#steve rogers long lost love
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widowshill · 2 months ago
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— And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such simple instructions? — Only during thunderstorms, sir.
THE SOUND OF MUSIC (1965) / DARK SHADOWS (1966)
#don't mind me just absolutely insane about the possibility (probability!) that vicki saw tsom the year before coming to collinwood.#the boom mic in the stairs shot is always cracking me up.#finally me and you and you and me just us and your friend steve (the boom mic operator)#➤ roger collins & victoria winters. ┊ pain sometimes precedes pleasure,miss winters.#gifs.#➤ edits & art. ┊ the evans cottage art gallery.#➤ roger collins. ┊ I and my ghosts want a drink.#➤ victoria winters. ┊ because she’s lost and lonely. because she looks in shadows.#there's obviously far; far less of a christian overtone in ds — but i wonder if you couldn't make the argument that it isn't also#on some level about belief?#belief; namely; in the ghosts that roger resists and vicki with both arms embraces;#faith in the not-so-minor deity liz stoddard; choosing to follow her doctrine even in the face of conflicting truth.#one might consider collinsport a faithful congregation taking sermons from the mount — from the mouth of the reclusive ascetic;#conveyed by loyal (devastatingly; sacrificially loyal) disciples.#and vicki; searching for belonging; for a home; for a family; falls very lamb-like into the flock.#all old gods of course demand their sacrifices in blood: burke; namely; but also matthew; bill; roger (so-attempted)#if i were pushing it (which I always am) you could go so far as to say collinwood's son rises from the tomb.#''but the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night'' etc etc. demanding; first; sacrificial livestock; then virgin blood.#anyway! I digress.#''they say confession is good for the soul. well; my soul needs purifying.''#vicki as the prototypical virgin — the clean slate without history; clear water with neither dirt nor blood —#in which roger cleanses himself (somewhat forcefully!); to wash away guilt and suspicion;#the force of virtue that prevents the intrusion of sin; either through the wood of the confessional or very literally at her bedroom door.#''an innate sense of goodness'' etc; besides being something of a conduit between this world and the next:#re. the seances; the appearances of josette and bill; the various and varied encounters with supernatural; the time travel;#as one might expect of an angel ... or a saint. and one could argue that she goes on to restore roger's faith —#if not in the goodness of the world at large; then the existence of goodness; or in the worth of belief itself.#anyway. long way of saying i love man x his governess whether it's catholic or satanic. sign me up.
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pzyii · 9 days ago
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Ultron won!Nat and The Avengers are dead!Steve can bond over being in love with Peggy Carter
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kikixreverie · 4 months ago
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Your boys
Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers x Female reader
Summary - The war has been a brutal reality check for you in more ways than one, the first being that life is far more fragile than you thought, and the second that you were deeply in love with not one… but both of your best friends.
Word count - 8k
Warnings - (18+) Smut, threesome, oral sex, handjob, mentions of war and homophobia.
A/N - Hi, im still here kinda. Suffered a pretty rough, year long writers block and then was finally able to edit this one shot I wrote ages ago. I hope you enjoy it and all its filth.
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The half-empty bar rings with laughter and the clinking of glasses as its patrons drown out their sorrows with liquor, a temporary haven for those seeking distraction from the heartlessness they've seen in the past few years. The smoke in the air was thick, but better than what you were used to, the scent of tobacco, not fire out on the field, though it lingers in your nose all the same. 
The music, a familiar jazz tune carries through that thickened air, paired with deep laughter from rowdy men trying to ignore the sickening sense of dread they all pretend not to feel. Your attention however, is divided. Humming softly to the tune you can only half remember, your focus stays fixed on him—Bucky Barnes, gazing from afar at his wide, mirthful grin, those blue eyes of his reflecting the low lighting of the bar as he sips at yet another beer. 
You watch as Steve walks over to rejoin them, more drinks in his hands which he passes to the surrounding men with a nod, which they each take from him, too distracted with their chatter to thank him. Bucky chuckles, shifting back from the group to say something to Steve, a sly grin gracing his lips, smirking as Steve laughs softly at his joke, sadly too far away for you to be in on it.
You get lost in the sight of the men you've known far longer than you haven't, and have seen sink into themselves more and more in recent years, weathered by war, and yet, beneath the surface, your heart can still manage to find a lesser problem to dwell on—feelings you never even asked for becoming even more known to you the more you watch them, both so pretty. They’d always been pretty.
"Come here often?" 
You sigh at the unexpected voice, an instinctual reaction at this point, and regretfully you looked away from the two men, staring down at your glass for a moment before you tilted your head to the left and eyed her with fake annoyance, staring deadpan at the mischievous smirk playing on her red lips. You both know she caught you staring.
You look down at your drink again, watching the amber liquid swirl in the glass as you lift it to take another sip and wince, "No, should I?" 
Her smirk grows wider, resting her elbow on the sticky bar top. She shrugs, "Depends what you're here for."
You pause for a few seconds, squinting at her as if flicking through the possible reasons to be in this dingy bar, other than an easy escape from the war outside. "Alcohol?" You ask, raising a brow. The only reason you were in this bar would be for Bucky and Steve. 
"Ah, well in that case, no. The beer here is watered-down and overpriced." She quips, clinking her glass with yours before taking the seat beside you.
"Oh, that explains it." You respond, sighing dramatically as you take a swig from your glass. Peggy hums softly, her fingertips drifting over the lip of her glass. You can feel her eyes on you, as usual, watching, assessing the situation, and you take a risky glance at her, slightly apprehensive, not looking forward to the way she's going to read you like a goddamn book. "What?"
"Why are you over here, all by yourself?" She asks, her head tilted with curiosity.
You take pause at her question, setting your drink back down with a sigh, gaze drifting back over to the group of men talking loudly with warm grins on their faces, all the happiest you'd seen them in weeks if not months... actually years. 
"I don't know, I just needed some time alone I guess." You shrug, which immediately earns you a disbelieving scoff.
"Bullshit, the one thing no sergeant would want at a time like this is to be alone. It's a tough job, we all survive on these rare few moments when we get to feel some resemblance of normal. Now tell me why you're sitting here alone."
You don't respond for a long moment, eyes flicking over to your childhood best friends again, as they often do when you find yourself in any room with them. "I'm just in my head. I can't stop thinking about what could happen... and what will. I just- I wish I could go back just for a moment, just to remember what it was like before everything went to shit. I'm sick of thinking the worst every time it falls quiet." 
She listens quietly, then nods, her hand moving to your arm to give a reassuring squeeze, "I think we all understand that feeling." 
You nod too, chewing nervously on your lower lip, feeling that sinking feeling like you've ruined the small moment of fun you’d been granted by taking notice of those anxious thoughts. Bucky's hand rests on Steve's shoulder as he talks into his ear, his lips curling up as he laughs through his own words, Steve blushing beside him, shaking his head and looking down at the floor.
"I'd give anything to go back." You whisper, eyes glued to them, thinking about the times Bucky would drag both you and Steve out dancing with him, and Steve would always step on your feet, and then apologise with pink cheeks each time as you reassured him you lost sensation in them two songs ago. 
"I'm guessing you're talking about your boys." Responds Peggy and you nod before your eyebrows furrow, turning to her quickly with a confused frown on your face.
"My boys?" You repeat, ignoring how the notion of it makes you feel, because it just sounds completely ridiculous - and yes, they are your boys.
"Yes. I mean, they are your closest friends, aren't they?" She laughs, and you give your sad attempt at a normal laugh back to her. 
"Yeah, of course. We've been best friends since we were kids." You say back, cringing at your awkwardness and sipping on your drink to try hide it. 
It falls silent for a moment, which was a nice respite to the conversation that was making you anxious enough. Peggy obviously breaks it again. "You miss them." 
It wasn't a question, so you don’t answer, just stare down silently at your glass, swallowing the lump in your throat, that anxiety just getting worse, weighing you down onto your seat. You nod because it's true. With how hectic and scary the past few years have been, all three of you have changed in some way, and you've not had time to get to know those differences. You'd barely spoken to them about anything other than mission plans in weeks, everyone just more than eager to win this war and get home.
"Go talk to them, I'm sure they miss you too." Peggy offers softly, patting your shoulder again before giving you a smile. She slips off her chair, finally leaving you with your thoughts, walking across the bar to sit with the howling commandos with a half-empty drink in her hand, saluting the very boys you were just talking about, and you fight to ignore the stupid jealousy you feel when they both return the gesture to the gorgeous woman.
You’re in way over your head.
You’d hate to admit it, but she’s right, you miss them, very, very much. Things haven't been the same since the war started, and you know it'd be naive to think it will ever go back to how it was. You feel that breath-stealing sadness whenever you look at Steve, a feeling you know is mutual for Bucky too. You still don't always recognise him when he's facing away from you, searching in a crowd for a small, delicate Steve that no longer exists, before you remember the beast of a man he'd become and feel a different kind of warm flutter when you see him. 
Bucky is different too, quieter, rougher around the edges, darker. You miss that boyish charm of his, the easygoing, easy-loving James Barnes everyone knew. He always wore his heart on his sleeve, but he guards it now, keeps it locked away for safekeeping. He barely spoke for weeks after Steve got him out of that place, barely ate. You haven’t seen him cry in months either, which is somehow much more worrying than if he were to break down into tears each night like a lot of the boys do in secret. 
It hurts when you think back to before, a time when the three of you were so close you spent most nights sleeping at each other's houses, a time when your biggest worry was that the neighbours were gossiping about your 'morals', despite how many times Bucky reminded you that the old lady next door's opinion shouldn't matter to you. 
But it did. Sometimes even you worried about your 'morals', a socially-expected guilt clouding the thoughts you'd have about them, both of them. It's always been more. A part of you always knew there was a deeper understanding the three of you had for each other, like how soulmates would be described in the romance books you had read, only it couldn't be so easy that you were in love with one of your best friends, it had to be both.
A person sits beside you again, and you roll your eyes with a small smile, turning towards them and expecting it to be Peggy back to drag you over to everybody else, but you quickly drop the expression at the sight of a man you had never seen before, smiling at you as if you'd invited him to sit there.
"Come here often?" The man asks, not sounding the slightest bit ironic, as amusing as that is for you. You hide your laugh behind your almost empty glass, which doesn’t help you one bit seeing as the glass is clear. You resort to biting your cheek when he just stares back expectantly, apparently waiting for you to swoon and faint into his arms. 
You shake your head, reminding yourself to definitely not come here often. "No, sorry." You respond, mentally scolding yourself for apologising for no reason, and then scolding yourself for scolding yourself. Can he just fuck off maybe?
"That's okay. Pretty dame like you in a bar like this, you here with anyone?" He sounds like Bucky, you think to yourself, only its not charming one bit when this stranger calls your a ‘dame’. He moves closer to you, his arm almost touching yours, which was immediately enough for you to shift away, feeling uncomfortable and annoyed that he was in your space. You scoff, deciding you've seen far too much to give a shit about upsetting some creepy guy in a bar. You open your mouth to shut him down.
"Yeah, she's with us." 
For fucks sake why can't I do the fun part? 
You already know it’s Steve's voice, strong with that Brooklyn accent, even stronger with the distaste in his voice. You don’t turn to look at him, still trying to keep the distance between you and the guy who’s staring wide-eyed up at Captain America.
"Maybe go and bother someone else." Bucky adds, moving in behind the guy, his tone much less polite than the Captain's.
The man doesn’t say a word, much to your amusement, just puts his head down and stands, walking away, probably going to find some other poor woman to bother, or nurse a stronger drink and lick his wounds.
They sit either side of you, Bucky's hand moving to your back. "You alright, doll?" 
You sigh and nod, rubbing your forehead and smiling softly at him "I'm fine, Buck. You know I could've easily scared him away." 
Bucky nods, smirking softly. He's seen you shut down many a guy before the war,
"I know, just making sure." 
It falls silent for a moment, Bucky doesn't break eye contact with you and you can't bring yourself to do it for him, his gaze soft and inviting, almost as distracting as the way he wets his lower lip the way he often does. 
"Why are you sittin' over here?" Steve asks, and it finally draws you to look away from Bucky, clearing your throat before turning to Steve on your left.
"Just lost in thought I guess." You respond with a shrug, deciding not to disclose the fact that you were lost in thought about them, as per usual.
Steves cheeks remain a little pink and you don’t get why, wondering if he had noticed the weird staring going on between you and Bucky, which only makes you blush just the same in embarrassment. 
"Thinking 'bout what, doll?" Bucky presses, his warm breath brushing against your shoulder. You don't let yourself look at him again, staring straight ahead as your stomach flutters with nerves and something else you don't want to think about yet.
You shrug, breathless as Steve inches slightly closer to you too, as if he and Bucky had some nefarious plan to make you want them impossibly more, his shoulder pressing against yours. 
"I don't know. Just lost in thought about... how bad the beer is." You say, sheepish at your stupid response, but Steve laughs sweetly, which only makes you smile. 
Bucky only hums in response though and you look over at him again, that enticing look in his eyes, "How about we get out of here? Just us three, we can swing it like old times, got a fairly decent bottle of whiskey in my room that's waiting to be drank." 
You inhale softly in surprise and excitement. It certainly wouldn't be the first time the three of you had gotten drunk together alone, but it's been a while, and for some reason, it seemed like something different now, something new.
You glance over at Steve to see him waiting for your response, seemingly already aware of Bucky's idea, so you nod, not trusting yourself to speak and not look stupid.
You all leave the bar together after gathering your things, purposefully ignoring the smirk Peggy gives you as you walk past, just wanting to get out of the stuffy bar and away from the noise for a while.
It was a silent taxi ride the whole way back to the hotel you were all currently staying at, though not awkward. You sat between the two men, Bucky's thigh pressed against yours while you and Steve sit shoulder to shoulder. 
You'd always thought that taxis were fairly spacious until you had to share one with a super-soldier and James Buchanan Barnes.
Steve pays the taxi driver with the best tip he can afford and soon enough you were all piling into Bucky's room. 
You sigh when you walk through the door, not giving a second to hesitate to go to the bed, falling forward with another sigh as you stretch out across the mattress, kicking off your uncomfortable shoes and letting them hit the floor with a soft thud. It wasn’t often you had access to an actual bed.
You can hear Bucky and Steve laughing as they take off their jackets, which you didn't have the nerve to watch them do.
"Comfy?" Steve asks, walking over to the small radio on the bedside table and switching through the channels till he found some decent music to have on quietly in the background. 
You nod, humming softly and closing your eyes, "You try wearing heels for a whole night only 3 days after getting off the field." 
Bucky sits beside you on the bed, looking down at you as you hesitantly peek your eyes open to look at him.
"Can't imagine the pain, doll. Want a foot rub?" He teases, a lopsided smirk playing on lips.
You scoff in response, laughing softly and definitely not considering his most likely joking offer. Instead of putting your sore feet on his lap, you just blush and sit up, shoving at his broad shoulder. "Shut up. Where's that decent whiskey you promised, hm?"
He laughs, picking something up off the floor from beside the bed and holding up a full bottle, passing it to you as he takes a glass from the bedside table near him, holding it out for you to pour the liquid into it. 
"Hey guys, I'm gonna go change, then I'll be back, okay?" Says Steve, a smile on his face as he walks back towards the door, and you and James both nod, watching the tall man duck slightly through the doorway and leave room gently shutting the door behind him.
Its comfortably quiet in the hotel room, though the atmosphere slightly different. You sip at the strong-tasting, barely decent whiskey, the liquid burning its way down your throat to settle in your stomach, warm and familiar.
Your gaze again drifts to him, watching over the rim of your glass as Bucky moves to sit against the bed frame after pouring his own drink, shoes kicked to the floor, watching you right back, his head resting against the dark wooden frame, a soft look on his handsome face. A strand of his dark hair falls onto his forehead, and you follow it like an arrow pointing down to the white shirt he's wearing, the top few buttons undone as some sick way to punish you even further.
"You're always so sweet on him." He murmurs quietly, breaking the silence. He doesn’t sound one bit jealous, only fond, his head tilted slightly, his tongue casually dragging across his lower lip.
"Aren't we both?" You tilt your head at him as you ask the question. It feels serious, despite the sweetness of his smile, theres something more hidden in the words, but neither of you are ready to say something like that out loud, the denial comfortable for a moment longer.
He goes quiet again, chewing on his lip as he stares down at the bed sheets, sighing softly. "I guess it's hard not to be. I know he's all tall and macho now," He pauses to huff a laugh, you watching and listening quietly and intently, him looking up to the ceiling as he continues, the smile fading to something softer, "But he's still Stevie."
A hint of a smile pulls at your lips, and you nod, holding your drink up to not spill anything as you shuffle over on your knees to sit beside him against the headboard, huffing softly at the movement, then propping up pillows behind you to be more comfortable as Bucky watches with an amused smile.
"And you're still Buck." You add once you’re settled, looking at his gorgeous face, your chin tilted upwards, and his down. He swallows softly, and you notice the movement of it, his adams apple moving in a distracting way that you swear makes you feel thirsty, so you take another sip of your drink, hoping it will settle the feeling it obviously wont.
"You sure about that?" He asks, his eyes flicking down, watching the whiskey swirl in his glass, lips set in something closer to a frown now. You know he's hurting, even if he hasn't felt ready to confide in you about it yet.
"Very." He looks at you when you say it, and you hold his gaze this time, his stare so intense, eyes so blue, lips so pink. 
It takes your dumb, denial-stuck mind a moment longer to realise that you were looking down at his lips and that he was looking at yours at the same time, and there was no actual effort to either of you leaning closer, just a magnetism and a feeling spreading through your chest and butterfly filled stomach that you don’t even question it, don’t think once about the consequences, and technically its Bucky that ends up closing the tiny gap you’d made for him to do so, putting his glass down at the bedside table closest to him as his soft, warm lips make contact, eyes drifting closed,his hand then reaching across you and taking your glass too placing it down.
With his hands free, they move to cup your face, lips moving against yours, the kiss soft and sweet as your fingers drift up to the nape of his neck, his right hand reaching down for your thigh, grabbing flesh and trying to pull you closer as your lips move faster, a realisation that this kiss can’t last forever and you both swear you need it to.
It shifts from sweet and soft, to passionate and fast-moving, an almost desperate feeling urging you to press closer, your lips coaxing Bucky's to open as his hands grip your skin, your hips, waist, thighs. You just want to taste him, just like you'd always dreamed of doing. It barely feels real, but you barely think about it when you slide your tongue against his lips and earn yourself a soft, heated groan in response.
The booze doesn’t matter, you were drunk on him, butterflies in your stomach, heart hammering in your chest, an ache forming between your legs.
You'd never experienced a kiss like this before, never this intense desperation, so needy for more, clutching at eachother and shifting on the bed, breathing against his cheek.
Time is far lost to you both, only warm skin and hot mouths and soft lips, but the noise at the door breaks through the goodness of the moment, and you and Bucky quickly pull away from each other, panting for air as your heart hammers in your chest. Steve stands at the door wide-eyed.
Bucky licks his lips wordlessly as he tries to calm himself down, sighing and pushing his hair back, looking down at the bedsheets. 
"Steve?" You ask when he doesn’t say anything, anxiety clouding the heated memory replaying of the kiss, as you wait for any reaction from Steve.
Steve couldn’t look more shocked, unable to look either of you in the eye, standing sheepishly at the door as he flushes pink.
"Sorry." He mutters, reaching for the door handle and making his turn to leave, and your heart lurches, sitting up to stop him, but Bucky speaks up before you can remember what words are. 
"Steve." He says softly, and the blonde pauses, looking over at Bucky and waiting to be chastised for entering the room without knocking, but Bucky only offers a small, hesitant smile, "C'mere." 
Poor Steve stands frozen for a while, face only getting redder as you and Bucky stare back at him, the image of the two of you kissing, Bucky's hand squeezing your bare thigh under your dress, yours tugging on his hair, its heavy in the forefront of his mind, and it sets something off in his stomach, something he likes the feeling of.
Bucky gesturesfor him to sit on the bed with them and slowly, Steve does. 
"I didn't mean to-" Steve begins, but Bucky cut him off and you watch dumbly as he handles the situation.
"It's okay." He assures, falling silent for a moment as he tries to find the words to say what he really wanted to, "We're all friends, right? It shouldn't be awkward." 
It’s actually incredibly awkward, but denial was a much easier option, and so you simply avoid eye contact with either of them as you think you’re so good at doing, as you reached over Bucky for your drink again, taking a long sip of the alcohol, focusing on the burn in your throat rather than the ache between your thighs.
