#steve roges

[avengerscompound]

Chris Evans as Steve Rogers Captain America: The First Avenger

[delulu-hours]

It's gonna be okay [1]

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Latina!reader

Summary: You and Bucky cross paths through some turn of events, but he keeps you hidden instead of killing you off like he was assigned. There was something about you that he couldn't bring himself to end, so he took you somewhere you would be safe. Slowly, you learn more about each other and rely on one another before realizing it. All you know is that everything will be okay.

Warning: Talk about Bucky's past and trauma.

A/n: It is going to start during the Captain America Winter Soldier and going through until The Falcon and The Winter Soldier. You guys can best bet that there will be some fluff as I want to have a happy ending for my baby. He's been through so much and he needs it.

You should have known better.

A small groan left your lips as you held your side. The warm blood oozed out as the sound of shooting echoed. You have one bullet left in your semi-automatic pistol. Your heartbeat drummed within your ears as you rested your head on the car door. You pressed yourself back further into the car as you scanned the sides of you. You didn't know how you got dragged into this. One second, you were at home; the next thing you knew, SHIELD agents were storming into your apartment. Guns aimed at you, and you knew something was very wrong. 

And now you were getting shot at as you ran away from them. Unprepared for it all. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath before you move your feet under you. If you could do it, you could exit if you dashed around this building. You had been around this block before, so there would be an alleyway where you could take a fire escape stairs up. You placed your gun in your pants waist before you took off. Keeping your head low and hand over your wound as you ran, you didn't stop for anything. It was your life on the line, and you're sure hell aren't risking it. The bullets flew past you, and you managed to avoid them as you turned the corner. Yelling reached your ears, and you raced up the fire escape. The adrenaline rushed through your veins, and the blood kept seeping out. You did lose your footing here and there due to the blood loss, but you kept pushing forward. That was until you were on the roof and safe.

Or so you thought. 

You were body-slammed into the ground. A groan left your lips as the wind was knocked out of you. You tried to blink the black and gray dots that invaded your vision as you gasped for air. Your lungs begged for it as the weight on your chest prevented you from taking enough air in. You felt the pain from the gunshot wound plus the pain from being knocked down onto your back. When your vision cleared, you looked at the assailants on top of you. The man's hands wrapped around your neck, and your hands automatically grabbed his wrist. You looked him in the eye as you tried to fight him off. His long black hair fell into his face, but you could see his icy blue eyes. Void of any emotions, he stared at you blankly. His fingers tightened around your neck, and you felt it— the cool sensation as you took in his metal arm.

This was it. 

This was how you were going to die. Your grip loosened around his wrist as you felt all the will to fight back slip away. Your gasping became shorter as you tried to take your last breaths, hands falling to the side where his legs around you were. The sky was clear as you looked past your attacker. The sun shone up high, yet the heat wasn't bad. Your vision soon began to lose focus.

This was it.

Before everything went black and you slipped away, those icy blue eyes of your assailant were the last thing you saw. One last breath and everything went black. 

It was over.

No more looking over your shoulder.

No more living in fear.

You were free.

Safe in the darkness of death.

★★★★★

A creaking noise caused you to open your eyes, confused. You had thought you died, but here you were, lying in some run-down-looking room. A small light lit the entire room as you slowly pushed yourself up. Pain shot through your left side as you placed a hand over it. Your eyes were on the person sitting in front of the bed, very close to the wall. You took him in and knew it was your assailant. The mask he wore covered half his face, and his icy blue eyes watched. It was as if they were taking in your every movement. The light reflected on the mental arm he had on his left side as arms rested in his lap. "Who are you?" Your voice cracked, and you felt the tenderness in your throat. You didn't even realize how raw it felt until you swallowed. He didn't respond as he got up and left, leaving you alone. You looked at your side and lifted your blood-stained shirt as you took in the wraps around your torso. It was safe to say this man was the one who stitched you up. The dull, aching pain from your side itched a bit. Then you felt it. Eyes watching you as you snapped your head up and locked your gaze on him. He took four strides and stood close to the foot of the bed. He had a cup of water in his hands as he held it out for you. You started it, weighing your options. A defeated sigh left your lips as you took it. You didn't need to question his intentions at this point; after all, you wouldn't be able to escape him. This man overpowered you in many ways that you knew you didn't stand a chance. You brought the cup to your lips and drank the water, hoping that if he poisoned you, it would kill you quickly.

As the cool liquid coated your throat, you couldn't help but let out a stifled moan. It felt amazing and soothed the rawness. You drank it all and placed the cup in your lap once you were done. "Thank you." Your voice sounded better than before. The man didn't acknowledge you, only taking the cup and leaving you alone. You watched him until he was out of view before your eyes drifted around the room. It was abandoned; you could tell by how quiet it had been and how the walls lacked their vibrancy. The bed squeezed at any slight movement, and the wooden floors let out a small groan. You still hadn't understood why you were alone. Playing with your hands, you closed your eyes. "Might as well count my blessings." You had felt tired, and you know it was from earlier events. After a few minutes, you lay back down and get as comfortable as possible. 

It didn't look like you would be leaving anytime soon, so you figured you'd try to enjoy whatever time you had left. A small sigh left your lips. You hadn't ever imagined being placed in this situation.

Scratch that.

You had, but with trying to run away from your past, you thought you'd never had to. 

"Huir de tus problemas es una carrera que nunca ganarás. (Running away from your problems is a race you'll never win)"

The voice echoed in your ears. 

"Por mucho que lo intentes no podrás huir de ti mismo. (No matter how hard you try, you can't run away from yourself)"��

You closed your eyes again, pushing the voices back and falling asleep. You didn't want to overthink or recall your past. You just wanted to live a normal life.

★★★★★

A couple of weeks have passed. You hadn't bothered looking for a way out, even when your mystery assailant left you alone for hours. You are sitting on the old, worn-out couch with a book and a blanket over your lap. As you flipped to the next page of Fahrenheit 451, you didn't bother glancing up when you heard the door open. By the soft steps, you knew who it was. "Welcome back." You paused at the end of the paragraph, looking at the man who stared at you. He had a neutral look as he placed some bags down. You took in that he had stopped covering his face with his mask, allowing you to see more of his face. You didn't let yourself be bothered by his unresponsive attitude, as he barely even spoke to you. Sometimes, he would speak in languages you didn't understand. Other times, he would say a few words in English or Spanish. But most of the time, he just watched you, and it felt like most of the time he was studying you. Trying to understand you.

You never really knew why, but you slowly noticed that he seemed less guarded around you. The icy blue eyes seemed less cold and more curious and interested. You didn't feel like you had to be careful around him, as if you were walking on broken glass. He walked over to you, and you noticed the first aid kit in his hands as you marked your spot in the book before placing it down. He sat next to you, and you pulled your shirt up, exposing the wound that had been healing reasonably well. He went to work, cleaning and rewrapping it as you watched him. His fingers worked gently as he focused on the task. The strands of his hair got in his face, and you couldn't help it as you moved it behind his ear. He froze at the contact, and you quickly pulled back, mumbling sorry in Spanish. He glanced up at you, and you held his gaze. You felt the way your heart picked up its pace and the way your breath got caught in your throat. You had to admit to yourself that he was attractive. Something about those blue eyes contrasted nicely with his dark brown hair, which drew you in. The more you kept looking at him, the more you felt a pull. You cleared your throat and looked away, mind racing with thoughts as you felt him finish up what he was doing. You bit your cheek as you waited until he was done. When he began to put the things away, you quickly got up— pulling the blanket with you as you rushed to the room and closed the door behind you. 

You rested your back on the door as you slid down it. Your head falls forward as you let out a deep breath. One that you hadn't realized you were holding. You gave yourself time to calm down before you pushed yourself up and crawled into bed. You pulled the blanket over you as you closed your eyes and tried to lull yourself to sleep. You didn't want to think about it. You were scared to come to terms with the attraction you were feeling for the man because that meant if you were feeling something for him, it would hurt you. 

"Los sentimientos te debilitan. Ellos te maten. (Feelings make you weak They get you killed)"

Your father's voice rang in your head. His training burned into your mind as he forced you to learn that those emotions got your brother killed. It is what made your mother die. Her love for you killed her, as she didn't survive childbirth. 

"En el momento en que te permitas amar y cuidar es el momento en que morirás. (The moment you allow yourself to love and care is the moment you will die)"

★★★★★

Two and half months passed, and you were amazed he was still keeping you alive. There would be days when he would return, and something felt off about him. It was as if he felt colder and less friendly, but he never once harmed you. "What's your name?" You finally dared to ask. The curiosity to learn more about him has finally gotten the better side of you. 

"Name?" He tilted his head to the side a bit. You placed the book down and looked at him, shifting your body so you could face him. He had been sitting on the other end of the couch, his hand playing with the knife as he had watched you. "Winter Soldier." The man had heard others call him that, so he assumed that was what you meant; however, he was confused when you shook your head. "Prisoner 56898." He tried again.

"Oh, corazón, (sweetheart)" You felt a wave of sadness wash over you. "Those aren't names." You said softly, understanding why it seemed like this man watched you with interest half this time. He had been treated as a prisoner to the point that he didn't know his name. He just gave you a confused look but nodded. You smiled at him, trying to push away the sadness as you grabbed his hand. "How about this," You gently rubbed your thumb on the back of his hand. "I'll refer to you as corazón, if you're fine with that." He looked down at your hands over his before looking back up at you and gave you a slight nod. "Perfecto. (perfect)" You said softly as you moved your hand back. The moment he felt the loss of contact with you, he was quick to grab a hold of your hand in his. The action caught you off guard, along with the strength he put behind it, as you fell into him a bit. The knife fell to the ground with a small thud. You used your free hand to catch yourself as it was over his chest, and your face was inches from his. Your breath hitched as you looked at him to see him staring at you. His eyes scanned your face, and you could see the internal conflict in those beautiful icy blue eyes. The conflict that felt like the same one you were having before all the signals telling you to move seemed to fade, and you moved in slowly. He didn't move, not even when your lips touched his delicately. You didn't want to force anything upon him, so you pulled back a bit, trying to see his reaction. His icy blue eyes burned into you, and you felt his hand move to your neck as he pulled you back into his. When he felt his lips connect with yours, your eyes fluttered close as he kissed you. There was so much need in the kiss. You pulled yourself closer to him, moving your hands up his chest. You could feel his metal hand hovered over your back, almost scared to touch you with it. You pulled back from the kiss and placed your forehead on his. "It's okay." You whispered, letting him know that you trust him. That you knew he wasn't going to hurt you. "Estará bien. (it's gonna okay)" You could see the slight fear in his eyes before he gently placed his hand on your waist. You didn't move, wanting him to see it was okay. 

You gave him a soft kiss on his cheek before you hugged him. His arms slowly wrapped around his torso as he was gentle with you. His face was buried into your neck, and you could feel his stubble that was growing tickle the skin of your neck. You guys stayed like that for a bit, only moving to adjust yourselves to get comfortable in the hug. He didn't bother moving away, even when you began to run your fingers through his hair. Your heart was beating loudly in your chest; if he heard it, he didn't say anything about it. And just like that, with his warm embrace, you felt yourself slowly relax and drift off into sleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Control 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Captain Hydra

Summary: a man marches into your life on a mission

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You don’t know when he stopped, you’re just happy it’s over. For now. You know better than to think it won’t happen again. 

His shadow moves around, vague and ominous. You lay where he left you. The mattress feels thin beneath you, your body sunk from the force of his appetites. Your body aches as his assault scars you more than skin deep. Bitemarks and bruises pulses as your insides knot and tug in ceaseless horror. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. You listen to him shift around; it sounds more as if the house shifts around him. He leaves the bedroom and you roll onto your side with a rattling effort. You whine and tuck your hand between your thighs, raw from his incessant pounding. 

It’s like something in him broke. There was no control in what he did. No restraint or relent. He is more than inhuman, he is monstrous. 

When he returns, a grunt crackles from him. He comes to the bed and it dips with his weight. He grabs your shoulder and forces you onto your back. You brace yourself for more. 

His cowl is gone. His brows arch and the scar down the side of his face pales with the strain. He raises his hand and you wince. He tilts his head then shakes it as he shows you a handful of the silver packets. You blink in confusion.  

You take a breath and try to speak. Your throat is brittle and dry. You clear it and push a hoarse whisper, “not hungry.” 

He tuts and drops the packets, keeping one in his hand. He points to the label. Day 2 – Dinner. It’s still sealed. He tosses it and takes another, once more tapping the slanted lettering. You think you know what he’s saying. 

You hug yourself and swallow, trying to wet your tongue. “I wasn’t hungry. Stomach hurt.” 

He looks down and sifts through the packages. He turns them over and his forehead wrinkles. He gathers them all and carries them away. 

You stare after him as he stomps out of the room. You uncross your arms and press your hands to the bed. You sit up and look down at the remnants of the nightgown. You free your arms and bring your knees up to hug them. You whimper at the friction between your legs. 

He comes back. His hair is greasy and some has a red tint at the tips. You don’t want to think of what that is. His neck shows a layer of filth and his clothes are stained and dusty. You look down and find much of it smeared on your skin. 

He marches over to you. You cower and he stops at the edge of the bed. He raises his hand slowly, as if to coax you. You stare as he holds it open to you. Your insides throb and you take his hand, not wanting to provoke another episode. 

He leads you from the bed and takes you through the front room into the bathroom. He puts you by the sink and turns away. You shiver, trying to shield your naked body with only your arms. He bends over the tub and rinses it out then puts the stopper in place. 

He faces you and works at unstrapping his body armor. You stare at him, legs trembling, and move to lean on the sink to keep from keeling over. He watches you with a dimple in his forehead. 

He undresses, piece by piece, until he’s naked. You stay as you are until he grabs you. He drags you to the tub with him. You step in at his insistence and he angles you around. He lowers himself first then brings you down over him. The water laps between your feet as it fills the porcelain. 

You can’t relax, even as the heat soothes your tortured muscles. With him so close, you can’t ever let your guard down again.  

He brings his hand up your thigh and around your hip. He tickles your stomach and spreads his hand over one side of your chest. You shiver and steel yourself. He toys with you, not unkindly, and you brace the sides of the tub. 

As the water reaches the brim, he sits you up with him to shut it off. He reclines again, hooking his other arm around your middle. You like this softness less than his rough return. You can handle the cruelty, you expect it, but these moments confound you. It’s like a game you can’t win. 

Silence steams with the water. You don’t move. You can’t. You have to do something. Say something. But what? 

“I’m sorry,” you eke out. You’re not sure why you say that, but you are sorry. That moment flashes in your head, when you tried to use his name. That seemed to set him off. “Thank you for the food and the wood. I’m sorry I didn’t eat it all.” 

He growls but doesn’t say anything. He shifts and nuzzles the top of your head, his hot breath pluming over your scalp. The rigidity slowly seeps from him, thought that underlying stiffness remains. 

“I tried to keep it clean. I didn’t know... what else to do. I... I don’t know why I’m talking. I’ll-- I’ll stop,” you exhale and stare at the corroding mouth of the faucet. 

He drags his hand up from your chest and cups your chin. You twitch and his thumb stretches up to toy with your lower lip. Your grimace and let him poke around. He huffs in frustration then with two fingers, moves both your lips. He traces his touch down to your throat. 

