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rinniereads123 · 2 months

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One-Shots

SOME OF THESE STORIES ARE MATURE! READ THE WARNINGS AND TAGS BEFORE YOU READ!

★ - personal favorites | masterlist

Little Bookworm - @heytheredelulu

Your boyfriend can’t think of anything more adorable than watching you read. One night while you’re in the shower he picks up the book you left on the nightstand: “Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton” and thumbs through it, very quickly realizing just what kind of books his sweet little bookworm is really into.

Anywhere Away With You - @thevillainswhore

Old ghosts from your past threaten to disturb the peace you’ve made with your new life. Will temptation steer you away?

★The Ties That Bind Us - @thevillainswhore

Even though Bucky is your ex-husband, you still have to see him often because of your shared son. But the heated tension, the spark that is still very much alive after your divorce, finally reaches its peak when you come home from your date.

Warrior/Worrier - @delaber

After a mission gone awry, Bucky finds himself on your doorstep in the middle of the night.

Pink in the Night - @d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n

Some interesting rumours have been circling around about Bucky. Little do you know, it's kinda your fault.

Love Hurts - @urdepressedslut

You and Bucky get into a heated argument, things are said and done and now he won’t speak to you. You don’t think you can handle him ignoring your existence.

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time) - @mellowsaturns

When the Avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of Hydra was destroyed. One unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but Bucky knows it. He could recognize those eyes anywhere.

I Hate You - @ellemj

After ending up on SHIELD's radar, you're moved into the tower against your will. Of course, you can't stand the one man that you have the most in common with.

One More Night - @marvelouslizzie

You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

The Things We Carry With Us - @pellucid-constellations

You were injured on a mission and didn’t tell anyone, leaving your already rocky relationship with Bucky crumbling. Was it really hate he harbored for you, or was it something else?

Control - @bucky-bucket-barnes

John Walker makes the dire mistake of messing with Bucky’s girl. This misstep causes a major fight to break out between the two, ending in nothing but blood and rage.

I Can Save You This Time - @pellucid-constellations

It’s the 4th of July and you’ve never been more sick. Turns out you aren’t the only one in the compound that stayed home from the celebration.

Shaken Up - @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

Steve and Bucky find their girl passed out.

Under Pressure - @banditthewriter

Y/N hides a nasty injury from the team until they know everybody is safe, and then they collapse. Bucky worries about Y/N.

Injuries - @flowinglocksofbuck

you get injured on a mission and Bucky freaks out

Wicked - @str-spangled-banner

You were injured during a mission two weeks ago and put to much pressure on your healing wounds, doing more damage than you thought possible. Bucky fears he will lose you.

Necessary Evil - @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Y/N gets seriously injured and Bucky takes care of her.

fingers fantasy fulfilled - @purple-babygirl

If Bucky's doll wanted his metal fingers then that was exactly what she was going to get.

Lavender - @wkemeup

Not every nightmare is the same and Bucky doesn’t always wake up as the man you know.

Give Me A Sign - @lostgirlmuseum

Bucky asks the universe for a reason to live. The universe delivers you.

Fulfilled Fantasy - @sergeantbarnessdoll

Y/N admits to Bucky that she wants to have a threesome so he has Natasha help fulfill her fantasy.

Hottest Night of Your Life - @bossbtch1

Bucky and Steve joined you for a night out at the club, but things took a dark turn when a stranger spiked your drink. Bucky and Steve were more than willing to "take care" of you.

Sharing is Caring - @sad-not-glad

Soft Dom! Steve x Sub! Bucky x Dom! reader

My Queen - @adrinktostopyourthirst

The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there's a willing soldier at your disposal.

all the apple cider and no more haunted houses - @witchywithwhiskey

you and bucky barnes have a love-hate relationship—you love him and you believe he hates you—but when your friends insist on going to the scariest haunted house attraction in the area, the experience ends up forcing your real feelings for each other out into light

my everything - @mrsbarnesblog

The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before.

you were mine just yesterday - @notafunkiller

It's been a while since your break up with Bucky happened, but you're still not over him. You try to move on, go out, and have fun with your friend, Steve, but you end up in the same bar you two went to often. It also just happens that Bucky is there too, with Natasha by his side. It doesn't take long for you two to end up getting into old habits.