"Yeah," Steve responds, sounding as breathless as you feel.
"Maybe-" Bucky stops himself, and you lookover at him, waiting with bated breath for him to say 'Maybe we should just forget it ever happened' but his mind goes elsewhere, "Maybe you two should kiss. You know... make it even." 
The tension in the room couldn’t be any thicker, and so completely silent, not a breath between you. You chance a risky glance at Steve and he stares straight at Bucky, mouth agape, eyes wide.
You feel like you need to say something, feel like you’re fighting between your mind, your heart, and your… The nerve builds up quick and words rush out of your mouth, just needing to escape this awkwardness, "Bucky, I don't think Steve would-" 
"C'mon, I'm not blind, I see the way you two look at each other. You're telling me neither of you is at least a tiny bit curious what it would be like?" Bucky cuts you off, looking between you and Steve with a raised brow, "Don't feel forced to do anything, of course. Just... I don't know... Think about it?"
Oh, you’re thinking about it, you have been thinking about it, for years, in fact you’re imagining it in way too much detail, but acting on it like this, rather than a random, heated frenzy like with Bucky, is much more nerve-wracking.
Its when you risk a glance at Steve that the doubts starts to slip away slightly. its so painstakingly obvious, the blush on his face, the way he can’t look you in the eye and he seemed just as deep in thought as you. You remind yourself who you're with, though much taller now, he’s still Stevie. Your teeth catch your lip, nerves fading enough that you feel less awkward and more anticipating. It already feels like it's the end of the world anyway, actions tend to feel much less consequential. 
"I don't know, Steve..." You start, watching with rising butterflies as he looks over at you, his lips parted, "Maybe he's right."
James grins like you’ve joined the dark side, smirking down at his glass, just listening to you shift into a second devil on Stevie’s shoulder.
"P-pardon?" He almost whispers, and you smile softly, still polite Stevie.
"Maybe we should kiss." You manoeuvre onto your knees, and James wordlessly takes your drink again, placing it back down and inhaling softly, leaning back against the bed frame again and just watching quietly. Steve breathes in, watching you move closer. "Only if you want to, of course." You add for good measure, and Steve gulps, lips parting as he looks over at Bucky, as if for reassurance, Bucky just stares back. You crawl over, settling in front of him, "Do you want to?"
He takes another moment, before softly, he nods, taking a deep breath. 
You look into his eyes, scooting close enough for your thigh to touch his, and you reach for his broad shoulders, biting your lip softly. You can’t quite wrap your head around the idea of kissing either of them ever, especially not both... in front of each other in the time span of five minutes... but there’s no room for regret, just you and your boys...
Your hand glides over to his face, holding his jaw softly as you tilt his head down to you, pressing your lips against his.
This kiss was softer, slower. You knew Steve had kissed before, you were the one who heartbreakingly caught him with not one, but two USO girls, but hes certainly not as experienced as Bucky, nervous and shy, so you stay as gentle as possible, not pushing him to go any further than the gentle touch of your lips until he presses for more, tentative, but he follows your lead, his right hand hovering over your waist before he pulls it away, and you kiss him once more before breaking the contact. You can tell how nervous he still is. 
The room is still as you and Steve pull away from each other, Steve's focus stuck on you as you sit back slightly, looking over at Bucky, as your lips tingle from the kiss, curious to see his reaction, and the sight of him makes your stomach flip.
He sits rested back against the headboard again, legs splayed out in front of him as he watches the two of you with a clearly lustful gaze, his lower lip caught between his teeth, this dark desperation in his eyes, and its like you can read the dirty thoughts clouding his mind.
You don’t think at all when the words left your mouth, but they do, "Your turn."
Buckys lips part, eyes widening slightly and Steve takes an audible breath from beside you.
"What?" The blonde gulps.
You swallow your nerves again, Bucky was right, he could see the way you and Steve look at each other, because you've always looked at each other that way, just like you and Bucky look at each other, just like Bucky and Steve.
It's something that none of you had ever addressed until now, something you'd never let yourselves act upon, but who cares what people think at this point, who cares where this could lead you. If the war has given anything but trauma to you, it's shown you how fucking fragile life is, how much you'd regret it if you never acted upon these feelings, how much they'd regret it.
"You two should make it even, right?"
Steve stares at you, not letting his gaze drift to Bucky, but Bucky stares right at him, something intense in his eyes, something between realisation and surrender, and its clear that he’s waiting for Steve to reject it, to reject him, to wrinkle his nose at the disgusting notion of a man kissing another man, just as everybody else would do, but Bucky knows that wasn't a fair assumption to make about the golden-hearted man he knows their Stevie to be. He still waits though, preparing himself to have to have to take the rejection.
"I-" Steve starts, the very same worries as Bucky filling his head.
"Steve, aren't you at least a tiny bit curious?" You ask gently, using Bucky's previous words in hopes of lightening the mood slightly, which seems to work when Steve huffs a small laugh, though he gives no response. 
You look at Bucky, seeing the heartbreaking disappointment and acceptance in his eyes. You nudge his foot, giving him a soft smile of encouragement when he looks up at you.
He gives you a small smile back, before looking over at Steve, wetting his lips.
"Stevie." He almost whispers his name, and his gaze is soft when it meets Steve’s, "Come here." 
Steve decides not to give himself the chance to hesitate, moving towards Bucky before he can think about what he’s doing, and Bucky leans forward to meet him halfway, his palm sliding across his cheek, thumb smoothing along the skin before he closes the space and Bucky and Steve are kissing right in front of you. 
Its gentle for a few seconds, hesitant on both parts before Steve’s reaching out, hands clutching the material of Bucky's shirt, pulling him forward, pulling him closer. 
Their kiss was rougher, all tongue and teeth and the sight was a lot to try to handle, all you could really do was squeeze your thighs together and enjoy the sight of your two favourite boys, enjoying how eachother kiss. 
Bucky detaches his mouth from Steve's to meet your eye, pulling you closer as his hand holds the side of your neck.
He kisses you, open-mouthed and needy as his tongue glides across your lip, steve groaning softly at the sight, his hand once again hovering over the curve of your waist.
"It's okay, Steve." You murmur against Bucky's lips before you pull back to look at Steve, gripping his hand with your own and guiding him to touch you where he had wanted to, "You can touch me. You can touch me anywhere you'd like. Both of you." 
"Fuckin’ Christ, doll." Bucky sighs, lips mouthing across your jaw, his head dipping lower to kiss your neck, "You want that huh? Want both of us to touch you?" 
You nod as you kiss Steve, Bucky giving you a hickey just below your ear like a goddamn teenager. Bucky makes his way to Steve's neck then, curious to what noises he could pull from Captain America himself, and he chuckles against Steve's neck when he sighs softly into your mouth, as sensitive and worked up as Bucky had always wondered he'd be. 
When Bucky and Steve start kissing again, you take the opportunity to catch your breath, sitting back for a moment to watch the way Bucky pushes Steve down against the mattress, everything escalating so quick and yet feeling exactly like the way it should be. He adjusts his hips over Steve, pressing against him, and Steve groans softly, his rising up to meet bucky’s.
You bite your lip at the sight, your hand almost subconsciously sliding between your thighs, applying slight pressure against your underwear as your thighs squeeze together again. 
It just feels so right, and your body is reacting like it never has before, all reservations out of the window when you fingers press against your clit ever so slightly, breath catching when Bucky starts talking.
"Y'see that Stevie? Look how desperate our girl is for us. She just has to touch herself, doesn't she? Think we should help her out?" He murmurs, speaking the words into Steve's ear, though saying them loud enough for you to hear them too, and Steve nods quickly, no more hesitation, panting for breath, lips a pretty shade of kissed.
Our girl. 
"God, yes." Steve answers.
Their attention turns to you, Bucky with that mischievous, knowing glint in his eye, "Why don't you help her out of that dress, Stevie."
Steve nods, following orders like this was a part of his training, moving closer towards you, more confident though a bit sheepish.
"Go on, honey." You say to him, kissing his jaw as his fingers brush against the zipper at the back of the dress. He somehow manages to unzip you as slow as physically possible, fingers dusting along your back in a way that brings on a shiver. He finally pulls the dress off over your head and Bucky gives a low whistle at the sight of you, their pretty lady just in her undergarments.
Your head tilts back when Bucky leans towards you and kisses your collarbone, the kisses trailing lower and lower until he was kissing across the tops of your breasts. You sigh at the sensation, loving the attention on you but it doesn’t seem vert fair you’re in your bra and panties only and these two were fully dressed. You tug at both Steve and Bucky's shirts until they get the hint and both start pulling them off, Steve's going over his head while you help Bucky undo the buttons on his. 
From then on the clothes seem to keep coming, and you chuckle softly as Steve helps Bucky unbuckle his belt and pull his pants off. It doesn't take long before they're both left in only their underwear, and neither you nor Bucky give Steve the chance to blush or second guess anything when you lean towards him, kissing his shoulder and Bucky kissing his lips. 
You'd think it would be overwhelming, but god it just feels so right. 
You hum as fingers drift across you back to the clasp of your bra, Bucky looking at you, waiting for your permission, which you quickly give, nodding your head breathlessly before he quickly undoes the clasp, helping you out of the straps and then finally pulling the bra away. 
"Fu-" Steve stops himself, staring down at your uncovered breasts, your peaked nipples, soft pretty skin, waiting desperately to be touched and he forces himself to close his eyes, convinced for a second that that was it, he was going to come right here and now in his briefs. Bucky chuckles, that cheeky grin on his face as he dips his head and kisses his way across your now bare chest, cupping your left breast gently and mouthing over your nipple, smirking as your fingers thread through his hair, swirling his tongue.
"I think we're corrupting our sweet little Stevie, love," Bucky murmurs, and you hum back at him, looking over at the blonde who sits in amusing deep concentration, trying desperately hard not to lose himself. 
"I don't know, Buck. I reckon Stevie's much less innocent than you think. Plus, he's not so little anymore..." You tease, knowing he’s listening, so you reach over, your palm against Steve's thigh, "Why don't you show us, honey? Get out of that head of yours, and come play with me and Buck."
Even Bucky groans at that, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as he continues to kiss you with a bit more hunger now.
Steve looks wrecked already, opening his eyes to look down at the two of you, skin against skin, waiting for him to come back to you. 
"Why don't you tell us what you want, Steve?" You ask him, moaning softly when Bucky rubs his thumb over one of your nipples.
"I want.." He licks his lips, looking down your body, eyes lingering on the one place you’re still covered, "I want to touch you." 
"Then touch me, Stevie." You respond and his hand drifts slowly to your thigh, Bucky still busy paying attention to your chest.
Steve's fingertips brush against the edge of your underwear, looking up at you for reassurance, "Even here?"
You sigh when Bucky grazes his teeth across your skin, tugging on his hair, "Especially there."
"Go on, Steve, I think she's still a bit overdressed," Bucky adds, encouraging him to strip you of your final layer, and Steve does so, feeling his cock throb as your bare pussy comes into view. 
You part your legs for him, your inner thighs already showing how wet you are, waiting patiently for someone to finally touch you where you needed most, and when Steve brushes his fingers through your folds, tentatively exploring, nudging against your swollen clit as he did so, you moan openly. 
Bucky leans back, looking down at you laid out across the mattress, completely bare beneath them as you lift your hips to meet Steve's hand, needing more pressure. Bucky reaches down for Steve's hand, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth as he assists him. 
"Touch her right here with more pressure. Make small circles." Bucky directs, and Steve gladly follows the instructions given, watching as you get more and more breathless as he touches you, his fingers getting covered in your slick as you whimper softly, "Just like that, Steve."
Steve bites his lip at Bucky praising him like that, his cock throbbing so hard in his briefs as he focuses on trying to make you feel good, before Bucky takes a hold of Steve's fingers, guiding them lower and lower until they were sliding into you. You gasp softly, head tilting back at the slight relief of no longer being empty, but you’re still no way near full, needing more and more, still, you enjoy this, shifting your hips as Bucky instructs Steve to curl his fingers. 
A pretty sounding moan slips from your open mouth when Bucky really starts participating, leaning on one arm as the other hand moves down to you, his thumb almost softly rubbing over your clit, watching in gentle awe and focus as him and Steve’s hands take good care of you, Steve's two fingers fucking into you as Bucky builds a steady rhythm on your clit. It doesn’t take long of the repeated pattern before your hips roll forward unknowingly, getting closer and closer to coming, the heat in your body rising, every nerve tingling... so close.
"James, I'm-- Fuck, Stevie." You moan, enjoying having two names to beg to, feeling your body tighten up as they both continue until you’re over the edge, coming on your best friend's fingers, your body vibrating as they ease you through the strong orgasm, Bucky not stopping until you reach down and gently move his hand away, bordering on overstimulation as your body becomes overly sensitive. 
"Holy fuck." Steve murmurs, and Bucky laughs at him, nudging his arm.
"Language." He teases. 
"Shut up, punk." Replies Steve, pushing Bucky’s shoulder back. You lay there catching your breath, humming with a gentle smirk as you watch them act so casual after both giving you the best orgasm of your life, so far.
"God, just make out already." You joke, grinning at the two, your body relaxed, and Bucky gives you a look as you sit up. 
"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you." He nips at your shoulder, and you roll your eyes playfully, enjoying seeing him like this again, the happiest and most like himself you'd seen him in weeks, "Good, thing I'd like that too. Steve?" 
Steve looks over at Bucky, nodding and moving closer to him, kissing softly.
You give yourself a moment to gather yourself, catching your breath, relaxing in the afterglow of the first orgasm you’ve had in a while, admiring them for a short while, and then eventually joining them, kissing across Bucky's shoulder, raking your nails through Steve's hair. 
"Think Stevie's ever had someone's mouth on him before?" You murmur into Bucky's ear, feeling pride in the sigh he gives in response, pulling away from Steve's mouth, humming against your skin as he leans into you, head laid back against your shoulder, nose tucked against your neck.
Steve just couldn’t stop staring, his erection straining against his underwear, both of you watching him with those eyes. None of it feels quite real, like it’s all too good to be true, yet so much better than he imagined. He groans softly when Bucky moves his hand down, watching him as he presses his palm against his cock over the fabric.
"How 'bout it, Stevie? Think you could handle someone's mouth on your cock?" God, the words are so obscene, yet so natural as they fall from Bucky’s lips, Steve all but whimpers when the both of you start kissing on his neck, "Ever done that before, Steve?"
He shakes his head, hands reaching to touch both of them in any way he can, "God, please."
"Not God, angel." Bucky starts, the pet name rolling off his lips, smooth as butter, sweet as honey, "Just us."
His briefs were off, his cock springing up when it was finally released from the far too tight confines of his underwear. Bucky leans forward, kissing Steve as he guides him to lay back on the mattress, hovering over him. 
The sight couldn’t be more mouth-watering, his cock a deep shade of pink as he leaks pre-cum onto his stomach, so desperate, kissing Bucky back like his life depended on it. 
His stomach tightens when you start kissing your way down his chest until you finally reached the tip of his cock, wrapping a hand around the base, kissing the tip, hearing Steve moan into Bucky’s mouth.
You lick along the underside of his shaft, swirling your tongue over the head and liking the salty taste it left you with. Steve’s an utter mess, bucking his hips and squirming beneath you and Bucky when you finally put your mouth around him, no longer having the focus to continue kissing Bucky, instead just letting his head fall back against the pillows, breath laboured and heavy as you start to suck. 
"C'mon, sweetheart. You can go deeper than that." Bucky purrs, tilting his head as you look up at him through your lashes, and you pull off of Steve, using your hand to make lazy strokes up and down his cock, shaking your head at the brunette.
"He's so big, Bucky," You bite your lip, and Steve whimpers softly at your compliment, watching as you fake a look of innocence, giving Bucky those doe eyes as you brush your thumb across the tip of Steve's cock. "D'you wanna taste him, Buck?"
Bucky already knows the answer to that, his cock was throbbing at the sight of you and Steve alone, but he glances up to Steve, meeting his distracted gaze and waiting for some sort of permission, which was given almost immediately, Steve frantically nodding his head. 
Bucky smirks, winking at you as he adjusts himself on the bed, moving beside you, giving your lips a chaste kiss before lowering his head, your hand still holding his cock for Bucky to enjoy, his tongue circling the head just as you were doing only seconds ago, as you continue to stroke Steve's remaining length while Bucky starts to take him deeper into his mouth. 
Steve couldn't hold back on the sounds he’s making, he's never been so vocal, never been so sensitive to touch, but he can’t help himself, Bucky's mouth felt so warm, so wet, and when he opens his blue eyes to look down at the two of you, he know he wont last much longer. 
You bend your head down when Bucky comes up for air, tracing your tongue against Steve's cock as you meet Bucky's eye holding his heart-stopping gaze as Bucky started doing the same, both of your mouths on him at the same time. 
It’s filthy, an act of sin no doubt you'll never come back from, but you wouldn’t want to anyway, humming when Steve starts panting, his abs constricting, you wrap your lips around the tip, pumping his cock with your hand until his cum filled your mouth, hearing the deep groan that reverberated through his chest as he came.
You swallow as you pulled away and a hand finds its way to your neck, Bucky pulling you closer. “No fair, you’re supposed to share, sweet girl.” He chastises softly, almost pouting, before he closes the gap to capture your lips with his own, his tongue sliding into your mouth. He moans softly at the taste of Steve's cum on your tongue, the pretty sound so perfect on your ears, only reminding you that Bucky was yet to be touched, focusing on yours and Steve's pleasure instead of his own. How very like him.
You rest your hand on his stomach as you kiss him back, gliding your fingers lower and lower until you reach the waistband of the underwear that he was still somehow wearing. You ping the elastic against his skin, smiling into the kiss when he only leaned closer. 
He shudders as your hand finally slides past the band, wrapping around his cock and pulling him out. Neither of you made any move to remove his underwear, you both knew he was far too gone, too desperate to wait any longer, so you squeeze the base of his cock, pulling away from the kiss only to look at him.
Hair mussed, light eyes the darkest you'd ever seen them, as he watches every little move you make for him, his lips red and swollen, cheeks flushed pink. He finally looks as wrecked as Steve, who was still getting over the fact that he just came in his best friend's mouth. 
You move your hand slowly at first, stomach fluttering with every strangled moan that caught in Bucky's throat, "You're all talk, ain't you Buck?" 
"Fuck, doll- please- I need to come." He groans, eyes fluttering shut when you kiss his neck, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, arm wrapping around your waist.
"You look as desperate as our Stevie right now, James." You tease, but still speed up your hand for him, swirling your thumb across the slit to hear his breath hitch in his throat. 
Bucky looks over at Steve then, giving a light-hearted scoff at the sight of him rock hard again, stroking slowly at his cock as he enjoys the show in front of him. 
"Fuckin' super soldier." Bucky laughs, laying his cheek on your shoulder, groaning softly as his eyes flutter closed.
You can tell how close he is, moving his head to tuck right into the crook of your neck, talking himself away like he tends to do, "Fuck, feels so good, sweetheart. 'M so close- Never felt this good before, doll." 
You were used to his nicknames by now, years of him calling you 'doll' more than he used your actual name usually had you rolling your eyes, but now, like this, it makes your stomach flutter. 
It wasn't much longer till he was coming onto both of your stomachs, hot spurts painting your skin as Bucky's hips twitched forward with every second he comes, groaning as you continue to stroke him.
Steve follows yet again not long after, and a glance over to him laid against the headboard with his abdomen covered in his own spend has you blushing, never mind the fact that he'd just had his fingers inside you, and his cock in your mouth. 
Bucky quickly cleans up your stomach with his discarded shirt, along with his own before he tosses it to Steve with a chuckle. 
You’re all glowing, surprised by the complete lack of awkwardness despite all the things that had just happened in Bucky's hotel room. Instead, you all huddle together on the bed, your head laid on Steve's shoulder as Bucky rested his on your stomach, your fingers naturally finding themselves threading through his hair. 
"Well, that was fucking amazing," Bucky murmurs, a content smile on his face as he looks over at you and Steve, his arms around your waist.
"Yeah, it was." Steve agrees, moving one of his hands through Bucky's hair too, before draping his arm above your head. 
You go quiet for a moment, the afterglow not quite enough to keep the anxiety at bay anymore, "I just wish we'd done this earlier."
They know what you mean, they know what you’re insinuating, and the room falls silent. None of you could deny the dangers, the uncertainty ahead of you, but that didn't mean you couldn't enjoy the time you had up until that moment you’d all have to risk everything again.
