all. The day has been filled with so much joy—so many smiles, so much laughter. And yet, as the clock ticks on and the children begin to gather their things, a heavy weight settles in your chest. You know what’s coming. You know that the moment you and Steve walk out the door, you’ll be leaving behind a part of yourself, a piece of your heart, with these children, especially with Olivia.

As you stand near the door, watching as the children slowly start to gather their jackets and shoes, your gaze drifts to Olivia. She’s standing near the coat rack, her tiny hands reaching for her jacket with the same determination you’ve seen in her all day. Her wide, trusting eyes are fixed on you, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

Steve is at your side, his expression equally heavy, his hand resting on your shoulder as you both watch the little girl from a distance.

“I think she’s getting ready to leave with us,” you whisper, your heart aching as you see Olivia struggling to put on her coat, her movements clumsy, her tiny fingers fumbling with the buttons. It’s like she’s already made up her mind that you’re going to take her home with you.

“Yeah,” Steve replies quietly, his voice rough, filled with a quiet pain that mirrors your own. “She’s really attached.”

You take a deep breath, but it feels like there’s a lump lodged in your throat. The promise you’d made to her—to come back and see her again—feels almost impossible in this moment. How can you leave a little girl who’s already started to trust you, to care for you, when all she wants is to stay with you?

Slowly, you step toward her, trying to keep the tears at bay. Olivia has finally managed to get her jacket on, and now she’s walking toward you, her small legs moving with a determined little waddle. When she reaches you, she lifts her arms up, holding her jacket out to you with a hopeful look on her face.

“Go now?” she asks, her voice small but insistent, her lips trembling with the effort of saying the words.

You kneel down to her level, your heart hammering in your chest. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes. “Olivia, sweetheart,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “we can’t take you with us right now.”

Olivia blinks up at you, her eyes wide and confused. “But go now?” she repeats, her little hands clutching at her jacket, her expression one of complete innocence and trust.

Steve crouches down next to you, his own heart breaking as he reaches out to gently rest a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, we can’t take you home with us today,” he says gently, his voice full of warmth but tinged with sorrow. “You have to stay here for now. But we promise we’ll come back. We’ll see you again soon, okay?”

The words come out easily, but the promise feels like it’s weighing a ton on your heart. You know she doesn’t fully understand, not in the way an adult would, but she’s heard the word "promise" before, and she’s holding on to it as though it’s the most important thing in the world. Her face scrunches up, and her small lips tremble.

“No,” she says, shaking her head frantically. “Stay with you. Please.”

Your heart cracks at the desperation in her voice, at the sheer helplessness in her small form. You reach out, wrapping your arms around her in a gentle embrace, holding her close as her body trembles in your arms.

“Oh, baby, I wish we could,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I really do.”

Olivia clings to you, her little arms wrapped around your neck in a tight hug, as though she’s trying to hold on to you for dear life. The small, helpless sob that escapes her lips pierces your heart, and for a moment, you feel like you’re going to break. You rub her back gently, trying to soothe her, trying to tell her everything’s going to be okay.

But it’s not okay. It’s not okay for her. Not when she’s so desperate for love, for safety, for someone to hold her and take her home. The tears in her eyes are a reflection of all the things she’s been through, all the abandonment, the fear, the loneliness. And now, she’s finally found something she can hold on to, someone who loves her, even if just for a short while. And the idea of losing that… of losing you… is too much for her to bear.

“Please,” she whispers again, her voice cracking as she pulls away slightly, looking at you with tear-filled eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

You feel your own tears begin to fall, and you quickly swipe them away, trying to be strong for her. “Olivia, we’ll come back,” you promise again, your voice breaking slightly. “We’ll come back and see you. We won’t forget about you, okay?”

But even as the words leave your lips, you can see the doubt in her eyes. She’s been abandoned before, left alone by the people who were supposed to take care of her. Your promise feels like just another thing she’s heard before, another empty promise that’s been broken. And that realization, the understanding that she’s already been through so much and still doesn’t trust that anyone will come back for her, makes your heart break even more.

Steve kneels down beside the two of you, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. His hand rests on Olivia’s back, and his eyes are filled with the same sorrow that you’re feeling. He doesn’t know how to fix this, how to ease her pain. All he can do is be here, offering her comfort, offering her warmth in this moment.

“I know it’s hard,” Steve says softly, his voice filled with quiet tenderness. “But we’ll come back. We’ll be here again, and we’ll make sure you’re okay. You’re not alone, Olivia.”

But the little girl doesn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she pulls away from you completely, her small hands pushing against your chest as she backs away, her sobs growing louder.

“No, no!” she cries, her voice shaking with the force of her emotion. “I want to go with you!”

The sound of her tears rips through you like a blade, and you’re not sure how to react. You want to hold her, to comfort her, to make everything okay, but you know that this is a hurt you can’t fix. Not right now. Not in this moment.

Steve stands up, his hand reaching for you as he gives Olivia one last, long look. You see the same look in his eyes—one of helplessness, one of sorrow. You know he’s feeling the same thing you are: the ache of leaving this sweet, innocent little girl who’s finally found something to hold on to.

“We’ll be back, Olivia,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “I promise.”

The words sound hollow even to you, and you know that the moment you leave, she won’t understand. You can only hope that in time, the promise will mean something to her.

With a heavy heart, you turn away from Olivia, feeling as if you’re leaving a piece of yourself behind. Steve follows you, his hand brushing against your back as you both make your way to the door.

The sound of Olivia’s sobs follows you all the way to the exit, echoing in your ears as you step out of the orphanage. And with every step, it feels as though your heart is breaking just a little bit more.

When you finally get to the apartment, the silence feels deafening. The weight of the day, the weight of Olivia’s tears, is still heavy in the air. You try to focus on something else, anything else, but all you can think about is the little girl you had to leave behind. The little girl who just wanted to be loved.

You sit down on the couch, your hands shaking as you remove your coat, and Steve follows you, sitting beside you, but there’s a coldness in the room now, an emptiness that wasn’t there before. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes, and you try to hold them back, but the weight of it all is too much.

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this,” you whisper, your voice trembling as the tears finally fall.

Steve pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you as you bury your face in his chest. His hand strokes your hair gently, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. There’s nothing to say, really. The pain is too raw, too fresh.

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “I know. It’s hard. I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this either.”

But as you hold each other, you know there’s nothing else to do except try to keep your promise. To keep coming back. To keep showing up for Olivia, even if it means facing this heartbreaking reality every time.

For now, though, you let the tears come. And when you close your eyes, you can still see Olivia’s face, the way she cried, the way she reached for you, and you know, deep down, that she’ll stay with you in your heart. Forever.

The days following that heart-wrenching goodbye at the orphanage were difficult, but in a way, they also brought a sense of purpose. After the promise to Olivia, you and Steve began returning to the orphanage as often as you could, every other day, just as you’d said you would. It wasn’t always easy to make time for those visits, but seeing Olivia’s face light up the moment she saw you both made everything worth it.

Each visit began to feel like part of your routine. The orphanage became a second home of sorts. You and Steve would walk through the doors, already expecting to be met by the eager eyes of the other children. But it was Olivia who always sought you out first, her face breaking into a wide, joyful smile the moment she spotted you.

“Y/n! Steve!” she would call, running to meet you with her arms wide open. The joy in her voice was unmistakable, the sparkle in her eyes shining as brightly as the Christmas lights still twinkling above the doors.

Every time you saw her, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell. She was growing more comfortable with you both, more trusting. You would spend hours with her, building towers, drawing pictures, playing with the toys you’d brought, anything that made her happy. And in return, her love for you both seemed to deepen with each passing visit.

There was something undeniably special about Olivia—something that pulled you in every time you saw her. The way she would snuggle into your arms for comfort, the way she’d tug on Steve’s sleeve when she needed help, and the way her face would light up when either of you showed her affection. She had an innocence that you couldn’t help but protect, something about her that made you feel like she deserved all the love the world could give.

One afternoon, as you and Steve walked into the orphanage, you immediately spotted Olivia sitting on the floor, playing with a puzzle. She looked up when she heard your footsteps, and her face broke into a delighted grin.

“Y/n! Steve!” she called excitedly, rushing over to you both. Her little arms stretched wide, and you both knelt down to meet her, your arms open as she threw herself into your embrace.

It had become a comforting routine. Every time you walked in, the other children would eagerly welcome you, but it was always Olivia who seemed to run to you the fastest, her need for connection clear.

You and Steve made it a point to always be there, every other day. Sometimes, you’d bring toys, other times you’d just spend time with her—drawing, building things, or even just sitting and watching her play. It felt like the more time you spent with her, the more you understood her. The more you could see the layers of hurt and fear in her small eyes, but also the joy and hope that began to bloom in her as she spent time with you.

She had learned to trust you. And you had learned to love her.

One of those days, after spending the afternoon together, you and Steve walked with Olivia as she held your hand tightly, her small fingers curling around yours with a confidence she hadn’t had when you first met her.

“Are you ready to go home, sweetheart?” you asked her gently, your voice soft as you knelt down beside her.

She nodded eagerly, her face lighting up. “Home!” she repeated, the word a simple declaration that seemed to hold all the hopes and dreams of a little girl who had never truly known what it was like to have a place to call her own.

And in that moment, it hit you—the weight of it all. The idea that Olivia was waiting for someone to take her home. To give her a real family. You hadn’t expected it, but you had grown attached to her, deeply and irrevocably. The thought of her leaving the orphanage, of her being taken away by someone else, made your heart ache in a way you didn’t fully understand.

You looked at Steve, your heart in your throat. He was watching Olivia too, his eyes filled with the same love and tenderness that you felt for her.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your hand brushing against his.

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving Olivia. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just… I don’t know. I feel like we’re doing the right thing. Being here for her.”

You didn’t need to say anything more. You both knew what you meant.

The visits continued. Every other day, you found yourselves back in that small, brightly lit room with Olivia, spending hours just playing and talking with her. She was growing so much, and you could see the progress in her. She had become more confident, more comfortable. And every time you saw her face light up with that smile, you couldn’t help but think about her future.

As the weeks passed, you and Steve found yourselves more and more immersed in the routine of visiting Olivia. The orphanage had become a place of warmth and hope. You both began to talk about her future more—what she needed, what she deserved. You both had formed such a deep bond with her, and yet there was a nagging feeling, a longing, that neither of you could ignore.

One evening, as the winter air settled over Brooklyn and the two of you sat on the couch in your apartment, a quiet moment of stillness passed between you. The Christmas lights twinkled softly in the corner, casting a warm glow across the room.

Steve was the first to break the silence.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice low and contemplative, “I’ve been thinking a lot about Olivia lately.”

You turned your head to look at him, your heart beating a little faster. His eyes were filled with the same seriousness that you’d seen before, but this time, there was something else there—an undercurrent of hope, a quiet kind of yearning.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot too. I think about her every day.”

Steve took a deep breath, his hands resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you think about… about becoming her parents?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you heard him right. You looked at him, trying to read his face, searching for any sign that this wasn’t what it sounded like.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I mean… adopting her,” Steve said, his words slow but firm. “I can’t stop thinking about how much she needs us. How much she needs love. And I want to give that to her. I want to give her a family. I want to be her father. And I know… I know you’ve felt the same way about her.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. You had thought about it too, many times, but the reality of it, of truly becoming her parents, seemed so overwhelming. There were so many things to consider, so many uncertainties. But the thought of it—of giving Olivia a family, of offering her a real home—made your heart swell with an emotion you couldn’t describe.

“I… I do,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I love her, Steve. I love her like she’s my own. I just didn’t know if we could actually do it.”

Steve’s expression softened, and he reached for your hand, his fingers lacing through yours. “I know it’s a big step. But I think we can do it. Together. We’ve already built such a bond with her. She trusts us. She’s already looking to us for that love and security. We can give her that. We can be her family.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him. You never imagined that this was where your life would lead—to a point where you could offer a child the one thing she needed most: love and stability. And yet, as you looked at Steve, you realized that it was the one thing you both were ready for. To build a life together, with Olivia at the center of it all.

“I want to do it,” you said, your voice breaking. “I want to give her everything. I want to adopt her. I want to be her mom.”

Steve’s face lit up with the most beautiful smile you’d ever seen. He pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of finality. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice soft, full of love and relief.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, clinging to him as if your life depended on it. “I’m sure, Steve.”

And in that moment, as you held each other close, everything else faded away. The doubts, the fears—they didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the love you both had for Olivia, and the life you were about to build together.

“Yes,” you said again, more firmly this time. “I want to adopt Olivia.”

Steve pulled back, his eyes shining with happiness and gratitude. “We’re going to be her parents. I can’t wait to give her the family she deserves.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart full of hope. This was the beginning of something beautiful, something real. A family, a future—together. And you knew, with all your heart, that this was just the beginning of the rest of your lives.

