#steve rogers x oc fic

[welldonebeca]

it's a Bad Idea, right? (32)

WC: 2.1k words Warnings: Mafia AU. Comfort. Fluff.

Masterlist

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Betty woke up to her phone ringing into her ear at midday sharp, with her head pounding in the same pace of the song she used as a ringtone.

It was too early for calls. Who called a bridesmaid the day after the wedding party?

She picked it up from the nightstand with a groan, but cleared her throat anyway, sitting up.

“Hello?”

“Miss Dąbrowska?�� a woman asked on the other side, in a very American accent. “I’m Clarice, I’m Wanda’s publicist.”

Betty frowned.

Wan had a publicist?

She rubbed her eyes.

“Hi,” Betty spoke again. “Does she need anything?”

Why would her publicist be calling Betty of all people.

“No, ma’am, everything is alright,” she assured her. “But I would like to clarify the name you sign yours dressed as? I could not confirm if it was as Elise or Eloise?”

That made her stop, confused.

Why would she sign her dresses as Eloise?

“Ela Dąbrowska,” she answered, her mind still slow. “E-L-A, a single L, not doubled.”

The woman hummed along on the other side.

“E-L-A,” she spelled back. “Would you like to provide a quote about your inspirations?”

Betty took her hand up, pinching her nose.

“Why?” she asked.

Why did she need all that?

“For the article, miss,” she told her. “I just now realised we didn’t get your quote, it was an oversight of my part. I’m really sorry.”

An article.

What now?

But she answered anyway, clearing her throat.

“We took some inspirations from late Tudor times in her sleeves, and the late Victorian period for her neckline, and we started from there.” she explained, though trying to shake off the grogginess.. “Wanda was very specific with what she wanted for her dresses and her bridesmaids, she wanted everything to look like it had come from inside a fairytale, very light and very ethereal and timeless, so we worked with that concept, and I think we achieved it.”

On the other end, there was the sound of typing, and then Clarice cleared her throat.

“And you are French-born?”

“Yeah,” Betty confirmed.

“Paris?”

“Nantes, actually.”

Another hum of confirmation.

“Thank you for the patience and the clarification, Miss,” she spoke gently. “We’ll be sending you a link to the article tonight and a copy of the magazine tomorrow as soon as we have it on hand.”

Betty frowned.

Wanda hadn’t talked about that.

“Of course,” she agreed. “You’re welcome.”

She lied down again when Clarice hung up, but she was far too awaken for that now. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash off whichever leftover make-up she had on her face before walking out to the kitchen.

When she went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, there were several containers inside, all from the wedding.

Trays of assorted sushi rolls, delicate canapés, and so many sweets, cuts of lamb that would last at least three dinners. Wanda must have made sure they got the leftovers for Betty and Piet, she was such a big sister for both of them.

Her belly rumbled as she reached for the sushi – well, it wasn’t like they could stay in the fridge for that long, someone would have to eat them before they went bad.

She had her mouth full with the best salmon that could ever be shipped to New York when Pietro walked into the kitchen, with his hair a complete mess and his face pink and smushed, probably from his pillow.

“Is that the wedding sushi?” he rubbed his eye, looking confused.

“It’s gonna get bad if we don’t eat it,” she shoved another piece into her mouth. “And it’s still less than 12 hours old.”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. “I had to stay awake and organise the fridge with the leftovers.”

Betty just continued to chew.

“Did you brush your teeth?” she pointed at him.

But Piet didn’t answer, frowning.

“Why are you eating with your hands?”

She scoffed.

“Is that your answer?” she tilted her head.

Piet scoffed, walking to her and snatching a roll from her container, and Betty slapped his hand away.

“Go clean up, brother of the bride, I can smell seven different perfumes on you,” she teased him.

He rolled his eyes but walked off, chewing her precious sushi.

When he came back, Pietro did look much better – his hair was brushed, he seemed awaken and half-clean.

He took another container from the fridge and sat by her side.

“Better?” she asked.

“Much,” he exhaled.

They fell into comfortable silence, eating together in the slowest, laziest pace, happy to be doing nothing.

Until, of course, something popped in her mind mid eating a temaki.

“Wanda has a publicist?” Betty asked him, as confused as when she was woken up with said publicist calling her cellphone.

Piet looked up at her from dunking his sushi on sauce.

“Viz got her one, His father proposed they did some… rich people thing with the wedding so no one would be snooping around,” he moved his hands a bit vaguely. “An article and some pictures…”

Betty scoffed a bit. Why would people be that interested in their wedding? Of course, Vision’s father was a public figure, but he was the only one. Vision himself, Doctor Banner, Wanda, Pietro… they were all just normal people.

“Stark shit,” Piet added. “Now that she is Mrs Stark.”

It made Betty laugh. Mrs Stark. Wanda was Mrs Stark now.

Holy shit.

“It’s one hell of a surname,” she joked.

She was, technically, a billionaire. By marriage.

Lucky girl.

“So American,” he joined her with a chuckle.

The rest of their day was incredibly lazy. All Betty and Piet did was eat their sushi, snack on wedding food, watch whatever was available for them and talk about mindless things.

Around sundown, though, she was a bit surprised by a Vogue link on her email, before remembering Clarice had promised to send her something about the wedding.

And there it was, the very first thing she saw when she opened the page: Wan posing elegantly on her own and by Vision’s side, as ethereal as she had desired in her wedding dress and her reception dress, both looking at one another like they were their whole world.

Oh, she looked so beautiful.

There was a picture of them with their parties, so Betty and Pietro were there, perfectly coordinated visually as Wan’s party, with Thor and Jennifer on the other side as Vision’s party, and they all looked damn good together.

Under the pictures, she read.

‘The bridesmaids and the bride’s dresses were signed by French wedding designer Ela Dąbrowska.’

Betty felt something in her belly warming up.

That was Vogue.

She was on Vogue! Her dresses and her name were on fucking Vogue! Vogue, one of the most esteemed fashion publications in the world.

Betty couldn’t even help her laugh of shock and happiness. She hadn’t imagined it happening in the wildest dreams!

She didn’t even have a job! And her first accomplishment was to be named on Vogue?!

The world was upside down!

Mum messaged her at night, right before everyone else in the family did.

There were cousins and aunts and people she barely remembered messaging her to congratulate her and ask how she had done it. Dad didn’t understand much about the internet but he called her and sounded very proud regardless.

“I miss you, little star,” he spoke to her near the end of their call. Oh, it felt so good to just hear her language being spoken to her in a damn conversation.

Betty didn’t call her parents much. Not because she didn’t want to talk to them, but because she didn’t enjoy missing them.

“I miss you too,” she moved on her feet, a bit embarrassed.

She hadn't set foot in France since leaving for the States.

“I was talking to your mother,” dad spoke slowly. “And if you want to, we can get some of our retiring money and buy you a ticket home and then back? You don’t have to stay for long, I’m sure your work owes you a few days off. We can celebrate your accomplishment together!”

Betty sighed, guilty weighting heavy in her belly.

Oh, she was owed so much more than a few days off from Mama Stefka.

“Dad,” she tried to protest and interrupt him.

“It won’t be a problem!” he argued. “You’ll come stay with us for a week or ten days!”

She sat by the closed window.

Now, she hadn’t told them about her plans.

It was embarrassing, everything that was happening.

Betty could have just stayed and studied in Paris. She could have gone back home as soon as she had graduated.

She could have just ignored Steffan when she saw him, and could have quitted Mama Stefka before that mess started.

Betty could have done so many things and that would have put her in a better position.

But that meant leaving Wan and Piet, and… well, it meant she wouldn’t be on Vogue.

"Actually," she cleared her throat, the words hesitant as they left her lips, “I’m not working at the restaurant anymore.”

There was a pause on the other side, as if her father's thoughts were racing to catch up with the sudden shift in their conversation.

“You’re not?” he asked

Betty nodded instinctively, though he couldn’t see her.

“No,” she answered him. “You know… Wanda left around the time she got engaged, and Pietro got another job too. And now I’m thinking that it’s my turn to do something new.”

Betty had never told her parents about Hydra. Who would?

What kind of parent would hear from their child that they were in a Nazi-infestated, hiding as a Catholic, risking their life for a job, and do nothing?

Not her parents, no. Mum and dad would fly themselves to the US without a single work of English in their vocabulary and take them back to France tied down if they had to.

“Maybe in France?” she mumbled tentatively.

Oh, the sigh of relief that escaped her father's lips was as loud as a gust of wind, she wondered for how long he’d been waiting to her that.

“Oh, Ela,” he nearly cried. “Ela, that is so good. We can pay for your ticket and we’ll get your room ready, and-”

Betty couldn’t help smiling, shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” she interrupted him gently. “Dad’s, it’s okay! I was well-paid for the dress, I can pay for my own ticket.”

“I’ll do your room myself,” he insistent, urgently, sounding urgent. “Oh, your mother will love to have you home again.”

She couldn’t help growing happy along with him.

She missed them. Oh, how Betty missed mum and dad. She missed home and her bed and having them fussing over her the way they did. She missed Nantes so much, the actual clean coast, a beach that wasn’t contaminated and actually safe to swim in!

And being called Ela, being spoken to in French and Polish… their home was a mixture of those languages when she became a teenager, and it was crazy but so fun.

“I’ll buy my ticket tonight,” she told him. “I’ll fly to Paris and get the train.”

“It’ll be wonderful,” he celebrated. “Wonderful.”

They talked a little more – about her day, the dress, the wedding… he asked her about Piet and Wanda, and they talked about his day, and then mum joined, so she talked to her too.

They were off to bed when Betty hung up.

The next morning, she just moved to do what she had promised them and herself, at last – get a flight to France.

And maybe she was feeling a little spoiled, but she gave herself a good seat in business class, with all the luggage she could carry. It was an overnight fly, so she could sleep on her way there, catch her train and sleep her jet-leg off at home, with her parents.

She had just accessed her email to check her information when her eyes caught the new email on her inbox.

Geovanna, with Tom Ward?

She clicked on it, a little confused, reading through it. It was written in French, which was something she hadn’t received in a while.

Betty was shocked as she read through the text. They were complimenting her work, talking about how they’d seen the dress in detail, and talking about their bridal line and…

“Holy fuck!” she gasped.

The sound of something falling outside made her turn, and Pietro ran into her room so fast he almost hit his face on the doorway.

“What?” he asked.

Betty stared at him, still feeling the ground out of her feet, shocked.

“I just got a job offer from Paris.”

…

“it’s a Bad Idea, right?” was posted on my Patreon in September 2023. To have early access to it (and lots of other stories), consider subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month, and I know you won’t regret it!

…

Bad Idea: @peaceloveancolor

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Wrong Turn ||

Pairing: Mountain Man Silver Fox Nomad!Steve Rogers | You. 

Trope: Neat and clean ‘civilized’ Princess-like young trophy wife X Filthy beast of a wild and scary man who only got her because he has the power. 

Description: In a desperate attempt to save your life from the wrath of the mountain people that your friends and you stumbled upon and accidentally killed on a hike gone wrong, you had to offer yourself up to their Leader to use as a ‘resource’. But little did your ‘husband’ know, you had been actively getting rid of his seed to avoid actually getting pregnant. Naturally, when he does find out, he is very unhappy… And also very determined to make sure you don't make it out of your punishment without a child, or two.

Warning(s): Dubcon, barbaric!Steve, breeding kink (gone wild), unprotected p-in-v, reverse cowgirl, doggy style, missionary, he has a wife bod kink (but it is inclusive), misogyny, smut with perhaps too much plot, fear kink, size kink, exhibitionism, possessiveness, jealousy, age gap, hair pulling, spanking, biting, allusions to painal and Steve being a teasing sicko about it but he doesn't actually penetrate, overstimulation, dirty talk, humiliation, degradation, boob play, squirting, Lloyd makes an appearance with his own young bride, dacryphilia (it's me), self degradation, Stevie is a perverted old meanie, infantilization, mind break.

Disclaimer: Very loosely based off of the movie that I do not own. You don't need to know it to read this piece but do note that it takes place in a fictional setting. Minors do not interact. 

Inspo-ish: This post.

Note: For someone who was on their period, I should not have been this horny. But I need this marriage, now. Ps, though this rotted in my drafts for a long time… in honor of Chris growing out his beard again, ig.

MASTERLIST

. . .

You have no idea how long it has been since that fateful twilight when everything changed in your life, leaving you to a lifestyle you could never have even imagined for yourself.  

“Eat up, woman” but as your barbarian of a husband commands you in his rough and animalistically deep voice, you cannot help but break out of your reverie and shudder at the sight of the barely cooked meat piled high on the platter in front of the two of you. “So you can bear me healthy children” although you're the one who was made to prepare his beastly dinner -that never fails to leave you aghast when it's gorged down- as you're his wife, you cannot help but gag under your breath and feel disgust for the loaves that sit before you in the company of a tall stone carved jug that brims full of the foul smelling mead that your husband is ardently fond of. 

You muster up your best coy smile. Keeping up the appearance of a happily mated pair is important. Or people stare. And then the old man becomes unpleasant. “I had quite a lot while I was cooking, dear” your lies sting your tongue out of the fear you feel of getting caught, but the mere hope of not doing so is better than eating this. “Y- You go ahead” you slowly turn in his muscle hardened lap, that you are always to sit on, to give him a small smile but your expression almost transforms into one of horror because of how wildly your heart jumps at the sight of his stern, predator-like face. You are quick to recover though, as it is a usual occurrence. 

“You need it. You work so hard—” there is just something about his rough looks that never fails to send a chill down your spine. You have never seen anything, let alone an actual human man like him before. 

A beard as thick as the very forest his people populate and as dark as the nights can get here in the absence of lanterns due to the heavy trees, age that streaks some of his gold locks with its silver has not marred the sternness of his jaw that remains firmly set under the heavy mane of his facial hair. His shoulders seem akin to the mountains that surround his village and his piercing dark eyes the mysterious waterfall that flows some way down south from the entrance of the settlement. The frightening mass of his shoulders is so toned that if the barely noticeable wrinkles that sometimes appear under the dark of his eyebrows and next to the crow-feather like lashes that frame his eyes, he can easily be mistaken for a man in his primeful late twenties and no older. His unrelenting strength and wolfish stamina would only further serve to bear testament to the misconception. 

Your strict husband bluntly catches your shaky hand that you extend in his direction to feed him some of the meat, the force that he uses coupled with the coarseness of his skin making you jump. You bite back a yelp and whimper when you look up at his dark blue eyes from where you were watching his bearded mouth to carefully place the food in.

“I don't care” Steve does not care much for being polite -unless it is you who disregards it in your behavior-, especially when it comes to you denying or diverting his ‘care’ for you. “You eat more” you bite back the scowl that threatens to break onto your face from how he turns your hand around in your direction instead. “Wives always need to eat more. They do so much at home for husband and children” he probably feels proud of these ‘values’ that have been transmitted to him by his elders. But all they make you want to do is to crack him across the jaw for being a misogynistic and backward shithead. Especially with you. 

Your ‘husband’ believes that everyone has a role to play; a contribution to make to their people and home. That is how this archaic village of theirs has survived in these mountains hidden away from the rest of the world for so long. 

The greasy piece of a disturbing excuse of a rare steak touches your lips and you've been here long enough to know better than to argue or worse yet, fight. So you smile and lean into his arm that cases your form against his through the embrace he holds you in from behind, his fingers playing with one of the many flowered braids your attending ladies had put in your hair a bit before his arrival at ‘home’. 

“O- Of course” you reluctantly open your open and grip your flowy dressing gown for a semblance of support for your sanity, taking the smallest bite you can -which is still a lot as the man pushes nearly the whole piece into your mouth the moment you open up- as you keep your eyes trained on his to avoid looking down. Your mind always becomes more aware of the taste when you look. “Thank you, dear” you focus on swallowing it without gagging and feel your smile split in places because of how uncomfortable you are.

He probably notices it because he slightly raises one eyebrow and snorts before hugging your smaller form -that is tiny compared to his- closer and puts the rest of the piece in his own mouth. If there is one thing you have learnt in your time with him, it's that you can never fool him. Not really. No matter how well you may think you have lied or pretended, he always sees through it. 

Sometimes you suspect he even enjoys it.

Steve finally begins to eat himself, silently offering you another piece that you politely reject by shaking your head and then quickly pressing an apologetic kiss to his scruffy cheek to lighten the blow. Apparently, a wife can never be polite enough to her husband. And though the change in his expression begins with an unhappy frown, your show of ‘affection’ seems to suffice him and he relaxes in satisfaction, now looking down the long table and at his clansmen and maidens that sit enjoying their dinner, their chatter and laughter a dull roar in the large eating hall of the Leader's dwelling. You pick up the heavy jug of mead with both your hands and obediently hold it to his lips to sip from. Steve looks away from what one of his main men are saying and gulps down a mouthful, rubbing your back as a gesture for thanks before moving his hand quickly down to squeeze your ass to heighten the effect of his expression of gratitude. 

His form shakes in mirth when you yelp and blush. He knows how embarrassing you find being openly ‘affectionate’ in front of people and that is one of the reasons why he enjoys it so much besides showing off that a thing of such beauty and youth like you is all his. You rest the jug between your boobs that he has fucked and squeezed into increasing in size and use your other hand to gently finger and stroke his golden locks that he keeps pushed away from his face outside the bedroom. Though he says nothing, you feel his usually vigilant and always firm stature slowly soften and you cannot help but smile, though what he says next quickly deflates it.

“Do you feel any change in you, wife?” You know what it means and now it's you who becomes tense. He only uses that name for you when he speaks to you as a husband inquiring about your marital matters. “Has my seed attached to your womb yet? Does it grow there?” You gulp and feign shyness, moving closer to his hair and nuzzling yourself in him. “Hm?” He closes his hugging arm around you and reaches for your stomach, fingers groping your covered skin as gently as he can -which isn't much- to feel it. “Answer me” he demands when you refuse to speak. 

“I… I don't know, husband” you always promise yourself that you'll demand more rights for yourself; ask him to treat you like the other husbands treat their wives, only to fail the minute he enters your vicinity. 

“What does that mean?” His tone turns blunt and you whimper at the tightness that snaps back in place between his shoulders. 

You get it.

That was the deal, after all. 

Healthy children in exchange for your life that was required by their judicial laws for bearing false witness to your friend accidentally killing one of their people in mistaken defense. Steve had promised you before accepting you as a citizen that if you failed to fulfill your task you'd walk the darkness in the dungeons. He had shown you how it would be before declaring you a member of their tribe and the sight you had seen was something that had given you nightmares for days. 

But that did not mean you actually wanted to have your old captor's children.

You doubted it would ever be something you'd look forward to.

“I- I mean” regret shoots up your spine in the form of fear and you lose your speech to it momentarily. But then two of your main attending ladies -by that you mean Steve's top agents when it comes to you- enter the horizon of your sight and you hurriedly blubber out the first thing that comes to your mind. “I've n- never been pregnant before, s-o I d- don't know how to��” Your husband turns to look at you, his handsome features twisting into a rogue scowl but before he can scold you, one of the two ladies, Kaira, speaks in their language to Steve. 

Not everyone here can speak English and those who do speak it do so a rather odd version of it. Naturally, you don't speak their language and so they give you the full experience of an outsider when they need to discuss the business they want to keep private from you. The thought makes you want to laugh, like you'd be able to do something with whatever informations they withhold.

But it doesn't really bother you, because you don't care.

You've also learnt that ignorance is bliss here. 

Especially for someone like you.

Better to be the doe eyed trophy wife of an angel who can't tell her head from her ass.

“Is that so?” Your heart jumps when Steve chooses to speak English. That means that this definitely concerns you. You place the mead down and wrap one arm around his broad shoulders before nervously combing his thick beard with your other hand. Since you have no interest in or desire to learn their language, the only word you manage to pick up on when you focus really hard is ‘baby’ and that is solely because of the annoying amount of times it comes up for you. 

“Is not this strange?” He speaks once the women step back after finally ending the nerve wracking conversation that seems to go on forever. “Do you hear what they say about you, little one?” Fuck, you're definitely in trouble. 

He is reminding you of your place. 

You put on your best charming smile but you're painfully aware that your nervousness gives it away. You can feel it. “W- What do they say, dear?” They were such bitches. They knew how to speak English, that's why they were your attendants, but yet they chose not to. And now they were glaring at you like you weren't above them— oh no, not these thoughts again. You will never become like them! No, no! 

Steve pushes his plate away now. Your head spins from the realization. It's only half finished. Your husband never wastes his food. It is a near sin for them to do so. “They tell me the most odd things” oh just fucking tell me! You mentally scream but outwardly tilt your head to the side in confusion, your chest vibrating with the rising beats of your heart. “And now that I think about it myself…” His fingers wrap around the mead before he raises it to his lips. “I see the—”

“What did they say, Steve?” Your mouth works faster than your better sense and he pauses mid sip, dark blue eyes flickering up from the stone jug to look at you. Your face flushes a noticeable hot and your ears get sweaty from the awareness. 

Fuck. 

“They say you've been getting rid of my seed” he feels played and thus angry at the both of you. Perhaps more so towards himself than you; his silly little child-wife. How could he let a thing as tender and small as you fool him so? “... Do you?” It is obvious you are guilty. Besides, he is confident that his people would never lie to him unlike one young and beautiful girl that he had found kneeling in front of him in his court while bawling her eyes out one fateful night, fear stricken as his people surrounded him like a doe trapped. 

And of course, your expressions and reactions don't help your case, as always. “W- What? No…” Your mind becomes erratic.

“No?” He himself knows not what kind of a chance he offers you with that. But typical to your nature, you make it easy for him by refusing it.

“N- No! Of course not! W- Why would I ever do such a thing to m- my husb- hubby and my b- babies?!” Steve has to clench down his scoff. 

“You wouldn't, would you?” Your naivete never fails to amuse him.

“No! I- I don't know why they accuse me so—” you mend your speech from the archaic form that tries to leech to it everyday. “I don't know why they would accuse me of that but they must be mistaken! This is a misunderstanding!” 

He hums. “I see…” His scarred fingers begin to toy with your braids again. “So you remain devoted to me and faithful to our family, don't you?”