"We can't think like that, baby," Bucky speaks first, his voice soft, gentle and yet serious, "I know it's hard not to, but we can't focus on the regrets. If anything, we just need to live the best we can with what we've got... and if I've got you two, I don't need anything else."
You nod, pressing your face into Bucky’s hair, although you can’t see Steve's face, you know that he agrees, his fingers brushing against your arm affectionately. 
"Bucky's right. Let's just enjoy this, lord knows we've all been pining for each other for years." 
You chuckle softly, having needed this soft moment for a long while, feeling warm and loved between them, hoping they feel it too.
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buck-star · 10 months ago
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Need someone older | Steve Rogers
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> DBF!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Your dad’s best friend, Steve Rogers, has a kind that makes your body reacts in a needy way whenever he is around you. So when your dad is taking a shower he shows you that he can help your arching feeling better as the boys you know from university.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 2.019
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, dry humping, praises, dirty talk, age gap
Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist
Divider made by @firefly-graphics.
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“Hey, babygirl,” a rough, familiar voice says behind you, and the man behind you smirks when you hum in response.
You turn around to face the blond, tall man behind you. Your dad’s best friend - Steve Rogers. He is as tall as your dad, muscular, and has short blond hair. His beard is trimmed, and for a moment, you get lost in your thoughts. You love that look, especially because it defines his ocean blue eyes and gives you a lot of thoughts that aren’t as innocent as you look like. You always have a thing for older men, and for Steve even more; his stubble would probably feel so good between your legs while his long, thick fingers slide in and out of you. You try not to moan when you just think about the filthy things he could do to you. You’re pretty small compared to him, and it makes your knees weak. Your pussy starts dripping whenever you’re close to him. And the way your lips are parting so slightly that no one sees it, your eyes so filled with lust, but you just smile and nod softly. Steve chuckles, like he always does when he sees the reaction he has on you, the way you act when he is around you, pressing your legs together, digging your nails in the hem of your shirt, or the surface of the kitchen counter. He sees the way your eyes roam over his muscular body - little do you know he wears shirts that fit like a second skin. Steve enjoys the way your lips are parted, knowing that you think no one sees the way you stare at him, almost drooling over the older man.
“Like what you see?” He tears, walking a step closer, so you have to look up to look into his face and his beautiful blue eyes. “Answer me. Tell me, do you like what you see? Don’t be shy.”
Your eyes widen slightly, and you whimper. His smile grows when he has the reaction he wants to have. You make him go crazy, and he doesn’t need to do much more than stand there. Steve loves to see how small you look, the way you don’t manage to get a word out when he looks into your eyes, the way you clench your thighs and whimper - for relief, wanting him to help you get rid of the aching feeling between your legs. His hand glides to your waist, and he pulls you closer. Your chin almost touches his broad chest, which causes a gasp to leave your lips. His fingers digging into the soft skin of yours, a shiver running along your spine, and you grip the kitchen counter behind you tighter, trying to ground yourself.
“Rogers. Do you annoy her again?” Your dad shouts from behind, and Steve grins.
“Do I, princess?” He asks loudly enough for Bucky to hear him.
You shake your head, but Steve lets go of you to smile softly and walk to Bucky. He smirks at him before they walk out of the kitchen and into the garden. Your breath hitches, your hands are shaking, and your knees are weak. Your nails are digging into the surface of the counter behind you, helping you not to fall down. This man can do things you didn’t know he could do; your panties are soaked with your arousal, and he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could explain your throbbing pussy.
“Dinner is ready in half an hour,” Bucky tells you, and when you reply with a short one, he continues his conversation with Steve.
You made your way to the living room, letting yourself slip on the couch while you watched television. Bucky and Steve are still in the garden, taking about everything and nothing. Your legs are pressed together, and while your head rests against the backrest, your mind is going wild with thoughts about what your dad’s best friend could do with you - with his tongue, with his fingers, or with his dick. You have never thought about it, but you’re sure he is huge. And Steve is experienced in bed, so he will probably do a good job when he fucks a woman, making her scream his name while she comes over his dick over and over again. Just the thought makes you wetter as you already are, and you press your thighs further together, trying to get some friction at your arching pussy. How would it feel when Steve just had a taste of you? When his stubble brushes so softly against your thigh and your pussy or when his thick fingers disappear between your wet, tight walls. He would be more talented than the guys your age, but he is your dad’s best friend and almost double your age. You’re probably not even his type of woman. Maybe you should just date some guys your age, but they are not like Steve - not so nice and handsome.
“Buck is taking a shower, then we can eat,” Steve suddenly says and stands next to you.
“O-Oke,” you mumble, and for a moment you get lost in his beautiful blue eyes.
“You haven’t answered my question earlier. So did you like what you saw?”
You smile softly; it’s more than just that you like to see him standing in front of you; you imagine filthy things he could do to you.
“Yes, I-I like what I see when you’re standing in front of me.”
Your cheeks heat up, and you turn your head away. Steve chuckles, adoring the way you try to hide the red on your cheeks, trying to hide that you’re throbbing wet because of him. He lets himself fall down next to you on the couch, his arm resting on the backrest behind you. You feel warmth rushing through the part between your legs, causing you to press your thighs together.
“I like what I see when I’m standing in front of you too, babydoll.”
The gasp that leaves your lips makes the older man chuckle. His grin playfully, and his eyes were glistening with lust. Steve’s hand slides up and down his thigh, inching closer to his dick, and you follow his hand with your eyes before you let your gaze roam over his body, looking at his hand, which is now covering the growing bulge in his pants. Your breath hitches when you see his dick pressing his pants up. You’re adorable when you look at him like that. You can’t keep your eyes off of his bulge while he slides his hand slowly over it.
“I- Are you-?”
“Hard because of you? Yes, wanna give me a helping hand?” He asks, smirking.
“D- You- Stevie-“ you stutter, your eyes widening while you look at him.
Your eyes meet, and you almost don’t recognize him leaning closer. Only when his hands find your hips and his fingers trail slowly under the fabric of your shirt. His touch feels like electricity, and you gasp once again. Steve lifts you up like you weigh nothing and places you on his lap, his bulge pressing against your core. You moan softly when you move a bit, feeling the friction between your legs and his bulge growing underneath you.
“B-But dad can hear us,” you say quietly, placing your hands on his shoulders to push you up.
Steve holds you firmly on his lap, pushing you back down on his covered dick when you try to push yourself off of him. He moves your hips slowly over his bulge. You whimper and close your eyes for a moment while he groans. The older man pushes his hips upward, pushing his dick more against you. The movements make you moan and whimper softly. You then let your head fall forward and against his shoulder. Steve smirks. He loves the way you let him touch you like that, the way your body reacts to his touches, and he loves to see you all desperate for his dick, grinding against his bulge.
“He won’t unless you’re loud. But he wanted to take a shower so he wouldn’t hear or see us,” Steve says, looking into your eyes when you push yourself up.
Your lips are just inches away from one another, and his tongue glides over his bottom lip, his glistening saliva coating the soft, plump lips, and your eyes switch from his eyes to his lips back to his eyes. Then he leans closer and captures your lips with his. He moves your hips harshly over his hard dick. You moan into the kiss and slide your hands into his hair, tugging at them. You would like to feel him inside of you; he feels huge, and it makes your cunt drip more, causing arousal to soak your panties.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me. So hungry and desperate for my dick. You want a man, don’t you? Someone who takes care of you and knows how to treat you right, to make you feel good,” he mumbles against your lips, and you moan in response.
Steve smirks and kisses your jawline and along your neck. His fingers are digging into your skin, while you feel the feeling of pleasure growing in your stomach. Your whimpering turns more and more into moaning. You tug harsher at his hair, and Steve knows that your orgasm is just as close as he is.
“Feeling good, princess? Feeling like a princess on daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna feel it inside of you?” He asks, and you can’t help but throw your head back, grinding harder against him.
He knows exactly what to say and what to do to make a woman go crazy, to make her even more desperate, and to make her feel good. Steve stops your movements, and you immediately look at him, confused about why he stopped you.
“Please- so, so close,” you whimper, pouting softly.
“Answer my question. Do you feel like a princess on daddy’s cock?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Wanna feel daddy’s huge dick inside of your little pussy? Is she already begging for attention?”
“Y-Yes, begging for daddy’s attention,” you mumble, trying to grind against him.
He laughs softly before he lets you grind over his bulge. You’re a moaning mess on top of him, bringing both of you closer to the edge. He enjoys the view of you humping him like a desperate slut, and that’s what you are right now. You would agree with him; should he ask you, you would tell him you’re his little desperate slut.
“Please, c-can I come?” you ask, pressing your lips against Steve’s.
“Come for me; soak your panties, pretty girl. Make daddy come in his pants,” he groans, pressing you further down on his covered dick.
You move a few more times over his bulge before the two of you come into your pants, breathing heavily, and Steve kisses you once more to make you shut up while he helps you to move, riding out your orgasm.
“You’re so good for me; daddy’s proud of you, princess.”
Just in time, you two catch your breath, and you’re sitting next to him, talking about the university, when your dad appears with a towel around his waist. His hair is wet, and the water is still flowing down his body.
“Take on some clothes; your daughter doesn’t need to see you naked, Buck," Steve laughs and earns a groan from Bucky.
You’re still calming down from your orgasm; imagine Steve walking with just a towel, wet hair, and his body glistening through the apartment.
“How about I take care of you when Bucky is on his work drip?” Steve asks quietly, and you smile softly before you nod, leaning in for a short kiss before he gets up and walks outside to finally eat.
You follow him. Steve would prefer something else instead of the barbecue he and your dad just made, but he still enjoys it. Especially when he sees your still-red cheeks with the knowledge that your pants are soaked with your cum.
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𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨
𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬.
┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛
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Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber
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tldrthor · 4 months ago
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The Princess (and the chaos she brings with her) - steve rogers x fem!reader (1/?)
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Summary: when Thor asked the avengers to guard a dear friend of his, they didn't think twice before saying yes. What they didn't know was that said friend is the princess of one of the nine realms, and a lost love of one Captain Rogers.
Part 1 // I thought you were dead // word count: 3.5k
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"(y/n), you have to eject, right now!" Steve screamed over the torrents of wind whistling through the ship. Schmidt was dead, gone. So was the tesseract. But it wasn't over yet. "I have to put her in the water!"
The girl behind him widened her eyes, battling against the elements to reach him. "There's no world in which I let you do that, Captain!"
"I'm not asking for permission!"
"Well then, I guess we go down together!" She painstakingly made her way to him, every step a feat of strength. Her previously neatly pinned curls no longer even resembled what they once were as her hair whipped around her face.
As Steve turned to face her, she somehow still looked angelic. He felt that right now, she was more heavenly than ever. He couldn't let her die with him.
"Buckle in." He commanded, as they began their quick descent. He looked at her, the first woman who had ever made him feel seen, the only person he had ever met who was as crazy as he was.
As the ice flew closer, he turned and placed a hand tenderly on her face. Tears welled in his eyes as his mind wandered to the future they could've had. God, they could have been amazing.
"I'm sorry, (y/n)." He whispered. She could only just hear it, even though they were right next to each other.
He pulled the yellow ejection lever on the seat she had just buckled herself into, watching as her eyes widened. "No! Steve, no!" She lifted her hands to stop him, to jam the lever, anything to stay with him. She wasn't quick enough.
Steve closed his eyes as her seat was ejected, hearing her scream his name. There was no world where he allowed her to go down with him, and he trusted that wherever she ended up, Stark and Peggy would find her. He hoped they would be able to find him, too.
He hadn't prayed in a long time, but as he went down, he bargained with God for her safety.
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"It is my honour to introduce the new and improved Captain America and the Howling Commandos exhibit, in honour of the 100th birthday of Captain Steven Grant Rogers." The crowd clapped as the senator stepped off the podium, motioning for Steve to take the mic. Bucky and Sam laughed at how uncomfortable the Captain was as he stood thanking everyone for an exhibit he never wanted. All part of the job, he supposed.
After the handshakes, and the photo ops, and the autographs and the meet and greets, the boys finally got relative peace to wander around the new exhibition.
"I can't believe you used to wear these stupid suits." Sam laughed, standing in front of the main exhibit. Bucky sighed, budging Sam's shoulder. "Says the asshole who wears a bird suit to fight." He retorts.
Steve laughed at his friends antics, but walked away when he noticed an addition to the exhibit he hadn't seen before. He stared, wide eyed at the name in front of him.
(Y/N): THE MISSING HERO?
Steve found himself drinking in every inch of the gorgeous photo underneath the text, her bright smile and barely visible freckles. The lighting highlighted the different hues in her immaculately pinned hair. She looked just like an angel, as she always did in real life.
Steve looked down, forlorn eyes investigating very few artefacts in the glass exhibit. Her folded uniform, found in her room after the plane went down. The blush lipstick you wore every day. Finally, an object that Steve didn't recognise. A golden ring, encrusted in unidentified jewels and a family crest no one knew. He frowned.
He had known her only a short few months, but he regretted never asking about her family. And now, it would haunt him that he never did until his last breath.
"They never found her, huh?" Bucky placed his covered hand on Steve's shoulder, a sadness tinged in his voice. He had only met (y/n) briefly, but he knew even then that Steve's heart rested in the palm of that woman's hand.
He had asked about her, once, but the look on Steve's face when her name was mentioned told him everything he needed to know.
"No. Howard searched for years, found nothing. Turned out that she had lied on her intake forms for the SSR, too. We don't even know if (y/n) was really her name." He took a beat. "We have no idea if she survived or not."
Steve didn't have to make the subtext clear, Bucky knew he worried that he had killed her by ejecting her from that plane. Bucky also knew there was no sense in trying to tell him she would have died either way, that the ice would've killed her.
"You okay?" Bucky asked, after another few moments of silence.
Steve nodded, looking at the photo. "I'm glad she's remembered. I just wish I didn't have so many unanswered questions."
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"So," Tony started. "Thor is arriving with the guest of honour later today, who we have agreed to protect here for the meantime. We don't have a lot of background for this one. The dark elves are the ones we're protecting her against, but Thor said threat could come from many areas. Do we have any questions?"
The team looked nothing short of bored. Well, most of them. Cap always had the good grace to sit up and look interested. Scott was straight up asleep.
"Is she important? How long will she be staying with us?" Steve asked.
"No idea, and uh, no idea. Anything else?"
"Is she single?" Sam asked, earning a laugh from some of the others. Steve shook his head disapprovingly, but smiled at his friend's levity.
As Steve stood up to go back to training, FRIDAY sounded around the room. "Excuse me everyone, my satellites have detected a bifrost signal heading for the compound imminently."
"Speak of the devil!" Tony clapped his hands as everyone headed out to the bifrost landing site (something that had been instituted after Tony's lawn got scorched one too many times).
Bucky smacked Scott upside the head to wake him up with a jolt. "Oh, where are you guys going?" He called behind them, jogging to catch up. Steve waited behind from him, laughing at his groggy friend.
A bright light connected with the grass just beside the landing site. Tony's hands covered his eyes as he mouthed are you fucking kidding me. When the light cleared, Thor stood tall in his usual armour.
"My friends!" His voice boomed, "I present to you, my fellow avengers, the honourable princess of Alfheim, jewel of the Alfar and ambassador to Asgard." Thor's voice boomed through the halls of the compound. "This is my friend, (y/n)."
Beside Thor stood a girl. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with a heavenly stature. She looked like she could have been carved from marble by the hands of God himself.
A light Asgardian pink dress was covered by a golden chest-plate which fit her body like it had been moulded just for her. It was covered in intricate etchings of suns and stars, which caught the light and shone brilliantly. She wore golden jewellery, which was nothing like the avengers had ever seen. Golden ear cuffs covered her pointed ears, with her long hair pulled into an up-do, emphasising the golden, bejewelled tiara on her head.
"Princess?" Sam squeaked. Wanda smacked him, with a look that screamed don't embarrass us.
Tony tilted his head in confusion at the guest, who he could almost swear he recognised from somewhere. "Thor, you did not inform us that we were looking after the ruler of a planet. We would have been more prepared."
"I am not ruler yet, Mr. Stark." The girl cast her eyes up at Tony, as she smiled sweetly. Her voice was honey smooth, and anyone who heard it felt themselves being charmed by it. "I have heard much about you all from Thor."
"Should we bow?" Bruce whispered to Tony, who shrugged his shoulders. Thankfully, (y/n) took the lead and shook each of their hands.
She looked around at each of the gathered avengers. Thor made his introductions to the rest of the group. "Where are the others?" Thor enquired.
"Here!" Steve smiled at the site of his old friend, his view of the princess obscured by the large man. Bucky and Scott tagged behind him, also happily greeting Thor.
"Captain, it is very good to see you. Please, let me introduce you to the Princess (y/n)." Thor stepped aside to introduce them, but his eyebrows knitted together in confusion when neither of them moved, almost frozen in place.
"Uh... hi." Scott side-stepped the Captain and caught the eye of their guest. "My name's Scott Lang."
The girl tore her eyes away from the captain, unsure really on what to do. But her training kicked in, knowing that being rude was one of the worst sins a princess could commit. "Hello, Mr. Lang. I am (y/n)."
"Holy shit." Bucky breathed out.
The rest of the avengers watched the rather silent exchange with confusion. It was very unlike Steve to get so tongue-tied, and he would never be so rude as to not introduce himself.
"Captain Rogers..." The girl spoke first, confusing them further. "I believed you dead." Tears had welled in her eyes, intriguing the observing crowd even more.
"I thought you were dead." He breathed. "What... what is going on?"
Bucky interjected. "Um, hi. I'm Bucky, we met briefly in '45."
She smiled softly at him, but her eyes betrayed her confusion. "Sergeant Barnes, of course! Didn't you... also die?"
"Yeah, we've all got a lot of explaining to do." Bucky laughed as the absurdity of the situation caught up to him.
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Thor's eyes darted between his friend and the captain. When Thor asked the avengers to guard her from the war on Alfheim, he knew some hijinks would ensue. This is not what he expected. He knew you had spent some time on Midgard before and when you returned you were emotionally distraught. He had simply figured the war you had fought with the Midgardians had taken it's toll.
He eyed both the Captain and you, suspiciously. You were his dear friend, but you had never talked to him about any mortal love.
"So, Princess. You've been here before." Tony enquired.
The Princess licked her lips nervously, glancing at Steve, who had barely moved a muscle, his eyebrows furrowed. "Yes, Mr. Stark. I spent some time here during the second world war. I left Midgard when Johann Schmidt was defeated, and haven't returned since."
"Tell us about your world, Princess. I've never heard of it before." Natasha, the red-head in the corner, asked the guest.
"You have heard of it before." The princess smiled, explaining. "I believe we are now known as a fantasy character here - you call us elves." She pointed to her pointed ears as each avenger clung to her words.
Thor smiled at his Midgardian friends' curiosity.
"The Alfar still live amongst you, they are simply unseen. I believe you may know Tolkien?" At the mention of the author's name, everyone's ears pricked. "He was one of my father's greatest friends and many of his book settings were inspired by Alfheim."
"What!" Scott exclaimed. "That's insane."
"Really, Ant Man?" Bucky responded, pointing out that they were all ridiculous, when you thought about it. The world was crazy now.
The princess chuckled, and rose from her seat at the conference table. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Avengers. I would quite like to rest in my chambers, if you would be so gracious to allow me."
"Um, yeah... consider yourself allowed." Tony stumbled over his words. Very unusual for him, and it did not go unnoticed by the others. "Dinner is at seven."
"Thank you, Mr. Stark. Captain Rogers," She addressed the Captain, who looked up quickly. His face was pale, and he nervously twiddled his thumbs. "Would you be so kind as to show me my rooms?"
He popped up, almost comedically fast. "Yes. Yeah, sure. Um, this way." He walked out quickly, darting his eyes back to make sure the princess was following him.
She followed, gracefully. Her skirts fanned out behind her as she walked. The avengers in the room could scarcely take their eyes off her as she faded from sight.
As soon as the door closed behind them, the room devolved into chaos. People shouting theories and questions left, right and centre. Mostly, everyone was just bewildered. Bucky and Thor discussed how they had both known the couple separately, and whether each had talked about the other.
Natasha watched as Tony sat quietly on his tablet for a few seconds, searching for something she could only assume was relevant to the discussion at hand.
"Bucky, what's the deal there?" Clint asked.
He was interrupted by Tony. "Aha!" Stark called, silencing the room. "I knew I recognised her from somewhere."