[berrys-hide-out]

Captain blue

A/N: On request! @w1nt37 I hope this is to your Imagination! ;) I'm glad you sent in that request, I had a lot of fun playing with the characters! ^^ (not proofread.. if there's something do let me know!) and @w1nt37 if you think I didn’t do this fic the justice it deserved or you want a sequel no matter the outcome, do let me know!

Now have fun~! ^^

Info; This is a Tickle fic with Lee!Sam and Ler!Bucky, warnings: A Very low and barely brushed by form of racism, slight cursing (If you want to skip the part of Sam questioning everything skip to greenly markered "Finally they got to the docks")

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Sam sighed, Captain America, an idol everyone knew, a super soldier, blonde, perfect hair, huge build and not to mention used to be a kid from Brooklyn. Captain America, a legend who had been frozen in ice for decades and returned to lead the avengers into battle, may that have been against Hydra, aliens or other mighty threats.

Now it was the Falcons turn. Someone who got filtered by ‘race’, someone no one seemed to accept the name of. It was often “the black falcon this”, “the black falcon that”…

It was rarely just… The Falcon.. just Captain America.

Now the shield, which held a huge legacy and was handed down to him, laid in the grass in front of his feet. His thoughts shot through his head like fireworks, all past events seemed to happen in mere seconds in the backs of his eyes. Civil war, thanos, John walker…. The baron.. Now he, Sam Wilson, was the Captain America, and while he was respected by most by now, there was always that someone who hates his guts or had something to say about his position. The kind that made him rethink everything even though he knew he’d never give the shield up again that easily.

….. he didn’t only just wanted to prevent to retrieve it again from some nuts soldier, but Steve chose him. Steve Roger’s chose Sam Wilson to be the next Captain America, he had faith in him, unwavering. And his best friend made sure he remembered that.

Another heavy sigh escaped him. Bucky. He was an ally for himself. How would someone even describe him? Gloomy? Tough but nice? Sam shook his head. Bucky was more than that. He is the white wolf, an agent so strong he survived Hydra and went back to the field, this time on the right side.. and all that for… him. No, right? He went out for the shield.. but stayed because of his friend.

Sam growled and pushed the thoughts away, moving his hands over his face with a defeated sigh.

He stood, taking the shield as he went and walked inside, where he hid it from plain sight before wandering into the kitchen. Bucky who sat on the couch eyed him, “you good?“ he asked but his eyes didn’t move from the screen. Sam didn’t turn around to acknowledge him, instead he continued his trip to the fridge. “Yeah.” He hummed, the tone a lot lower and unsure then he would’ve liked to admit.

The awful tone didn’t go unnoticed by the super soldier which made him turn around and lay his metal arm on the backrest of the couch. His eyes scanned Sam, friend and partner in crime, rummaging through the small fridge. “don’t steal my water.” Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at the door, stifling a snort at the sight of the two tiny water bottles.

“Haven’t you had enough of cold water and ice?” Bucky huffed at the intended playful jab “what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his metal hand flexing as he growled slightly.

Sam grinned and looked over the fridge door. “I don’t know man. You were frozen for quite a long time.” He stated making Bucky raise an amused eyebrow “are you trying to get a rise out of me Wilson?” Sam scoffed at the question and shook his head as she grabbed the snack he was searching for. “No, you just can’t take a joke.” He stated as he opened the package and walked past Bucky again and towards the staircase that lead upstairs. Bucky frowned, Sam usually didn’t do such dry quips, usually they were a lot more playful and just then their eyes met once.. before he could comment Sam bested him to talking. “By the way, we’re meeting my sister later today.” He reminded before vanishing. Bucky hummed “okay.” He called after his friend and frowned, what was going on..?

Finally they got to the docks, water was running, children were running around and they? They were just sitting at the table with Sam being awfully far from home, just staring out at the water.

His sister and Bucky noticed rather quickly but neither said anything, rather focusing on trying to somehow get the man into their conversation, without any luck.

When Sam’s Phone vibrated on the bench the man didn’t look over either, Bucky however did, frowning at the article that had popped up. It was one of those that made the public question everyone and everything even if it were pure lies, made up stories used to create chaos.

Bucky eyed Sam, suddenly everything seemed to fall into place. The sour moods, the dry comebacks.. it only ever happened when things like these happened. He sent Sara a look. She understood immediately and looked for the kid, rushing off with a playful flurry of “I’ll catch you!”

Bucky looked at Sam who had finally parted his gaze from the ocean to the children and his sister. The super soldier nudged his side “how about we join them?” He offered. Sam merely huffed “not right now.” He murmured. His friend hummed and watched Sara catch one of the children, hysterical laughter rushing through the air all of a sudden.

Bucky smirked as the child tried escaping to the ground, trying to evade the tickles somehow. “Seems to be running in the family, huh?” He asked. Sam scoffed “what? Tickling? No, not really anyway, just some of the family is ticklish.” He said.

Bucky nodded slowly, was Sam telling the truth? His insinuation he wasn’t ticklish? Only one way to find out ey? His hands latched onto his sides and stomach, not gaining a reaction but he didn’t move anymore either.

It looked like Sam had just frozen in place. Then the man in question turned to him “go on, try.” He urged with a slightly smug expression. The change in demeanour threw Bucky off, but not enough to make him halt.

“Bet.”

Fingers dug around, scribbled and squeezed for any sign of ticklishness.

Sam didn’t move. In fact he froze.

Bucky noticed and kept a close eye on the man’s reactions, looking up with a menacing shine when Sam finally flinched ever so slgihtly „okay that’s enough-”

One second, two, then three seconds passed and the captain bolted. „HEY!“ Bucky exclaimed and raced after his friend, scrambling over the bench and after Sam.

„No-! You had your fun!“ Sam exclaimed with a smile and turned around, yelping when Bucky launched for him. The captain barely dodged and turned back around to run. The kids laughed as they watched the adults chase after each other with glee. The two men leaped over other benches and around other obstacles. „oh Sam~“ Bucky sang playfully. Sam‘s heart skipped a beat, his feet picking up the pace at the incoming, playful, threat. He headed towards the fields, there was slightly more space..

He turned around and jogged backwards „oh Bucky!“ he called back and a grin fought its way onto his face „you had your fun! Come on man!“ Bucky laughed and made another grab for the man „and we both know you need this.“ he growled playfully lowly, making Sam stare at his friend in shock and disbelief at what the man had just said.

With a thud both landed on the ground thanks to Sam tripping. "James N-gghk!" Sam tried complaining, only to tense and shut his yaw, head tilting back ever so slightly at the silly sensation. Bucky meanwhile smirked down at him, hands squeezing and scribbling over the mans sides. "ouh, first name, I must be in biiig trouble." he said with a tone so smug Sam wanted to just pounce at his friend and whipe that damned grin off his face, or retaliate..

retaliate..

Sam growled and wormed his fingers into Bucky's armpits, making the man stop and stare down at his partner in crime. The other froze as well, not because his friend had given no reaction but because of the calculating look in his eyes that made his stomach drop. "You done?" he asked, trying to sound bored and done while turning his head to look away into the distance. Bucky stared for a second longer before his hands swooped up into the Captains armpits. "BUCKEE!" came the surprised screech of his friend and it was like Sam promptly went from a plank on a house, to a fish out of water.

An airy chuckle left Bucky's lips at the image. "AhahaHaey Buhuhucky! Quihit it!" Sam growled through laughter, only to jump as a shock travelled up and down his spine. "HEhehey!" Bucky let his fingers travel around the armits, trying to find the spot that had made his friend jump.. "What was that Wilson?" he purred lowly, the smirk now all too present on his face. "AHahaaha fuhuck off Baharnes!" Bucky scoffed at how daring his friend was in such a peculiar position.. "I doubt you're in a position to say such things mister 'I'm-Not-Ticklish'" he reminded as his finger slowly reached around the armpits, towards the back. "Prehehtty sure I cAHAHAN! BUCKY!" he exclaimed with a highpitched note, hands coming up to grab at Bucky's arms to shove them away without luck.

The tickling may not have been weakening him much, but super soldier strength was already overly unfair!

"YOUhuHU're PLAHAhahayIng UHunfAHAir!" Sam voiced his complain to which Bucky tilted his head at "hows that?" he mused. "YOuHuHUr StrehehEngth!" Bucky sniggered and shook his head "Well alright then, complain to Hydra would ya?" he said and shook his head "Or of course try a little harder to shove me off, it's like you're not even fighting it"

Sam tried sending the male a heated glare, though for naught as he fell back into hysterical giggles and small cackles every now and again. Bucky looked down at his friend, the cackles made the frowns vanish, it seemed like Sam just completely forgot about his earlier issue.. his eyes fell to the mans thighs, with a knowing smirk he yanked one hand away from one of the armits and squeezed. Sam bucked with a surpised cackle "BUHUCKY!" he protested and kicked out "ThaHAhat's MIHINE!" he wheezed out through the deep hearted laughter that left his system with each squeez and scribble. Bucky smirked "I didn't say anything less." he mused. Sam patted the ground twice, making Bucky let up.

The younger gasped for air and sent the other a slightly smug glare "Oh sorry I thought you forgot which one was yours figuring how old you are you should be-HEHEY TIHIME OUHUT!" Sam exclaimed when Bucky went right back to tickling, sending goosebumps up his back and arms. "I thought I told you it wasn't wise to make such comments" bucky growled, awfully close to sams ear.

The younger giggled and leaned away, earning an amused laugh from Bucky who had only ever so rarely heard the latter giggle. "What was that?" he asked. Sam sniggered and squeezed his eyes shut. "THehe KIhids!" Bucky raised an amused eyebrow, was he blaming the children? One look over his shoulder told him yes, the kids were far off in the distance still playing with Sara.

Bucky smirked "Would be a shame if Sara knew aye?" Sam tried smaking the male, getting dodged with ease "YouHUhu Jeherk!" Bucky tased Sam's side, awfully close to the mans back "EHEHEY!" he laughed, turning towards the hand to block anymore firework like attacks. Bucky smirked and scribbled over the thin shirt on his now other side, the open back all too inviting. "AHahAHA NoooOOOhO!" The quick squeezes continued, first one side then the other, it was like the back and forth wouldn't end, and the more often it happened the more prominent those with electricy filled shocks got, and soon enough Bucky had his friend writhering and laughing his head off underneath him.

"AhAHAhahaLRIGHT! AHAHlright! YOuhuHUHU WIHIHIN!" Bucky sniggered and let up but didnt let Sam get up just yet. The supersoldier now sitting next to his friend, one leg over the mans hips. Sam sniggered and covered his slightly tinted cheeks, body relaxing into the ground "youhu suhuhuck..." Bucky chortled and looked towards the docks. "A lot better to have you laughing then sulking around and not talking." Sam looked up and the man, ever so slightly surpised by what the other just said. "Yeah well.." he huffed and looked at the leg and then Bucky, sending a daring glare "How about letting me up?"

Bucky smirked and leaned towards him, about to tell him no before Saras voice echoed over the field "FOODS READY!"

Right! The grill!

Bucky got up in an instant, brushing himself off and letting Sam, who was arguably still slightly wonky on his feet rise. "You good?" Bucky mused as he watched the male. Sam rolled his eyes and smirked back at him "Sure, you don't actually think you could take me down with a bit of tickling." Bucky grinned right back, so smugly Sam had to take a step back. "Right, and you're totally not ticklish."

The captain popped his lips and promptly left as nothing to say came to mind. Bucky laughed at the sight of his friend speed walking towards the grills. He started jogging, noticing Sam look back and send him a 'do not'. Bucky grinned and charged at his friend, earning a shriek as Sam turned around and dashed towards his sister and the kids, to safety from his teammate, friend and tickle monster.

"Uncle Sam! Uncle Bucky! Sara played totally unfair!" a child complained and Sam instantly jumped onto the topic, letting the kids lead the way to the table with food in hand. Bucky sent Sara a charming and victorious grin at which she laughed and smiled back with a shake of the head.

The afternoon went without hiccups, they chatted, played board games, normal games and all too soon the afternoon sun was setting.

Bucky and Sam bid their farwells to the families and left.

Bucky opened the front door to the house and grinned to himself "Just so you know, you're never living that down." A loud and highpitched groan came from behind him, letting him know his friends dismay.

They stepped in and as Bucky hung the keys, Sam sent him a look, it may have not been the cheer-up method he would've chosen, but he had to silently admit, it helped nonetheless. Plus, now he kinda knew where they stood, they were buddies, friends, someone he could count on even beyond the bettlefield. "How did you know about my armpits? Lucky guess?" he asked. Bucky hummed and turned to Sam "Usually people go for spots that work on themselves." he explained crutly, passing his friend and making a B line for the bathroom.

Sam hummed in understanding before freezing and looking after his friend "Wait so you're ticklish too?!" he called, not getting an answer as the door shut.

The Captain shook his head and switched his phone off. For once feeling more then just apprechiated.

