#Steve rogers x oc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

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📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3620

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

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

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

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

6. Somethin' with Bananas

Steve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve groans.

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

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

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

“Bucky, nngh, Yes, alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?” Steve asks.

“Not yet,” Bucky whispers.

“Fuck. Bucky.”

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

“Oh my god.”

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

“Nngh,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes! Oh, thank you!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bucky!”

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

“Fuck, fuck … ssshit …”

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

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

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

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

“... Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“… You’re a good teacher.”

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

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imthebadguyyy · 5 months

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Hold Me In Your Arms Tonight

pairing : steve rogers x reader

fandom : marvel

synopsis : steve comes home from a mission, and all he wants is to be wrapped up in your warmth and in your arms.

a/n : i just wanted to write something tender and sweet and smutty so here ya go

warnings : smut

the usual murmur of the quinjet had dulled, into a thick and heavy silence. as the machine soared through the night sky, the avengers found themselves in a rare moment of quietude after a particularly intense mission.

the air inside the jet hung heavy with a mix of exhaustion, and tension.

tony as usual, was the first to break the deafening silence. reclining, in his seat, his signature smirk missing commented, "well, that was fun, wasn't it? remind me to thank fury for these vacations."

natasha, sitting across from him, raised an eyebrow, one hand pressing an ice pack to the indigo bruise blooming on her wrist.

"now's really not the time" she muttered, eyes gesturing towards steve, who looked the picture of defeat.

the mission had started promisingly and could have been regarded as an amateur operation. intel suggested a hydra base operating in a remote location, with plans for a powerful biological weapon that could endanger innocent lives.

steve and tony had decided that the entire team didn't have to come, so the two of them with natasha and thor had suited up and gone, leaving bruce, wanda, clint you and sam to wait in the compound. they had what they thought was a meticulous plan to infiltrate and neutralize the threat.

until they actually reached the base.

as the team breached the compound, it had become evident that hydra was one step ahead. the entire facility was a trap, a carefully orchestrated ambush. waves upon waves of highly trained soldiers overwhelmed the avengers, forcing them into a chaotic retreat, that had left most of them nursing minor injuries.

"we didn't know cap" nat said, looking at the simmering anger in steve's eyes.

steve didn't lift his eyes off the spot he was focusing at on the wall.

"they knew we were coming. how the hell did they know?" thor asked, slamming mjolnir down in the ground.

tony muttered something along the lines of "our intel was compromised" but steve didn't care.

as the silhouette of the avengers compound came into view and natasha heaved a quiet sigh of relief.

she knew that the only person who would be able to calm steve and get through to him was you, and that you'd be the only person he'd ever open up to a 100%

with a hum, the jet landed, and the four trooped out, to see an awaiting maria hill, a grim furrow in her brow.

"cap we need a debrief on the-" her words died on her tongue and she computed the glare thor sent her way.

she understood the message : leave him alone.

speaking of, steve had walked into the compound, stepping into the elevator, head dropping low, he finally let out a deep sigh, fingers pressing the 4th floor, wanting nothing more than to have you in his arms.

the ding of the elevator signalled his arrival to you before he did.

you were standing in the kitchen, listening to the merry bubble of the kettle as you boiled hot water for a warm cup of midnight tea.

tony had given you and steve the entire fourth floor as your residential area, and you couldn't thank him enough for the state of the art amenities and accommodation.

just as you put your two spoons of tea leaves in the ceramic blue teapot clint and his wife had gifted you for your birthday, you heard the elevator door open, and the heavy footfalls of your husband echoed in the hall.

smiling to your self, you poured the hot water from the kettle to the teapot, just as steve's muscular frame filled the door of the hallway, his long shadow preceding him as he walked into the kitchen.

steve could smell the scent of black tea before he saw you, the homely scent wrapping him a warm hug that he didn't know he needed.

there were softly lit candles glittering softly all around the penthouse, and fresh bouquets of flowers in every vase. the plush sofas looked freshly dusted and soft music was playing in the background

soft, muted lighting enveloped the space, casting a warm and intimate ambiance. the city lights beyond the windows twinkled like a myriad of stars, creating a breathtaking backdrop against the darkened sky.

but to steve, none of this mattered. the only view he cared about was the one of you, shuffling around the kitchen in fuzzy bunny slippers and your silk blue pyjamas.

he watched as you moved with a quiet confidence, navigating the familiar space with ease. the rhythmic clink of porcelain against the marble countertop echoing as the cups were placed gently on a tray as you selected delicate tea cups from the cupboard. he watched your fingers, adorned with subtle rings, tracing the edges of the cups with a practiced familiarity.

as steve observed you with a mixture of admiration and emotion, his gaze, fixed on you, spoke volumes as he recognized the beauty in the simplicity of this moment. the anxious lines on his face softened, revealing a depth of emotion stirred by the sight of someone he cherished engaged in such an ordinary yet intimate act.

"hi baby" you smiled at him, smile dipping when you observed at the tenseness in his body language. his shoulders were taut, remnants of anxious lines softly fading from his forehead as he looked at you.

"hey" he said, voice cracking slightly, even more as you let out a soft "oh" reaching him in two steps to wrap your arms around him.

in the dimly lit room, the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken emotions and words, but you both knew he didn't need words, he needed the unspoken reassurance that you were there with him, physically, in the moment.

he stood there, shoulders slumped, carrying the weight of the world on his weary frame. even captain america got overwhelmed sometimes. you approached him with a gentle understanding, eyes reflecting both empathy and love.

as you reached out to him, arms enveloping him in a comforting embrace, he crumbled.

the embrace wasn't just a physical connection; it was a lifeline, a silent reassurance that in this moment of vulnerability, he wasn't alone. your fingers traced soothing circles on his back, a rhythmic gesture that mirrored the ebb and flow of emotions he was clearly feeling.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, desperate to find solace in the softness of your presence. the scent of your hair, a mix of strawberry and vanilla, familiar and comforting, mingled with the quiet warmth of the room.

the thump of your heartbeat, pulsing through your body, steady and reassuring, echoed against his chest, a gentle reminder that they faced the challenges together, and that as you had stated in your vows, your hearts would beat together as one for the rest of your lives.

"we were so close, but everything fell apart. the intel was off, our intel was compromised, we were ambushed. the team got separated, and we couldn't prevent the disaster. it's like no matter what i do, it's never enough." he whispered, voice broken and eyes haggard, pulling back to look at you.

his eyes sought home in yours, desperate to find the love he needed so badly.

you listened attentively, absorbing the raw emotion in his voice. as he spoke, his hands clenched, betraying the frustration and helplessness he felt.

running your hands up and down his back, you whispered back, "you can't blame yourself for everything. you're only human. superhuman, sure, but still human"

steve ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"im supposed to be a hero, someone who saves the day. but what if I'm not cut out for this? what if I'm just making things worse?" he said, and you found tears rising to your eyes at the anguish your husband was in, blue eyes as stormy as the ocean, nothing but insecurity and fear reflecting in them.

you reached for his hands, holding them in a reassuring grip, fingers running over his knuckles in a pattern only you could interpret.

"darling, being a hero doesn't mean you always succeed. it means facing challenges, even when the odds are against you. it means being brave enough to admit when you may possibly make a mistake and it means allowing yourself to grow from the bad days. you can't control everything, but you can learn from it and keep going. you're not alone in this. you have all of us and we're always going to be there when you need us because you're always there when we need you. thats what makes you captain america, steve, your unrelenting ability to show empathy in the face of danger"

steve found solace in the warmth of your gaze. the weight on his shoulders didn't vanish, but the shared burden made it more bearable. "i love you so much" he said, leaning his forehead on yours.

bending down, he pressed his lips to yours, as you melted into the kiss, hands coming up to hold his jaw, as your thumbs ran along his cheekbone. he rested his palm on your waist, fingers splayed out and tracing a pattern, as his other hand reached up to caress your face.

you had to reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down by the neck to meet your lips. he pulled you impossibly closer to him, hands gripping you so tight as if you would vanish into thin air.

before you knew it his lips were heavy on yours, hot and needy, each kiss becoming more and more desperate as his hands roamed the expanse of your body.

his tongue pushed against yours urgently, but you broke apart, panting heavily, to kiss his cheek and whisper a soft "i love you"

steve swore his heart melted as you spoke, fingers caressing your cheek as he scooped you up from below, letting your legs wrap around his waist, hands gripping your thighs tightly as he guided the both of you to the bedroom.

the bedroom embraced an alluring intimacy, its subdued lighting casting a warm, hazy glow that danced across the plush surfaces. a large canopy bed, draped in rich, dark linens, stood as the focal point, its soft contours inviting and enticing. the plush cushions and silken sheets glowed softly in the dim lights,

the air was infused with a subtle fragrance of vanilla and lavender, creating a sensory tapestry that heightened the atmosphere.

the heavy curtains were drawn, swaying in the gentle breeze from an open window, allowing a filtered moonlight to cascade into the room, creating a soft interplay of light and darkness.

candles were strategically placed on various surfaces, flickering with a mesmerizing rhythm, casting enchanting patterns across the walls, rose petals scattered on the bed and the loveseat in bedroom.

steve carried you into the room, awestruck at how you had set up the room for his arrival.

"you did this baby? for me?" he asked, eyes softening. "all for you my love" you assured, smiling softly at him. "all of this and all of me is for you" you whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest.

you felt him shudder softly against you, and the sudden pick up in his pace as he dropped you gently against the bed.

"i adore you" he murmured, pressing kisses all the way from your head to your forehead, trailing down your face, from the curve of your nose to your plump cheeks, pressing delicate kisses to the soft skin, before ultimately stopping at your lips.

he pressed his pink lips to yours, lips moulding into one as he let his body hover over yours. his tongue darted out to lick your lip, begging for entry and when he squeezed your hip and you let out a moan, he slid his tongue into your mouth, tongue clashing against yours, teeth stopping to sink into your lower lip, pulling it back to watch it snap back into place.

you kiss down his jaw, reveling in the soft sighing that he floods your ear when you near his throat. he groans when your mouth latches onto that sweet spot by his shoulder, your hot tongue sliding against his neck, with your chapstick tasting of shea butter and cherry, fingers dancing across the hem of his suit like a tease. his arms slide down to your top, the silky material scrunching up as he pulls it up, marvelling at the skin below.

"touch me" you whisper against his mouth with swollen lips and nudging noses. he sighs at the phrase, sea blue eyes never once leaving the comfort of yours. "touch me, use me, use me to get rid of your stress" you whisper, rocking your hips slowly against his.

you could feel his hard on against you, and you gently rolled your hips against his.

you were sure it got hard, this facade of being perfect all the time. so maybe just this once he needed to let go. let go of the gentleman person and fuck you raw till he was calmed down and satiated.

your shirt rides up even higher as steve drags a rough palm over your ribs, his rough hands have you jittering. his head rests on your stomach, lips pecking the area around your belly button and down your hip bone until you’re rotating your hips around him. "you're absolutely unbelievable" he groans as he gently licks around your sensitive belly button. he groans in pleasure when you tug on his hair, smiling when you say, "i dont know how lucky I got with you" he murmured.

"touch me. just touch me like you won’t ever stop" you whimper out, and steve studied the want in your glassy eyes and nodded softly, stroking his finger on either side of your cheek. the intimacy of the moment is jarring against how desperately the both of you want each other. but it's sensual and sweet because its a long buildup his finally being at peace.

agonizingly slow, his fingers dip down the waistband of your panties, cotton rubbing against the back of his hand as he curls his fingertips towards your pussy. the gentle notion makes your breath hitch, especially when he spreads your folds apart to expose the hood of your clit.

his middle finger circles draw leisurely over the sensitive nub with slow, rough circles and your thighs twitched.

his voice hitches in his throat as he observes your reaction. "oh, doll, you’re — oh, you’re just dripping, aren’t you?" he groans as you guide his hand further, the pads of his fingers dragging your arousal against your wet entrance. "my gorgeous, gorgeous girl" he whispered, pressing a sugar sweet kiss to your jaw.

"I'll always love you no matter what" you moan, scratching at his shoulders shamelessly, rocking on the heel of his hand for more friction. your eagerness spurs him on and so he increases the pressure, skimming his fingers over your folds and pressing ever-so-tantalizingly near your hole before he returns back to your clit. "fucking tease" you whine and he smirks.

your steve is usually demure even in bed, ever the perfect gentleman, gentle with you as if you'd snap into two if he was too harsh with you.

but this steve was daring and experimenting with his rough side.

your next sentence died in your throat, a soft gasp leaving your lips when he pushed his finger inside you, slow and deep enough to rip a whine right out of your throat from the stretchs.

he inhales loudly, eyes fixating on your mouth when you hopelessly sigh against his neck. you shift your knee higher up his leg, giving him more access to finger you. he hums at your expressions, mirroring them when you suckle dark marks just beneath his sharp jawline.

he mouths at your shoulder, leaving glistening patches of saliva in the wake of his sloppy kisses. you rock against the heel of his palm, mewling as he drags his fingers against your walls and he muffles his own moans against your skin.

"you’re so perfect" he groans, fucking his fingers in and out of you. the noises that leave your pussy and his throat are sinful, sounding like the harmonious mixture of splashing waves and delicate moans, his hand cupping your mound while he fingered you impatiently.

"fuck, Y/N. you’re making quite the mess, aren’t you, my angel? god, your moans are so fucking sweet to listen to"

"steve, your fingers..." you watch his wrist snap against you, juices squelching around him. you nearly sob, waterline beginning to water as the pleasure intensifies, "you get me so wet" you whimper and you hear the groan he tries to suppress at the juxtaposition of your angelic voice and face and the filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth.

"that’s good. I love pleasing you, you know that?" he asks as you clamp down onto the crook of his neck, teeth stifling your wrecked moans as he curls his middle and ring finger against that spongy spot inside you.

his touch is generous, and accompanied by his weathered hands, you can feel your orgasm approaching soon. he fucks you faster, thumb rubbing at your clit hard.

while others would resort to their own personal pleasure to de stress, it's your pleasure that brings steve relaxation. the fact that he could draw earth shattering orgasms from you was what helped him feel good and he knew that it was only when you were completely satisfied that he would be too.

you cry out into his chest, bite marks littering his skin as you hold him tight and gracelessly grind against him until you lose control over your climax.

your body shakes from your orgasm, gradually and slowly, steve's fingers scissoring carefully in and out of you.

your pussy pulses needily between your thighs, toes curling as you focus your attention on steve undressing. his suit comes off, discarded somewhere in some corner, his under clothes come off, and then finally, he drags his gray boxers down his legs, and his cock stands proudly, slapping against his stomach as he releases it from it's prison.

you moan as you take in the sight of his thick cock, long and girthy and big enough to leave you breathless as it always did. steve after all was a supersoldier, and his cock was to match. he also had incredible stamina and you knew he'd leave you exhausted.

he nears you again, heavy against you and you reach down to stroke him, smiling up at him, realising your hand doesnt fit all of him into your palm. his cock twitches again when you moan, a throb settling at the base of his spine with an uintelligible moan.