“You want me to talk?” You ask. 

He pushes his nose firmly against your crown. You take that as affirmation. What do you talk about? You glance around and search for anything. You’ve been so bored and yet you can’t think of much. 

“My... my grandma had a tub like this,” you utter awkwardly. “It was her favourite place. She would read in there for hours. Funny, she... she wasn’t much of a kid person so we usually just did our own thing.” You ramble as your voice cracks, “and... we broke her favourite clock. It had a glass cover over it... I... just a silly memory.” 

He hums and caresses your cheek. You gulp again and hold back a quiver. If you can keep him calm for just a little, then you’ll find something to talk about. You just need to think about anything but the here and now. 

[stellar-solar-flare]

Volatile | Chapter 2/3 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Steve Rogers returns from a mission only to be immediately alerted about a medical emergency: you, the Avengers Initiative's leading science expert, have been hit by a potent, unknown aphrodisiac on your own mission. Pressed for time and out of options, he has to, together with the AI's medical department, figure out a solution.

Mutual pining, smut with feelings, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, non-consensual exposal to sex pollen, dubious consent because Reader is under the influence of an aphrodisiac (but all sex is very much mutually wanted), protective & possessive Steve Rogers, Captain kink, praise kink, very light dom/sub elements, dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, finger sucking, mention of non-con.

Reader specifics: She/her. Works as a science specialist in AI under codename Dr. Chiral for her chemistry proficiency. Six times PhD, an Avenger. Late twenties, no description of appearance given.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AO3

<< Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Flammable

Chapter notes: This is just smut with some feelings thrown in. Read the content warnings before divign in, please, and do not proceed if any of that isn't for you.

6,198 words.

As Steve stepped through the airlock into the dim-lit containment room, you untangled yourself from the tangled sheets on the king size bed. The air condition was blasting but despite that, the only thing you had on was a white, thin t-shirt type hospital gown that was not doing a damn thing to hide your peaking nipples. It fell onto your mid-thigh, and while under some other circumstances, it might’ve been reasonably modest, right now it clung onto your damp skin tighter than a bathing suit as you moved to sit on your knees on the bed. There was a feverish glaze clouding your eyes as Steve locked the airlock door behind himself. Other than the bed and a small desk with a chair, there was a table loaded with water bottles and some fruit and protein bars you had obviously not even touched. The muted color scheme – a neutral combination of blues, greys and whites made the room feel like a hotel room or a set in a movie. The bed you sat on was a small ocean of tangled satin sheets, and the thought of you rolling in those in feverish wanton need…

“Steve,” you said, your throat dry.

His eyes raked over you, ever so slowly, and as he did, he saw your breath quicken. You didn’t seem to really believe that he was there. Maybe you had fantasized about this before he had stepped in. Maybe you had fantasized about him. Even with everything you’d said on the tape, all the things you wanted him to do to you that were now playing on repeat in his head, he just wasn’t quite sure he could believe that it wasn’t just the aphrodisiac talking.

But whether you wanted him for anything beyond this room or for just this moment, it was clear you trusted him. You trusted him to help you out in this situation, with something this incredibly intimate and volatile and vulnerable, and there was no force in the universe that would’ve made him deny you. Especially when that meant that he could touch you. There was no other reasonable solution to this. That choice had been taken away from him, and that meant he could let go. And maybe… Just maybe…

I was too much of a coward to tell you in Verona. That made two of you. And this certainly wasn’t the way he had envisioned this going down but he would be lying if he said that whatever that was coming was a task he was reluctant to take on. His eyes stayed on your naked, glistening thighs like he’d been possessed. The room reeked of you, the pheromones of your arousal whispering sweet invitation to him, and Steve gathered every last shred of his self-control as he reached for a water bottle on the table with one hand and put the shield down to lean against the wall with the other.

“Hey, Ace,” Steve whispered. “You asked for me.”

You blinked at the sound of his voice and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing up. It could’ve been a hallucination conjured up by your feverish brain. And you could’ve hallucinated a lot worse than Steve stepping through the airlock of the room in the stealth suit of all things. But his voice sounded familiar – it echoed through your hazed state like a beacon in the night. You had been aching for him, for his touch, every last bit of your soul and body calling out for him. And he had heard. He had come to you.

“Are you here?” you whispered back, trying to make sense of it.

He hadn’t been there in the lab. There had been only Bucky, and Sam, and both had smelled wrong. Both had been wrong. You wanted just Steve; you had always wanted just him. Verona. Moonlight. Words that seemed to have no bearing to anything that was happening now when the only thing your throbbing blood was saying was Steve. You weren’t sure if you had been waiting for him for hours or for days or for centuries or for seconds, lying on the bed and floating in the half-delusional myriad of fantasies, touching yourself to the images of him but feeling no relief to the burning.

“I am, doll,” Steve said. “I’m yours if you want me. And only if you want me. The second you tell me to stop, I will.”

No. You absolutely weren’t going to do that. No chance in hell, when you finally had him.

Even in the small room, walking up to him seemed to take an eternity. His scent was faintly of musk and leather, mixed with something and something that might’ve been blood. It blended seamlessly into the deep, masculine note of the sandalwood-based cologne he always wore, blended with cedar and cypress and rosewood; a fresh forest smell that made your mouth water. In stealth suit, fresh from a mission. Shoulders accentuated by the uniform cut, wide chest above a flat stomach, strong thighs, large hands. He was the epitome of the masculine V shape, and he was yours. In the stealth suit.

By the time you reached him, you were barely able to hold yourself upright on your shaking legs. But Steve would’ve never let you fall. Before your legs could give underneath you, his free arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close to rest against his body. The pleasantly cool, smooth Kevlar-like material of his suit felt like heaven against your body as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. He was looking at you, studying the fever burning in your eyes as you shivered upon the contact. Without letting go of you, he opened the water bottle.

“I need you to drink,” he murmured. “Your vitals said you’re dehydrated. You’ll need your strength.”

Obediently, you turned your head to the side and allowed him to lift the bottle to your lips. You hadn’t felt thirsty until you actually tasted the cool water Steve carefully held for you, but after the first sip, you greedily chugged the whole bottle. Steve’s eyes stayed fixated on your lips as you did, and he didn’t turn his gaze even as he put the empty bottle on the table and grabbed another.

“Still thirsty?” he asked.

The whole length of your body was pressed against his, and his thigh had slipped between yours to stabilize you further. Even through the fabric, he could feel against his palm how hot your skin was. You had come to him, out of your free will – as free as it could be under the influence of the aphrodisiac – and you were there, now, rising to your tiptoes and pressing your face against the crook of his neck before drawing a deep breath in. Just the scent and the presence of him seemed to calm you down, and maybe that meant he shouldn’t –

Your tongue licked a long, languid stripe over the side of Steve’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin and the musk that was simply Steve. As you did, your hips – the bare, soaking wet, burning apex of your thighs – rolled against his thigh, and the high whimper that left your mouth made every single thought empty from his head. He barely registered the drizzle of cool water that hit his cheek as the water bottle he had been holding had exploded in his flexing hand. As you lifted your head to look at him, not even noticing the water that had also hit you, Steve dropped the crushed remnants of the bottle and raised his hand to cup your cheek. Every single cell in his body was alight, painfully aware that you were still rocking yourself against his thigh, slight graceful movements of your hips chasing that delicious friction.

“Tell me you want me,” Steve whispered, looking into your eyes. “I need to hear it one more time. Tell me you want this.”

You looked into his eyes, and for a second, Steve felt like you saw everything, every single last fantasy he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom over the last few months, every thought of his that screamed how much he wanted this. But then, as his name left your lips in a desperate whimper that came combined with you pressing even tighter against his body, he realized that was all your lust. Heightened by the aphrodisiac but yours.

“Steve. I want you. I need you. Steve, please.”

His lips came down on yours, rough, greedy, claiming, and your body caught fire with that taste of his, that control and command that laced the kiss. Lust so violent that nothing you had felt during previous hours or ever in your life could compare slammed into you, crumbling into beautiful, empty whiteness everything except Steve. Your hands clawed on the suit, desperately trying to figure out how to get the damn thing off and have all that warm, masculine skin against yours. With his every single brain cell consumed by the kiss, Steve’s hand moved on muscle memory as he released the suit’s cleverly hidden clasps, the arm draped across your back never leaving its position. It was you, just you, your taste and your warmth and the delicious, tiny sounds you were breathing into the kiss as his mouth pressed against yours and his tongue ran over the pout lower lip he had stared more than he should’ve during all the meetings, his head running off with fantasies of just bending you over the damn briefing table and having his way.

His. You were his.

As the clasps opened, you yanked the suit almost violently down to bundle around Steve’s trim waist, and then finally, finally you could get your hands on all that muscle covered by silky skin. Had your lust-shorting brain had any remnant of control, you would’ve thought that it was almost ridiculous how he looked like a Greek god, how it was not possible for a human to be this chiseled artwork but frankly, you weren’t too concerned by that. He broke the kiss only to look at you, a large palm grabbing hold of your gown and yanking, and as the fabric gave like butter, he tossed it aside. It was his turn to get his hands everywhere, running over every curve of yours as you arched in his touch. Your hips rocked back and forth against the strong thigh between yours, and as he tensed the muscles, you whimpered. The fabric, smooth as it was, was almost too much in your overwired state and yet, you couldn’t imagine moving an inch as Steve’s dark gaze was fixed on your face.

“That’s my thigh, honey. Does that feel good?” he rasped, his hands moving to cup your butt for added stability as your own thighs trembled.

In response, you yanked his mouth down back on yours, delirious for the taste of him.  Steve’s skin was warm and you had an inkling it should’ve been feeling like it was overheating you even more but instead it seemed to help you concentrate onto something other than your burning. Every thought was emptying from your head as the coil was tightening in your belly, heat pooling down down down and sizzling with a promise of a climax that might finally bring at least a drop of relief. God, he smelled gorgeous. He was still fresh home from a mission, and there was that hint of pure peak of man in his scent that made you whine as you chased the peak.

“Steve… Feels so good…” you moaned to his lips.

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss onto your jawline and ghosting his lips down to whisper straight into your ear. “I’m going to make you come for me until it’s all out. I’ve got you now, honey. Let me take care of you. Let me see you come undone.”

Coming on his thigh, with those words falling into your ear like dark warm sugar, had sometime in the past felt like a filthy fantasy, and it was filthy, but it was exactly the right kind of filthy. The climax, coaxed further by his words, struck like a lightning, finally giving you a hint of shade when you had been lying on the desert sand. It was nowhere near enough, and the moment you stopped trembling and opened your eyes, the heat was already creeping back up. You needed more.

Good thing that Steve was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

I’m yours if you want me.

Keeping your eyes in his, still panting for air, you pressed your palm flat against the washboard of his stomach and slid your hand down, past the bundled suit on his waist, past the waistline of his boxers. Your fingers brushed tentatively over the base of his cock and then wrapped around it as you swallowed at the sensation of the size of him. He was burning hot in your hand and despite all his self-control that bordered on superhuman, he was breathing in ragged pants as your hand slowly caressed him.

“I need you,” you whispered.

And oh, he would give. The next thing you knew, you were being backed against the wall of the room as he tore the suit completely off and kicked his boots away, and then yes, all of him slamming you against the wall, all that glorious godlike physique yours to…

keep?

The thought circled somewhere around the edges of your scattered brain that was more concerned by the fact that you were being hauled up to the wall and his fingers were brushing up your thighs and –

“Oh fuck, honey,” he groaned as his calloused hand slid over your soaking wet core. “Oh jesus.”

All those times he’d fantasized about you. All those pictures he’d conjured in the darkness of his bedroom, all those ways he had imagined he would make you sing. All within his grasp. His lips were ghosting your ear, a gentle tug of teeth here and there and you both never wanted this to stop and needed it to stop because you wanted more, more, more, everything he could and wanted to give you. Steve’s voice was low and strained as he carefully slid a finger inside you:

“So wet for me,” he whispered. “So greedy.”

He was easily holding you up on the wall by one arm slipped under your butt as his other hand worked your core, the heel of his palm rubbing gently against your clit. Even as you were sensitive from the drug, it was a different kind of sensitive, something that made you whine and wither on his touch not out of discomfort but out of pleasure you hadn’t quite imagined possible. The chase for that primal satisfaction had you shameless; coming for him just minutes before had been a sip of cooling water but what raged inside you was a wildfire that had evaporated the relief almost as soon as the last wave had washed over you.

You needed more than his fingers. You needed to be full of him.

“Steve… Just fuck me, please.”

Steve Rogers was a strong man, but there was no possibility that he could’ve resisted the feverish plea that fell from your lips, you calling out to him, you asking to…  He wasn’t even thinking about resisting, no, the second the words had left your mouth he was shifting your weight in his hands.

“Don’t worry, doll, I said I’m yours,” he said, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I will. That’s what you asked me to do, didn’t you? To fuck you against the wall like this, with my cock deep inside you?”

You barely recalled the words, the message you had sent, and it mattered fuck all now that he was here, lining up to finally, finally, finally give you what you wanted.

“That was a question, doll,” he rasped, his forehead pressed against yours and sweat sprinkling on it from the effort of trying to maintain at least an inkling of composure.

“Yes. Yes. I need you. I need you to fuck me and I need you to come for me; I need you to come inside me.”

You were so needy for him that he slid inside the second he pushed against you but despite the wetness, despite the burning, it was still a sensation that made your head drop back against the wall as you adjusted to his size. God, yes. This sensation of being full of him, precisely him and not just anyone, had been something you had craved from the second the sweet vapor had floated into your system.

The feeling of you wrapped around his cock slammed into Steve’s brain, the force of the impact pushing out anything and everything except for the feral, primal animalistic need to keep doing precisely what he was doing. You were helplessly pressed between him and the wall, squeezing him, and with his hands full of your body and his ears full of your sweet moans, he was certain he was approaching some sort of ascension.

“Good girl,” his low, hoarse voice filled your ears like warm syrup. “You’re being so good for me.”

The feeling of your walls clenching even harder around his cock made him chuckle against the skin of your neck. He was throbbing inside you at the feeling, wanting this to last and wanting to chase the release he knew would be out of this world. You were burning hot in his hand, clawing at his back, incoherent at the feeling of him pressed against you and sheathed to the hilt inside you, his hips rocking with torturously slow pace that was pushing you towards the edge again.

“You like that, don’t you? You like me telling you how perfect you are for me, how well you’re taking my cock, doll?”

You were so close, so so so close again, and this time, it was going to be even better than it had been coming on his thigh. He had you, just like he always had you back on the field, that’s what you loved about him among many other things, the control, the command… And he had asked you a question. Before you could think, the words fell out of your mouth:

“Yes, Captain.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. In that second, someone poured a gallon of gasoline over Steve and threw a lit match to follow. Your words scorched every last cell in his body, the way his title rolled off your tongue making his head spin. His eyes flared into a blue inferno and his body slammed tighter against you as he lost his rhythm for a moment before stalling. You met his eyes and swallowed, because something had changed. Steve Rogers had dipped into Captain America, and you had seen that gaze of a hunting predator in his eyes on the field but had never imagined it in a context like this.