“Of course!” You nuzzle closer to him, your heart thundering into his chest. “I don't know why they still treat me like an outsider” you purr as you nervously stroke his hair, playing a card of your own and making an absolute fool of yourself by doing so. “I try my best… like I promised.” 

“Yes, your promise” his distant eyes -they get like that when you disappoint him and you hate the sight because it never fares well for you- travel down to your empty stomach. His gaze makes it wrench. Your fear skyrockets at the same rate as your anger. If only there was a way for you to get back at those bitches without having to give birth!

“I- It takes time sometimes, dear…” You hug his shoulders with one arm. “But it will happen. I know it…” Your other hand reaches for his fingers that rest on your abdomen now. 

“Oh?” Steve raises one dark eyebrow at you. His hair is the most fascinating combination of blonde and dark brown. “Is that what your modern day sciences say?” His people were not always like this, he had told you. They did not originate from here. Rather, some families had abandoned ‘civilization’ when it was going to hell -in his words- by killing each other for meaningless constructs such as caste, creed and color differences and migrated up here to establish a system of their own; one free from such nonsense. 

Apparently.

You take a deep breath. “Stevie—” you only call him that when you find yourself dangerously close to the dungeons.

“If that is what you believe in, wife,” he never cuts you off. Usually, that is. His age that streaks his blonde strands with its silver ones has granted him enough patience. Normally, he waits for the other person -who is most often you- to mess up themselves. But whatever the ladies have told him seems to agitate him into rebelling against his own nature today. “I'll do it your way. After all, happy wife happy life, is that not what you tell me often?” Okay, you might have said that during a particularly cocky moment in bed once. 

But the intention behind that had not been nearly whatever he is moving towards now. 

“Y- You don't have to, l- love…” You nervously giggle. “You're perfect the way you are” you run your nails that he insists you keep trimmed for hygienic -as if- and practical purposes through his silver-blonde hair.

“Oh no…” Now he pushes his food farther away. “I will indulge you, little one” he moves your other leg over his laps so now you face the people down the table with both of your legs on either sides of his, ass to his… fuck. “Time conspires against us, and so we must make haste.”

Your eyes widen and your heart leaps up in your throat. “M- My love?!” 

Steve moves your flowy gown out of his way, keeping a firm hold on one of your thighs even though he doesn't really have to. Your fear of him would never let you attempt an escape. “Yes, my stars” the name is so full of sarcasm it nearly pierces you open. ���Let us leave time to its devices, and us ours” your husband is usually a very possessive and private man when it comes to you, but his ire seems to get the better of him today. You hear the buckle of his own clothes come undone. The table goes silent and heads turn in your direction once they realize what's going on. Oh no… Your stomach drops. Not in front of everyone. Not when Steve makes you so vulnerable in that condition. Not in front of these lowlifes!

“Husb—” blood bubbles hot under your cheeks as you feel him align himself against you. 

Holy shit.

You feel one of his coarse hands wrap around your throat and he pulls you closer to his mouth so he can whisper in your ear. “You will contribute, my stubborn little wife,” you whimper from the menace his words hold, your well trained cunt obediently squelching open against his thick hard tip as he lowers you on his cock with the hold he has on your thigh. “Whether you like it, or not” sometimes, deep down, you fear that the dungeons are not an option anymore. 

He keeps you in the horizons of his sight too much for them to be. 

It appears as though the sentence has changed. 

It is now Steve, or Steve.

You cry out from the strain his log-like girth puts on the narrow band of your entrance. God. You will never get used to his size regardless of how many times and ways he tames your pussy in. Yes, it does not refuse him or rip around him now as it used to in the beginning -and it did that for a long time- but the size to which his cock makes it expand is like a mini-birth. Feels like it, looks like it. Only, it feels way too good. And that's why you don't mind it—

No. You don't know what that was or meant. But you don't take responsibility for that thought!

“Oh!” The balmy velvet of your cavern grazes down the bulging veins and hard skin of the brute's cock until your petals squish against his heavy and very eager balls. Your head spins when you feel his tip tickle your cervix. It never takes his dick long to find it.  

His hands are pushing you back up almost instantly so he can slide you back down. You look anywhere but at the tens of faces in front of you, instead choosing to look at the wall on the opposite side of the table. You never thought these people were capable of being this quiet until now when your pussy makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise as Steve tugs you back to his leaking tip and then allows gravity to suck you back down. You desperately bite your lips and try to focus on ignoring the way your insides are beginning to thrum with the excitement and stimulation; to show these brutes that you're better than them and aren't some animal of nature. But to no avail. His slimy precum mixes too well with yours, the rough skin of his hands digs into your thighs too well and the manner in which your petals rub against his cock when he lifts you yet again -now forming a momentum- before letting you slide in again is too much for you mask with nonchalance. 

Indifference has never been among your strong suits.

“Tell me, my pretty” Steve begins again, his dark eyes now finding the young and hormonal pack of unsuspecting boys who clearly do not know better. “Have you ever had a cock like mine?” He says it in their own language so the foolish miscreants see, understand and learn the fact that you’re only his. You belong to him and he will go to war for you, not that a pack of rug rats will ever be a cause of worry for him. “Has anyone ever fucked you as good as I do?” He switches back to the language you understand, roughly fumbling for your jaw before he grabs it and bounces his hips into yours at the same time. 

Your traitorous legs have begun to do what they always do; fuck yourself against him -if he hasn’t bound you, which he hasn’t- in whatever position he has you. You only realize that your breathing has become heavier when you open your mouth to answer. “Only you, my husband! Only you!” Your brain is running too fast for reason or reflection to catch up so you leave wondering why you answer him with the only words he has been able to teach you in his language to later. Your words are muffled as his fingers that grip the lower half of your face nearly slip in your mouth from the disordered urgency of the both of your actions. 

“That's right” your mouth falls open and you begin to softly pant in that animalistic way that you detest when he makes you watch yourself in a mirror while fucking you sometimes. In your defense, it is always unintentional on your part; you barely even notice it while taking his fucking. And yet, it is inevitable due to the force he does it with. “Look at you; dutifully fucking yourself up and down your husband's cock like a bitch in heat” a twinge forms in your knuckles from how your fingers hold the edges of the table to aid the gliding of your fuck hole that now slams up and down his cock in a rhythm you're all too familiar with, the smacks of your bare ass slapping against his naked abdomen making appalling noises that you're too worked up to dread over right now. “And you're a bitch in heat for me, aren't you?” His fingers move down from your jaw to your throat. “Wanting to be bred over and over again until you're so full of my children that your little belly is round and heavy to the brim, hm?” In these moments, you tell him anything and everything that he wants to hear.

Steve knows it all too well.

And he loves it.

“Yes!” Your voice disappears midway from how he squeezes your windpipe. His hips meet yours midway now, the wetness of your cunt and the force of his thrusts causing for his balls to try and push past the tight boundary of your sexual cavern. “Yes! Yes! I am! Please!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when his free hand finds your petals to play with. “Ohhh!”

“You want to be bred, don't you?” He rubs your drenched pussy lips while his hard cock pistons in and out of your sopping cunt. “Want to contribute…?” He chokes you once more and this time his fingers pinch one of your pussy lips punishingly at the same time and you cry out. “Provide your husband with a house full of heirs?” The oxygen in your mind depletes and your eyes flutter as a result, cheeks turning red and nerves becoming prominent on your glistening temples. Your horny yet defensive pussy finally relaxes around him a bit so it doesn't hurt his dick and he savours the moment by holding you by the curve between your legs and fucking into your form that gets limp by the moment to push you towards your first orgasm. 

It always gets better after that. 

For him, at least. 

You don't choke him out so much then.

“Y- Yes!” When Steve finally lets go of your throat to let you breathe, you blubber out an an answer obediently once the light returns to your eyes. Your walls stiffen around him once more. But by then he has already worked himself closer to your womb. “Yes! Yes!” It is all your mind can muster.

“Good” he makes a point of taking both of your boobs in his hands and thoroughly massaging them to show off his ownership over you. “Now ask me to breed you” the fence of heat that has formed around your loins becomes tighter when his hands that previously fondled your clothed breasts slip under your gown -for Steve is too possessive to actually expose you to the eyes of others- and he softly rubs your tense sides a couple times before his fingers form pinches around your hard nubs. 

“Please breed me!” Your voice is so loud and strained that its quality is nearly blood curdling. “Please breed me and s- stuff me full your children!” Your hands fly to grip his from over the dress as you throw your head back and slip from the edge of your anticipation, parrotting all the words he has taught you over the course of your marriage. “Oh GOD! Please!” Your back arches from the coming undone of the hot belt of expectation and scorching gratification spills from it, seeping down your legs in the form of a nearly unbearable electric feeling that transforms into a subzero energy when it reaches your toes that curl, causing them to feel as though they are freezing. “I need your b- babies so bad, hubby!” 

Steve's own ears blush from the heat that courses through them in the form of adrenaline as he snorts, some of his blonde strands coming loose from the push and tug that he plays with your cunt. “Tell them” his balls ache from the strength it takes him not to fill you up right then. “Tell everyone that you want me to fill you up with my babies” since your sensitive body tries to curl and move away from the overstimulation, the older man wraps both of his hands around your thighs to keep you going. “Say it!” And he makes you say the words that he desires in the language of your spectators that look embarrassed for the first time since you got here. 

Save for your husband's best men who look equal parts aroused and proud. 

You want to cringe and be disgusted but your sensitive pussy is being pounded too hard for you to attempt a conjuring up of any dignity. 

“Need hubby babies bad!” You cry out again from memory when Steve's thick seed begins to fill you up at last. “Oh, my God!” The feeling of his hot cum filling you up and painting every inch of your sensitive walls penetrates your already hazy mind and the warmth that steams out of the pearly liquid steams its way up to your womb, making you shudder at the feeling. Your opening tightens around him in protest of the overstimulation and it instead causes for a barrage of bitter-sweet electric sparks to explode through your abdomen in the form of a half post-climax orgasm. Your body grows tired.

But your insatiable is far from done.

“Flattering, but no” Steve pushes you against the table before standing up when he is done fucking his orgasm as deep as he can reach into you. “The father of your children will suffice” your eyebrows furrow at his words but the older man does not give you a chance to ponder over them because now he is hooking his hands under your thighs that your rapid and messy fucking has covered in both of your juices. 

“W- What?!” Your vision is hazy and your mind dazed as you incoherently tap about. “What's— oh!” You wince from how much easier it is for him to move inside your worked open and much lubricated but torturously overstimulated walls now. “Oh! Oh…” Your hands blindly feel behind you to try and get him to stop. “Oh, no! No, please!” You cry out weakly, your upper body hanging low in the opposite direction from the exhaustion. 

“No?” The older man darkly chuckles, paying no mind to your flailing. “You think you can say that to me?” One of his hands desert their post on your thighs to roughly grab at your hair. He hasn't forgotten what started all this. “You think you have the same rights as everyone else around here, wife?”

But you're scowling from the burning pain in your walls, mind hazy and unwise. “Stop! Stop!” Your puffy folds ache from how his stiff skin rubs against them as he moves in and out of you at a normal pace… for now. “It hurts, stop!” 

“That is the part and parcel of having children” your body curves outwards as he pulls you further back and closer to himself by your hair. “And is that not why you're here?” His cocky tone along with the hungry and wondering eyes of the wildlings make you angry. “What you were spared for in the first place?” A twinkle in the eye of a man pisses you off and…

“It hurts, you old bastard!” Your young blood gets the better of you and your mouth runs before sense can catch up. “Stop, stop, stop it!” Since your hair holds you closer to him you manage to land a few smacks to his rock hard arms before you try to snake your fingers under his to pry off the hand that he coils around your thigh in a weak attempt to move away. 

Steve only chuckles, clearly unfazed by your fighting as he bounces your smaller form up in the air with each thrust. “Did your mother not teach you anything, wife?” He lets go of your hair only to restrain both your arms on the small of your back. “Good girls never tell their husbands no” your body flops forward again and you've no choice but to face the long table full of people. “They lay down pretty with their legs spread and let their husbands fill them with their children and then they express their gratitude for being granted a family.” Though your mind is confused and rather disoriented from the influx of sensation, you can make out new additions to the crowd of your humiliation from the corners of your vision. 

“Ugh!” You grunt from the rapid jabs he gives to your sore pussy, his firm hold nearly searing into your wrists. “I don't wanna have your stupid blonde babies!” Steve breathlessly lets out a real laugh at that. “Let go!” 

“There” he can swear he will never tired of you breaking the little character of the obedient wife that you so naively think you have mastered only to break it when he has you all riled up like this. “Right there, easy now” his other hand leaves your lap and he pushes your head down and against the table in the most condescending manner imaginable. Steve has got you to expose yourself for the brat you are, no need for play anymore. “Now I make a bunny out of you” his dark eyes now meet with those of the boys sitting at the other end of the table and his use of their language is a silent message. The Leader knows how his wife is desired. And he doesn't appreciate it in the least. The young males all panic and look away, gulping to themselves and praying for their lives. 

You try to struggle again, your lip curling in disdain and protest as you feel him fuck his cum right up your cervix. The bitter pleasure you get from it makes your head spin and your fingers and toes flex defensively. “Ooof!” Your cheek rubs against the table and you puff out your face to express how tense you feel down there. 

“Brat” Steve shakes in silent mirth as he reaches for your ass with the hand that he was holding your face down with. “Don't you move a muscle.” You're too busy rocking over the table and being held down to try. 

“Hubby, please!” You whine when one of his veins twitch deep up your walls and your knees shiver from the sensation. “Please!” Maybe if his cock wasn't so comically huge, it would have been easier to move past the rough friction of your raw, orgasm worn skins. But it is and so you are ready to abandon the dam that begins to form in your abdomen again if it means to avoid this pain. “Owwwiee!”

“Aw” Steve cooes as he now moves to a pace that falters your vision and causes for the great table to shake with each thrust that he gives you. “So small and sore, aren't we?” The spank he lands on your unsuspecting ass right after is the stark opposite of his tone. “Maybe we shouldn't act out so much when we are so weak and pathetic, huh, wife?”

“Oooof!” One of the shyer ladies get up before she carries her young son who stood next to the group of the young ones away and the realization of the fact that your spectators are all real people who see you everyday and will continue to do after this drips down your limbs like ice cold water. Your hips cannot help but clench from the embarrassment that you dully feel in some part of your mind way far at the back. “Hubby, please!” The spanks increase with each snap of his hips and though the turmoil between your legs takes up most of your sensory powers, your cheeks now begin to noticeably sting from the pain that builds from how the swings of his hand against your poor ass increase with each thrust. 

“Please?” Steve muses like he isn't balls deep into you and fucking the literal daylights out of you like a crazed heathen. “Oh, but I thought I was a mean old bastard” of course, your pleas always only mean that you want more, according to the brute you are married to. They cannot mean anything else, apparently. “And you didn't want my stupid blonde babies” you grunt from the frustration and land a helpless fist on the table. You are in an uncomfortable tug of war between the mutilation of your sensory glands and the tall barrage of tight hot anticipation that cannot help but form in the base of your stomach again because of how hard and rough he fucks you. 

Your husband's main man, Lloyd, laughs in a comically daft voice to tease you and be the insufferable asshole that he is. “You've got yourself a feisty little pup there, Steve” he is the only one who can refer to the blonde haired man by his name. Or maybe, he doesn't care to use the honorific and his usefulness backs him up. You wouldn't be surprised if the latter really is the case. “Don't you agree, my sweet?” He side hugs his own young bride who ironically is one of the sweetest and perhaps the only nice person in this entire village and Lloyd grins down at the girl whom you now notice is blushing furiously. 

Before you can let the humiliation swallow you whole, Steve spreads your burning cheeks and chuckles at the sight he finds glistening and blinking up at him, the madenned hammering of his cock unceasing. “Look at this adorable little button of yours, darling” you are not personally familiar with any of the faces that witness you trying to pathetically crawl away when your devil of a husband begins to tickle your pucker so you realize it was actually not quite hitting you as bad as it does now when you become hyperaware of Rainie's gaze. If it weren't for how your eyes roll because of Steve's hot seed shooting deep up your cavern again and nearly searing into your very flesh this time around from the brutality of it all, you reckon you would have tried to hide. But now all you do is let out choked blubbers as your wide eyes sting from tears due to the sensory overload. “I think it's time we deflowered it, what do you think?”  

Oh, no. 

His cock is not something that you can handle in your ass without splitting all over the place!

“No answer? No?” It feels as though you are the one who is cumming and not Steve because of how good he is at wearing the mask of nonchalance. “Hm,” he roughly pulls you backwards by your hair before hooking an arm around your waist to keep you from trying to get away from how he toys with your trembling pucker. “Maybe we should let sweet Rainie decide for you, hm—?”

“OH, GOD!” You cannot help but scream over him. 

He is too much.

Steve ignores your exclamation, thrusts delayed -more jab like- but so strong that his tip spears into your cervix with each thrust, thus causing for your head to spin from how he chooses to fuck out his orgasm. “She's your friend, isn't she?” Steve's beard gently stings the sweaty and teary skin of your jaw from how his mouth presses into your ear. “Aren't you, Rainie dear?” 

Yep, you are never looking her in the eye ever again. 

“Answer him, sunshine” Lloyd eggs his wife on and you notice through your cloudy vision that he is making her palm his own bulge. You nearly cringe back into Steve's chest from the obscenity of it all. 

The girl, a new bride herself, is shy and small next to her own flesh boulder of a husband as she meekly peeks up at you through her lashes. “Y- Yes, sir. We are friends” her voice is barely audible and both your husbands chuckle. 

If it weren't from how a dull orgasm rips itself apart somewhere deep between your loins, you would have felt angry.

It is like the assholes know that you're friends, and they're having their fun with it.

No wonder they are best mates.

“Good, good” you can feel Steve's cum splattering your thighs with each brutal jab, the sound and sprays of his shaft making a mess of your juices underneath your dress ample in its audibility. “So, do you think it's time your girlfriend's dirty little button was opened up, hm?” He keeps one hand on your pucker and reaches for your boob to grope with the other.

Rainie blushes again and furiously lowers her head the moment her eyes connect with yours. Though you don't know it, her own has been deflowered not too long ago and she isn't sure what response would be favourable by you, so that and the embarrassment of the Leader questioning her for something like that about his wife when she is on amiable terms with the girl makes her choose silence for as long as allowed. And her own husband cockily leaning into her and mansplaining into her ear how it would work for you by comparing it with what he did to her pretty ass only makes her curl further. 

“Shy little thing, isn't she, my precious?” So your husband turns his unwelcome attention back to you, bending the both of your bodies forwards so he can smack your asshole with the back of his hand easier, the impact making you rock violently forward. “Maybe you should learn some manners from her, huh?” The howls you let out from getting your pucker pinched and hit is something you would rather not narrate. All you choose to disclose of that ordeal is that sobs echo in the hall, another orgasm rips out of you and you are sure your body releases more liquid than normal for an average orgasm. “Look at how polite and nice she is, hm? While all you want to do is to curse your husband and be an ungrateful little sloth” it sounds as though a newfound annoyance causes him to grit his teeth towards the end and the tip of his fingers finds recourse in seeking for itself a passage past the tight barrier of your unwilling button as a result. 

And so your mouth begins to run in the desperate way he loves. “N- No, no, no hubby! No!” You vehemently shake your head as you feel your knees start to buckle from the exhaustion. “I- I didn't mean it!” The bearded corners of his mouth pull into a deep smirk. He knows its coming, and he loves it. 

“You didn't?” How can he not when he is the one who trained you to it and taught you the words to say during. 

“No! No!” Your voice comes out child-like from your mind's succumbing to its defeat. For the day, at least. “I d- didn't!” 

Steve is a jackhammer in how he fucks his children into you and works towards giving you more. “Oh, I see” now he speaks to you like an elder speaking to a young one, like you are no older than five winters. “Then, will you tell me why you said such naughty words to your husband who does so much for you?” He knows you're small now and so he chooses his words accordingly.

After all, it is Steve's meticulous tailoring of your mind and body which brings you to act out this specific sequence. 

Nothing less, nothing more.

Just this. 

A shrew tamed into a compliant wife equipped with the mind of a babe. 

He may never admit it outright simply because it goes against his very code of life but Steve knows in his heart of hearts that it is this very push and pull you put up in your own passive little way that keeps him alert and your marriage interesting. 

Addictive.

“Is ’cause— hnnng, cause—!” He pulls both of your bodies back up with the intention of turning you to face him but he chooses not to do it just yet. He wants you, those silly boys and everyone else who suspects that his judgement grows soft because of his fancy for your youthful beauty and adorable personality, to hear it. Steve can always pull you right back down if wants. Your reins will always be in a hand's reach to him. Just because he lets you sneak in your foolish ways sometimes doesn't mean you've conquered his nature-gifted better sense.

“Because, what?” Everything in life calls for balance and so each time your misbehavior that you think you hide so well from him begins to rise above a level he deems no longer amusing, he is there to hammer it down. 

Quite literally. 

“Because I am j- just an i- impudent,” Steve grunts and moans, feeling his cock twitch from how you always mispronounce imprudent when you are in this state. He taught you that word and true to your little baby self and mind, you can never get yourself to say it right. “Little wife and I am a d- dumby—”

“Fuck…” Steve feels a drop of cold sweat trickle down his back from your little vocabulary. He feels himself pant from how hard he fucks you, his windpipe alight from the friction caused by the air he heaves in with each desperate inhale.

You are a proper trouble; something he has never had before, and he loves it.

“— D- Dumby sloth who dunno any real worries besides e- eating and b- being spoilt b- by my lovu hubbsy—” your tongue is kinetic jelly between your teeth and Steve has begun to moan from how fucked stupid you sound. “So I get shtoopid and u- ungateful” Steve cannot contain it anymore. In a fevered and desperate confusion of how to express the thunderstorm you cause in his head, he slaps your hair away, causing for some of the flowers to go flying about, and sinks his teeth into your flesh, growling so deep into your skin that you feel the vibrations cause ripples in your blood. Perhaps that is what Steve yearns to taste. “B- But husby always fixes” your head goes limp against his as he sucks your skin like a crazed animal for you lose a track of how long. Your vision and hearing bolts away from your comprehensive faculties like a bullet train and your body gets sucked into the vacuum of your husband's beastly grip. You are just a lifeless doll rocking in whichever direction and manner he pleases.