"stevie, baby, i want nothing more-" you strain, reaching behind your own hips to take ahold of his cock and line the weeping tip up perfectly "than for you to fuck me. i want you to fuck your pain and your distress away" you say, and his eyes darken with lust, the baby blues fading to black, like a dark and thunderous sky.

his dick catches against your clit first, causing your body to jolt in shock before you sweep him through your dripping folds. he grabs ahold of your hips, seemingly spellbound as to where else to hold you. his eyes flicker all across your bare skin, unable to settle on the best spot.

his teeth reach down to grab your nipple in between them, one hand reaching up to fondle the other. his tongue darts around the perk nipple, sliding all around it, saliva dripping all around it. your hips rut wildly at the pleasure on your sensitive nipples, and the feeling of the rough pads of his fingers toying with the other.

a chorus of gasps sounds between the two of you as you slowly roll down onto his dick, harmonizing almost like a symphony. he stretches you deliciously, and he's big. very big. perfectly filling. It’s akin to losing all sense of direction, unsure of up from down, left from right. your hips stutter and still from the shock because through your haze you feel steve thrust upward and into you to bridge the gap and you whine as he brushed a sensitive spot within you.

a high pitched wine of "oh fuck!* leaves your lips, and a deep groan echoes in steve's chest.

you groan, finally feeling him sink all the way into your pussy, already shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. before you can comprehend, hes bottoming out in your slick pussy.

rising back over the curve in his cock, you lift yourself back up until only his tip is pressed up against your pussy. you pause before you sink back down. you see the almost animalistic need in steve's eyes as he gazes up at you through his lashes, eyes following the clenching of his jaw.

the wet sound of your pussy being filled over and over echoes, the air that had held a chill seemingly warming at your shared activity. you can barely hear his groans, your heartbeat thrumming so loud in your ears that you’re convinced he can probably feel it thudding in your walls.

your eyebrows arch in bliss as the ridge of his head catches up against something so incredible that you’re drowning in pleasure, a light that must surely be heaven flooding your eyesight.

but it's not heaven no, it's a sight far better : your husband, mouth agape and head thrown back fucking into you like your life depended on it.

what you didn't expect was the harsh smack to your ass, his big hand smacking the sensitive skin of your ass and you let out an "oh!" skin stinging and pussy dripping, before the longing for more fills you.

"you like that, my pretty girl?" he asks, pinching the fat of your hips.

you merely moan in response, mind melting at the pleasure. a second smack to the ass follows, and a large vein-y hand grips your throat and forces you to look at him.

"words doll, words" he chides, and you stutter out a shaky "yes" your movements are stuttering at the way a familiar simmering feeling begins deep inside your abdomen, but steve doesn’t want you to stop. his hands take a firm grip of your hips, forcing them down as he begins to thrust up and into you in that same desperate pace.

he continued to brush against that part of you that just obliterated any coherent thought, your mind melting into sludge as pleasure overtook every nerve in your body.

his hands traced over your ass, still hovering between the edge of good boy steve and bad boy steve, but all it took for him to slip was your whimper of "spank me harder daddy" and he was gone.

your sweet gentle steve was replaced by an animal, hands delivering harsh smack after smack to the sensitive skin of your ass, feeling it burn red hot as his large lands landed on your ass with a harsh unoact.

the filthy sound of his hand slapping the jiggly surface of your ass and the sloppy, wet sound of his dick pounding into your pussy echoed around the room, and you had never been more glad for the fact that your floor was completely soundproofed.

you’re not exactly sure what part of his body you’re holding onto, the muscles canvas all melting into one, so far away from comprehension, but you know you’re holding it in a bruising grip, one that leaves a perfect impression of each of your fingertips that would most definitely remain imprinted on his skin.

sweat beaded and dripped down his forehead, as he continued thrusting and pounding into you as if his life depended on it.

your mewls and whimpers perfectly complimented his grunts and groans as his hips snapped further into yours.

your back arched off of the bed as he let your leg rest on his shoulder, pushing the other one away from you so you were perfectly spread out, pushing one leg far away enough so that it was almost touching your ear

the smirk on his lips told you that it was gonna be a long night and that steve wasn't done with you just yet. he grabbed your face, fingers lacking their usual gentility, digging into your cheekbones, before pushing your face sideways into the silky pillow, making you close your eyes at the contrasting sensation of your hot cheeks against the cold pillow, the feelings setting your body on fire.

the sensation of you digging your nails into his back, had his hips falterring and stuttering slightly as he let out another lke growl into his ear, as he allowed himself a moment to bask in the burn of the sting before regaining his pace and thrusting back "you're so, so fucking good, just squeezing me so well hmm?" he growled, grunting as your pussy squeezed him harder and your eyes shut.

you only raked your nails down harder, although your moans were slightly muffled, and the desperate whines leaving your lips fuelled, him, as he continued snapping his hips into you, nails digging into your thigh, the pleasurable sting sending you spiraling. you could feel ths tight muscles rippling in his back, and you scratched down the bare expanse of his back, knowing it always drove him crazy.

the red hot pleasure in the pit of your stomach began to tighten, making you pant. he started guiding his cock deeper into you, which you didn't think was possible, and placed your hand in the outline of his cock in your tummy, and the filthy sound of your wetness and the sounds of your skin slapping together echoed across the hotel room.

the bed began to knock against the wall, the thumping sounding sweeter than the sweetest symphony you had ever heard.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head once again, mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure. for a second, you thought you had floated into another dimension, a low hum filling your ears, and your body convulsing in pleasure.

you heard steve moan your name, before letting out a low grunt, feeling him release his chokehold on your throat and hips, watching as you squirted all over him.

your cum splattered him all over, and your vision almost went black from how hard you had just squirted on him.

he reached out to collect your cum on his fingers, licking it, moaning at your sweet taste. the sight had you blushing.

you thought you were done, but just as you began to come to terms with the force of your orgasm, you felt his thumb on your clit, making you jerk your hips away, shaking your head. "daddy please, no more, i can't, not anymore" you whined out, feeling your pussy throb.

"yes you can, one more my doll, just give me one more" he murmured, leaning down to kiss you again harshly, in a rough, dirty, demanding kiss.

you could feel his hips stuttering, his cock beginning to pulse inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy, signalling he was close to his own orgasm.

you moaned into his mouth, taking the opportunity to suck his tongue. "come on captain, cum for me, wont you? you work so hard and I'm so fucking proud of all your hard work" you whispered into his ears, licking at the shell of his ear

at your words, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his tongue poking out to lick patterns on the skin there, and you could hear his low, soft grunts as he chased his release, making the veins in his neck pop.

you could see his body glistening in the layer of sweat that had covered him, he continued to thrust into you for a second or two more, before a deep groan left his swollen lips, and an even deeper moan of your name echoed in your ear, as he spurted his cum into your warm pussy with a groan, your pussy clamping down on him like a vice, milking his cock

your body shuddered at the warm liquid dripping into you in hot spurts, covering your pussy in his cum, moaning in pleasure as the warmth of his release spread through you, enveloping you in a warm daze. panting softly, he stayed enveloped in your warm walls.

the both of you cuddled into the silk sheets, the aur conditioning doing little to cook your overhead bodies. steve pressed tender kisses to your face and body, whispers of "my beautiful girl, my angel, my doll, i adore you" leaving his lips like a mantra.

his hands, now no longer rough with want, traced soft patterns on your flushed skin.

"was that too rough for you?" he asked, concern etched in his eyes and worry lines appearing on his face.

"not at all" you said, quickly quelling his fears.

"you should do that again" you smirked, giggling when he blushed red. "thank you for that my love" he said, raising your knuckles to his lips to press a soft kiss to them.

"you don't have to thank me, steve. I'm always here for you no matter what" you murmured.

you were slowly sinking into a daze, but you registered him pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and heading to the bathroom

"I'll be back in just a second honey, I'm just getting some towels to clean us up" he explained, grinning at the pout adorning your bruised lips.

sure enough he came back, with cold towels to wipe you up with and a fresh set of pyjamas (his shirt and your shorts) to slip into, gently tugging you into the clothes and cleaning up the sticky mess on your thighs and cleaning you up.

he brushed the stray strands of your hair away from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your nose then your forehead, and then your lips.

he fed you a glass of cold water, and a piece of chocolate for a little bit of energy in the morning. cleaning himself up, he slipped into bed with you, his large arms wrapping you up, his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as you snored softly beside him.

in the warmth of your embrace, he felt an unspoken reassurance. as he held you close, the rhythmic beating of your heart echoed a comforting melody

in that tender moment, he realized that in your arms, he was not just physically close, but emotionally anchored. the world outside ceased to matter as he embraced the profound sense of safety and love that enveloped the both of you, creating a sanctuary where worries melted away, leaving only the simple joy of being together.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Shameless

Sequel to Graceless

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

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

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

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those rubies?” Hannah preens.

“I think.”

“Garnet?” Albina suggests.

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

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

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

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

“Cora, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She shoved me! She–”

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

Ruin…

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Might I–"

"I spy–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, my lord."

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

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You face him, a frown.

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

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

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

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

"Fooled, my lady--"

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

"I am the valkyrie," she japes.

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

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

"You're only jealous," Hannah rebukes.

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

"Nor do you," Hannah retorts.

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

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

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

"Fawning? Don't be silly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Perhaps," you answer.

"And walk with Lord Odinson again?"

"If he wishes."

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

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

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

"Pardon?" You nearly laugh.

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

"It was only a game."

"I do not think he plays."

"Why..."

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

"He is polite."

"Oh, you are stubborn."

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

💙

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A visitor, father?"

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

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

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

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

"He does not--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

390 notes · View notes

jen-with-a-pen · 6 months

Text

⊹-୨୧-⊹𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⊹-୨୧-⊹

⊹–SUMMARY–⊹ Inexperienced and still freshly-traumatized by his first heartbreak, Steve Rogers decides to finally move away for college after taking two gap years to work, save, and help his Ma around the house. It’ll be good for him. Away from his ex. Away from his hometown. He's excited to finally chase his dreams and begin again as a promising fine arts student at Richards College. Well, almost. Thanks to a generous scholarship spanning the next four years of his life, Steve is required to participate in on-campus Greek life. It’s simple: join a frat. They shouldn't be too intimidating. At least they're not as bad as they are in the movies, right? Right..?

⊹–PAIRINGS–⊹ Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!F!Reader

⊹–WARNINGS–⊹ more to be added as series progresses frat bros being frat bros, sorority sisters being sorority sisters, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, fluff, angst, whump, explicit forced s3xual acts, slow burn, dissociation, nud1ty, dubcon (bordering noncon), forced drvgging, mentions of kidnapping, emotional damage, Steve's just trying his best, Bucky and Sam are major frat bros, Tony and Clint are somewhere I swear The warnings listed here are not exhaustive but generally encapsulate the series as a whole and do not represent every single chapter. Please be mindful and read the chapter warnings!

Read this fic on AO3!

The Richards College Playlist

Steve's Playlist

any art featured in the series title header and story-specific dividers was found on pinterest and is used in good faith. all credit goes to the original artists, as i could not find accurate credit for any. collage done by me

Spam liking my works will result in an automatic block!

ALL TIED UP: STEVE'S WEEK

–⊹– One: Saturday, currently.

–⊹– Two: Last Monday.

–⊹– Three: Last Tuesday.

–⊹– Four: Last Wednesday.

–⊹– Five: Last Thursday.

–⊹– Six: Saturday, still.

–⊹– Seven: Last Friday.

–⊹– Eight: Saturday, again.

–⊹– Nine: Saturday, again.

178 notes · View notes

evansbby · 2 years

Text

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 {𝐩𝐨𝐲𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞}

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dark alpha!Steve Rogers x naive omega!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, dark!Steve, daddy kink, misogyny, alcohol consumption, mentions of: inebriation, dubcon, noncon, innocence kink, thigh riding, dry humping, public sex, a/b/o dynamics.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Steve takes his omega to her first college party. (A drabble for my fic, preying on you tonight. This drabble is set after Steve mates with omega, but before she finds out she’s pregnant.)

“Steve, I’m kind of scared.”

The words fall past your lips in a soft whisper, and you clutch harder onto Steve’s hand, practically burying yourself beside him as you both make your way towards the frat house. Already, the party seems to have spilled out onto the lawn – there’s beer cans littered everywhere, a pool filled to the brim with half-naked people and even two alphas fighting while a crowd forms around them. You’re scared to find out what’s happening inside the frat house.

Steve snorts, “Why would you be scared? Haven’t you ever been to a party before?”

Your silence is enough to answer the question – and you can’t help but feel embarrassed. Already more than halfway through your first year in college, and you haven’t even been to a frat party. But it barely seems like your kind of get-together anyways.

“What if people make fun of me?” You ask him, your other hand reaching up to clutch his muscular bicep.

“They wouldn’t make fun of you, omega. You’re with me.”

You grimace, looking down at your outfit for the night. You didn’t really own any party clothes, or anything even remotely sexy like a bodycon dress or the pretty crop tops that you see the girls around you wearing. And earlier, Steve had barged into the bedroom, announcing he was taking you to his friend Thor’s house and barely giving you any time to pick a proper outfit.

You were dressed in your white cashmere sweater and matching pink and white pleated skirt – something Steve had picked out for you to wear to the lecture that morning, and certainly not appropriate party attire. Already, you could see some girls sneering at you, and laughing, and staring, and –

“Can’t do this, Steve.” You stop dead in your tracks, anxiety rising like a tidal wave from within you, and you look up at your alpha pleadingly “They’re gonna laugh at me.”

Steve looks bored as he tugs you along, “If they do then I’ll kill them with my bare hands,” He says casually, pushing you forward so that you’re standing in front of him with his palm pressing against your lower back, “Even if it’s a girl.”

You have no idea what to make of his casual confession that he’d beat up a girl for you, so you just keep your lips pressed in a thin line and let him guide you to the front of the frat house. Scratch that, the place might as well be a haunted house with how fast your heart’s beating as you both approach the door.

Standing silently under Steve’s arm while he greets his alpha friends is easy enough. They’re loud, obnoxious and misogynistic – much like Steve himself. Some of them don’t even acknowledge you, others give you leery looks when they think Steve isn’t looking. A freshman – same as you – who you recognise from the football team, is one of the few alphas who greets you.

“Hey. How’re you doing?”

You’re about to open your mouth to answer, heart pitter-pattering because someone’s actually spoken to you, but Steve beats you to it.

“Jensen, stop fucking flirting with my girlfriend.” Steve seethes, a look of pure irritation on his face as he wraps his arm around your waist and yanks you closer, “In fact, don’t even look at her. Go stand in that fucking corner over there. No, not there. There.” He shakes his head in disapproval, watching as Jake obeys his orders, “I swear, that kid is fucking useless. God knows how he got on the team.”

“He wasn’t flirting, Steve. He was just saying hi.” You murmur, feeling bad for the guy. From what you’ve seen, Steve tends to pick on him a lot.

Heated blue eyes look down at you, “Do you want to fuck him?”

Aghast, you shake your head, “What? No! No, I don’t–”

“Then don’t fucking speak on the matter. You know you’re not allowed to talk to any other guy and they aren’t allowed to talk to you.”

You bow your head, squeaking out an apology because you don’t really want to see Steve get angry right now. And the blonde immediately relaxes once he sees your display of submission, slipping on his charming smile how one would slip on a mask, leaving you wondering how exactly it is that he does that…

Steve’s friend Thor looks friendly enough, but still intimidating with how he’s got a beer can in each hand, one of which he offers to you. And Steve doesn’t seem to have a problem with Thor speaking to you, maybe because the other alpha has a redhead next to him who he introduces as his girlfriend, Natasha.

“No, thank you.” You answer politely as the huge blond holds a beer up to your face, “I don’t drink.”

Thor rumbles with laughter, “You’re in your first year, kid – of course you don’t drink. That��ll change soon, mark my words.”

Natasha slaps her boyfriend on the chest, “Oh, shut up, babe, stop trying to act all wise.”

You gape at the two of them, waiting for Thor to reprimand her but all he does it throw his head back and laugh. You can’t believe it! How has Natasha gotten away with talking to her alpha like that? You can’t imagine ever telling Steve to shut up – he’d probably spank your ass raw before you even got the first syllable out.

Steve pulls you into a secluded corner, pushing you up against the wall, “You don’t drink, huh? I didn’t know that.”

You shake your head, “Alcohol is scary.” Your mind momentarily flits back to some of your mother’s old boyfriends, the stench of alcohol on them, how mad they would get… You blink several times to get rid of the memories, “Plus, it doesn’t taste very nice.”

“So your tolerance is probably very low, huh?” Steve licks his pink lips, grinding his hard crotch into yours and you feel your face getting hot.