He projected a photograph to the wall, and the avengers gasped.
The photograph consisted of Steve and Bucky front and centre. Bucky had his left arm wrapped lazily around Tony's dad, Howard. And Steve was looking directly at the girl next to him, holding her to him by the waist. It was the princess. The gaze he looked at her with... it was like nothing they had ever seen from him.
"They didn't just know each other, they were in love." Bucky replied to Clint's question, a hint of sadness underneath his words.
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(Y/n) followed Steve along the large corridors of the compound, her smaller legs working double time to match his long strides. They walked in silence, for the most part. It wasn't the comfortable kind.
"Captain." She spoke first, again. As she called for him, he stopped walking abruptly, turning slowly. He met her gaze and then cast his eye down.
"(y/n)... I mean, um, Princess." He responded.
"(y/n) is sufficient." She whispered, almost guiltily. "I can't believe you're alive..."
"I can't believe you're alive," He retorted. "I searched for you, when I woke up. They couldn't find any records of you other than your enlistment form, and they found you had lied. People think you're just a ghost story..."
He took a breath. "I can't believe you're here and... an alien princess?"
"I know it's hard to believe, I hope you understand why I couldn't tell you back then." She laughed. "When I found that you and Sergeant Barnes were dead, I couldn't face being here anymore... I returned to Alfheim."
As she thought back on it, a tear sprung to her eye. On seeing her reaction, Steve couldn't help himself but place a friendly hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. She briefly froze at the contact, but quickly, she moved her own hand down his arm until she was holding onto his hand with both of hers.
So much went unsaid, but the contact confirmed what they had both most desperately wanted to know. Would it be the same?
"If I had known that you and Sergeant Barnes were alive, Captain..." She admitted. "I would have returned in an instant, I give you my word."
He smiled, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand. A red blush hugged her cheeks as he did so.
It was typical of him that he couldn't concentrate on the moment, "Why are you here?" He asked. "What are we protecting you from?"
She sighed. "The Svartalfar, or the dark elves. You may know them - they attacked Thor in the Midgardian city of London some years ago now." He nodded in recognition.
"They are determined to conquer Alfheim, and have set their sights on my family. They have already managed to get close to killing me."
She pushed the collar of her dress down, showing a large, angry, red scar just above her collarbone. His hands flew up to trace the scar. She gulped at the close contact, her eyes meeting his.
His expression gave away his concern, knowing that Thor had suggested she was in a lot of danger. "Don't worry, Princess. You're safe here." He smiled, softly. "We'll protect you with everything we've got."
"Thank you, Captain."
"It's just Steve." He unhooked their hands, and gave her his arm. She linked her arm in his, and he resumed wandering down the halls to her rooms. "Do you have any bags?"
"No, I fled to Asgard with nothing when I needed healing. The Asgardians were kind enough to offer many gorgeous clothes for me to bring, but I figured they were a bit conspicuous."
Steve laughed, "Yeah, they might be."
They walked for a little while longer, before Steve entered a room to the side. It was rather basic compared to what she was used to, but it would more than suffice for the meantime.
"This is your room." He stood by the door as she entered. "I'm just down the hall if you need anything. I'll get Tony to send you some less conspicuous clothes. See you at dinner."
"Thank you, Steven." He laughed at her inability to be too informal with him. He nodded at her, and turned to walk down the hall to his room.
As he entered, the photograph of her from the Smithsonian caught his eye from the nightstand. He picked it up, tracing her features with his finger - unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. Who would've thought? Not only was his girl alive, she was also alien royalty. Sometimes, just sometimes, he adored his strange, strange world.
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"Sir," The agent walked into the dark room with purpose in her every step. "The Princess has been spotted."
The man in the chair looked up at the mention of his target. "Show me" he ordered. He watched as agent transferred the images on her tablet to the big screen, showing grainy, far away surveillance of the avengers compound.
As low quality as the image was, the woman arriving with Thor in the distinctive Alfar dress and armour was certainly the princess.
"Oh, my dear..." The man's deep voice dragged out. "You have walked right into our sights."
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a/n: let me know what you think! if you can't tell, this is basically the set up for a longer series... i'm really excited to explore this character and get deeper into the relationships!
i've never really written in the third person POV before, so let me know if it's something you like or not, and i can switch for the next part.
please like/reblog if you enjoy! let me know if you would like to be tagged in the next part <3
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arialerendeair · 2 years ago
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A bit of my Tumblr history in the tags, because, well, Tumblr has never, ever been the Aspec website.
Reblogs would be super helpful as my polls don't usually get anywhere, and I'd like to reach the acespec peeps!
#Aphobia#A few years ago on Tumblr Ace people were being actively attacked#Our safe spaces destroyed#You were a radical person if you support ace people out loud#And there weren't many places to go to for support#I remember - I got a lot of anon hate for it at the time before I figured out I was Ace#Tumblr has never been a safe space for Aces until VERY recently#This post is about Ace visibility#It's validating for me as an ace person - I'm one of the 10000 who voted in it#Makes me cry a little bit from joy to see people willingly to be openly Ace on Tumblr where not so long ago people would have been attacked#This poll is not meant to invalidate anyone else or comment on the sexuality of any other people on Tumblr#It is MEANT for the relatively small community of Ace and Aro and Demi people out there to not feel so damn alone#And this is one of the only places on the internet that we can COME TO for that sort of validation and not be laughed at#So no - Tumblr was not and has never BEEN the Aspec website#It hated us for so long - we had to SURVIVE to get to the point where this poll was possible#One person's experience is not everyone else's and I wanted to make sure I said that#To my fellow Aces - Aros - Demis - and everything in between - I love you#You are valid - there are safe spaces for you here - and you are loved#I lost too many Ace friends who left this place because of the hate they received for being Ace#No one should EVER say this is our space when it was nothing but hostile to us for so fucking long#Some of us are here because we survived that shit - and yes I am going to be loud and proud about it#My Steve Rogers Complex
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anika-ann · 5 months ago
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A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.
Part 1 of 2
Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic
Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k
Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?
A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.
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Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace
A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁
A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this
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The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.
Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.
Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.
Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.
You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.
He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.
Uh-huh, no.
No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.
It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-
Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.
God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-
“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.
Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.
The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.
The safest place on Earth.
Steve’s arms.
Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.
You responded with an embarrassed smile.
“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.
Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.
Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.
You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.
“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”
You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.
“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”
“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.
“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.
Case on point, you supposed.
Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.
You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.
And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.
He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.
You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.
However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.
But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.
A caring one too.
As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.
“We should disinfect that.”
“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”
He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”
You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.
“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“
“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”
“Steve-“
“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.
You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.
“It’s just a-“
“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.
You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.
You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.
“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.
He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.
“I love you too. Let’s go.”
You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.
It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.
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Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.
You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.
The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.
You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.
And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.
Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.
Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.
His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.
The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.
And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.
“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”
Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.
Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.
Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  
“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.
You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.
“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”
“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you sighed.
And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.
Kinda like Hopkinson himself.
Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.
It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.
“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“
Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.
An angel by your shoulder.
With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.
“Hey… here, you can have mine.”
You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.
Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.
He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.
Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.
“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”
Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.
“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”
You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.
Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.
Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-
“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.
A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.
“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.
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Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.
As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.
Lucky. You were luckier than most.
Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.
Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.
Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.
A rather cold river.
The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.
But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.
Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.
Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.
Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    
Cold water. Cold water.
In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.
Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.
Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.
He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.
“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.
As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.
And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.
“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”
You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.
“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”
You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--
To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.
Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.
As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.
His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.
“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”
Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.
Not the point.
You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.
“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”
As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.
Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.
“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.
“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”
With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.
Damn you, Steven Grant.
Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.
“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”
The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.
“What?”
What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?
No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.
Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.
You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.
You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.
But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?
Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.
You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.
You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?
A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.
You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.
A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.
And it didn’t.
A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.
Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.
Your hands on his shoulders.
Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.
Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-
Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.
Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.
Great. Really great.
You were fucked.
How did it even-
“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.
He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.
And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.
There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.
How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.
Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-
A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.
“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.
“You okay?”
Funny you should ask.
“Are you?”
You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.
“Thank you, Bucky!”
“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.
He had lied.
Of course he had fucking lied.
And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.
“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”
“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.
Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”
The corners of your lips quirked up.
“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.
“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.
Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.
…were you though?
“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”
His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.
Always.
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Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.
In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  
While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.
“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”
You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.
“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”
And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.
And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.
“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”
Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.
“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“
Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.
But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.
Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.
Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.
And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.
If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.
Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.
Avenging angel indeed.
He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.
“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.
You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  
“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.
“Good.”
Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-
“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”
Your eyes went wide.
Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.
Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.
You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.
She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.
Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.
“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”
You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.
Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.
“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.
There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.
A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”
More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.
“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”
“Any time, Lee.”
You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.
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Part 2
Complete masterlist
Steve Rogers masterlist
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I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕
I hope July has been kind to you!
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buckets-and-trees · 2 months ago
Text
Red, White & True - Prologue
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Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers (future x curvy Millennial Female!Reader), Pepper Potts Word Count: 1.3k Summary: "There was an idea..." Words at the heart of what brought the Avengers together. Steve Rogers is no longer an Avenger, having retired after The Snap and passed his shield along to Sam Wilson, but Pepper Potts has a new idea to bring Steve back out of retirement - but in a totally different arena.
Content/Warnings: none
Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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PROLOGUE
[MAY 1 - Upstate New York]
“You know I’m always happy to come out to the farm,” Steve says, rinsing the last plate and handing it to the strawberry blonde woman so she can dry and put it back on the shelf. “I love to see you and Morgan. But what do you want to talk to me about, Pepper?”
Pepper gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Let’s go to the study,” she answers, and leads the way to the back of the modern but rustic home. She takes a seat on the couch and motions for Steve to sit on the other end.
“I was sitting right here when Tony stood over there,” she nods her head toward a spot in front of Steve, “and told me he figured out the science of time travel.”
Steve’s chest aches at her words. “Pepper…”
She holds up a hand to stop him. “No, don’t apologize. I told him that was amazing and terrifying. Then we sat here together and really talked. He told me he could stop, put a pin in it, that part of him wanted to bury the idea in a lock box at the bottom of the lake. But I reminded him that we were lucky not to have lost each other in the Blip and so many others weren’t.”
She pauses for a moment and looks to the mantle where there’s a small, retired arc reactor on display. Steve waits for her to continue.
“When I started working for him, I had no idea where it would all lead. I certainly didn’t have aspirations to date my boss or become the CEO of Stark Industries. Tony will always be the love of my life, and each day that goes by, each month, each year, I miss him, but the missing hurts less. What’s left is the whisper, the urge of the legacy of everything that’s still here and what I can do with it. I haven’t been idle, but I’ve been trying to ignore my own time travel issue, if you will.”
Steve can hardly hold himself back from scoffing. “The medical research, the humanitarian initiatives, the scientific advances you’re still spearheading, it’s just not really enough if you can’t solve for world peace,” he jokes.
Pepper cocks her head slightly. “The thing is, I have an idea of where I could start on that last one.”
Steve’s eyebrows knit together, and he studies her face. “Okay…” he knew his voice was conveying his curiosity but also his trepidation.
“Stark Industries helps a lot of people, but there are things I can’t help no matter how hard I try there. The world is in a bigger mess than science can help, only so much can be done with humanitarian work, and there’s an area that’s haunting me because I’ve tried to stay out of it for as long as I could, and I just don’t think I can any more, not and still sleep at night.”
“Well, then let’s talk about it. You know I’m here for you, whatever you need. I don’t know how you think I can help, but clearly you’ve got an idea.”
“I know you retired one suit, but I’d like you to think about another.”
“Pep-”
“Not that kind of suit,” she interrupts. “There are still some good, decent people in politics, but money has poisoned so much of what goes on - lobbyists, special interests, politicians needing to fundraise. But I’ve got money. I could fund a campaign.”
Steve frowns. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“I need a candidate, and there’s no one I would trust more than you. I want to finance your campaign to run for President of the United States.”
Steve's eyes widen, and he feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t think of any initial words to come out. He stands abruptly, his legs carrying him to the large window overlooking the serene lake outside. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow across the water, creating a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind.
"President?" he finally manages to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper. He turns back to face Pepper, his brow furrowed deeply. "Pepper, I... I don't know the first thing about running a country. I've been a soldier, an Avenger, but never a politician."
Pepper leans forward, her eyes bright with determination. "That's exactly why you'd be perfect, Steve. You're not entrenched in the political machine. You have a moral compass that's unwavering, and a desire to help those who need it, no matter what.”
“And sometimes I failed.”
“It made you wiser every time.”
Steve plants his hands on his hips and sighs. “Pep, I’m just a kid from Brooklyn who wanted to serve his country.”
Pepper leans forward, her eyes intense and earnest. "And you've done that, Steve. You've served this country in ways most people can't even imagine. Think about what you could do as President. The impact you could have, the changes you could make. You've always fought for what's right, even when it wasn't easy or popular. That's exactly what this country needs right now."
Steve turns back to the window, his mind racing. He thinks of all the battles he's fought, the sacrifices he's made. Could he really make a difference from the Oval Office? Or would the political machine chew him up and spit him out?
"What about my past?" he asks, still facing the lake. "The Accords, going rogue, all of it. It would all come out in a campaign."
He hears Pepper stand and approach him. She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Your past is part of what makes you the right person for this, Steve. You've shown that you're willing to stand up for what you believe in, even when it costs you everything.”
He can feel Pepper's eyes on him, waiting for a response. He takes a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts.
"I appreciate your faith in me, Pepper. I really do," he begins, still facing the lake. "But this isn't like leading a team into battle. The complexities of running a country, the constant scrutiny, the compromises you have to make... I'm not sure I'm cut out for that."
"Steve, that's exactly why you'd be perfect for this. You understand the weight of responsibility. You've made tough decisions under pressure. And most importantly, you have a clear vision of what's right and what's wrong."
Steve turns to face her, his expression conflicted.
“I won’t lie to you,” she continues, “the public scrutiny will be worse, but it’s not something you’re unfamiliar with. Just like before, you’ll have people singing your praise and people ready to crucify you just for sport. But we’ll face it head-on. You won’t do any of it alone. We’ll put together a team of friends, people we trust, experts and strategists. We’ll find people outside our camp who will challenge us to make the campaign stronger. And when we get you in the White House, no president leads alone. You have a history of seeing the value in the people around you and bringing teams together. It’ll just be fighting a different fight.”
Steve thinks over her words. “In a different suit.”
She smiles. “You’ll do it?”
“Answer one more question for me.”
Pepper nods. “Anything.”
“Why do this?”
Steve sees the conviction settle in her entire demeanor, and that shift alone convinces him the rest of the way, but her words cement his resolve down to his core.
“Tony and Natasha didn’t sacrifice just to leave something broken behind. It’s time to help put things back together and try to leave a legacy of something better.”
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go to chapter one: MANHATTAN & BROOKLYN
This is an idea that sparked in during the huge sleepover I hosted in July 2023, and it's been tantalizing me for a long time, but now the muse is finally ready to play with it! gee, I wonder why...
I can't wait to bring you along for the ride! This story will have 3-4 chapters, depending on where I split up the narrative. I anticipate about a chapter a week.
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!
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rootedinrevisions · 1 month ago
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To the Sky and Back
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SUMMARY: After a falling-out with Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, reader tries to piece her life back together, avoiding every place and routine that reminds her of him. But when Bradley faces a high-risk mission, a visit from Natasha "Phoenix" shatters her fragile peace, forcing her to confront the depth of her feelings. With Bradley’s life hanging in the balance, she must decide whether to risk her heart again and let him know just how much he means to her before it's too late. A story of love, loss, and second chances, To the Sky and Back explores the courage it takes to hold on to what truly matters.
A/N: This was a combination of two different asks that I received! One was requested for the prompt and then the other was requesting some angst with Bradley where the angst is a little more prolonged. Thanks to both of the people who sent the request for this in! Hope you enjoy it!
PROMPT: "I'm sorry I'm not the person you want me to be."
WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst. Some more angst. And then some fluff.
WORD COUNT: 7.4K
TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS
If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.
Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played
Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi
Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob
Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)
The Hard Deck hummed with its usual Friday night energy. Glasses clinked, laughter rose in waves, and the jukebox crooned an old Tom Petty song. You sat at the bar, absentmindedly tracing the condensation ring your drink had left on the wooden surface. It had been four months since you’d seen Bradley Bradshaw—four long months of waiting, wondering, and overthinking. You couldn’t decide if the knot in your stomach was from excitement or the growing anxiety about what, exactly, you and Bradley were.
Your heart jolted when you heard it—the unmistakable low rumble of the Bronco’s engine pulling into the parking lot. Your pulse quickened, and you felt every nerve in your body go on high alert. Turning toward the door, you saw him.
There he was. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, in all his casual, rugged glory. Light wash jeans clung perfectly to his long legs, paired with a simple white undershirt under an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. His aviators, always a part of his signature look, were perched on his face, but as he stepped inside, he slid them off, tucking them into his shirt pocket. The room seemed to dim around him, your focus narrowing solely to the man you’d spent countless nights thinking about.
His eyes scanned the bar, and the moment they found yours, a lazy, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn’t break eye contact as he ordered his beer from Penny. Then, beer in hand, he made his way to you.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said smoothly, his voice low and warm, like a melody you’d missed without realizing it.
A soft laugh escaped your lips as you slid off the stool, your arms wrapping around him instinctively. The tension of the last four months melted—if only for a second—as he looped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you in. He smelled of salt and sunscreen, the lingering scents of the ocean clinging to him.
“Missed you, sweets,” he murmured near your ear.
Your throat tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to play it cool, smiling up at him. “Missed you too.”
For a moment, you were lost in the way he looked at you, the warmth in his hazel eyes making your chest ache. But then, with a slight squeeze of your shoulder, he pulled away.
“I should go say hi to the gang,” he said, gesturing toward the pool table where Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote were gathered. “You don’t mind, right?”
“Of course not,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “Go catch up.”
He gave you another of his disarming smiles before walking off, his long strides carrying him toward his friends. You watched him go, heart sinking slightly as you turned back to the bar. 
The reality of your situation hit you again: you didn’t know where you stood with him, and the months apart hadn’t brought any clarity.
The laughter from his group reached your ears, and you sipped your drink to distract yourself. You wanted to be happy just to see him again, to feel his arm around you, to hear him call you “sweets.” But in the pit of your stomach, the question gnawed at you: What are we?
The night had deepened, and the cool ocean breeze filtered into the bar as the laughter and music continued around you. Bradley had been with his friends for most of the night, his easy smile and quiet laugh lighting up the group. You didn’t begrudge him the time to reconnect, but your heart weighed heavier with every passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer.
When he came back to the bar to grab another beer, you saw your chance. Before he could return to the others, you touched his arm, stopping him.
“Bradley,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the jukebox. His hazel eyes met yours, warm but questioning. “Can we talk? Just for a minute.”
His brows knitted slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”
You gestured toward the patio doors. He hesitated for a beat, then set his beer down and followed you outside. The night outside was quieter than inside the bar, the faint crash of waves filling the space between you. 
Bradley leaned casually against the patio railing, but there was tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He seemed almost hesitant as he met your gaze.
“What’s on your mind, sweets?” he asked, his voice warm, though a flicker of unease crossed his features.
You exhaled deeply, gathering the courage to say the words that had been circling in your mind for months. “I need to talk about us, Bradley. I need to know what we’re doing.”
His expression faltered, confusion laced with discomfort. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “We’ve been doing this for a year. And I’ve been happy—really happy—with you. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing where I stand. I need to know if this is going somewhere.”
He shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think we needed to put a label on it,” he said, his tone measured. “I thought we were good.”
“That’s the problem,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “I might have been okay with that before, but I’m not anymore. I want more, Bradley. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. Officially. Exclusively.”
He frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening as he crossed his arms. “I don’t see why we can’t just keep things the way they are. I like what we have. It works.”
“Does it work for you? Because it’s starting to tear me apart,” you shot back, your voice louder now. “I’ve spent the last four months not knowing if I was the person you missed or just someone to pass the time with when you’re here.”
Bradley’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes burning with something between guilt and frustration. “You think I don’t miss you?” he asked sharply. “You think I don’t care about you?”
“I don’t know what to think, Bradley!” you admitted, throwing your hands up. “You never tell me how you feel, and you keep everything so damn vague. I don’t even know if you’ve been with anyone else, because we’ve never talked about it!”