Next time your brain catches on with your reality, your body has been placed under his with your back against the table. You faintly notice when your dress begins to get wet that splashes of mead cover it due to your brutish husband's depraved madness. 

“Look at me, hey” he pats your incoherent face until your wandering gaze settles on him, teary eyes distant. “This is the face that you will see in those of your children, and children you shall have until this residence cannot contain any more” his promise echoes in your buzzing ears like the bestowing of an ultimate truth upon you by some powerful deity. “This is the face you will look up at as you spread your legs,” his tip is so swollen, raw and hot against your worn skin that you can feel it even in this state. Your features scrunch from the discomfort. “This is the face you will kiss and cherish” his fingers find your throat again and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he puts pressure on your windpipe. “And this is the face that you will look at until you breathe your last” he holds you until you are on the verge of losing consciousness, though letting go only to stifle the gasp you let out to resume your breathing with a hot sealing kiss.

Your muscles twitch and your body spasms in the position he has you in. Laxness washes over your limbs and you begin to violently shake from the dull and yet stinging quakes of sensation that bloom through your whole form. 

For some dark, twisted and depraved reason, you cum from the helplessness of your situation and it is present in Steve's amused and proud smirk that the knowledge is not lost on him. Swiping an arm around you from behind with an air of satisfaction, he collects your limp body closer to his and walks off to your chambers with your drenched sexes still connected, leaving a crowd of embarrassed, curious, satisfied as well as tamed spectators in his wake. 

You surrender yourself to him and close your eyes as your body collapses on top of his. Your mind barely works but you know one thing— fact as clear as day; you are not making it out of this without at least one child on the way. 

And there isn't a single thing you can do about it.

. . .

[imthebadguyyy]

Iron Hearts

With the same fire and charm that runs in the Stark bloodline, you’ve never been one to fade into the background.

pairing : steve rogers x reader fandom : mcu synopsis : As Tony Stark’s younger sister, you’ve always shared his brilliance and bold personality. Outgoing, witty, and never afraid to speak your mind, you’re just as comfortable stealing the spotlight as your brother is. But when Tony ropes you into joining the Avengers' operations after the Chitauri invasion, the last thing you expect is to clash with Captain America, Steve Rogers—a man so different from the fast-paced world you’re used to. Steve’s stoic, old-fashioned values collide with your free-spirited nature, sparking a connection that’s as electric as it is infuriating. As the Avengers face new threats, you and Steve find yourselves drawn together in unexpected ways, each challenge bringing you closer. The world is always in need of saving—but will the Iron legacy and a shielded heart leave room for something more?

EPISODE 1 : COLLIDE

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The low hum of machinery filled your private lab, a familiar and soothing backdrop to the glow of various monitors and the holographic interface suspended above your desk. You were in your element here—surrounded by sleek gadgets, circuits, and blueprints only you understood. The soft, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs bathed everything in a cool hue, making the outside world feel distant, almost irrelevant. Your hands moved with practiced precision, making the final tweaks to your latest invention—something sleek, cutting-edge, and powerful. It was not for public eyes, least of all Tony’s. Let him bask in the glory of his Iron Man suits and his public heroism. You preferred working in the shadows, away from the spotlight. After all, the real power came from the things people didn’t see.

Just as you were about to run another test, FRIDAY’s calm, computerized voice broke the silence. “Incoming call—Tony Stark.”

You let out a small, exasperated sigh, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Of course Tony would interrupt now, just when you were getting into the groove. Without breaking your stride, you gestured toward the nearest screen, signaling FRIDAY to patch the call through.

Tony’s face flickered to life on the screen, his usual cocky grin already plastered across his face. He looked annoyingly well-rested for someone who constantly threw himself into world-saving chaos.

“Hey, sis. Got a minute?” His tone was casual, but you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes. Tony always had an ulterior motive.

“Not for you,” you shot back, though your lips twitched with a slight smile. You’d perfected the art of giving Tony a hard time over the years. “What do you need, Tony?”

“Can’t a brother call to check on his favorite sibling?” He leaned back in his chair, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “We both know I’m your only sibling.”

“Touché,” he admitted, chuckling softly. "But seriously, I need you."

You froze momentarily, your hand hovering over the interface. Tony rarely outright asked for help, and when he did, you knew it was big. Slowly, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you gave him your full attention.

“I need my secret weapon,” Tony added, his voice dropping to that tone he used when he really wanted something.

You blinked at him, skeptical. “Secret weapon? Tony, I’m not about to be your backup tech support.”

Tony grinned, undeterred by your resistance. "This isn’t just tech support. It’s big. New team, new mission, bigger stakes. And who better to help me keep this bunch in line than you?"

You hesitated, glancing at the half-finished prototype on your desk. For years, you’d operated under the radar, happy to let Tony soak up the limelight. Being his sister came with a certain level of scrutiny you’d avoided like the plague. You preferred the quiet. The idea of stepping into the Avengers' world—especially now—seemed chaotic at best.

“I’m not suiting up, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you finally said, narrowing your eyes at him. The last thing you needed was to get dragged into one of his world-saving escapades in some shiny new armor.

“Of course not,” Tony grinned, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that told you he wasn’t ruling anything out entirely. “Just come to the Tower, meet the team. If you hate it, you can go back to hiding in your lab and pretending you’re not a genius like me.”

You rolled your eyes, though the thought lingered. A new team? A new mission? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. If things went south, you could always disappear back into the shadows. But something in Tony’s tone hinted at urgency, something serious brewing on the horizon. He wasn’t just calling for fun. He needed you.

With a resigned sigh, you pushed off from the desk. “Fine. But this better not be some ploy to get me into an Iron suit.”

Tony’s smirk widened. “No promises.”

The call ended with a flicker of the screen, and you were left standing in the soft hum of your lab, the weight of Tony’s request hanging in the air. You glanced at your half-finished prototype one last time before grabbing your jacket, muttering under your breath, “What have I gotten myself into?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Later, at Avengers Tower, you stepped into the grand lobby, the space sprawling before you like something out of a futuristic movie. Towering glass walls reflected the sunlight, creating a dazzling effect that made the entire room shimmer. High-tech displays blinked with data and notifications, while sleek metallic accents added to the modernity. It was a world apart from your cozy lab, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how Tony had truly outdone himself with this place. The grandeur was impressive, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, a sense of unease settling in as you stepped further inside.

Just as you took another step, a voice sliced through the air behind you, cool and assessing. “So you’re the sister Tony doesn’t like to talk about.”

You turned to face him, your heart pounding slightly at the sight of Steve Rogers, Captain America himself. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his muscular frame radiating authority. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was an edge to it—a mix of skepticism and something akin to wariness. He looked you up and down, his gaze critical, and you could already sense the judgment simmering beneath the surface. He thought you were just another Stark, another piece in Tony’s ego-driven game.

“And you’re the soldier out of time,” you replied, matching his coolness with your own. The words felt sharper than you intended, a defensive instinct kicking in. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve offered a tight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t smile. “Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

“All bad, I hope,” you shot back, a hint of a smirk dancing on your lips. But Steve’s expression remained unyielding, the weight of his gaze unwavering.

“I’m not here to judge,” he stated, but his eyes bore into you, steady and measuring, as if he were trying to peel back layers of your identity with sheer will alone. “Just here to see if you’re serious.”

“Serious?” You scoffed, your heart racing with indignation. “About what?”

“About helping, about doing what’s right. We’ve got enough egos on this team.”

Your smirk faded, replaced by a flash of frustration. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Tony,” you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension between you crackled in the air, palpable and thick. You hated the feeling of being judged before someone even bothered to know you, and clearly, Steve didn’t like the idea of another Stark stepping into the fold.

For a moment, silence engulfed you, and you could almost hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. The intensity of Steve’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and you wondered if he could see through your facade, exposing the vulnerabilities you kept hidden. You could sense his protective instincts flaring, the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, and somehow, you felt like an outsider even though you were family.

Just as the tension threatened to spiral further, Tony strolled into the room, an air of nonchalance enveloping him. “Hey, you two! Getting along already?” His grin was impossibly wide, brightening the atmosphere even as it made the air around you feel heavier with unresolved tension.

You shot Tony a glare that could’ve cut through steel. This was not the time for his usual bravado. Steve merely shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in an attempt to contain a smile. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on you, as if he were weighing the likelihood of your success in this new venture. Then, with a final, assessing glance, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, frustration simmering just below the surface.

“Great. This is off to a fantastic start,” you muttered under your breath, a mixture of annoyance and apprehension churning inside you. The day had barely begun, and already you could feel the weight of expectation bearing down on you. As the lobby buzzed with the energy of heroes and high-tech innovation, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were walking a tightrope, teetering between proving yourself and succumbing to the shadows that felt all too familiar.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself, reminding yourself that you were here to help. No matter what Steve Rogers thought, you had your own strengths, your own path to carve in this world. You just had to figure out how to make them see that.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The air in the war room was thick with tension as Tony briefed you on the mission, his voice crisp and urgent. “So here’s the deal: leftover Chitauri tech has been activated by HYDRA operatives in the city. It’s supposed to be a routine clean-up mission, but we know better than to underestimate anything HYDRA gets their hands on.” His brow furrowed, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that made your stomach knot.

You listened intently, nodding as he laid out the plan. But as he insisted you tag along—even if just to observe and assess—you felt a mix of excitement and dread. You weren’t officially part of the team, yet here you were, being dragged into the chaos by your brother’s unwavering belief in your abilities.

When you arrived at the scene, the streets were already in chaos. The sounds of sirens blared, drowning out the shouts of frantic civilians being evacuated. Smoke billowed into the air, curling around toppled cars and shattered glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as you surveyed the destruction.

Amid the chaos, Steve barked orders at the rest of the team, his authoritative voice cutting through the noise like a beacon of hope. You hung back, monitoring the situation from a mobile unit that Tony had rigged up for you—a lifeline of information in a storm of uncertainty.

“Stay behind the lines!” Steve called out to you over his shoulder, his tone firm as he and Natasha led the charge into the fray.

You rolled your eyes, a mixture of annoyance and determination bubbling inside you. "I know what I’m doing, Captain," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. The last thing you wanted was to be coddled like a helpless child.

Just as the fight erupted, the atmosphere shifted. A crackling energy surged through the air, and before you could process the threat, one of the HYDRA operatives unleashed a pulse from the Chitauri device. The wave of electricity shot toward you, a blinding flash of danger that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins.

In that split second, everything shifted. Time seemed to slow as you braced for impact, your instincts screaming at you to move, to do something—anything. But before you could react, Steve surged forward like a force of nature. He slammed his shield into the ground with a resounding thud, creating a barrier that absorbed the surge of energy before it could reach you.

You stumbled back, wide-eyed, the reality of what had just happened crashing over you like a tidal wave. Steve turned to you, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. “I said stay behind,” he said, his voice clipped, but there was a hint of protectiveness that made your heart race.

“I had it under control,” you snapped back, though deep down, you knew that wasn’t entirely true. You felt a surge of embarrassment rising within you, the remnants of the adrenaline making you defensive.

Steve didn’t argue further, but his gaze lingered on you, his eyes searching yours as if he were trying to gauge the depths of your resolve. The moment stretched out, thick with unspoken tension, and you could sense a silent acknowledgment between you—this was new territory for both of you, a fragile thread connecting your destinies.

But as quickly as it had come, the moment shattered. With a final look that communicated both concern and determination, Steve charged back into the fray, his shield raised high as he fought against the chaos. You stood there, heart racing, grappling with a whirlwind of emotions—frustration, admiration, and a flicker of fear for what lay ahead.

With a deep breath, you refocused on the task at hand. You weren’t going to let this moment define you. You had to prove to yourself, and to Steve, that you belonged here—among heroes and legends. The fight was just beginning, and you were ready to carve your place in it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The mission concluded in a flurry of activity and relief, but the tension between you and Steve lingered in the air like an unresolved chord. Back at the Tower, you settled in front of the computer, the glow of the screen casting an almost ethereal light across your face as you replayed footage of the battle. Each frame brought back the chaos—the electricity crackling, the screams of civilians, and Steve’s shield slamming into the ground just in time to save you. The rush of adrenaline from earlier mixed with a more unsettling feeling as you examined the moment you almost lost everything.

As you scrolled through the footage, you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Steve; the weight of his gaze felt palpable, a steady warmth that contrasted sharply with the intensity of the battle you had just fought. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the soft light of the hallway, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he finally said, his voice low and sincere, cutting through the silence that surrounded you.

Surprised, you glanced up at him, momentarily meeting his gaze. “Thanks,” you replied, your voice a mix of pride and humility.

“But next time,” he continued, the firmness returning to his tone, “don’t make me have to save you.”

A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips, a spark of your trademark confidence flaring up in response. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t,” you shot back, your tone light, though beneath it was a current of seriousness.

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his expression shifting as he studied you. In his blue eyes, you caught a flicker of something deeper—perhaps a grudging respect, maybe even a hint of admiration. It made your heart flutter unexpectedly, a rush of warmth that was both thrilling and confusing. The Captain of America saw you, and for a moment, the weight of expectations from being Tony Stark's sister lifted, replaced by a connection that felt genuine.

He nodded once, a subtle acknowledgment of the moment shared between you, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just another fleeting exchange. You were carving out your own space in this team, proving that you were more than just Tony’s sister—you were a force to be reckoned with in your own right.

Left alone in the dim light of the lab, you turned back to the screen, but your thoughts were no longer on the footage. Instead, your mind lingered on Steve’s quiet strength, his unwavering resolve. You were beginning to understand that there was more to him than just the Captain—the man behind the shield had his own battles, his own vulnerabilities.

And you felt an undeniable pull towards him, a sense of camaraderie that was slowly transforming into something deeper. The mission had ended, but the journey was just beginning, and you were more determined than ever to prove yourself—not just to Steve, but to the entire team.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The mission had been a success, but the moment Steve saw you—Tony’s sister—standing there, he felt the weight of responsibility tugging at his heart. He knew you had potential; he’d seen you handle yourself with surprising skill, but he wasn’t prepared for how much the little spark in your eyes got under his skin.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched you replay the footage of the battle. You were focused, your brow furrowed in concentration, and it captivated him. You radiated a unique blend of confidence and determination, much like your brother, yet with a warmth that was distinctly your own.

When he finally spoke, telling you that you handled yourself well out there, he truly meant it. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a mix of admiration and wariness wash over him. You were Tony’s sister—his little sister. He recalled the stories Tony had told him about your childhood, the sibling rivalry, and how fiercely protective Tony had always been of you. That instinct felt like a wall between them, even as he felt drawn to you.

“Don’t make me have to save you,” he warned, hoping to impress upon you the importance of caution. He had seen too many people underestimate their enemies, and he didn’t want you to be another victim of that recklessness.

Your response—light and teasing—pulled a small smile from him, but it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t.” It was infuriating how effortlessly you seemed to deflect his concern. You had a spark that reminded him of Tony, but there was something more disarming about you. Something that made it hard for him to maintain his composure.

He nodded, more to himself than to you, before he turned to leave. He didn’t want to admit how much your presence affected him, how he found you attractive in a way that made him question everything he knew about focusing on the mission. But he also understood that getting involved with Tony’s sister could complicate things—complicate his already tangled life.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As the days turned into weeks, you became a more permanent fixture in the Tower, and Steve couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly you blended into their chaotic team dynamic. Watching you interact with the others was eye-opening. You had Tony’s quick wit, but there was a warmth in your approach that brought out the best in everyone.

He remembered a moment during a team meeting when Clint made a joke at your expense. Without missing a beat, you shot back, “If you’re going to insult me, at least make it clever.” The room erupted in laughter, and Steve found himself chuckling along, secretly impressed by your tenacity.

But the more time he spent with you, the more he struggled with his feelings. You were intelligent, fiercely capable, and incredibly brave—qualities he admired. Yet every time he looked at you, he felt the ghost of Tony’s protective nature hovering over them. He could practically hear Tony warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that you were off-limits. It was a mental tug-of-war, and every glance between them only heightened his awareness of how close they were getting.

One evening, you both worked late in the lab. He caught you watching him as he threw punches at a training dummy, a curious smile dancing on your lips. It was a moment of connection, but it also made his heart race in a way that both thrilled and terrified him. He knew you were trouble, yet there was something about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n : so this is new series im experimenting with!! not proofread. any comments tips suggestions you have would be highly appreciated. happy reading!!

TAGS

all writing - @roslastyles420 @hopefulinlove@bluesongbird-blog

marvel -

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[caplanbuckybarnes]

One Life to Live (Mafia! Steve Rogers)

Summary: Steve comes home from a bar fight.

WC: 560ish

Warnings: Flangst

A/N: i'm reposting old fics I've been hunting down on tumblr. Sorry for the insurgenace of fics!

Read on Ao3!

--

Steve grimaced as he looked down at his shirt, blood displayed vibrantly on the white material as he casually strolled away from the scene where three dead bodies rested against the barhop.

“Buck?” He asked into the phone as he settled into his Monte Carlo. “Trash needs to be removed from that seedy place on Fifth Avenue, a’ight? Make sure to be discreet.”

“I’ll be right there with Tony, a’ight?” Bucky responded just before the blond man had disconnected the call, throwing his cell phone down on the car seat next to him.

Just as he had driven across the city and parked into his driveway, his cell phone started ringing, filling the silence in the car. He picked the device up and smiled softly as your name displayed brightly on the screen.

“I’m parking now, sweetheart,” he answered as he toed out of the car and walked through the open garage. “I’ll be upstairs in a moment.”

He hung up the phone and grinned softly to himself as he opened the tool shed and walked inside, pulling out a replacement shirt before putting it on and toeing off his shoes and replacing them with black slippers on his feet.

He waltzed through the garage door and walked down the hallway into the kitchen and grabbing a plum from the kitchen island and biting into it. He made his way up the staircase and called out your name.

You responded from the bedroom.

He walked inside the room and felt the tension in his shoulders fade as you were cuddled deep underneath the thick duvet. “I was thinking today,” he announced softly as he walked over to you.

“About what?” you asked, smiling softly as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he sat down and clasped your hands between his.

“How lucky I am that you’re in my life,” he smiled softly and raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I missed you today.”

“Steve,” you sighed, gently taking your hand out of his touch and sitting up in the bed. “I love you.”

“And I’m a lucky man, ain’t I?” He grinned, feeling his phone buzzing in his pocket, knowing it was Bucky informing him that the deed was done and over with.

“Dance with me?” You asked softly. “I feel like I haven’t been in your arms since our wedding night.”

He chuckled. “What brought along that question?”

You shrugged, still supporting a curved lip. “I found another medley that I wanted to dance with you to.”

He rolled his eyes affectionately before tossing the duvet away from your body an pulling you to your feet.

You walked over to the radio where your iPod sat in the cursor. You scrolled through your music until you have come across the song you’d wanted and pressed play, filling the room with a soft piano tune.

“This is-” he blinked, recognizing the song almost immediately.

“Our wedding song,” you nodded, walking straight into his arms. “Do you remember that night?”

He chuckled as he started swaying the both of you on the spot. “Of course I do. I’d be a fool not to remember how elegant my girl looked in her dress.”

“I love you,” you smiled as you nestled your cheek against his shoulder.

“Always and forever, my love.” he mumbled as the two of your dance on the spot.

--

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[vallovesbuckyb]

POV: You get a voicemail from Bucky while he's away on a mission.

Check out my Etsy store for your own voicemail personalized message or email experience ⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The day felt longer than usual as I waited for Bucky's call. Today was the day of the week he could use the burner phone. Usually, he tries not to use it too much. But every Friday without missing a beat, a call always came from the same number - at the same time. Every creak of the floorboards or distant sound made me jump, paranoid that any noise would be my ringing phone. I missed him terribly, and the empty space next to me in our apartment only emphasized his absence.

As I anxiously checked my phone for the umpteenth time, it finally lit up with an incoming call. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly answered, expecting to hear Bucky's voice. To my disappointment, it wasn't him but some telemarketer. Frustration welled up inside me, and I let out a sigh, wondering when I would hear from him.

As the clock ticked closer to the designated hour, my heart raced with anticipation. I clutched my phone in my hand, checking the battery repeatedly. Everything was ready - the charger plugged in, my phone positioned strategically on the table. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

The minutes dragged on, and finally, it was time. Bucky had always been punctual, and I knew he would call any moment now. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. But the minutes turned into an hour, and the room echoed with silence.

Concern gnawed at me as I checked my phone for the umpteenth time. No missed calls, no messages. I tried to shake off the unease, telling myself he might be caught up with the mission. Maybe something came up, and he couldn't call. But deep down, I couldn't shake the worry.

Just as I contemplated calling him, my phone buzzed, and relief washed over me. However, my joy turned to disappointment when I saw it wasn't Bucky calling. Instead, it was a notification that my phone was about to die. Panic set in as I fumbled for the charger, desperately plugging it in. The screen dimmed, and the phone powered off.

Frustration bubbled within me as I waited for it to turn back on. I cursed silently, realizing that I might have missed Bucky's call. I hoped he would understand, but doubt crept in. What if this was the only chance he had to reach out?

Eventually, my phone powered up, and I anxiously checked for missed calls. There it was – a single voicemail from Bucky. I pressed play, and his voice filled the room, warm and reassuring.

A small smile formed on my face, hearing his words. It was as if he was right there with me, despite the physical distance.

The voicemail ended, leaving me with a mix of emotions. I was grateful for his message, but a pang of guilt tugged at me for missing his call. Despite the temporary hiccup, the sound of Bucky's voice reassured me. I replayed the voicemail, savoring every word. As I gazed out the window, I imagined the moment he'd return, embracing him with all the pent-up longing. The wait felt more bearable now, knowing that our reunion was just around the corner.