[themculibrary]

Bucky & Steve Masterlist

A Mother Always Knows (ao3) - readergirl1013 steve/bucky T, 16k

Summary: Five times Winifred Barnes suspected her son was one of those sort, one time she knew for sure, and one more time.

And Cookies, Too? (ao3) - SilverRowan_Ivy630951 steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: “So, what made you come to Wakanda?”

“Steve thought Stark was joking and agreed to the position right on the spot.”

“Hey!” Steve protested. “There hadn’t been even a single rumor that he was going to open another Shield Coffee Shop, much less one in another country. Not even a whisper. How was I supposed to know that the man was legitimately asking?”

“You’re just lucky that you chose me for who you’d want to work here with you. I’ll be damned if I let my husband move to another fuckin’ country with someone that wasn’t me.”

Carry Me Through The Pain (ao3) - LokiNeedsHugs1031 steve/bucky T, 2k

Summary: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers comes down with pneumonia and wonderful boyfriend Bucky takes care of him, even if it’s with a fight.

Cause I'm with you, till the end of the line (ao3) - Chocorinny_333 N/R, 5k

Summary: Steve never had a friend before Bucky. Bucky and Steve become friends and their progression through their relationship. This is the story of the friendship of Steve and Bucky!

down in the brooklyn toil (ao3) - arabellagaleotti steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: A story of what could have been.

Even the Darkness Has Arms (ao3) - Riprap, Riprapcap (Riprap) steve/bucky N/R, 15k

Summary: Bucky’s in love. Steve’s oblivious. You know how it goes.

Let Love Lead Us (Love is Christmas) (ao3) - Bucket_Burns steve/bucky G, 11k

Summary: The Christmas season will always be something special to Steve and Bucky.

Memories with Teeth (ao3) - WhisperToMeSoftly G, 6k

Summary: Bucky wakes up in Wakanda to find that T'Challa, Wanda, and Steve have come up with a plan to save him from HYDRA's control: Wanda will have to find a way to fix him from the inside.

no longer compromised (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor bucky/clint G, 1k

Summary: AU in which SHIELD saved Bucky from Hydra and helped him recover. Bucky and Clint meet through SHIELD and fall in love. Fast forward to Clint getting brainwashed by Loki. All he wants is the comfort of his boyfriend.

Our Beginning (ao3) - ohstars steve/bucky T, 167k

Summary: Set in the twentieth century, this is the story of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Before they became Captain America and the Winter Solider. Before the war. Before the world put all of its weight on their shoulders.

Just two kids trying to get by in the world, and falling in love along the way.

See You Again (ao3) - Sleepyfaceandsnark steve/bucky N/R, 4k

Summary: “We’ve got seven days ‘til we say goodbye. Back to separate ways but I’ll miss you more this time

Cause I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

Steve’s visits to Wakanda as him and Bucky try to re-establish their relationship while a war is brewing.

subways and soup kitchens (ao3) - crazywineaunt steve/bucky G, 1k

Summary: Steve sleeps past the last stop on the subway.

the broadest stroke of color (ao3) - gossamernotes steve/bucky G, 15k

Summary: Sarah Rogers always loved Steve’s hands.

“Your hands will do a lifetime’s work,” she’d say. “Remember to do the work you can for those you love.”

Almost a century later, Steve does just that.

[The story wherein Steve draws comics for Bucky to help him recover his memory. Through a series of events, the issues are leaked, and Steve finds himself reviving the Captain America comics. He still isn’t sure how that happened.]

The Care and Feeding of Traumatized Ex-Assassins (ao3) - Sholio T, 6k

Summary: Steve starts to notice someone's been in his apartment while he's not there. Set after Winter Soldier; spoilers.

We Shall Come Home (ao3) - MusingsOnBuckyBarnes T, 3k

Summary: After a solo mission during WW2, Bucky reunites with the Howlies and Steve. Eventually.

Where is Steve? (ao3) - vizzie1 G, 1k

Summary: Just small snippets of various times in their friendship that Bucky has wondered "Where is Steve"

Or: 4 times Bucky finds Steve, and 1 time he doesn't

[nekoannie-chan]

A night of meetings

Title: A night of meetings.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 580 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve thought he would never dance with you again.

Major Tags: Fluff, implicit smut.

Additional tags: This is my entry for the @buck-star Easter Special with the trope:  

"Hooking up”.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

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

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this). I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people's dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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

Add yourself to my taglist here.

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

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

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

Brooklyn, 1943

You'd heard of him. Everyone had. The skinny kid from Brooklyn who was now Captain America. But you knew him before his name filled the papers.

That night, at an impromptu party thrown by Stark. You were with a drink in your hand, leaning against one of the lounge's columns. The background music was not loud, but it was enough to encourage Steve to come closer when he wanted to greet you.

“Do you dance?” you asked.

You wanted that too. To dance. To feel him close.

The song was slow. His hands, clumsy, wrapped around your waist as you dropped your head against his chest.

 “You still smell like paint," he teased, softly, against your ear.

“And you... smell like your uniform," you replied.

After the dance, they went for a walk down the side alley of the salon.

“I never thought I'd see you like this again," he said, facing you.

“How so?” you asked, tilting your head, not letting go of his hand.

“Like this... so close," he answered, and then, without thinking too much, he came closer.

The kiss was warm, soft at first, as if he was afraid you would fade away. But you didn't. That night, you didn't talk about promises. You didn't talk about what was coming tomorrow. He would go to war.

You ended up in your apartment, with the curtains badly drawn and the record player playing at low volume. You approached slowly, with the dim lights of the lamp on the coffee table giving just enough light to the place. Your fingers brushed his.

“Are you all right?” you asked.

“Yeah... I'm just..." Steve swallowed, smiling thinly. It's been a long time since I've been with someone like that. I don't want to be with someone like that.

You moved even closer, until you were facing him. Your hand went carefully up to his cheek, and he barely turned his face, closing his eyes for a second when he felt your touch.

 When you kissed him, you did it slowly. Steve responded instantly, one of his hands around your waist firmly, the other running up your back. You guided him to your room. The creak of the hardwood floor under his boots, the brush of his jacket against your dress.

When they stopped at the foot of your bed, he looked into your eyes. He said nothing. He just watched you as if he needed to memorize you. His hands were slow, careful, as they dared to unzip your dress. There was no hurry.    When the dress fell to the floor and you stood in front of him in your underwear, Steve sighed low, as if you had taken the air out of him.

You, too, began to unbutton his shirt. One by one, he felt his muscles tense with each brush of your fingers. When the garment fell, you paused for a moment, watching his chest.

Steve kissed you like he couldn't do it again. He caressed you as if he had never touched anyone. Then, when you were between the rumpled sheets, your bodies still pressed together, he put his arm around you and pulled you against his chest.

 “You know? If this was the last night before going back to the front... I'm glad I spent it with you.”

 You didn't say anything. You just leaned your head against his chest and listened to his heart.

Strong. Steady.

Like it was beating for you too.

[emjee]

hiiiiiiiiii I've had three glasses of wine and here's a WIP preview of the fic I'm calling "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood (Library)" (aka Steve Rogers gets a library card circa 2011 and quickly learns about Librarians Vs. The PATRIOT Act)

“I can help who’s next.”

The next man in line at the reference desk of the Brooklyn Public Library was so handsome that Marian’s brain quickly supplied a list of five potential nicknames for him that the staff could use among themselves if he became a regular.

“Hi, I was uh, wondering about getting a library card?”

“Sure, I can help you with that! Are you a Brooklyn resident?”

“For a long time.”

“Have you had a card with us before? If you have I’ll check and see if you’re still in our system.”

“I did, but it was a very long time ago.” Neighborhood kid, she wondered, maybe just moved back to the old stomping grounds?

“Well, we keep the records for a couple of years, and we do like to check so we avoid duplicates. What would the name on file have been?”

“Is there something else you can search by?”

“If it’s under a name you don’t use we can try address and date of birth.”

“My birthday’s July 4th.”

A year would have been helpful, but they could circle back to that. “What’s it like sharing a birthday with a country?” she asked as she started typing.

“Well, the fireworks always made me feel special when I was a kid.”

“I’m sure. Do you remember what address we might have had on file?”

He took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was calm, but soft enough that she had to learn forward to hear him. “I don’t think it’s there anymore.”

House fire? Gentrification?

This sort of thing happened from time to time—a patron came in who clearly had a story that made getting them what they needed less straightforward that it might otherwise have been. That wasn’t a problem; sorting that sort of thing was literally what the fine people of Brooklyn paid her for, but she was always curious about people’s stories. Sometimes they told you, sometimes they didn’t. She wasn’t going to ask, though. Curiosity or no, it was ultimately none of her business.

“None of that’s a problem,” she assured him. “I can make you a new card right now, if you have an ID and proof of address. Driver’s license would work for both, or a passport, state ID, student ID plus a piece of mail…”

“This is going to sound like a silly question, probably…” He looked at the ceiling, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase it.

“No such thing,” she said lightly. “Besides, we’ve probably heard it before. Probably ten times a day.”

“If I do get a card, does anyone…know? Besides you all, I mean.”

Marian sat straighter in her chair and immediately became all business. “Not a silly question at all. Any record that identifies you by name is confidential under New York state law. We don’t even let law enforcement have it.”

A genuine grin dawned  on his face and she immediately thought of three more possible nicknames. “Seriously?”

“Not unless they’ve got a warrant or a subpoena.”

“Huh. But it would have to be under my legal name?”

“We do need to have it on file, but if you have a name you’d rather use, we can make a note in the record. That’s the name your mail would come addressed to, and what the staff would call you.”

She watched him glance down, smile, and put a hand in his pocket.

“Yeah,” he said, producing his wallet and handing her his ID. “In that case.”

She set the ID on the counter in front of her while she opened a new card registration form and didn’t give it a proper look until she had her hands on the keyboard.

Well. That certainly explained a lot.

After entering ROGERS STEVEN GRANT into the record in a rapid clatter of keyboard strokes, she glanced back up at him and said, “What would you like me to put in the preferred name field.”

He gave it a moment’s thought. “Fred.”

She couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Excellent choice. Same last name?”

“Joke’s not as good if I change it.”

“Fair point.” She grabbed a fresh card from the drawer and scanned the barcode into the system, then saved the record. “Welcome to the Brooklyn Public Library, Mr. Rogers.”

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 8)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 8 - They Don't Know About Us

They were getting better at life. Slowly. Awkwardly. But better. And that's when Steve decided it was time for the next level.

He insisted they "learn public transport."

He said it with the same tone he used when talking about survival strategies or CPR training.

"It's not glamorous," he told them, "but it's the city. You haven't really lived here until you've survived the subway."

Turns out, survival was the right word.

The train was packed—shoulder to shoulder, air heavy with perfume, coffee, and general existential exhaustion.

Y/N was wedged between Bucky and a teenager blasting TikToks at full volume. Bucky, stoic as ever, looked one playlist away from committing a mild crime.

Up ahead, Steve stood like a seasoned commuter, gripping the overhead rail with absolute peace.

Y/N struggled to stay upright every time the train lurched.

Suddenly, she felt the lightest tug on her hand.

Bucky.

He didn't grab it—just hooked his pinky around hers.

No words. Just that little tether to say, I've got you.

She didn't say anything. Just let it stay.

When they finally resurfaced onto the street, Steve led them through a winding trail near the edge of the city, far from crowds and noise. They reached a high overlook tucked above an old community garden. From here, the skyline stretched wide, glowing orange and gold in the late afternoon sun.

Steve sat down on a wide patch of grass and gestured beside him. "This is where I come to draw."

Y/N sat to his left. Bucky dropped beside her, hands braced behind him.

They sat in easy silence for a while.

Then the stories started.

Steve glanced sideways at Bucky, a half-smile forming. "You used to walk me the long way home just so I wouldn't have to pass by guys who'd mouth off."

Y/N looked over at Bucky. "That tracks."

Steve smiled. "Once, I tripped in the middle of the street and ripped a hole in my pants. He gave me his jacket. Spent the rest of the walk pretending he wasn't freezing."

Bucky shrugged. "You needed it more."

"It was snowing, Buck."

"And you were limping."

Y/N's expression softened. "You've always been like that, huh?"

Bucky glanced down at his hands. "Like what?"

"Showing up," she said simply.

Steve grinned. "Exactly."

Y/N glanced between them—between now and the memory Steve once shared on the flight to Wakanda.

How Bucky used to drag him out of alleys. How he always stepped in without hesitation. Back then, it had sounded like grief.

It was different, hearing it now. Not heavy. Not haunted. Just history, shared like a joke between brothers.

They sat for what felt like hours, laughing at dumb teenage decisions and stories of Brooklyn corners that didn't exist anymore.

Then Steve stood up suddenly. "Alright. Settle something."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Steve pointed between them. "Which one of us is the fastest?"