Truth be told, you had. But you had never imagined it would one day stare at you in the eye, his cock deep inside you. He had stopped, and you were barely coherent, swaying right there on the edge for him.

“Is that so, doll?” he chuckled, smiling like a shark that had smelled blood. “You want your captain to take the reins? You want to just focus on being a good girl and doing what you’re told?”

Your brain ways beyond being able to form anything resembling a sentence, you faced his gaze and nodded. You did trust him, from the bottom of your heart – you had known the moment you had started succumbing to this that if there was one person you trusted to get you out of this, it was Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

The second your head moved in agreement, he slammed his mouth on yours, his hips moving to retreat almost completely out of you and then right back in with force that told you he had been holding back. And you wanted, needed, had to have everything of his. You buried your nails to his back as he ravaged you, his pace almost inhumanly fast but not for a second hurting. He would never. The climax that had been building itself up by coiling your entire body tighter and tighter was almost on the edge of snapping, almost almost almost –

“So fucking wet for me. So perfect for your captain. Come on my cock, honey. Let me have it.”

“STEVE!”

The fire that washed over you rivaled a supernova and you could feel your muscles clamp down on Steve’s cock almost desperately, and the combination of that and his name ripping from your throat in a desperate sob was too much for Steve, too. With one final thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could and came, your core fluttering around him in a way that awakened some deep, deep hunger inside him. He knew how you felt now, he knew how his name sounded dripping from your lust-crazed lips, he knew how wet you were for him.

He was so utterly, utterly ruined.

During the momentary lapse back to reason, he ran a hand over your hot cheek, looking into your eyes. You both were breathing in gulps of air as Steve slowly slid you down the wall, sliding out of you and pulling you to him. His hands landed possessively over your hips, and you hummed in pleasure, positively drunk over the feeling of being his, completely unashamed of anything as he kissed you.

“You did so well, honey. So good for me. I’ve got you; we’ll get through this,” he murmured against your mouth.

He wasn’t done with you – not for himself, and not for you. Not by a long shot. He could feel the burning on your skin, and when he mouthed the pulse point on your neck, he could still tell that your heart was beating like a hummingbird. And the second your hand dived between your bodies and wrapped around his cock again, he was hard for you.

God bless the serum and the heightened testosterone that followed. Even as his plans for you sat firmly in the realm of unholy.

The second you touched him, his palm covered the nape of your neck, grabbing it firmly to make you look up to his eyes. The climax wasn’t the relief you had been hoping for, not yet, it was something worse and something better, a tease, a promise of eventual one but not yet, not before you would come for Steve again and again and again. As of now, you were burning, burning still. Burning for him.

“The bed. On your hands and knees,” he growled, and you obeyed.

Of course you did. When he said it like that, just like he did on missions, it was a sign that he had the control and you could trust him. It was alright. You could let go. You could forget everything and let him lead, and there was freedom in that. The surrender was a cherry on the top of the lust boiling in your body, and when you felt him kneel on the bed behind you, his large palms caressing over your thighs and hips, you shivered. He leaned over you, above you, and you could more sense than feel his broad shoulders shadowing you as he kissed the back of your neck. You were trembling in anticipation as you felt him position himself against you, almost pushing into you but not quite. Not yet.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, his voice a dark whisper on your neck. “So good at following orders.”

“Yes, Captain. Please, I need… Please.”

Steve chuckled, and his teeth carefully nibbed your shoulder before he talked again:

“Good girls get rewarded.”

Any chance of you forming a reply to the words was gone the second he pushed himself back inside you, and the angle had him brushing against every single perfect spot inside you. He was so deep, even deeper than he had been and you threw your head back in crazed whimper. He was still draped over your back, and his left hand slipped under your body, pulling you tighter against him.

“Up, honey,” he rasped into your ear.

It was more a warning than an order, because in the next second, he had shifted on the bed to sit on his heels, pulling you flush against his chest as you straddled his thighs. He was all hard muscle and musky masculinity behind and underneath you. He positioned an arm between your breasts so that you were almost caged in his grip, his palm spreading possessively over your collarbone as his breath tickled your ear. Instinctively, you moved in his lap, arching back and grabbing the back of his neck for support even as his arm held you in place with ease. His bicep felt impossibly wide as it pressed against your side but you were far more focused on the fact that he was deep enough in you that he was hitting places you weren’t aware had existed. You flexed your thighs to cradle his in between, and god, those thighs were like two tree-trunks. The curve of your butt was pressed against the washboard of his stomach, and you felt his free hand caress the side of your hip before it roamed to your inner thigh. He still wasn’t moving, even as you were slightly rocking yourself back and forth, his patience almost impossible.

“Easy, doll. We’ve got all night,” he said, but contrary to his words, he pressed two fingers to draw small circles over your clit as he finally, finally moved. “We’ve got as long as you need.”

“Steve…” you whined as he rolled his hips.

He moved his hips and your entire body with such ease that you could feel electricity crackling on your skin. It was this apex of a man buried deep inside you, this impossible demigod that was so under your spell that he was already panting against your neck.

“I’m right here, honey. Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said. “Squeezing me so good.”

His far too teasing fingers brushed over your clit in time of his rubbing thrusts, and you were being wound tighter and tighter, another climax already building inside you and the peak was building higher than you had ever felt it, preparing for the collapse that was as inevitable as it had been to end up right here.

“I’m yours.”

“Oh yes you are, doll. All mine. Looking so pretty on my cock.”

Steve was mouthing the side of your neck, grazing with his teeth until he found a spot that made you whimper and latched onto that, sucking firm enough to leave a mark. You pushed your hips forward against his fingers, trying to get more pressure, trying to get him to move faster. The second you did, he pulled you back tighter against himself, preventing you from moving on your own but continuing to move both of your bodies himself.

“You’re going to let me, doll,” he growled. “You wanted to let go. So let go. Relax. Let your captain take care of you.”

He brought his fingers up from between your legs to your lips and you let your jaw drop open without a thought at all to taste the salty, tangy combination of you and him. As your mouth closed around his fingers in wet, warm softness, Steve moaned a strained curse against the your shoulder and picked up the pace.

You were gone. You were floating somewhere beyond all reality, somewhere where the only thing that existed was the man behind you and inside you and the burning in your veins that craved. Him, this, anything he could and would give you.

The feeling of you sucking on his fingers and your soaked core trying to desperately keep him from retreating as he moved his hips, your muscles clenching around his cock, was beyond Steve’s wildest fantasies. He was beyond any conscious thought whatsoever, his brain focused only on thought of spending the rest of his life buried deep inside you, pulling a peak after peak after peak from you until you were all spent and all his. With a lewd, wet sound, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth despite your whiny protest and pressed them again at your core to continue touching you in sync with his movements. You were almost there, strung tight with desire in his lap, your core slick and burning around his cock. He mouthed a path from your neck to your earlobe and teased it with his teeth, his breath hot and filthy and dripping with sin in your ear as you whimpered.

“You’re going to come for me, love. You’re going to come for your captain,” he rasped, the authority unquestionable. “That’s an order.”

His words pushed you right over the edge, collapsing the mountain that had been rising from the sea within you and the earthquake that came did Steve in, too. You could hear him moan your name into your ear as he came, the feeling of you irresistible as you came undone for him. It was an explosion that scorched through you, a heat that consumed the previous burn that had been in you, swallowed it whole like an exploding supernova swallowed a galaxy. Whole, and without mercy. It sent you falling back into what felt like a cooling pool of water after you had been catching fire, after a whole day spent in the scorching sun.

The whiteness that came after was still and absolute for a second or two and then you felt Steve’s chest rumble behind your limp body, his cock still buried deep inside you and his hands holding you so close.

“Better?” he chuckled, leaning over your shoulder to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Yes,” you whispered.

It was. You were starting to feel like you weren’t going to spontaneously combust but even as it was the case, you were far from exhausted, and Steve chuckled again as he felt your core flutter around him.

“Not done?”

You shook your head and he retreated back, kissing your temple and then whispering into your ear:

“Good. Cause I’m far from being done with you, too.”

In the late night, you descended back into your body from somewhere between fever dream and consciousness to find yourself comfortable in bed. A shape like a warm rock wall was pressed against your back, and you were being held in strong arms: safe. So safe. At some point during the night, when you had been finally feeling like you could sleep, Steve had carried you to the shower and spent long minutes washing your body. And of course, you had returned the favor, and gotten a taste of him. And of course, Steve had been able to take only so much of you kneeling on the shower floor with his cock in between your plush lips before he had had to haul you up and slowly, almost languorously have you against the tiled wall. And of course, you had come for him one more time even as you had been forced to consider that the next climax might be the one to shut your brain off completely.

There were worse ways to go.

In the dark room, wrapped in satin sheets that would probably have to be burned after this, you stirred once more. A gentle breath tickled the back of your neck, and even half asleep, you felt your lust wake, heat pooling into the bottom of your stomach and tingling all over your skin. The past few hours seemed like a pleasant, hazy dream that still caressed your body.

More. More more more more.

The greediness of your hindbrain coaxed you back to life. You rocked your hips back against the man that was spooning you, and drowsily whispered his name, still unsure which part of you actually knew it was him.

“Steve.”

The answer to your whimper was a dark chuckle and a slightly sleepy kiss onto your earlobe.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Do you need me again?”

“Need you. Want you,” you whined, rocking your hips again, satisfied to feel that he was already hard.

Wanting you as much as you wanted him. One of the hands that held you slid down to grab your hips and roll you onto your back, and in the next second, he leaned over you to kiss you even as his hand slid down your stomach. Your renewed desire had you already wet for him again, and he groaned as he parted your folds to feel it.

“God, doll, how do you ever expect me to get enough of you when you feel like this?”

He positioned himself over you again, trailing slow, teasing kisses down your stomach as you tried to rock up to coax him on. His hands were roaming up and down your body, caressing your skin with the lightest of touches and stopping to squeeze every now and then.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “I’m yours.”

That lit a fire. Steve let out a harsh, ragged breath and moved down to sink his face in between your legs. There was no tentativeness to it this time, not after he’d spent the last twelve or so hours thoroughly exploring you, making note of every way you reacted to his touch. He knew what to do, and a proud shiver, like a predator shaking its fur dry, shot down his spine.

His. You were his.

He was absolutely merciless, his tongue never letting up even as your whimpers of his name grew louder with every movement. He was holding you down by your hipbones, your thighs resting on his shoulders, not letting you move an inch. The burning blue flames of his eyes looked at you as you writhed and whined and moaned his name for him, and a reminder of his eidetic memory crossed your mind. He would remember this, and the way he was looking at you, he was making sure that he would get every single detail. As he gently buried two fingers inside you, you were certain that you would’ve jumped on the bed had his arm not been firmly resting on top of your hips.

“I want to wake you up like this every day,” he whispered hoarsely, his head still in between your thighs. “I want the first thing you feel in the morning to be coming apart on my tongue, and I want to go out into the world with your sweet voice moaning my name echoing in my ears.”

Yes. Yes. Yes, please.

“Fuck, Steve…”

He cursed at the sensation of you clamping down on his fingers, desperate for the sensation of being full again because you were ruined, ruined, utterly ruined by him. There would not be going back from this, not after being loved and worshipped and fucked like this by someone who was closer to a god than a man.  

“Come for me, love,” he whispered against you, command and a plea at the same time.

What was there to do but obey as his fingers curled up, brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and the endearment fell from Steve’s lips like a confession you had been waiting for?

The minute you returned to your senses, the self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled from between your legs gave you no other option than to beg for him to fill you? And with how wrapped around your finger he had already been for months, you could’ve asked Steve to fetch you the moon and the stars, and he would’ve obeyed without question. To sheathe himself inside you was certainly not a tall order, especially not with how you wrapped your limbs around him, trying to get him as close as possible.

It was love. It had to be, wrapped into the scarlet-red silks of lust as it now was.

When it finally settled down again, your voice hoarse from screaming his name into the dim room that was luckily very well soundproofed, he still wanted to hold you close. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your back.

“God, I should’ve said something in Verona,” he rasped into your hair as your warm weight rested against his chest. “About how much of an embarrassing crush I had on you.”

You shifted closer, soaking in the comfort of being cherished and wanted and protected like this, and when you smiled against his skin, you were already halfway back in a dream. It certainly was an unconventional beginning, and as the aphrodisiac was almost out of you, one sardonic part of your brain was wondering how you’d spin the beginning of this love story for the press. Which would certainly be foaming at the mouth when it found out two Avengers were dating.

“Maybe you should say that tomorrow, then,” you whispered.   

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

Next Chapter >>

[buckymilf]

I’m so mad at what marvel did. How dare they take stucky’s most iconic line and give it to steggy. It’s even worse when they keep telling us that Steve and Bucky are just friends but then they replace any scenes with Bucky with peggy and suddenly it’s romantic :/ . What are they gonna do next???? Say that steve and peggy have been best friends since childhood and were inseparable on both school yard and battlefield???? Fuck you marvel 😐😐😐

rogers the musical is the perfect example when you mix homophobia, racism and white feminism

it's the way they mixed up all of steve's arc and legacy, made Peggy the most important person in steve's life when everyone who had watched the movie knows that is not true, just to sell the conservative agenda of a white straight cis couple. they erased sam wilson, he's not even in the musical when he was steve's best friend and saved steve's life countless times, bucky only appears for a brief blink and you miss it moment when steve's driving force was always bucky, his whole trilogy is focused on how bucky is important to him and of course, they stole all bucky's dialogues and gave it to peggy and made it romanntic, canonizing steve and bucky's relationship in the most homophobic way

if i see someone giving money to watch the musical, you will be blocked. this blog do not support racism and homophobia in any way.

[imaginedreamwrite]

Breach Of Contract: Part 9

A/N: Peggy Carter bashing as usual

You felt anxious before the plane had even touched down. It started with your palms sweating and your heart racing, the steady uptick in beating had been a synonymous symptom of your changing emotional well-being.

Senator Rogers had departed your side a half hour ago, leaving you to get a briefing of the events that would take place the first night you arrived.

He had left for the back of the plane to make a few adjustments to his wardrobe and his physical appearance. In his absence, you were welcome to fall into a pit of anxiety and restlessness, the debilitating awareness that you were going to face the media as both his intern and as some specimen, they wanted to shove under a microscope.

You knew, full well, that the connection between you and Steve had been noted by both likely supporters and opposition.

You knew full well that comments were comparing the kind of chemistry you two had, versus the kind of blasé and underwhelming bond that tied Steve and Peggy together. The evidence of support or animosity had already been noticed through different socials and handles on the vast internet.

However now you were going to have to face it head-on.

Pepper had made you aware of the media circus, of the absolute hell and chaos that would ensue once Senator Rogers touched the ground. It was only natural given the attacks that the other party was trying to unleash on him in order to dissuade the public from voting for the necessary parties to vote him in. It was rather nasty, from what you had already seen and it was only going to act as gasoline for this insane and innate fire that would be all-consuming.

Once he set foot on the tarmac, the press tour started. There would be no shortage of events that would aid Senator Roger’s message for unity in the country, and the need to help each other out rather than turning our backs on each other.

The start of the press tour on the west coast would start the moment he stepped off the plane and the docket had started to take place with the first flash of a camera. Senator Rogers was ready, he was prepared with a level head and an assurance that he could and would handle whatever was thrown his way.