His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I haven’t been with anyone else. It’s only been you.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, but it didn’t ease the tension coiled tightly inside you. “Then why can’t you just say it? Why can’t you call me your girlfriend?”
“Because it scares the hell out of me!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He turned away, bracing himself against the railing. “I’ve seen what this life does to people. My dad left my mom behind, and it destroyed her. I can’t—” He exhaled roughly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “I can’t do that to someone. To you.”
Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You think you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length? You think it doesn’t hurt to feel like I’m asking for too much just to be something more to you?”
He turned back to you, his hazel eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m not the person you want me to be.”
His words cut deep, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it angrily, stepping back. “I’m sorry, too. Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”
“Wait,” he said quickly, reaching for your hand. “Don’t go. Please. We can talk about this—figure something out.”
You shook your head, pulling your hand away. “We’ve been ‘figuring it out’ for a year, Bradley. I can’t keep waiting for you to decide I’m worth the risk.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You are worth it—I just—”
“You just don’t know if you’re ready to admit it,” you finished for him, your voice trembling. “And I can’t keep waiting for you to be ready.”
The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you like he wanted to say something—anything—that would make you stay, but the words never came.
Finally, you turned and walked away, tears blurring your vision. 
“Wait!” Bradley called after you, his voice raw. “Let me at least drive you home. Please.”
You stopped but didn’t turn back. 
“No,” you said firmly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t follow me, Bradley.”
As you reached the parking lot, Jake Seresin stood leaning against his truck, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. When your tear-streaked face came into view, his expression softened.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.
“Can you drive me home?” you asked, wiping at your cheeks. “Just drop me off and come back.”
Jake nodded, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere in sight. He opened the passenger door for you without a word, and you climbed in.
As Jake’s truck rumbled to life, you glanced back. Bradley stood on the patio, his hands on his hips, his face a mix of heartbreak and confusion. The sight of him cracked something deep inside you, but you forced yourself to look away as Jake pulled out of the parking lot.
The weight of what had just happened settled heavily on your chest, and for the first time in months, you felt the full brunt of the unknown you’d been living with.
The hum of Jake’s truck filled the silence as you stared out the passenger window, the cool night air brushing against your face from the barely cracked window. You gave him quiet directions when needed, your voice soft and distant. Jake didn’t press, didn’t ask what had happened right away, and for that, you were grateful.
But the silence couldn’t last forever.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked finally, his voice even but cautious.
You shook your head, your eyes still fixed on the darkened streets. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Jake glanced at you briefly, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the dim light of the dashboard. “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said carefully. “You looked pretty torn up back there.”
Your jaw tightened, and you exhaled sharply through your nose. “I’m fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.
Jake didn’t push, but he wasn’t ready to let the conversation drop entirely. After a moment, he said, “You know, Rooster talked about you while we were deployed.”
Your head turned sharply toward him, your stomach twisting. “What?”
“Yeah,” Jake said casually, his hands steady on the wheel. “Nothing too specific, but… you came up. Enough to know you were on his mind.”
The words stung more than they soothed. If you’d been on his mind, if he’d thought about you during those long months apart, then why couldn’t he just give you what you needed? Why couldn’t he make things official?
“Great,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That makes it so much better.”
Jake glanced at you again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Look, I’m just saying… the guy cares about you. He might not say it the way you want, but he does.”
You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Caring about someone isn’t enough if you can’t show it. If he cared, he wouldn’t make me feel like I’m asking for too much just to have some clarity.”
Jake didn’t have a response for that, and the silence returned, heavy and thick.
A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of your place. The truck idled quietly as you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice softer now.
“Anytime,” he replied, his tone sincere. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
You nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
Jake didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll wait till you’re inside,” he said, his voice firm but kind.
You gave him a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the truck. The cool night air hit your face, grounding you for a moment as you made your way to your front door. You fumbled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside.
As you turned to shut the door, you glanced back at Jake. He gave you a short nod before driving off, his truck disappearing into the night.
The quiet of your home wrapped around you as you leaned against the door, your chest tightening with the weight of everything that had happened.
For the first time in a long time, you felt completely alone.
The silence of your home was interrupted by the sharp buzz of your phone on the counter where you’d dropped it. You hesitated before picking it up, already guessing who it might be.
The screen lit up with Bradley’s name. The first message was simple, almost hesitant.
Bradley: Just let me know when you’re home safe.
You stared at it for a moment, your chest tightening. A second buzz followed.
Bradley: Can we talk? Please?
Then another.
Bradley: I shouldn’t have said what I did. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.
And another.
Bradley: You can put the label on it. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just… don’t shut me out.
You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each buzz. His words were frantic, almost desperate, but that only made the ache in your chest deepen.
He didn’t want the label because he wanted it. He wanted it because he thought it would keep you from walking away. That wasn’t what you’d asked for. You wanted him to want you, fully and without hesitation. But this? This was him trying to patch things up without really understanding what had broken.
The phone buzzed again, another message lighting up the screen.
Bradley: I care about you. You know that, right?
You sat down on the edge of the couch, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders. Your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond.
But you didn’t. Not to this. Not to him trying to fix things for the wrong reasons.
Instead, you set the phone down on the coffee table, face down, and leaned back, closing your eyes. If he really wanted to know you were home safe, he could ask Jake. The thought was petty, maybe even cruel, but right now, you don’t have the energy to be the bigger person.
You needed space. Time to think. And if Bradley wanted to prove he cared, he’d have to do more than send a flurry of panicked texts.
Your bedroom was dark except for the soft glow of a streetlight filtering through the curtains. You kicked the door shut behind you, your chest heaving with the weight of unshed tears.
Stripping off the shirt and jeans you’d worn to the bar, you rifled through your drawer for something comfortable. You yanked out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, tugging it over your head in a rush to get comfortable.
The scent hit you before the realization. That faint mix of salt air, pine, and his cologne.
Your heart plummeted.
It was his shirt.
You froze, staring down at the faded Navy insignia printed across the chest. A lump rose in your throat, thick and unrelenting. Without thinking, you ripped it off, balling it up in your fists.
The scream tore from your throat, raw and full of anguish as you hurled the shirt across the room. It smacked against the wall and slid to the floor like it had no right to exist, like it hadn’t just unraveled you completely.
"I hate you," you whispered, your voice trembling as you sank to your knees. "I hate you, Bradley Bradshaw."
But even as the words spilled from your lips, you knew they weren’t true.
You hated the way he made you feel. The way he held you so close but never close enough. You hated the way he smiled at you, like you were the only person in the room, and the way your heart betrayed you by falling for him.
You hated that you weren’t enough for him.
Tears streamed down your face as you pressed your palms into the carpet, curling over yourself. He wouldn’t put a label on it to protect you, but what good did that do now? You were already in too deep. The dates, the late-night conversations, the stolen kisses, and the nights spent tangled in his sheets—none of it had been casual for you.
God, you were in love with him.
The sob broke free before you could stop it, wracking your body as you crawled onto your bed. You grabbed your pillow, clutching it against your chest as if it could anchor you, and let the tears fall.
It hurt. It hurt because the label didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whether he called you his girlfriend or not, it wouldn’t stop the fear you felt every time he flew. It wouldn’t protect you from heartbreak if he didn’t come back.
And yet, the label was everything. Because it meant he chose you. It meant he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t keeping you at arm’s length because of his own fear.
The pillow muffled your cries as you curled into the fetal position, trembling from the force of your grief. You hated him, but only because you loved him so much more.
The light from the morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm, golden hues across the room. You woke with a start, blinking against the brightness, your head heavy from the weight of last night’s tears. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, the remnants of your sobs still echoing in your mind, the sting in your throat lingering.
You sat up slowly, the tightness in your chest reminding you of how broken you had felt when you finally gave in to the exhaustion and let sleep claim you. You hadn’t expected to wake up with this much pain still sitting in your bones. The weight of everything felt heavier today, more unbearable.
Then you heard it.
A knock.
A sharp, insistent pound against your front door.
You flinched, the sound jerking you from your thoughts. Your gaze flicked to the alarm clock on your nightstand. Barely eight in the morning. Who would be knocking at your door this early? You pulled the blanket off your body and swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the dull ache in your limbs from the previous night’s emotional rollercoaster.
With trepidation, you padded down the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.
You reached for the handle, taking a deep breath before opening it.
And there he was.
Bradley Bradshaw.
Standing there, one hand raised in the midst of another knock, his eyes wide, full of uncertainty and something else. Something deeper. His jaw tightened when he saw you, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unspoken.
He was still in the clothes he’d worn to the bar last night, like he hadn’t bothered going home first. His expression was a mixture of regret and frustration, but there was something else too—guilt, maybe. Or maybe it was just that damned vulnerability that had always been so hard to read with him.
“Hey,” Bradley’s voice was softer than you expected, rough around the edges, like he’d barely slept.
You didn’t respond right away, your eyes flicking over his face, searching for something. What did he expect from you right now?
You weren’t sure you even had the energy to be angry with him. The night before had drained you, and the last thing you wanted was to face him again.
“I… uh, I wanted to talk.” His voice cracked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.
You stood there, frozen, still not sure if you were ready to hear what he had to say. Last night had hurt too much, and you weren’t sure if you were willing to put yourself through more of it.
But, against your better judgment, your mouth opened. “About what?” You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but the words slipped from your lips, laced with a bitter edge.
Bradley shifted his weight, his eyes dropping to the ground for a brief moment before meeting yours again. There was something desperate in his gaze now, something that mirrored the pain you’d felt last night.
“I screwed up. I know I did.” He spoke like he hadn’t planned the words but they’d come out anyway, raw and real. “I just… I didn’t think you’d want a label, but I get it now. I see that I’ve been messing this up for both of us.”
Your chest tightened. The familiar ache in your heart was back, that throbbing reminder of how close you were to breaking. He was standing there, telling you everything you needed to hear, but it didn’t change the fact that it was too late.
“I didn’t want to pressure you into something you didn’t want, but if I’m being honest… I don’t want to lose you.” His voice softened, and there was a flicker of something that could almost be called regret. But the words didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel like they were coming from the heart. They felt like something he was saying out of guilt.
The silence stretched between you. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, feel the weight of the decision that had to be made in the pit of your stomach.
You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. It was all too much, too soon.
Bradley stepped closer, closing the space between you, his expression pleading now, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. 
“I want this with you, I do. But I—” He stopped himself, breathing out like the words were caught in his throat.
You looked at him, really looked at him. You could see the cracks in his façade, the uncertainty that was so unlike the confident man you knew. But even with that vulnerability laid bare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all just words.
“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Bradley,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t want to be some maybe or could be. I need to know where I stand.”
Bradley’s face fell, his lips parting as if he were about to say something else. But nothing came. He just stood there, looking at you like he was piecing together what he should say next.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for the first time, you saw the true weight of regret in his eyes.
You bit your lip, trying to hold back the emotions that threatened to spill over again. “I don’t think you are, Brad. Not really.”
The air between you both thickened, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, you stepped back, closing the door gently in his face.
You leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you heard his footsteps retreat, his presence now a memory.
You were alone again.
And maybe that was how it was always meant to be.
* * * * *
The days dragged on in a haze of quiet frustration and longing. Each morning you woke, the weight of the night’s emotional unraveling clung to you like a second skin. The sun would shine through your window, the world would move forward, but you felt paralyzed by your own hurt, by the thought of Bradley, by the pain of what could have been and what never would be.
You tried to get yourself back on track. You tried to act normal, to resume your routine, but everything seemed to remind you of him. His absence was like a wound that wouldn’t heal, reopening with every corner you turned.
The grocery store was the first hurdle. You knew Bradley went every Monday, and it used to be something the two of you did together. It felt like some unspoken tradition, something that was both ordinary and deeply comforting. But now, it just felt like a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. So you avoided it, switching your shopping day to Tuesday. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be there, the thought of running into him in that same mundane space, where everything felt like a memory, was too much to bear.
The Hard Deck was the next obstacle. The bar where you’d spent so many nights with him, the place where you laughed, argued, and shared quiet moments between chaos. You knew there was more than a 50% chance Bradley was there any given night. The bar, the music, the dim lighting that you once enjoyed felt suffocating now. You could hear his laugh in your mind, could see the glint of his eyes as he grinned across the room. But you refused to risk seeing him, to risk letting the pieces of your heart shatter again. Even when you drove by a few nights, when his Bronco wasn’t parked in its usual spot, you still didn’t stop. What if he had caught a ride? What if he was inside, and you just didn’t know? You couldn’t take the chance. Not when every interaction with him had the potential to destroy you further.
And the texts… the texts never stopped.
At first, they were constant—his messages coming in one after the other, in a rhythm that mirrored his thinking. Morning, noon, and night. He texted like he couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing what he was doing, where he was. He sent them as soon as he woke up, like he needed to remind you that he was still thinking about you, even if he hadn’t quite figured it out himself. Those morning messages were the hardest to read, because you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. He was still holding on in his own way, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t fought for you when it mattered.
And then came the late-night ones. The ones that were sent in the early hours, long after the world had gone quiet. You would wonder if he was sober when he wrote them, or if he had been drinking, a little too far into his own thoughts and regrets. Those messages were the ones that made your heart ache because they felt like half-baked apologies, like words spoken too late. They didn’t fix anything, they just twisted the knife.
But the ones that hurt the most were always in the middle of the day. The ones sent out of habit, when he was about to head into the sky, the ones that used to bring you a sense of safety, a quiet assurance that no matter what, Bradley always had a way of telling you what he was doing. “Hey, I’m headed up. I’ll be in the air for a couple hours, but I’ll let you know when I’m back on the ground.” It was something that had become routine between the two of you. You never asked for it, but you always appreciated it.
Now, those messages made your stomach drop. You hated the anxiety that came with the first text, the one that told you he was headed into the sky. And you hated the sense of relief you felt when the second one came, telling you he was safely back on the ground. It was stupid. It was pathetic. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop caring. You couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the pull of wanting to make sure he was okay.
And that’s what drove you mad.
You hated that you still cared. You hated that despite everything, despite his distance and his indecision, you couldn’t make yourself stop thinking about him. You couldn’t make yourself forget Bradley Bradshaw.
Even as you tried to rebuild your life, to find new routines, new places, new things to focus on, it all felt like an illusion. Nothing felt normal anymore. Your world had become a strange, hollow echo of what it used to be. And no matter how hard you tried to avoid him, to erase the pieces of him from your day-to-day life, you couldn’t escape the truth.
You were still in love with him. And you were still waiting for him to make a decision.
But you knew you couldn’t wait forever.
You just didn’t know how to stop.
* * * * *
Two months had passed since that early morning when Bradley stood at your door, and in that time, you’d learned to carry on without him. It wasn’t easy—some days were harder than others—but you were slowly learning how to exist without waiting for his texts, without hoping for him to just show up at your door again.
You still thought about him. Not every day anymore, but almost. And that, you decided, was progress. It didn’t feel like much, but it was something. There were days when the memories of his laugh, the warmth of his hand in yours, didn’t sting quite as badly. And then, there were days like today, when the past came rushing back to you in a way you couldn’t avoid.
It was just a knock on your front door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and yet, when you heard it, you knew something was about to change.
When you opened the door, there she was—Natasha "Phoenix," standing in front of you. Her usual confident demeanor was a little softer today, like she was carrying something heavy that she didn’t want to talk about.
"Hey," she said, her voice low but steady. "Can I come in?"
You nodded, stepping aside to let her in. Something about the way she stood at your door made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the fact that it was her—it was what she was about to say. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this anxious.
The two of you made your way to the kitchen, where you offered her a drink. She politely declined, settling down at the table. You sat across from her, your hands fidgeting in your lap.
"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but you already had a sinking feeling that you weren’t going to like what was coming.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her eyes meeting yours. "There’s a mission coming up. I can’t tell you much—it’s classified. But I wanted to let you know that Bradley might be flying it."
Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You knew this was bad. You could feel it.
"Bradley’s been flying high-risk missions for years," Phoenix continued, her voice steady but firm, "but this one is different. This is the most dangerous mission he’ll have flown. The odds… they’re not good. It will take two miracles happening at the same time for him to get home safely."
You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to stop her, to tell her that you didn’t need to know all the details. But you couldn’t. The words had already come, and they were burning through you.
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes serious. "But there’s something else. Something I need to tell you, woman to woman."
You swallowed hard, trying to brace yourself, though you already felt like you were crumbling.
"Bradley hasn’t been flying with a clear head," Phoenix said, her voice dropping to a more quiet, urgent tone. "Not since the last mission. He’s been distracted, pulled in a thousand different directions. And if he doesn’t fly this one with a clear head… I don’t think he’ll make it back."
The words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt your chest tighten, the air suddenly impossible to breathe.
Bradley hadn’t been okay. He’d been struggling, and you hadn’t even known. You hadn’t been able to help him, to fix whatever had been broken inside of him. But this… this was worse than anything you had imagined.
You stared at Phoenix, your mind reeling. All you could think about was the possibility—the reality—that Bradley might not come home. You had never imagined a world where that could happen. Where you could lose him forever.
And then it hit you—the realization that it was never just about the label. It was about so much more. About how, no matter how much you wanted to be enough for him, you weren’t the one who had mattered enough to him for him to put everything aside, to fight for you. And that was painful. But the thought of him not coming home? That ripped you apart in ways you didn’t know you could be broken.
"Please," you said, the words breaking through the suffocating silence. "Please tell me he’s going to be okay."
Phoenix didn’t answer immediately, her gaze shifting away as if she was trying to find the right words, the right reassurance. But there was nothing she could say.
"I don’t know," she finally said, her voice so low you could barely hear her. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay."
The words hung in the air between you, suffocating you in their weight. And all you could do was sit there, trying to grasp onto the fragile threads of hope that felt so far out of reach.
It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to hear. The thought of him not coming home, of him being lost to the sky forever—it made your entire world feel like it was unraveling.
You thought you were past him. You thought you could move on, heal, and put him behind you. But now, all you could think about was the future, the one where you would never get to see him again.
It was too much to bear. And you hated it. You hated that you couldn’t walk away from him, that you couldn’t turn your back on the love you had for him—even if it was unspoken, even if it was unfinished. You hated that you couldn’t fix him, couldn’t make him see you the way you needed him to.
But worse than anything, you hated that you might never get the chance to tell him how much you loved him.
Phoenix’s voice cut through the overwhelming weight of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. "They’re getting on the aircraft carrier at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow," she said, her words steady but carrying a weight you couldn’t ignore. "I’m not asking you to come. I’m not asking you to talk to him. That decision’s up to you."
You felt a lump rise in your throat, the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t asking you to go to him, but she wasn’t telling you not to, either. The choice was yours, but it felt more like a trap than an option.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the fridge in the corner. Phoenix didn’t seem to expect anything from you, but you could feel the gravity of the situation pulling you under. You didn’t know what you wanted, what you were supposed to want. All you knew was that Bradley was flying, and there was a real possibility he might not come back.
You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. "Thank you for telling me," you said quietly, your voice betraying the emotional weight you were carrying. "I—I don’t know what to do with this. But I appreciate you coming to me."
Phoenix gave you a nod, her face unreadable. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, alright? Whatever you decide."
You didn’t know what that meant. Taking care of yourself? How were you supposed to do that when the person who had occupied every corner of your mind was potentially flying into danger?
She stood up, her movements deliberate. "I’ll leave you to think about it," she said softly, her tone still serious but warm. "Take your time. But just know, whatever happens tomorrow, you’re not the only one who cares about him."
You nodded, not trusting your voice enough to say anything else.
She left then, and the silence in the room was deafening. The weight of her words, the knowledge of Bradley’s upcoming mission—it all settled like a stone in your stomach. You wanted to scream, wanted to run to him and beg him to stay, to take care of himself, to put everything on hold until he could figure it out. But you didn’t know if that would even make a difference. You didn’t know if anything would.
You sat there for a long while after Phoenix left, staring at the kitchen table as your mind raced, desperately trying to put the pieces together. Could you let him go again? Could you really do it?
Your phone sat on the counter, and you found yourself staring at it, knowing the texts from Bradley would come soon. They always did. But you didn’t reach for it. Not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to open that door again, to let him back into your heart when you were still so unsure of everything—of what he felt, of what you felt, of whether or not he’d make it home.
And then, as the evening wore on, you found yourself pacing the apartment. You didn’t know what you should do. You didn’t know what to feel. Should you show up tomorrow morning? Should you see him off? Should you do what you’d always done—pretend like everything was fine, like nothing had ever changed? Or should you face the reality of it all, admit to yourself that you might never see him again?