[kaismasterlist]

| 🩶: angst | 🩷: fluff | ❤️: smut | 🖤: dark |

Clueless (Avenger!Bucky Barnes | Avenger Bsf!Reader) ❤️

Small World (Dark-Soft-Dark Robber + Burglar!Bucky Barnes | Reader) 🖤

The Storms NSFW Continuation (Dad!Johnny Storm | Mom!Reader) ❤️

Proud No More Continuation (Supreme Alpha!Steve Rogers | Alpha!Reader) 🖤

Exhibitionist Blowjob With Your Dark Alpha Boss (Husband!Steve | Omega Secretary!Reader) ❤️

Wearing Bucky's Dog Tags With Your Birthday Suit ❤️🖤

Giving In To Dark!Bucky 🖤

Sunshine (Recovering Winter Soldier!Bucky Barnes | Lab technician!You) ❤️

Coy (Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You) ❤️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

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

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

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: Here we are. The sequel but not the end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

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

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

The string of the glove’s seam trails loosely from the thumb. You twist the thread, playing with it, but doing little to mend it. Even with a needle in hand, you have no whim to darn. There are many things in life that cannot be repaired no matter how you try. Occurrences which cannot be taken back.

You pull at the seam until a hole forms in it. You poke your finger through with no heed for the glove’s integrity. You detest that pair anyhow. The very same you wore… that day. 

Albina lays at the foot of the bed, her head bent back over the edge as she peruses one of her novellas. Hannah and Cora disappeared ages ago and you only just heard them through the windows. They are likely causing chaos in the gardens. You hope your mother finds them and issues a reprimand for their immaturity.

The autumn thins the air as it creeps in around the window frame and you smell that discerning scent of dirt and leaves. Only a week and it feels as if the whole world has changed seasons. Your world has transformed irrevocably.

There’s a clatter and you glance over as Albina rolls onto her side. She’s always hated to be disturbed amid her stories. She huffs and falls onto her back to begin again, but the door bursts open, your two other sisters tromping through with excitement.

Albina shuts her book loudly and sighs as she sits up. You go back to your exploration of the glove, watching the thread stretch along the seam as you tug. If only that were Cora. If only you could rent her pretty hair from her pretty head. Or in the least, swat the smug grin from her lips.

You can’t even look at her. It just makes you think of him. Of how stupid you’d been. You believed his promises were meant for you but it’s only as you relive that haunting episode every night that you realise, he never proclaimed his intent for you, only alluded to a vague offer. Another mean trick.

“Lord Rogers has sent a gift,” Cora trills as she stands at the vanity, shuffling something unseen before her. Hannah stands at her side, bouncing with anticipation.

“Oh, what do you think it is?” Hannah chimes.

“Could you not unveil it in the sunroom, where there is no one reading?” Albina says as she drags herself to the edge of the bed, resting her book on her skirts.

“Could you not get your head out of those ridiculous fancies,” Cora retorts over her shoulder, “if you ever do for long enough, you might just find a husband too.”

You don’t look up. You refuse to give her the satisfaction. You haven’t missed her wandering glances, how she taunts you without even a word. She turns back to her gift and rustles beneath the thick paper.

“Oh, heavens,” she swoons and spins, “isn’t it beautiful?”

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

“No, no, surely they are rubies,” Cora insists. “Do you see?” She swirls around the room closer to you, “I must find the perfect gown to wear with this. Oh, he would fawn to see me in his ribbon, wouldn’t he, sister?”

You grip the glove tight as her figure looms over you. With your other hand, you clutch the needle, letting it jab into your palm until your eyes prick. You nod, “very beautiful.”

You stand the moment you get the words free of your dry throat. You try to smile but can only muster a strained grimace. You try to step past Cora but she moves with you.

“You’ve not even looked,” she says, “how would know how beautiful it is?”

“Cora, please.”

“No, no, have a look. It’s so elegant, isn’t it?”

You clamp your lips together. Your insides tangle painfully. Even as the tenderness leaves the bruises in your thighs, you swear they hurt just as much as the day after. You sniff.

“Please, move out of my way,” you beg.

“Oh, sister, why must you be so dour? Is that jealousy I sense?”

“No,” you snarl. Jealousy. Oh, something much deeper, something agonizing. “I said move.”

“Move? Well, it looks like I am the first to wear a title so it is me who should be issuing the orders, don’t you think?”

“Oh, Cor, you are not duchess yet,” Albina reproaches, “let her pass.”

The heat rises up your back and crawls onto your neck. You feel like you’re suffocating. You feel like the walls are closer together, as if the world is hewn in fire. It is all burning down around you.

“She is being a sour little brat about it, Al,” Cora snaps, “it isn’t fair of her to ruin my engagement. I don’t know where she ever got the idea that Lord Rogers had any mind for h–”

You don’t think. You need to get out of here. You shove Cora out of your way and stomp past her as she gasps. You drop the glove as the needle sinks further into your palm. You sweep out of the door and hurry down the corridor. You hear her, whining pitifully as you flee.

“She shoved me! She–”

“Oh, you did goad her,” Albina’s quiet scolding follows you to the stairs, “put that ribbon away, you’ll only ruin it.”

Ruin… 

The word clings to you as you barrel down the stairs, as if running from your own shame and anger. You love your sister, you would never wish anything horrid on her, but you can’t help that small whisper in your mind that suggests that Lord Rogers may just treat her as cruelly as he has done you.

💙

The autumn continues its slow advance, nipping in the air and at the foliage alike. You smell the crispness as it wafts through the open window of the carriage, cooling the cluster of bodies within. Your father rides with the driver, guffawing loudly with the clop of hooves. Your mother fans herself as she needles away with her relentless critique.

…Albina, push your shoulders back; Hannah, keep your lips shut tight, you don’t need horseflies wandering in; You, fix your bonnet, it is dipping at the front; Oh, Cora, isn’t that a lovely ribbon…

You try not to mope. The more you do, the more pleasure Cora takes in her victory. You will forget it, you will go on as you’ve ever done. Dejected. You fold one hand around the other, your palm tender from the bite of the needle still wrought into your flesh.

You look up as the carriage slows. The lush green of the promenade tinges with edges of russet and patches of goldenrod. Lords and ladies stroll along the brickwork walkway, skirts swishing around languid steps, arms hooked in one another, others perched upon benches or huddled around the grand fountain at the center.

Your father climbs down as the driver unlatches the door. Your mother emerges first, her fan clapping shut sharply and knocking against the frame. Cora is second, then Albina, Hannah, and yourself. You come out behind them and feel your height all the more. You hunch and grip your wrist tight.

“Do not slouch,” your mother looks back and raps your arm with her fan, “no lord wants to walk alongside a hobbling giant.”

“Yes, mother,” you correct yourself and let your vision drift off into a vacant blur.

“Ladies,” a familiar timbre approaches with a pair of footsteps, “you’ve arrived.”

You refuse to look at Lord Rogers as he stands just along your peripheral. He greets your mother with a cordial bow of his head and shakes your father’s hand. At last, he addresses his betrothed as she wiggles in her skirts and nearly squeaks.

“Lord Rogers,” she drawls, “I wore the rubies.”

“Beautiful,” he praises, “my lady, might I request a stroll upon the promenade?”

“Aye, you may,” your father answers, volunteering himself as escort.

“Sir,” Rogers accepts elegantly and offers his arm to Cora, “and perhaps a few more daughters might care to join us?”

“They will remain with me,” your mother insists, “we would like to see the roses.”

You wait until they’ve departed to dare a peek at them. Lord Rogers struts away confidently with his arm through Cora’s. Your father trails them with his brass-tipped cane. Your ribs rack as if they might collapse in on themselves.

“Come girls, the autumn will wilt away the roses,” your mother declares, “let us make our rounds, perhaps we might have two engagements this season, hm?”

You linger behind the others. You keep your head down as you watch the toes of your boots poke out from beneath your skirts with each step. Your led by the hem of your sisters ahead of you.

As you approach the hoop of rose bushes, there is an unexpected furor. Voices trill and flutter, a booming laugh that rolls like thunder. You raise your eyes and see a blond head above a cluster of hats. You don't recognise the lord amid the clan of amused men.

"How rowdy," your mother remarks in her curmudgeon way.

She ignores the pluck of glee for the thorny tangles. Hannah and Albina give longing looks to the uproar but dutifully accompany your mother to the hedges. The eldest of your quartet pets the paling pink petals and grieves the browning at the edges.

The dullness of that moment feels like a promise. This is how life will always be for someone like you. You will never know excitement, you will only ever be a witness, a scrap of collateral left to squander. 

You pretend to admire the greenery. The colours are faded and worn. Just like everything since that night. As you are.

You smell the leaves and the pollen and you're taken back to that moonlit moment. The cool air on your skin, the friction of his figure, his weight trapping you on the stone.

The leaves mesh together in a tapestry of swirling hues. You quickly dab your eyes before your tears can spill over. Those bouts come suddenly and dry up just as soon. You cannot let it take you here.

An emptiness enshrines you and you peer over to find yourself all alone. Your sisters and your mother have left you, forgotten you. Not such an unexpected plight but painful nonetheless. You turn in search of them and nearly collide with another.

You press yourself to the bushes behind you and swallow a gasp, creaking out an apology.

"Apologies, my lord, I did not see you–"

"Lady," the man greets with a courteous dip of his chin, looking down at you. Down! He is even taller than you. 

The same lord with the blond hair who had a crowd raucous. You do not know him. He is rather older than any courtly debut.

"You mustn't catch yourself," he reaches around you delicately and untangles a fold of your skirt from the thorny vines, "it is too fine a dress to tarnish."

"Thank you, sir, it seems I am a bit obtuse at the moment," you force a smile. 

He is very handsome. He eyes a brighter shade than even Lord Rogers and his hair even more golden. That comparison urges you back to the ground. You are still you and you cannot be so foolish as to let yourself believe contrary ever again.

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

You speak at the same time and both correct yourself. You defer and touch your lips in embarrassment, "apologies, once more, I keep treading on your toes."

"I have tough toes," he japes, "I meant to ask if I might have your name."

"Oh, yes, sir," you give him your name, "I admit I am ignorant of your own identity."

"Ah, yes, I have come from far," he grins, "Lord Thor Odinson, of Asgard."

"Asgard, why that is very far," you comment, "well, sir, it was a delight to meet you. Welcome to our homeland."

"A privilege," he returns, "if I might be so forward, as I am a stranger to this land, I would extend to you an invitation to dinner as I acquaint myself with your country. Would that be too improper?"

"Sir," you flutter your fingers at your side as you stand awkwardly before him, "I would needs ask my father."

"Yes, certainly you would, as you are unwed," he says as if untwining a riddle, "I do hope you will be permitted."

"My lord," you bow your head, "my mother…"

You look past him to your mother's fan as she beckons to you with it. Lord Odinson steps aside and extends his arm in gallant dismissal. You shift to move past him.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Allow me to thank you, lady, for entertaining my tedious conversation," he counters and you quickly flit away.

You near your mother as your other sisters crowd her. She is jibbering behind her fan, "...an ambassador," she says and snaps together the folds, "I hope you did not spoil our welcome."

"Mother?" You look at her in confusion, your cheek hot and tingling still.

"With that Lord, he did invite us to a dinner," she explains, "it would be very important for your father."

You shake your head. You don't argue. Ah, but the invitation was extended to all. Are you so foolish to think otherwise? You must shield yourself in the harsh lesson you've been taught. You are not and can never be special.

💙

The night of Lord Odinson's dinner arrives. You wear a gown of black patterned with deep green vines. Plain attire in contrast to Cora's shining scarlet silk, Alvina's buoyant blue bodice, and Hannah's deep rose sleeves. You add a simple beaded ribbon around your head, and a string of pearls around your neck.

"Dour," your mother remarks as she emerges in a tangerine satin, "ah, Cora, my darling, you look splendid. And to think, now that your engagement is public, you will be a pretty ornament on Lord Rogers' arm."

"Mother," she preens, averting her eyes in feigned modesty.

You clutch your reticule tight and glance over as you hear the approach of hooves. It is Lord Rogers' coach. The vehicle bustles towards the gates, open in expectation of him, and you look away. You can hardly bear the sight of red paint that decorates the doors.

His driver slows and breaks in the dirt. He greets your father as ever, gallant and proper. You put your teeth over your lower lip and peek up, catching the glint of Rogers' sapphire irises. His cheek dimples as his brows twitch. You swiftly rescind your gaze, favouring the dust on your slippers to him. He is as handsome as ever but to you, he is a vile cad. A demon clothed in cravat and vest.

He helps your mother first into the coach, then Cora, Hannah, Alvina, and finally yourself. He extends his gloved hand to you and you stare at his palm with disgust. You put your hand in his and step up into the vehicle. He squeezes before he lets go, a subtle tug on your skirt as you duck inside.

You sit on the bench between Albina and Hannah. You play with the strap of your reticule, focusing on it as you coil it like a snake. You only need to survive the journey to lord's manor. You've survived worse, and all at his hand.

💙

The manor is called The Nine Pillars, a rather strange name for a house, but referenced by the columns set into the stone walls. Each is topped with the facsimile of a different beast's head; a lion, a boar, a bear, a wolf, a falcon, a stallion, a bull, a viper, and an elephant. You lean over Albina to take it in, only to be nudged back to the middle.

You sigh and trail the part from the court. Attendants await your arrival at the broad steps of the manor house, the style much unlike that of the other courtly homes. The peak of the house resembles a warship overturned and the walls are without the typical white wash. It is very antiquated yet refined.

You enter the glowing hall, the glass lamps hung from the walls lit in an illuminating speckle. Voices carry from the drawing room where other guests gather and the bustle of the house staff flutters around the corridors and clamours from the kitchen. Your stole is taken by a groom and you nod in acknowledgement at his diligence. Your stomach swirls nervously.

The drawing room is a cluster of swishing skirts, flapping fans, and waggling coat tails.  Your mother and father greet another older couple as your sisters disperse; Cora to show off her betrothed, Albina to whisper to Maria about her novels, and Hannah to gossip about the newest debuts. You find yourself lost before the sea of elegant figures.

You wade towards them, weaving between the bodies, looking around for any sense of welcome. Those who do see you, turn away quickly, as others pretend not to notice your towering form. You will find a place on the wall as you ever do.

"Lady," a deep voice calls but you don't bother to hear it. It cannot possibly be directed at you. It calls again, several times, before pronouncing your name. You spin to face Lord Odinson before you can retreat to your setinel against the wallpaper.

"My Lord," you greet him, "pardon me, there is much going on, I mustn't have heard you calling."

"Ah, but forgive me, it is rather uncouth to be shouting," he stops before you, "my mother always said I did blow in like a storm."

"Oh," you nod politely. You're not used to someone looking you in the eye, not without having to awkwardly contort your posture.

"She would like you, very much, I think."

"Why would you think that, my lord? You hardly know me."

"But I see you, a strong woman, built like a valkyrie. You are resilient and might I so forwardly say, resplendent."

"Sir?" You peer around, looking for an audience, for someone in collusion taking amusement from his false interest. It is always a trick.

"Again, I am the tempest, I cannot be subtle, not with a lady so stunning. Awe-inspiring. If I am the storm, you must be the sky," he remarks boldly.

You face him, a frown.

"Lady, it is a compliment," his face turns sober, "I hope I didn't overstep--"

"It is a joke. Who do you make laugh? For who am I the farce tonight?"

"Joke? Not at all. Never," he glances around the room. He is quiet as he takes in those around him. As he sees their elusive eyes and cold shoulders. "They cannot see what is right in front of them. A goddess--"

"No," you nearly sob, "no. I am not goddess." You bow your head, as you hear that same word from enough, a memory; Athena. "No sir," you put your chin up defiantly, "I will not be fooled by you."

"Fooled, my lady--"

"Excuse me," you shuffle away from him, "I need air..."

"Lady," he calls again but you elude him, delving into the crowd, marching away with head and shoulders down.

As you near the door, you hear a familiar laugh. You look to find Lord Rogers with Cora on his arm, his golden hair shining, her locks perfectly spiraled and set. He tilts his head towards her, "I call her my Athena," he says loudly, as if he knows you are listening, "for I worship her."

His eyes flick up and meet yours. You recoil and spin on your heel. Scalded, you flee into the hall and huddle into an alcove. No one would notice if you stayed out here all night.

💙

You sit among the guests at the table. The women chatter as the men speak in low voices about their business or some writ tabled in session that morning. You do neither as you're isolated in the fervor. As sherry and wine flows generously, you partake only of lemon water and loneliness.

You peer down the table and find yourself drawn to a pair of eyes. Lord Odinson. Where you expect tension or disappointment, you find only an amiable smile. He is almost dreamy as he watches you. You turn in your seat and look at Albina next to you, she's bent so far toward Hannah in her whispering that he likely cannot even see you.

You keep your gaze on the table. You will not encourage him. Lord Rogers taught you caution, he taught you your worth and not to think yourself above it. You feel suddenly sick, as if you could spew onto the table.

There is the clink of glass and someone clears their throat. The buzz around you hushes and all turn to the head of the table. You look over reluctantly. It is Lord Odinson, the host, about to make his toast. He stands, a crystal glass in hand.

"Welcome and thank you all for attending. You've all made me feel rather at home," he raises his glass and the guests mirror him. You lift yours a few seconds too late. He sets down the flute and continues, "and while you've all ingratiated me so kindly, I hope you might tolerate a little piece of my homeland."

He pauses and gestures to someone you can't see. A servant comes forward, holding a wooden box carved with symbols you don't recognise. Runes, perhaps.

"In my faith, there are the Valkyrie. They are the embodiment of female power and prestige and thus they are the keeper of our culture, of our ways. They are fertile and beautiful. So it is that each season, one lady is crowned as Valkyrie. I understand that I've come late but I am honoured to spend the season here, in your society. Thus, tonight has been more than a dinner..."

He stops as the servant opens the box. He takes out a crown of daisies wrought in gold and silver. He presents it to the room with a smile. 

Cora leans forward as her eyes round in greed and the other women sit up, admiring the piece of jewelry and peeking at each other. You don't move, you stare at the wall and wait. You wonder who it will be. Maybe Cora or Maybelle and her doe eyes.

There is another lull, swollen with anticipation and intrigue. Lord Odinson gives a soft chuckle before he declares his valkyrie. No one speaks, none says a word. You blink. He speaks again.

You feel a nudge on your elbow as Albina leans towards you and whispers, "it's you."

You glance at her, then along the table. Cora's eyes are narrowed at you and Lord Rogers looks like he's chewing his own tongue. You turn your attention to Lord Odinson, trapped in surprise and disbelief.

"Yes, lady, please, come and claim your crown."

You grasp the arms of the chair and push it out as you rise. You walk stiffly, keenly aware of those watching you. You stride down the long table and near Lord Odinson. He faces you and hovers the crown over your head. You bow and he lowers it on, wiggling it to be sure it's firmly in place.

"It is I who shoulder defer to you, sweet lady," he lowers himself to a knee and bows his head, "our valkyrie."

The silence looms. You refuse to look back. You feel the stare, the disapproval, and disappointment. There's a clap and you flinch. Then another, and slowly the applause build.

Lord Odinson stands again and takes your hand, placing a kiss on your fingers. You meet his eyes, so intense you could melt.

"As I said," he keeps his timbre low, "it was not a joke."

💙

"Can I see it?" Albina asks as you go to set the crown on the narrow table.

"Oh, certainly," you turn to her. You're still burning with excitement. It's only one night, it doesn't mean anything, but it is a good night.

You hand her the crown and she takes it, admiring the craftwork with aw and showing it to Hannah as she nears. She places it on her head and rocks her shoulders.

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

"No, I am the valkyrie," Hannah snatches the crown and dawns it.

"You are both children," Cora sneers as she shoves her ribbon of rubies into her jewelry box, "please, that lord is only here to pander to our king on his family's behalf. Nothing else."

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

"Am not," Cora stomps up and swipes the crown of daisies, "what would I need with a meaningless thing like this. Queen of what? The chimera? You don't even know what a valkyrie is."

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

"I do," Albina asserts, "they are an army of female warriors who lead the dead--"

"I do not give a fig," Cora flings the crown so it hits the bedframe and bounces off, "we don't believe in them here. That man is a fool."

"Oh, I saw you fawning over him, Cor," Albina goads, "don't lie. Rogers himself looked concerned."

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

You don't say a word as you go to fetch the crown from where it's fallen. You notice that one of the petals is bent out of shape. Oh, no.

"It's fine. She's right, it's just a silly crown."

"You all need to grow up," Cora insists, "as a woman soon to be married, I can see now how juvenile you lot are."

"Not married yet," Hannah snaps, "sooner the better if it means you're off."

"Charming, Hannah, I wonder why you've not had a proposal yet?"

Hannah waves her off with her hand and goes to Albina, "I'm tired. Help me out of my dress."

You turn away and set the crown on top of your own jewelry box. You take your time undoing the ribbon on your head and unclasping your pearls. You peel off your gloves and as you face the bed, you see Cora's hot glare.

"You'll see. That Lord Odinson will leave you behind and next season, you'll be on your way to a convent."

You swallow down her bitter words. Deep down, you don't doubt it. She is likely right but less than clairvoyant. You know better than any what your fate will be.

💙

You watch from the window as Cora walks in the gardens with Lord Rogers. Albina is in bed, moaning and rubbing her pelvis, as Hannah is downstairs with your mother stitching at her frame. The winds of autumn rattle the window frame and you back away, nervous to be caught observing.

You sit on the mattress and lean back against the pillow. Albina curls up on her side and faces you. You offer your hand and she latches on, squeezing. Her cramps have struck and she's already stained several shifts. Her blood has her in agony.

You don't mind keeping her company. Your own was due a week ago. You know because you've not stopped counting the days since... since Lord Rogers' proposal.

"I should hate to miss the promenade..." she mourns.

"You shouldn't miss very much," you assure her.

"Yes, but it will be cold soon. Too cold and it will snow and I will hate to go," she utters, "will you go?"

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

"I am certain he does. He is very friendly. Last night, when he told us of his families stronghold. About the mountains and the crossing rivers..."

"He has many stories," you agree, "and he tells them well."

"Oh, he does. He tells them for you."

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

"Sister, don't act clueless. He gave you his crown--"

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

"He always finds us on the promenade, doesn't he?"

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

You puff but don't argue further. She's wrong but she can't realise she is. She doesn't know what's happened, how you know for certain that he has no true intentions. That he cannot be any different than Lord Rogers.

💙

The hedges along the promenade are thinning. The roses have wilted away and the greenery curls and recedes. You wear a pair of lambskin gloves and an unlined cloak. It isn’t cold enough yet for fur.