“I hope you’re ready.” Chase had given you a forewarning as the process to off-board was starting. “We’re coming behind him and immediately going to the hotel.”

You reached for the bag you’d packed, one of the carry-ons with little inside other than a quick change of clothes and a few books, hesitating when you felt hands grazing your own. Given the last chance to give you a pep talk, Steve lifted the bag from the overhead compartment for you and set it on the floor.

Inhaling slowly, you focused on the scent of his cologne and the tinge of spice that made you want to turn into him for comfort. He was strong and broad-shouldered but he carried so much warmth with him, warmth that you wanted to surround yourself.

“Take a deep breath, don’t let them get in your head.” He whispered, he whispered gently as if the roles were reversed and you were the one who was going to be facing the onslaught of the media circus.

“I’m scared.” You replied with a mumble, unable to turn and face him, at least not while the doors were prepared to be opened.

“Fear is not a weakness.” Steve had pulled away when it was time for him to settle into his role, and after he stepped away you looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with him. It was only a moment, it was barely half a minute before he had to turn away but it was enough.

And then the door opened, a powerful vortex of questions and the steady click of cameras had come rushing to your ears before he had even stepped out. He had upped out of your line of sight although you could easily detect the cacophonous drone from the tarmac.

“We have to go, we have to face it.” Val and Sasha both stepped by your seat, the latter helping you pick up your bag and the files you’d been scouring over. “We’re right here with you.”

The buzz that you heard on the plane was tepid compared to being on the tarmac with a line of press, different media cycles and online avenues for gossip and information vying to get his attention. It was as if you were in a wind tunnel, being accosted by the piercing noise that hit your ears with an unseemly tangency that made you grit your teeth.

“Senator Rogers reaches the LAX airport with his team in tow-“

“Senator Rogers is starting the tour here on the west coast and is said to be attending a few ceremonies-“

“The excitement for the senator to arrive has boiled over and quite a crowd has been drawn. Now I’ve been told-“

You could remain ignorant to the questions as Steve had stopped by a few press junkets as the start of his tour commenced. However, when you started hearing questions fired off at you, you were not as poised and collected as the Senator.

“Y/N! Y/N do you have any responses to the fans and supporters of Madame Carter who have accused you of interfering in their marriage?” A reporter for a popular online gossip outlet had raised their voice to garner your attention, and immediately you were thrown off guard.

You were a deer in headlights, eyes wide and tongue-tied. Your mind was not cooperating with your vocal cords or your motor skills, you couldn’t move or respond in any possible facet. Rather, you were stuck where you stood with your fingers tapping on the inside of your hands.

And when you finally could speak, when you finally found yourself able to produce a sound, it came out as a stuttering and weak response.

“I’m…I don’t-“ you were steered away, set into the protective side of Chase and Val.

“Ignore them. Keep your head down and move. Act normal.” Chase squeezed your hand and led you off to the vehicles waiting for the support team. He opened the door and watched you slide into the back beside Val before he joined you, the other vehicle held out for Pepper, Sasha and Steve.

“This is madness. It’s chaos-” you rest your head in your hands, your eyes closing for a single moment to gather your thoughts.

You weren’t prepared for this, even with all the warning and prep you’d been doing it wasn’t expected. This was your first real, true job as a PR intern for a major political campaign, and maybe it was your naivety that made you ignorant, but you didn’t know it would be like this.

“The first day and I feel like I’ve been dumped into the Arctic Ocean.” You lowered your hands, watching aimlessly as Senator Rogers approached the lead vehicle and took a pause to wave once more at the crowds.

“We have the night off. Sasha, Pepper & the Senator are going to do a kickoff press conference, so…” Chase leaned in and nudged your arm with his. “Come to my hotel room, we’ll order food and watch B-rated movies.”

“As long as you promise not to start sexting your boyfriend. The last time you invited us over, we got a deeply personal insight into your sex life, and we didn’t want it.” Val leaned forward and directed her attention to Chase, the two of them continuing their ease back and forth until the driver started taking off from the airport.

As the vehicle moved, you leaned back against the seat and angled your head, staring out the window at the masses of people or reporters who were still recording or taking pictures of the envoy.

It was endless or seemed to be and you wondered, at any point, if you would be on the receiving end of Madame Carter’s hatred in person.

“The press tour started eventfully,” the fabricated crooning which once had brought him to his knees had now been a nail upon glass to his ears, “are you enjoying playing with your intern?”

“Peggy quit.” Steve drew out his annoyance with a sharp hiss when his wife’s comments, through a picture-perfect screen, had come across as hypocritical at best. “We’re not doing this.”

“Not doing what, Steve? You’re not screwing around with a younger woman while your wife is doing charity work?” Peggy leaned forward tucking her hand under her chin, her long deep brown hair was pinned to the top of her head in a style that was as calculated as she was.

Peggy was unbothered by the weight of her affairs, by the notion that while Steve wanted to change the world for the better she wanted to acquire an endless stream of power and money for herself.

It was a reality that was more of a nightmare, the idea that she could have used Steve so easily and not found fault in the irony that she was committing physical adultery. Steve, in comparison, felt like he was genuinely falling in love with someone incredible.

“Where’s he hiding? Where do you have him this time? The closet?” Steve blew out the accusation with animosity, and disgust hanging off every syllable until his mouth was coated with bitterness.

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Peggy’s lips were drawn back into a smirk, a slow-building quirk riddled with heinousness, “I should remind you…”

His heart sank and his hands were balled into tight fists by his side.

He didn’t need to know what toxic spewing ire she would fire off at him to know that it was another tactic for control. Steve knew that she and her family, who had promised so much for the man who wanted to be a great politician and make a difference, were trying to tighten the strings and spin this discourse between the two of them into a positive light.

“It’s in your little whore’s contract that if she fucks anyone in her circle she’ll be fired.” It felt like a victory for her, Steve could see it written clearly.

Every shadow and highlight on her aesthetically pleasing face, her natural beauty and charisma that charmed more than just him, was now twisted.

Every facet of her that he once loved was tainted and obliterated by this poisonous facet that made him hate her. It was despicable, it was beyond what he thought he could handle. Peggy Carter and Pierce’s were fucking with what little glimmer of happiness he could have.

“Make sure you’re a good boy, Steve. Don’t put your dick in anything that could get you into trouble.”The irony, cruel and twisted, befell him.

He was finding happiness but couldn’t step over the line they drew in the sand. It was a method of torture to keep him in their distinctive clutch, and Steve was caught between letting himself chase the glimmer of hope and squandering it all.

“I wanted to change the world, Peggy. I wanted to do good and be good. I wanted a loving wife and kids to come home to, I wanted the American dream and you-”

“I told you to fuck her, didn’t I?” Steve’s heart sank, the acid in his stomach churning as he rendered himself stuck on this terrorizing notion that if he chased you, physically seeking you, you would be ruined. “Guess you better keep your dick clean.”

He wanted to call her a bitch, he wanted to call her a hypocritical whore for this cage she was forcing him into. Steve wanted to rip into her, endlessly tearing her in two through the screen, and yet all he could do was stare at this vile poisonous snake.

She was fucking every intern she had and dangling up above him like a carrot in front of a horse.

Peggy Carter was holding everything from him.

“I’m not letting you go, Steve. I still need you and you need me, my family, to get what you want. Who knows…maybe when I become the First Lady I’ll give you the whore as a gift. You could keep her locked under the Oval Office to suck dick for all I care-”

Steve closed the screen with a snap, using enough force to crack the screen. He stood violently and reacted in anger, swiping everything from the desk to the floor. Bile was crawling up his throat, stinging his esophageal system from the inside. His heart was thrashing violently as he continued the destruction, seeking an outlet for himself.

And as he finished, as he had spent all the anger he had, Steve slowly slid down the wall nearest the window. He drew his knees up to his chest and hid his face in his hands, slowly exhaling.

Permanent Tags List: @jennmurawski13-writes @beardburnsupersoldiers @rebekahdawkins @supraveng @bookfrog242 @old-enough-to-know-better73 @loveitorleaveit20 @alexakeyloveloki @socalgem1124 @mogaruke @dreamlessinparis @frisky975 @dispatchvampire @hereforbuckyandsteve @jesgisborne @fairybnha3 @hallecarey1 @tang082646 @mrslokibarnesrogers @deputy-videogamer @posionivy0061 @loving-life-my-way @kaylamcd2000 @mercyy98 @rootcrop @whatinthestyles @slutforsteve @cornmousequeen @rededfoxy @yagurl-snow @glimmering-darling-dolly @patzammit @buckymydarlingangel @missusbarnes-rogers @andy-is-gay @nervousfandom @rileyloves5 @emi11ie @carelessreadersstuff @readingandwritingandreading @cynic-spirit @inkedaztec @gh0stgurl @cats-and-sheep @pono-pura-vida @seitmai @teambarnes72 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @miss-rebel-without-applause

[stellar-solar-flare]

I haven't read the fic this is an AU from since I haven't seen Knives Out yet (shame on me, lol), but I know enough of it to appreciate and absolutely ADORE this headcanon. There is just something about Steve being a considerate husband and wanting his wife to be comfortable, paying even more attention to that if they have an arranged marriage that is so dreamy. I'd definitely read a full arranged marriage Steve longfic from you if you are ever inclined to write one (and I have the fic this is based on on my reading list once I get around to watching Knives Out).

And that part about the sketch and Steve's artistic side. Oh, my heart. 😍

Thank you for sharing this.

Thoughts or thots on swapping the babes in More Than This? What if Ransom was the BFF!step bro and Steve was the arranged groom to be? 👀

OH MY GOD! This is just- oh no! This has taken over all my thoughts since you casually slipped it into my inbox yesterday. I'm not even going to attempt a drabble cause I know it would end up being 5k and just part one 🤣 and you will not do that to me! 🤣🤣🤣 So here are my quickly-jotted extensive thoughts on what this would look like.

Ok, so your dad married Linda when you were little and then died when you were 14ish so Linda "raised" you herself (mostly by sending you to boarding school).

I think having a younger sibling would have mellowed Ransom out a little bit. He's still an asshole, but not as much of one because he has someone to commiserate with over their terrible family. And I think having someone to protect would be good for him.

When the time comes, Harlan and Linda sit you down and tell you that you're engaged to Steve, whose family, for the purposes of this, is still in the movie business and still based in LA, although I think he splits his time between there and NY. They at least do you the service of telling you about the pregnancy clause.

You go straight to Ransom, who immediately takes you out to get very, very drunk. Amid all the bar-hopping, he lets you cry all over him.

The next day, while you're nursing your hangover, Ransom goes out to the house to give Harlan a piece of his mind. There's a lot of yelling. It doesn't have any practical effect on your situation, but it does make you feel seen.

Meanwhile, Steve, who is very mission-oriented and values his family above almost anything else, takes this arrangement very seriously immediately upon learning about it. I think it would just take one conversation with Sarah about how important this is to have him push down all his personal feelings (which are turbulent) to focus on doing what needs to be done.

Like in the original story, Steve and Ransom have a passing acquaintance. Ransom thinks Steve is holier-than-thou, arrogant, and must be hiding something behind his good-boy presentation. Steve is very wary of the kind of party girl the sister of Ransom Drysdale must be. This leaves both you and Steve very nervous about the arrangement.

He flies out to meet you, and you both do your best to get to know each other over dinner. It goes well enough. You don't hate each other. But he comes off as stiff and formal and makes you feel a little like you're just a mission to be completed. You leave the restaurant feeling like you still don't really know who you're going to be marrying.

You text intermittently over the next few weeks, mostly about the logistics of moving into his home. It doesn't exactly alleviate your nerves.

Ransom helps you pack up all your things. He listens as you worry out loud about all of the things you can't control. He curses both Linda and Harlan as he shares cheap beer and expensive whiskey with you. You're going to miss him so much.

The wedding goes as well as can be expected. Steve is kind to you and tells you how beautiful you look. You make pleasant small talk with him over dinner and during several dances. After, you go up to the honeymoon suite and you both immediately fall asleep.

The next day, right before you get on the private jet, Ransom threatens Steve to his face. Steve promises he'll always treat you as well as you deserve.

When you get to his house and he gives you the tour, there's one door upstairs that remains closed. He tells you that that room is private and asks you to respect that.

He doesn't want to have sex until you've gotten to know each other better. Part of you is relieved but another part is very nervous about the ticking clock hanging over both your heads. You're not sure if there's enough time for him to get as comfortable with you as he wants (and vice versa) before you contractually need to be pregnant.

After a few weeks, you're home alone, when somehow the door to his private room gets opened. Maybe you still have Lola, and she somehow gets into the room. You go running in after her and that's how you discover that it's an art studio. Steve's art is on the walls and on easels in different stages of completion. It's all so beautiful. In the center of the room, there's a breathtaking but unfinished charcoal sketch. It takes only a moment for you to realize it's of you. You're bowled over by how he sees you.

He finds you standing in front of the drawing, tears running down your face. He's embarrassed and worried that he must have offended you. He tries to apologize, but you stop him by smashing your lips into his. It takes him a moment for his brain to catch up, but once it does, he kisses you back with a passion you've never experienced before.

You have sex for the first time on the floor of his studio. It's hurried and messy and desperate. Later, he'll put you in the bed you share and take his time taking you apart, but right now, he needs to show you that that drawing is just a fraction of the beauty he sees in you.

It doesn't take long after that for you to conceive your first child of many.

Oh my god! See what this did to me?!? Just this headcanon is almost 1k! I hope that's a satisfactory answer. 🤣🤣🤣 I loved getting the chance to flip MTT on its head like this. Thank you for sending such a great question!!

[lorem-ipsum-2099]

SPOILERS FOR SYMBIOTE SPIDERMAN 2099: ISSUE #1

I will be discussing my thoughts and opinions about the recently released Issue of Symbiote Spiderman 2099 which will include MAJOR SPOILERS.

You have been warned.

Tbh I don’t have much to say at the moment since everything is only getting started lollll

This is all my own opinion 🦈

Not what I expected yet left me pleasantly surprised. Tbh, I had expected the symbiote issue to pick up after Dark Genesis and got whiplash when we were taken all the way back to Issue #43 of the original run.

I was never a huge fan of the flooding plot so I’m glad it wasn’t focused too much upon in this issue, fingers crossed for the rest of the series!

Now, the art. Mixed feelings. It seems that there may have been some miscommunication between the art and story teams because who tf is this blue eyed, non-cunty, straight haired Miguel????? (Like aren’t comic Miguel’s eyes always red and even if they weren’t his eyes were green pre-spidering??) Also they didn’t draw his talons right. Where are his high waisted pants >:(

HOWEVER

Roge Antonio absolutely rocked every panel with the symbiotes (which makes sense considering his work with Carnage)! The action scenes with the Venom were wonderfully fluid and creative and I’m especially excited for what Miguel’s fighting style will look like with his new symbiote.

Oh yeah, Miguel is also hosting a new unnamed symbiote??? The setup for that seems like fun and I’m excited to see what they do with the next issue.

Now, Kron…

I’m actually really hoping we get some more characterization of Kron in this series, we delve too deep in this issue but I am surprisingly intrigued by Kron where I wasn’t so much in the past. David seems to be showing a more sympathetic side to Kron and I’m looking forward to see if that is expanded on further.