“Um, I guess…”

“Bet I could give you one of those fruity drinks – a cocktail with a cute umbrella. It’d taste like juice and you’d be none the wiser…” His lips are at your ear, and you can’t understand why he’s suddenly so hard over the thought of giving you a drink. You feel his teeth grazing against your ear lobe, his hand slipping down to grab your ass, “Bet you’d be all needy and stumbling all over the place after three sips…”

“P-Please don’t do that.” The thought of being drunk in front of all these people, of not being in control of your body and conscious – you can’t think of anything worse.

“You’d be completely dependent on me,” Steve presses his hips against you again, practically humping into you as your skirt begins to ride up and you squeak and scramble to pull it back down. “I mean, you’re already completely dependent on me, but just imagine how slutty you’d become after just one drink.” He licks the shell of your ear, “I know from experience that omegas get horny when they’re drunk. Bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the middle of the party – in front of everyone.”

“N-No, don’t want that!” You mewl softly, hating how you’re soaking through your panties as you listen to his words, feel his hand grope its way up your cardigan and past your bra.

“Mm, I think you do want it.” He peppers kisses up your neck and jaw, “Maybe on top of the snooker table? And fucking Jensen would probably cry, I know how bad he wants to fuck you.”

“P-Please stop, people can see us!” You beg him when you feel his hand going up your skirt, skimming over your panties which are completely drenched.

“C’mon baby, let daddy give you a little drink. One won’t hurt,” He teases you softly, “Don’t you trust me? Don’t you trust your alpha?”

Did you trust him? You weren’t too sure, not when he’d just revealed his plan of inebriating you and fucking you on the snooker table in front of everyone. All that did was scare you and make you want to run for the hills.

“Hey Steve, Thor and the other guys are calling you.” Natasha pops up, seemingly from out of nowhere, and you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Steve, however, looks irritated beyond belief.

“Fuck off,” He says, not even dignifying her with eye contact as he continues to kiss your neck, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Natasha shrugs sweetly, “The guys wanna play beer pong and they need you to make it equal teams. And anyways,” She looks at you now, “Me and your girlfriend could get ourselves better acquainted.”

“She doesn’t want to be friends with you,” Steve answers for you, and you wish he didn’t because Natasha seems – cool. And fearless, the way she’s talking to the alphas as if she’s not afraid of them. How is that even possible?

But surprisingly, he gives in. And after pressing his lips against yours in the most possessive, head-spinning kiss he’s ever given you, he makes his way over to the other end of the room, immediately declaring himself captain and handpicking his beer pong team-members.

Natasha chuckles and shakes her head, “Steve’s bossy, isn’t he? Even for an alpha.”

Your breath catches in your throat, not wanting to say anything bad about Steve. The bond you share with him has also given you an unwavering loyalty to him. But you’re also scared that if you do agree with Natasha, and it somehow gets back to Steve, that he’d be mad.

The redhead grabs your arm, “And you’re ever bit as shy as Steve is outspoken.” And then she’s tugging you towards the stairs, “C’mon, let’s go upstairs. The music’s so loud down here, I can barely hear you.”

You let her pull you upstairs, heart thudding because what if she’s mean to you? But she seems nice enough, way nicer than the other girls who fraternise with the popular alphas. You look back to take one last look at Steve, and somehow, across the room filled with people, he seems to look back at you at the same time. But then Natasha tugs you upstairs and into one of the rooms.

“This is Thor’s room, but I’m here most of the time so it’s kind of my room too.” You can tell, the room has an omega’s touch. Flowery sheets adorn the bed, as well as tons of blankets and pillows, meticulously folded and arranged. Your hands itch for your own nest, packed with your own pillows and an assortment of Steve’s clothes and, of course, Steve Junior.

“It’s nice.” You say softly.

“Mmhm,” The redhead looks you over, “Cute outfit.”

“Thank you. Although I know it’s not party appropriate.”

“It’s still cute. I could see about five different guys staring at you when you and Steve walked in earlier.”

You gulp, “That’s not true.”

Natasha flops down on her bed with a loud thud, “Girl, please. Look at yourself. You’re like an alpha’s wet dream. No wonder Steve mated you as soon as he got the chance.”

You bite your lip, scrunching your eyes shut momentarily as memories of the forced mating come rushing back. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to touch your mark, which throbs as if on cue. Suddenly, Natasha’s next to you, arm around you.

“Sorry,” She whispers, “I can tell you don’t wanna talk about that.” And then her voice brightens, and you know it’s in a bid to change the topic quickly and you’re appreciative of that, “Hey, wanna play dress-up?”

“D-Dress-up?” You swallow harshly again, looking down at your outfit which your alpha handpicked, “Steve wouldn’t want me to.”

Natasha wrinkles her nose, “So? Honey, men don’t know what they want. That’s one of the ways us ladies can control them – with our bodies, our clothes.”

“C-Control them?” The idea seems so far-fetched, almost comical. You control Steve? You can’t picture it, not in a billion years.

“Yes. For example, this preppy outfit you’ve got on now – you could have half the alphas at this party eating out of the palm of your hand with how cute you look.” Natasha walks you forward till you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror, stroking your hair as you look at your reflection, “As for Steve, I’d love to see his reaction if you wore something totally different and risqué.”

You press your lips together as you regard the idea, “I don’t think I own anything risqué.”

Natasha grins, “Don’t sweat it. I do.”

Within the next twenty minutes, Natasha has you decked out in a black bodycon dress, tight and ruched, almost like a second skin, with the neckline dipping down to reveal more than a hint of your cleavage. She’s even done your makeup: a smoky eye and berry-coloured lip. And wow, you actually feel… sexy.

“Fuck. You’re genuinely so hot.” Natasha whistles, and for a split second, this awful feeling courses through your veins. What if this is all a cruel practical joke? But Natasha’s smile looks so genuine, you can’t help but relax.

“You think so?” You ask her softly.

“I know so.”

“Thank you.”

But your confidence seems to dwindle when you and Natasha make your way downstairs once more. What if Steve didn’t like your new look? What if he yelled at you in front of everyone? Called you a slut like how he used to? You can feel your palms grow all sweaty, but the redhead pulls you back into the main room anyways.

“He’s gonna have literal hearts in his eyes, trust me.” She whispers in your ear, “I’ve worn that dress for Thor and he loves it.”

Steve’s team has won the beer pong game, and he’s currently downing a bottle in celebration when you make your way over to him. It’s crazy, but in the twenty or so minutes you’ve been upstairs, you’ve actually missed him, your body yearning for him as it always does. You tug at his sweater, wanting to feel his heavy arm around you again.

“Hey, baby, you missed the best game–” Steve cuts himself off, jaw slackening slightly before he quickly closes his mouth, blue eyes open and alert as he looks you up and down, gaze so fiery and intense, you feel like he’ll bore holes straight through your body. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Any confidence you may have had seems to dissipate almost immediately, and you shake your head, backing away, “I-I’m sorry, I know it looks stupid. I’ll go change–”

But he grabs you, beer forgotten as the bottle clatters to the floor, and then he’s dragging you back to the secluded corner, one hand covering your cleavage and the other one tugging at the hem of your dress, trying to pull it down over your ass. You’d find it almost comical if you weren’t scared out of your mind.

“You look…” He slams you against the wall, licking his lips and it’s as if he can’t tear his eyes away from your body, looking you up and down, up and then back down again, paying special attention to your cleavage, “You look so fucking hot.”

Oh.

You barely have time to squeak out a thank you before his lips are on you, latching onto your neck and straight to his favourite spot – your mark. Tonguing it, lathering it with his saliva before grazing his teeth against it, almost as if he wants to mark you again, mark his territory.

“But I didn’t give you permission to dress like a slut, did I, omega?”

“N-No, but – Ah!” You gasp when you feel his leg between yours, parting your thighs and your already wet core throbs at the contact against the rough denim of his jeans.

“My slutty little baby omega,” Steve coos, sponging kissing up your neck as he begins to move his leg against your pussy, making you gasp and moan and whimper in the process, “You like that everyone’s staring at your hot little body, don’t you? Your body which belongs to me?” His palm collides with your ass with a loud smack, “I mean, look at Jensen, over there in his corner. Bet that little douchebag’s busted a nut in his pants after seeing you in this little outfit. Do you like that, huh? Done being all meek and shy? You like being a slutty, attention-seeking omega now?”

“N-No!” Your words keep getting caught in your throat with how good his leg feels as it drives up against your pussy, the denim catching onto your clit and creating the most delicious friction, “W-Wore it for you, Steve! Th-Thought maybe you’d like it.”

“I’d like it better on the floor,” He whispers hotly in your ear, hands coming down to rest tightly on your hips as he begins to move you on his thigh. And your body is so compliant to his hold, the dress riding up till it’s practically bunched around your waist, your panties pushed to the side by his impatient fingers, your bare pussy leaving streaks of wetness on his jeans but neither of you seem to care.

“Want me to rip this slutty dress off you, huh, omega? Embarrass you in front of everyone at this party, make you walk out of here in just your panties? Since you suddenly like to show off your body so fucking much?”

“I…I thought you’d like it – ah! – something different!” You pant.

Fear ripples through you at his threat, mingling with the pleasure already coursing through your veins as you ride Steve’s muscular thigh. The lights are dim, but you can see over his shoulder: at least five pairs of eyes are staring at what’s going on. You recognise Jake, Andy and – of course – Bucky, amongst them.

“Where’s my sweet and innocent little omega, huh?” He tweaks your nipple through the thin fabric of your dress, and you can feel your climax looming closer and closer, “Where’s daddy’s baby, who’s so shy, she didn’t want anyone seeing her body?”

You’re already fucked out, but his hypocrisy shines through – because aren’t all the dresses and skirts he makes you wear to lectures almost just as slutty? They’re just more pastel-coloured and cutesy. Oh, to understand how Steve’s mind works…

“I like this slutty dress on you, omega.” Steve presses his lips against yours, before drawing back, “But I don’t like how everyone’s staring at what’s mine.” He gives your ass another hard slap, driving you forward and making you grind your pussy harder on his leg, practically dry-humping him for all you’re worth. “But don’t worry baby, daddy’s gonna buy you more dresses like this. You can play dress-up at home, too. In the privacy of our fucking bedroom.”

He begins moving his leg, grinding it into your sensitive, soaking pussy. Your clit, so engorged with pleasure, is almost overwhelmed by the sensations, and you bite down on Steve’s shoulder to keep from moaning out loud. You can’t believe it, never in a million years did you think this would be you – getting off on Steve’s thigh in the middle of some frat party that’s in full swing.

“That’s right, baby. Make yourself cum on daddy’s thigh. Not even a drop of alcohol in you, and you’re still acting like a fucking slut. But I know deep down you’re still my cute little baby omega, who dresses in the cute outfits your daddy buys you. My sweet girl, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, yes, daddy!” You can’t help but whimper as your orgasm crashes over you, and you continue to hump against his thigh as you ride out your bliss, the entire roomful of people forgotten, the pairs of nosey eyes watching you all forgotten too in your release, moaning his name over and over as you wet the denim of his jeans even more.

“That’s my little baby,” Steve praises you, practically holding you up against the wall as you go lax in his arms, “My baby in this fucking dress with your hot fucking body on display. God, I don’t know whether to fuck you or punish you.”

Either or both, he seems to have made up his mind that the night is over. Without saying goodbye to his friends, and not even giving you a chance to say goodbye to Natasha, he half carries and half drags you out the door, and you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, the veil of anxiety lifting off your heart as you get away from all the people.

“You really put on a show tonight, didn’t you, omega?” Steve remarks as he carries you over to his car, “Can’t wait to order some more slutty dresses for you, so you can give me a private show.” He gives you a kiss before opening the door and placing you into the passenger seat, and you smile faintly until you hear his next words:

“Oh, and you’re not allowed to speak to Natasha anymore. Clearly, she’s a bad influence on you.”

THE END

a/n: omg, someone stop me from writing poyt drabbles! but they’re so much fun to write ahhhh! forever in love with steve and omega’s dynamic, and i wanted to explore them doing normal college things like going to parties! PLEASE, please do tell me what you think! your feedback means more than the world!!! thank you so much for reading! love you guys xx

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #chris evans #chris evans x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x oc #x reader #poyt drabble

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dungeonpuppykai · 3 months

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yeah yeah maybe i am ovulating, maybe i am disgusting

but one thing i know for sure is that

i am a 6' busty babe and

i would love for this man to fold me like his laundry

because like, everybody would think i call the shots because of how polite and soft he is overall and the size difference, of course plus me being a seasoned brat

only for me to act smart or big and he only gives me a look and i pathetically whimper and curl into his side, muttering apologies and pressing soft kisses along his humble shoulder

even better if i am wearing heels <3

#petition for steve rogers to destroy me in any size #brain rot uwu #school night always makes me act stupid #kai rambles #steve rogers imagine #dark steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers #skinny steve rogers #pre serum steve #steve rodgers x reader

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buckyswintersoldiermask · 1 year

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A wedding and a breakup

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader, Steve Rogers x reader, Steve Rogers x OC, OC x reader

Bucky Masterlist

Summary: you and Bucky are apart of your best friends big day but how he acts makes you question your future together.

Warnings: angstyyy, marriage and weddings

Word Count: 2.0k

A/N: I’ve had this one in the drafts for a whileeeee but I’m glad it’s finally published :)

You woke up to cool air, caressing your bare skin as you felt an empty bed. Turning over to see that your lover wasn’t in bed lying next to you. You grabbed your robe, wrapping it around you as you made your way to your living room.

You spotted him in the kitchen, his back exposed to you. Making breakfast for the both of you since you had a long day ahead. You tiptoed up to him and engulfed him in your arms.

“Good morning, doll.”

“Good morning, why didn’t you wake me?” He turned around and cupped your face, smiling from ear to ear.

“You looked too peaceful.” He says before placing a soft kiss on the bridge of your nose.

“Well, I don’t look peaceful when I’m rushing to get ready.” You complained, pushing him away to go sit down. He fixed a plate of food with a little bit of everything he made for you.

Today was the wedding of you and Bucky’s friends Steve and Marie. You have known Marie for as long as you could remember, you were so excited that she was getting married. Even more exciting, it was your boyfriend's best friend. Bucky and Steve have been friends for a long time as well, much longer than you and Marie. So it was nice to see your friends get married to each other. You’d hope that was you one day, finally marrying Bucky. Having the life you’ve always wanted.

“I guess you better eat quick then.” He smirked, placing the plate of food in front of you.

“I hate you.” You playfully snapped, rolling your eyes.

“And I love you too.”

You and Bucky had been together for about 5 years. A mutual friend suggested you go on a date and that’s when the relationship started to bloom. You went on dates multiple times a week, he’d bring you flowers, and bring lunch to your job. You were inseparable and madly in love. After a year of dating the both of you ultimately decided on moving in together. It’s been the two of you ever since.

“I don’t want to go to this wedding.”

“What- why not? Steve is your best friend, you’re the best man!” You exclaimed as Bucky sat down on the couch.

“It’s just not very exciting to me. I’m definitely happy for him though, spending the rest of his life with Marie.”

Bucky’s attitude towards weddings was all new to you. You had never seen this side of him and it worried you. What if he didn’t want to get married to you? You wanted to get married, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. But you didn’t bring it up, you’re just overthinking, of course he wants to marry you, maybe he’s just having a bad day, you thought.

Moving away from that conversation, you glanced at the wall to look at the clock. “Well we better get dressed, we have to be at the place soon.”

With that, you got up and got dressed. Bucky helped you with your dress zipper and you helped him with his tie.

You stood behind him, your head peeking out from the side of his shoulder. “Ready to be the best man at your best friend's wedding?” You beamed hoping to get him excited about the wedding.

“Yeah, I hope I’ll never have to do this again.”