As he does most days, Lord Rogers approaches to greet your family. Your mother and father bow to him briefly and bid their best before strolling off to meet with their peers. The betrothed couple will lead the way, as you walk behind with Hannah. Albina remains abed at home, her presence sorely missed as Hannah yawns and makes faces at the duke and his engaged.

You resist the urge to look around, to search for the man who crowned you valkyrie, the same who appeared at your side nearly every day. You restrained yourself from depending on his presence, from longing for it. He is a fleeting acquaintance, destined to return to Asgard one day. You shouldn't think so much of him.

“I wish we could have a summer wedding,” Lord Rogers declares, his voice raised loud enough for you to hear.

“But, my lord, that is so far away,” Cora protests, “so long as we wed before the snows, I will be content.”

“You, content. I am not mistaken, I know the sort of wife I’ve chosen,” he chides, “you only relish in that you might wear velvet.”

“Not at all my lord. I relish that I should marry you,” she preens, her arm hooked in his firmly. 

You stare at the linking of their bodies. You remember the way he held you down, the way he cooed and coaxed, how he so softly coerced you. You should fear for your own sister, yet their misconceptions may be mutual.

“My ladies,” Lord Odinson’s voice precedes him and he steps up beside you, “and my lord. You are ashen, does the cold not agree with you?”

Lord Rogers glances over his shoulder, an edge in his jaw, “I handle it finely.”

You don’t mention he was only just longing for the summer. It isn’t any of your concern and you don’t very much care. Or you try not to.

“In Asgard, the winters, ah, they are splendid,” Odinson begins vibrantly, “there are days when the snow builds walls on its own and the next, they blow over to rippling oceans of frost. Endless and powdery.”

“Oh, we do not get so much snow here,” Hannah comments, “I don’t think I would survive such winters.”

You nod, listening intently as you picture the swirling snow and white dunes. It reminds you of a fairytale or a scene from one of Albina’s novels. Otherworldly and fantastical. Something entirely new and wonderful, but terrifying.

“And you, my valkyrie, would you face the blizzards?” Odinson challenges.

You hum thoughtfully. You know he is looking at you but you are too shy, too wary to return his gaze.

“I suppose with the proper cloak and a thick pair of boots, I might make it through, sir.”

“A coach and a horse, and any lady would say the same,” Rogers scoffs back at you, “girls hardly know the truth in matters of spirit. They can be overly presumptuous upon their own abilities.”

Odinson pushes his jacket back, hooking his finger in the pocket of his vest, “women are strong in ways men can never be. They carry lives, they bear the burden of the world, they maintain a grace lost on most men.”

“And the demure to the strength of men, to the wisdom they can never possess,” Rogers snaps back, laughing cruelly, “it is in the vows they take, is it not?”

“Only the strongest man can see the strength of women,” Odinson dismisses calmly, “my own mother keeps a pack of snow wolves. She goes out in the winter storms and reins her own sleigh. All while my father sits warm before his hearth. Her victories are not his losses.”

“Sounds rather quaint, Lord Odinson,” Rogers clucks, “your country strikes me as lacking civility.”

“Uncivil is a boring way of saying lively, and I promise, my home is much and more,” Odinson affirms, “but I think that fate has a way of placing us all where we belong, wouldn’t you agree?”

Rogers is quiet for a moment, his steps heavy as he strides on. He turns his head, his eye flicking between Odinson and yourself. He snorts and turns forward again.

“We must all take as we earn, accept what we do and do not get,” he says tritely, speaking animatedly with his hand in the air, “more often than not, we have only ourselves to thank… or blame.”

As cryptic as his words are, they are plain to you. That night with him was not unearned. Your foolishness bought your destruction. You must now live out your sentence of watching him walk arm in arm with another woman, your sister, everyday. You must accept that what he took can never be reclaimed.

💙

You sit in the garden, wrapped in a shawl as autumn breezes around the table. Your mother has a fur on her shoulders and your sisters chatter their teeth as they sip their tea. You rub your hands together, your gloves doing little against the crisp air. You suspect the days of dining without are close to done.

As you watch a leaf drift down from a branch, the hinges whine, and your father emerges from within. He gives an emphatic shiver as he claps his hands together. He seems rather pleases as he has his shoulders pushed back and his hat on a tilt.

"Daughters, my lovely wife, it is a beautiful day, is it not?"

You wonder at his uncharacteristic glee. Your father is ever practical and serious, on all matters. More so, he confounds as through the mutter of responses, he looks to you. You nod and agree with his sentiment softly.

"My daughter, my eldest, you... have a visitor."

You blink and withhold a grimace. He hates when you make faces. You force a smile and your voice crackles as you muster your voice.

"A visitor, father?"

"He is inside, he cannot have his tea alone," he says as if you should know who he alludes to.

You stand as Cora rolls her eyes, "who could be here for her?"

You notice how Albina and Hannah share a look. You cannot determine whether it is at your expense or Cora's.

"Daughter," your father drawls, "do not be sour that your betrothed eludes you."

"He does not--"

"So be happy for your sister and enjoy your tea."

She huffs and reaches for her cup. You step around her chair and approach your father. He smiles and as you near, he puts his hands on your arms. He is smiling. Genuinely.

"He has my blessing, of course, I will need accompany you to maintain propriety," he speaks quietly, "come."

You dip your chin down and meekly follow him inside. A servant pulls the door closed behind you. Your steps echo down the corridor as your father leads you to the sunroom. As you enter, there is some rustling and a subtle creak. 

You peek up to find Lord Odinson standing with a hand on his vest. He bows to you and your father. You stop in the archway.

Your father proceeds, unaffected, and sits in the cushioned chair nearest the fireplace. He slaps his thighs as he splays his legs and grunts.

"Well, then, get on with it," your father grumbles.

Lord Odinson straightens his posture and gulps. He reaches up and toys with his cravat, the starch fabric already askew. He smiles, his cheeks reddening. He sways and looks between your father and yourself.

"I thought it very difficult to put this in ink but now I am here, I find the same is true of words," he says, laughing at his own joke, "so, lady, I trust this isn't very surprising to you. I've made my intentions clear and I've made your father a proposal, which he has graciously approved. Thus I put to you the question..." he twists his cravat, stops himself, then grips his jacket lapel, "would I be a fair husband to you? Er, or rather, would you... would you... honour me as a wife?"

The air stills and the chill that trailed you in dissipates. You blink dumbly and let your mouth fall open. You glance at your father. You understand his happiness now and yet you cannot believe it.

Your stomach churns and you clamp your mouth shut. The silence turns unbearable. You notice how Lord Odinson's cheek spasms and his complexion drains.

"Yes, sir, I... suppose... rather, I would..." you feel as if you're choking, "is it true? A marriage?"

"You wouldn't have to leave your homeland forever. I have some months ahead of me and my holdings here. We could visit--"

"Yes, yes, I will marry you," you murmur.

You hold your breath. Waiting. For one of them to break. For a peel of laughter between them. For it all to be another trick.

"Glory," Odinson exclaims as he proffers his hand, "shall we sit for tea, then, my valkyrie?"

You nod, unable to speak for fear of croaking. It is real. This man is real but you worry, his attention may yet prove false.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3620

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

6. Somethin' with Bananas

Steve

Steve wakes up to Bucky spooning him, pressing his morning wood against his ass. He hums with his eyes still closed, enjoying the feeling. “Mmm, g’morning.”

Hands slide onto his hips. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Steve smiles. “Sunshine” is one of Bucky’s favorite pet names for him. Steve is rather fond of it too, after so many years together. His husband has a knack for making him feel special like that. “What’re you doin', Buck?” he warns softly, still smiling because he likes the feeling of being explored, even if they can't take this far right now because of—

“She left for work a while ago,” Bucky murmurs, the answer to a question that Steve hasn’t asked. Alone time doesn’t happen as much as it used to, these days. "Left a bunch of baking stuff out on the counter. There's a note threatening us with mortal peril if we eat any of her bananas."

"Hmm." Steve yawns deeply and wiggles his butt back against his husband's noticeable hardon. "Whas'she makin'?"

"Dunno. Somethin' with bananas." Bucky’s hand slides to the juncture of Steve’s legs. He palms the half hard line of his cock from over his briefs, massaging the bulge as it grows. Steve moans a little and tips his head back to Bucky’s shoulder, a wordless request for kisses. Bucky starts lavishing his neck with attention while his hand continues its slow work.

Steve loves moments like this. Early morning, the sun barely out and the world quiet, the bedroom air still and thick from sleep; easy, instinctual fucking; simple and not complicated, just the two of them loving on each other. He inhales a little sharper when Bucky finally slides his hand under the waistband of his underwear. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“Mmhm.” Bucky kisses his neck. “This what you wanted, Honey?” His hand is wrapped flush around Steve now, skin on skin. He strokes once up and down and gives a squeeze, starts up a slow, tight rhythm.

“Oh.” Steve bites his lip, eyes closed as he just feels what Bucky’s doing to him. “Mm. Mmhm. S’real good.” He shivers when Bucky’s thumb swipes at his cockhead, spreading the wetness around and pressing firm against his slit. “Fuck …”

“Always were a leaker,” Bucky says lowly. “You get so wet, Honey.”

“Buck,” Steve whines. He loves Bucky’s talk in bed but he’s never been able to handle it. It turns him into a pitiful mess, every time.

Bucky

Bucky just chuckles, knowing the effect he has on him. He’s Dominant. Winding Steve around his little finger comes naturally to him, and Steve can’t say he doesn’t like it. “You were making pretty sounds in your sleep,” Bucky says, murmuring the words in between kisses on Steve’s neck. “Moaning and moving your hips a little.” He demonstrates, pushing his own hips up against Steve’s ass. Steve makes an embarrassed, whimpery sort of noise that goes straight to Bucky’s cock, and he shushes him. “Shh, no. It was hot, Stevie. You were feeling real good in your sleep, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

“What were you dreaming about?” Bucky presses his thigh forward, between Steve’s legs, crowding him that much closer. “Hm?”

“Her,” Steve says breathily. “I … h-her.”

“Mary?” Bucky grins against the skin of his neck. “Having dirty dreams about our girl, huh?”

Steve moans—whether at Bucky calling her ‘their girl’, or at the way his other hand is now reaching down to cup Steve’s sac, isn’t clear. Bucky gives a gentle squeeze and tug, then rolls the weight of his testicles in his palm. Steve, who’s always been keen on having his balls played with, moans louder and nods against the pillow. “Didn’t mean to,” he says, as if he needs to defend his character.

Bucky grins like a shark and nips his earlobe. “Course not. You just couldn’t help it, could you? She’s always there, moaning around bites of cream filled pastries, showing off her ass in those leggings—”

Steve groans.

“—Giving us attitude every day like she wants a spanking, but dropping so sweet by the end’a the night.” He can see pink spreading around to the back of Steve’s neck and shoulders now. His Stevie colors so easily. Bucky licks delicately along the shell of his ear and whispers, “Tell me. Tell me what you did to her in the dream.” Steve moans and doesn’t answer for a long while, maybe too distracted by Bucky’s hand that’s still stroking him slowly. Bucky stills, opens his hand and presses Steve’s cock up against his stomach. “Steve,” he warns. “Tell me.”

“... Wasn’t me,” Steve mumbles, embarrassed. “It was you. You were touching her, fucking her.”

Bucky’s guts tighten in arousal. “Oh?” he breathes. “You like thinkin’ about that? Like thinking about me laying her out? Her spreading her legs for me right here on this bed?” Steve groans and nods, whining impatiently and humping forward for more. Bucky chuckles and takes him in hand again, squeezing his shaft and fondling his balls. They’re tighter now, drawn up closer to his body as he gets more worked up. “So?” Bucky needles, when he still hasn’t gotten an answer. “Is that what you want?”

“Bucky, nngh, Yes, alright?”

“Mmhm.” He chuckles softly and nuzzles Steve’s neck, enjoying his husband’s flustered state. “But you know, I think I’d like to watch you.” He can just picture it: Steve’s muscled, strong body moving over her soft curves, his big hands holding her open gently—because everything Steve does is gentle—while he makes her cum on his cock. “Yeah. You like that idea, Big guy? Me too. I wanna watch this big fat dick—” he squeezes his fist on Steve— “plowing her sloppy, making her cum so good she even cries a little bit.” Steve whines again, and Bucky hums in agreement. “Mmhm. It’d be so hot, Stevie.”

Steve squirms against him in distress. “I, I’ve never … With girls I mean. I’m not … I’ve never …” he peters off, and Bucky’s got no idea what he’s saying.

“What?” He frowns and ruts his erection against the cleft of Steve’s ass for a little relief. “What’re you talking about, Baby? You’ve been with women before. College?”

Steve shakes his head against the pillow. “No, I mean I … I don’t know what to do. To make ‘em feel good. I’m … not good at it.”

Bucky actually stops what he’s doing. Steve grunts at the lack of touch, but Bucky just hushes him and pulls on his shoulder, urging him to turn over. “Hey. C’mere. Look at me.” Steve’s face is indeed colored pink when he turns to lie facing Bucky. His eyes flick up briefly, but dart away again, shy. Bucky’s heart squeezes. “Oh, Honey,” he says, bringing a hand up to cup Steve’s jaw. “Who told you that?” He thinks of murdering whatever coed bitch might’ve made Steve feel self-conscious.

Steve looks mortified. “Nobody did. Just … I could tell. The times I was with ‘em. I couldn’t make them, you know, cum.” He looks so ashamed as he admits it, and Bucky wants to grab him and kiss all over his entire face.

“Aw, Steve,” he coos. “Is that it? You’re nervous about being with a woman again? Not confident?”

Steve nods. He tucks himself against Bucky’s body and presses his face in his neck, hiding there. “Women are hard,” he mumbles. “I like ‘em, but it’s not easy.”

Bucky chuckles a little. “Yeah, that’s for sure. But it’s not that bad, baby. You just gotta know a few basics. Gotta take it real slow and feel them out, find out what makes her feel good. Every girl’s different. That’s the beauty in it.”

Steve grunts and ruts up against him, their cocks knocking together between their bellies. “Tell me?” he asks, eager and sweet. “Please, Buck? Tell me how.”

Bucky feels like half the blood leaves his brain, his dick throbbing anew. “Fuck,” he breathes, crazy turned on at the idea. “You want me to teach you, Stevie? Teach you how to get her crying? Dripping wet? How to touch her so good you make her cum?”

Steve shivers and nods, grinding his forehead into Bucky’s shoulder in embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah I want you to. Want you to teach me.”

Bucky pulls Steve’s head up to make him look at him. His face is pinched—embarrassed but wanting. Bucky curses. “Fuck. Yeah, yeah baby I’ll teach you how. C’mere.” He moves up the bed, pulling Steve’s meaty shoulders to get him to follow, directing him to sit in his lap, back to chest as Bucky props them up against the headboard. He spreads his legs wide to accommodate Steve’s bulk, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “My little overachiever,” he murmurs. “Such a Boy Scout, always wanting to be the best you can be.”

Steve huffs. “Don’t think they gave out merits for eating pussy,” he quips, uncharacteristically lewd. 

Bucky barks out a laugh in delight. “Well pay attention, Sweetheart. You’re about to earn that badge.” Steve shudders against him, but he’s leaning back against Bucky, slumped just a little lower in his lap. He’s ready to listen, and Bucky’s fucking hot at the chance to tell. “First thing you gotta know,” he says, speaking delicately and smoothing his hands over Steve’s sides. “Is forget what you’ve seen in porn. They make that shit for us, not them. It’s all fake. No better way to make a girl miserable than to go pounding into her or whatever else.”

Steve makes a questioning noise, and God bless him, Bucky knows instantly that this is news to the big dummy. “But …” he hedges.

“No buts, Honey.” Bucky kisses his ear. “You gotta be so gentle. Always start soft, always go slow. Start that way and pay attention to her reactions.” He skims his fingertips up Steve’s ribs, tickling lightly over to his pecs and back down, making him gasp. “Yeah,” Bucky hums, “Just like that. She might be quiet at first, girls don’t moan all loud right off the bat. They don’t get worked up as fast as we do. They take time.”

Steve nods, panting a little as he listens to him. “W-what then?” he asks.

“Listen to her breathing, the sounds she makes. She’ll start breathing heavier when you’ve got her feeling good, start making little sounds without even realizing she’s doin’ it.” Steve looses a tiny whimper and Bucky grins. “Yeah, just like that.” He reaches down and finds Steve’s cock again, and god it’s sexy how wet his fella can get. He strokes him a few times, just languidly, letting the precum guide the slide of his fist. Not hurrying. Showing Steve what he means when he says ‘slow’.

“Oh,” Steve breathes, sounding gone for it.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “And then when she starts moving her hips?” He presses his crotch into the small of Steve’s back. “Just rubbing herself against you or humping up in the air a little? Oh yeah, that’s when she’s into it.” He brings one hand up to cradle Steve’s pec. “Girls are more sensitive here than we are,” he tells him. He’s looking over Steve’s shoulder now, eyeing up what he’s doing. He flicks his thumb over the nipple—so freaking small and petal pink where Bucky’s are darker. And he’s so responsive, the nipple pebbling up with hardly any effort on Bucky’s part. “Mmhm,” Bucky hums approvingly. “You want to try different things. You can just hold ‘em …” he uses both hands and cups the meat of Steve’s chest, giving a proprietary squeeze. Steve moans and Bucky smiles. “Yeah. But not too hard. Treat her tits like they’re something delicate, somethin’ special.” He makes the motion to Steve’s pecs like he would do to lightly bounce a woman’s breasts in his palms. “And Mary, she’s got smaller tits. A nice, healthy handful, just like you.”

Steve whines and squirms impatiently in his lap. Bucky glances down to check, and sees Steve’s cock; abandoned on his stomach, dark, and leaking. It’s so heavy and thick, the foreskin drawn halfway down the head, showcasing the shiny pink tip of him. Bucky curses softly. Fuck, but he wants to wring an orgasm out of that cock like ten minutes ago. But he forces himself to stay the course.

“When you use your mouth on her nipples,” he whispers, voice soft like velvet in Steve’s ear, “You can lick. Or nibble a little.” He mimics each option with a stroke and then a pinch of his fingers on Steve’s nipples, flicking out with his tongue to get the shell of Steve’s ear. “But I’ll tell you what: most of ‘em like it best when you suck.” He uses all five fingertips drawn together to pull gently at the peaks of Steve’s chest, and Steve makes a hurt, wanting sound. “Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “Suck her nipples. Then fit as much of her in your mouth as you can and suck that too.” He takes pity on Steve and reaches back down for his cock. Steve cries out, and Bucky gentles him. “Shh sh sh. Remember: slow.”

Steve groans, his tight hips flexing and pushing his cock up into the curl of Bucky’s fist. “Buck, please.”

“It’s not about you,” Bucky chides. “You’re a man. You get to cum so easy and all the time. You gotta help her get there, give her what she deserves.”

Steve sobs a little, so worked up from all the teasing, but he falls back into Bucky, relaxing against his chest and laying himself open for Bucky to continue. Pride and adoration for his man well up in Bucky at the show of submission. “Good,” he praises, giving an extra indulgent twist on the next upstroke. Steve’s foreskin moves with the motions, making soft, wet noises with all the precum he’s leaking. Bucky hums appreciatively. “Yeah, lookit that.” He draws his hand all the way up, tight, and then dips his thumb into the folds, rubbing into that wetness, against the sensitive head. “If you’re doing it right, touching her enough, she’ll be wet by now,” he says. “But you still shouldn’t go for her pussy yet. Not yet.”

“What … what else?” Steve asks muzzily, like he can’t think of anything else to do that doesn’t involve his dick getting jerked off or sticking it in a hypothetical pussy.

“Tease her,” Bucky says. “Run your hands all over her body, all over her soft skin.”

Steve sighs happily. “I like how soft they are. Smooth.”

Hearing Steve talk about what he likes about women makes Bucky’s dick throb, and he grinds it against Steve’s lower back for some relief. “Mmhm,” he agrees, moving his hands up and down the skin of Steve’s ribcage, his belly, grabbing on at his hips and giving a proprietary jostle. “Dig your fingers into her, gentle but insistent. Let her feel how much you love her body.”

“Now?” Steve asks.

“Not yet,” Bucky whispers.

“Fuck. Bucky.”

“Tease her,” he insists, ignoring Steve’s pleading. He slides his hands down Steve’s thighs and inwards, pulling them apart. Steve moans and spreads them wide. “Exactly,” Bucky says. “You want to touch her here. Run your hands all over, so close to where she wants it. Remember, if you’ve been doing this right, she’ll be wet by now.” He goes back and strokes the wetness along Steve’s shaft. “Sink down between her legs and kiss her thighs—you’ll smell it.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky smiles, in love with his husband for how easily he comes apart under his care. He traces down to the base of Steve’s cock, making a vee with two fingers and rubbing the skin on either side. “Put pressure on her mound, really close but not touching where she wants it. Not yet.” His other hand slides down and delicately traces the seam of Steve’s sac. “Tease her, trace her folds. Get a little bit of that wetness and rub it around to make her even more sensitive. And then …” He blows gently on Steve’s ear. Steve moans. “Just like that. You want to wait. Don’t give her your mouth until she’s whining and shovin’ up at you for it.”

“Nngh,”

Bucky chuckles and circles the wet pad of his finger over one testicle and then the other. He nudges at Steve’s taut sac and whispers in his ear. “Push her lips apart.”

Steve is breathing hard through his nose, tense, his dick bobbing rock hard and angry in the air. Bucky has mercy on him and reaches for it, and Steve chokes out a sob of relief at only the slightest touch.

Bucky kisses his temple soothingly. “Shh. Here. Riiight here.” He holds the head between his thumb and fingers and starts jacking just the tip of him, foreskin tugging and gliding in that way that he knows feels amazing for Steve. “Right above her sweet spot, see? You rub on her like this, up and down, back and forth. Work the hood over her clit juuust like this.”

Steve makes a debased groan at the echo of what Bucky’s saying, and how he’s working Steve’s foreskin over the head of his dick. “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses.

“Yeah, you’re close. She’s soaked by now. You think it’s time to give her more?”

“Bucky. Yes, yes, please.” His hips are straining upwards but he lets his head loll back on Bucky’s shoulder, open for what he’ll do next. “Please,” he begs.