In summary: pretty solid first issue! The beginning was a little awkward due to the flood plot but once that was done the story picked up. I’m definitely gonna reread the last couple of issues of Miguel’s 90’s run to make sure I don’t miss anything ;). Let’s hope Peter David doesn’t pull a Steve Orlando.

Excited for more, fingers crossed for some existentialist Miggy content :)

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 9 – AUs

Cold Space, Warm Welcome by Annie D (scaramouche)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 15,572 Tags: Sci-Fi, Misunderstandings, Pining Steve

Summary: Tony’s spent a couple of years flying around the galaxy in his best friend Rhodey’s spaceship the Iron Advance, doing what could perhaps be counted as ‘hero’ work. Among their allies is Steve Rogers, captain of his own crew, with whom Tony has a… potentially friendly relationship. When Steve’s ship is irreparably damaged, Rhodey takes him and his whole crew onto the Iron Advance to recover. Tony’s not at all nervous about this, because so what if this is the first time Steve will see him without the Iron Man armor?

Reasons why I love it: Steve is so whipped for Tony, oh my god. I adore their dynamic here, and it's so much fun to see all of Steve's fumbling attempts to make his interest known from Tony's point of view, who is utterly oblivious. And the setting itself is fantastic, it really paints a picture of what their lives in space are like. I love this fic to bits, and I bet you will too!

The Scars of Your Love by blue_jack

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 5,462 Tags: Scars, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up and Making Up

Summary: On the day Peggy moved out, Steve stood naked in front of the mirror and looked at all the ragged lines running over his body. He felt like someone had taken a knife to him, slicing every inch open, and he didn’t understand how there wasn’t any blood. He traced one particularly thick scar on his stomach, gritting his teeth against the pain, the memory of the first time he’d brought Peggy over to meet his family and all the teasing that had accompanied it burning through his mind. He couldn’t imagine her marks ever disappearing, and in that moment, he didn’t want them to, didn’t want to ever expose himself to that much hurt again. Once in a lifetime was enough.

Reasons why I love it: Having heartbreak leave actual, physical scars on your body is such a kickass concept. Emotional pain is so real it often feels like it should leave scars, and Steve sure hasn't been spared during his lifetime. I really like how the whole later conflict with Tony is set up because of Steve's relationship with Peggy. It feels very true to Steve's character that he acts the way he does. And oh my god, poor Tony. I love this one, please go and check it out!

Missing and Ravished by SailorChibi

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 8,760 Tags: Serial Killer Steve, Officer Tony, Gore

Summary: Officer Tony Stark really did not mean to fall in love with a serial killer.

Reasons why I love it: This might sound weird, but if canon Steve ever became a serial killer, I imagine that it would be exactly like this. I love the whole premise of the fic, of Tony being torn between his duty, his morales and his emotions, and the moment it all comes crashing down is immensely satisfying. I love everything about this fic, so I hope you give it a shot!

Steve Rogers' Life Is Not A Romance Movie (He Wouldn't Get The References, Anyway) by someonelsesheart

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Pepper/Natasha Rating: T Words: 7,909 Tags: High School AU, Humor, Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Steve hasn't always had this ridiculous crush on Tony Stark. (Or, the one where Steve is his polite old self and doesn't really hate Tony Stark (unfortunately), Tony is a child progidy and apparently a cab driver now, too, and high school is still high school, even when you are the son of a billionaire.)

Reasons why I love it: Steve the spitfire makes an appearance! They're both such dorks in this, and the way they stand up for each other in front of bullies legitimately makes my heart melt. Also, Pepper and Natasha are queens, and I adore them with my whole heart. Definitely check this one out, it's adorable!

Stellar Love Affairs by AvengersNewB, BladeoftheNebula

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 5,407 Tags: A/B/O (Omega Tony, Alpha Steve), Mating Cycles, Space AU

Summary: Captain Steve Rogers gets assigned to command the starship Avenger. Everything is going as expected until he sets eyes on Tony Stark, who happens to be the first omega Steve's ever met.

Reasons why I love it: A Star Trek fusion, A/B/O, fuck or die fic written by two of my favorite people in this fandom? It's like this fic was written for me! I love everything about it, from the worldbuilding to the smut to them getting their heads out of their asses and finally communicating. It's fantastic, and I highly recommend you check it out for yourself!

[darsynia]

They Show Their Truth (one single time) | Oneshot

gif from @marvelheroes

Summary: Steve's managed to keep how he feels about Natasha a secret, but the vision he saw in South Africa shook him.

Caring about Natasha Romanoff this much means that when there's a chance to heal her wounds by revealing his secret, Steve throws himself on the grenade, because of course he does.

Length/Warnings: 5,443 | Porn with plot, unrequited love. Minors DNI

Tags (please forgive me if this isn't your thing, feel free to ignore if so 💚): @ronearoundblindly @munstysmind @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @starryeyes2000 @deepbatched @chibijusstuff @caplanreblogsfics

This was written as a request for my friend @salovie a while back!

They Show Their Truth (one single time)

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side.”

The worst part is that Stark would probably appreciate what Steve is struggling with. He might even trust Steve more because of it, and isn’t that just exactly the worst conclusion to draw, tonight?

Steve’s on his back on the floor in the Barton family room. He’d feel more comfortable if he could rest on his side with his back against the couch, second best to the wall, but every square foot of wall in this room is filled with shelving. Toys, books, puzzles; the accoutrements of a life he’ll never live, all stacked up with the chaotic order of an unexpected visit. The couch is ready for Natasha, with a sheet covering the cold, worn leather. He’s left her the handcrafted afghan and the better of the two pillows Clint’s wife had offered, and kept the sports fleece for himself.

It makes sense that they’ve put the two of them in here; whatever is going on between Bruce and Nat means it would be irresponsible to force them to share. Stark’s by himself on an air mattress in the laundry room instead of in the guest room with Bruce, because out of all of them, he’s the one most likely to accidentally set Banner off-- and just like Clint said, it’s not that they don’t trust Bruce. They don’t trust Tony.

Steve likes Laura Barton. It seems to him that she understands the purgatory they’re all putting themselves through, most of them, anyway. He sure as hell hopes she hasn’t caught on to his, but she couldn’t have.

If she had, she wouldn’t have put him in a room with Natasha.

He gets up and turns off the overhead light, using the chain, then flips off the switch. The ceiling fan’s breeze is just on the edge of too much, but if Nat wants it on, it’ll be set up so the light won’t disturb her. He walks over to the door and cracks it, listening. Laura and Natasha are still talking quietly in the kitchen. Steve pushes the door mostly shut again, and turns off the light that’s across the room from the couch, leaving just the one lamp directly next to it. 

He winces. The room is now bathed in an orange-yellow glow that reminds him of the quality of light in the vision he’d seen in South Africa. The truth is that practically everything here reminds him of the vision.

The glint of the sun off of the axe had reminded him of the flashbulbs.

One of Barton’s kids had spilled juice, and its blood red color had been like the wine on the soldier’s chest.

A rare moment of collective laughter in the dining room with Nick Fury had pulled Steve out of the moment and thrust him, unwillingly, back into the vision.

He’d had to walk away, away from the mirth, away from her red hair as she faced away from him, so similar to the twice-damned vision where Peggy Carter had asked him to dance. As he’d turned to say yes, she’d spun away, dress flying off to reveal a tight-fitting black jumpsuit, the brown wig falling away to red, her familiar, beloved face morphing into Natasha Romanoff’s familiar, beloved face.

Because she is. Beloved. Despite everything. No amount of brutal training at the gym until his hands are numb and bruised, no amount of self-denial or self-recrimination has cured him of it. Hell, no monk has ever kept himself as pure for the sake of his God as Steve Rogers has, for fear of thinking of his teammate in a way that is definitely unholy.

The result has been the exact opposite of his intention; all roads lead to Natasha in his mind, because as ever, Steve Rogers aspires for that which cannot be. The only thing he’s learned from being chosen for the program, from rejecting orders and saving his best friend despite everything, from crashing the plane to save the world, from waking up after seventy years on ice, is that fate loves to give him what he wants.

And he wants her.

“Not this time,” Steve murmurs from his position on the floor, one knee up, arm behind his head.

“Well, if that’s the way it’s gonna be,” Natasha says in a sultry, teasing voice from the doorway.

Steve launches himself into a stand as if she’s the personification of an enemy, and in a way, she is.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Steve, but you’re a little edgy.”

“You and Clint are always telling me to rough it up a little, just trying to follow orders,” Steve jokes, backing up out of her way as she walks into the room.

“We were thinking more along the lines of getting you to watch some porn, grow some scruff,” she tells him. “So, you trying to be chivalrous, leaving me the couch and the best blanket?”

The tingling awareness he’s been fighting down for hours rears back to life at her provocative words, even more so when she immediately tempers them with a challenge about the couch. He knows her. Her behavior tells him that she thinks her words were reckless, that’s why she’s covering them. That means there was some truth to what she said, that they were revealing. If he were an enemy, it might be a trick to let him lower his guard, but she doesn’t know that he’s been fighting her in his mind for months. At least, he hopes to hell she doesn’t.

“Not at all,” Steve lies smoothly. “It’s pure math. I don’t fit.”

Nat turns her warm, impish gaze towards him and Steve feels a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire. Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t, he begs in his own head. She’s vulnerable, open, teasing, coy. Because she trusts him.

“Now, come on, soldier,” she says, sweetly mocking. “That’s boy scout math. Unimaginative math. I could probably fit the whole team on that couch if I had to. They might even enjoy it.”

He’s hardly ever seen her like this, but he knew she had it in reserve. “Well,” he says in his best regimental, Team Captain voice, hoping she won’t hear the regret he feels in pulling it out to dash water all over her lush, flirty flames. “That might be so, but that has nothing to do with sleeping.”

“Oh no, Steve,” she says, amused concern woven through the husk of her voice. “Turn it off, I absolutely cannot sleep with a Steve Rogers figurine in the room with me tonight!” Natasha comes over to him, her lips curved into a smile under furrowed eyebrows, and before he can fully understand what she’s doing, she’s got her hands on him, stroking along his back, and he’s hard, his heartbeat spiking, she’s going to know, fuck, fuck… 

“Nat, what--” he chokes out, throwing his arms out wide in hopes that he can talk himself down before she walks back around.

“I’m looking for the pull cord,” she says, resting a hand on his arm so she can lean over and catch his eye. “For your sayings. You know, ‘It’s the American Way!’ and ‘Do it for your country!’”

Every single thing she says sounds like innuendo to him. To think that Tony fucking Stark thought he doesn’t have a dark side. He’s sworn more in silent frustration about this gorgeous, unattainable woman than Stark probably has in the whole year, on purpose, out loud.

“Lay back and think of Uncle Sam?” Steve suggests, forcing his limbs to move, walking toward the other side of the room as he pulls his arms out of the long-sleeved overshirt he’s wearing.

“I’ve actually done that, you know. Multiple times,” Nat tells him, chuckling.

“Are you going to sleep in that? Do you want me to leave the room while you change?” he forces himself to ask. She’s got her own dark, long-sleeved shirt on, over a soft, grey thing that clings to her curves in a wholesome, farmhouse way that doesn’t stop him from finding it sexy in the slightest.

“You wouldn’t have to even if I wasn’t,” she tells him in a voice that chastises him for even asking.

I don’t trust a man without a dark side, Tony’s voice repeats, in his mind.

He should have just confessed to Stark. ‘Some nights I’m so desperate for thoughts of Natasha that I’ve tied my hands to my own bedpost. Just enough resistance so I wake up if my hands drift down to touch myself. It’s her face in my erotic dreams, her body in my everpresent thoughts. Not Peggy’s. I’m not wholesome, Stark. I’m a sinner. A hypocrite.’

“The figurine comment was metaphorical, Steve,” Nat is saying. She’s inches away from him somehow, because once again he’s caught up in his thoughts. “You okay? Tony said you were unaffected, but--”

“He’s wrong. She got to me.”

“Yeah,” Natasha breathes, looking up at him. “Me too.” Her eyes are troubled, hurt, practically anguished.

Steve’s resolve weakens, and he smiles down at her with a fraction of his feelings showing through as reassurance. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Nat looks up at the ceiling and does a little frustrated shiver. “Talk, no. I either need to--” she breaks off and looks at Steve, her eyes shining with repressed tears. “There’s something really wrong about punching Captain America in the face because I need a release of tension.”

He thinks he knows what her aborted sentence was. I either need to hit someone or fuck someone.

Steve says what he was thinking out loud. “People see me as standing for the way things ought to be. Fairness. Doing your duty. Things working out the way they’re supposed to.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Life doesn’t always happen that way, and reacting with frustration against that fact is very reasonable. If you need to, go ahead. Punch me.”

“She really did get to you,” Nat whispers.

“I mean it. You know I can take it, Natasha. Physically, I mean. I won’t take it personally.” He wants her to. If he can’t have her softness, he’ll take hardness over nothingness.

The regretful vulnerability is back on her face. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I need it.”

“They’re trying to tear us apart, Natasha. The best way not to tear is to reinforce the connections you already have.”

“It’s not about what I saw. At all. It’s about wanting someone and being rejected, not even because I’m not enough, but because he’s too broken.” She reels back in reaction to even saying the words, and impulsively, Steve reaches down and takes her wrists, shakes them until she responds by resisting his actions.

“You didn’t want to set him off in Clint’s house. You won’t set me off,” Steve lies. She already has, in exactly the wrong way. “Shove me, hit me, punish me. Get it out.” He pulls her hands, despite her resistance, until they’re flat on his chest. “He said he was too broken?”

Natasha’s lovely face crumples for a split second before her jaw tightens in anger. She shoves him; Steve was ready for it, doesn’t stop himself, lets the momentum carry him back a little.

“As if being broken is some kind of contagious!” she bites out, her voice angry but restrained. There are children sleeping in the house somewhere, after all. “As if I’m not a shattered teapot--” another shove. “--held together by the kind of toxic glue that builds up--” she punches his shoulder in a jab that does more than sting. “--in your system until I’ve killed you just by doing my job!”

For the word ‘job,’ Natasha drops back and her foot flies out, catching him in the chest. If they had been anywhere else, Steve would have let the full force of it knock him across the room, as intended, but he can’t risk the sound bringing someone who might see the heat he’s trying to repress. Instead, he takes the hit, his foot braced on the door, which shakes but doesn’t make much noise. Steve ends up on one knee, looking at Natasha, who is breathing heavily out of fury rather than exertion.

“Isn’t that just the perfect kind of symbolism,” she sighs, sounding defeated.

Steve raises his eyebrows, biting his cheek inside his mouth against the way his pants are pulled tight and uncomfortable against his arousal. That should be enough to kill it, but she’s walking toward him and all he can focus on are her hips, the way they sway. He wants to see what they look like with his hand gripping them, his thumb pressing against the thin, delicate skin that curves toward her inner thighs.

“You have my shoeprint on your chest, Rogers,” Nat says.

“What, it’s visible now?” he quips. The hold she’s got over him has been too close to the surface for too long.

“Now don’t go trying to make me feel better,” she says in that rich, amused voice of hers, tossing him a look before starting back toward the couch. It reminds him of the first time he ever wanted her; she’d said something in that tone and he’d found himself suddenly desperate to trace the origins of the sound with his lips and tongue against her neck.