Your heart dropped at the words he uttered. He hopes he will never have to do this again. Does this mean going to a wedding? Being in a wedding? What does it mean? You brushed it off, giving him a small smile before walking away. Hopefully, he just means being the Best Man.

He comes into the living room and his eyes scan you, up and down. “You look stunning in this dress, love.”

Playing off how you feel you responded, “Why thank you, you look pretty okay.” He gasps like he’s hurt and you peck his cheek, “you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You have the rings?” He nods, holding 2 small black cases.

———

You got to the wedding venue and said your hellos to the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Steve showed up with a big smile on his face.

“Hey, Buck, (y/n),” Steve said as you walked in.

“Hey, congrats again!” You hugged him before walking off to find Marie.

Bucky and Steve catch up until it was time to get ready. You found Marie in her dressing room alone. You walked inside, closing the door behind you before pulling her into a big hug.

“How are you doing?” She was nervous you could tell, all this wedding planning and walking down the aisle was getting to her.

“Hey, everything is going to go according to plan, your maid of honor is here.” You reassured her as you smiled. “Your big day is going to be amazing.” She smiled before pulling you into a hug.

“So let’s get you in your dress.” You said gesturing to her dress on the mannequin. You walked over to it, careful not to mess it up. “I know I was there when you picked out your dress, but your dress is gorgeous, Marie.”

“Thank you (y/n), maybe soon you’ll be doing what I’m doing,” Marie says cheerfully.

“I’m not so sure about that.” You said still looking at her dress.

“What do you mean?” She asked, coming closer to you, and turning you around.

“Marie, we can do this later, you have a wedding to get to.”

“No (y/n), what happened?” She was staring into your eyes, something she always did when she needed to get something out of you and it always worked.

“I think Bucky doesn’t want to get married.” Her eyes open wide at your statement.

“But he’s in love with you.”

“Not enough to marry me.” You say with a monotone voice.

“(y/n) I think you need to have a conversation with him about this. Have you actually talked about this with him?”

“No, because I didn’t want to be down on your big day. So we’re done talking about this. Time to get you in your dress.”

“(y/n)-“

“No. In the dress. Now.” You helped Marie into her dress and tied her up nicely. You got her veil and put the finishing touches on her outfit.

“And I said the dress was gorgeous? You make the dress look gorgeous.” She pulls you into a hug, smiling so big.

“I’m so glad you’re here (y/n).”

“I wouldn’t have dreamed of missing it.”

With perfect timing, there was a knock on the door. You opened it just a crack to see Bucky on the other side. “It’s almost time.” You ran to give Marie one last hug before leaving with him. He glanced over and saw your expression drop and it worried him a bit.

“(y/n), you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just want Marie to have the best day.” He nodded, not pushing any further.

Marie and Steve didn’t invite many people, so the attendance was very small. Marie had 3 bridesmaids and you, the maid of honor. Steve had 3 groomsmen and Bucky, the best man. Steve stood at the altar with the 3 bridesmaids and 3 groomsmen, along with the officiant. A big smile was painted on his face, he was about to marry the love of his life. He was so excited.

The venue was perfect and was exactly the way Marie would always tell you she wanted.

You wished this was in your future, but with Bucky, you weren’t sure. Someone gave you both the signal that it was your turn to walk down the aisle. You linked arms with Bucky and walked down the aisle, the door closing behind you. Reaching the altar you both went on your respective sides.

The big door then opened and there was Marie, her long floor length bedazzled white gown, shimmering as she walked down the aisle. Her bouquet is filled with her favorite flowers from childhood, sunflowers, and lilies. You glanced over at Steve and he was smiling so hard, his face could break. His eyes glistened with tears.

As she reached the altar, she handed her bouquet to you and the officiant began to talk about marriage. Then it was time for the vows, Steve and Marie wrote their own vows. They recited their vows and you were moved to tears. They were so in love, it was beautiful you thought to yourself.

Finally, they said their “I do’s” and kissed. The officiant pronounced them married and you handed her the bouquet before they walked back down the aisle, the bride and groom's party following.

After the ceremony, it was time for pictures and lots of them. Pictures with the bride, the bride's party, practically everyone. The wedding party went outside and began to take pictures. You were beginning to wonder when will it ever end.

“Is this the last picture?” You asked Marie after taking pictures for almost an hour.

“Yes (y/n), I promise.” She exclaimed, pulling you in for another picture.

After that picture, you went over to stand next to Bucky. “I’m so glad that was the last picture I’m starving.”

“I don’t see how someone could enjoy this.” He says, hands in his pockets, watching Marie and Steve take pictures.

“What? So making memories isn’t enjoyable?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were implying it.” Interrupting you both before this conversation could escalate, you saw everyone start to leave. It was time to go to the reception. On the way to the reception you and Bucky sat in silence, you were thinking about what he said. And him? He couldn’t wait to get done with this wedding stuff.

Once you got to where the reception was being held the wedding party got lined up for the bride and groom's big entrance. The groomsmen and bridesmaids went and did their dances before it was you and Bucky’s turn. You both put the things that were bothering you behind you for your best friend's big day and partied at the reception.

You and Bucky found your seats near the bride and groom's seats and cheered as they walked in. As they started to have their first dance you glanced over at Bucky and his face was so readable to you.

“So you’re just not having a good time?” You whispered angrily, close to his ear.

“The party is nice, I’m enjoying it.” He responded, still watching the bride and groom.

“I know you’re lying.”

“Why would I be lying?”

“Because you’ve been saying things about this wedding all day, Bucky. You don’t wanna be here.” You fumed, keeping a low voice so no one hears you.

“I just don’t like weddings (y/n).”

“What’s not to like? It's a beautiful ceremony.” Bucky shrugs and your heart drops more, “So you wouldn’t get married to me?” You said, now staring into his eyes.

“(y/n), where is this coming from?”

“So you were never going to ask me to marry you, that’s why you’ve never brought it up.” He stared at you with his mouth gaped open. That told you everything you needed to know.

He was about to speak but you beat him to it; “just forget it, Bucky, we’ll talk about it later.”

“No let's talk about it now since you’ve had such a problem with everything I’ve done today,” Bucky responded not letting the conversation go.

“Answer me this, do you or do you not, want to marry me.”

“Why are you this worked up over a sheet of paper?” Bucky asks defensively.

And at that very moment, that’s when you knew your relationship was over. His actions throughout the day showed you. He didn’t want to get married. That was never his plan. He didn’t see the significance of “some sheet of paper” like you did. You both want different futures, you wanted marriage, and that's something he couldn’t give you.

Please do not steal, copy or translate my writings, or post them on other sites.

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Bucky: @qhbr2013 @allforkook @supremethunda @amelia-song-pond @tinylumpiaa @sammypotato67 @leyannrae @teebarnes @teti-menchon0604 @mogaruke @instabull @ccosmic-illusion @supraveng @1-800-imagines @chris-j-evans

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misshoneybee · 2 years

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˖ ࣪ 𖥔 𝐎𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐇 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𖥔 ࣪ ˖

— ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℋ𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓎ℬ𝑒𝑒'𝓈 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓉𝑜𝒷𝑒𝓇 —

Pairing: College!Reader x DBF!Steve Rogers Content Warnings: Age gap (Reader is early twenties, Steve is mid-forties), infidelity, bratty!reader, smut, light dom/sub, use of pet names, daddy kink, oral sex (m-rec), dirty talk, degradation, hold the moan, squirting, creampie Word Count: 4.8k A/N: Please just pretend it's the fifteenth, lmao. Anyway, I got beef with P*ggy C*rter so this one's personal. 😜 I was so happy that so many of you guys seemed to enjoy 'The Night' so I'm very excited to share the second Kinktober prompt with you! As always, my blog is 18+ so: MINORS, DNI! Anyway, enjoy!! xx. Navigation: Masterpost | Playlist | Divider Credit | Kinktober Masterpost | October Eighth | October Twenty-Second Summary: When your dad’s best friend tags along on a family vacation, there’s just something about him that you can’t stay away from. The only obstacle? You needed to get that ring off his fucking finger.

You hoped to God that you were hiding the little smirk on your lips better than it felt like you were. The way Steve was holding his jaw and the way his hand was clenched on the tablecloth made you stifle a giggle into your hand before silently pressing your finger to your lips, gesturing for him to keep silent as your parents carried on a conversation on the other side of the table.

When they’d told you that your dad’s old roommate from college was coming along for the trip to your family’s house in Boulder, you were annoyed. You already didn’t care to go on some stupid family vacation on one of your few, precious breaks from college, but you certainly didn’t care to have some middle-aged, stick-in-the-mud tag along on it.

Then again, when his sleek, little sports car had appeared at the top of the long, private driveway, and he’d gotten out, you hadn’t expected Dr. Steven G. Rogers to look like that. When you’d greeted him alongside your parents, your eyes had been wide as he took your hand to gently shake. The older man towered over your frame, his jaw covered in a lush beard with the most beautiful shade of aquamarine eyes, and fuck—he was fit.

You’d only been at the ski resort for two days before the heated glances and barely-there touches had become too much for the both of you. Maybe you’d been playing with fire, walking around the big, drafty house in tiny, thin pajamas and without a bra, but everything had caught in a blaze when he’d found you in the middle of the night, climbing on the kitchen counter to reach the expensive vodka that your parents kept on the top shelf. His hands on your hips had steadied you as you jumped, frightened at the silent touch, before lowering you to sit on the cold marble.

Within seconds, in a silent agreement to keep this just between the two of you, Steve’s lips had easily found yours as you slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his stupid, plaid pajama pants that were slung low on his hips. Your hand found his already hard cock and he’d let out a quiet hiss as your hand worked his length until he’d finally had enough, carrying you down the hall to his room and fucking you until the sun had almost risen.

Since that night, much to your parents’ obliviousness, you hadn’t spent a single night alone in your bed. When the two of you weren’t fucking, you were laying bare, tangled in the warm, rumpled sheets, and talking about anything and everything. You discussed your major in molecular biology, his stint as a captain in the military, your last breakup, and the ring you’d spotted on his finger after the first time he’d fucked you.

At first, you felt a pang of guilt but after he opened up to you, you knew all about Peggy and how strained their marriage was. You knew they hadn’t fucked in six months. And you knew that maybe you liked him a little more than you’d initially planned. There were only two more days before you needed to go back to school and you were putting off the conversation of what came next, no matter how much you wanted to know and how it was driving you crazy.

As you took a sip of the sweet red wine, Steve gave a little surprised cough that hid a groan and it almost gave everything away; how your hand was rubbing his swollen length, hidden beneath the tablecloth, how you definitely were far less innocent than your parents believed, how you were fucking their forty-something year old friend.

“They work her too hard.” Your dad mentioned to Steve over his rocks glass, and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes. Your mom hadn’t shut up about how disappointed she was that Peggy hadn’t been able to join you—you couldn’t stop thanking God that she hadn’t.

“You know Peg,” Steve shrugged nonchalantly, taking a sip of his water as he white-knuckled the glass, “She wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“We know,” You mother sighed, her fork picking at the now-wilted greens on her plate as she frowned, “It’d just be nice for your wife to be able to go on vacation with us sometime.”

“You’re a cardiologist for Christ’s sake and you still find time.” Your father agreed, giving a pointed nod towards Steve. You bit your tongue as bile rose in your throat. Did they even know how unhappy Steve was? Why were they talking about her?

Steve’s chuckle was light, even though he registered the way you’d slowly taken your hand back from his lap, “She and I both knew that I came second to SHIELD when we got married.” With another shrug, he added, “I guess you can’t help who you fall in love with.”

It felt like your blood ran cold as jealousy snaked its way around your ribcage, squeezing your chest tightly. Maybe he did still love her. They’d almost been together for as long as you’d been alive. Of course, all he wanted was a fling—you were just a way to get his dick wet since his bitch of a wife was too busy with her job.

You barely registered the way your body had grown numb until your wineglass slipped from your fingers and tipped over on the table, cracking the delicate glass as the burgundy bled into the pristine fibers of the white tablecloth as a sharp gasp was pulled through your lips at the mess. Your eyes found Steve’s and you saw the slightest shift in his brow as he registered the envy in your expression.

“You okay, sweet pea?” Your dad frowned worriedly, standing, and grabbing some towels to mitigate the damage you’d done. Your mother busied herself drying it up and fussing with the linen. Being an only child meant you were constantly babied and sometimes, it worked to your advantage.

“I’m sorry,” You sighed, pressing a hand to your cheek as you forced yourself to sound more run down than annoyed, and even a little embarrassed, “I’m okay—I just feel a little sick to my stomach. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Your eyes flashed to Steve and your irritation grew as you saw a little glint of entertainment staring back at you, biting the inside of your cheek, you took a deep breath and chose to ignore him, turning your attention to your mother with a sad expression, “I think I’m going to lay down.”

Brushing some hair from your forehead, she frowned, “Are you sure? We were going to go on the gold slope—“

“I don’t know if I’ll feel up to it.” You gave a shrug, fake disappointment crossing your face as you pointedly ignored Steve, “Will you wake me up before you go? Maybe I’ll be feeling better by then.

Maybe spite wasn’t the best motivator, especially with the way your fucking orgasm was evading you after almost half an hour. After changing into a deep, green silk negligee, you’d sent a few pictures to Bucky, your on-again-off-again fuck buddy. Predictably, he’d responded with enthusiasm, showering you in compliments and praise as you sent videos back and forth. He’d sent a shaky video of himself coming more than ten minutes ago and you’d finally had to relent, faking a quick orgasm in your front facing camera before putting your phone down.

Had Steve ruined your ability to come any other way aside from with him? Your breath came quicker as you rolled your hips with the vibrator that was pressed against your clit, a quiet whine breaking through your lips as you stayed on the edge, balancing but never quite falling over.

Three muffled voices in the hall made you jump as you pressed the button on the bright pink toy, abruptly switching off the patterned vibrations as you yanked a thin blanket over top of you. A sharp knock sounded against the heavy, wooden door and your breath caught in your chest. Pretending to be asleep, you fought to even the slow breaths that were filling your lungs. After a few more knocks, your door finally creaked open and heavy footsteps found their way to your bedside.

The cologne was familiar; it had been rubbed off on to your own skin several times now. It was clean and fresh, reminding you of sun on your skin and sand between your toes rather than the blankets of snow that were falling outside the windows. Steve’s heavy hand landed on your shoulder, giving you a gentle shake as he murmured your name, “Wake up. Your parents are leaving; they wanted me to check one more time and see if you wanted to go with them.”

Remaining silent, you willed your face to stay carefully blank as his hand slowly drifted up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to pepper the surface as you suppressed a shiver despite how annoyed you were with him. It was like his touch set you on fire, gilding you like some precious thing that was just for him. Pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, you counted the seconds that seemed to last hours. The sooner he left you the fuck alone, the sooner you could try and come—without thinking of him. After a long moment and one last brush of his fingers against your cheek, he slipped back out of the room.

“She’s pretty feverish.” Steve’s voice was low as he spoke to your parents in the hall, and you willed them to leave. As they walked away, their voices quieted and you finally exhaled, resting a hand on your stomach as you fought to calm the racing beat of your heart. Any progressed you’d made had been washed away and you murmured a curse, flopping on to your back helplessly.

A few minutes later, you heard the rumble from your parents’ car in the driveway. The sound of the tires quickly faded, and it wasn’t long before the heavy footsteps were back in front of your door. Sinking into the mattress, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself, you’d only just squeezed your eyes shut when the door opened.

The side of your mattress sank, and Steve’s heavy hand landed on your waist; it was like you could feel the little smirk on his lips. Leaning down, he gently brushed some hair from your neck before placing a barely there kiss on your soft skin, murmuring into your ear, “Wake up, princess.”

You remained silent, forcing your body to remain still no matter how badly his touch made you want to beg for more. The hand drifted from your hip to your ass, giving the soft cushion of your skin a firm squeeze as his body pressed against your back, his voice was low, “I know you’re faking it.”