Y/N blinked. "You're really opening yourself up to defeat here, Rogers."

Steve grinned and nodded toward the far end of the park. "First one there wins."

"You're on, Rogers," Bucky said with a smirk, already rolling up his sleeves like it was game time.

"Winner gets ice cream," Y/N said, jogging backward toward a makeshift starting line.

"Deal," Steve said, falling into step beside her.

"I want chocolate chip cookie," Bucky added, already way too invested.

Steve raised a brow. "You haven't even won yet."

Bucky grinned. "Doesn't matter. I'm manifesting."

And then someone yelled, "Go!" (Nobody remembers who.)

It wasn't graceful.

It was chaos.

Shoes pounding, limbs flailing, breathless laughter echoing between trees as three super soldiers raced like over-caffeinated kids across an almost-empty park.

It was a weekday lull—too late for lunch breaks, too early for post-work strollers. The park, for once, felt like their own.

Bucky tripped over a rock and blamed the landscaping.

Steve ran into a squirrel and declared it sabotage.

Y/N won, somehow — not because she ran the fastest, but because Steve and Bucky got too busy trying to outpace each other to notice she'd already crossed the line. 

She turned around, hands on her hips, breathless and grinning. "You two done arguing?"

They didn't declare an official winner—Y/N just smiled like she already knew. The next thing anyone said was, "Ice cream sounds good," as they wandered toward the nearest cart.

Fifteen minutes later, they were walking back toward their original spot near the overlook, cones in hand and sun warm on their shoulders. The golden hour hit everything just right—turning edges to warmth, and making the world feel like it was pausing for a breath.

Y/N had mango. Bucky had chocolate chip cookie. Steve went with vanilla—classic, no fuss.

That kicked off a whole debate—half-serious, half-laughing—about which flavour reigned supreme. Bucky insisted chocolate chip cookie had texture and depth. Y/N said mango was refreshing and didn't "taste like freezer burn" which earned a full offended gasp from Bucky. 

Steve just rolled his eyes and kept eating.

And for a moment—

He didn't feel like Captain America. Or a man out of time. Or a symbol.

He felt like Steve.

The punk kid from Brooklyn who used to get into trouble and drag his best friend with him. Who now had two people beside him who made the world feel small enough to hold.

He watched Y/N flick a drop of melted mango onto Bucky's boot and Bucky dramatically mourn his "favourite sock," and something in Steve's chest eased.

They were laughing.

Not surviving. Not coping.

Laughing.

And he was too.

Steve smiled into his cone and let it melt just a little more in the sun. For the first time in a long time, everything felt... easy. The kind of moment you didn't realise you'd been waiting for until you were in it.

And then, somehow, it got even better.

Because Bucky got ice cream on his cheek.

Then his chin.

Then, impossibly, the tip of his nose.

Repeatedly.

Y/N caught it every time—soft wipes with the edge of her thumb, grinning like it was the highlight of her day. And Steve noticed how Bucky leaned just a little each time, eyes fluttering half-shut like a puppy getting his ears scratched.

Steve raised an eyebrow, watching him with amused suspicion.

He could swear Bucky was deliberately getting ice cream on his face—like some tactical operation to make Y/N laugh and reach for him again.

Steve bit back a grin. Smooth, Barnes. Real subtle.

But then, as he watched them, something else tugged at his chest.

Because he remembered the man Bucky used to be—the one who always had to have it together, who looked out for everyone, who carried things no one ever asked him to carry. Even before the war. Even before Hydra. Bucky had always been the one with the charming smile and the careful armour beneath it.

But this Bucky—ice cream-smeared and grinning like a dork under Y/N's soft gaze—wasn't performing. He wasn't holding the world up. He wasn't trying to fix anything.

He was just being.

Letting himself be cared for.

Letting himself want.

And Steve had never seen that before. Not even back then.

They'd wandered back to their usual spot—quiet, tucked away, familiar.

Steve continued sketching. Y/N lay in the grass, eyes closed. And Bucky—

Bucky had stretched out beside her, head resting on her stomach, gloves off, breath evening out. At some point, he'd drifted off completely.

Steve only noticed when a soft snore broke the silence.

He glanced over, half-smiling—then paused.

Y/N was awake. Barely moving. One hand threaded gently through Bucky's hair, fingers trailing slow, absent circles. She didn't say anything. Just smiled every time he made a tiny, contented sound in his sleep. Like it was her favourite thing.

With every quiet stroke of her fingers. With the way she softened to hold him, the way she watched him breathe like it mattered.

She cradled the moment like it might slip away.

And Bucky—he'd let himself fall asleep there.

On her.

Like it was the safest place in the world.

Steve looked down at his sketchpad but didn't draw for a moment. 

Just smiled.

A few minutes later, the soft crunch of small shoes on gravel broke the stillness—and all three of them snapped to alert.

Bucky stirred first, eyes blinking open as instinct kicked in. He sat up quickly, shoulders tense, scanning—until he saw the source.

A little boy—no older than five—stood a few feet away, ball cap slightly crooked, wide eyes fixed on Bucky's hand.

The Vibranium one.

He hadn't even realised it was still bare. The glove lay forgotten in the grass beside him.

They were tucked away in a quiet corner of the park. He hadn't expected anyone to notice.

Bucky went still. His hand twitched, the old urge rising fast—to cover it. Hide it.

But the kid took a step closer.

"I have one too," he said matter-of-factly, holding up a small prosthetic arm. Bright blue. Well-used.

Bucky blinked. "...Yeah?"

The kid nodded solemnly. "Yours is cooler."

That got a breath of surprise out of him. "Thanks."

The boy took another step, curious but not afraid. "Does it make noise?"

"Sometimes," Bucky said.

"Does it punch bad guys?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Bucky's lips. "Only the really bad ones."

The boy grinned—broad and proud—and for a second, nothing else moved.

Y/N stayed where she was, hands still resting in the grass, her heart full. 

Steve glanced sideways at her, then back at Bucky—a proud smile tugging at his lips.

It was such a simple thing.

But watching Bucky, who used to flinch from being seen, let himself be seen now—and seen like that—it meant something.

The boy's mother called from farther down the trail. The kid gave Bucky a small salute and a wide grin, then turned and ran off, his little prosthetic arm swinging freely by his side.

Bucky watched the boy go.

He sat there for a while after, his Vibranium hand resting lightly in his lap.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel the need to hide it.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't reach for the glove either.

And neither Steve nor Y/N said a word.

Because they understood what it meant.

And that was enough.

--

Life kept unfolding, one gentle moment at a time.

Two days later, Peter showed up at their door, clutching two boxes like it might explode. "Hi! Peter Parker. Official tech support, apparently," he grinned. "Mr. Stark said you guys needed phones that weren't from, like, the dinosaur era."

He handed Y/N a brand-new smartphone like he was gifting her a live grenade.

"Okay! So this is your phone. You tap here to unlock it, swipe this way to see your notifications, and if you press this for too long it calls Steve. Don't ask why. It just does." She blinked at the screen lighting up. "It glows. Why is it glowing?"

Peter beamed. "It's ready for you. It's like... a really smart friend who lives in your pocket. But with infinite knowledge and, like, zero boundaries."

Bucky stood beside her, arms folded, clearly skeptical. "What happens if you press the apple?"

Peter squinted. "Uh, that's just a sticker."

Bucky grunted. "Then why's it on there?"

Y/N turned the phone over carefully, holding it like it might detonate if she angled it wrong. "It's too shiny. This doesn't feel like something I should be allowed to use."

Peter softened a bit, his excitement quieting. "Hey... it's just a tool. You get to decide how you use it. Call people. Listen to music. Set a timer for cookies. Whatever feels normal." Then his grin came right back. "Also, I already installed Spotify, Duolingo, and a cat video app."

They spent the afternoon texting each other across the couch like they were plotting a world takeover. Bucky accidentally replied to a group chat with a thumbs-up emoji and got roasted by Sam for twenty minutes. Y/N found the camera feature and kept zooming in too close, resulting in a collection of unflattering forehead shots and one perfect picture of Bucky looking confused at a banana.

By evening, they were still sprawled on the couch—Y/N in the middle, flanked by Bucky and Peter like mismatched bookends, all clutching their new phones like mission equipment.

Peter was already swiping through screens like a man with a plan.

He suddenly sat up straighter, clapped his hands once, and grinned. "Alright. Next disaster to tackle: Instagram. The worst and best place on the internet."

Bucky held his phone like it might talk back. "What's the point of it?"

Peter grinned. "To make people jealous of your breakfast and fall in love with your dog. Also, memes."

Y/N had picked it up quickly, already following a trail of book recommendations, sneaker drops, and videos of food she wanted to try—noodles, pastries, and things that sizzled. Bucky, on the other hand, kept accidentally liking posts from 2018 and didn't understand filters.

 At some point, while Peter scrolled through his own feed, Bucky's thumb slipped. A little red LIVE icon appeared at the top of his screen. Neither he nor Y/N noticed.

She had curled sideways on the couch, giggling as she told him how she'd spilled smoothie all over her notes—and now half her grocery list smelled like strawberries. 

Her hair was soft and slightly tangled. Her socks didn't match. She looked like safety and sunlight.

And Bucky, without realising it, was staring at her like she'd hung the stars just right.

On the other side of the screen, a notification pinged for the rest of the team.

"BuckyBarnes is live 📹"

Tony: Why are we watching this like it's a documentary?

Natasha: Because this is better than cable.

Clint: Look at his face. He's so gone.

Steve, quietly from the gym: That look says everything.

Sam: Shut up. I'm screen recording this for the wedding slideshow.

Back on the couch, Y/N laughed at something she'd said. Bucky smiled without thinking, and only when Peter looked up and froze in horror did either of them realise.

"Dude," Peter whispered. "You're live. You've been live for, like... seven minutes."

Bucky's eyes widened. "WHAT?"

He fumbled with the phone like it had betrayed him, tapping every button at once. The stream ended with an accidental selfie of his panicked face and Y/N's confused one beside him.

Silence.

Then Y/N looked at him and grinned. "Congratulations. You've officially joined the internet."

He groaned, dropping his head back against the couch. "I'm never hearing the end of this."

She nudged him gently, her smile softening. "Could've been worse. You could've been shirtless."

"Don't help."

She just leaned her head on his shoulder, and he let her.

Peter, still holding the phone, whispered with mock reverence, "Should I tag it #SwipeSoldier?"

Bucky let out a warning growl. Y/N started giggling.

Peter dove off the couch with a yelp, arms over his head. "Okay, okay! I'm logging off!"

The room dissolved into chaotic laughter—and somehow, it felt like the most peaceful place in the world.

--

A few weeks later, Y/N and Bucky were standing by the elevator, waiting to head out for the day.

Bucky leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, his usual calm demeanour seemingly a little more relaxed than usual. He'd been taking things slower lately, and Y/N was glad for it. Bucky had finally started choosing rest over keeping himself busy, something she knew he'd struggled with.

They stood in silence, waiting for the elevator, the quiet hum of the compound filling the space. Y/N glanced at Bucky, the faintest of smiles playing on her lips. She hadn't admitted it aloud, but she liked this—just being together like this, without the constant rush.

Before she could say anything, Bruce came hurrying around the corner, his usual fast-paced energy filling the hallway.

"Y/N!" he said, breathless as he approached. "Tony and I could really use your help in the lab—an urgent consultation. Can you come by?"

Y/N blinked, surprised, but then nodded. She had, over time, started to help out in the medical bay and the lab, even if she hadn't completely thrown herself into it yet. It had been her choice, taking it slow, easing herself back into the things she'd once done.

Bucky, however, hadn't quite found his own pace. He had been resting more, and that made Y/N happy. It was a quiet victory, seeing him choose his health and well-being first.

"Bruce was practically bouncing on his heels, eager to get going. "Y/N, we've got to move. Tony's one espresso shot away from turning the lab into chaos."

Y/N glanced at Bucky, offering an apologetic smile. He shot her a playful pout in return, though his expression softened with understanding.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," she reassured him, giving him a soft smile before following Bruce leaving Bucky standing alone by the elevator.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft 'ding,' and Thor stepped out, immediately spotting Bucky standing by the door, looking a little down.

Thor's smile faltered for a moment as he noticed Bucky's expression. He walked over and clapped Bucky on the shoulder with a friendly thud, his voice softer than usual. "What's this, my friend? No smile today?"

When Bucky didn't respond right away, Thor's expression shifted with concern, his gaze searching for Y/N. "Where is the Doctor?" he asked, his voice returning to its usual thunderous volume. "I have returned from Asgard and come bearing gifts!"

"Y/N got dragged off by Bruce for something with Tony," Bucky mumbled, a slight edge of sulking in his tone.

Thor blinked, processing the situation with the seriousness of a god. Then, a warm smile crept across his face as he looked at Bucky, still slouched by the elevator. His voice took on a mischievous tone.