“Now this is important, baby, so pay attention,” Bucky says. “Some women like a mouth on ‘em down there, some don’t. Some do, but they have a hang up over how they think they look or taste or something.” Steve makes a sad noise at that, matching Bucky’s opinion that: yeah, women shouldn’t worry so much. Pussy is just generally fucking awesome. “Tell her how much you love it,” he says. “The taste of her, the shape of her lips. Make her feel pretty and wanted.” He’s fondling Steve’s balls anew as he says this, rubbing and rolling them, then cupping his whole palm over them and dipping behind to dig fingertips into his taint. “Come on, Stevie,” he goads, “Let me hear it. Tell me what you’d say.”

It takes Steve a few tries before he can pull enough of his brain out of his dick to rasp, “S’fucking gorgeous p-pussy. So … so wet. Can I lick it Honey, huh? Please lemme lick it. Wanna taste that sweet cunt.”

Bucky gasps, shocked and delighted at Steve’s dirty talk. “Oh, Stevie,” he groans. “Baby. Fuck, yes. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He wraps his hand fully around Steve’s cock and starts jerking him off fast, fast enough that it’s obvious he’s finally aiming to make Steve cum, and Steve chokes on a relieved heave of breath. 

"Yes! Oh, thank you!”

Bucky attacks Steve’s neck with his mouth, biting and smearing spit and scraping his teeth over the wet skin. He growls as he watches his fist working furiously over Steve's red, hard dick. “Suck her clit while you fuck her on your fingers,” he rasps. “Tell her she’s a good girl, tell her to ride your face, grind down on your hand. Make sure she knows she’s allowed to let go.”

Steve cries out, guttural and loud like he always gets when his pleasure is cresting. “Bucky, Buck. Honey, oh. F-fuck, m’close.”

“Mmhm. Thaat’s it, Princess,” he says, pitching his voice just so and using that name so that Steve knows. Knows he’s talking to her.

Steve whines, his whole body tight and straining into Bucky’s grip.

“Curl your fucking fingers in her,” Bucky growls. “She’s close. Don’t slow down. Don’t even speed up. She likes what you’re doing now, so don’t you dare fucking change a thing.”

“Bucky!”

“That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there.”

“Fuck, fuck … ssshit …”

“Ride Daddy’s hand, fuck back on it. Good girl.”

Steve jerks and shouts, cock pulsing in telltale contractions, before searing ropes of come shoot up his stomach and all over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, oh, oh!” He grunts through it with gorgeous sounds, and Bucky’s so in love with the sight of it that he’s not roleplaying anymore when he purrs, “Fucking beautiful, Sweetheart.”

Steve slumps when it’s over, still panting from the pleasure. Bucky eases off, sets his wet and slowly softening dick gently against his stomach. He moves them, guiding Steve to turn over and lie out on his front. He shoves Steve’s legs together and straddles them, swipes his hand that’s covered in Steve’s release into the tight space between his thighs, wetting him up. He growls viciously, pent up and rock hard and ready to fucking cum. He ruts into the wet clench of Steve’s thick thighs, fucking him like he’s got a loose, easy cunt. “Fuck, baby,” he grits, close within a matter of minutes. He chases his orgasm and collapses onto Steve’s broad back when it hits, grinding in hard one last time and shouting loud and guttural with how goddamn good it feels. “Fuck! Ughn, f-ffuuck.” 

He comes down heaving, panting against Steve’s skin. Steve is strong enough that he can roll out from under his weight, and he pulls Bucky into his arms and draws his head onto his chest. Bucky goes gratefully, happy to have Steve’s firm pecs as a pillow. “God, honey,” he breathes, wrung out. Steve makes a noise of agreement. They just lie there together, sweaty and spent, catching their breath for a long time.

“... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“… You’re a good teacher.”

Bucky laughs and crawls up to kiss Steve on the mouth. “Yeah,” he says when they part. “But that wasn’t even the main event.” Steve looks confused for a second, before Bucky slyly clarifies: “You still gotta fuck her. And you know you want to make her cum at least twice.”

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[coquitokisses]

Trusting Again | Bucky Barnes - Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!oc

Summary: Catalina starts having some newfound feelings towards a certain super soldier and Bucky finally finds that person who brings him peace. Both of them learning to leave their pasts behind, learning to trust again..

Warnings/Tags: 18+, strong language, sexual scenes, topics about mental and/or psychological health and PTSD.

A/N: Each chapter, depending on its content, will have their own warnings

introduction (a brief summary and some clarifications)

playlist • moodboards • files

prologue (must read first!)

chapter 001 • chapter 002 • chapter 003 • chapter 004 • chapter 005 • chapter 006 • chapter 007 • chapter 008 • chapter 009 • chapter 010 • chapter 011 • chapter 012 • chapter 013 • chapter 014 • chapter 015 • chapter 016 •

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[jackiequick]

What If Bucky Barnes saved a life that day? | MARVEL Fanfic

Pairing: Jason Grey Underwood & James ‘Bucky’ Barnes

Setting: Flashback to December 16, 1991

Summary: It was a old winter night when a crash happened that would swirl the weekend for a world wind, as both eyes met in the chaos of it all. Becoming a interesting sight of secretive events. An old memory coming back to life?

Characters mentioned: Howard Stark, Maira Stark, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Elizabeth Stark, Daniel Sousa and Peggy Carter

Marvel Au fanfic

Warning: Angsty fic with some fluff

———

Gravel crunches under the tires of the Rolls Royce as it trundles up the country road. The Winter Soldier peers through the scope and adjusts his grip, his finger ghosting over the trigger. He's been in position for hours, has watched his targets for over two weeks before this. He knows their routine.

Inside the car sat Howard driving as Maria chatted on the phone with Peggy and Jason trying to figure out a way to nap quietly. Tony was at home he refused to go and stay with his godmother Peggy Carter instead.

This is the first day of a long weekend in the Stark Family country estate. They were meant to meet some people there in the upcoming weeks.

But no one will think to look for them until at least Monday.

The Soldier takes careful aim. If he misses, he will have to eliminate his targets individually. This is much cleaner.

He fires.

With the silencer, the shot is noiseless, but the blown tire is not.

The expensive Rolls Royce had been on the final turn before a wide country driveway. It skids onto the soft shoulder, and flips on its side to slide down a steep ravine. Having the family gasping for air, shielding themselves for comfort and deeply coughing as the car takes a spinal shock.

Screaming and yelling were silence soon enough. Groans can be heard from Jason squeezing his eyes shut as a trickle of blood ran down his forehead and a few shards of glass scarred around him, his pain increased. He felt dizzy, nasty feeling twirling in his stomach and his airways feeling like they shut down for a moment.

Snapping in and out of consciousness at whimpering and soft yelling he recognized. However you could’ve sworn he was dead by his chest not puffing.

Carefully, the Soldier packs away his rifle and makes his way down the slope, dragging piles of dry brush behind him. No one will see the wreckage from the roadway.

The Soldier sees that the woman has been ejected from her seat. Maria Stark. She is dead. He mentally crosses her off his list.

Ripping away the car door from its hinges, he peers inside. Howard Stark trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth waking up in soft mumbling, alerting the others in the car.

Howard Stark opens his eyes, glances over an somewhat conscious Jason as he looks at the Soldier. There is no anger or fear in his gaze -- but something else. Something that gives the Soldier pause. This is not an expression he has seen from his targets before.

Jason’s eyes flickering open falling onto the Howard, before looking at The Solider in pain, trying to search for his gun under his seat.

He locked eyes with the Solider seeing right into his soul. His steel blue eyes deep in an unknown word he can’t trace. The pain behind the lifeless face he gave, pausing at their actions. He doesn’t pull his gun on him, one bit. It was unspoken line between both parties.

"Bucky," Howard muttered. His hands fumbling weakly at his seatbelt, but his gaze is unfocused and vague. Dying, Jason knows it. But he hears his friend say, "Don’t hurt my son if he’s next…”

The word rattles around in the Soldier's head for a few moments without purchase. Jason waits for him to make a move, trying to figure out what happened that his last breath hasn’t come. But nothing.

Howard however takes a battling breath, then his shoulders lower. He dies with his eyes half open.

His attention snaps back at his words, knowing he meant every word as Jason weakly kicked open the door. The Solider finished the job for him tugging him out of the car, scooping up the blondes hand in his. Both men locked eyes once again, confused about the quick actions.

He could snap his neck, pull a gun on him or something.

In the Soldier's pocket is a lighter -- the authorities will assume the fire sparked from the car crash and caught dry brush. The flames will cleanse all evidence he was here.

Bucky... don’t hurt my son if he’s next..

Finish the assignment, the Soldier thinks. However a part of himself couldn’t murder the blonde. He didn’t have it in him to do it. None of them would know. He wondered why the man didn’t say a word to him yet, just staring at him a glint of trouble in his eyes as he felt his hand.

Jason just he recognizes those blue eyes, allowing the man to grab his bicep now as the other was occupied by a handheld gun trying to comprehend why he wasn’t dead yet. Then it hit him, his target included him in the flesh with the dog tags around his neck or at least his wristwatch, for extra evidence of his job being completed.

His eyes wet as all he could do was follow the instructions the Solider—Bucky—gave him. Then he turns and walks into the forest with him. The Solider’s work is not complete. He will be expected to end him.

It's only then he realizes he doesn't want to. His memories felt like they were split in two when they reached a hotel. Jason told him before entering that they will need to straighten up they’re hair and clothes, coming up with a cover story to tell the recipients. Bucky refused to comment on the request but eventually gave in.

An odd couple who needed to stay the night and thankfully she brought it.

Once entering the hotel room, Bucky finally let go of his bicep not realizing he might’ve left a bruised on the blonde. The room was somewhat cozy with beds, the lights were deemed reasonable, tiny kitchen, table with chairs and a bathroom. His eyes flicker titled his heads getting a better look at the man who sat down in one of the chairs.

It rattled Bucky’s brain at the moment seeing him again in full lighting, having not seen him in the longest time. He hasn’t aged a day! It pained him as he watched his movements, trying to remember the night they met. It came in patches across the entire trip here. The memories.

That night and the morning afterwards. It stunning. His smile and glimpse of joy in his eyes.

Everyone dressed in their finest whites and browns laughing teasing one another across the room. But Bucky’s eyes stayed that weekend on the blonde man chuckling with his buddies sharing a beer. With Howard Stark.

His pals were having fun. So, all he wanted was some alone time with the man, ready to enjoy himself and he did.

His voice brought him back to the present day.

“You can take a seat, you know? Get comfortable. I’m not your handler or anything. You took me as your hostage tonight. And for what, Bucky?” He said, his tone was calming but slightly bruised feelings. Tired and hurt.

“Okay..” Bucky replies softly taking a seat, unzipping his suit a bit to allow himself to breathe, “…my mission seems to not be complete. I was expecting to end everyone in that car.”

“So why didn’t you? For the last half hour I have been trying to comprehend why you did pull the gun on me? We were in the forest, you could’ve done it..”

“Because I couldn’t. The look in both of your eyes…I didn’t’ want to. Why didn’t you defend yourself, hmm? The whole time you were silent.”

“I couldn’t defend myself assuming your actions, so I waited for you to make your decision. Now your keeping me safe, why?”

“I don’t know..”

“Yes you do. You don’t remember right? But when my—Howard said your name…you paused. I saw a look in your eyes, you regret it. You heard what he said about his son and you paused. Then looked at me.”

They locked eyes again. Jason hitched a breath, his eyes scanning every feature his face. The look of confused as if he wanted to admit something but couldn’t due to his orders. But he didn’t need to know why he murdered, the only other man to look at with such kindness and the women who took him into her heart with so much love.

The dead know everything. He would just have to accept that one day, but that didn’t mean he decided to not get a swing at Bucky for his actions. He just needed some satisfaction, some answer. By the second swing to the face, his body crumbled in pain from accident. The brunette guided him back to his seat holding his wrist.