Illusion shattered, you hastily jerked away from him, using what little leverage you had to try and shove him away, “Fuck you, Steve.”

You were fuming and tried to smack him away, but it was futile—he was stronger than you and easily maneuvered you to straddle his lap, a careful eyebrow raised as he took both of your wrists in one of his hands, resting them against your chest, “What was that about?”

“Just leave me alone.” You fruitlessly tried to pull away, but he only pulled you closer with a heavy hand on your back, pressing your body to his. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Was my princess jealous?” He murmured.

“I’m not your princess,” You spat, “And I’m not fucking jealous.”

“And now you’re lying to me?” He tsked. The quiet, little chuckle that he let out made your face grow warm, embarrassment and irritation dancing together and licking up your spine. Steve pressed a soft kiss just beneath your jaw, “Come on, baby. Tell daddy why you’re upset.”

“You said you were separating with her.” You finally bit out, avoiding his eyes as exhaled slowly.

“I am.” He confirmed, a hand drifting to your chin, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheek.

“You didn’t tell my parents about it.” Your eyes focused on the ring that rested on the fourth finger of the hand that held yours against his chest.

Understanding crossed his face, a little smile ticking at the corner of his lips, “Is that why you’re upset?” Shaking his head, he released your hands, removed the ring and sat it on your bedside table, before taking your face in his hands instead, brushing a kiss against your forehead as your wide eyes searched his, “Silly girl. I’m moving out next week. I already got an apartment in the city.”

It was almost embarrassing, how light your heart felt at his words, “Really?”

“Yes, baby. And my lawyers are drawing up papers this month. Nothing’s been going on between me and her for a while—we’re just waiting for the right time to tell everyone. I promise.” As he slipped his arms around you, you relaxed into his touch, burying your face in his neck, brushing your lips against it as relief flooded your body. The two of you remained like that for several minutes before you felt him shift to pick up something from your bed, murmuring lowly, “Now, what’s this?”

Sitting up, you followed his sparkling eyes to what was in his hand. The bright pink silicone that rested in his palm stared back at you and you felt warmth crawl up your chest as your face caught fire. Pressing the button, it turned on and you could only let out a squeak, “Steve!”

“Is that my name, baby?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow as he clicked through the vibration patterns that seemed so loud in the otherwise silent house.

“Give it back!” Leaning out of his arms, you snatched it from his hand, fumbling to turn it off before hiding it behind your back. When you turned to face him, his attention was no longer on your face.

His bottom lip was caught in his teeth, his eyes darkening as his voice came out in a low rumble, “Oh, sweet girl. What are you wearing?”

Suddenly, you remembered yourself and the thin silk and lace that covered your body, cupping your breasts and hugging your waist. Before you could formulate any sort of response, his eyes found your phone tangled in the sheets. It was like you could see the gears click into place as he snatched the device before you could grab it, his thumb keying in your birthday and unlocking it quickly.

“Steve—” It felt like you were going to combust as the messages between you and Bucky popped up on your screen; you were silent as he scrolled through them slowly, taking in each picture and video that you’d sent.

Clicking the last one you’d sent just minutes before he’d knocked on your door, you could see the still-shot thumbnail of the video and froze as he pressed play, a smirk on his lips as your breathy moans came from the speaker of your phone. Watching him watch yourself made you feel lightheaded.

The video showed everything. You’d had your phone propped up between your spread legs, your negligee shoved up around your waist, and your puffy pussy bared to the camera as you thrust the toy into it, rocking your hips against it as you cried quietly, “Fuck—yes! God, that’s it! Use my pussy. Fuck me so good, baby…”

It felt like eons as your cries pitched higher before you faked your climax. Running his tongue over his teeth, he locked your phone and tossed it aside. His eyes were dark as they found yours, his fingers digging into your waist, “I know you didn’t send these to daddy, sweetheart, and I know you don’t have to fake it with me, so who did you send them to?”

Shaking your head, your voice wavered as you denied quietly, “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me, princess.” A hand trailed up your thigh, slipping beneath the lace-lined edge of your slip. Steve’s fingers easily found you bare, and a low groan came from his chest as he played with your damp folds, brushing a finger up and down them slowly as he clicked his tongue, asking once again, calmly, “Who did you send them to?”

Your lip quivered, a new rush of wetness coating his fingers as he slipped them further inside your pussy as you whispered, “M—my ex-boyfriend.”

“Daddy wasn’t giving you enough attention, so you had to be a little slut and find it somewhere else, didn’t you?” Shaking his head, he withdrew his fingers and ignored your whine. Cleaning your wetness from his digits with his tongue, he gave a quiet chuckle, “Such a tease. You’re just a little whore, showing this sweet little pussy to any boy who asks, aren’t you?”

Shaking your head, your voice was small as you denied blushingly, “No—”

Removing you from his lap, he placed you to kneel on the bed, coming to stand, “Since you want to be used, I’m gonna use you.” He undid his belt, his eyes holding yours as the leather fell to the ground. Undoing his jeans, he shoved them down enough to reveal his erection, the hard tip leaking as he stroked it slowly, your eyes following his hand as he murmured, “You’re gonna show daddy you’re sorry and suck his cock, okay?” Biting your lip, you nodded slowly, unable to take your eyes from the way his thumb brushed over his slit. A hand came to rest around your neck like a necklace, forcing your gaze back up to his as he chided softly, “Use your words, princess.”

Nodding dumbly, your voice was raspy as you softly agreed, “Yes, daddy.”

At once, you dragged your hot tongue across you palm, wetting your hand before wrapping it firmly around the base of his cock, ruddy and swollen with need. He groaned, his hips giving a sharp jerk as you stroked you hand up and down his length several times. Finally, leaning forward, your tongue flicked out to lick the pearl of salty precum that had begun to leak from his slit.

“Fuck, princess,” Steve groaned, his hand holding the back of your head, guiding your mouth closer to his cock.

At his broken moan, your confidence grew as you dragged your tongue along the thick vein that ran from the base to his sensitive tip. Reaching its crown, you swirled your tongue around it before taking it in the wet heat of your mouth.

Silently, you mused that he certainly had the longest cock of any man you’d ever been with. Of course, you’d been intimidated the first time that you’d seen it, but you’d never been one to turn down a challenge. Seconds felt like hours as you took his length deeper into your mouth, inch by inch until the tip brushed against the back of your throat.

At the unfamiliar sensation, you gagged and pulled back, your lips slick and swollen as saliva dripped down your chin and you gasped for air.

His brows were drawn together in concern as his hooded eyes shot open, spotting the way yours had begun to water, “You’re doing so well, baby.”

His other hand that rested on your face brushed a thumb gently over your cheekbone as his eyes peered into yours and you nodded. Holding his eyes, you watched his body relax as you took him back between your lips, jerking off the length that you couldn’t take. His hand on your head guided you slowly up and down his length, careful not to take him the whole way into your throat as you’d done before.

The nails of your hands that rested on his hips, gently pressed into his skin as you hollowed your cheeks around him, “Fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl.” The new suction forced a grunt from his mouth and tilted his head back, letting out a broken moan, “Sucking my cock like a goddamn dream.”

He stroked your hair as you found a rhythm, swollen lips wrapped around his length as you bobbed your head, watching for each little reaction he was giving. A whimper around his length made him curse as he tugged your hair, pulling you off his cock.

Taking in a sharp breath, you looked up at him from under your lashes. His thumb tugged at your swollen bottom lip, and he groaned, “Come here, princess.”

Like you were a doll, he guided you to lay on your back before tugging his sweater over his head and shedding his jeans. Climbing on the bed between your legs, he pushed the hem of your slip up your thighs slowly, “Fuck, look at this sweet little pussy… Spread your legs a little more for me, princess.” His hands on the inside of your thighs opened you up more to his starving eyes and you shyly turned your face to the side as his eyes devoured you. “You’re such a good girl…”

Letting out a low groan, Steve’s hands climbed higher, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit with unbridled adoration.

“Please…” You breathed out, your fingers tightening in the wrinkled sheets.

“Please what?” Steve teased, covering your body with his. Dragging the tip of his cock up and down your glistening slit slowly, covering himself in your slick, he murmured, “You want daddy to fuck you? Is that it, baby? You want all my cum in this tight little cunt?”

“Yes, please…” Nodding dumbly, your chest rose and fell with each heavy, needy breath as he lined himself up with your entrance, “Fuck me, daddy. Need you to make me your little slut.”

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pressed his swollen tip to your hole, and you whimpered at the stretch, your hips shifting in discomfort as he split you slowly. A deep moan was pulled from your throat as his thumb dragged small circles around your swollen bud that begged for his attention, “Oh god, Steve…”

The slight burn from the initial stretch quickly faded into a pleasurable ache between your legs and he gave you only a moment before slowly dragging out. He couldn’t ignore your breathy moans and the way your thick lashes fluttered shut at the sensation before he pushed back in sharply. He gave a few experimental thrusts before quickly finding a rhythm as he glided easily through your wet folds into the tight heat of your cunt.

Your hips rolled up to meet each of his thrusts, the both of you working together symbiotically as he hit a spot that made you clench around him and let out a whiny groan. A devilish grin crossed his bearded face and he murmured, “That feel good, baby?”

Before you could even nod, you giggled as he suddenly rolled you over. Sitting up whilst straddling his broad hips, you tugged the silk over your head and tossed it somewhere on your floor. Sinking back down on his length, you gasped as he bottomed out inside you and he let out a quiet hiss as his hands trailed up your waist, cupping your tits as his thumbs toyed with your sensitive, pebbled nipples.

“Fuck, daddy, ’s too big—” You whined, carefully rocking your hips as the muscles in your stomach clenched.

“I know, princess, but you can take it…” He let out a groan as you languidly grinded against him, your clit brushing against the coarse thatch of trimmed hair just above his cock each time you sank down on to him. “That’s it, princess. Just like that—you’re so good for me. I love this sweet little pussy…”

Together, you easily found a frenzied pace before the harmony of your whimpers and his moans was interrupted by a shrill ringtone. You gasped as he held your body close, leaning over and grabbing his phone, pressing a confusingly chaste kiss to your lips as groaned out, “Shit—stay quiet for me, baby.”

“Steve!” You hissed his name as he accepted the call with a sly grin.

“Hello?” He waited a moment for the voice on the other end of the line to respond, “Oh, yeah. She’s doin’ okay.” He grinned as your eyes went impossibly wider, your hands resting on his shoulders as you kept yourself carefully still.

Fucking. Shit.

It was your parents. Steve’s cock was nestled deep inside your cunt as he casually conversed with your parents, and that was so wrong and so fucking hot.

Quickly muting the microphone, he cocked an eyebrow, looking down to where your bodies were still joined, “Did I say you could stop?”

With a shaky breath, you resumed the languid grind, back and forth, your teeth digging into your lip as your clit pressed firmly against his pelvis.

He winked, unmuting the phone, “I think she’s okay. She’s probably still in bed…just. sleeping. I’ll shoot you a text after I check on her again,” You couldn’t help the way your walls clenched around him as his tip pressed against that special spot deep within you. He let out a low groan before quickly trying to cover, “Fuck, ba—stubbed my toe. Sorry.”

With a hand on your lower back, he guided you back and forth slowly, only half-listening to the voice on the other end of the line, “Yeah, I’ll let you know. See you in a few hours.”

As he tossed his phone to the hardwood floor with a clatter, his hands around your waist quickly took over. All but lifting and sinking you back down on the length of his rigid cock repeatedly, Steve’s hips continued to snap up into yours and you could only babble out, “Daddy—please, let me come. Want to come on your cock so bad—fuck!”

“Christ, baby—I can feel you squeezin’ around me. Almost told your parents how good you are at riding my cock, how good you feel wrapped around me.” He hammered into you with a deep groan, adding, “You want them to know you like fucking older guys? How daddy likes to play with this pussy while they sleep right down the hall?”

“Please—” You begged helplessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling your orgasm approaching like an unstoppable wave.

“Yeah, they don’t know their innocent little girl is a fucking whore.” Steve grunted, taking in the sight of your tits bouncing and the way you’d tossed your head back, with a little smirk, “They don’t know how wet you get when I eat this precious little cunt, dripping all over my tongue and tasting like honey. They don’t know how you beg daddy to come in your sweet pussy.”

At that, the wave finally overtook you as he hammered against your g-spot, making you squirm as a little trickle of your wetness leaked out around where his cock was pressed into you before the dam broke and you gushed over his length. You let out a squeal of his name, scratching down his back, leaving red streaks on his pale skin.

Steve’s thrusts finally grew uneven, slowing as he grunted out, “That’s it, baby. I’m gonna fill this cunt up with all my cum—fuck!”

Your words were unintelligible as your eyes rolled back and he fucked you through both of your orgasms. Coming undone on top of him, you were unable to hold yourself up as he pressed deep into you, hard against your cervix as he spilled into you with a long, low moan, coating your walls with him. He sat up, staying inside of you, and opened his arms, allowing you to collapse against his hard, sweat-glistening body.

“Oh, fuck…” Your hips twitched with the aftershocks as he stayed inside, feeling your walls continuing to clench around him as you came down from the high. Looking down at where your bodies were joined, you felt your face grow warm at the wetness that was spattered over his Adonis belt and the cum that had leaked out from around the base of his cock, covering your petals and making you messy.

“That’s so much cum, daddy…” You whispered, resting your forehead against his and giggling softly.

He gave a low chuckle, his thumb caressing your cheek, “Can’t help it with you, baby.” Capturing your lips in a lazy kiss, you hummed as his tongue intertwined with yours slowly before parting, murmuring as his hand stroked up and down your bare back, “You did so good for me.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, burying your face in his neck. You could feel his chest shake as he laid back, pulling you along with him.

“You gettin’ all shy on me now, princess?” He chuckled and tugged you closer as you snuggled into him, murmuring against your temple, “Did I tell you my new place is about ten minutes from campus?”

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imagines--galore · 11 months

Text

||Distraction||

Summary: You were just trying to finish up some work. The arrival of a certain Captain, only served to distract you from your purpose. Not that it was a bad distraction. But perhaps it did render you unproductive, on more the one occasion.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T. Romance. Just a bit of ogling at the readers part, but then again I mean who wouldn’t look at him and drool? Wait what? No? Just me? Also one curse word!

A/N: You guys voted, so here it is! Also lemme know if I should write a more NSFW companion piece to this ;)

You stared at the screen of the laptop in front of you, willing it to fill up by itself. Perhaps if you hadn’t blown up half the building during the mission. Fury wouldn’t have you writing up the report of the incident. In your defense it had been necessary, in Fury’s eyes eye it was a complete waste. As a form of punishment, you had been given the task of writing up the accounts of the mission.

And you were loathing every second of it.

Still it had to be done. Sitting in the living room of the Avenger’s Compound Common Room, you pushed your hair behind your ears, inhaled a deep breath and began to type.

For nearly half an hour you were zoned out from the world around you as you continued to type, determined to finish the damn thing within the hour so you could actually get some work done.

Like shopping. Or working out. Anything but this.

You were so engrossed in your task that you didn’t notice Steve entering the vicinity. He moved to stand behind you where you sat on the sofa, leaning over the headrest with his arms crossed over it as his blue eyes scanned the screen of your laptop.

“I barely ever see you up this early.” He commented. You barely glanced in his direction, knowing you would loose your train of thought as you simply hummed in reply.

Chuckling softly, Steve moved to grab a water bottle from the minibar/fridge that was on the opposite side of where you sat.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but allow your eyes to flicker up to look at him. You couldn’t help it. Clearly he had just come back from his morning jog, you judged by the shoes he was wearing. Though your eyes were nowhere near his shoes as the lingered on the shirt and workout pants he wore. A shirt that seemed to stretch quite nicely against his torso. And the pants seemed to be doing wonders for his-

The sound of a throat clearing had you blinking rapidly as you were brought back to reality. You looked to see Steve staring at you with a quizzical look on his face. Realizing he must’ve asked you something you shook your head.