"Well, my friend, it seems you are in dire need of distraction. I think I have just the solution."

Bucky tilted his head, his arms still crossed, but the curiosity tugging at him was clear. "What are you talking about?"

Thor leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper, though his grin was far from subtle. "There's a place. A legendary place. Where you can buy flat-packed furniture, strange food, and marvel at its wonders. A place called... IKEA."

Bucky blinked. "IKEA?"

"Yes!" Thor said with absolute certainty, clapping Bucky on the shoulder again. "You and I shall embark on a quest for meatballs, furniture, and strange Swedish inventions. You need not be alone in your sorrow, my friend. I, Thor, shall help you recover from the absence of Y/N."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, caught between confusion and the faintest hint of amusement. 'IKEA?' he repeated, as if weighing the absurdity of the idea. 'Well, guess I've done worse... Lead the way.'"

And so, just like that, Bucky and Thor—along with an unexpected mission—left the elevator, leaving behind the still-quiet compound for an afternoon of ridiculous adventures.

Thor entered IKEA like a storm on a sunny day, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt with an unreadable Asgardian slogan, and his signature boots. He looked entirely too grand for a furniture store. "Ah, the land of flat-packed wonders!" he exclaimed, arms wide as if welcoming the entire store.

Bucky, pushing the cart with a slightly annoyed expression, rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Thor grinned at him. "This, my friend, is the realm of endless possibilities! And today, you will find the key to comfort!"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "We're just here to get a few things, Thor. I didn't sign up for a 'comfort quest.'"

Thor clapped him on the back with a grin. "Every great journey begins with a step—and today, that step is in IKEA."

So there they were, walking down aisles of inexpensive furniture and oddly shaped storage units, when Thor began to give Bucky an impromptu tour of the store, offering tidbits about every section they passed. "This, my friend, is the land of cushions! These soft, squishy treasures are made for comfort and relaxation!"

Bucky just grunted. He wasn't in the mood for shopping, let alone listening to Thor wax poetic about home decor.

But as they wandered through the aisles, Bucky's gaze caught on a few simple items that seemed to offer a bit of comfort for Y/N's world, touches that could make her space feel more hers in the way she deserved.

Thor didn't seem to notice his shift in focus, continuing to regale Bucky with his IKEA wisdom. "And here we have the section for throws and cushions. Perfect for any battle-weary traveler who needs to rest their mighty limbs after a long day of heroics."

Bucky, though, had stopped listening. His mind was busy, thinking about the things Y/N could use—things that would make her smile, make her feel more at home. These weren't big gestures. But they were little things that might just brighten up her day, in the simplest way.

Things Y/N would love.

He started with a journal with a fluffy cover, soft and comforting, perfect for the quiet moments Y/N had when she wrote or reflected. Alongside it, he picked up a set of coloured pens, imagining Y/N filling the pages with her sketches or to-do lists, adding little splashes of colour as she went. 

Further down the aisle, he saw fairy lights—the soft, twinkling kind that would add a touch of magic to her room. Bucky thought they'd be perfect for her to hang up and brighten the space with her own quiet glow.

Then he found a cute teapot and tea set—simple and floral, just the right size for Y/N. He'd seen her make tea in mismatched mugs, but this would be a treat for her. She deserved to have something beautiful to drink out of, something that made her tea time feel just a little bit more special.

A few aisles over, Bucky found a soft robe and a pair of plush slippers, both perfect for Y/N to unwind after a long day—comforting and cozy, just a little indulgence for her to relax.

Walking down another aisle, he found a soft cushion for a chair, one that would make her workspace more comfortable. Y/N had never complained, but Bucky had noticed how she shifted uncomfortably after long hours, and this would give her some relief.

Finally, Bucky found a cozy throw blanket, plush and soft, just waiting for someone to curl up with it. Y/N always had a blanket that she loved, but this one would be a little extra warm, like a gentle hug. 

As Bucky loaded the items onto the conveyor belt at the checkout, Thor leaned over with a raised eyebrow, eyeing the cart. "Ah, I see what you've done. Such cozy items... for Y/N, huh?"

Bucky just gave him a flat look, pulling out his wallet. "I'm just getting stuff she might like. It's practical."

Thor chuckled, shaking his head. "Practical, indeed. A blanket, a teapot... Bucky, my friend, you've crafted a masterpiece of affection, and I must say, I approve."

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Just don't make a big deal out of it, okay?"

Thor gave him a wink as they paid. "I would never," he said, voice full of mischief.

"The fair maiden is lucky to have you," he added with a teasing grin.

Bucky shifted slightly, looking down at the items. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a small, almost shy smile pulling at his lips. "I'm trying" he muttered, his voice soft but genuine.

Thor's smile softened, the teasing replaced with something more understanding. "You're doing just fine, brother."

And just like that, Bucky felt a little lighter, like he was heading home with something more than just a few items from a furniture store. He was heading back with the idea of making Y/N's space feel a little more hers. A little more loved.

--

Y/N stepped into her room, weary from a long day of work. The hum of the city outside felt like a distant echo compared to the exhaustion settling into her bones. She closed the door behind her, the quiet of the room a welcome contrast to the busy chaos of the day.

But then, her eyes landed on something that immediately softened the tension in her shoulders.

On her desk, Y/N found a fluffy journal with colourful pens and a cushion on her chair. She smiled, her fingers brushing over the soft cover.

Then her gaze shifted to the bed, where a cozy throw blanket lay, inviting her to curl up. Beside it, a soft robe with a pair of plush slippers placed below on the floor.

She hadn't mentioned wanting any of it, yet there it was, waiting for her.

Her eyes widened. Who had done this?

Before she could think too much about it, a soft sound caught her attention. She turned around to see Bucky, kneeling on the floor near the corner of her room, tangled up in a mess of fairy lights. He was so focused on the lights that he didn't notice her walk in. She couldn't help but laugh quietly as she watched him untangle himself, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he finally looked up and noticed her, his face turned slightly pink.

"Oh—uh—hey," he said, his voice still a little breathless from his tangle with the lights.

"Trying to redecorate, huh?" Y/N teased, still smiling.

Bucky blinked at her, looking sheepish. "I thought it might make things more... cozy. I got a little carried away." He gestured to the mess of lights hanging awkwardly around the room.

Y/N chuckled softly, the warmth of the room, the thoughtful gesture, and the sight of Bucky so out of his element making her heart swell.

"How'd all this get here?" she asked, looking at Bucky with an amused expression.

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, I may have... gone a little shopping with Thor. Grabbed a few things. Thought you might like them".

Y/N's smile softened as she glanced around, taking in the sweet touches. "A few things, huh?" She couldn't help but tease gently, her voice warm. "Well, it's... definitely cozy."

Bucky flushed, awkwardly clearing his throat. "I just... wanted to make things a little nicer for you."

He noticed the awe in her eyes as she stood there, taking in the scene. She walked over to him, still stunned, and softly said, "Thank you, Bucky."

Y/N smiled, her voice gentle. "For all of this... You didn't have to, but you did. It means a lot."

Bucky's chest tightened at her words, and he simply nodded. "I'm glad you like it."

Before she could say anything more, his expression softened further. "I made you dinner," he added, his tone quieter now. "I figured you might be tired after work. It should be done by now."

Y/N blinked. "You cooked?"

Bucky nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. C'mon. I'll show you."

As they walked toward the kitchen, Bucky's voice took on a playful note. "And, uh, I have one more surprise." He gestured to the counter, where the teapot was sitting, steam rising gently. Two matching teacups were placed side by side next to it. "Tea's already brewing."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she took in the sight of the tea set. She met his gaze, her thoughts momentarily lost.

"Go wash your hands," Bucky said with a grin, "I'll get dinner ready".

Y/N washed up quickly, then joined him at the counter. He was just pulling out the oven tray, and the smell of her favourite dish filled the room. It was a simple meal, but the effort he'd put into it made it feel like something special.

They ate, sharing little moments between bites. Bucky, still smiling, filled her in on his "adventure" with Thor—how they ended up with a cart full of inexplicable things, including an inflatable Viking helmet.

Y/N told him about her day at work, how it had been busy but fulfilling. She mentioned some of the cases she handled and how she was slowly finding her rhythm again. "I'm starting to feel like I'm really back," she said quietly, a small smile on her face.

Afterward, Y/N started to stand up, ready to clear the plates. But Bucky stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Sit," he said. "I've got this."

She blinked, confused, but didn't protest. Bucky loaded the plates into the dishwasher with surprising ease. Then, without a word, he set the kettle to boil again.

"I know you want your before-bed tea," he said casually, his back turned to her as he worked.

Y/N watched him, feeling a quiet kind of awe at how seamlessly he was slipping into these moments of care. How, despite everything, Bucky had created this small, peaceful space for her—one that felt like home.

And she couldn't help but smile, a gentle warmth settling in her heart. 

They were still sitting at the counter, long past the time they should've been tucked away in their beds. Their laughter and stories echoed through the compound, light and free, like music. By now, they were on their fifth round of tea, but neither of them seemed to mind.

The conversation flowed easily, everything feeling familiar as they poured tea into their cups, leaning into each other's space with the ease of old habits. 

The distance between them didn't feel like two people who had been assigned rooms next to each other—it felt like they didn't know how to be far apart anymore.

They laughed more than they spoke.

And they didn't notice the audience

Across the kitchen, the entire team was gathered in the doorway—trying (and failing) not to stare.

Tony leaned sideways to whisper to Steve: "Okay, tell me I'm not the only one who feels like we're intruding on a rom-com finale."

Steve had his arms crossed, one corner of his mouth pulled into a knowing smile.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, watching them like someone witnessing an unfamiliar species in their natural habitat.

Clint whispered, "They've synced up. They're finishing each other's sentences. They're drinking out of matching tea cups".

"The Soldier has excellent taste in tea sets," Thor commented, giving a approving nod.

Tony took a large sip of his coffee, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "This is better than soap operas. And I funded one."

"Are we spying?" Bruce asked, quietly curious.

"We're observing," Natasha corrected. "With scientific interest."

"I'm pretty sure this counts as staring," Steve said.

Just then, Bucky turned—eyes landing on the group.

He paused. Narrowed his eyes.

Then tossed a spoon at Sam's head with startling accuracy.

"What are you all staring at?"

Sam threw up both hands, eyes wide in mock disbelief as the spoon bounced off his forehead. 

"Really? The bionic staring machine is accusing us of staring?" he said, rubbing his head dramatically.

Y/N choked on her sip of tea, the unexpected comment catching her off guard. 

Bucky immediately turned back to her, his expression shifting to concern. He reached over, gently patting her back. "You okay?" he asked, his voice laced with care.

She nodded, breathless. "Yeah I'm fine. I just didn't expect spoon diplomacy."

Bucky chuckled softly, the playful tension melting away as he met Y/N's eyes again. "Guess I'm more diplomatic than I thought," he said with a wink, his voice lighter than before.

Just then, Thor stepped into the room, arms wide and a grin plastered across his face. "Your bond is beautiful. We were moved."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You were... just watching?"

Steve, standing just behind Thor, smiled faintly. "We were just... observing."

"Like creeps," Y/N added, squinting at them, a teasing edge to her voice.

Tony raised an eyebrow, then added, "We're just... appreciating the vibes. Let us have our moment."

They all hummed in agreement, some nodding, some chuckling.

Bucky, eyes narrowing playfully, pointed another spoon at them threateningly. "Get out of here before I start using my words instead of spoons."

Tony raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Domestic Winter Soldier is terrifying."

As they all started to shuffle off, still grinning and muttering to each other, Nat called over her shoulder: "You two are gross in a weirdly wholesome way. I kind of love it."

Bucky leaned on the counter beside Y/N, shaking his head with a soft chuckle.

"I swear they have no boundaries," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her smile softening as she looked at him. "You're not wrong," she said, her voice teasing.

"Kind of crazy how we've adjusted to it all," she added, letting the thought settle between them.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. "I never imagined I could have this," he said quietly, a touch of surprise in his tone.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her expression light. "What? Friends who spy?" she teased, watching him pour the last cup of tea for the night.

Bucky laughed softly, the sound full of warmth and affection. 

He glanced at her—his hand brushing hers as he passed her the cup.

"No," he said, his voice lowering as he looked down at their hands, lingering for a second longer before meeting her eyes once more. "This."

And the rest of the world fell away.

--

Chapter 9 coming soon

[esoterium]

@particlexxdealer || blizzard prompts || accepting!