The decision was suffocating. You were pulled in two directions, unsure of what the right choice was. Every part of you ached to see him one last time, to tell him what you had never said. But part of you wondered if you were just chasing something that had already slipped through your fingers.
And so, you sat with it, the uncertainty eating at you, and waited. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the moment when you would have to decide whether you could let him go—or whether you would risk it all to see him one last time.
* * * * *
The morning air was cool, but the nerves gnawing at you kept your body warm as you pulled into the parking lot at 6:15. You wanted to be here early—too early maybe—but you couldn’t take the chance of missing him. It had been two months since you last saw Bradley, and now, you had no choice but to face everything you’d been running from.
The lot began to fill as you sat in your car, watching people say their goodbyes—families, friends, all of them hugging and holding on to each other a little longer than usual. Each goodbye seemed to break something inside you, a reminder of what could be lost, of what you had once had and might not again.
And then you heard it. The familiar rumble of an engine. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced to your right and saw it—the Bronco—pulling in next to you. You didn’t even have to look twice. You knew it was him.
For a split second, your eyes locked through the windshield, the kind of silent exchange that spoke volumes. Neither of you moved for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thick fog.
You didn’t know who moved first, but before you knew it, the car doors opened, and you were walking around the front of the Bronco to where Bradley stood.
There was a long pause, the air between you thick with everything you were both carrying. Your lips parted first.
“I’m sorry,” you said, the words coming out choked and raw. “I’ve been… so messed up, Bradley. I’ve been pushing you away and—” You stopped yourself, your chest tightening as emotion swelled. “I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Bradley’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning hard with guilt before he stepped toward you, cutting you off.
“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice low but raw, full of regret. “I took you for granted. I lost you.”
The tears you thought you had already shed seemed to fall again at the sound of his words, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the sting of them, hot and sudden, blurring your vision.
His hands were on you then, pulling you into his arms, warm and solid. He was trying to comfort you, but it only hurt more, the realization that he knew—he knew it was his fault. The pain you’d been carrying had finally broken through, and you couldn’t help it. You cried harder into his chest, unable to control it.
Bradley’s arms tightened around you, his own breath shaky as he pressed his cheek against the top of your head. You could feel the way his body shook with something deeper than just the coolness of the morning air.
And then, between sobs, you whispered it—the thing you’d been holding in, the thing you needed him to hear.
"I love you."
There was no hesitation. No stiffening, no pulling away, just him pulling you closer, if that was even possible. 
His voice was rough when he replied, “I love you too, sweets. So damn much.”
The world seemed to stop then, everything else fading into the background as Bradley’s words sank in. The walls you’d built around yourself felt like they were crumbling as the words you’d longed to hear washed over you, finally, finally making everything feel right again.
But even then, the worry gnawed at you, pulling you from the moment. Your voice trembled as you looked up at him, hands gripping his shirt tight, “Come back to me. Please… come back alive.”
His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. 
“I promise,” he said quietly, and you believed him.
But then, as if the weight of the moment suddenly hit him too, Bradley pulled back just enough to look at you fully. 
There was something in his eyes, something that made your heart beat faster as he asked, “Will you be here when I get back? Will you wait for me?”
You nodded quickly, the answer spilling out of you before you could even think about it. “Yes,” you whispered, breathless. “I’ll be here.”
Bradley’s gaze softened, a hint of relief flashing across his face, and then he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and filled with everything you both had been holding back for so long. His arms wrapped around you tighter, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were lifting you off the ground, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pulled you closer, his lips never leaving yours.
You heard the whistling before you could think about it, the sound of someone teasing. Maybe it was Jake. Maybe it was Coyote. Maybe even Bob, though it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because all you could feel, all you could think about, was the heat of Bradley’s kiss, the way his arms made you feel safe and wanted, the way he was home in a way nothing else could ever be.
In that moment, there was no question—no more uncertainty, no more fear. You were with him. And that was all that mattered.
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endless-ineffabilities · 8 months ago
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The Bolter (part five)
Steve Rogers x f!reader / (Bucky Barnes x f!reader)
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synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?
in this chapter : In present day, the reader and Bucky get closer - will one of them finally slip up? We also see what happened in 2018, during the battle in Wakanda.
themes/warnings : pining, unrequited love, Bucky dealing with ptsd, brief mention of violence, language
word count : 2.1k
main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist
📝 a little bit of an explanation on the timeline : 2016 - Civil War ▪︎ 2017 - post Civil War / Steve and reader on the run ▪︎ early 2018 - Infinity War ▪︎ 2018 to 2023 - the lost years / post-snap ▪︎ late 2023 - Endgame / Steve's departure ▪︎ 2024 - present day / Falcon and the Winter Soldier period ▪︎ 1950s - where Steve went back
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2024, seven months after Steve's departure
You win. Again.
By now, you're convinced Bucky is actually letting you win in Battleship. Each guess he made had been wrong, so it must be deliberate.
"James Buchanan Barnes," you sigh.
His lips form a sly smirk. He isn't even trying to deny it.
You reach across and lightly shove his non-vibranium arm. "It's no fun if there's no challenge."
He shrugs, "Maybe I like the way you react when you win. You get so... expressive." Another smirk. Damn him.
What could possibly be so amusing about the way you practically screeched and stuck your tongue at him the first time you won?
"Yeah, but you let me win four times in a row."
"Deal with it, doll."
"You suck."
He grimaces, "Suck?"
Right. You keep forgetting he is an very old, very ancient centenarian.
"It's an expression."
Something flashes across his face, and you can't really make out what it is. "Do you suck, too?"
"What?" you exclaim. "I just said it's an expression. It means you're annoying."
He holds your gaze for a moment, before laughing, eyes visibly crinkling at the corners. "I'm messing with you, doll. I know what that means. I'm old, not unaware."
Damn him again.
And damn the way the rare instances of his laughter is slowly growing to be a thing you yearn for. Bucky has a playful side, you've come to realize. You get this feeling of lightness, because you're proud of him. The more it comes out, the more it shows how much he has healed.
You blink at him, shaking your head, before bursting into laughter yourself.
Damn it all to hell.
It takes a beat for you to collect yourselves.
Then for a second, it's there. That fleeting shift in his expression. A pinch in his eyebrows giving way to a look of shame. Just for a moment, his mind drifts back to the long list of names in his notebook. To Yori's son. To the crimson in his ledger.
You notice, and you don't hesitate in taking his hand, squeezing gently. "Hey," you say, catching his attention. "I'm glad we get to do this."
I'm glad I have you.
Glancing down at your hand wrapped around his, he smiles, slowly, like a sun rising and casting its glow over the horizon.
"Let's play one more time," Bucky says as he begins rearranging the pieces on his side.
You were about to protest, but then he adds, "I won't let you win, I swear."
Fifteen minutes later, you do indeed win again. He laughs at the incredulous expression that must be plastered on your face.
You take it. Because maybe you did win, fair and square.
Or maybe because his laughter feels like winning.
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The days have blurred into weeks and into months.
It feels like time is passing quickly, every second feels less and less like the lash of a whip, reminding Bucky of past pains. Of loss. Of all his sins.
Life almost feels normal. The kind of normal he is afforded in his life, at least.
Sessions with his court-mandated therapist. You. Dinners with Yori, desperately unable to tell him the truth. You. Sleepless nights, glimpses of his darkness haunting him. You. Sleepless nights, tempting images of you.
Behind all the laughter and the times you would spend playing Battleship on the floor of his barely furnished apartment, Bucky gets a sense of something gnawing at him. Something not unfamiliar, but unwelcome all the while.
It's fear. He has something to lose, once more. A friend or a kindred spirit. Whatever else you will find in each other. It's there and it's real, and it makes him feel like Bucky again.
He doesn't want to lose it, whatever it is. He's already lost Steve.
He's not going to lose you too.
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early 2018, Infinity War
After you and Steve left the cabin, it's like the universe was sent a go-ahead signal of some sort.
The world slowly descended into chaos, and the Avengers were needed back into the fold.
Your group had to rush to Scotland to rescue Wanda and Vision. Then it was back to the Avengers compound.
"You think all is forgiven?" Senator Ross asked, the threat evident in his tone. "You think you can just walk back in here like nothing happened? Romanoff has been leading my team on some wild goose chase - "
Natasha merely scoffs, unamused.
" - and Huntress has been actively aiding and abetting her fellow fugitives around the globe."
You were about to say something snarky, but Steve had already taken a step forward, partially shielding you from Ross' view.
"We're not looking for forgiveness, and we're way past asking permission," Steve declared.
In that time, life became drastically different from your days in Alaska. You barely had a moment of repose, worried about the fate of the world.
But you found comfort in the blonde super soldier who was constantly hovering over you. His eyes would meet yours before a decision would be made. His hand sometimes pressed at the small of your back as you walked beside him. Time and again, you found him watching you, a silent question in his eyes. You'd nod back, I'm okay.
You didn't notice, but in one of those moments, Wanda had witnessed the exchange.
And she felt it. That something. Much like what she has with Vision.
But it just wasn't the right time.
It is a bit hard to face the truth that you might be in love when the whole world is burning.
"I guess this is our normal, after all," you wistfully remarked to him one evening, after everyone else had left. The plans were laid. You all were to go to Wakanda the next day.
Steve felt a sense of bitterness arising from him upon hearing your words. It really isn't fair. He has always done everything right, but he's losing count of how many joys he's had to sacrifice.
He lost everyone once. His mom, his sister, Bucky, his fellow soldiers, Dr. Erskine, Peggy. He'd buried himself in ice, only to wake up again in a world that wasn't his anymore.
What else does he have to lose, who else, before he is finally allowed to be happy?
His smile was pained when he replied, "I think I figured out the kind of normal I want."
Despite your exhaustion, you smiled back and curiously asked, "Oh yeah?"
Steve hopelessly tried to commit you to memory. The lilt in your voice, the shape of your lips. That undying spark in your eyes, which remained even when everything was cast in gloom.
Just in case he would wake up one day and find his whole world taken from him once more.
"Yeah," he finally said.
The world is ablaze, but he's grown used to it. He knew he would lay his life down on the line again if that means it would be saved.
But everything be damned, he allowed himself one selfish thought when he confessed, "We never should have left that cabin."
I'm in love with you, were the words caught in his throat. His heart screamed it, yearning to be heard.
And you did.
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It was a cruel twist of fate. But Thanos deemed it destiny.
Was it always meant to happen? Were they always meant to lose?
Steve didn't know how long he stayed on the ground next to the pile of ashes that used to be his best friend.
Bucky was gone.
Steve barely heard the screams. Anguished voices calling out the names of their friends, still searching.
All that would have been unbearable. The sounds of distress enough to drive one mad. But Steve heard nothing. He had nothing.
It's not fair. Inside, he felt like that sickly kid who was always dealt the worst hand. It does feel like he's a kid again, petulant and angry. It's not fair, he thought over and over, I don't deserve this.
Bring Bucky back to me.
Maybe it was all his fault. Maybe if he never took that damned serum... maybe... maybe...
"Cap," he heard someone break him out of his haze. Rhodey stood to the side. "Steve," he repeated, pleading, but Steve still could not find the strength to get up.
Then from the distance, he heard Natasha calling out for you. He stumbled to his feet, his head spinning. Casting one last glance at the spot where Bucky vanished, he turned and started running.
He found Natasha immediately, but not you.
"Where is she?" Steve growled, and his voice sounded rougher than he's ever heard before. Natasha would have recoiled in surprise, if she didn't possess nerves of steel.
"I'm looking," Natasha snapped impatiently. You would have been her loss too.
Steve felt as if he had already scoured through the whole field twice, his body threatening to just give in and crumble to the ground once more, as the hope of finding you dimmed.
Then he heard your faint voice, weak and weary, standing out among all the others.
"Steve?" There you stood, your face half-covered in dried blood and soot. "Did we lose?"
He swiveled around and took you in, a deep breath of helpless relief exiting his lungs. He was angry and defeated.
He wanted to throw Captain America to the wind, and surrender everything.
He wanted to hear his mother's voice singing to him again. This world is cruel, and he wanted to go back home.
But there you were.
There you were, and Steve knew he had not lost everything.
"How did it happen?" you asked as he approached. "Steve, what do we do? There must be something - "
His mouth crashes into yours with such bruising intensity that it makes you stumble backward, but his arms were quick to catch you.
He was right.
You never should have left that cabin.
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2024, seven months after Steve's departure
The nightmare is different.
It's worse. Much worse.
Bucky bolts upright on the floor of his living room, having chosen to bypass the comfort of his bedroom. He thinks this is because he needs to keep his TV on in the background, something to muffle the noise in his mind late at night.
Another reason, one he hasn't confronted yet, is how comfort feels so foreign. It feels wrong, like he doesn't deserve it.
Perhaps that is why he can't find comfort even in his dreams.
It flashes before his eyes, like a broken montage.
It's almost the same every time. He's the Winter Soldier. He's on a mission. There are faces swarming around him, bodies either racing to attack or running away. But he doesn't see any of them. He doesn't feel anything as he makes every single one of them crumble.
But it's different this time. The Winter Soldier does not so much as falter or show any hesitation as he wraps his metal fingers around your windpipe.
The Winter Soldier coldly watches as you expire. Bucky helplessly watches, unable to stop as he loses everything.
Thankfully awake, in this world where he still has you, Bucky's chest feels like it's about to implode.
So much for being a superabled freak.
The clock reads 3:13. It's late, but he needs some air.
He walks for 10 minutes, aimlessly. Then for 20 more, his mind having made a decision on its own. He soon finds himself standing in front of a familiar brownstone building, where your apartment is situated on the top floor.
You don't seem confused when you answer the buzzer. It wouldn't be the first time he has shown up unannounced.
"Can't sleep either?" You're a welcome vision when you greet him at the door, cheeks flushed by the white wine you usually drink at these hours.
She's still here, Bucky reminds himself. The only comfort that he won't deny.
Instead of walking past you, straight into your apartment like he always does, he takes one step closer.
And then another.
He shuts the door behind him.
You watch him carefully, scanning his every movement. There's something here, something different. He takes another step and he has you pressed against the wall.
His eyes betray the storm of emotion brewing inside. He has to remind himself that you're here, and he has you.
"Bucky," you whisper, and it's all he needs.
He leans in and finally touches his lips to yours.
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Read part six here ~
taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @kyoquixote @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer @integers @torntaltos @imthebadguyyy @iidear @blackhawkfanatic @smhnxdiii
My emotions!!!!!! Hahahaha this chapter is a whole mess and so are our protagonists 🔪🫀
yes yes, expect that the next one is 18+ --- but I still won't say exactly with who --- maybe it's a trick? Maybe it's neither of them? Oh well, honestly some of you have got it bang on already 🤷🏻‍♀️
As always, I am keen to hear what you guys think!!
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mrs-elsie-barnes · 10 days ago
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Last Christmas | Bucky Barnes x Reader, previous Steve Rogers x Reader
After kissing Steve during Christmas 2022 the events of the second snap create distance. Feeling burnt and unloved you try to make things work, but it's too late. You gave him your heart, and he's given his away to another, leaving you in 2023 alone. But there's someone else who hasn't given up on you and, maybe, it's worth giving your heart away to someone special.
Warnings: Steve is the bad guy, anti-Steggy, heartbreak, angst, reader drinks her feelings a bit, fluff, kissing. Liberties have been taken with the order of versus, it's creative lisence, okay? F for fluffy. C for Christmas.
A/N: I listened to Last Christmas twice a day for the last 18 days and now here we are. I think I got the dates right, who knows. I was going to post this on Friday, or even next Monday nearer to Christmas but I got excited so...Bon appetit.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes
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Last Christmas I gave you my heart,
But the very next day you gave it away.
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special.
Christmas 2022
Steve's lips met yours with the taste of mulled wine and expensive champagne. The neat lines of his suit jacket folded under your hands, tugging him closer.
Above you both a huge wreath of mistletoe lined the doorway, twinkling fairy lights falling artfully into the entrance and your smile was so wide you could barely contain it. Finally, finally you were together.
You'd told him how you felt, how you've loved him for years and you were so proud of him and then - he'd kissed you, and your heart soared.
"Steve," you breathed, a prayer, a promise, everything you'd asked for all for you. You had been so patient all year, so good and slow and quiet, and now you had everything you needed.
"I have to go, sweetheart, but I'll call you and we can go out properly. I promise."
He'd kissed you on the cheek one last time before disappearing into the night, leaving you alone under the mistletoe, full of promise.
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Although the date never materialised you tried to be understanding. So much had happened, aliens and invasions. Five years prior it had felt like the world ending and now somehow here you were again, watching the man you loved on a battlefield, hundreds of miles away.
That had been a week ago. The footage still playing on every news outlet.
But he hadn't called.
He never called.
He never text or emailed or DM'd or IM'd or bothered at all. And now the kiss, everything it had meant to you, tasted sour.
You'd given him your entire heart and you thought when he kissed you back, that meant he was giving you his.
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Tony Stark was dead.
Crowded room, friends with tired eyes.
Hiding from you and your soul of ice
My Gosh, I thought you were someone to rely on
Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on.
It had been kept out of the press for as long as possible.
But he was dead.
His funeral had been a private affair, not for the lowly likes of regular old Stark Towers staff and so you hadn't been invited. You had, in your love sick state, driven out to find Steve and try to offer him some comfort.
He'd text you to say he was struggling, and you'd been as supportive as you could be, texting him back in the middle of the night, answering when he called. You'd asked if he wanted you to come to the funeral, but you said no, you offered to be around, but he hadn't left more than a few sparse details leaving you hanging around the small town near Stark's home until you spotted the mourners.
But there was nothing to offer. You tried to kiss his cheek in greeting but he pulled away and shame washed over you.
The Falcon, Sam, and Steve's friend Bucky who you recognised from the news as well, had told you he'd been strange lately and not to worry when they found you hovering on the outskirts of the wake.
It was only when Sam went to speak to Pepper that Bucky spoke again.
Despite what the press said he looked friendly enough, as confused and lost as the rest. You knew he'd been blipped and that must have been bad enough without aliens, wars and deaths. But he still offered you a warm smile. It was the same smile you'd seen in the picture of him on Steve's desk, a portrait of him in his uniform. It was a little more worn now, a few more lines around his eyes, and his hair was long and unkempt, not like the neat coif in his photograph.
But you recognised him all the same.
"Walk with me around the lake a bit?" He suggested, offering his arm.
You refused, tracking yours eyes back to where Steve was staring out at the water where Pepper Potts and a little girl were sitting on a dock.
"I need to tell you something, it's going to sound crazy and you can't tell anyone. But you came all this way and -" Bucky stopped, looking at Sam, Pepper, the gathering of secret superheros.
"I think I can believe in crazy." You said, a lump already forming in your throat.
"He's going to leave."
"Steve?"
"He's going to go back."
"Back?"
"To Peggy."
Peggy. The ghost that haunted you, the woman you'd never be, could never be, never wanted to be. Everything was always - Peggy.
Peggy looked great in red. Peggy always wore lipstick. Peggy loved to dance.
You were never going to get your dance, it always belonged to her.
"I see." You ducked your head to hide your tears, spilling hot and fast down your face.
"I'm really sorry, I thought it'd be best -"
"No, no it is, thank you, I appreciate it."
You went to wipe your eye on your sleeve, but Bucky pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket and handed you one.
"Thanks," you managed a small, polite, smile and dried the tracks of mascara from your cheeks.
"Take my number, in case you need anything, I hate to think - well - I don't think it's right, if that means anything, I don't agree and he knows that."
Bucky handed you a slip of paper folded in half, peeking inside he'd obviously pre-written a small note to the same effect, signing in a wide messy scrawl. But the numbers printed below were neat.
"I've got a place in Brooklyn, Steve said you live on Staten Island? I'm staying near Fort Hamilton, so if you need anything. Just call. Or text. Or whatever it is people like to do now." He gave you a shy smile, pink dusting the tops of his cheeks and his ears.
"That's very generous. Thank you."
You tucked the paper into the inside pocket of your purse and looked at Steve one last time.
"I think I'm going to go. Thanks, Bucky, maybe see you around?"
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You'd text Bucky once, drunk, and he replied asking if you needed help.
Once bitten and twice shy.
I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye.
In your pain you hadn't replied and had woken to a series of worried messages. You deleted the texts the next day and tried to forget about him.
Bucky text you too, to let you know he was going out of town but you could still reach him if you liked.
Then radio silence.