He glared feeling weak as he looked up at Bucky again. Some urgency in his face to tell him. Both men knew it. It was silent. It was only then Bucky’s mouth opened and shut, hesitate to say it even though both men knew it all too well. He remembers all of it.

~~~~~

Hours came and went. Jason went on to take a shower after Bucky did. It was a kind offer. It was his only time to actually think.

He was flabbergasted at the sight standing underneath the water that fit his face. In that room held the face of the man he didn’t expect to see. He remember it all too well.

That weekend after that mission, he just met Howard thinking he would never see that man ever again in his life. But he was very wrong! Jason had tears in his eyes missing him so badly, the smell of his cologne still in his nose.

He remembered Howard and him being brought up to a bar. The 107th and 106th gang was there. He was talking with his buddies, along with Howard who was more interested in the bartender. She was hot.

But his eyes fell onto the one of prettiest brunette around. Sergeant Barnes.

Hell he would’ve dated him.

Honestly Jason always had a thing for brunettes since he had Howard and Violet but he loved Angie more than his life itself. As well as his darling Maria, he loved her so much.

Damn the respect people, including himself had for that man.

He remembered both men chatting afterwards enjoying each other’s company. Laughing and teasing one another every once in a while. He looked at him with such kindness and respect. It felt good.

Then he remembered the words that kickstarted the rest of the night and morning after.

Hey, Barnes stole a jeep! Yelled Howard so loudly half of bar heard it.

Next thing he remembered was all three of them riding across the streets, dropping the genius off once he saw the bartender from earlier clocked out, leading him and Barnes alone. The two rode off into the night, passing through street lights and stores glancing over at each other every so often. It felt like a breath of fresh air, laughing the whole time.

They talked about life after the way, family they were waiting for them, and hopefully new opportunities to take upon once it all over. Seeing each other again and heading to vacation for a while. He asked Bucky if he had a lady waiting for him at home and his response was a simple no. Jason remembered his eyes perk up hearing that teasing him on any lady would love to have him.

He remembered the jeep coming to a stop near a park bench on a high hill. Nobody around, just pure sliver dollar silence as the cloudy skies cleared up to reveal the moon and stars. The smell of the flowers and air as he followed the brunette up the hill, sliding over to seat next to him at the benchmark and nice autumn breeze that blew past them.

The way Bucky teased him asking if he had a chance with a girl. His reply was a honest, ‘No, i don’t know if i will settle anytime soon.’

‘Why not?’ Was his response with a smile.

‘I feel like I forgot what normal is meant to be.’

‘I get that. I feel like I didn’t really know how to live before.’

‘Hmm. Maybe, we shouldn’t settle for normal.’

The next morning. It was a sight to see. The sun was coming up, the orange light turned the field into liquid gold shining down on both men. Bucky’s head rested on his shoulder as his hand placed on his shoulder snoring softy. His own head nuzzled against the brunette humming in his sleep, waking up as the sun hit his eyes.

Jason smiled at the memories.

Since it was weekend full with sightseeing, training with his pal and meeting new ones. Sneaking off with Bucky and Howard to the stores then heading off to the restaurants for a quick bite. It was a delightful surprise how comfortable he felt about Barnes, the sweet warm in his eyes and the charming smile that he portrayed everywhere they went.

———

But now in that very room sat the brunette with longer hair, deep blue eyes and a body language that said an unknown things. He barley cracked smiled however he remembered it all. The memories that were made and he actions he took.

To anyone who knew Bucky Barnes, would say he was a bit of a distant distraction from the normal life. He dated plenty of men and women in his time. Always had a thing for people with a respectable background. Something he would come to apparently appreciate in the future.

His mind flew back to that weekend with Underwood. The laughter they shared, the drinks, the running from the bar onto the jeep that night and the hopes to see one another again.

Bucky even gave the man his number and a cheeky wink before he took off to return fight the war.

But he didn’t get the chance to call him. Or even received a phone call since he fell off that train…

The last thing he remembered before waking up to that laboratory full of scientists was dreaming about that weekend. That smile and laughter that escaped Jason’s lips. The grin he gave everyone and the wink he returned to the night.

God! If he wasn’t in this situation, he would run over to the blonde and tell him everything he knew.

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He spared his heart by letting him live.

Bucky Barnes cared way too much to murder the man who gave him, a lifetime of memories.

He felt stupid.

But he shouldn’t. He deserved to smile. To see the man he cared for again.

“Bucky..?” Asked the blonde, coming out of the shower with wet hair and a white t-shirt giving him, a gentle smile.

“Hmm.” He responded, sucking a breath flickering his eyesight towards him.

“What’s going on that pretty little head of yours? You can tell me..”

“I um..you won’t like what you hear…i can’t..sorry.”

“I can tell enough. Your working for the other side against your will..you’ve been manipulated by them. I don’t know why you killed my..doesn’t matter.”

“…did you love ‘em?”

“Yeah..with all my heart..”

“I’m sorry..I’m so sorry.”

Bucky stood up, he wanted to run. He tried to escape the room, his hand was on doorknob as his voice hitched. He was tired. Annoyed. Sad. Hurt. He looked over his shoulder to look back at the blonde.

The kindness in his eyes. He paused, letting go on the handle as he turned around to face the man. His head dropped in sorrow, facing the floor as he felt light fingertips crawl up his chin, lifting his head to meet the green eyes. Bucky wouldn’t admit it but he missed the starving touch of someone’s warmth against his cold face.

That comforting gaze that would soften his cheeks.

His blue eyes met the green eyes once again. He wanted to let his shoulders fall but he feared it would show weakness. He wanted to let out a sob, but he feared he would let his guard down. But he wasn’t with anyone who would hurt him.

He hoped that Jason wouldn’t try to hurt him, yeah sure he killed his friend however, he could see something else in his face. Sorrow and compassion. Comfort. He was in a vulnerable position.

They both were.

Jason didn’t think he would admit the words that slipped his lips but they did.

“I’m not gonna hurt..i can’t blame you for what you did. It wasn’t your fault. You hear me Bucky? It wasn’t your fault...i just missed your voice..i wish i gotten your call..” The blonde admitted with a soft gaze.

He needed to hear those words.

The brunette shoulders finally fell as his guard fell down, tears slowly shaking down his cheeks. He wouldn’t expect forgiveness for what he did, but he gotten caught up in a tingled mess. Bucky’s head fell onto Jason’s shoulder as the blonde run a hand across his back, whispering softly to his ear that he wasn’t his fault.

Never was his fault. It was a guilt they would be have to carryover until the end of time.

He’s not the villain here, he’s the victim of a crime scene. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew the whole mission had to be done.

And now, here he stood in the arms of the man who showed him some kind of love. Compassion. Reassuring words. Kindness towards him after all the mistakes he did.

He wasn’t in stupid Russia. He was in the arms of someone who treated him like a human. Not a weapon to be experienced with.

“I missed you so many times…” Jason told him, his feelings were hurt but his heart was beating quickly for the brunette in front of him.

Feeling that reached up to the surface again after years of forgetting that heartbreak. It was a weakness inside him, when he looked at someone like Bucky Barnes.

Love? Was it some kind of love? Lust?

Possibly. It was a single weekend they both shared but it felt good. Freeing from the issues the world has been facing. A war.

Bucky eyes were pooled as a sob reckoned his body, he crumbled into Jason’s arms. He remembers the warmth and kindness theses are showed him that late night.

All he wanted now, was to faced him and beg for the blonde to help him with the hidden wound he tried to patch up eariler but failed to do so. However he knew he didn’t need to beg for help, he was already getting it. He was allowed to let his guard down for once in a long time.

It felt good, real good.

“J..JJ..I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry for what I did.” Bucky admitted with a chocked sob, “I didn’t expect to see you again after all theses years..and I have to return back soon…but I don’t want to..”

“I know you don’t…I know you have to return but when you do, I want to know that you survived so long and I’m proud of you. You did the hard part and one day you will get a better break..” Jason told him, trying to find the words to express how he felt.

“When..?”

“I don’t know when or how you will get a chance to breathe again but you will Bucky, all I could hope is for you to be happy one day...and for now, I’m going to give you one.”

“Huh? JJ I can’t let you do that..I’m already in so much trouble soon..”

“Let me fix your wound..like I used to?”

“I’ll like that…uh, are you okay?”

“I will be..”

Jason gently guided Bucky to the edge of the bed, waiting for him remove his jacket so he saw the badly cleaned wound. He found a first aid kit and started to clean it correctly, with such ease and gentleness asking if it stings every so often. Bucky started to smile down at the blonde who cleaned his wounds. He noticed the cuts and bruises on his face and arms.

Bucky winced as he softly muttered, “Sorry…”

“Don’t be..I’ve been though worse.” Jason said with a soft smile.

“You got better at this..”

“Yeah well, with the plenty of injuries I kinda had to..”

“You’ve been injured before?”

“Fights and missions in my own line of business..”

“How are you still alive?”

“Same as you, my body is frozen in time. But that’s a story for another time…”

“…are you uh, married? Kids?”

“Oh? Um, no. I couldn’t find anyone who could deal with my burdens. I mean I loved and lost before but i wouldn’t want anyone to suffer a lie that isn’t theirs..”

“Do i wanna ask?”

“I think it’s best not to. I mean, I’m not asking for anything about your line of work or lifestyle. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“Where are you going after this?”

“I uh, don’t know yet..I need to keep the wounds on and build another cover story. But I’ll figure it out later..”

“And now?”

This time, Jason looked up with a soft smile once he finished cleaning and patching him up correctly, as he shrugged. His green eyes burden so much hurt, love and confusion that carried so much depth behind that. Bucky would’ve loved to take that away, anyone would have given him a chance to breath during this time.

He doesn’t know what he did to describe or even deserve this one thing from him.

But sure as hell he was grateful for it.

“Do you ever…wonder what life would’ve been like if none of this ever…uh..um, happened?” Bucky asked, sounding kinda stupid the way his words slurred, “.. I would’ve loved to hang out with our buddies a lot more and date around..”

“Well I would’ve been married, with a kid or two..we would’ve lived closed by to your house..” Jason said with a small smile taking a few pauses as he thought, “…maybe you and me would sneak off for a night at the bar..”

“…I would’ve married Dot..god I loved her..and you would’ve gotten Angie..that was her name, right? I remember her eyeing you a lot..”

“Yeah, Angie Martinelli..I loved her way before I knew she would’ve been friends with Peggy Carter..but times change.”

“You haven’t..”

“You can say that…”

“What about us? If I wasn’t Hydra…where d-did you work after the war?”

“Uh, the SSR..now it’s SHIELD..you would’ve loved it. Hell, I think you would’ve loved Elizabeth.”

A smile crept up Bucky’s lips at the reminder of Elizabeth Stark’s name.

She was smart, sweet as candy, gorgeous, a wildcard and a total badass in his eyes. He got flashes of her face and the moment they met after he was rescued by the others. She was one of the most beautiful and kindness ladies he ever met, greeting each other with so much respect.

She teased him about a dates and he gave her his number. As they were spending night just chatting on the phone at hotels and campsites available for calls. He remembered promising another date before the war ended.

But never did live up to that promise. He hoped she was alright.

Jason noticed the look on his face and gave him a gentle smile, “Hey..it’s alright. We all miss her.. and i know you did the best you could do with the time we had in the war..”

“I know..I know..sometimes I wish I didn’t fall into the woods and that I held onto that railing…but it wasn’t my intention for any of it..it never was. I had a clear goal that day and it got turned into something else…I’m sorry for everything..” Bucky admitted looking down for a moment.

“It wasn’t your fault, okay? None of us could’ve predicted any of this to happen to our lives..but we are surviving and that’s all we can do..”

“I can only imagine what you’ve seen and been though over all theses years..”

“Don’t worry about me..I can handle it…or so I hope I can….what else do you remember?”

“A lot of it..sometimes it comes in flashes..”

“Such as?”

“…this blonde haired man..tall..blue eyes..”

“Ohh..”

“There was a old knock off comic book, I saw it a few days ago…Captain America, I think it is was?”

“Yeah, a lot of countries and states still sell them…and? You remember anything..?”

“I um..I know him, I think i do? I know I do…who is he?..Rogers…”

“...he was your best friend, Bucky…Steve Rogers.”

The name rattled in Bucky’s brain for a few short minutes as he stayed silent. Searching his eyes waiting for a sign as he stayed biting his bottom lip, sniffling trying to remember.

He remembers it. The face, the name, and the sound of his voice.

His best friend til the end of the line…

Jason took out his wallet, rummaging though the brown leather until he pulled out a small picture. A tiny one of the night at the bar that a photographer grabbed. He handed it to Bucky, as his fingers crossed the old photograph as his eyesight got blurry. Fresh tears came rolling in.

“Steve.” The brunette muttered, as the flashes of memories came back better than ever, like someone clicked the undo button.

“You have this?” Bucky asked mumbling about the picture in his hand.

Jason nods, “I like to keep old photographs in my wallet..that one was supposed to be for Peggy, uh Carter, to keep..she wanted it framed.”

“He looks..i look..oh god Steve..how could i—? How could I forget his face of all people?”

“It’s not your fault. HYDRA..they did it. They don’t want you to remember of this, because they know something might happen..”

“…did they ever take you..?”

“They tried. Once. In the 40s, a lot of Russian men and women. They kidnapped me during a mission..they almost wiped my mind..i mean, they kinda did..”

“..you don’t remember a lot either?”

“Some memories came and went..just like you, the situation it feels a little fuzzy. But I’m okay. We’re both okay…do you remember anything about Steve?”

“I remember a lot..before and after the war when i fell, I remember the memories of him..”

Bucky had a look in his eyes as if he’s reliving a memory. He let out a light chuckle and sniffled, “..he’s a little punk. I told him to not do anything stupid…”

Jason just watched Bucky in that moment. He didn’t say a word. Just listen to him as he mumbled and muttered softly with a light smile at his memories. A look in his eyes seemed to return as he watch him.

Some lightning of gentle glee in the brunette’s eyes as he talked, running his fingers crossed his long brown hair and catching the other man’s eyes every now and then.

“..do you remember your full name..?” The blonde asked softly, after being silent for so long leaning against the bed.

“Mhmm…more or less..i don’t like it..” The brunette admitted, matching his soft tone.

“..James Barnes..I always liked Bucky better..”

“..i think i was a good friend, right? I was good enough that it became my nickname..?”

“Well, I remember you did say that Steve gave you that nickname when you were kids..so i think you were a great friend..”

“..and was i good to you?..am i good to you?”

“What do you think?”

“..i think i was good to you?..i hurt you though..i hurt a lot of people’s feelings..i know it..”

“It wasn’t you. I can’t blame you, for hurting me or those people..”

“..why are you so good..to me? The world has been cruel to me..”

The blonde gave him a small smile, tugging some hair out of his face for a second and let out of a breath before standing up. Jason knew why he was good to Bucky Barnes. The world is a cruel place fulled with cruel people and niceness isn’t something everyone gets. He should know.

In his eyes, the brunette deserves some kindness and attention after everything.

“The world is cruel and hard and if it sees any bit of light..it will crushes it. And you deserve a chance to feel cared for, not be seen as a weapon. Or an experiment..” Jason said with a soft gaze.

His words meant more than he lead on.

“It sounds like your talking from experience..” Bucky replies, fumbling with his sleeves.

“I sorta am. And how i seen it, your more than what they made you to be.”

“You know…your the only thing that makes sense right now to me..thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

———

The rest of the night went as follows. The silence of fallen snow along with the sound of plates clanging together then dropped into the small sink. They were able to get food and water from the hotel, and able to find some form of entertainment on TV.

Hell, they found some extra clothing left in a closet to borrow for some time.

Both of them stayed in comfortable silence, giving all smiles and having conversations.

It was late. Very late into the night when tiredness started to take fold. It was mostly Jason who was tired, trying to nurse a tiny headache meanwhile Bucky was just resting his head on a pillow.

“You should rest..” Bucky said softly, resting his head against his curled in arms.

“You first.” Jason replied with a soft tease in his voice, looking over his shoulder.

“Hilarious..at least take a nap.”

“I’m fine..”

“What’s wrong?”

“Should i be the one to ask you that?”

“Jason. What’s going on?”

“..how can i rest knowing what i know now..? I’m not mad about anything, just sad and tired..surprised.”

“Why?”

“It’s Christmas time, Bucky. I lost a lot my friend beforehand..my nephew hates his father..and some others are god knows where..”

“..i’m sorry. It’s my fault your gone..they’re gone.”

“No it’s not..our Christmas was already a messy one, before you showed up..no one really cares about the holiday too much anymore.”

“So i sorta saved your Christmas?”

“I guess you did.”

Both men let out a small chuckle at the last comment. It was the holiday season and here they are in the mist of it all, hiding out til morning or early afternoon. It wasn’t so bad, per say since they weren’t alone in the slightest bit but they would’ve liked it to be in better circumstances. Jason knew he wasn’t gonna enjoy this holiday season as much as he used to, and seeing Bucky was a surprise to say the least.

But a serious secret he would have to keep, like other things he kept secret from the world.

He knew he would have to return back home soon, change his whole identity once again and transfer any information onto new documents, like he did every December reach the end of a decade.

Bucky watched him, move across the room to reach forward and grab a few dusty books from the small group of shelves. It confused Bucky onto what he was he doing, seeing the man pick up a napkin and a pencil. He watched him scramble and scribble onto the napkin, crossing things down as he went. He justified his own actions against the questions he had, leaning over to get a closer look at the actions Jason silently took.

It made him wonder how much times he did this in pure silence as the TV played as background noise. His bets were 15 times a day, once every couple of months? He saw titles of different types being scripted on the napkin, but it wasn’t clear to him because of subtle it was written, where it look like a small riddle or rhyme in a children’s book.

He watched Jason pick up on the paused that he made, looking over at the TV Christmas movie that was set up on the screen.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Bucky muttered, turning the volume of the movie up to an 8.

“Hm?” Jason answered, resting book against the bedside table.

“The napkin. The books. You look like a mad man.”

“Hilarious, Barnes. I’m just tinkering with something, a new theme..”

“N-new theme?”

“Uh, new alias, I guess..”

“Walk me through this, for I can understand what you mean..because I think I get it.”

“You were sent to murder Mr and Mrs. Stark, not knowing they would have an extra passenger seated in the back, right?”

“HYDRA assumed that Stark would have a party or something following him to his drive but they didn’t confirm that being the case. They want anyone who was in the car, as witnesses or something to be dead..you were there.”

“Exactly. I was there, they didn’t even bother to confirm if Stark would have another passenger there like his son or his best friends. But they want evidence of the murder, you shot the sirens and cameras right?”

Bucky gave him a look as if he was stupid or something, of course he shot the cameras. Jason cleared his throat after that look he received, getting his answer. That was also when Bucky realized what he means and where he’s getting at. A new cover story, an alias and everything after tonight. It made him wonder how many times has he done this routine before.

Bucky sighed, “I see what you’re doing. I get it, I do and you won’t tell me anything about the alias to keep you safe..for HYDRA doesn’t ask me question, they might as well wipe my mind after this mission is over..”

“Hm, yeah. I’ve done this before and I’ll do it a million times over.” Jason repiled, handing the brunette an old school pin from his jacket marked with dried up blood and sighed, “This is mine.”

“What the hell is this?”

“Old school SSR pin, every single agent had one. Howard had copy in his jacket pocket that you didn’t take, they won’t know the difference between the signs of the pin, that’s your evidence.”

“Ja-I can’t take it. It’s yours..it’s evidence but still..”

“They might want evidence, Bucky. I won’t need it, not where I’m going. I have everything else at home..I’m glad Howard died with his pin in his pocket, it meant he created everything he could for the organization’s future and I would have to return back to SHIELD without mine..”

“You’re an idiot. They will know you don’t have yours, won’t they?”

He shook his head this time, he had that one covered. With all the years he lived, he made sure he had a copy of everything he could possibly own and could be used for travel tucked away in a small area at his house. Certain items stayed within that box and others were thrown away, to not stir any controversy over him. Jason wasn’t that stupid.

It made Bucky wonder however, if he didn’t murder Jason Underwood allegedly since it seemed like that name died for the public a long time ago, then what alias did he take down within that flamed car earlier? It was better he didn’t know that particular name until later, when asked. He just nodded instead with a soft sigh.

The rest of the night was spend a rather sleepless one, due to Bucky wondering and reloading his equipment, packing up everything needed to return back to work soon. Meanwhile Jason stayed sat on the bed, trying to rematch up his own wounds and rewrite in his mind the way to get back home without any deep questions. His cover was the easiest part, he was badly hurt which was truth and wasn’t thinking straight due to having an unlimited amount of time.

His mind ran across to only responsive person he knew who would grab him what was needed was Daniel Sousa, no questions asked, without Peggy on his back door for too long pondering what happened.

Bucky was half asleep, his head rested on the pillow with a soft smile watching the blonde chuckling softly to himself. Jason was resting in his bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling humming a soft tune as his eyes glanced over at the brunette who was staring right at him. His piercing blue eyes connected with his green ones in a shimmer of the bedroom lights. If it wasn’t for the night he wouldn’t have blushed more easily as he should have.

“What? Can’t find the confidence to look me in the eyes, Underwood?” Bucky said with a grin, chuckling as he let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding. He might as well be flirting.

“Watch it, Barnes. Last person who looked at me that way, i ended up on a hill in France.” Jason added shaking his head, returning the effortlessly warm grin.

��Ohh who was the lucky one?”

“You know who. For someone who just finished a murder mission, you’re awfully flirty with me.”

“I didn’t want to do it..you know that. It’s just seeing you all relax..makes me forget about everything, you know?”

“I know..despite that whole look of yours, I’m actually digging the number you’re wearing..it’s stupid..I’m delusional.”

“If you’re delusional then I’m sure as gone.”

The two of them softly chuckled.

Jason softly smiled, “Hey.”

“Hm?” Bucky replied staring back at him again.

“You look..good.”

“I uh..I feel good.”

They shift in their respective positions, rolling over in bed to face the other person in a more comfortable manner. Despite all the stress and frustration that they feel about tonight, the moment they looked at each other’s faces, it all melted away.

Hydra, being on the run, Shield, keeping lies to themselves and begging for the truth not to come back to haunt them—all of that? It drifted over to the back of their minds like it was nothing.

Funny, how seeing someone who you missed so much time with can do to a person.

As if, it was written in stone by the gods above to somehow be interwoven in each other’s life one way or another. Jason and Bucky shouldn’t be allowed to share such a secretive moment together, tucked away in some hotel room after such a harsh encounter, yet here they are. Both cold and alone in the mist of the night, despite the central heating system wrapping around the ground, it seems like it would barely survive the hours up ahead.

“I missed you..” Jason admitted, as his voice lowered to a whisper but the brunette heard it.

Bucky was taken back by his words as he melted a little and returned to confession, “…so did I. I uh, I missed you a lot..”

“It was some silly night but I remember it, you know?”

“You remember the rest of the week? We sneaked off to every other store to find the best souvenir but ended up at a ice cream parlor instead.”

“Didn’t we share an ice cream together?”

“Cause they only had a couple scoops of Rocky Road left! You do remember.”

Bucky roared a laugh as Jason grinned.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t in his eyes, nor was the Agent at SHIELD in his own.

Just two old men, Jason Grey and James Buchanan.

There was a lot bending on their hands with the horrific incident that occurred in front of their eyes, yet neither side had the slightest intention to bring it up again for a long time. Yes, Jason could’ve shot him while stuck in this hotel and Bucky could’ve done the same at any point, but they didn’t dare to do so.

Jason knew if he did, HYDRA would’ve been after him in a matter of weeks and it would take longer for him to recover and return home to his life in California. Bucky knew if he killed him, it would’ve been another kill in his books that would haunt him forever and he made a silent promise to Howard Stark to not go after his son, in response he needed the blonde to return home alive.

Aside from the obvious mess brewing upon them and lack of self respect, if it was up to Jason and Bucky, the two would run away together. Be hidden away from the world until everything died down and they could start somewhere else, have a better chance to escape the chaos and breathe.

Yet, it wasn’t in the cards for either of them.

Instead both men ate whatever snacks found in the refrigerator and vending machines in the halls, watching the crappy old movies on television as they stayed chatting until dawn…

…the morning sunlight peaked through the shades of the hotel that very first alarm to strike upon the room, cracking open the notion that this wasn’t a dream, everything that happened last night was just fact.

The second clue to this alarming trend was that the other bed was emptied out, paneling over the bed closes to the door as glimpses of the blonde and brunette snoring calmly. Fully clothed, wearing some fabric they found in one of the closets comfortable enough to rest in. Bucky’s hand lay across Jason’s chest as the blonde hummed in his sleep with his fact turned toward the brunette’s direction.

Both curled underneath the blanket for warmth, breathing deeply into the air surrounding the room. The pillows were soft, the mattress kept itself polished and comfortable, as blankets were stacked one over the other beneath the pair.

The third striking feature of the set was the moment Bucky slowly turned to his left, letting out a soft groan as he fluttered his eyes open. He squeezed his eyes for a second to breathe in the silence and light that filled his senses, meeting the sleeping gaze of the blonde man.

He only felt a slight smile reaching his lips, as the memory of last night slowly wired in his brain, where the two were watching on a movie then nodding off on his bed unexpectedly, the temperature dropped as it resulted in finding a couple more blankets to keep warm. A part of him should shiver and regret this folding turn of events that took place.

But he couldn’t shake off the pressure of leaving him in the hotel alone after all of this is over. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t think twice and find a way to escape this situation, bringing the other with him for just a little while. Despite the high urge to do something about it, he couldn’t get himself to disappear from the bed and leave the key behind.

Instead he stayed, watching every tall tale feature the blonde had to offer his memories.

“..mornin’..” Mumbled Jason softly and ever so gently as his eyes stayed closed.

It almost startles Bucky at the sudden voice reaching his ears but nonetheless he smiles, “..m-morning.”

There was a peaceful silence that drafted between them.

“How did you sleep?” Asked the blonde, slowly opening his eyes turning to get a glimpse of the brunette.

And by god, James Barnes wasn’t allowed to look this well at the crack of dawn. His long dark locks curled around the edges of the pillow, his blue eyes shining in the sunlight and the cool metallic hand rested on his chest just as comfortably.

After a long second, Bucky responded, “I uh, I slept well actually..”

“I bet.” Jason joked, bringing a light smile to his face.

That caused a crash of light chuckle to fill the air.

The morning went pretty well. The two stayed in bed staring at the ceiling and stealing glances half of the time, enjoying the light banter. Eventually Bucky crawled out of bed and got himself in the shower, then soon went Jason’s turn to freshen up.

After a long period of time of declining interest in food, Jason’s stomach growls as he grabbed himself a sandwich from the hotel bar and a couple of drinks from the vending machine. He may or may not have taken a couple of bucks out of the brunette’s wallet that morning.

But he repaid him with a sandwich and a bottle of water, despite Bucky’s light glares he couldn’t be bothered to give a remark as hunger strikes. He just ate calmly and hummed a small smile to the man.

Sadly enough, the time they had spent together came to a close. Items were packed, stitches were wrapped and clothing was tucked away for any cleaning lady to come in later. Jason sat on the bed buckling his bootstraps and cuffing his socks into place, as his gaze turned to the man who was fumbling with his jacket once more. Bucky nodded, getting the last clasp secured on his jacket and swung his bag over his shoulder.

The two had a seamless idea to leave the hotel one after the other, in order to not stir up any wondering eyes or glimpses of controversy in the air. Yes, the thought was more than simple for anyone to follow along if they were looking too closely but neither was willing to take that chance.

Barnes was first to leave.

Neither said a word, just kept their gaze afar from another.

As Bucky stood by the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob, a sudden wave of emotion washed over him once his gaze fell on Jason for the 5th time this morning. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving without expressing the depth of his feelings and gratitude towards the man.