[ SHELTER ]: sender hastily guides the receiver to a nearby shelter for them to wait out the storm together safely. (steve)

gray skies only became darker, the clouds thicker and puffier the closer the storm got. steve could feel the crisp cold in the air. reminded him of the weather back home in brooklyn. right when the worst of the winter would come crawling through the city and seep through brick and mortar to chill even the fireplace with it's barely there flames flickering and fighting to do their best to ward off the coldest nights. they'd keep it going. no matter the cost. him and buck and his mom. never once letting her feel the depth of the winter's bite. even if the windows rattled against blankets pinned in front of them. they kept warm.

if only because the three of them knew what it might mean of steve would catch a fever. or a cold. or...worse. there could always be worse with him then.

he was standing outside scott's cabin. head back as the snow began to fall steadily. thick, chunky flakes that settled in blond hair and in his blue scarf. against his cable knit sweater. his coat forgotten inside. they had plenty of wood. plenty of food. unlike all those years ago? they'd weather this fine. if for no other reason than they were prepared and had the means to be. unlike those years ago.

his mind's trailing off. his heart going with it. back to that time. back to his mother's face and how small she was. how they were practically the same size and how he'd see her now. he can damn near picture her in the twisting flurry of flakes that begin to pour. unaware of just how much has settled on him until scott's hand's on his shoulder drawing him out of where his thoughts've trailed off to. a brow lifts as he's ushered inside.

"yeah. sorry. got to thinking. bad habit.. you comfortable?" the snow's still sticking til he starts to swat it out of his hair with a brush of his hand at the top of his head. "need anything...?"

[kayedium-writes]

Homegrown

MCU | No Warnings | Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanov | 614 Words

Read here on AO3!

( Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt: midnight distractions )

It was just past midnight as Natasha leaned back on her hands, her palms meeting the cool metal of the truck bed. Her legs swung aimlessly as the crickets chirped in the grass below. 

“So, this is where you grew up?” Steve asked, the gravel beneath his boots crunching as he brought her a drink from the cooler.

“More or less,” she said. There were a lot of places Natasha could categorize as ‘where she grew up’ but Ohio was the only one that conjured up a positive memory. She gestured with the plastic bottle toward the road in front of them. “Technically, I grew up on the other side of that tree line.”

Steve joined her on the tailgate, draping his flannel shirt around her shoulders. Late summer in the Midwest meant packing for blazing afternoons and brisk nights, but catching a flat tire on the way back to the rebuilt compound from Clint’s meant they hadn’t exactly prepared for that. Too bad neither of them had thought to check for a spare, either. 

Really, if she hadn’t suggested they make the detour, she’s pretty sure they’d be closing in on Buffalo by now but Steve’s curiosity got the best of them both and that left them waiting on a tow. 

“It’s definitely different than where I'm from.”

Natasha glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Because it’s not Brooklyn? Or because it’s not 1925?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Well... Both.”

“Sorry we aren’t all fossilized New Yorkers,” she said, giving him a playful nudge with her shoulder. 

“Y’know, the world would be pretty boring then.” He flashed her a smile. “Seems like a nice place, though. Peaceful. Laid back. No one getting rundown on the sidewalk. No taxi drivers screaming at ya’.”

“You’d have to actually have a sidewalk to get rundown on one.” She took another sip of the Coke before passing the bottle back to him. “But it was. All of those things. I’d race the neighbor kids down the street on my bike. We had barbecues. Went to baseball games." She pointed to the few twinkling yellow lights bouncing over the overgrown switchgrass. “And Yelena and I used to just lay in the yard and try to count the forest stars—that’s what she called the fireflies—in the trees. There were always so many of them…”

She felt a pit in her stomach just thinking of her sister. Yelena was out there. Somewhere. Probably alone. And Natasha had no idea where that 'somewhere' was. That was the only thing on her mind since they’d brought everyone back after Thanos. After everything they went through to take down the Red Room, she hated feeling like she’d abandoned her again.

He wrapped his arm around her tighter, pulling her snug against him as he let his chin rest against her head. “We’re going to find her. I promise.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I’m counting on it.”

There was a certainty to Steve’s voice that made it so easy to believe him. And after all these years, she did. 

As she sat up to look up at him, the near-blinding yellow and white flashing lights of the tow truck came into view over the hill. Steve slid off the tailgate to his feet and waved a hand in the air to direct them to the field they managed to steer the truck into.

“Think they’re going to recognize us?” Steve asked over his shoulder.

Before Natasha could make a wager, they both heard the driver through the rolled down window choke out, “Holy shit! It’s Captain America!”

Natasha laughed as she joined Steve’s side again. “Something tells me they will.”

[juzasblog]

Found You (1/?)

Bucky Barnes x Reader (mainly it's from your kid's POV), male for the kid and female You.

Bucky didn't know that you were pregnant before he had enlisted into the Army in the Austrian Alps.

[Brooklyn, 25th July 1965]

I found my mother's diary in our basement. It's small, with a red bookmark. My mother's name is on the first page, along with a small scribble beside it. It's his.

Second pages; She met a gorgeous man at the bar. She was too shy to say hi to him, so she left a note with the bartender to give to him. Before she went home, he called her. According to her notes, it was awkward. She was just a girl falling in love with someone, like anyone else.

Third pages: "Bucky" Yes. She wrote it, just Bucky.

Fourth pages: My mother married a man named James Buchanan Barnes. That’s my father’s name. Below it is a photo, though the image is almost invisible. Her smile is the happiest there.

Fifth pages: That smile is no longer here, in this book. Her handwriting is no longer readable. I think she wrote it with a trembling hand. Because on this page, it says: 'James is no longer here. He came home, but as sad news and a flag carried by two soldiers standing at the door — and even they couldn’t find his dog tag.'

On that day, she also found out that she was pregnant.

Sixth pages: She hadn’t written a note in 9 months, and this page was the first time she wrote again. She circled the calendar to calculate the estimated date of my birth. It’s my birthday. On this page, there are also many scribbles with different name choices. She wrote them in soft, curving letters. It’s beautiful.

[Brooklyn, 2012]

I'm 69 years old now, not much changed, but it's better day by day. Mom is still with me, she's 92 now. Fragile, yes, but sharp as ever. Every morning, she insists on making her own tea, even if her hands shake a little more than they used to.

We live quietly, just the two of us in this old house filled with quiet echoes and memories.

Sometimes I catch her staring out the window for long stretches, and when I ask what she’s thinking, she just says, “Nothing new, just remembering.”

.

.

It's still morning and the world’s been talking about it nonstop— Captain America is back. They aired footage of him on TV this morning, fighting aliens in New York like he never missed a beat since the 1940s. I was making tea in the kitchen when I heard Mom gasp. A soft sound, barely more than a breath, but it froze me. I came back to the living room and found her staring at the screen, not with shock, not with awe… but with a kind of aching familiarity.

Not for him.

Not for Steve Rogers.

She didn’t say anything else after that. Just “Bucky"

We sat there in silence, the TV playing in the background—Captain America standing tall in the middle of Manhattan, dust and fire behind him, people cheering. To the world, he was a symbol, a miracle returned. To her… I think he was a reminder.

.

.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I sat alone in the kitchen, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph tucked inside a cracked photo album. A man in uniform, smiling wide, arm around a young woman who would become my mother. She never talked much about him. Only said he went to war, like many men did. Never came home.

No body. No letter. Just… gone.

I’d read about him, his war records, some files declassified years ago. He served with Steve Rogers. Part of the Howling Commandos. Officially, he died in 1945 during a mission. The way she said his name. The way she looked at the screen—not at Steve, but through him, like she was seeing someone else entirely.

.

.

The next morning, I found her sitting by the window, sunlight pouring across her face like something sacred. She was holding the photograph I hadn’t seen in years—that photograph. The one where he’s holding her hand like he’d never let go.

She didn’t look at me when she spoke.

“He had this smile,” she said softly. “Only gave it when he looked at me."

I sat down across from her. “You never told me much about him.”

“There wasn’t much to tell,” she said after a moment then looked at me with those tired, wise eyes. “Bucky was special, even before the war. After Steve became… Captain America, they both got pulled into something bigger. More dangerous. The kind of missions they didn’t write down.” Her hands trembled, but she held the photo tighter. "When they told me he died, I never saw a body. No funeral. Just a letter from the government and silence. That’s all I had.”

I wanted to ask a hundred questions. But instead, I just reached out and took her hand.

“Why now?” I asked quietly. “Why say his name again after all these years?”

She looked out the window again, voice barely above a whisper. “Because when I saw Steve on that screen, I saw the war again. And I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.”

I didn’t know what to say. Because part of me—some quiet part I’d always ignored—had wondered too.

.

.

For a while, I tried.

I dug through old military records, digital archives, grainy war footage. I visited the library almost every week, squinting at microfilms and yellowed newspapers. But James Buchanan Barnes always ended the same way: Killed in action, 1945. No known remains.

No mention of where. No further inquiry. Just a line in history, sealed and forgotten.

But still—some nights, I swore I saw him. In the photos beside Steve, in the quiet strength behind his eyes. In the way my own hand trembled when I made a fist.

I never found proof. Only fragments, and fragments don’t hold when your heart wants certainty.

[Brooklyn, 2013]

And then, in late 2013, my mother started to forget things. At first, it was small, leaving the kettle on, asking the same question twice. But soon, she stopped recognizing the seasons, then faces. One morning, she looked at me and asked, “Where’s Bucky? He said he’d be home by Christmas.”

I wanted to say something. Anything. But I just held her hand and told her, “He’ll be home soon.”

[Brooklyn, 2014]

By spring of 2014, she could no longer get out of bed. The doctors said her heart was failing, and her mind was already halfway gone.

The last time she looked at me clearly, she was staring at the ceiling, smiling like she saw something I couldn’t. She passed in her sleep two days later. Peacefully. Quietly. With his photograph on the nightstand.

After that, I stopped searching.

I packed away the boxes, locked up the files. Whatever hope I had was buried with her. Maybe some stories were meant to stay unfinished. Maybe some people live in the past because that’s where love still breathes.

I told myself he was gone.

[Washington D.C., 2014]

I sat on a bench across from the Smithsonian, watching people pass by. People took pictures, smiled, lived their lives.

Suddenly, everything shifted.

A tremor rippled through the air, gunfire, screaming, panic. The peace shattered in seconds. People ran, guards shouted.

Across the plaza, I saw someone. Black tactical gear. A silver arm that caught the sun. A mask over his face, but his eyes were exposed. Cold. Controlled. Like something built, not born. He moved like a ghost, silent, and swift. He was chasing someone, I think. Or being chased. But time seemed to slow the moment he passed just ten feet from me. He glanced my way for half a second—barely anything. But our eyes met. Just long enough. Something flickered. Not recognition. Not quite. And then he was gone. Into the chaos. Like he had never been there at all. I stood there long after the crowd had cleared. My hands shaking again, not from fear, but from something deeper. Something I couldn’t name. I didn’t know who he was.

[Bucharest, 2016]

Two years had passed since that day in D.C., life moved on. Or at least, it kept going. I took a small trip to Europe. No grand reason.

Bucharest was cold that spring, but not unkind. The city had its scars, cracked walls, tired sidewalks but it had soul. I found a small cafe near a park where I spent most mornings. Coffee was strong. Bread was hard. The kind of place where people didn’t rush.

One morning, while I was sipping my coffee with my coat collar turned up, someone asked if they could share my table. The cafe was full, and I nodded without looking up.

He sat across from me in silence. Black jacket. Hat. Gloves. Quiet eyes.

We didn’t speak for a while. Just drank our coffee like two ghosts pretending to be alive.

Eventually, I said something first. A joke, maybe. About the weather. He nodded, almost smiled. He asked where I was from. “Brooklyn,” I told him. He looked at me then really looked. Something passed through his eyes. Something distant. Maybe even pain. “Me too,” he said softly.

We talked a bit after that. Nothing deep. Nothing important. He didn’t say his name, and I didn’t ask. He was careful with his words, but polite. Like a man who’d forgotten how to be around people, but was trying anyway. I hadn’t meant to say anything. I really hadn’t.

But something about the way he listened—silent, still, not judging made it easy. Like the kind of silence that doesn’t demand answers, but holds space for them anyway. We were sitting there, steam curling from our coffee cups, the city moving slowly around us. I don’t know what triggered it. Maybe a song playing faintly from the radio. Maybe the look in his eyes—tired, distant. Familiar.

I found myself saying, “I lost my mother two years ago.” He didn’t react. Just stayed still. That was enough.

“She was 92. Strong woman. Sharp as a knife until the very end. She raised me alone.” I paused. My voice wavered. “She never stopped waiting for someone who never came back.” I glanced at him, unsure why I was telling a stranger this. But he just nodded, as if he understood waiting.

“She used to say his name sometimes, near the end. Bucky.” I gave a short, nervous laugh. “Like the war hero. James Buchanan Barnes." His eyes flicked to mine then briefly, sharply but he said nothing.

“I tried to find him once,” I admitted. “Just after she passed. I thought maybe, maybe I owed it to her. But there was nothing. Just silence. And after a while, I stopped chasing ghosts.” There was a long pause between us.

He looked down at his hands—gloved, still, oddly heavy. And for the first time, he spoke softly, like he was speaking to someone far away. “Some ghosts don’t want to be found.” His voice was deep. Worn. It cracked on the last word like it carried too many winters.