You saw him once, drinking beer with a beautiful woman in a sushi bar and for a moment you felt a flush of jealousy. But you kept walking so he didn't see you.
Life was hard enough without making it complicated and the last thing you needed was to get yourself hung up on another stupid 1940s, jumped up, selfish, super soldier asshole. You didn't know him, but he was Steve's best friend. How different could they be.
You left Stark Industries.
You deleted your contacts.
But you left the little note folded in your bedside draw and called yourself a fool every time you saw it, tucked between your passport and an old notebook.
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Well, it's been a year, it doesn't surprise me.
Tell me baby, do you recognise me?
Christmas 2023
Bucky didn't text again until the winter, snow attempting to fall but hitting salty air and heating grates. The sidewalk covered in slush.
Your phone buzzed, unnoticed, in your pocket until you made it home.
1:32pm - Hi, don't know if you'd be interested but Sam's holding a holiday party at his place in Louisiana. There'll be some old faces. You're welcome to come.
2:01pm - Sorry, it's Bucky Barnes. Don't know if you kept my number.
2:03pm - At Sam Wilson's house. The Falcon. You met at Stark's funeral?
4:48 - I'm getting a lift from Washington with this guy Torres. You can join us if you want.
4:49 - On us, of course. I heard you left Stark Tower
5:00 - I didn't mean to imply you didn't work
5:01 - I'm sorry, Sam says I'm really bad at this. Forget I bothered you. Merry Christmas
You spent a week dithering about a reply until one of your new colleagues at S.W.O.R.D told you you were being stupid.
Tickets to Louisiana weren't too expensice and you had Sam's address from some of Steve's old things anyway. Would it be crazy to just turn up?
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Sam's house was lit up by strings of warm white lights. Out along the sea coast of Louisiana the air was crisp. The day had been fine enough but now the sun had set it was getting cold and goosebumps erupted along your arms.
Face on another with a fire in his heart.
A man under cover but you tore me apart.
Maybe you should have RSVP'd properly, but you hadn't really, truly, convinced yourself you were going to turn up. Your hotel in town was very comfortable and you could go back any time. If it was weird and no one recognised you it would be easy enough to -
"You made it!" Bucky called, spotting you across the garden, hiding by the Magnolia.
The whole garden has a magical wildness to it, the tent in the centre emanating light, music, the smell of food and the sound of happy laughter. It was a welcome change from the cold bite of winter back home.
"Hi, I wasn't sure if I was going to come -"
"I thought I'd come over in case you didn't recognise me -"
You spoke over each other, tripping on the words awkwardly, dancing around the half hug, half handshake you'd initiated.
He did look different, happier, honestly. His long hair was shorter again, though not as neat as in Steve's photograph. There was a softness to the way it curled behind his ears, slightly longer on top.
"I like your new haircut," you motioned upwards, almost spilling the contents of your bag with the too quick gesture.
Bucky ran his hand through it, the metal glinting in the light, and mussed it up further.
"Thanks, just, you know, finding myself again. How've you been, sorry I wasn't in touch more."
"Oh, you know, finding myself again." You didn't mean for it to sound so sad.
Bucky was serious for a moment, "he was being an asshole, trust me," then his face brightened and he gestured to the sound of glasses clinking, "can I get you a drink, let me introduce you to some people."
For the first time in a long time, you felt a real smile tugging at your lips and, when he offered you his arm, you took it.
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Christmas 2024
Ooh, ooh, now I've found a real love,
You'll never fool me again.
When Bucky text, you answered.
When you got sad and drunk, he turned up.
You found yourself seeing him more and more.
He took you for sushi in the spring, ducking and hiding under the canopies of shops to avoid the rain bouncing back up off the tarmac.
In the summer you went to Coney Island where you refused to ride anything because it looked too scary and, instead, ate so much cotton candy you were almost sick on the bus ride home.
In the autumn you rode out on his bike to upstate New York to see the colours change on the trees. You ate pie in a diner by the side of the road and he made sure your helmet was fastened correctly. As you rode home, you imagined you could go back to his place instead of spending the rest of the evening alone.
Your heart had begun to race whenever you saw his name light up your phone. Your camera roll filling up with pictures of you together. And when he invited you out ice skating under the Brooklyn bridge, you said yes.
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Christmas 2025
This year, to save me from tears,
I'll give it to someone special.
"I'm so glad you agreed to come with me." Bucky beamed up at you from the floor where he was tying the laces on your skates .
"I like spending time with you, Bucky." You said, quietly. "I'm a terrible skater though." You admitted, letting him pull you to your feet.
"Oh good, I was hoping you'd say that." He grinned, turning as he stepped onto the ice to face you, "you'll have to hold onto me."
You laughed, letting him tow you gently along, circling the ice. It was already dark, the lights circling the rink reflected in the ice and Bucky's eyes, sparkling with happiness. Your breath misted in front of you when you huffed in frustration at slipping, but Bucky only held you tighter.
He bumped into the end barrier, distracted by the way you looked when your head ducked to see your feet, murmuring his instructions to yourself on how to keep going.
You followed, crashing into him, hands pressed into his chest.
"Sorry," Bucky's cheeks were pink again, from the cold or your closeness you couldn't tell. But his hands came to rest on your hips, keeping you close despite the fact you felt like you were going to slip. For a moment all you could see were the lights and Bucky, he smelt sweet with a hint of whisky from the spiked hot chocolates you'd had before it was your turn on the ice, and you couldn't think of anything nicer.
Without another thought you lifted your chin and kissed him, slowly at first, but then he tightened his grip and pulled you closer, taking your weight so you didn't fall.
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I'll give it to someone special
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robertdowneyjjr · 5 months ago
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tony stark doesn't die.
he burns, from the inside out. the infinity stones are too much for a regular human to handle, and the iron man suit could only do so much. so he burns.
human inventions aren't adequate enough to combat cosmic damages. super soldier blood transfusions do nothing. gamma infused hulk blood also has no effect. extremis is a lost cause.
the entire right side of his body barely functions anymore. and his face. oh god, his face. it's so damaged, so scarred, tony can barely look himself in the mirror anymore, let alone expect others to look at him without cringing away.
so he hides.
he builds new armor. gone are the flashy colors. no more red and gold. just plain old gunmetal grey. gone are the nanobots. no more skin-hugging technology. just cold hard planes of metal. back to unflinching, terror-inducing steel, like the suit he wore when he flew out of that cave over a decade ago.
he hardly ever takes it off. it's the only way he can get his body to just move. it's life support. it's a high-tech prosthesis.
but that's not enough.
he's just so ashamed. sure, he's saved the world. but while everyone else lives on, he's barely surviving. so he covers himself up the best he can. with the armor. then with a cloak, so he looks a little softer, a little more inviting. not that it matters, when he hardly lets anyone see him anymore.
he stops wearing red. he can't even look at that color anymore, when all it does is remind him of the day he couldn't just die.
what's the opposite of red?
he wears green instead.
people looked at iron man and saw hope.
now people look at anthony stark and see doom.
------
steve rogers doesn't die.
he lives a happy life, with the one who got away, and returns to his timeline knowing that he's fulfilled his lifelong dream and he can rest well knowing what it's like to grow old with the love of his life.
except that wasn't actually his dream.
he goes back to the future and finds out the man he's in love with is still alive, and if he plays his cards right, steve might just get to spend the rest of his life with tony.
but steve is old. and he's dying. the rest of his life could only last so long.
and tony doesn't even want to see him. tony doesn't want to see anyone.
so steve begs. he sends messages through friday. notes under the door. anything he can think of, he tries.
"please, give us a chance."
it takes longer than steve has time for, but he finally wears tony down. when tony opens the doors to the lab for steve, he hands over three vials filled with molten orange liquid.
"extremis. modified and enhanced trifold for a super soldier. it's a risk, but if it works, you'll have at least another fifty years left."
steve takes the risk.
his muscles come back. his wrinkles disappear. his hair darkens from white to gold.
steve picks up tony, armor and cloak and all, and spins him around in joy. he's so happy, he lights up from within.
literally, he lights up. his skin glows orange. he's dangerously hot to the touch. he breathes, and smoke escapes his mouth.
but becoming a human torch is a small price to pay if it means he gets to be with tony.
352 notes · View notes
midnight-shadow-cafe · 3 months ago
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Masterlist
Key:
Fluff ☕️
Spice🍵
Angst🫖
Smut✨
Requests: OPEN
Note: I do write for a lot of people, if you request something I will try to fulfill it! I’ll also update this as I go, but please enjoy my work!💜✨ dividers by @saradika-graphics
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
Call of Duty
Task Force 141
John “Bravo-6” Price
Imagine This 🍵☕️
A Different Kind of Noise (Part 1) 🍵☕️🫖
A Quiet Storm (part 2) 🍵☕️🫖✨
Safe Harbor 🫖☕️
Under The Mistletoe ☕️
A Christmas to Remember ☕️
Johnny “Soap” Mactavish
Caught in the Crossfire 🫖🍵☕️
Until We Meet Again ☕️
The Perfect Blend ☕️🫖🍵
Snowbound Hearts ☕️
Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
Caught in the Crossfire 🫖🍵☕️
Bringing Him Home ☕️🫖
Warmth in the Winter ☕️
Simon “Ghost” Riley
Behind the Mask ☕️🫖
A Different Kind of Noise (Part 1) 🍵☕️🫖
A Quiet Storm (part 2) 🍵☕️🫖✨
Closer than You Think ☕️
Welcome Home, Tough Guy ☕️
Sunshine & Shadow ☕️
Through the Static 🫖☕️
Blurred Lines ☕️
Christmas with the Riley’s ☕️
Would You Fall In Love With Me Again?☕️
The Boys
141 x pregnant reader ☕️
König
Classified Affections 🫖☕️
Rekindled Flames ☕️✨
Unveiling Shadows ☕️🫖
Silent Nights and Bright Lights ☕️
Poly 141
Spoiled ☕️🍵
Beneath the Shadows ☕️🍵🫖
Engines and Affections ☕️🍵
Haunted Nights & Cozy Frights with the 141 ☕️
Where We Belong ✨🫖☕️
After Hours ☕️🫖
Mission: Birthday Surprise ☕️
Home for the Holidays ☕️
Series
Shadows and Paws (Hybrid 141 AU)
Chapter 1 🫖
Chapter 2 🫖☕️
Chapter 3 🫖☕️
Chapter 4 🫖☕️
Chapter 5 ☕️
Chapter 6 ☕️
Chapter 7 ☕️
———
Steel and Blossoms (Knight 141 x Healer Reader)
A Kingdom of Shadows and Steel 🫖☕️
Embers of Betrayal 🫖☕️
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Marvel
Avengers
Steve Rogers
Home Again ☕️
Our First Christmas ☕️
James “Bucky” Barnes
In the Quiet of the Night ☕️
Silent Nights, Warm Hearts ☕️
Stucky
Bound by Love and War ☕️
Loki Laufeyson
Lost in Midnight Shadows ☕️🫖
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Stranger Things
Steve Harrington
Babysitting the Babysitter ☕️
Under the Mall Lights ☕️
Lost in the Stacks ☕️
A Very Harrington Christmas ☕️
Eddie Munson
More Than Enough 🍵☕️🫖✨
Safe and Sound ☕️🍵
Under the Hood ☕️
Through Thick and Thin 🫖☕️
Full Throttle Heart ☕️
The Knight and The Princess ☕️🫖
Merry and Munson ☕️
Steddie
A (Prison) Break 🍵☕️✨
Soft Hearts, Healing Hands ☕️🫖
All I Want for Christmas Is You (And You) ☕️
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The Walking Dead
Rick Grimes
Deal with the Devil ☕️🫖
Daryl Dixon
Long Time Coming ☕️🫖
Lost and Found ☕️🫖
Rickyl
A New Beginning ☕️🍵✨
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Harry Potter
Marauders
James Potter
Under the Oak Tree ☕️🫖
Sirius Black
Between Stars and Moons ☕️🫖
Secrets of the Astronomy Tower ☕️🫖
Remus Lupin
Between Stars and Moons ☕️🫖
Poly Marauders
Bound by Love ☕️🫖
All Wrapped Up ☕️
Slytherin Boys
TBA
Golden Trio
TBA
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Gladiator II
Emperor Geta
The Emperor’s Gaze ☕️🫖
The Emperor’s Gaze 2 ☕️✨🍵🫖
The Emperor’s Gaze 3 ☕️✨🍵🫖
The Emperor’s Soft Spot ☕️
196 notes · View notes
darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago
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Wicked Games 9
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Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: Steve Rogers
Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
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You sit in the front room of Steve’s apartment. The vague recollection of that morning you fled tugs at your mind. You should have left Barrett then. Maybe if you hadn’t been such a coward, he would still be alive. 
It’s not just your mistake you ran from. It was reality. You put off the inevitable for far too long. You didn’t want your relationship to end. Not like that. On top of all that mess, you ignored yourself, your body, for too long. 
By the count of it, you’re nearly two months along. There’s no question who the father is. You and Barrett barely slept in the same bed, let alone got anywhere close to intimate. 
You drop your head and shiver. 
A shadow approaches and something clinks gently on the polished coffee table. You wince and glance up with only your eyes. You don’t move as you feel him looming over you. 
“Tea. Uncaffeinated. Gotta be safe--” 
“Why are you doing this?” You drone to the floor. 
“It’s been a long night. I figured it would help--” 
“Not the goddamn tea.” You lift your head and glare up to him. “We don’t know each other. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want this baby inside of me--” 
“You’re emotional. It’s hormones.” He says calmly. “I can recognise that. You’re not speaking from a good place right now. A lot has happened. You got big news and you’ve lost someone you loved. Once.” 
“You killed him. You—you murderer!” You stand and he shifts to meet you. He’s big. Not that you didn’t notice before but face to face, it’s even more obvious. You’re no match for someone like him. Not for Captain America. 
His jaw ticks and his eyes narrow. “I protected you. He was choking you. I could hear his pulse. He was full of adrenaline. He would’ve killed you if I hadn’t stopped him.” 
“And? All my problems would be solved--” 
“Don’t say that,” he snarls. His veneer cracks and his face contorts in anger. “You won’t talk like that when you’re carrying my child inside of you.” 
“I’m not keeping it--” 
“It’s not your decision.” 
“It’s my body,” you snip. 
He takes a deep breath and his nostrils flare as he lets it out. He considers you and his features ease. “Like I said, you’re not thinking straight right now. Sit down and have your tea.” 
You stare at him then look past him to the door. He puts his hands on your shoulders, drawing your gaze back to him. He pushes until you sit. Enough to warn you of his full force. You gulp as your butt meets the couch. 
“Stop acting like this is the worst thing that could happen to you,” he drags a hand away and grabs the tea. “I’d say it’s the best thing you could hope for.” 
He hands you the cup, holding it by the body even as it steams. You take it by the handle and watch him. He releases it as your knuckles touch the searing porcelain and you tremble.  
“Besides, where are you going to go?” 
His question breaks the last of your resolve. Your shoulders slump and you look down into the depths of the pale herbal brew. You blow over it and drink without feeling the singe on your tongue. That simple act keeps you from devolving into a new fit of horror. 
He turns and sits beside you. You want desperately to move away but you don’t have the energy. You’re not sure if it’s acceptance, fear, or just complacency.
You’re done. It’s over. Each time you close your eyes, you see the blood pooling under Barrett’s battered head. 
“That’s it, deep breaths.” He reaches to rub your back. “All that excitement, you gotta be exhausted.” 
You don’t react. Not even a twitch. He caresses your shoulder and his fingertips flutter across to your neck. His touch creeps up and he pets your hair. 
Your eyes search and land on his shield. It hangs from the wall. The edge is still dark red. Your vision blurs as you fixate on it. 
“Wash it off.” You grit through your teeth. 
“What?” He winces and runs his index and thumb along your neck, resting his hand across the back. 
“His blood. His fucking blood!” You slam down the mug and it sloshes, scalding your hand. You yelp and wrench away from him. You stumble to your feet and storm across the apartment. “Get rid of it! Gone! Gone!” 
You grab the bottom of your shirt and wipe the reddened metal. The blood chips away and flecks onto your hand. You whimper and drop the shield, recoiling. You cover your face and heave. 
“God! Just make it stop!” You shriek. “This can’t be real. It can’t!” You spin and stagger around dizzily. “No, no, no--” 
“Sweetheart,” Steve’s footsteps mirror his placid tone as he approaches. “Stop it.” 
“What is wrong with you?” You tear your hands away from your face and growl. “Why don’t you care? You killed him!” 
He stares at you. His expression is tepid. His head tilts as the corners of his lips curve, just a little. 
“Why would I care? I got you.” He shrugs. 
315 notes · View notes
httpwintersoldier · 1 year ago
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『 hate fuck. || bucky barnes x reader 』
pairing: Bucky x f!reader words: medium summary: having sex with someone you love was good, but having sex with someone you hated was even better.
A/N: this takes place in a universe where Steve didn't make the dumbass choice of going back in time and staying there.
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You became friends with Steve Rogers when you decided to join a help group for people who had lost their loved ones during the snap. You had lost all of your family, and in a way, so did Steve.
Your loss served as a way to bond, and you became great friends over time. Although it didn't fill the constant sense of emptiness, having each other's company and comfort made it a lot easier to cope.
The two of you would often sit over coffee and go on and on for hours, sharing stories about the people you loved and had lost. It kept the memory of them alive and made the pain a little easier to bear.
You learned that Steve's family had died long before he had even become Captain America, and his only family was Bucky Barnes - a.k.a the man who used to be the Winter Soldier.
The man spoke so highly of his best friend that you couldn't help but imagine the kindest, funniest, best person in the world.
So it came to you as a shock when, 5 years after Thanos visited Earth, everyone came back and Steve finally introduced you to Bucky, and you hated him. Not only that, he hated you too. You couldn't stand each other.
The air was heavy and tense in every room you shared, and everyone caught the very obvious hateful stares you sent each other's way.
It confused Steve. You didn't have a major disagreement, and neither of you were the type of person to just pick a fight with people out of the blue, so the reason why you were constantly at each other's throats was a head scratcher for Steve.
He did try his best to have you two hang out and get to know each other, but it just resulted in an awkward, angry mess every time.
The reason for your shared hate was stupid and childish.
It was mostly jealousy over Steve's friendship. When Bucky came back and saw how close you two were, he felt somewhat replaced, and he didn't like the way you walked around like you were Steve Rogers' best friend. You, on the other hand, didn't like the way Bucky looked at you and the way he dismissed your and Steve's friendship as if it wasn't worth anything.
However, neither of you would admit to being jealous of the other.
"Bucky I'm begging you, behave." Steve asked, hands placed on his best friend's shoulders as he looked into the man's eyes.
"Why am I the one getting the warning!? She's as much to blame Steve." Bucky argued, pulling away from his friend's grip to restock the fridge with beer.
Steve placed his hands on his hips and sighed.
"Fine, whatever. Just... don't add fuel to the fire."
The Avengers were having a get-together at the compound, and Steve knew how much you wanted to meet Thor, so he had invited you over to hang out with them. The man didn't even think about the tense atmosphere it might ensue until he saw Bucky's face twist in disgust when he heard his best friend tell the others he had invited someone else.
When the time came and you came into the compound dressed in semi-fancy attire, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your skull. You knew it was Bucky, and chose to ignore it out of respect for Steve.
You introduced yourself to everyone, and you were visibly shy, standing before some of the strongest people in the universe.
"No need to be shy, miss Y/N. We are all like you! Well, I am a god, but the others are like you." Thor said, as he tried to make you feel more comfortable, and you smiled shyly.
You took a seat next to Steve, and not long after Bucky came into the room. He looked around for a seat, and luck certainly wasn't on your side, as the only vacant space was next to you.
He audibly sighed and took the seat.
"You can always stand." You said, under your breath, so only he would hear it.
Bucky ignored you, Steve's request to "behave" playing on his head over and over again, but you knew he heard you from the way his body tensed.
"So Y/N, how did you meet Steve?" Wanda asked, trying to get you to open up more.
"We met in one of those group meetings to help people who've lost someone to the snap, he helped me big time." You explained, smiling at Steve.
"So it's been what? Five years since you met? You must be like best friends now." Bruce said with a smile, finding your friendship cute.
Upon hearing those words, Bucky scoffed.
"Best friend? She wishes."
"I've been around more than you have."
You didn't want to reply to him, you didn't want to stoop to his level, but the reply came out of you automatically.
"I was physically unavailable 'cause I was snapped." Bucky argued, turning his body to face you.