“Any man who doesn’t want you is definitely broken,” Steve tells her, standing.

If she doesn’t recognize his confession, is that his fault?

“Even if that’s true, and I know it’s not, I’m just as easy to brush off,” she says, nodding at the way he’s wiping away the dust of her shoe so it doesn’t soil Laura Barton’s bedclothes. His hands still, not just because of what she’s said, but because Natasha’s rolling up the sheet and tossing it to the side, adding the pillow seconds later.

“What are you--” he starts, cutting himself off when she tugs the couch cushion off of the frame of the couch and sets it beside his makeshift bedroll. “Nat?”

He can’t sleep beside her. He can’t not sleep beside her, not after Bruce seems to have done his best to fracture her confidence into little pieces just so he could sweep her away more easily.

“You asked what you can do? You can do this.” Her words are short, choppy, defensive. “I can’t sleep next to Clint and take my confidence from him, not when he’s doing that for Laura right now. Unless you--”

“Here, my arms are longer,” Steve says, picking up the sheet and unfurling it over the cushions for her before she finishes that final, uncertain sentence.

“Thanks, Captain,” she tells him, her lips twitching up into a tiny, precious smile.

“At your service, Ma’am.”

He doesn’t let himself watch her wriggle into a comfortable sleeping position, choosing instead to walk over and turn out the light. He seeks out his own sparse sheet and too-short blanket in the fresh darkness, turning his back so his arms can’t seek her out in his sleep. Steve does scoot back far enough that he’s up against her cushions, the only concession he’ll allow himself to her nearness. He reminds himself sternly that it is just to give her the warmth and closeness she said she needed, nothing more.

Steve wakes to the feeling of a small hand worming its way under the tight shirt he’s wearing. He can feel Natasha’s body pressed up against his back, all softness and curves and forbidden sweetness.

Is she awake??  

This is the stuff of his nightmares, dreams he’s forcibly categorized as such because of the moral implications. Her arm has snuck under his, so he lifts his arm, hoping the change of pressure will be enough to wake her up. Instead, this earns him a closer snuggle, one where he can identify her breasts along his back, the dip of her pelvis molding against his ass.

“Nat?” he whispers.

“Cold,” she says, her lips and nose nuzzling the word against his shoulder. Steve doesn’t know what to think. Her hand on his stomach is warm. In his sleep-fuzzed laxity, he decides to react the way he assumes he would if he didn’t have an attachment to her, which is to roll over and encourage her to curl up against him to warm herself up.

Steve rolls onto his back, the movement brushing his body against her in thrilling ways.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, chasing his heat as he carefully scoots over so that she can slot into the warmth of the place he’d been lying. Steve only succeeds in moving about three inches before Natasha throws her right leg out and twines it around his left leg as she slips down from the thick cushions toward him. Before he fully understands what’s happening, she’s mostly on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hot hand tucking ever so slightly into his waistband.

“Natasha, this can’t be what you do with Clint,” Steve hisses at her, desperate for her to stop moving before he shames himself with the speed of how fast he hardens for her. So far he’s controlling himself through sheer embarrassment on her behalf, but that won’t last much longer if she keeps squirming.

“Mmm, you’re right. He would have shoved me off by now, and we would have sparred about it or I’d have headed off to have a hot shower and a thorough conversation with my own hands,” she says, her voice wavering between an actual whisper and a tone husky with vocal fry.

Steve is nearly speechless. “Shower it is, then?” he suggests.

“Fresh out of hot water.” Natasha tells him, using a firm grip on his waistband to haul herself across his body to straddle him. Steve lifts both of his hands up over his head in self defense, but he’s essentially lost the battle. She’d removed her pants at some point in the night, and she’s sleep-mussed and gorgeous. Their enemies’ mental handiwork has done its job, led him right to what he’s always wanted, and it’ll be the end of them. She has to feel his reaction to her.

He closes his eyes and turns his head away. “I’m not going to fight you,” he says.

“That much is obvious,” she observes.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks between gritted teeth. “Put any man in this position and he’ll react the same.”

“Anything but that,” Natasha says in a small voice. Steve looks at her and sees pain in the angle of her head, the tightness around her eyes, the straightness of her back. She’s not putting all of her weight on him, he can tell, and just imagining the coiled strength that she’s exerting to rest so lightly and devastatingly against his thighs is undoing him.

She’s holding steady, but it feels like she’s pressing down thanks to his reaction to her. His body is gorging itself on a futile hope, and there’s no way that Natasha Romanoff doesn’t know this.

“I’m not Bruce,” he says, simply.

Her smile is a slice of pain. “Obviously,” she says, lowering herself fully and rocking her hips, pinning him with a challenging gaze.

Steve’s instinct is to stop her, but when he tries, his hands clutch naked skin and soft lace. The smile she offers him in response freezes him in place.

He shakes his head, delighted, miserable. “What are you looking for? Validation?”

“Goddamnit, Rogers, stop trying to fix everything,” she says, grinding against him again, making him gasp. “If the team’s fucked, the team’s fucked, so why not fuck the team, right? That’s what I’m trained for.”

The agony in her voice is all the worse because she doesn’t sound vulnerable anymore, and her eyes have lost the sheen of regret. She’s bitter, determined, and so broken in the process that Steve aches for her in a whole new, terrifying way. He reaches up to touch her face and she slaps at him before grabbing him, tearing open her shirt and clutching his hand to her breasts, fighting to keep him from fisting it.

Steve sits up, alarmed at her violence, and she tightens her thighs against him, rocking rhythmically.

“This is just sparring with different weapons, Nat, don’t do this,” he says.

“It’s all I have,” she snaps. “It’s my role. Tony would do it, you know he would.”

The jibe hits him in just the right way to be really painful, and Steve wrenches his hand away from her breast, trying to mitigate the way she’s ramping his desire up so skillfully with the drag of her body.

“Tony couldn’t, not in the way you want,” he says, his heart pounding, realizing that her plea for him not to fix it will have to be the one that will go unanswered. He knows exactly what she needs. Exactly. It’ll rip him apart to do this, in all of the best, soul-destroying ways, but it’s what she needs. Steve Rogers, throwing himself on the wire for his team.

“You and your stupid fucking rivalry--”

Steve interrupts her by arching his back, thrusting up against her, holding her gaze. “That’s not it.”

Natasha’s still hard-edged, scoffing. “I should have realized that would set you off. It must drive you crazy that his giant tower puts him ahead in your dick-measuring contest.”

“You think Tony wants you the way I want you? He doesn’t,” he says, blunt and honest. Her hips stutter in surprise, and Steve lets himself slide one hand up to the front clasp of her bra, flicking it open. “He’s known you longer, sure.” Natasha’s green eyes are wide, stunned. He takes advantage of her momentary stillness to hold her steady as he sits all the way up, sliding his other hand up to cup her face. “But would he throw away everything he has at the very thought of kissing you again, on purpose this time? No.”

“Steve?” she breathes, hesitant, haunted.

“Say the word and I’ll sleep on the porch and never mention this,” he tells her, hoping to hell she doesn’t.

“What even is ‘this?’” Natasha asks, tracing his face with doubtful eyes. “You trying to make up for Banner? I’m not a grenade, Rogers.” Her words are vulnerable but her voice isn’t. She’s using it as a weapon, pushing her sex appeal into the tone, sultry and challenging.

He watches himself push one of her wild curls back behind her ear, indulging a long-held desire that has nothing to do with the other ways he wants to touch her. “Seems like you’re trying to blow up like one. You just picked the exact wrong person to prove your point.” Steve makes eye contact with her. “Since when do I lie to you? About anything?”

“You want me,” she states dubiously, tossing her head, shaking it as she questions him, as if even saying it at all is too much to be believed.

“Very much.”

“I find it hard to believe this is anything more than a seventy-year--”

Steve buries his hand in the curls at the back of her head and kisses her, pouring all of his longing into the sweep of his lips, coaxing her to respond. For all the time he’s wanted this, he’d always thought if he got the chance again, it would be like the first time. Unexpected, unplanned, uncomplicated, unrepeatable. Not like this. Not with ardor, affection, adoration.

Natasha shifts toward him after a few seconds, letting out a small noise and tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Her movement sparks the napalm in his blood, little explosions of pleasure that follow her hand as she grabs his shirt, dragging it up his back to bare it for her fingernails. Steve can’t help it, he thrusts up into the sweet heat of her thighs in his lap, even as she gasps her mouth open for him to taste her. Natasha pulls back and rips off her shirt.

“Touch me, please, Steve, touch me,” she begs, grabbing his hand from where he’s been gripping her hip like a lifeline.

“I--” he starts, completely forgetting what he was going to say as he watches her throw her head back as soon as he palms her breast, shifting his grip so he can trace his thumb across her nipple. “Ahhhh, fuck,” she groans. Steve dips his head to suck an open-mouthed kiss against her neck at the same time he uses both hands to circle his thumbs across her nipples again. The sound she makes in response is as resonant and aching as he’d always hoped it would be, from the outside.

“Do you believe me now?” he says, each word a kiss.

“I might need more proof. You could be very dedicated to my well-being,” she laughs. It’s throaty and sexual, and he surprises her and even himself by the way he abandons what he was doing to hold her down as he grinds his hardness against her yet again, blatant and demanding. “Yeah?” she encourages.

“Yeah,” he pants, screwing his eyes shut to settle the overpowering urge he has to wreck everything about himself and the team, rip off their clothing and rut with her. He wants to keep this, and to hell with Banner and his reticence.

“So, you’re saying…” she dangles, reaching down and unbuttoning his pants, taking down the zipper, and lifting herself up long enough for him to yank everything down in a frantic rush. Steve can barely believe what’s happening until it happens-- she takes him in her hand at the same time she curls her other hand around his neck to haul him down for a filthy kiss. Every single nerve ending in his body is a conductor for her electricity, and the two of them together prompt a chemical reaction that send his pleasure centers into overdrive.

With a herculean effort, Steve pulls back from the kiss, cupping her face with one hand, the other fisted in the fleece beneath them, channeling all of his excess energy and desperation. He’s not in control, and he knows he could hurt her by accident.

“Was supposed to be about you,” he manages to say between a gasp and a groan at the way she’s working him with expert movements.

“Are you kidding? You should see your face,” Nat says in that rich, sensuous voice of hers. “Very complimentary. But how did you keep this from me?”

Steve drops his head, overcome, when she leans over and tongues his nipple in a completely unexpected, devastating move. “S’wrong,” he slurs. “Ahhhhh, stop, stop, Natasha, you-- stop.” She stills her hand slowly, easing him into the loss of it, and it’s so thoughtful, so thorough, so Natasha, that the action cuts the last threads that held his heart back from its inevitable fall.

“Bet you never thought you’d try to stop me,” she whispers in his ear, hooking her chin over his shoulder for a second, her various movements inexplicable until suddenly they’re not, she’s naked and sinking onto him, and Steve’s gone, he’s gone, his back arching, hips chasing her heat and tightness.

“Shhh, shhh,” Nat reassures. Her hands smooth over his back, his arms, his face, and finally he can open his eyes and see her, sweat-touched and exquisite.

“Natasha,” Steve whispers, shaking his head. He has never felt so clumsy and imprecise in his life. “I wanted to make you see,” he tries to explain. She’s given him everything he’s wanted, freely, somehow, but his goal had been to tear apart her insecurities, not force her to support him in exposing his own.

“You did. You are,” she says, but he shakes his head, noses a caress onto her shoulder.

“We’re all a mess in so many ways, the team,” Steve tells her, groaning as she tightens around him, seeking out her lips to taste the groan when he strokes his fingertips over her nipple. “Most of our strengths are outside-in. Yours is inside-out. You’re made of steel, coated in silk.”

“You always fuck so poetic?” she teases, but her eyes are luminous.

“Gotta get it all out now,” Steve whispers, seeing his peak on the horizon and craving as well as dreading it.

“Steve,” she warns, and he shakes his head.

“You know I’m right.”

Natasha leans over, kisses his neck just under his ear, and whispers, “That why you haven’t really touched me?” she challenges.

“I’m inside you, that’s not enough?” he groans, knowing it’s not, feeling caught out, hating and loving the way she absolutely knows him. His avoidance had been subconscious, but she’s a master of that domain.

Oh my, is she.

Natasha sets a hand on his shoulder and caresses him all the way down to his hand, pulling him, unresisting, to just above where they’re joined.

“Touch me, Steve. Make it so every time I see your hands I remember this. If I can’t keep you, if this is it, if this is all I get, give me that to remember this by,” she whispers.

“Fuck, Natasha, you can’t just--” he groans, so close to coming his vision is whiting out, but she stills her hips.

“You kept this from me,” she says.

She’s right.

As penance goes, it’s appropriate.

Steve turns his hand, lightly probing and swirling his fingers exactly where she wants him to. Her reaction rattles him to the core; Natasha had always struck him as an inherently sensual person, even if she only let small glimpses of that show at any given time, and rightly so. But even a light graze of his fingers against that sensitive part of her takes her apart. It’s wrecking to watch, and he craves the chance to see it over and over, again and again, in any and every possible way, even as his orgasm approaches exactly like the tiny death the poets call it.

“God, Steve, yes. Yes, fuck, please, please,” she babbles, her mouth pressed against his shoulder to muffle the noises just enough for propriety, or so he hopes. “Please, sweet-- ahhhhh!”

Because fate loves to give Steve just what he wants, they come apart at the same time, the cloying, clenching, glorious pleasure bearing down on him just as the woman he cares so much about shakes and shudders and begs in his arms.

They hold still for long enough that each of them has to know it’s just to prolong the inevitable.

“Count of three?” Natasha finally whispers.

“No need,” Steve says, and they slowly pull apart, avoiding eye contact. He’s trying to decide which shirt to soil when she brings him a package of non alcoholic baby wipes.

“Thanks,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Natasha says. It’s sincere, he realizes. No sarcasm, no innuendo, no amusement, just a sincere, heartfelt gratitude that feels simultaneously like a slap and a caress.

“You’re important to me,” he mutters, pulling his clothes back on.

“Right back at you, Cap,” Natasha tells him. It’s the transition, he can sense it. He settles back onto the sheet, facing her this time, a tiny concession to plausible deniability. She’s perceptive enough to catch it, of course, but they’ve got a shared secret, now, and that’s just the way things are. There’s just one more thing to do, one final rip through a single word written on a mostly torn piece of paper.

“Don’t give up on Banner,” Steve tells her, his tone as kind and matter-of-fact as he can make it, right now. “Today was probably the worst day of his life. People don’t make rational decisions on days like that.” The smile feels bitter and truthful on his lips.

Natasha’s lying on her side, lifted those few inches above him by the height of the cushions she’s resting on top of. Her expression had been sober, maybe even sad, but on hearing those words, a tiny fraction of lightness crosses her face. One corner of her lip turns up.

“Really?”

Steve’s paper metaphorically flutters to the floor, the bold block letters of the word landing imprecisely, but readable. UNRE QUITED, it reads. The meaning of the first four letters of the second half are not lost on him.

“Really.”

[justiceiswater]

Their power dynamic is so sexy! he takes just as much as she does. she yanks and pulls and drags at him. he asks what she wants and then she takes it!