“Sorry. What?”

He smiled, making your stomach do a somersault. “I asked if you wanted some water.”

“Oh!” You quickly shook your head. “No thank you!” With that you turned your attention back to your work. It took every bit of strength you had to not look back at him and appreciate the way his biceps flexed against the fabric of his shirt.

It took you two hours to complete the damned report.

————————–

You were trying very hard not to stare. Doing your best to keep your attention on the young Sokovian in front of you as you helped her learn a few basic combat moves. Wanda may have powers but it didn’t mean she couldn’t learn a couple of moves to give herself extra protection.

It did not help that Steve was currently beating the hell out of a punching bag. His every move was precise and every blow that landed had you wandering just how much strength he packed in his powerful body.

Wanda asked you something, providing you with the distraction you needed to turn your thoughts away from Steve.

“I do hope you’ve been practicing your mental walls Wanda.” You said, as you helped improve her stance. “Wouldn’t want you to accidentally hearing things.” Hearing things like you main whispering to you to imagine just how amazing it would feel to have Steve’s attention on you rather then the punching bag.

Preferably with his hands on you in an entirely different context.

Shaking your head, you made Wanda move through a couple more sets of easy combat moves, and you were extremely proud of yourself for keeping your entire attention on her. But once the sound of punching fell away, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to the source.

Only to feel your mouth run completely dry and your eyes to widen almost comically.

He had taken off his shirt!

Repeat with an appropriate adjective.

He had removed his fucking shirt!

Your brain seemed to short circuit as your eyes swept over his bare torso. It was utterly ridiculous just how muscled her was. But then perhaps it was the effect of the serum. Not that you were complaining.

You weren’t complaining one bit.

And he was using a towel to dab away whatever sweat he had worked up. And though it was hardly sanitary, you briefly wandered just how it would feel to run your tongue along his skin in that moment.

Good God! You had gone mad!

“It’s not fair!” You suddenly blurted out, unable to stop yourself from doing so. Wanda looked a little taken aback by your sudden outburst while Steve frowned at you in confusion.

“What’s not fair?” He asked, hand dropping from the back of his head as he placed the towel around his shoulders and turning his full attention towards you.

But you didn’t reply, opting to glance at Wanda and dismiss her for the day. Still confused the young woman obediently walked out, leaving the two of you alone. Huffing under your breath, you moved to grab a water bottle to take a drink, in hopes of calming down your heated body.

“Whats not fair Y/n?” He asked again, this time the use of your name made you bite down on your lower lip and close your eyes as you started to gather your things. You suddenly felt his presence right next to you, as he reached out to grasp a hand around your wrist.

Your entire body froze, your eyes widening as you stared up at him. He raised an eyebrow in return, silently asking the question again.

You swallowed. “How am I supposed to get anything done when you’re distracting me?” You finally stated, allowing your frustration to show as your eyes dropped to his still bare torso, not at all holding back in your obvious ogling this time. You completely missed how the blue in his eyes darkened, and a sly smirk stole across his lips as he used his grip on your wrist to pull you closer.

“And how am I distracting you?” He asked, his voice low and deep as you finally met his gaze, only for a shuddering breath to leave your lips as you finally saw the raw desire that darkened his gaze.

You bit your lower lip before speaking, you voice just an octave lower then usual as you did. “You’re distracting me by being ridiculously good looking.” You said, body trembling with anticipation as he slowly began to lean down, just as he guided the hand he was still holding to rest on the warm skin of his torso.

“Not fair!” You breathed, just before your boyfriend finally met your lips in a heated kiss, drawing you ever closer as the two of you slowly got lost in each other.

#steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #captain steve rogers x oc #captain america x reader #captain rogers x reader #captain steve rogers x reader #captain america x oc #mcu

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vilentia · 8 months

Text

Unspoken Hearts

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Three near-misses and one momentous confession in the life of Steve Rogers .

****

The First Time

Steve had always been a man of action, not words. Yet, as he watched you from across the room, your laughter tinkling like wind chimes on a breezy summer day, he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. It was a quiet evening at the Avengers' compound, the team gathered for a rare moment of respite. Your smile was radiant, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you recounted a story. Steve's heart swelled, and for a fleeting moment, he almost said it, those three words that had taken root deep within him.

But he didn't. Instead, he smiled back, his eyes speaking volumes as he silently marveled at the incredible person you were.

The Second Time

The second time came during a mission, one fraught with danger and uncertainty. You and Steve were side by side, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you fought alongside one another. In the heat of the battle, as explosions erupted around you, he caught a glimpse of your determined expression, unwavering even in the face of chaos.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, and Steve almost whispered those words of love, words he had held back for so long. But the mission demanded his attention, and he couldn't afford any distractions. So he fought on, his feelings buried deep within, yet stronger than ever.

The Third Time

It was a quiet evening, much like the first, but this time the Avengers were scattered, and it was just the two of you. You sat together on the balcony, gazing up at the star-studded sky. The night air was cool, and a comfortable silence enveloped you. Steve glanced at you, his heart pounding as he realized just how much you meant to him.

The words nearly tumbled from his lips, but he hesitated. He feared that saying those words might change everything, that they might jeopardize the precious connection you shared. So, he simply reached for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours, and held you close, silently conveying what his words could not.

The Fourth Time

It was a rainy day, the sound of droplets against the windowpane providing a soothing backdrop to your quiet afternoon together. Steve sat beside you on the couch, his gaze fixed on the book you were reading. The room was filled with a sense of calm, a moment of serenity in a world often filled with chaos.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Steve turned to you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that couldn't be contained any longer. With a gentle smile, he said those three words that had been on the verge of escape for so long, "I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, and in that moment, you knew that your love story was just beginning.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you smiled, your voice quivering with emotion as you replied, "I love you too, Steve."

As those words hung in the air, the rain outside seemed to pause, as if even the heavens were holding their breath, celebrating this moment of love and vulnerability. Steve pulled you into his arms, and together you embraced the truth that had been silently growing between you, filling the room with warmth and the promise of a future filled with love.

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bluemusickid · 2 years

Text

In the end, it's you and I

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, smut, soft moments, breeding kink, that's it. 18+, MINORS DNI.

A/N: So, @maladaptivexxdaydreaming sent me this GIF and oh GOSH. It evoked something inside me. So here goes, ig.

I have done away with a taglist, so if you wish to keep up with my work, follow @lexiscyberlibrary and keep the notifications on!!

18+ blog, Minors not welcome, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Not beta'ed, any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise are all mine. I post my stuff only on Tumblr and AO3, and occasionally Wattpad. I do not give anyone permission to reproduce, copy or translate my work. If you are found doing so, trust me, I will put my law degree to good use. Likes are welcome, reblogs are much appreciated!

"Shh."

It wasn't just a sound. It was a sentence in itself. If you'd asked your past self about the sound, she would've said it annoyed her; big time. To be honest, one only hears the "shh" sound as a toddler or a child. Hearing it as an adult is just considered rude.

Or so you thought. That was before you met Steve. It seemed like that was his favourite thing to say.

"Shh."

That's all he said, as he held you, rocking you gently as you held onto him, crying your heart out.

"It's ok, sweetheart. Let it all out."

You clung to him, reliving everything. You lost her. Your best friend, no, your sister almost. She had succumbed to the deathly disease. You had held her till her last breath, just as Steve was holding you right now. You tried to stop, but the tears kept coming. You held on to him, like you were holding on for dear life.

"Shhh." He whispered, pressing soft, feather light kisses into your hair. You didn't even know how much time passed as he held you like that, occasionally gently rocking you. You woke up the next morning, in his bed; a glass of water on the nightstand. He'd slept on the sofa outside, keeping a watch on you all night.

In the morning, he'd made you breakfast; your favourite waffles and OJ. There were no words spoken, but the quiet domesticity spoke volumes.

"Shhhh, sweetheart." He'd muttered through gritted teeth, covering your mouth with his palm as a moan slipped through your lips. A boring black-tie affair in Captain America's honour couldn't be spiced up in any way, yet here you were. Being pounded into within an inch of your life just behind the stage, where your husband would be getting an award.

You squeezed your eyes shut, a myriad of emotions flowing through you. But at the top of the list, there was only one coursing through your veins. And that was lust. You held onto his blazer with a death grip, wrinkling it in the process; but you didn't care. He was making you feel too good for you to give a damn.

His grip tightened on your waist, as he literally pounded you into the wall, hitching your leg on his hip. You gasped behind his mouth as he crashed his lips to yours, swallowing the sound.

You watched your husband from the audience, as his cum leaked into your ruined panties. Guess there were perks to being Mrs. America after all; a boring black-tie affair finally became interesting.

Running your fingers through his hair, you begged, beseeched him to let you come before you were caught in flagrante delicto. You could sense that he, too, was close, as he came with a grunt, his hot spend coating your walls; his hands gripped your hips a little too tightly. You came around him with a squeak; your walls tightening around him, trying to make him a part of you.

"Shhh, princess." You heard him mutter.

You checked the clock, which read 3:00 AM. Groaning, you sleepily made your way down to the kitchen to warm up a bottle of milk. You groggily walked to the nursery, ready to take over. Just as you neared the room, you heard Steve softly sing to your baby, his voice lilting through the silence of the early hours.

"Don't cry, my princess. Daddy's here. He's always gonna be here for you. And that's a promise."

Your daughter started fidgeting again, searching for food as you walked in and handed him the bottle, knowing better than to get in the way of daddy and his precious daughter, who had managed to wrap him around her little finger in a short period of 3 months.

You went back to bed, hearing his muffled "shhh."

A few years ago, if someone had shushed you, you would've punched them. But ever since you met Steve, there couldn't have been a more sweeter sound.

Oh gosh. I wrote this in a day, flat. Never have I written this fast, and I have Ali to thank for that. Hope y'all like this!! 💕😘

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖Make it Stick: Pt. 3 The Knight

Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky x ofc x Steve

Word Count: 3195

Tags: dark!fic, mob/mafia au, mob!Bucky, mob!Steve, dubcon/noncon, sexual coercion, half-sibling incest, m/f/m, non-con drug use, mentions of torture (non graphic), double penetration, forced tattooing, forced orgasms, enemies to lovers

Summary: When his babygirl—his sweet pea, little one, puppy ... half-sister—is recaptured after her latest attempt at running away, Bucky makes a power play in front of the entire Bratva to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

Dark and smutty content below the break. Consume responsibly.

Wait! I haven't read part 1, part 2!

“Nnn, pl-please…”

Her gasp is hardly audible this time, she’s so out of breath.

Panting from the way the second orgasm’s just ripped through her. And she’s crying still, but only just. Not like before. Because now the pleasure’s overtaken most of the anger, all of the fear, and even some of the humiliation. Bucky pulls his hands from her and delicately eases her panties back into place, smooths her little slip of a dress out for her. He looks up from his spot on the floor.

Her chest heaves with her breathing, the underside of her breasts—beautiful and natural under the silk—on full display for Bucky from this angle. And, Christ, her nipples are pebbled up, just begging for attention. Bucky sees Steve refixing his hold on her waist to support her because she’s gone so slack. She’s shaking against him, his body practically the only thing keeping her vertical at this point.

Inside his pants, Bucky is … uncomfortable. He slowly pushes up from where he’s been kneeling in front of her, coming back to stand at his full height and crowd in close again. He cages her between his body and Steve’s, hands landing on her waist right alongside Steve’s own. “Shh sh sh,” he hushes, mockingly tender. “Don’t you want to say thank you for your orgasm?” He leans in so that the words are whispered against the side of her head. He’s staring at Steve as he says it, and when Lena’s mortified, overwhelmed little whimper comes in response, he doesn’t miss how Steve’s mouth twitches at the corner. Steve likes to play the white knight—and maybe he sort of is, compared to Bucky, but even still, he’s no sweetheart. And he’s enjoying the heck out of this. “Are you hard?” Bucky whispers, and he feels his sweet puppy’s body stiffen between them as she figures out who he’s talking to.

“You have to ask?” Steve answers, the rumble of his voice no doubt felt against Polina’s back. She makes another little outraged cry when Steve presses forward, driving his erection against her backside and pushing her more tightly up against Bucky.

Bucky, who helpfully slots his thigh back between her legs. She shivers as her sex is pressed up against him, going stock still to avoid any stimulation. Bucky coos down at her. He lets go of her waist and cups her face with one hand, tucking her hair behind her ear with the other. “Aw, princess,” he murmurs. “You sensitive now? Hm?”

She sniffles and nods her head. She’s been much more forthcoming ever since the suppository and the pill worked their way into her system. Behind the glossy sheen of her tears, her pupils are even wider and darker than Steve’s. It’s hardly taken any work at all to get her to come twice for him, she’s so keyed up.

Bucky tuts lovingly and brings the still buzzing vibrator up in front of her face. He twists the base, turning it off. Lena’s whole body slumps between them with relief, and Bucky chuckles. “Don’t get too excited. This might not be over for you.”

“W-what …” she swallows dryly. “What do you mean?”

“You still have a choice to make.” Bucky taps the little bullet vibrator against her lips. “Open.” She clamps her mouth shut stubbornly, so Bucky shrugs and rubs it over her instead, smearing her own release onto her lips. He leans in and slots his mouth over hers, licking the taste of her right back. “Mmm,” he hums. “Somebody’s been drinking their pineapple juice.”

She’s glowering at him when he pulls back. Bucky licks his lips like he’s savoring the last taste of a fatty meal. He can tell from the look on her face that he’s actually right: she has been drinking it. He feels a rush of fondness mixed with anger come at that—Fond, because it’s proof that she takes even his smallest teachings to heart.

“No, seriously. That’s why I have a glass each morning. It makes cum taste sweeter. … Pussy, too.”

Anger, because it’s not him she’s been drinking it for.

He forces the latter emotion away with a deep breath and a long exhale. He doesn’t have to be angry, because nobody but him is ever going to taste that pussy again. … Well, almost nobody but him. “Okay, little one,” he sighs. “Time to make a choice.” He reaches around her and tucks the vibe back into Steve’s pocket. Then he looks down and meets her gaze.

Her pretty blue eyes are wide but dazed, high from the drugs coursing through her system. Bucky smiles and cups her face with both hands. She’s so fucking beautiful, with her round little face and plush lips, her pretty blue eyes. They’re near arctic in color—closer to Steve’s cornflower blue than Bucky’s own muddled blue-grey. Sharp and clear, like ice underwater, and positively gorgeous when they’re crying.

Lena sniffles and Bucky’s heart twinges with affection. He leans in and kisses her cheeks, cleaning up her tears. “You need to listen to me now, Polina,” he murmurs, feeling her shudder underneath his touch. “Are you listening?”

She whines a little, not able to give up completely on her stubbornness, even now. Bucky loves her so goddamn much. She tries to squirm in their hold again, but as soon as her over sensitized clit bumps Bucky’s thigh, she’s calming back down. “What?” she asks quietly, sniffling and trying to put on a stiff upper lip. It’s cute.

“It’s up to you, how this goes,” Bucky tells her. He looks over to his right and catches the eye of one of the widows. It’s Belova. He jerks his head for her to go and get the supplies that are waiting in the wings. She disappears and reappears with a rolling tray table of tattoo supplies. “This,” he says to Lena, “is what’s happening.”

She squints in confusion at it for a second or two—the tray of gauze and ointment, inks and gloves and gun—before her eyes register the stencil and read it … and go wide in realization. She jerks in their hold, thrashing, tossing her head back against Steve’s chest in another vain attempt to hurt him. “No!” she huffs, the sound breaking into a pitiful whimper at the end, despite her bravery. “No, you can’t!”

Bucky waits her out, and sure enough, her little tantrum dies down. She cries, and he wipes those tears away, too. “Shh,” he soothes. “It’s not so bad.”

“It is!” she cries. “I hate you. I hate you!”