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said nothing. We sat in that quiet for a while longer, two men from Brooklyn with too much in our hearts and nowhere to put it.

Then he stood. And this time, before leaving, he looked me in the eyes. There was something there an ache. A question. A truth that neither of us could speak. And then he was gone. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d asked his name.

[Vienna, 2023]

Years went by. My days were simple now. Morning coffee. Evening walks. An old vinyl collection that still somehow played. I had a few friends, some doctors who worried about my heart, and a chair by the window that creaked just right when I sat in it. Enough, I told myself. It was enough.

.

.

Then, in the fall of 2023, I visited Vienna. Just a small, quiet museum exhibit on World War II and post-war reconciliation. I had read about it in the paper—how they’d gathered artifacts from both sides, stories of soldiers forgotten by history. It felt right to go. Like something unfinished pulling me by the collar.

It was raining when I walked into the museum. Soft drizzle on the glass, gray skies overhead. Inside, it was almost too quiet. The room was full of old uniforms and faded flags, maps with red lines, letters from sons to mothers, lovers to soldiers. I moved slowly, reading plaques, listening to audio clips.

Then I reached a wall.

A large photo display, sepia-toned, worn at the edges. The Howling Commandos. Steve Rogers in the center, chin raised, bright and young. And there, on the right… my father.

James Buchanan Barnes.

I stared at that photo like I’d never seen it before. But I had. My mother had kept a copy in her drawer, folded neatly between old letters and silence. I knew every line of his face, even if I never got to memorize his voice. Then I felt it—that strange, prickling sense that I wasn’t alone. I turned slowly. He was standing just a few feet away.

Hair shorter. Face leaner. A coat draped over his shoulders like armor. He was older than I remembered from Bucharest, but the eyes were the same.

Haunted. Gentle. Wounded.

He looked at the photo, then at me. A pause. A quiet tension in the air.

“I know you,” he said, his voice lower than I remembered. Worn but steady. “Bucharest. You were at that little café.” I nodded. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d remember.” He gave a soft breath. “I remember people like you.” I didn’t ask what that meant. We stood there, both facing the same wall. Two shadows cast by the same dim light.

After a few seconds, I spoke.

“My mother… used to keep that photo. The one on the wall.”

He glanced at me, but said nothing. He closed his eyes for the briefest second. Maybe out of pain. Maybe out of recognition. Maybe both. We stood there for a long time. Two men. A photograph. A hundred years between us.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Pure Heroine Series Part Six - Still Sane

Summary: You and Wanda have been friends for years, but now, you're grown up. Nothing stays as it was. | Album Inspired series "Pure Heroine" by Lorde.

Warnings: (+18), mutual Pining, friends to lovers, fluff, some typical trope angst, high school to college, making out, drinking, substance abuse, fighting, implied compulsory heterosexuality. | Words: 1.426k

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad | Pure Heroine Collection |

-&-

The reason for the delay was traffic.

Wanda didn't mind, not as long as her cigarette was lit at least.

The party was going on inside Steve Rogers' apartment, and Brooklyn was full and bustling on the balcony view. The cigarette on her lips came from the box she'd taken from your jacket pocket before you left earlier, and Wanda could smile to herself imagining your grimace when you realized she'd stolen your cigarettes. Perhaps it was a childish way of punishing you for working on her birthday, when after everything that had happened between you, what Wanda wanted most was to keep you by her side, all the time if possible.

While smoking on Steve Rogers' cold balcony, she came to two conclusions: She really was, undeniably and ridiculously in love with you. From here to the moon, and all that cheesy shit they quoted in the movies. Maybe she should get a ring. And the second thing, Wanda wanted to have sex with you tonight.

She blew smoke into the sky, imagining your reaction when she brought up the subject. Flushed cheeks, a hungry look in your eyes, like every time the make-out sessions got heated and she played with the lobe of your ear between her teeth. Maybe she wouldn't say anything. She was just going to wait for everyone to leave the party, and drag you into the bedroom. And pull your hand under her dress so you'd get the message.

The opening of the door took her attention away from the street.

"Hey, birthday girl." It was Natasha, with a casual smile and a leather jacket. She held out her hand, and Wanda handed her the cigarette. "You're not running away from your own party, are you?"

Wanda smiled at the provocation, shaking her head. "I just needed a moment." She mutters, looking down for a moment. "I'm going to tell Y/N tonight that I want to sleep with her."

Nat choked on the drag with a surprised laugh. "Shit, this... is actually good news." She comments good-humoredly. "But to be honest, I thought you two had done that ages ago."

Wanda chuckles, rolling her eyes. "We've almost done it a dozen times." She comments thoughtfully. "Especially when it became official. But then, it just didn't happen. Someone always interrupted, or one of us chickened out." She says sincerely. "I came so close to fucking everything up, Nat. Like, actually fucking us. And I don't think I ever thanked you for calling her that day. Without that, I don't think we would have ever gotten together."

Natasha takes a long drag, shaking her head. "I doubt that very much, Maximoff." She says, gesturing with her cigarette. "You and her have some pretty intense shit going on. Ever since we were kids, you know? More than the Steve and Bucky drama, and I swear to God that's something." The two laugh at the comment. Natasha hands Wanda back her cigarette. "I think if you'd never apologized, you'd end up OD'ing at one of these parties and Y/N would be the person next to your bed."

Wanda looks away, swallowing dry at the mere possibility. When she speaks again, her voice is hoarse. "I don't fucking deserve her."

Nat clicks her tongue indignantly. "Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"Wanda, shut up." Natasha speaks more seriously and waits for the girl to raise her eyes to her again. "You made a mistake, but there's no one in this world who deserves to be with her more than you do. Have you forgotten how you were there for her with her parents' divorce, or when her grandmother passed away? Because I'm sure she hasn't. And she stays, not just because she's completely in love but because you've already done the same for her. So stop talking shit, and don't let these insecurities try to ruin what you've fought to build."

Wanda hugs Nat around the neck, the girl laughs in surprise but strokes her back. The brunette murmurs a muffled thank you into her friend's hair, and Natasha nods. 

A moment later, the moment is broken with a joke about Wanda not being able to keep her pants on, and they leave the balcony into the party laughing.

-&-

You know there's something different.

From the way Wanda looked at you when you arrived, or kissed you in the hallway, pressing your back against the wall and biting your lip before dragging you into the party.

She stayed on your lap almost all night, between games and small talk, until she made a complete mess of you when she licked the cake icing off the corner of your mouth.

She was wildly flirting with you until the tie around your neck started to tighten.

When the punch ran out, and she asked you to help her get some bottles of wine with her in the kitchen, Wanda ended up pressed against the fridge, your hungry tongue on hers and your hands everywhere.

"What are you up to, Wanda?" Your question came against her jaw as she paused for breath. The girl squirmed between you and the fridge, her skin burning and her hips impatient. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." She lies in a falsely innocent tone directly into your ear. Nails scratching your back under your shirt are returned with a hickey on her collarbone that makes her whimper. 

You gasp affectedly, holding her still with a tight grip on her hips, unable to formulate any new sentence if she kept grinding against you like that. "You've been driving me crazy all night, baby. Would it be rude for us to flee your party? I really want to take you home..."

Truth be told, she was so turned on that all that came out of her throat was a pathetic plea. You kissed her again until her knees gave way and Wanda began to consider taking off her clothes in the middle of Steve Rogers' kitchen.

But somehow, you managed to let go and return to the party with her hand in yours; blurry, automatic goodbyes now that the cake was cut, and Wanda was hugged by everyone before she was outside.

You took her downstairs, hand in hand, which you only released to get into the parked car. Wanda let out a shaky breath and you leaned towards her again.

The thought of the two of you getting home was almost comical now.

Your hands pulled her onto your lap effortlessly, as you gasped into each other's mouths. Wanda sucked on your tongue, her hips grinding against your lap in the hope that you would help her with the hot knot at the tip of her stomach, and a loud whine when your hands wasted no time. Your fingers pushed the fabric of her panties away and sank into her with ease, the warmth welcoming you deep inside.

The kiss was broken with a dirty moan, and you almost came just from the image. Wanda gripped your shoulders tightly, panting against your mouth as she rode your fingers. 

The car rocked gently, and you let your free hand pull her dress down, exposing her breasts. Your fingers moved to play with her nipples, and Wanda moaned against your tongue.

She came just like that, hard and so pretty, for the first time against your hand. In the seat of the car where you had traveled together dozens of times before, looking at you in a way that at the same time was the same and the most unique way she ever did. A hidden message in her stare that you understood with your heart.

You didn't pull out your fingers from her to tell her you loved her as well.

In fact, you sank them deeper and spun them around her warmth to elicit another moan from her. She choked on her own pleading sighs, and you repeated the movements and the words. Wanda moved against your hand and came again before whimpering:

"I love you too, baby."

And you were still her best friend and the person who could tease her with a breathless giggle: "Really, or is that just the two orgasms talking?"

She chuckled too, more affectedly. "Fuck you."

Your thumb pressed her clit, and Wanda bit your shoulder to stifle a loud moan. "I love you too, asshole." You retorted, kissing her jaw. "But you'll have to say it again tomorrow when you're not riding my fingers."

Wanda bites your mouth to make you shut up.

[ynstark]

"Silent Waves and First Embrace" - a prequel to "His Angel"

Title: "Silent Waves and First Embrace" - a prequel to "His Angel"

Characters/Pairings: Post!Endgame!Steve Rogers x Female!Adoptive!Stark!Virgin!Reader

Summary: The beginning of the Reader's and Steve's new "relationship".

Word Count: 3k+

Reader is in her 20s and Steve is in his mid 30s.

Minors DNI! Please and thank you!

Contents/Warnings: Lack of self care, grief, mentions of multiple major character deaths, talks of death, depression, talks of not eating, but not an eating disorder, talks about wanting to die, not suicide, reader has an anxiety attack, reader has trauma and ptsd, it's just an overall shit show, but I promise it ends well, grab tissues, hopefully I listed them all, if I didn't please let me know!

Author's Note: Grab your tissues and get ready to cry. Here's the prequel! I'm so happy this is finally out of my drafts! I know I promised this like weeks ago, but I wanted to get it perfect. I was going to make this into two parts, but I figured out a way to weave them together. I used Y/n to refer to the reader. I changed some of the plot in Endgame. The major change (which I would like to apologize in advance for, I know some people will not like it) is that the reader was with Nat and Clint on Vormir. If you read part one of His Angel, you know that Steve never went back to Peggy. I kept Steve passing down the mantle of Captain America to Sam, I just didn't write about it. Steve is like a secret consultant to the avengers that only a few people know about, that's the vibe I'm going with. I made the reader a paralegal, it was the first thing that came to mind. Part two of His Angel is in the works and I'm also going to write a part three!

I apologize for any spelling or grammar errors. I'm only human. Do not repost my work anywhere. Likes and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. Thank you for all the love and support on part one! Peace and love, enjoy. 🤍

Star Divider by: @enchanthings ⭐

Today was one of those days when the big and brave Captain America just wanted to be Steve Rogers. A scrawny little kid from Brooklyn. He wanted to leave the flood gates open, with all his emotions on the table. Instead, he'd put on his Captain's hat to bear in front of the team. To unity them in a time of immense grief. He'd convince everyone that he was fine and that everything was going to be okay, even when the world had just lost their best defender. Steve had to be the one to hold up the torch. He would shine the light in this new and dark reality, that they would come to accept eventually.

He looked into the mirror to check if his tie was in place, when he heard a knock at his door. Steve wasn't expecting anyone. He checks through the peep hole and sees no one, he doesn't sense any danger. Opening his door, he looks down to see a package addressed to him. He couldn't find a name of the sender anywhere. He picks it up and looks around again before closing and locking the door. Opening the package, he finds a cube. Taking it out, he places it on the kitchen table, noticing a small light start to blink.

"Friday is this thing on? Oh, wait. I got it!" Tony Stark appears in the hologram flesh.

"Hopefully you can hear me, and see me, new tech! Cool right, life size me or past life size me I should say." Steve stood in awe. It had been a while since he heard and saw his friend. He sits down at the table.

"So I recorded a few of these. I update them about every few years or so. You know, to stay current with whatever world disaster decides to strike the planet. Your name was added to the list this year, only a lucky bunch has the honor of receiving one. Cue the confetti!" Actual confetti bursted out from the cube.

"Ah! Tony!" Now Steve's floor was covered in an unexpected and definitely not welcomed rainbow surprise. Leaving him slightly annoyed, slightly. A few pieces landing in his hair. He shakes his head to get them out, vowing to clean the rest of the mess up later. Steve was already running late as it was to Tony's memorial.

"Like that feature?" Tony smirked, "Yeah, I only did that to yours." Steve rolls his eyes at the late billionaire. Of course.