Blackbird: 15

TW: smut

“Did he hurt you Honey?”

“Not physically,” you mutter from where your face is buried into his shoulder. Bucky and Sam have tied Brock’s hands behind his back and there’s a gag in his mouth. You move away from Steve and march over to Brock before you punch him in the face, “That is for starting my home on fire.” You kick him in the balls, “that’s for kidnapping, touching and threatening me.” Bucky and Sam both winced when you kicked Brock.

“Feel better Birdie?” Steve asks sounding amused.

“Not really. And I’m freezing.”

“Here,” he peels off his jacket and wraps you in it. You stare up at him,

“Kiss me.” You whisper and he gives you a little half smile before pressing his lips to yours. You hear a muffled yell from Brock but all you really care about is Steve.

“My pretty bird,” he whispers his forehead resting against yours.

“Can we get my stuff so we can go?”

“Yea,” Steve follows you out to the living room and you grab your pants and pull them on. Your work shoes, bra and underwear are tucked under one arm and work shoes are put on. “What happened to your shirt?”

“He ruined it.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Can I at home? I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“At home,” he repeats softly before turning to face the kitchen. “Boys you know what to do. I’m taking my girl home.” He takes your hand and leads you out the house and down the street to where he’d left his car. You climb in and when he joins you you reach for his hand again. You need to touch him, to ground you, to remind you that you’re safe. It’s not until you’re driving that you notice the commotion.

“What is going on?”

“I’m destroying Hydra.”

“What?”

“They protected him, they allowed him to take you. So I’m burning them to the ground.” You stare at him, the power of this man is intoxicating.

“This is because of me?”

“I told you I’d protect you and I didn’t.”

“You saved me.”

“You saved yourself.” His grip on the steering wheel tightens you give the hand you have a gentle squeeze.

“You gave me the earrings.” You remind him softly as he pulls up to his home. There are several people in the garage, ones you don’t know and you tense slightly.

“They’re all mine. We’re on high alert until we’ve wiped Hydra out.” He climbs out of the car and when one of the guys goes to open your door Steve snarls at him and the other man backs off. Steve opens your door and curls a protective arm around you as you walk to the elevator. Once the doors close you turn in his grasp and drag his lips down to yours. He kisses you until the doors open then gently guides you out of the elevator.

You need him, you need to feel his hands on you to wipe the feeling of Brock’s off. He leads you to his bedroom and you pull his lips to yours again but Steve stops you.

“Honey, I need to know what happened.”

“I need you Steve. I need him off of me.” You murmur, “he made me dance for him. He touched me with his gross hands and made me kiss him. I need to forget what it felt like. Please Steve.”

“I have an idea, come with me.” He locks the bedroom door then leads you into the bathroom where he turns on the shower. When you don’t move Steve takes your extra things from your hands and takes off your shoes. He then pulls you into the shower fully dressed, the water is warm and you lean into him as you stand under the water.

“Whenever you’re ready we can throw the wet clothes into the tub.” He says into your hair, you hate feeling like you need him but you do.

“Thank you.”

“Nothing you need to thank me for.” He assures you and you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“What are you going to do to him?”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

“Okay.” You agree then you hook your thumbs into your underwear and slide it down your legs. You throw them over the top of the shower where they land with a wet plop. Steve chuckles then pulls off his jacket and throws it too over the shower wall. Off comes his shirt and your bra and his pants and boxer briefs. You tip your head back, wordlessly asking for him to kiss you. He doesn’t disappoint pressing his mouth to yours, his hand goes to that spot on the back of your head where it connects to your neck, and he holds you close to him. You whine softly in the back of your throat and he stoops down just enough to get his hands under your butt. He sweeps you up off your feet, one of your legs on either side of his body. His cock brushes your core and you gasp,

“Please Steve.” You beg reaching between you as best you can to line him up with you.

“Are you sure Honey?”

“I will go find Bucky.” You threaten and he growls lowly before sinking into you.

“Mine. You’re. Mine. I’m. Yours.” He growls punctuating each thrust into you.

“Yes, Steve.” You gasp, “please yes.”

“Tell me what you want.” He demands slowing his thrusts and pressing your back to the cooler shower wall.

“You.”

“Not Bucky?” He taunts, practically stilling inside you.

“No, Steve please.” You whimper trying to move your hips but he has you pinned too tightly between him and the wall.

“Please what?”

“Fucking move Steve!” You beg before pulling his mouth to yours. He starts to move again and you moan into his mouth. He pulls away, staring down at you he gives you a soft smile.

“Cum for me Honey. Come on I know you’re close.” You snap then, coming undone around him. You cling to Steve’s shoulders as he chases his own release, which he does with a low groan. He kisses you again, softly as he pulls out, “I’m gonna set you down okay? So we can clean up and get some food.”

“Not steak.” You mutter before you can stop yourself.

“No Honey, not steak.”

Tag list:

@andahugaroundtheneck @connie326 @also-fangirlinsweden @lumar014 @loving-life-my-way @pagina16ps @emdying @dumblani @valsworldofcreativity @blackwidownat2814 @sky0401 @dontbescaredtosingalong @fanatic434 @abschaffer2

[reigningqueenofwords]

Super Awkward Question

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x daughter!Reader

Part 18 of Looking for the Captain

Bucky stared at his best friend in shock. “You would?” He asked, unsure how he felt about it. Part of him hurt, hearing that his best friend would choose you. However, part of him felt that spoke volumes. The two men had always chosen each other, and this was the first time either of you would choose someone else. Of course Bucky knew that he would choose you, you were his daughter!

He nodded. “I told her I wouldn’t walk away from the woman that makes me incredibly happy.” He told him honestly, moving to start breakfast. He hoped that told Bucky that you weren’t some fling, that you truly meant a lot to him.

Swallowing, Bucky moved to head outside. “If you’re going to be bitchy, we can sit in silence.” You told him, sitting in one of the chairs as you sipped your coffee, eyes on Goliath. 

“I’ll do my best to hold back my bitchiness.” He half joked in return. 

You let out a half chuckle at that. “Maybe when this is all over you need a vacation. You’re so damn wound up, and I’m getting the shit end of it.” You noted. “I’m not saying none of it is me and Steve, but I have a feeling most of your frustration is the whole ‘in danger’ situation, and since you can’t deal with it…you take it out on us.” 

Sitting, he had to admit you were probably right. “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll try harder to wrap my head around you two being together and I’ll try to keep my comments to a minimum.” It was the least he could do. “Please tell me one thing, though?” 

“What?” You raised an eyebrow as you looked at him. What could he possibly want to know?

“Please tell me you at least used a condom. I know I’m older than most people, but I’m not ready to be a grandfather. Let me get used to one thing at a time.” It was awkward, but could you really blame him?

Blushing, you looked away. “It’s not like we had any available.” You muttered. 

He ran a hand over his face. “I’ll be right back.” He got up. “I’ll make a run to the store.” 

“ You’re going to buy us condoms?” Was that what he was saying? 

“And a Plan B. I can blend in a bit better than Stevie can.” He noted. 

“Oh. True.” You nodded. “Thank you.” You told him. “Maybe grab a board game, too? We can all play it after dinner.” It felt like a safe option to you. And would give him something else to look for other than safe sex options for you and Steve.

“Sure, and we will never speak of this again.” He pointed at you, making you chuckle. 

“Deal.” You easily agreed.

Steve looked over from the stove as Bucky came in and grabbed his jacket. “Heading back to the tower? I didn’t hear yelling, so that was a plus.” He mused. Although, he wasn’t out there that long, either. 

Sighing, he pulled on his jacket. “No, heading to the store.” He said awkwardly. “Getting her a Plan B, you two some condoms, and a board game. You want anything?” He asked, not looking at Steve. 

“...You don’t have to get us condoms. I don’t think either of us will want to have sex while you’re here.” His focus was on the pancake in the frying pan. “And how about we eat, and then I’ll make a list?” 

“Can you make the list now? Kinda wanna go for a drive and clear my head. Gonna take your car.”

Steve nodded. “Sure, watch the pancake?” He held out the spatula. 

“Hello?” Nat answered the phone, confused. 

“It’s me.” 

She was silent for a moment. “I know. Caller ID.” She pointed out. “What do you need? Stark said you were going to stay with Rogers and Y/N/N. Odd move, by the way.” 

He sighed, eyeing the selection of alcohol. “I have my reasons.” He told her. “But it’s probably a good thing I did.” He quickly explained what happened, and the very awkward conversation with you that led to him standing in the store.

“Well, I am proud of you for not going off at the whole needing to get her Plan B thing.” She said truthfully. “Had you told me that would be a situation, I would have thought you’d gone off. Threatened Rogers and scolded her.”

“Thanks.” That was something at least. “Now I’m standing in the store, grocery list in hand, not knowing what the hell to think.” Hence him calling her to begin with. She was an excellent voice of reason.

“If she wasn’t your daughter, how would you feel about him having someone he cares so much about?” She wondered. “Is it no one is good enough for him, either?” Part of her truly felt that to Bucky, no one was good enough for you or Steve. 

He paused. “I-” He snapped his mouth shut as he thought for a moment. “I’d be happy for him. All that punk has ever wanted was a pretty dame to go home to.” He groaned, knowing Nat likely had a smirk on her face. 

She kept her tone neutral, not letting him hear her smile. “I think he’s found that, and it’s not going to end well if you keep trying to push them apart. I have a feeling all that will do is push your daughter, and your best friend, away.” 

“Stevie already told me if I try to make him choose…he’d choose her.” He sighed. 

“Maybe instead of trying to be her dad for now, just try to be her friend. I think that would be the safest bet. Treat her like you’d treat me.” 

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that. “You two are a lot alike.” He admitted. “Both stubborn and mouthy.” He teased. 

You and Steve shared a shower after breakfast, and then while you washed the dishes, he sat at the table to sketch. He was sketching you, smiling softly to himself as you hummed along to the music that you had playing. He didn’t recognize the song, but he enjoyed it because you did. 

Just as you dried your hands, you heard the front door. Looking over, you raised an eyebrow at the amount of bags that Bucky brought in. “How much did you buy?” You asked, leaning against the counter, clearly amused. 

“Well, I got what you needed, a couple board games, a couple movies, what Stevie put on his list…and stuff to camp in the backyard.” 

“Why do you want to camp in the backyard? I get the couch isn’t the most comfortable, but it would probably be better than outside.” You noted, confused. 

He shrugged. “This way I can still help keep you safe, but I’ll be giving you your space.” He told you as he started to take things out of the bags. “And I got an air mattress, so even if I decide I don’t want to sleep outside, I can blow this up in the living room.” Hopefully you could see this as him trying. 

“Awe, you didn’t get Steve his own sleeping bag so you guys can make s'mores around a fire outback and have a sleepover like your kids again?” You teased him. “Tell scary stories and do whatever boys do when camping?” Honestly, the thought of either of them being little boys was such an odd thought. Logically, you knew at one point they had been, but picturing it was hard. Especially Bucky. 

Bucky laughed. “I don’t think that punk went camping before he got the serum. He was too sick.” He told you truthfully. “He was too busy getting into fights with guys twice his size.” 

“And you were too busy getting me out of those fights.” Steve pointed out with a chuckle, not looking up from his sketchpad. “Probably helped keep me alive long enough to even get the serum.” 

You looked at Steve. “You were that sick? Or do you mean that you’d end up running into the wrong person?” 

“Both.” Him and Bucky said at the same time. 

“Jesus.” You muttered, moving to help put things away. Seeing the Plan B, you grabbed the box and went to get a cup of water to take it. Pausing, you looked at them. “Suuuuper awkward question.” 

“What’s that?” 

“He’s super. Like, all of him. Will this even work?” You held up the box. “Like, I know how this works. It’s supposed to stop me from ovulating. Cool. But just this month. Will his swimmers have extra time to live? An average man’s sperm lives 5 days. What about his?” Would his sperm have super lifetimes? Or were they more similar to the average man’s? 

That made Steve stop sketching and look up. “I have no idea.” He admitted. 

“Uh, me, either.” Bucky hadn’t thought much into it before. “Would Banner know?” 

Steve shrugged. “We can call and ask him. There’s a landline here so our cellphones aren’t tracked. I’ll go call him real quick.” He set his things aside and went to the living room to do just that. 

“You were right.” 

“About?” You asked. 

“That was a super awkward question.” 

[delulu-hours]

Marvel Masterlist

James 'Bucky' Barnes

It's gonna be okay [1] [2] [3]

You and Bucky cross paths through some turn of events, but he keeps you hidden instead of killing you off like he was assigned. There was something about you that he couldn't bring himself to end, so he took you somewhere you would be safe. Slowly, you learn more about each other and rely on one another before realizing it. All you know is that everything will be okay.

Loki Laufeyson

Where's My Love

You were Loki's rock. His love, but that was until now. Now he's alone, hoping for this all to be a lie.

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44533054

If You Find That You Feel Lost, I'll Be Your Ticket Back by kingdomfaraway Words started to fail him, the world around him completely whited out, all sound, all senses were gone and the only thing that mattered was Peter Parker. Finally, he took another step forward and this time, Peter didn’t make a move and Tony was hugging him a heartbeat later. The kid was stiff in his arms, didn’t hug Tony back, just let Tony hold onto him, pulling him as close as possible. “Pete, Peter, kid, Jesus, kid, I can’t believe this,” Tony murmured into Peter’s hair, turning and kissing the side of his head, once, twice, and then again, not letting go of him, too scared he’d turn to dust. “I,” the kid said in a small voice. “I don’t know who… I’m not who you think I am.” Tony pulled away finally, but kept his hands on Peter’s shoulders, looking the kid in the eyes. For a terrible moment, he thought maybe he’d fucked up and the kid just looked like Peter, that the heart arch had clouded his judgment, but no, there was zero doubt in his mind that the kid in front of him was his Peter. Words: 10088, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, Gen Characters: Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Steve Roges, Wong (Marvel) Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, AU, Tony Stark Lives, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Protective Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Peter Parker is a Mess, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Drama, Endgame didn't happen but Infinity War did, Survivor Guilt

[stellar-solar-flare]

Volatile | Chapter 1/3 | Steve Rogers x Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Steve Rogers returns from a mission only to be immediately alerted about a medical emergency: you, the Avengers Initiative's leading science expert, have been hit by a potent, unknown aphrodisiac on your own mission. Pressed for time and out of options, he has to, together with the AI's medical department, figure out a solution.

Mutual pining, smut with feelings, eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, sex pollen, non-consensual exposal to sex pollen, dubious consent because Reader is under the influence of an aphrodisiac (but all sex is very much mutually wanted), protective & possessive Steve Rogers, Captain kink, praise kink, very light dom/sub elements, dirty talk, pet names, thigh riding, finger sucking, mention of non-con.

Reader specifics: She/her. Works as a science specialist in AI under codename Dr. Chiral for her chemistry proficiency. Six times PhD, an Avenger. Late twenties, no description of appearance given.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AO3

Chapter 1: Verona

Chapter notes: Dr. Carolina Vinterberg is my original character, a regular face in my fics. Background Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanoff.

3,179 words.