“You’re a smart girl, Lena. You can’t tell me you didn’t always know you’d wind up here.” He tilts her chin up when she refuses to look at him. Her tearful, angry eyes meet his, and he offers her a tender smile. He gives her another kiss, just a peck on the lips, this time. “I always get what I want, sora mica,” he murmurs, right against her lips.

Little sister.

She shudders underneath his touch but doesn’t shirk away, and Bucky preens because he knows the war that’s going on in her head right now, even if she’ll never admit to it. Revulsion, mixed with lust, and darkness, and something too close for comfort to love. It’s what he used to feel, back before he decided to give up on conventional morality altogether. Poor little Lena, though, he thinks sadly. She hasn’t gotten there yet. Oh well, she’s young, she’ll learn.

“Now,” he tells her, thumbing over the familial cleft in her chin. “You have two choices, sweet pea. You ready to listen to ‘em?”

She grits her teeth and purses her lips in an angry little moue, stubborn thing, though she capitulates when Bucky tightens his grip on her chin. “Yes,” she whispers tightly.

Bucky smiles. “Okay. Now, two things are happening, no matter what,” he says, raising a warning eyebrow at her. “You’re getting this tattooed on your body … and Gleb back there is going for a long swim in the Hudson.” He waits her out while she throws another hissy fit over that, tears leaking and eyes burning up at him. Bucky sighs and looks off to the side until it’s over. Then, when she’s slumped back against Steve again, all tuckered out, he continues, “If you hold still like a good girl, I won’t take your dress off in front of all these people, won’t force any more orgasms outta you down here where everyone can see. And Gleb’ll get wheeled off to his morphine and an easy death. No torture, just the widow’s bite—lickety-split, no fuss-no muss.”

He watches as her eyes flare and her face crumples with suppressed emotion. She composes herself faster this time, though, and he continues softly, drawing her lip down with his thumb. “But, if you make things difficult? I’ll have you squirting all over this floor before I knock you out and ink you while you’re unconscious. And Gleb will have …” he looks off to the side, as if trying to parse out his words, “... mmm, he’ll have a very stressful weekend.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, squeezing her chin sternly enough that it smooshes her cheeks the barest bit. “Are you gonna be good?”

She looks torn for a second or two, but then her eyes slip closed in defeat. In Bucky’s hand, she gives the tiniest of nods.

Bucky’s pleased, but he wants more from her. “Tell me,” he commands. “You’re gonna hold nice and still?”

She sniffles and nods again. “Yes,” she breathes. “I’ll hold s-still. I’ll … I’ll be good.”

Her meek response satisfies him. Feeling a sudden wash of tenderness towards her, he leans down and presses their foreheads together and whispers, “Thank you, little one. You know how I hate to see you struggle.”

She shivers against him but doesn’t throw out any bratty quip. She keeps her eyes down, avoidant. Sighing, Bucky pulls back and steps aside to have a word with Belova. He tells her his plans for Gleb, and she gives a sharp nod and heads off to handle it. Bucky knows then that he can put the idiot man from his mind for good. The widows will more than take care of him.

Bucky returns to Steve and Lena, ready to get to work. Really, he’d prefer Natasha to be the one doing this. Bucky’s no amateur with the gun, but he’s not as good as she is. Oh well. He has a steady hand, and the design is extremely simple. Just that one phrase, in cyrillic:

собственность дракона.

Translated roughly, it means: Property of the Dragon.

“Steve,” Bucky says. “Sit with her on the bench. It’ll help keep her calm.”

Along with the cart of tattoo supplies, a rolling stool, a bench, and a padded armrest have been brought over from the Red Room. Steve all but lifts Lena and brings her over there, straddling the bench first before pulling her to straddle it in front of him. Bucky goes about setting up, snapping on a pair of black vinyl gloves while Steve wraps his arms around Lena’s waist and murmurs quietly into her ear. Bucky smiles at the pair of them. Steve cares about Polina, too, has known her for almost a decade, and he’s always had a knack for calming her down. A good thing, since Bucky’s so naturally gifted at riling her up.

He sits on the stool and scoots over to them. Lena watches him warily. Steve’s used both his and Bucky’s discarded ties to bind her arm down at the wrist and at the bend of her elbow, in case she gets second thoughts about her promise of good behavior. Bucky’s mouth quirks at the ingenuity, and his dick twitches at the optics. He’ll have to take a picture, one he’s got the ink in. A shot of her arm; reddened and bleeding with his mark, and his and Steve’s neckties framing it. Fuck, he might jerk off to it sometime.

He spends a minute getting the ink prepared, and then he carefully cleans her inner forearm and applies the stencil. It’s small but long, stretching almost the full length between the ties. It’ll take a good hour or more in its entirety, but Bucky isn’t a sadist: His little one has been through a lot, and they’ve got a long night ahead of them once they take her upstairs. Bucky wants that time to be spent mostly in pleasure, not pain. They’ll just do the outline, for now.

Lena whimpers when the paper peels back from her skin, revealing the design left behind. “Bucky,” she pleads, though one look up at him and her begging stalls. Bucky gives her a grim, apologetic look, and she knows. She knows she’s not getting out of this. She whines lowly and turns her face into Steve’s shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, his big arms wrapped tightly around her waist, comforting and restraining all at once. “You’ll be fine, hon. This is how it has to be.”

Bucky settles himself and the gun, then turns it on. Soon, the buzzing fills the small space between the three of them. In the background there’s still the noise of the club: music, chatter, bodies moving around. But in their little corner in the back, it almost feels private now that they’re centered around what Bucky’s about to do to her. “Okay, malyshka,” he murmurs, waiting until he’s got her full attention. “Watch the gun. Don’t want you jerking around in surprise.”

He’s a little taken aback by the emotions that hit, as he brings the needle down and starts inking her for the first time. He’s marking her permanently, branding her as his in a way that will never wash off, and from which she can never escape. And despite her tears and the ties binding her arm down, she is sitting there for him, allowing it. That goes straight to Bucky’s cock as sure as anything else he’s ever done to her, and he spends the rest of the session focusing on each line and curve, putting the red ink underneath her skin and trying to work out what it is that’s twisting up in his gut so bad. There’s lust and possessiveness, that much he expected, but there’s also a certain amount of … melancholy? Maybe. Whatever it is, it’s there too. A feeling of resolution, of an era coming to an end. Arousing and yet oddly bittersweet.

Lena’s fist is already clenched when he starts, but he can see her body stiffening further as the burn of the needle really sets in. Her arm flexes and her fingers curl harder into her palm, the veins popping against the strained lock of her inner elbow. Steve keeps up a gentle litany of praise and reassurance in her ear, half of which Bucky hears and half of which he misses due to his own focus on the gun. He’d love to take Steve’s place, be the one to hold her and comfort her through this, but that’s just not possible because he simply doesn’t trust anyone else to do the work.

He’s even glad that Natasha refused to do it, at this point. Because this isn’t just any tattoo. It’s personal and intimate. A promise as good as any wedding ring. Probably better-than, in the fidelity it’ll enforce. Not on Lena’s part, poor thing, but on the part of any man who might dare to entertain the idea of an affair with her. One look at her arm, and that idea would go straight up in smoke. These red words are branding her for life, in more ways than one. It’s only right that Bucky be the one to do it.

“Almost done,” he murmurs when he’s finishing up at her wrist. It’s the most painful area, and he regrets saving it for last. But his girl does beautifully and keeps relatively still, sometimes hissing or whining in pain but never asking for a break, and never twitching enough to throw Bucky off course. He finishes the outline and sits back, setting the gun aide on the cart and reaching for the salve. He smiles at his little one, who by now has stopped crying. “Good job, sweet pea,” he praises softly.

Her defenses are down from having all of her focus on something other than him for so long. She only blushes a little when he uses the nickname, and says nothing snarky back. Bucky’s heart pulls with it. In Steve’s lap, she watches as Bucky uses a tongue depressor to apply the salve in long, smooth strokes over the raw areas. She blinks at her arm like she’s fully waking from a dream. “... That’s it?” she asks, sounding surprised, maybe even disappointed—though that’s probably just Bucky’s wishful thinking.

“For now,” he tells her, bringing out the non-stick pads and adhesive wrap. He’s giving her all the aftercare that he’s neglected on himself—already the back of his neck and shoulders feels tight and unpleasant, and he doesn’t want the same for her. Steve pulls the ties loose to release her arm, and Bucky explains, “You have delicate skin, sweetheart. We’ll let this heal, fill it in another time. Add some other design elements, if you want.” He catches her look of surprise and smiles, then looks away before her expression can shutter on him. He gently applies the pads along her skin, wrapping her up in an opera glove’s length worth of neon pink animal print bandaging, nice and tight. “There you go.”

“Cheetah print, really?”

“Just special for you, my little hellcat. Don’t worry, you can take it off tomorrow.” He rolls out on the stool and goes around to stand just in front of the bench. Briefly, he meets Steve’s eyes, and they have a short, non-verbal conversation, at the end of which Steve nods smally in agreement. “Okay,” Bucky says, reaching out to palm Lena’s face.

She automatically goes to shirk away from it, but Steve whispers something in her ear—Bucky doesn’t hear what—and it makes her settle. She bites her lip and peeks up at Bucky through her lashes and ruined makeup. “I was good,” she whispers, like she’s half-sure Bucky’s going to revoke his end of the deal.

He tries not to let it show on his face, how that hurts him. “Yeah, sweetheart. You were very good.” He bends over to kiss the top of her head, then turns and searches out Belova. She’s standing next to Maximoff now, over at the bar. Bucky goes over and holds out his hand. Pietro shakes first, Yelena second. “Thank you,” he tells them. “For bringing her back safely.”

“Again,” Yelena says with a smirk and a semi-suppressed eyeroll.

“You should get a leash,” Pietro jokes.

“Or a homing beacon.”

Bucky waves them off (though the homing beacon idea has occurred before), telling them to go back to their drinks and enjoy their evening. He doesn’t bother asking if the Gleb issue’s been dealt with—he knows from the look on Belova’s face that it has.

Part four

Masterlist

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avengerscompound · 5 months

Text

The Interview - Chapter 1

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist

Rating: E

Warnings: On the series; smut, family trauma, bad workplaces On this chapter; sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count: 3109

Summary: Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America. Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

A/N: IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THE REMAINDER OF THIS SERIES, EITHER ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST OR SEND ME A MESSAGE

Chapter 1

It was the dream life. An apartment on the upper west side of New York, located in a beautiful old brownstone. A career in journalism. Getting to interview an actual Avenger. When Melody Danes boiled down her life to its bones, it was exactly how she had planned it out.

Of course, that did ignore some pretty glaring oversights. Like how she actually had two jobs. The journalist position was an underpaid internship that barely covered food let alone rent and bills. Or that the internship was with the Daily Bugle, one of the most despicable publications in the world, with the worst boss she had ever worked for. Or how she lived with her cousin in a one-bedroom apartment, because neither of them could afford anything bigger in the city - even with Bobbi working three jobs. Something that left Melody relegated to a bed that was walled off from the rest of the living room with bamboo screens, while Bobbi got the bedroom because she paid the bigger portion of the rent. Or the fact that the apartment itself was a shit hole that had unreliable plumbing, heat, and super to fix anything.

Still, she didn’t like to complain. She was in New York, the city she’d dreamed about living in her whole life. Plus, there were worse roommates than Bobbi. Melody and Bobbi had grown up in the same small town in Oregon. They weren’t technically even cousins, but rather the children of best friends who had been born a few months apart. The two ‘cousins’ had grown up together being subjected to years and years of taunting about when the two would get married, and constant mentions of Bobbi being Melody’s boyfriend despite the fact Melody had always seen Bobbi more as a sibling than a potential romantic partner.

Of course, back then Bobbi had been known as Roberto. Interestingly, as soon as she’d transitioned, all jokes about Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez had stopped immediately because suddenly, it wasn't only Melody and Bobbi being made to feel uncomfortable but their parents as well.

The two had remained close throughout everything and had made the promise that they would support each other to get their dreams realized. Melody’s dream of being a journalist or author, and Bobbi’s of acting. Yes, there were occasional disagreements that popped up stemming from sharing such a small space, but through it all they’d held on to that support.

That was why, when Melody had come home freaking out about the fact she was going to interview the Captain America - and not just for a short piece, but an in-depth personality profile over a week, Bobbi was the first one to congratulate her. She then brought all her friends from her job at the dinner theatre to help find her something to wear.

It was why she was now headed down East 45th in heels that were a little too big and a pantsuit that was a little flashier than she would have liked, looking for the Comfort Diner.

Despite being a little wobbly on her feet, she felt good. Nervous. Excited. But good. The pantsuit did make her look professional, and her friends had done her hair so her black curls were pinned back in an almost 1920s-style wave that was folded over in a loop at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was immaculate and her copper complexion gave off an almost glow in the light. More importantly, this interview was her golden ticket. It wasn’t even supposed to be Melody that got this interview. The person who was originally assigned to it had written one too many scathing think pieces about the Avengers. She’d been told neither Captain Rogers nor any of the other Avengers were willing to talk to her anymore. A quick scramble through the other reporters had only brought back people who were either in the middle of assignments or were equally loathed by the Avengers and so they had handed it to the intern with the most promise. Melody Danes.

As she made her way down the street, her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. It was just a brief catch, but given her shoes were the wrong size it caused her to stumble forward directly into a huge wall of muscle.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the wall said as it steadied her with large hands.

She was about to answer that ‘she was until some stranger called her ma’am’ when she looked up into the clear blue eyes of Captain America, and the words caught in her throat.

He was somehow even more attractive in person. He had a broad chest and muscular arms that seemed to be testing the tensile strength of his shirt as he supported her.

That was not what drew her attention most. His face held her captivated. His skin was flawless, his pores so small they almost looked airbrushed out, and his complexion was the color of peaches and cream. He had a square jaw and a straight, narrow nose that both exuded masculinity. Yet, his high cheekbones, full lips, and long dark eyelashes were all beautifully feminine. All this paired with the pale blue of his eyes and for a moment she was lost for words.

“I’m fine,” she said when her brain finally kicked into place again. “Embarrassed mostly. I’m actually going to meet you for lunch.”

“You’re the one from the Bugle?” Steve asked, his tone giving away his surprise.

“That’s right,” she said, straightening herself out. She offered him her hand. “I’m Melody Dane from DB. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Steve replied, shaking her hand. “I guess you just weren’t what I expected.”

The two began making their way to the diner together, both still staring at each other.

“What were you expecting?” she asked.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know, to be honest. A trilby with a press pass sticking out of it?”

She started laughing. “I’ll wear one next time. Though I do have my press pass here if you’d like me to stick it in my hair or something.”

Steve’s laughter joined her and he shook his head. “That’s okay. You can keep it in your purse.”

They entered the cute little 50s-style diner and took one of the booths up the back. The greeter set them up with menus and left to get their drinks while they decided what they wanted. She set up her recorder and notepad on the table.

“So, I’m not sure what it is you were after,” Steve said as his eyes flicked over the menu. “The Bugle is always just investigative reporting, and if I’m honest, they don’t do a great job investigating.”

She laughed. “You’re telling me,” she said. “It’s barely above a tabloid magazine. It runs on sensationalism. But with the way that the internet is affecting print media, they’re trying to branch out into different things. This is technically a profile piece for a yet-to-be-named magazine. They want a story about the man behind the shield. I’ll come talk to you a few times over the next week. We’re going to do a little tour of Brooklyn so you can tell me how it’s changed. Other than that, whatever access you’re willing to give me, the better I can craft the article. I’m not here to make you look bad. We just want a piece that shows the world that there’s more to you than a flag.”

“How does that fit in with Jameson’s whole superhero menace thing he does? I mean, this was going to be conducted by Norah Winters, right? She’s not exactly our biggest fan either?” Steve asked.