"Obviously, I'm dead, no shocker there, it was going to happen at some point. Now you probably wonder, what could this schmuck possibly want from beyond the grave. Well, it's about Y/n. I'm calling in a favor Cap. With Nat and I gone, I honestly don't know who to trust more with the one person who can't trust at all. I don't know a better man for the job, or I'd be knocking at his door instead."

"I left the other non-biological child to Happy, he's too much of a fanboy of yours. Sure, he'll take everything you say in, but that would be boring for you, too easy. As for Morgan and Pepper, they'll have Y/n, but someone needs to be there for her first, because she's going to want to be there for everyone else, but herself. Which is where you come in." Steve couldn't believe what Tony was saying.

"Let's be real, you need a new challenge anyway. Life was gonna get pretty dull without us. I know you though. You can't run away from a problem. You always need something to fix or in this case, someone. All you gotta do is show up and listen. She somehow finds a crack, slips through, and rebuilds herself. It'll take awhile. She just needs a little glue now and then. Reassurance. The only thing I would say is, if she asks for a hug, that's when I know something is really wrong, and then the worry kicks in." This was a side of Tony that Steve rarely saw.

"In all seriousness, I know we never talked about what happened after the accords, we chose sides, two different extremes. We kinda just had a mutual understanding and shelved it. Especially since, "the planet being at stack" was looming over our heads again. Now I come to you at the time of my possible death. It's fitting honestly, we could never really have these types of conversations, without something going to shit to get us here."

"I can't shake this feeling that death is- might, might be knocking at my doorstep soon, and leaving the people I love the most behind, scares me." Tony took a long pause.

"I'm sorry." Two words that Steve never thought he would ever hear Tony utter out. He could hear the heaviness it carried. The apology wasn't just for the accords. It was for everything that had happened between them, throughout the years of knowing each other.

"I can't force you. I've attempted that before, it didn't go so great if we both recall. You could just ignore this message entirely, heck send it to the moon! I did install that feature by the way, for your entertainment. For how many times you did want to rocket me up there, now you can." Tempting. Steve continued to listen.

"I know this is a big ask, especially coming from me, and if taking her on is a burden, I understand. No judgment. I know that you always wanted to "get a life", finally rest, but, this is Y/n we're talking about. My daughter, Y/n. I took on the role of being a father to her way before I adopted her. I can't leave her to the wolves Steve. Someone needs to be there for her so she can be there for Pep and Morgan, because she is not going to let anyone else do that." Steve could see the earnestness in Tony's eyes. He felt a twinge of honor strike him that Tony would trust him with you. Your safety and well being took precedent. That was becoming abundantly clear to him.

"Well, I'm gonna go before this gets more awkward, it's completely out of character for us to sit here and have a pow-wow. Thank you for listening. Hopefully, you'll take my favor into consideration."

"I know I didn't say it much or ever but, Dad wasn't all that wrong, you can be pretty great sometimes. Thanks Cap, for everything."

The hologram shut down. Steve ponders on Tony's request. He wasn't wrong. Life was starting to get boring without them. Taking you on would be a challenge for sure, but defiantly not a burden. Steve likes you. Not in a romantic way (yet), but you were pleasant to be around, very cordial and respectful. You didn't cause problems and Nat always spoke highly of you. Your dark sense of humor did scare him sometimes though, but that wasn't anything new, he dealt with Tony's for years. You're also extremely resourceful and reliable on missions. Except Tony wasn't talking about taking care of you on missions. This was about the future. Your future, where a man who was and will always be a father to you, was now gone. Your life was being turned upside down. Steve knew in that moment that he couldn't turn his back on Tony, or on you.

Friday's voice pulls Steve back into reality.

"Would you like me to send this message to the moon Captain Rogers?" Steve lets out a deep laugh. Tony, you son of a bitch.

"As entertaining as that would be, no. Thank you Friday." the AI shuts down. Steve puts the cube away, intending for it to stay hidden forever. Before heading out the door, he looks into the mirror again. Captain face on, accepting his new mission. Ready to lead the team one final time, and ready to be there for you for the rest of his life.

It had been a few days since the memorial.

Happy took Morgan out for the day to give you and Pepper a break. To give you both time to focus on yourselves. Sadly, you were doing the complete opposite. You were dissociating. You couldn't bring your mind to the new reality you were facing. Most of your energy was focusing on the well being of Pepper and Morgan, and everyone else. Only reserving a small amount for yourself. Barely. You hadn't been eating either. What's the point. It's not like anyone noticed, or so you thought.

You sat in your bed, head against the window, looking out towards the lake. You were completely lost in your own world that you didn't notice Steve standing in your doorway until he knocked. It pulled you out of your trance to look in his direction.

"Can I come in?" Steve asked.

"Can't stop you." You shifted your eyes back towards the window. Steve's gaze was too piercing for yours. He sat down in the chair across from your bed. The silence started to engulf your room.

"Did you eat anything today?" He pried, you didn't say a word. He noticed your eyes shift slightly, you'd been caught. Your silence was enough for an answer. Also, Pepper had noticed and ratted you out to him.

"I was thinking of stopping at that diner down the road. Wanna join me?" Steve continued, he was met with more silence, he didn't like it. The silence and you loosing the will to take care of yourself. That job was in his hands now.

"Y/n?" You continued to not acknowledge him.

"Y/n, you have five seconds to agree or I'll put you over my should-" You cut him off.

"Yeah right, I'd love to see you try. I'm tired Steve."

"Oh I wonder why." You roll your eyes at his response. He didn't seem like he was going to leave anytime soon until he got what he wanted. Stubborn son of a bitch.

"Fine, I'll go, happy?" The sarcasm rolling off your tongue like a second language.

"Ecstatic. I'll grab your coat, meet me downstairs." Steve left you in your room. Once he got to the top of the steps, he took a deep breath. Tony, you left me an impossible task.

He went back downstairs, coming face to face with a worried Pepper.

"How is she?" Pepper asked, exhaustion plastered on her face.

"Best that she can be. I've convinced her to come with me and get some food. Hopefully she'll eat something." He gave her a small smile of hope.

"That's good, every time I try to ask, she gives me the same old "I'm fine." routine." Steve could tell Pepper was at a breaking point.

"Are you going to be okay Pepper?"

"I will be." She pauses. "Happy should be back soon with Morgan. He said he would stay a few more days here with us, keep us company." She tried to look convincing to the captain, but Steve saw right through. Tears started to fall from her eyes. Steve immediately embraced her in a hug which she greatly accepted.

"If you need anything, I'm a phone call away. You sure you don't want me to wait here until they get back? I don't mind at all." Steve assured her.

"The offer is incredibly sweet, but I'm positive. I'm okay, thank you Steve." She signed in solace as they pulled away from each other. They heard your footsteps coming down the stairs, Pepper quickly wiping her tears away. Steve turned to look at you. You looked so small, but also like you were going to set the world on fire, and not in a good way.

"Ready?" He asked, grabbing your coat and helping you put it on. You gave Pepper a hug and assured her that you'd be back soon. Pepper was relived that you were finally getting out of the house and doing something for yourself.

The drive was painfully silent. Steve wanted to know what was going on in your head. He guided you inside the diner, and asked for a booth in the back, away from the crowd.

He opened his menu and started to peruse. Taking a quick glance up at you. Your menu closed, head in hand and looking out the window.

"So, I hear you're a paralegal. What type of cases do you work on?" He asked, looking up from his menu, trying to strike up a conversation. Steve knows everyone grieves in different ways, he was trying to figure out yours. What he did figure out early on was that you're hard to read. Even with his heightened abilities, he couldn't pin point your emotions. Usually, Steve could read the terrain of any situation pretty well. Once in a blue moon, he could even read Nat, but you, you were uncharted waters.

"Really Rogers, you're asking me about my job?" You glance at him.

"Honestly Y/n I don't know what to do, I don't know what you need. I'm trying to navigate this. Please tell me what you need, or at least tell me what's going on in your head." You looked at him, finally turning the rest of your body to face him.

"Well for starters, you pulled me out of my room, which is the only place I ever feel safe, and two, we're in public. That's something I actively try to avoid."

"I just-" You cut him off.

"Right now, I want a bomb to drop on me, or Thor to strike me down with lightning. I've asked God to do it, but he won't answer."

"Y/n-" You cut him off again.

"Tony was right about you. All you do is intervene, and force your way into people's problems, until it's fixed your way. They end up just going insane! It's smothering! You're smothering Steve! You don't listen at all! Please, just listen. If you're asking me what I need, I just need someone to listen."

Listen. Tony did say to listen. Listening he could do, but he realized how difficult it would be for him. Everyone knows that Steve likes to fix problems, but he could listen or at least try his best to. It beats the silence you were giving him a minute ago. "Okay, I'll listen, lay it on me Y/n."

You starred at him blankly, surprised by his response. "Well, I- I got it all out now." You cross your arms, trying to close yourself off from him.

Steve's lips lift into a small smile. Your eyes meeting his. He's never really looked at you before until now. Your Bambi like eyes. How beautifully your hair fell, or the shape of your cute nose and inviting lips. Wait a minute.

"What'll it be?" A waitress appeared to take your order, snapping Steve back into the present from his daydream about you. He looks back at his menu, trying to make a quick decision of what he wanted. You turned your attention back towards the window again. You definitely weren't going to order at all. Steve gave the waitress his order and at the very last second, he squeezed in an order for you. Steve handed the menus back to the waitress and thanked her. As she walked off, you gave Steve a small glare.

"I said I would come, I didn't say I would order something." You huffed in annoyance.

"You didn't order, I did." You roll your eyes at him.

"I'm not eating it." So close, Steve thought. He thought he had actually gotten somewhere with you.

"Okay, I've listened, now you're going to listen." The captain's voice in him had activated. That got your attention real quick.

"I know you're hurting, horrifically. I don't expect a smile or a thank you from you or anything else for that matter. You're fuming and hurting beyond belief. But I need to make sure you're going to be okay and that you can take care of yourself. Pepper is worried. You taking care of everyone else but yourself is harming you. You're going to burn out Y/n! You know I can't let that happen to you! What would happen to Morgan if something happened to you. She can't loose you too." You turned away from him. Steve was hitting a nerve in you.

"Y/n, look at me." Steve gently commanded. Reaching out to lightly grab your hand to get your attention. You pulled away and looked back at him, your eyes starting to glaze.

"You don't get it." You voiced softly. You slid out of the booth and ran out of the diner. Steve called out to you. He got up and chased after you into the parking lot.

"Y/n! Y/n wait!"

"NO! You don't get it! They're gone Steve! Really really gone! They're not coming back and I'm left here alone and I- I can't-" You were hyperventilating, trying to catch your breath. You put your hands on your knees as your body was setting into a panic. Tony and Nat knew a version of you that no one else would ever know. You could be your complete and most vulnerable self with them. You couldn't be like that with anyone else. Ever.

Steve tried to approach you.

"No just-" You put a hand up to stop him from coming closer. Steve stopped in his tracks. You dropped to sit on the pavement, still trying to catch your breath. Steve felt a few tears start to prick at his eyes, the captain facade he'd been wearing was starting to melt away. The one thing that you were wrong about was that he did get it. They weren't coming back. The world regained everyone while you two lost part of the only family you ever knew.

"Morgan will never know the full capacity of her father's love. She only got to experience a fraction of what I got and I'm not even his daughter! I'm just an employee's child that was cast aside! That he decided to take pity on!" Steve knew that wasn't true, Tony thought the world of you.

"And Nat, I couldn't save her. I tried to convince her to let me jump, but she- she- right in front of-" You breathing was becoming erratic.

"She knew if she knocked out Clint first, I- I would be no match for her. I wasn't strong enough to stop her, and when she let- she let go of my-." The loss of breath came back tighter than ever. It felt like your body was going to collapse in on itself. You clutched your chest as your tears flooded down your cheeks. You couldn't finish that sentence. It was too excruciating to speak.

Steve was breaking on the inside for you. You were carrying a vast burden of guilt that you shouldn't have been carrying from the beginning. He would know, he'd be doing it his entire life. A few moments had passed when Steve heard your tiny plea.

"Can you hold me? Please?" It came out so quiet. You looked up at him, your whole being shattered. The worry that Tony had mentioned to Steve came over him. In an instant, he pulled you up into his arms. Trying to give off the most warm embrace he could emit. You felt so cold, he could feel your body go limp a little. You'd finally let a huge weight off your chest, and in a way, so did he. Steve may have given up the mantle of Captain America, but now he took on a new one.

Your protecter.

"Don't let me go." A few more tears trickled out. Your breathing settling back to a steady pace as you accepted Steve's warmth.

"I won't, I'm not going anywhere." Steve cradled you as close as he possible could to his chest. "I promise." A oath he was willing to keep and never break.

With the silence broken, and a new warmth found. They both realized that they needed each other more than ever. A friendship was born. Little did they know, it would blossom into something more.

Hope you enjoyed! 🤍