Over his years on Earth, and occasionally in space, Steve Rogers had seen a lot of things that had bordered on impossible and occasionally crossed well into it – his own existence not being the least. Aliens? Superweapons? Computer programs turned into sentient robots married to an actual witch? His best friend resurrected seventy years after his death and sporting a mechanical arm that could rip steering wheels out of cars? Sure. All fine. He could roll with it.

But this. This was close to taking the cake. He swallowed and folded his hands very carefully to rest behind his back as he was standing in the office of Avengers Initiative’s Head of Medicine, Dr. Carolina Vinterberg. He had been summoned the minute his jet had landed, not having had even the time to change out of the stealth suit. The shield sat strapped onto his back.

“Could you repeat that?” he said.

The doctor regarded him with her ever-calm, icy blue eyes and something about that neutral expression and neat blonde braid she always sported was so absurd, considering the situation at hand, that Steve wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or both. She was cradling a StarkPad on her arm and standing in front of a large screen that was showing toxicity profiles.

“A foreign aphrodisiac, Captain Rogers,” she stated. “Possibly of interstellar origin. Presumably affecting the hormonal levels of those who are subjected to it, resulting in heightened drive to pursue venereal gratification.”

The words made sense individually but as they were strung together, they didn’t seem to form a coherent sentence. Or rather – they did, but Steve’s head was screaming for any other explanation than the one he was deciphering. Anything but this.

“Horny,” Sam groaned from where he was sitting. “What the doc here is saying is that they both got really horny. I’m considering buying Tony a bottle of champagne for all that noise-cancelling tech. Would’ve been a long ride home otherwise.”

Steve closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, this whole nightmare would’ve vanished. God, he wasn’t looking forward to writing the strategic guidelines for future occasions of this one. Instead, when he opened his eyes, Dr. Vinterberg was regarding him as unfazed as she had been earlier.

“Sergeant Wilson is correct. Both agents subjected to the substance reached a heightened state of arousal within minutes of the exposure.”

Steve wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t. That wasn’t the priority right now.

“Did…” he coughed, even as he could tell from Sam’s expression that the answer was going to be no. “Did that result to any violations of physical kind? Anything non-consensual?”

Vinterberg shook her head, consulting the tablet as if she was reading routine blood-test results to Steve.

“It appears that the substance amplifies existing affections instead of creating them. Neither Sergeant Barnes nor Dr. Chiral expressed any interest in each other or in Sergeant Wilson, or in the medical staff that handled their quarantine, for the matter.”

“And thank god for that,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Considering she and Sergeant Barnes were exposed to the substance simultaneously while they were investigating the laboratory, it is reasonable to assume that if it had been just a simple pheromone attack, they would’ve expressed interest in each other,” Dr. Vinterberg explained. “But that has not been the case.”

Alright. He could deal with that. The carnal nature of the substance aside, it did sound like a standard exposure to a foreign pathogen. It was a good thing that he was informed of the incident, but it seemed like both Bucky and you were still… indisposed. And Vinterberg certainly wasn’t the person to try to ease him into bad news – she would’ve led with them, if there had been any.

“So, what happened out there?” Steve asked, forcing the tone of his voice stay even.

Sam looked at him, clearly as excited to have this conversation as Steve himself was, but they both realized the need to be professionals, especially around such a delicate topic.

“We went into the laboratory and Chiral and Barnes were examining the backroom where they kept this stuff. There must’ve been some kind of invisible trigger that broke a couple of the bottles, releasing the vapor in the air. They both exited immediately and activated the quarantine protocols, but I can only assume they both got a good whiff.”

The quarantine protocols. Steve might get his own bottle of champagne for Banner and Stark for that one. All the mission Quinjets were supplied with a FRIDAY-controlled system that would, upon an agent requesting it, release a large bulletproof-glass cylinder that would surround the subject much like the Hulk Containment Field had done. With thrusters in the bottom, the cylinders would automatically float into a separate containment area on the back of the jet. They allowed for radio transmission to and from the cylinder but filtered out everything, keeping both the one subjected to a substance and other agents safe. Alright. So, that meant that Sam had probably gotten an earful once he’d gone to check on you and Bucky but otherwise, it seemed like the team had gotten off easy.

Wrong expression for the situation. Wrong. Steve nodded at Sam, absorbing the information, and turned to Vinterberg.

“Even with the mission immediately aborted, by the time the Quinjet was here, both Dr. Chiral and Sergeant Barnes were under the influence of the substance to the point that they weren’t able to act or express themselves coherently,” she said. “Considering the previously existing physical relationship between Sergeant Barnes and Agent Romanoff and the consent form signed by Agent Romanoff, I decided that the best course of treatment in Barnes’ case is to, as the idiom goes, let them ride it out. They’re currently in containment room 2A, and we’re monitoring Barnes’ vitals via the wireless sensor system but otherwise giving them privacy, unless either of them activates FRIDAY’s emergency protocols.”

Containment room. That was good news – those rooms were more hotel rooms than hospital ones, designed for quarantining the ones that needed to be quarantined but who didn’t need any further medical care. Dr. Vinterberg had the necessary authority to greenlight a decision that was, even if unconventional, clearly a treatment of a medical condition and if Nat and Bucky wanted to bang it out, good for them – that definitely didn’t need Steve’s involvement. Vinterberg sat down behind her desk and put her pad down. She didn’t look even remotely fazed as she met Steve’s eyes.

“However, Dr. Chiral’s case is much more complicated.”

No. No. No. Not you. Not this way. Not when Steve hadn’t been there to protect you. He had had a schedule conflict, another mission that had required him and Tony specifically and that old Hydra lab he’d sent you should’ve been a routine data extraction, all the intelligence information had pointed towards it... With difficulty, he reeled his spiraling thoughts back in.

“She doesn’t have a romantic, or otherwise physical, partner listed in her file. Considering her diligence with her medical paperwork and the pre-mission information updating protocols you yourself have implemented, Captain Rogers, we can safely assume that to be an accurate assessment of the situation,” Vinterberg said. “Any standard treatment option for cases like this has had no effect so far – the substance, presumably to maintain an optimal physical state for continued sexual activity, has sped up her metabolism and overclocked her entire system. She is burning all sedatives out faster than we can safely administer them, and we have legitimate medical concern for how long her heart and brain can take this. It also appears that simply achieving a climax isn’t enough to offset the effects of the substance. When comparing the data of Dr. Chiral and Sergeant Barnes, it appears that the presence of a partner is crucial.”

In any other situation, the simple image of you writhing on your bed, moaning, fingers buried in between your legs would’ve required Steve to dump a bucket of cold water on his head but now, his head was only focusing on the fact that you were in danger. Because of a mission he’d greenlit you to go to.

“Especially with no medical precedent, we are concerned that if continued, this could be fatal for Dr. Chiral,” Vinterberg said. “Which is the only reason I’m willing to relay you the information that she has, exclusively and rather explicitly, asked for you, Captain Rogers.”

For a second, Steve’s brain flashed into white static. He was pretty certain his mouth had dropped open.

“Asked me to… What exactly?”

“Participate in sexual activity with her,” Vinterberg replied, and Steve thanked all the gods that watched over universe for her robotic demeanor as a million thoughts flooded into his brain.

You wanted him. At least, some part of you wanted him. He had had his hopes, his fantasies, and he had been so close to asking you out but backed off at the last second, afraid of possible rejection affecting your working relationship. You weren’t his subordinate – as a leading science expert of the AI, you ranked as high as he did – but with the intensity of the line of work you’d chosen, there was no room for any kind of personal bad blood.

Showing aside the image of his name falling out of your lips like a feverish prayer took every last drop of Steve’s willpower. He straightened up to remind himself of the position he was in and cleared his throat.

“Even if Dr. Chiral has asked that, that’s not consent. She’s under the effects of what appears to be a drug that heavily alters consciousness. She is unable to give proper consent.”

Dr. Vinterberg nodded.

“I agree. Again, this is an unorthodox approach and from a medical standpoint, her current consent isn’t a valid one. However, with the limited timeframe and limited options, I am forced to bring this option to the table,” she said. “Sergeant Wilson is here because Dr. Chiral gave him a message to relay just prior to, effectively, losing consciousness. It was meant for you, Captain Rogers. I’d like you to listen to what he has to say before he leaves the room as we go into more detail regarding Dr. Chiral’s medical information.”

Vinterberg nodded at Sam, who turned in his chair to look Steve properly. His shoulders were tight.

“Yeah, Cap, believe me that after this I’ll be out of here before I lose the last ability to look any of you in the eye,” Sam gave him a dry laugh. “But Chiral told me to tell you – if I understood it correctly since she was shouting it through the containment chamber glass and on the verge of losing it – that she remembers the moonlight in Verona. I don’t know what that –“

“I do,” Steve said, his mouth getting drier.

Your fifth mission together, for the first time just the two of you. The moonlight dripping through the stained-glass windows in a church in Verona, the gunshot still ringing in Steve’s eyes and his palms extending over your bleeding thigh. He was had been trying so hard to not focus on the widening pool of blood underneath you that had stained the marble floor, instead looking into your eyes and counting seconds for an extraction team.

Just focus, Ace, alright. Stay with me. Look at the moonlight. Look how pretty it is. I need you to stay with me.

The look in your eyes, the softness of your face even through the pain that had had to be excruciating. Your hand, still holding the glass vial that had gotten you shot but that would also later be the downfall of an international drug operation.

I’m not scared, Steve. You’ve got me. I trust you.

In the present, both Dr. Vinterberg’s and Sam’s expectant gazes were on Steve.

“It seems to imply that she knew what she would be asking. That she wanted me to know that she trusts me.”

Dr. Vinterberg nodded. She didn’t ask further questions – she clearly understood it meant a lot to Steve but didn’t really seem to consider the details her business.

“That would be in line with the fact that in her medical file, she has granted you the power of attorney over her medical care, should she be incapacitated. There is an obvious conflict of interest here, rendering the document itself null and void, but it does highlight the trust she has. And there was a recording on her StarkWatch,” Dr. Vinterberg said. “I took a look at it, as the time it had been made coincided with the mission.”

“As is your right under the Medical Emergency Breach Protocol,” Steve nodded. “Is the recording relevant?”

“That’s for you to decide. It appears that Dr. Chiral meant to send it to you,” she said, turning to look at Sam. “Unfortunately, Sergeant Wilson, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Any further details of Dr. Chirals medical state and the recording –“

“I understand, Doc. Trust me, I got more than enough details when we started sorting this mess out. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go find a tub of holy water to sink myself into.” 

Sam headed out, patting still-stunned Steve on the shoulder as he did. As soon as the door closed after him, Vinterberg tapped the buttons of her pad, and the StarkWatch on Steve’s wrist vibrated as it received a message.

“Take a look.”

Steve pressed the button on the watch to project the 4K hologram display above it. When starting the recording, you had managed to deploy the camera drone from your device, but it floated almost uncomfortably close to your face. The glass containment chamber surrounding you was so well lit that he could see every detail of your face, the drops of sweat on your temples, the sweaty sheen on your cheeks. You were drawing air in like you were drowning, your chest rising and falling with your rapid pants for air. You writhed in the skintight mission environmental protection suit that clung to your every sweet curve. It was just you, as the section you were in was separated from the one that held Bucky, for security and privacy that had proved itself to be a wise choice with this incident.

“Steve, oh, fuck, Steve, something is happening to me and I think… Oh god, I need you, I need you, please, just please…”

Steve kept his calm but only just barely. The whimpering tone of yours shot right into his veins, and a part of him was already ready to give you everything you asked, but he needed to focus. In the message, your eyes cleared up for a moment.

“Hell, I really hope this is transmitting but Steve, I think… Bucky was already asking about Nat and that probably means this isn’t mindless, that it’ll be you I’ll be asking to…” your eyes glazed back over and you ripped the zipper of your suit down, revealing a thin tank top, “Fuck, these clothes, I’m so hot, Steve, please, make the burning stop, I need you, I need you to –“

Thankful for the camera angle that blocked most of what was happening in your containment chamber, Steve kept his focus on your face as you tore the suit off and struggled with the clearly constricting bra underneath the tank top. It didn’t do him much, since the feverish, wanton look in your eyes, your mouth parted in gasps, then your teeth biting down on your lower lip as your hands cupped your own chest felt plenty indecent. He saw you try to battle for control for a few more seconds and in a feat of the same self-discipline that had made you PhD times six, you won.

“Steve, I want you. Regardless of whatever this is. I’ve wanted you since Verona and oh fuck, your hands, your big strong hands on my thigh… Steve, I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want me, they’ll find a way that doesn’t involve… you fucking me until I can’t walk, until I can’t see straight, god, if your hands are that big I wonder how big –“ you panted, then shook your head and managed to continue, speaking as fast as you could to make use of the little time you knew you had left, “I was too much of a coward to tell you in Verona and afterwards but I’ve wanted you for a long time and I really didn’t want you to find out this way but I want you, in other ways too and not just… you deep inside me, your body covering me completely as you press me against the wall, fuck, it’s so hot in here, Steve, oh, fuck, I want you to –“

The transmission cut off. Dr. Vinterberg’s poker face hadn’t even flinched. She looked at Steve.

“It only went into more and more explicit detail of her fantasies from there,” she said. “I consider this, together with the message she gave Sergeant Wilson and the fact that she has demonstrated trust in you, to be acceptable grounds to greenlight this approach, should you yourself give your consent to this, Captain Rogers. Especially when weighed against the possibility of permanent damage to Dr. Chiral’s body. It is a volatile, unpredictable situation but such is the nature of this line of work.”

You had begged for him. You had begged for him. You had wanted him since Verona, since almost six months ago, and you wanted him still. Wanted him now. Needed him.

I’m not scared, Steve. You’ve got me. I trust you.

Somewhere far away underneath the sound of blood rushing in Steve’s body, Dr. Vinterberg was talking about how both of you had been tested negative for any STDs and you were on birth control, how the sensors on your wrists would continue to measure your vitals and the medical team would be given an alert if something dangerous was happening in your system, but other than that, you would be given complete privacy. But there was only one thought in Steve’s mind anymore, pushing all others out.

“Where is she?” Steve asked.

“Containment room 2B,” Dr. Vinterberg answered, staring at your vitals on the pad. “Considering there wasn’t much we could do, we wanted her to be as comfortable as –“

As the door closed behind Steve, Vinterberg realized she was talking to an empty room. Her expression unchanged, she nodded to herself and tapped her pad to authorize Steve’s access into Containment room 2B and activate the protocol that would shut off all surveillance from the room, save for the emergency system that would keep monitoring your vitals and allow either of you to evoke safety protocols. With that done, she made a few short notes onto your file and Steve’s file, jotting down the fact that consent had been established as extensively as was possible in current circumstances. Finally, she ordered herself a latte from FRIDAY’s system and pulled up the notes for her newest research paper, slipping back into blessedly calm world of meiotic recombination.

Next Chapter >>

[pandagirl45]

Bucky: *stares at steve sitting with Tony family in the restaurant* Steven Grant rogees, what the hell are you doing here?

Tony: *covers his face in embarrassment*

Steve: I thought you got kidnapped!

Bucky: I'm meeting my boyfriend's family!!

Everyone: *waving at steve awkwardly*

Steve: but... you were fearing on going out

Bucky: steve! *covers his face now* leave please...

Tony: we'll meet you at the tower