“I’m not Norah Winters,” Melody said. “Norah Winters couldn’t even get you to agree to sit down with her. I’m hoping that the fact they chose me after running through just about everyone else in the paper, might allow for some room to grow trust.”

Steve nodded and poured himself a glass of water. “Okay. Well, I’m here. I guess we’ll see how we go.”

“My first question is; why did you want me to meet you here? You were asleep for the 1950s, so it can’t be a nostalgia thing,” she asked.

“Honestly? I’ve never actually been here before,” Steve said. “I just wanted somewhere that wasn’t intruding on my space, that was relaxed enough that I didn’t feel like I was on display.”

“Do you often feel on display?” she asked.

“All the time,” he said. “Since the day I was given the serum. It’s part of the job. There are people out there who are okay just saving the day and slinking back into the shadows, but what I do - or at least what I hope I’m doing - is giving people someone to rally behind. It means that I draw attention to myself and I have to make sure that what I believe in is stated clearly or people use me as a symbol of oppression. It means that I need to teach with actions, not words.”

The waitress came over with the drinks and Melody and Steve placed their orders. She opted for the soup and sandwich, while Steve went for the steak.

When she was alone again, she took a sip of her coffee and watched Steve toy with his cup. The white branded mug looked tiny in his hands. “Does that get hard?” she asked. “Being on all the time. I mean no one is perfect.”

He nodded. “But I hope what I do helps in some way. Not just the obvious ones where I save lives because of an alien attack. But maybe if people see that I am standing up for people, they might do it too. I mean - I wasn't always this-” he gestured vaguely to himself. “I was this tiny guy with a huge list of medical conditions….”

“I did read that list,” she said. She’d done her research coming into this. She’d known Steve Rogers had been marked 4F several times and that the list of his medical conditions was as long as her arm. “People always seem to always focus on the asthma, but some of those conditions are debilitating.”

Steve nodded. “I was a perpetual letdown for my father. All he wanted was a good strong son who could follow in his footsteps, but what he got was a sick kid they didn’t expect would make it to adulthood,” he explained. “The ulcers paired with the anemia were the worst. I had to eat a pound of raw liver a day but I was constantly throwing up or having heartburn. You're right, there were a lot of conditions but those two were the worst. It’s given me a weird relationship with food now.”

She was surprised by how open he was. She’d expected him to be a little more closed off this early on and yet, he was freely sharing details about the trouble he had growing up. “What do you mean by that?”

The waiter chose that moment to bring over their meals. Steve looked down at the steak in front of him. “Well, take this,” he said. “Steak is fine. But is it what I wanted? I’m not even sure. I chose it because it looked like it was the best combination of protein and carbohydrates to get me through until dinner. The serum has made it so I burn through calories so fast, so if I eat something like pancakes or pie, I end up having a crash an hour or so later. And I can’t have that because it means I have to eat again. And for a guy who grew up through the great depression with medical conditions that made it so that he had to eat pounds of raw meat that I’d just end up throwing up - well I can’t take constantly eating throughout the day.”

Her heart broke for him and she had to resist the urge to reach over the table and take his hand. “So what you’re saying is, you really wished you’d ordered pancakes?”

He gave a little side nod. “Kinda, yeah,” he said. “But even acknowledging that out loud - I will still just eat this steak. But I’ll feel uncomfortable eating in front of you because you’re a stranger, even though I need it to get through the rest of the day.”

She nodded in understanding. The burden of trauma was a hard thing to shake. Even if you were a superhero. “That really does suck. I do understand it though. It’s hard to retrain yourself. In fact, if you figure out how to do it, let me know.”

He smiled at her and began to cut his steak. She took a moment to take a bite from her sandwich. It was surprisingly good for something from a diner and she couldn’t help the soft hum that escaped her lips. “I don’t want you to have to dwell too much on your illnesses if you don’t want to - but I do have one more specific question about it. Is it true they used to treat asthma with cigarettes back then?”

Steve laughed. “They used to treat lots of things with cigarettes,” he said. “The asthma ones weren’t usually tobacco cigarettes mind you. Not that they were necessarily better than tobacco ones. If memory serves me arsenic and belladonna were some key ingredients used. They also told my mom to give them to me for the scoliosis and heart palpitations. But they played havoc on my stomach. They also told me I should drink a lot of coffee.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You ever wonder what the things we all accept as true now will be looked at as being completely crazy in the future?”

Steve thought for a moment and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself. “Circumcision.”

She nearly choked on her soup, which made Steve laugh and lean over, patting her on the back. “I’m sorry. It was the first thing that popped into my head. I mean - that wasn’t even something people did much out of religious reasons back in my day.”

“You’re totally right. They brought it in in the fifties to stop men masturbating, but I wasn’t expecting Captain America to bring up circumcision,” she said, still laughing.

“I’m so sorry,’ Steve said again. “God - I can’t believe I did that.”

“It’s fine,” she giggled. “Seriously. Oh man…”

Steve ran his hand down his face. “I will say this though,” he said. “Even after all this time with the serum, I still feel like I’m that guy. I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed bubblegum. I still remember every time I got beaten by some bully trying to keep me down and I still remember getting up, because my mom always said you keep getting up or they win. I still go into every battle remembering that and holding it with me, because I know what it’s like to have someone try and use their strength to keep me down and I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that.”

She nodded and wrote the quote ‘I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed up bubblegum’ into her notebook. “What did it feel like when you changed?”

“It was really sudden. I went into this thing that was like a metal coffin and pumped full of these drugs while they irradiated me. The process was excruciatingly painful. I started changing right away. It felt like I was being stretched out in all directions. Then it stopped and the pain stopped with it. And not just the pain of the change. All my pain. My stomach didn’t hurt. My chest didn’t hurt. I didn’t have pain in my back. When I took a breath it went in easily and filled my lungs. And then on top of the very noticeable lack of pain, I had other things, like my heart didn’t feel like it was racing for a change. I could see colors properly. I don’t even think I could describe what that was like. And all of it mixed together …” he trailed off and shook his head. “I apologize, I’m going to be crass again and I hope that you might do me the favor by paraphrasing this, so I don’t sound like some kind of pervert, but it was like that feeling you have when you orgasm, only magnified by a hundred.”

“Wow,” she said and took a large bite from his sandwich. She chewed it thoughtfully as she tried to imagine how extreme that would feel. “That’s something.”

He nodded. “It’s a shame that they lost the formula. I mean - I know having a bunch of rogue super-soldiers out in the world isn’t necessarily a good thing, but if there was a way you could cure disease as easily as that still out in the world, imagine how far we would have come by now?”

She nodded. “It would have been an impressive piece of medical science. And it would be a very different world where no one had to worry about illness.”

They both sat quietly in thought for a moment as they ate. “So,” she said, finally breaking the silence. “I said before, we wanted to get to know the man behind the shield, and I’m certainly hoping I get to know the real Steve Rogers doing this, but do you think there’s a difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America?”

“Of course,” Steve answered quickly. “I think that’s true for everyone, right? I’m sure you sitting there interviewing me isn’t the same person you are when you’re home with your family or out with your friends. Knowing the publication you work for, I’m sure it’s not even the same person you are in the office. We put different aspects of ourselves forward all the time. If you’re asking where the divide between Steve Rogers and Captain America is - I’m not sure. I’ve put so much of myself into this for so long… I don’t know who I am without it. I know I’d always want to stand up and fight for what I believe in. I know I’d always want to stand up for the little guys. But aside from that… I couldn’t say.”

She frowned a little. “I guess I can see how that could happen,” she said. Though the admission made her realize something, article or no article, she wanted to find out who Steve Rogers was for his sake as much as how drawn to him she already was.

// NEXT

#marvel #avengers #marvel fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #captain america #captain america fanfic #steve rogers x oc #fanfic #fanfiction #ofc #smut #the interview

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ellethespaceunicorn · 3 months

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just wanted you all to know that steve has won the poll. he is romantic anal's champion. and so i shall write it next, i think. now i get to decide which steve to use.

leaning toward this one:

#steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x oc #x black reader #black reader #black reader insert #x black fem reader #black fem reader #chris evans #chris evans characters #chris evans smut

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spideytingley · 3 months

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twice in a lifetime

pairing: steve rogers x platonic child!oc

summary: shortly after getting out of the ice in 2011, Steve finds out that the descendants of one of his friends live on New York, and he decides to visit them, thinking that maybe he won’t have to be all alone anymore. thanks to this, he finds a family for him in this new time.

content warning: brief mentions of death.

word count: 1.6k

Doubt had started to creep in as Steve hesitated on the doorstep, staring at the wooden door in front of him. An elderly man had opened the building’s door for him, recognising him from the news, or maybe from a museum exhibit — he was supposed to be ancient history by now, but yet there he stood. The second World War had been almost seventy years ago, and while having lived it, Steve was barely thirty. And his friends were dead, as he should be.

That was why he was standing in front of the apartment, really. It turned out that according to SHIELD’s extensive database, a past teammate of his, Dum Dum Dugan, had family living in New York, close to where he lived in Brooklyn. It was a no-brainer that he had to visit, at least drop in to see what had become of something he’d known. Something that wasn’t a grave. (Or Peggy Carter, of whom he didn’t want to think about too much, for the sake of his heavy heart.)

He would be intruding in their life, he knew that. It was probable that none of them ever wanted a super soldier in their house, stirring up memories from long ago, which was why he decided that, in reality, it was a bad idea from the start. He heaved a sigh and turned around. Maybe next time he would have the courage to go in. Third time’s the charm, isn’t that how that goes?

The sound of a lock turning made him stop on his tracks. The door to apartment 9B creaked, and Steve had to look down to see a head peeking from the small opened space left by the door. It was one of the kids he’d seen on the files, barely ten years old and grinning up at him like she knew something he didn’t.

“Hi,” breathed Steve, tripping on air as he made his way back to the door.

The girl giggled, sharing a look with someone still hiding behind the door. “Hi. You’ve been standing there a whole lotta time, Mr. Steve. Are you tired?”

He blinked. Maybe she did know something he didn’t.

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah! It’s the second time you’ve been to our house, but you never go in. Daddy says to give you time, but I think you need a little push,” she said, big green eyes looking up at him. “So this is me pushing you. Come on in, Dom even had time to bake some cookies while you were there!”

She made a motion of inviting him in, but as she walked towards what he guessed must be the kitchen, he stayed on the doorway. He knew her name was Flora, she was ten and a half, and barely four feet tall, which was short for her age. She was in fifth grade in a primary school in Brooklyn, and she already knew she wanted to be a doctor. Steve knew all these things about her, and he was a stranger to her — yet she was so trusting.

She turned around to look at him, a cheeky grin on her face as she said, “We have star sprinkles for you, Mr. Steve. Dad said maybe you wouldn’t like them, but Dom and I thought it would be so funny. Do you like red, white and blue sprinkles, Mr. Steve?”

It had been a while since he’d been around children, so he was unsure if Flora was some special case, or if all kids talked that much in so little time.

He managed to smile at her, about to answer—

“Flora!” a man’s voice chided, and Steve looked the other way to see who couldn’t be other than Ronan Dugan, her father, and Dum Dum’s grandkid. Ronan’s gaze settled on him, and he could see the apology swimming in his eyes. “Mr. Rogers, I’m so sorry about my daughter’s enthusiasm. They’ve just been excited to finally meet you.”

“They have?” he asked Ronan, startled. “I don’t mind it, it’s… refreshing, actually. And call me Steve, please.”

His eyes lingered on the girl running into the other room, her giggle echoing off the walls, and he was reminded of little Rebecca Barnes, who had just turned twenty the last time he’d seen her, which had been… a long time ago. She was probably dead, too.

“Director Fury told me you’d been asking around about us,” Ronan said, “and if there’s something my kids are, is nosy, so they found out about it.”

Steve had almost forgotten that detail. Most of the family had or was currently working for SHIELD both as agents on the field or offices, ever since Dum Dum had become one of the founding members of the organization—it was their legacy, and they clearly treated it like it.

Ronan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If you think this is too much, I totally understand. You’re not obligated to be here, Steve. I can tell the kids you were called aw–”

“Nonsense,” he rapidly said. He didn’t know if he would have the courage to try again otherwise. “I’d love to meet all of you, if it’s alright with you.”

“I’m afraid Flora and Dominic would kick me out of my house if I kicked you out,” he joked, bringing an easy smile to Steve’s face. “You can leave your jacket on that hanger, by the way. The kids are in the kitchen, when Flora sensed you coming they started baking, as I’m sure she told you.”

Steve hesitated at the strange choice of words, but thought nothing of it and closed the front door behind him, hanging his aviator jacket. Soon he was being met with the smell of freshly baked cookies coming from the kitchen, where he could see Flora and a much taller boy, Dominic—who liked to be called Dom, as his file said.

As soon as he saw him, the teenager perked up, stretching a hand toward him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Ro– Sir… Captain America,” he rushed the words out endearingly in a nervous manner.

Steve shook his hand, briefly surprised by the strength of his grip. “Call me Steve, Dominic.”

“Then you can call me Dom,” he replied, with a grin.

He glanced at the countertop, where Flora was working very hard in concentrating on handling the sprinkles she had told him about by the door. In the time he’d been deciding on whether he would enter or not, they had baked cookies that looked very appetizing—all with the color of his uniform, the flag of the United States.

The kitchen was bigger that the one he had at his apartment, which made sense given that it was for a family of three. It was cozy, and lived in, noticeable on the way the fridge was filled with stickers and photos stuck to it with magnets of places they’d visited—he felt a sudden sensation of longing in the way this house screamed home, a stark contrast to the cold place that awaited him just two blocks away.

“Can you eat cookies?” asked Flora, bringing him out of his evaluation of their home. “Dad isn’t really allowed to, he’s supposed to be on a diet.”

“I can eat pretty much anything,” he confessed, with a smile. “And however much I want, thanks to being a supersoldier.”

“Great, because we made too many cookies!”

“Come on, Flora, there’s no such thing as too many cookies,” said Ronan, bringing one to his mouth. “Especially when they taste this good. I might have to ban you two from the kitchen, eh? Not all of us can eat without getting fat.”

Steve laughed at the dig, and took the cookie that Dom was offering. His eyes widened. “This is really good.”

The kids high-fived each other, bright smiles on their faces for a job well-done.

“What’s that?” asked Dominic, lazily pointing with his index finger to the leather notebook in Steve’s hands.

They had brought the trays to the living room and had turned on the television, and Steve had gotten it out of his pocket when something interesting had shown up on the News, ready to write it down for later.

“It’s where I write general knowledge events that I missed, so I can learn about them,” he said, handing it to him. “Director Fury gave me some of those, but I’ve been collecting them ever since I woke up.”

Flora stood behind the couch, reading the notebook from over her brother’s shoulder. “Steve, you’re missing a lot of stuff! I can’t believe Mamma Mia isn’t there,” she whispered in shock.

He hummed, recognizing the name. “That’s a song from ABBA, right?”

“And only the best musical of all time!”

“Says a ten-year-old,” laughed Ronan, sharing an amused look with Steve.

“Whoever recommended just Star Wars has clearly never watched Star Trek,” said Dom, a frown on his face as he read.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” breathed Steve, brows knitted together. “I tell you what, you both can write whatever you think I’m missing from this century—“

“—and the previous one,” piped in Ronan.

“And the previous one,” he agreed, and hesitantly looked at the kids. “And maybe you could show me some of it?”

Their eyes lit up, excitement shining in them.

“You are so watching Mamma Mia!” squealed Flora, running out of the living room.

Steve’s eyes followed her as she left, Ronan’s laugh filling the room. “You have a problem in your hands, she’s getting her CDs from her room.”

A beat passed.

“What’s a CD?”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers x original female character #original character #original female character #captain america #marvel fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #dum dum dugan #found family #leah writes #i love seeing him happy #steve rogers deserved better in the 21st century #how did you let this man be alone for so long marvel #children #steve rogers’ notebook #original child character

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