Steve buried his face in his hands and sighed, as if saying "here we go", as the rest of the Avengers just looked confused.
"Bucky and Y/N don't get along... at all." Steve explained, brreaking the awkward silence and tension.
"Why?" Bruce dared to ask, his curiosity not getting the hint to leave the subject alone.
"If you have a conversation with her you'll understand why."
"I'd say the same but you're the most antisocial person I've ever met. You couldn't hold a conversation to save your life." You retorted instantly.
Pure hatred, disgust and anger were displayed on your faces as you engaged in what seemed like the most intense staring contest.
"Guys, please calm down, this is the first time we've all been together since everyone came back, let's all just take it down a notch and have a good time, okay?" Steve said, looking between the two of you, practically begging with his eyes.
"Whatever, I'm gonna get some air." Bucky said as he downed his beer and left the room.
Steve felt bad, but he also felt that leaving the room would probably be best for Bucky, as you two couldn't be in the same space together at that time without bickering, and you didn't know the compound well to go around and blow off some steam.
Some of the tension immediately died down, and soon after the group went back to the regular conversation, sharing stories, remembering old times, and bonding again over their experiences.
Since you were drinking, it wasn't long before you needed to use the bathroom.
"Steve?" You asked, tapping the man's shoulder.
He turned to look at you, focusing on what you had to say.
"Where's the bathroom?" You asked in a hushed voice.
"You go through there," Steve started, pointing at a hallway behind you "make a right, and it's the third door on your left."
You thanked the man and excused yourself from the room, although everyone else was too engaged in the conversation to notice.
After going to the bathroom, your mind was too distracted thinking about how lucky you were to be sitting and laughing with the Avengers to realize that you had gone the wrong way, and when you came back down to earth you registered that you had no fucking idea where you were and how to get back to the common area.
"Shit..." You said, looking around and wandering about as you attempted to find yourself.
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
You recognized the voice that echoed behind you instantly. How could you not, it triggered you every single time.
You turned around to find Bucky, standing there in his usual "I'm better than everyone" with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.
"I just love walking around and staring at walls and doors that all look the same." You said with an insincere smile, causing Bucky to roll his eyes.
You resumed your hunt for the area where everyone was gathered, but the soldier caught up to you and stood in your way.
"You're lost, aren't you?" He had this smile of amusement on his face.
The man was just waiting for you to admit it, so he could make fun of you for it.
"Bucky get the fuck out of my way, you're so annoying I don't know what could've possessed Steve to be your friend."
You shoved him as you said that, attempting to get past the Soldier. But apparently your comment set him off, as he grabbed your arm and pressed you against the wall. The soldier's face was centimetres away from yours, his jaw was clenched and eyes displaying a plethora of emotions you couldn't even begin to describe.
"You're out of your fucking mind if you think for a second that Steve would somehow prefer being with you than with me. I'm his brother, you were just a replacement while I wasn't back."
You scoffed and tried to shake him away, but to no avail.
"Is that why your panties are always in a twist when I'm around? You're jealous?" You teased, knowing fully well you were stepping into dangerous territory.
Bucky's grip went from his regular hand holding your arm to his bionic hand gripping your jaw, pinning it against the wall.
"Listen here princess, there's nothing to be jealous about. If you think I'd ever feel something other than disgust about someone as useless as you, then you're dead wrong. You mean nothing to me." His face was even closer to yours as he spat those words, hate and anger dripping from every single one.
"Oh and I'm so hurt by your words, will I ever get over it?" You asked sarcastically, bottom lip pouting and fake sadness displayed in your face.
"Shut the fuck up, I'm so fucking tired of hearing you bitch all the time." Bucky's voice was just above a growl, and it intimidated you beyond belief, but you'd never show it.
"Shut me up then."
Bucky opened the door next to you and shoved you inside, then slamming the door closed.
His bionic hand wrapped around your neck and brought you closer, your body crashing against his.
"I'm gonna shut you up alright, I'm gonna fuck you dumb so you stop running that little bitchy mouth of yours." Bucky told you, switching the tension in the room immediately.
"You're doing a whole lot of talking and not a lot of fucking."
"You're such a fucking brat" The soldier growled, pushing you against the wall and violently smashing his lips against yours.
The kiss was rough. No, it was animalistic. Your heads moving from side to side as you fought with your tongues for dominance, teeth clashing and hands all over each other, with lip and neck bites here and there.
Your hands tugged on his hair, and your thigh sneaked in between his legs, rubbing against his growing boner.
Bucky, on the other hand, squeezed all of your curves - your waist, your hips, your thighs and your ass. Any piece of flesh he could get his hands on, he'd squeeze and slap.
Unbeknownst to each other, you had also turned that moment into a competition, and you were desperately trying to make each other moan, as if the blatant display of pleasure from the other party was a trophy, as if it was a confirmation of submission.
In traditional Bucky fashion, he grew impatient, and decided to play dirty. As he mantained one hand on your ass, the other sneaked in between your bodies and undid your pants' button and zipper. Before you could protest, his hand found its way inside of your panties, and two of his fingers pushed inside of you.
"Shit- fuck!" You cursed as you pulled away from the kiss and gripped his shoulders, not being able to contain the ecstasy his touch made you feel anymore.
"So wet for me, doll." Bucky teased, whispering in your ear "Are you sure you hate me? Maybe you just really wanted to fuck me all this time."
He bit your earlobe and you groaned, out of pleasure and frustration. You wanted to complain and shoot back a snarky remark, but fuck the way his fingers filled you up and stretched you out was so delicious that you just couldn't.
"Fuck... you." You managed to say between deep breaths, as your head hit the wall.
Bucky slapped your ass harshly, and attacked your neck with small bites as a punishment (that you definitely wanted more of).
Your back started arching as your climax approached. You weren't sure if it was because it was Bucky or if it was because you were fucking in the middle of a party, but your climax approached extremely fast. And Bucky could tell.
He could very well tell you were about to cum from the way your eyes shut, your back arched and the way your hips desperately started grinding on his fingers begging for more.
So he picked up the pace, right before pulling his fingers out, and licking them clean in front of you.
"You fucking asshole." You said, out of breath, looking at him through your lashes.
"Sticks and stones princess."
You began getting on your knees, when Bucky gripped your neck and got you back up.
"Oh how cute, you thought I'd give you the chance to do the same to me? How stupid do you think I am?" He cooed mockingly, then approaching his face to yours "I own you. I control you and I will use you as I please. Got it?"
Although his tone was aggressive and intimidating, and his eyes expressed a mix of lust and seriousness, you'd never let him win at this mind game.
"Fat fucking chance, asshole."
The man picked you up, swung you over his shoulder and carried you to the bed, slapping your ass harshly before letting you fall on the mattress. He pulled down your pants, as well as your underwear and discarded of them.
Bucky then hovered over you and looked at you threateningly, the thing he seemed to be best at.
"You're such a fucking brat... I'm gonna love to destroy you."
You didn't realize he had pulled his cock out by the time he finished the sentence, and just as you were going to say something, he bottomed inside you.
The fucker had timed it perfectly to shut you up with his cock, and you knew it. You knew it because as you looked at him through half lidded eyes you could see his smile, a smile that said "I win" as his tongue poked against the inside of his cheek.
"What's that princess? Wanted to say something? Go ahead. Say it."
He knew you couldn't. Bucky was perfectly aware that you couldn't speak because he promised to fuck you dumb and he was achieving it.
The way he held you down with one hand on your hips and one around your neck, his hips incessantly snapping against yours at a pace you had no idea was even possible.
All could manage to leave your lips were moans and incoherent swear words that you yourself couldn't put together.
"That's it, doll, you look so good like this, taking my cock." Bucky's voice then darkened "I'm going to fuck the brat out of you no matter how many times it takes."
Bucky was loving it. Seeing you be so submissive in front of him, moaning and whimpering as you took him all in... It took all his strenght not to cum quickly, but he wanted to see you cum first. He wanted to see how good you looked as you came, knowing he (the person you hated most) was the reason you were climaxing.
As soon as your hands gripped the sheets and your back arched once more, Bucky knew you were close.
"That's it doll, cum for me. Cum on my cock princess, I want to see how good you look." He said, breathless.
It wasn't long before you obeyed his command.
"Fuck, Bucky!" You yelled as your climax hit, your legs trembled and your eyes saw stars.
Your mind went blank, and you could swear you had passed out for a second.
The soldier finally let go, buried himself deep inside of you and came, as he groaned and gripped your hips tigther.
When he pulled out, he fell beside you on the bed, trying to regain his breath like you.
No words were exchanged, you simply stood up and put your clothes back on and the man followed suit.
You made your way to the door and opened it, before stopping and stealing one last look at Bucky.
"This was the first and last time."
The man chuckled, paused and stood up, walking up to you until his chest was against your back and his hands on your hips.
"Sure thing princess, lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me, you'll be back. I saw how desperate and wwet you were for my cock."
You felt the heat in your body rise, and just pushed him away as you tried to find your way back to the common area, trying to forget what had just happened.
You fixed your hair and makeup as best as possible with the help of your phone's screen, and once you started hearing their voices in the distance you found your way back.
The vibe of the room slightly shifted when you entered, but you just assumed that it was because they weren't used to you.
However, the belief changed when you sat down beside Steve and he leaned in to whisper to you.
"I take it you two... made peace?" He asked, a little big of hope and disgust intertlocked in his words.
You looked at him with wide eyes and fake confusion on your face.
"What do you mean!?" You whispered back and Steve rolled his eyes.
"Y/N, we all heard you scream 'Fuck, Bucky'."
[TAGS]
@pattiemac1 ; @buckysfirstbitch ; @low0tter
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buck-star · 8 months ago
Text
Heated training | Steve Rogers
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 -> Avenger!Steve Rogers x Avenger!Female!Reader
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> You’re training with Steve but when he is distracted and you push him down once again things become heated.
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 2.364
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) 18+, Minors DNI, smut, dry humping, semi public sex, tiny bit angst, fluff
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 -> Hiiii! Could you write a Steve x reader where they’re training and she’s like having to tackle him and straddle him and he gets a boner and things get heated and ya know some smut and maybe the reader is Tony’s daughter and somehow word gets out that something happened and there’s some angst in there. Hope you’re okay writing this, thank you !!❤️ @myersmaniac
𝐀/𝐍 -> Thank you for the request and hope you like what I made with it.
𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 -> Fandom-Free Bingo: Book Night | N1 | semi private sex | @fandom-free-bingo | MCU Kink Bingo | N3 | Free Square | @mcukinkbingo
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
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It’s nothing new that the tall and muscular super soldier has a huge crush on you. He always takes care that his hair looks good and that he is shaved, loving the moments you look at him with a smile on your lips. The way you talk to him, when you need to look up because you’re so small compared to him. It’s at least nothing new to him that he is in love with you; he can’t even remember for how long he has already been in love with you, but he doesn’t dare tell you or anybody else something about it. Not only because you’re Tony Stark's daughter, but also because he doesn’t want to ruin things the two of you have — the wonderful friendship he appreciates.
Steve loves to work with you, spend time with you, or just be close to you. Also, when he can’t touch you in the way he would like to do it, even when he can’t feel your lips all over his body or just cuddle with you in the way he would like, he still enjoys when the two of you laugh and spend time together. Whenever you look at him with those shining eyes and the most adorable and sweet smile on your lips, he loves to hear you laugh, especially when he is the reason for it. He could look at you for hours, admiring you.
“Rogers! Concentration! Otherwise, she tackles you down immediately, again.”
He rolls his eyes over Nat’s comment, even though she is right. You have tackled him down in just a short time since he seems too deep in his thoughts today. He doesn’t really train; it’s more staring at you, trying to grip your wrists before you throw him down, but he often fails to grip your wrists and lands on the ground in no time. Steve’s cheeks are red, and sweat runs all over his face and along his neck. His broad chest and defined abs are covered in sweat as well, his skin softly glistening in the light of the training room.
“Yeah- yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes before he grips your fist and tries to push you down.
But Steve gets distracted by your lips — your beautiful plumb lips, which are slightly parted — and your eyes, which shine like the stars at night. He gets lost in your eyes, and a moment later he feels the mattress underneath his back. You’re sitting on top of him with a big smirk on your lips. You don’t miss the way he looks at you — the way his eyes are focused on your lips and his eyes are slightly darkened. You feel a tingle on your skin when he touches you, but you try not to focus on it during training; otherwise, you both would just stare at one another.
“Sorry guys, Clint is calling. You both don’t mind me picking up?” Natasha asks, already walking out of the door.
Steve, and you look after her. When the door shuts, Steve tries to wiggle you off of him, trying to turn the two of you around, but you grip his fists and press them above his head into the mattress. Moving a bit on top of him to have a better position to hold him in place.
“What stole your concentration today, huh?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.
“N—nothing,” he replies breathlessly, trying to free his hand out of your tight grasp.
You narrow even more and cause your nose to slightly scrunch. Steve chuckles, using the moment of your confusion to free his hands, and tries once again to turn the two of you around. Steve thrusts his hips up, his hands finding their way to your hips. His fingers dig into the fabric of your pants, holding it tightly before he lifts you up. But he hasn’t thought you would jump and let yourself fall down back on him, landing perfectly on his growing bulge in his pants and causing both of you to moan.
Steve's eyes widen immediately, and thoughts run through his mind to find an excuse why his dick is hard. When you look into his wide eyes, you’re just as big as his, gasping about the sudden feeling between your thighs.
“F— Sorry,” he mumbles, blushing slightly.
“Why do you have your phone? No, your keys are in your pocket?” You ask, confused, why he thought of putting it out of his pocket before you two started the training.
“I— That’s not my phone nor my key,” he admits quietly.
You narrow, tilting your head slightly to the side, until you realize what’s pressing against your soaked pussy. It doesn’t feel bad at all, but you didn’t know he felt that way for you, or at least he wouldn’t get a hard on during training. But you straddle him for a few minutes already, so it’s understandable that he gets hard when he is attracted to you and when you move in his cock.
You slowly move your hips, feeling his length rubbing against you. Maybe you should get off of him, but it feels too good to do so, so you’re moving slowly, looking deep into his eyes while you wait for Steve to stop you from grinding against him when he doesn’t like it. But he gasps and digs his finger more into your covered skin, helping you grind on his cock.
“Princess, we—we can’t.”
“Why not? Don’t you like it?” You ask, pouting while you stop your movements on his growing dick.
“I love it— I—I love you, but—“
His eyes widen even more when he realizes what he just said. His cheeks heat up, and he opens his mouth to form an apology, but there is nothing he has in mind to say. He’s adorable when he is shy and slightly embarrassed — not that you like seeing him embarrassed around you, just that his lips are slightly parted, his blue eyes look so lovely but at the same time unsure, and his red cheeks — just hot and cute at the same time. First he got hard while training, and now he told you he loves you; he would face palm himself when his hands wouldn’t be clued to your waist, not wanting to let go of you because you could move away from his cock.
Your smirk grows when you lean closer, your lips just an inch away from his, and you can feel his warm breath on your sweaty skin. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, before he lifts his head and breaks the distance between your lips. His soft, pink lips move perfectly against yours, and he licks over your lips to ask for access. You’re parting your lips, and you're deepening the kiss until both of you need to pull away to breathe deeply.
“I love you too. Please— I need you, Stevie,” you mumble, moving your hips harder on his covered cock.
Steve groans, throwing his head back and giving you more space to kiss and bite into the soft skin of his neck. You lick a strap along his neck, chasing him to close his eyes and thrust his hips up. His bulge presses more against your covered pussy, and you moan softly.
“Everyone could see us!” He breathes heavily, looking through his lashes at you.
You sit up and smirk when your hands slide over his broad chest, and you start moving your hips at a fast but steady pace over his dick. He is panting underneath you; with his hands, he helps you to move on top of him, pushing you further down to cause more friction.
“S—Steve, I’m so close,” you whimper.
The tip of his cock is hitting your clit with every thrust, and you push both of you closer to your edge. He didn’t know it could feel that good without being inside of you, but it does, and he is just as close as you.
“Tell me we’re going to get in your room and do it again; tell me you’re mine,” Steve says, slowing your hips down.
Pre-cum is soaking his pants, and he just wants to push you more on his cock and guide you over it to make both of you come, but he wants to hear that you’re his.
“So possessive, huh?” You ask, teasingly.”
His answer is just a harsh movement of his hips. You moan and throw your head back, trying to move faster, but he stops you with his grasp.
“S— Stevie. We can do it as often as you want; I’m yours— I’m all yours, but please let me come,” you whine.
Steve grins, moving your hips faster on his dick and bringing you closer to the edge. It doesn’t take long for the two of you until you’re coming, clenching around nothing while Steve is soaking his pants with his cum. You’re both breathing heavily and calming down from your high when you hear someone coming back into the room.
“G— What are you two doing, sitting like that and doing nothing?” Tony asks, narrowing.
Steve chuckles, nodding his head. Tony just wants to inform you that you are going to have a meeting, but seeing you on top of Steve, straddling him, wasn’t something he expected to see when he came into the training room. Actually, the two of you are always trying to tackle one another.
“Oke—“ he pauses, nodding his head and inhaling. “Meeting.”
With that, he leaves the room, and you laugh. Your brother’s expression was just too funny. You lean down, capture Steve’s lips, and kiss him softly.
“After the meeting, I’m all yours.”
“You’re already mine, but then we repeat that here without clothes.”
You then get off of Steve. The blond-haired man looks at the wet spot on his pants and smirks when he sees you staring at his covered cock. You both take a shower because you get ready for the meeting Tony told you about — next mission, which isn’t really interesting for you since you only have your eyes on one another.
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Steve and you have been secretly dating for a few weeks now. You often spend time together, which isn’t new to see for the others. Even when you smile in another way, your gazes are different — happier — but no one really asks about it. They are just happy that Steve and you are happy — still thinking you’re best friends.
When Tony asks you to come into his office because he wants to talk with you, you have a huge smile on your face. When you knock at the door and swing it open, you freeze immediately. Steve is sitting there in front of your father, who looks angry, and you swallow hard. The smile fades away, and you look slightly confused.
“Come in and close the door.”
You do as you’re told; you close the door behind you and walk toward the men, letting yourself fall down next to Steve on a chair. Tony looks at you before he moves to face Steve; he then points at the monitor on the desk in front of you.
When your father turns on the video, you gasp, your eyes widen, and your hands get sweaty. You hear Steve inhaling deeply next to you. He swallows hard and slides down in his chair. The video that Tony is showing of the two of you shows Steve and you making out on the floor before you pull him with you into your room.
You know Tony isn’t a friend of the men around you; he is protective and doesn’t want someone to hurt you. He already made your ex-boyfriend run away because he was afraid of Tony’s Iron Man suit walking without him inside the suit.
“D—Dad, I would say i—it’s not what it looks like what Steve and I did, but it is. B—“
“Rogers!” Tony says, his jaw clenching when he looks at your boyfriend.
“Tony, I—I don’t want to hurt her. I—I love her,” Steve says, reaching for your hand, but you pull away, afraid of what your father could say.
Steve sighs, looking down and inhaling deeply. He rubs his hands over his pants and sighs once again before he continues to speak.
“I would never do anything she didn’t want to. Tony, I love her.”
You smile softly, but your body is still tensed, and you don’t dare look at Steve. Tony nods, leaning back in his chair and tapping his fingers on the surface of his desk.
“Do you love him?” He asks, looking at you, and you nod, then he turns his face back to Steve. “When you hurt her, I will cut your balls off!”
Steve doesn’t know if he wants to smile or swallow hard, but he smiles, nodding and turning toward you. He places his hand in front of you, waiting until you place yours in his big one before he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your soft skin. Tony rolls playfully with his eyes, watching the two of you when you lean in to press your lips against Steve’s, soft and sweet.
"First, the gentleman an— Get a room!” Tony shouts, and you burst out laughing about the way he raises his eyebrows and grasps the surface of the table.
“We will,” you tell him, smirking when you get up and pull Steve with you.
With a wink at Tony, you make your way to the door of his office, leaving it. Before you can walk further through the floor, Steve pushes you against the wall behind you, attacking your lips with his.
“I love you so much, princess.”
“I love you too, Stevie.”
With that, he lifts you up and carries you into your bedroom, continuing what you have seen in the video Tony shows the two of you. And you’re glad he accepts what you have with Steve, because it’s special, and you’re happier than you ever have been since you've been with Steve. He treats you like a princess, like his perfect and sweet princess.
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