He didn't know if he would retreat or regret this later on, however at the moment, he didn't care to dwell on those thoughts.

With a swift and decisive movement, Bucky turned around, closing the distance between them in an instant. A finger hung under the blonde's chin, staring into each other's eyes. Without a second later, his lips met Jason's with a gentle and tender touch, a silent testament to the unspoken words that lingered between them.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as they shared the intimate embrace, the weight of their emotions hanging heavy in the air.

Jason's initial surprise quickly melted into a reciprocal response, his body instinctively leaning in to meet Bucky's kiss. Their lips moved together in a dance of longing and affection, each moment filled with a sense of warmth and belonging that neither wanted to let go of.

When they finally parted, there was a softness in their smiles, an understanding that transcended words. It was a silent agreement, a shared moment of mutual affection and longing that bound them together in ways they couldn't fully comprehend.

A couple of milliseconds past, standing there in pure silence.

Bucky once turned to leave, a smile graced his lips, his heart filled with a newfound sense of peace and contentment. The door closed behind as he turned towards the steps leading himself to the first floor of the hotel.

Jason watched him go, still slightly breathless from the unexpected kiss, a part of him couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself, shaking his head in disbelief at the whirlwind of emotions that had swept over them both.

And as they went their separate ways, the memory of that fleeting moment lingered in the air, a reminder of the small yet somehow profound connection they shared...

//

Ahhh! Couldn't resist writing for this unexacting pairing, this has been in my drafts for a year now and decided to finally post it. Anyways let me know what you think. Remember to like, comment and share

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @cherrysft @rickb-chaos @starkleila @infinetlyforgotten @meiramel @sherloquestea @buckysteveloki-me @yetanotherwells @nakiaswg @carellmcu @ximehs @xgoddessoffandomsx

[welldonebeca]

It's a Bad Idea, right? (Epilogue)

WC: 2.1k words Warnings: Mafia AU. Comfort. Fluff. Tension. Angst. Open ending? Happy Holidays and end of the year, everyone.

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The train was a long trip for Paris, and France.

In America, she could spend three hours in a car and she would still be in the state of New York, depending on which direction she went - damn, she could stiill be in the same city! But going from Nantes to Paris – for just about 2 and a half hours in a very stable train, peaceful, with a guaranteed seat and everything France had to offer – meant practically crossing the country, and it was much more peaceful and comfortable.

After some many years in America, she couldn’t find a single reason to complain about home.

Home.

It had a really good sound to it, didn’t it?

She tapped into her phone, finding another picture from Mum.

They were making a dinner fit for a royal guest, their intentions were very clear.

It wasn’t like she brought guests home constantly, that was going to be an occasion.

Betty was living in Paris now, but she made sure to always be in Nantes every other weekend to spend time with them. After so many years in America, even the longest week with her parents was too little to compensate for that time.

Mum and Dad loved it, really. They loathed the moment she had to leave, and she kind of felt the same.

Betty checked the time as the train stopped.

She was still on time.

She was still working remotely today, technically. They were closing the designs in the new collection, they did need her to finish up her last two designs before she was free this week. But it was fine, Betty would spend the way back finishing it.

It was a bit of time until she got to the airport, probably enough time for the whole immigration process and all, she would be there in time.

She stopped by a bakery outside the airport to get a good bag of warm croissants, and by the flower shop nearby to get a bouquet. It would be a nice welcoming gift!

At last, she went into the airport, checking her wristwatch as she went off to the terminal to wait.

That was a new… thing.

A new try.

Betty hadn’t cut off contact with her friends when she moved to France. Actually, if anything, she spoke to them much more. There was an incentive to be talking to them.

And didn’t psychology kind of say you bond with people you experience trauma with?

Truth was, the more time passed, the closer to Pietro Betty became.

They talked so, so much more now that they were on different continents, more than they ever did when they shared their home and worked in the same restaurant together.

So he had asked for a few vacation days, agreed to work a week remotely when they were over, and was coming to spend three weeks with her, in Nantes and then in Paris.

They weren't staying with her parents, of course, they were going to share the hotel room in Nantes and he was staying in her place in Paris.

It was new.

And they were taking it slow, as slow as they could, in the last half a year.

But he was in France now, and maybe things were going to move faster.

She shifted on her feet, a bit nervous, a bit anxious, shifting the paper bag and positioning the flower. Sunflowers, very lively.

Betty tried not to look too nervous, tapping her foot, and looking over the list of flights.

His flight had already landed.

What was taking him so long?

She exhaled, but walked back to a few seats facing the doors, crossing a leg over the other as she tried not to look too impatient.

It was so weird, the whole time she was in the train, or walking, she felt nothing. She was fine. And then, now that all she had to do was wait a few minutes, probably while Piet went through immigration, her heart was thundering in her chest and she just wanted time to move faster, and for him to just be there.

The music playing somewhere in the airport was calming enough that she could distract herself, but it would be a lie to say it didn’t scratch something in the back of her mind.

When was the last time she had even listened to ‘Coney Island’? Maybe back when she lived near said Coney Island?

Still, Betty hummed along, trying to remember the lyrics. Music had a thing, right? Of reminding people of them. Even after years of not listening to a song, just one play and there you go, you can sing it nearly perfectly again.

“I’m sitting on a bench in Coney Island wondering where did my baby go?” she mumbled, tapping her fingers to the beat. “The fast times, the bright lights, the merry-go. Sorry for not making you my centrefold.”

A few people emerged from the doors where Pietro was supposed to come from, but he wasn’t among them. And for the looks of it, immigration was going very slow.

Betty sighed, resigning herself to her spot.

“Disappointments close, your eyes, and it gets colder and colder,” she hummed to herself, probably off-key. “When the sun goes down.”

Something soured strangely in her belly. It was a very sad song for a place as bright as Coney Island was.

She felt someone sitting by her side, but kept her eyes on the gates.

Anytime now.

“Bonjour,” the man greeted her, his accent decidedly American.

“Bonjour,” she spoke back, but didn’t look at him.

The song kept going, and she could hear him humming along to it as he seemed to type onto his phone.

“What’s a lifetime of achievement? If I pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me?” he sang, a little bit indiscreet.

It was weird, but oh well. It was a good song, right?

But her stomach flipped anyway. His voice was a bit familiar.

Or maybe she was just remembering the New Yorker accent she heard so much before. It was probably that.

“And do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?” she mumbled, hearing him do the same thing. “Will you forgive my soul when you are too wise to trust me or too old to care?”

She smiled a bit. Oh, well, then. She was whisper singing with a stranger, how fun.

“Cause we were like the mall before the internet, it was the one place to be,” she tapped her fingers on her thighs. “The mischief, the gift wrapped suburban dreams.”

“Sorry for not winning you an arcade ring,” he sang, perhaps too loud.

And maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was the way he said it.

Or the way his voice suddenly made sense, and she suddenly recognised it, because she had heard it singing songs in perfect pitch for months because that stupid card haunted her memory for so long. It was impossible to listen to Taylor Swift until… she even forgot she liked Taylor Swift.

Her neck turned so fast it nearly cracked, and there were the eyes she had made herself forget, bright blue and sweet and boyish, with maybe a bit more wrinkles as they looked back at her, as if he had aged five years in a space of, what 18 months?

Steffan's hair had changed, darker and longer, like a lion’s mane, and his beard was the thickest she had seen on a face.

But she could recognise his eyes anywhere, if his sheer size wasn’t enough of a tell-all.

"Hi, Betty," he greeted softly.

Her breath caught in her chest, and she stood up so abruptly she dropped the flowers on her lap. What in the world—

“How-” she stuttered out. “Where-”

How was in France?

How had he found her?

He had disappeared out of the fucking blue one day and now he was showing up the same way after?!

Steffan stood up as well, and Betty took a step back, and she could see it in his eyes how he froze, surprised by her reaction.

Well, what did he expect? That she jumped in joy? Hugged him and kissed him?!

"How are you here?" she demanded. "Why are you here?"

Was he stalking her? The idea sent a shiver down her spine as she glanced around, noticing his luggage nearby. Was he travelling?

Steffan rose to his feet as well, and Betty instinctively took a step back.

She looked to the side. He had a luggage. Was he travelling? Was he planning something?

"I was gonna take the train," he explained, his voice far too calm. "Then I saw you coming into the airport."

Betty looked back at the security around the airport. As far as she knew, he was a criminal, a Nazi, and was hiding from the police!

He took another step, and she took two of them back.

“Don’t,” she raised a finger. “Or I’ll scream. How did you find me? I’m not asking again!”

Steffan swallowed down, and she could see the tranquillity escaping his face.

"I didn't," he insisted, his voice full of desperation. "I promise, Betty. I really saw you on the street, and I couldn't risk it, I had to see if it was you! I read in a magazine that you worked in Paris, but-"

“Then came after me?” she interrupted him. “After all this time.”

“It was just dumb luck,” he continue, trying to defend himself. “I know there’s a lot I have to explain, but please, you need to listen to me, give me a chance?”

A chance?

Her blood boiled in her veins.

After she had spent her whole time in New York either trying to find him or expecting him to find her and making it so fucking easy she could attract a stalker!

“No!” she snapped, interrupting him.

Betty had fought tooth and nail to get a better life! She had a career, she had just bought her own house, her name meant something now and she had a boyfriend! She was safe now to go to the fucking temple every week, to be herself and not look over her shoulder every single time she was out of her house! And he wanted to ruin it?!

“Please,” he pleaded, his eyes soft and broken.

“If I ever see you again I’m calling the police,” Betty threatened, the words nearly falling off of her lips. “Stay away from me!”

And before she realised it, there was a policeman by her side and another standing between them.

“Is there a problem here?” he questioned.

She exhaled, swallowing down.

"No problem, officer," Steffan replied smoothly, his voice too steady despite what was happening between them. "Just a misunderstanding."

Misunderstanding her ass.

“Cet homme n’est pas censé être ici, il n’est pas censé être près de moi,"she told him quickly.

The officer by her side turned to her, and Betty lowered her eyed, swallowing down agai.

"Il est dangereux, monsieur. S’il vous plaît," she implored

He’s dangerous. Please.

She wouldn’t know if Steffan understood what she was saying, she wasn’t looking at him.

"Sir, I'm going to need to see some identification,” the officer between them decided.

Steffan hesitated, but patted his pocket and gave him an ID.

An American ID.

And, honestly, she could fight it, and tell them what she knew, but she just wanted to get him away from her!

The officer returned his ID, and Betty kept her eyes down.

“Thank you, Mr Carter,” e told him. “I’ll have to ask you to leave the premises. I’ll need to escort you if there's any more trouble.”

Mr Carter? So he had a new name now?

She looked up, and found Steffan with his jaw stiff, but he nodded, at last.

He pulled something from his wallet, and took out a little card, placing it down and on where she was previously seated.

Without a word, he walked out, and she exhaled, finally relaxing.

“Is this all, madame?”

She nodded, watching him go.

“Oui. Merci.”

They left her, and she covered her mouth with a hand, gasping and nearly dropping her bag of croissants when she felt a hand on her arm, but Pietro grabbed it before she could.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, grabbing it.

Betty threw her arms around his shoulders quickly, grabbing him and hugging him tightly.

Oh, God!

Pietro wrapped his arms around her slowly, croissants forgotten.

“Is everything okay?” he asked softly.

She pulled back to look at him, and his eyes were so soft it made her whole body relax.

Piet had just arrived. She couldn’t burden him like that from the first minute.

She nodded quickly, taking his face in her hands and pressing a kiss to his lips, and Pietro’s lips curled up into a smile.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

Betty nodded.

It was fine.

“Yeah,” she assured him. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

She was sure Steffan was never going to show up again.

They were safe and sound.

…

“it’s a Bad Idea, right?” was posted on my Patreon in September 2023. To have early access to it (and lots of other stories), consider subscribe to my page! It’s just $2 a month, and I know you won’t regret it!

…

Bad Idea: @peaceloveancolor

[eccentricallygothic]

Coy

Pairing: Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You.

Description: Steve makes his shy girl call him Daddy <3

Warning(s): Stevie is lowkey a lil mean, m!dom, f!sub, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, missionary, doggy style, dick riding towards the end, spanking, hair pulling, age gap bc it's me, slight bondage idk, choking, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk. MDNI.

Type: Request for my lovely @chxrryhansen, here. 

MASTERLIST

❤️

“C'mon, just say it, baby” Steve wasn't sure if the annoyance in his voice was unclear or if you were just that stupid. 

“Nooo, Stevie!” You giggled even though you had been whining just a few seconds ago because of how much strength he had had to use and the endurance that had been required of you to withstand the entering of his monstrous cock in your tight little pussy. Yes, Steve had indeed fingered you before that. And yes, it still hadn't been enough to open up your tiny hole. 

Not for Steve, anyway.

“Oh—” he stopped to keep himself from saying something hurtful because you were too sensitive for your own good. “Just… fuck!” He abruptly cursed as your pussy responded to the twitching of his dick by clenching around it just when he was balls deep inside you. “Just say it for me, yeah, baby?” You were choking his dick out and his dick was in pain too. 

Only, your tightness and his girth made up a pain too nice for either of you to want to stop. 

Your face was flush and your heavy breaths were labored, the weight of his massive body pressing yours down into the mattress. “B- But it's wrong, S- Stevie…” It took him all his strength to not scoff at your words so he took his ire out on your poor little nipple that was trapped between his cruel fingertips. 

“Why?” Steve's hips nearly collided with yours when he gave you yet another heavy but speedy thrust. 

“B- Because you're not actually my Daddy, S- Steve— hnng!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt his breach intensify, the pangs that were being caused by the vicious jabbing of his hard, thick tip against your innermost spot on the brink of reaching your cervix. 

Steve's nose flared and his blue eyes suddenly flashed you an icy look. “Yeah?” His eyebrows went flat but the violent rocking of his body against yours didn't. The room was full of the gut-wrenchingly obscene sounds of skin slapping against flesh. “Who do you think I am, then?” 

It was getting harder to form proper words the more his cock caused for the burning knot to tighten between your hips. “Y- You… You're… AH!” Your arms that were coiled around his broad shoulders tightened against his neck to withstand how his huge hand rudely was squeezing your boob. “You're… b- bofi…” Steve's strength was no joke.

“And who says bofis can't be Daddies?” The golden haired man expectantly peered down at you for an answer but you were too busy moaning and rocking yourself against his cock as much as his heavy body allowed you to do so. 

“B- But…” Your small protest told him all he needed to know.

Steve didn't have time for this nonsense. 

A loud plop! sounded in the air and you blushed a deep shade of red despite your worked up state. Before you could word your complaint about why Steve had suddenly pulled out of your weepy cunt, the older flipped you onto your chest and roughly pushed what remained of your shirt -the beast had a thing for ripping your clothes off, good thing he made up for it by buying you prettier compensations- up your arms and around your wrists until they were bound above your head. 

New slick bubbled out of your opening as you whimpered and felt your hole blink in sensitive realization of the fact that now he wanted you to lay your face down and keep your ass up. Fuck. When he took you like that, there was absolutely nothing he couldn't make you do or say. 

After that, Steve had your throat in one hand and your boobs in the other, his muscular thighs fished their way under your trembling legs to collect them out of his way. His tip that had cooled down a bit made you jump when he entered you again and though the penetration was somewhat easier this time around, you couldn't help but whine from the stretch again. 

And then, Steve went into a crazed jackhammer mode. Your throat tickled and ached from the deep groans that crawled up your vocal cavity, ones that your position was forcing you to stifle into the mattress. The temperature of his cock easily returned back to its previous warmth. 

“Say it” he demanded as he squeezed your windpipe. 

All you could let out was a humiliating, breathless and incoherent guttural ‘aaaaah~’ as your body began to slide off his due to the force of his brutal fucking. The tip of your nose hurt from how it rubbed up and down the bedding.

“Tsk, messy little kiddie brat” his hand abandoned your boob to firmly claw around one of your thighs to hold you in place to ensure a smooth pounding. “Needs Daddy for everything but acts like she doesn't” you could deny it to your heart's content and be as shy and ‘innocent’ as you pleased, but the way you moaned, messed yourself up and clenched when he said the dirtiest things was not lost on him.

Steve knew you liked it all just as much as he did. 

“Oh, my God—!” Steve squeezed your throat again because he did not like what he was hearing. Your lungs ached from the strain he was putting them under.

“Now that's a bit far, baby” before he shook in mirth and the vibration of his body shook your squishy walls, the sensation causing your eyes to roll until their undersides burnt. “But I guess that's okay too” your fucked out mind felt somewhat relieved. Maybe this would satiate him and you would not have to— “But that's not what I want to hear you call me tonight” your chest ached from the wheeze you let out when he finally let your throat go to smack your ass and you could breathe again. “Come on, now. Chop, chop” you cried out from the frustration. 

He was so mean.

“After all, Daddies take care of their kids. And I take care of you, don't I?” There was something in the way he worded it. You moaned out loud. His balls began to penetrate your stubborn opening. 

And then he crept his fingers between your legs and against your cunt. The grainy digits stroked your hardened flesh. And you knew at once, you had lost. 

It was impossible to hold back now. The taut dam of your building orgasm came undone and your toes curled as bittersweet relief exploded between your hips and down your legs.

“DADDY! OH, DADDY! OH!” You began to chant uncontrollably, feeling your knees shake as cold sweat trickled down the back of your thighs. 

“Now that's more like the dirty little slut that I've raised on this cock” when Steve really got into chasing his own orgasm, and he always did that after yours, the most obscene and sodomous things came out of his mouth. “Tell me, brat” since you were going through a mind melt, Steve smacked your ass to redirect your attention to him. “Will you ever try to deny your Daddy again?” His hand wrapped your hair around it and your body curved in a humiliating angle as he pulled you up to bounce on his cock now.

“N- No, no, Daddy, no! Never!” Your orgasm was turning into overstimulation and there was not a damn thing you could do about it.  

“Really?” You broke into a fit of cries when Steve began to pat-slap your clit. “Doesn't sound very convincing to me…”

“No! No, Daddy! I promise! I promise! I promise I won't, Daddy!” You were curved so far out that your head collapsed on one of his hard shoulders. Your chest ached from how violently your tits bounced up and down.

“That's my girl” The baritone of Steve's voice drilled into your mind as he looked down at you before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, one tyrannical paw settling on your chest to keep you from falling down, hips springing you up and down like a mindless little toy.

❤️

Everything tag 🩷: @rosecentury

I know it sucks, I am sorry. I have a very bad creative block these days but I am trying my best to clear out all requests <3 

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Hey idk if you'd do this but bucky barns x reader who has bad period cramps and how he'd help hcs? Xx

Bucky’s Girl on her Period Headcanons

•Bucky is very considerate when it comes to your period, he never wants you to be in pain

•It took you a while to express your discomfort, especially before you two were sexually active, though he can always tell when you’re not feeling well and he tries to help you

•He was almost like a puppy, he knows you’re not feeling well and he tries to bring you things you like, at first he brought you your favorite meal from the place down the street but he would bring it while you were bloated and nauseous which would annoy you, then he would end up worrying that you’re not eating since he knows you, you love to eat…he quickly learned not to say that though as you immediately took it to mean he thought you were fat

•Your mood swings confuse him to no end and right when he thinks he has an understanding of your mood, you’re crying

•He snuggles you whenever you get weepy and it’s his favorite time oddly enough because when you cry you get snuggly and when you get snuggly you get tired and fall asleep on his chest, making him feel like he’s made you feel better, at least enough to rest

•When you finally express why you’re not feeling well it seemingly registers to him all of the times you were clearly uncomfortable but brushed it off

•He does research on the internet that night for hours, learning everything that’s going on with your body (since men in his time weren’t taught about this subject) but also trying to figure out common ways he could help, if not just to make you feel less moody if he couldn’t relieve your pain

•He took some things he learned online too literally so the first time he goes shopping for you he gets way too much, coming home with 6 boxes of tampons (all the correct brand and size which impressed and surprised you), 2 plastic bags full of 15 different kinds of chocolate, and 8 new stuffed animals

•He expressed to you instantly that it doesn’t bother him that you have your period and he can’t believe that there are men in the world that are so uncomfortable with something so natural that they’ve made his Princess feel like she needs to hide it from him lest he be disgusted by you, Fuck that

•He sets to making you feel comfortable right away, getting you your heating pad and setting a nest up on the couch, turning on your favorite movie and snuggling you close, massaging your lower back

•Bucky downloads a period tracking app on his phone and fills in the dates and symptoms he notices and that you express so that he can tell around the time that it’s going to happen; from that moment on he is always prepared for that time of the month, and if he’s not prepared at least he’s never confused when it happens

•He has a secret stash in his closet of a box full of chocolate, he also keeps several boxes of the tampons you prefer to use since you always seem to forget to buy them on time, though whenever you need it he always surprises you by being willing to go to the store and buy them for you if he’s all out

•Bucky was truly stunned at the fact that men wouldn’t go to the store to get tampons for their women, a women that you’re in love with, a women that’s in love with you, a women that is going through something that men will never have to suffer through and they don’t have enough compassion to go get them the only thing they really need? The Sergeant doesn’t consider himself a ‘good man’ in any sense but Bucky doesn’t understand modern men at all

•One thing Bucky noticed is that you seem to be in quite a bit of pain almost every month, and upon asking you explained you have worse cramps than normal women, often being debilitating for you to the point that you can’t stand up straight; it took some time to convince him that you’ve already been to the doctor and that physically your okay, there’s nothing that can be done to fix it, you just have to suffer, he doesn’t appreciate that answer

•Bucky mutes your phone at this time of the month, telling Tony whenever he calls with a request or Fury when he calls with a mission to fuck themselves, his Princess is in pain and he needs to take care of you

•He gets Banner to get you a script for some stronger pain meds for when you desperately need them, not willing to give them to you all the time but at least to be able to sleep at night or have a nap when the pain is really bad

•There is a hall closet full of blankets and pillows for use when he builds you a nest to sleep in so you don’t have to move, Bucky actually finds that he enjoys caring for you, it makes him feel useful and loved when you look up at him with your big beautiful Y/EC eyes and smile at him

•About 6 months after you start dating, Tony clears out and gives you and ‘Your Cyborg’ your own floor in the tower to stay in and Bucky fixes up a whole room with a large nest of your blankets on top of a king sized mattress that sits on the floor in front of a TV, it has an air conditioner, a bathroom full of products and a basket in the edge of your nest that he always keeps stocked with chocolate and snacks; this is mostly so he doesn’t have to keep setting up the ‘nest’ over and over since you enjoy it at all times of the month, and it’s so big your beefy soldier boyfriend can fit into it with you and all of the stuffies he bought you before and after you told him about your period (the fact that Bucky believed the way to make you feel better when you were ‘sick’ was to buy you stuffed animals touches your heart in a special way, he’s the worlds greatest assassin and still your sweet teddy bear)

•You often find yourself getting a massage, either your lower back or even better your crampy tummy, appreciating the relief his inhumanly strong hand brings to you, the massage is often necessary to help you sleep at night and he rubs your stomach until you drift off

•It took a bit of time for the Soldier to allow your flesh to be touched by his vibranium hand however as he realized he was able to use it to help your hot flashes he tried to relax himself enough to allow you to hold it; Bucky now even enjoys watching you wrap your body around his metal arm which never warms up, the metal staying constantly cool which allows you to get some relief from the hot flashes

•For being a man from the 40s Bucky is very sweet and attentive when it comes to your time of the month, he hates seeing you in any kind of pain so seeing you in what is basically unnecessary pain is something he’s strongly driven to relieve for you

•Bucky is the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, never having expected him to be the kind of man comfortable buying feminine hygiene products at the store for you, you appreciate him more than ever and you are damn sure he will not be getting away from you any time soon

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Under the Stars (Steve Rogers)

Summary: You and Steve spend time together star gazing.

WC: 590ish

Warnings: Fluff

Read on Ao3!

--

The quiet hum of the city settled around you as you found yourself sitting on the rooftop of the Avengers Tower. The night sky was a deep velvet, dotted with stars that twinkled like diamonds. You leaned back on your hands, soaking in the cool breeze and the soft sounds of the city below. It was peaceful up here, away from the chaos of the world.

Steve Rogers joined you a moment later, the familiar sound of his boots softly hitting the rooftop breaking the tranquillity. He settled beside you, his presence warm and comforting. You glanced at him, the way the moonlight danced across his features, casting gentle shadows on his jawline.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he took in the view.

“Absolutely,” you replied, your heart fluttering as he turned to face you. “But I think the stars are even brighter up here.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that charming way that always made your heart skip. “You’re not just saying that because I’m here, are you?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No. It’s just… it feels special. Like the universe is reminding us of all the good things.”

His expression softened as he looked at you. “You know, I used to think I understood what it meant to be a hero, and Captain America. But being with you has shown me that there’s so much more to it.”

You turned to him fully, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began, pausing to gather his thoughts, “being a hero isn’t just about fighting battles and crimes. It’s about the people you fight for. And you… you make everything worth it, you always have.”

Your breath caught in your throat as the weight of his words settled between you. You felt your cheeks flush, and you looked away, tracing patterns in the concrete with your eyes.

“Steve, I—”

Before you could finish, he gently turned your face back to him, his blue eyes searching yours. “I hope the heavens know how much I adore you,” he said softly, sincerity flooding his voice. 'I hope they know I would do anything in my power to show you how deeply I care about you."

Your heart raced at his confession. You could see the truth in his eyes; in that moment, the world around you faded away. All that existed was the two of you, suspended in time under the vast expanse of the universe.

“I adore you too,” you whispered, barely able to contain the swell of emotion rising within you.

A grin spread across his face, transforming his features with a boyish charm. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gentle touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into his hand instinctively.

“Do you want to make a wish?” he asked, nodding towards the sky.

You smiled, your heart swelling with hope. “What should I wish for?”

“Maybe for more nights like this,” he suggested, his voice low and intimate.

You took a deep breath, letting the moment wash over you. “I think I’ll wish for you,” you said, your heart laid bare. “Always.”

With that, Steve leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. The connection felt electric, and the air between you crackled with unspoken promises.

“Always,” he echoed, and at that moment, under the watchful gaze of the stars, you both knew that this was just the beginning.

[slayerofthevampire]

If I were to write a loooong Bucky x F!Reader series would y'all read?

It'll be a mix of tropes (fluff, smut, angst, hurt/comfort etc.)

Edit: 20 likes is plenty for me. I'm going to do it! Tell me if you wanna be tagged!

[juliaswickcrs]

MCU OCS + MERCHANDISE ↳ ( oc halloween challenge, day three )

collector's edition trading cards and funko pop bundle.

feat. rare finds like post blip shrike, white suit matryoshka, secret identity stasis and never-before-seen funkos including pre-red room matryoshka and gonzo the flerken.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @thatmagickjuju

MARVEL TAGLIST: @notxjustxstories @themaradwrites