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sehtoast · 6 months

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Satisfy Me (Homelander x Reader PowerSwap!AU)

18+ | 3.4k, stalking, masturbation, mostly mutual masturbation, graphic violence, powerswap au, gender neutral reader | Fic Directory

Ask Prompt: Non supe hl x HL reader. Like the reader has his powers, and he's just a regular guy.

You find him by chance. Could've been any of those little ants down on 36 assigned to your old suit's preservation, but it was him.

What an ordinary fellow he was, too, running around in those little blue sweaters over his dress shirts, his soft box-dye-blonde hair, those pretty blue eyes behind dark framed glasses. It drove you nuts, but that was the best part.

John was the best part.

You fixated on him from the moment you saw how he handled a literal part of you, how he touched your suit with care and grace, expressed how much of an honor it was to be picked to take care of you.

And you? You were bigger than life itself! The fucking Homelander, for crying out loud. Of course he should be honored to preserve and maintain your old suit; it's you for fuck’s sake. So why was it that his anxious little demeanor was so endearing to you? What was it that made his promise to keep something of yours in tip-top shape turn him into the center of your attention?

Why did you find yourself lingering on 36 far more often? Going down with the excuse of wanting to see progress on the display, but really just wanting to see him, talk to him, learn about him.

Your gloved hand on his shoulder makes him nervous. You can hear his heart beat as quickly as a hummingbird’s wings as he glances up at you. His cortisone spikes, but not in the wrong way. You rile him up.

It's adorable.

You begin to watch him. You follow him along the route of the subway, trail him from his stop to the school where he picks up his son, then to his apartment. You float up at the same pace that they ascend the stairs until you're lingering outside the window to his bedroom, watching him sleep.

This becomes your routine, and god help anyone who tries to take you away from it.

You sneak in a few times when no one’s home. Roam between rooms, investigating every little piece of his life. You borrow a sip or several from the milk in the fridge, peek at the living room, investigate the bathroom. You learn the boy's name is Ryan from the little wooden letters mounted on the wall above his bed. There's not much of note in the kid's room save for action figures, lego sets, and a few stick figure doodles labeled ‘me and dad.’

John's room is where you have your fun. You start at his desk, sifting through papers and soon-to-be-due bills. You wiggle the mouse at his computer and find his desktop background to be a picture of himself and Ryan. You're almost offended that it's not a picture of you and all your star-spangled glory.

Almost. There's better things to do than care about that.

There's a closet full of clothes to run your fingers over, a drawer of underwear from which you can pick your new favorite keepsake. You settle on a pair of dark red briefs, holding them to your nose to inhale deeply, groaning as the scent of him fills your lungs. You make your way over to the nightstand where you find a drawer with a stroker and lube hidden inside a ball of paper towels. You smirk and toy with it for a time, tongue jutting out to lave over the inside, hoping and praying that there’s even a drop of him left in there.

And then there’s his bed, full of his scent. You lay on it and press your face into his pillow, breathing in several deep, focused breaths. Underneath a smell that is so uniquely him, you find a hint of something woodsy and herbal. It tickles your nose sweetly but you focus more on his natural aroma than that of his products. You want to stay more than anything. You’re surrounded by him in every sense of the word. All of your senses are bombarded by parts of him; the only thing missing is the man himself.

You roll on your back, eyes shut as you picture what it would look like to gaze up at him from that angle. How he’d look leaning above you, sweat on his brow as he drives into you over and over and over again… How he’d pant and gasp, exerting himself just to please you, just to pump you full of his love and devotion.

God, you hadn’t even realized you’d snaked your hand into your pants during the fantasy. You shut your eyes and continue anyway.

Your mind wanders back to him. You’d touched yourself to the thought of him quite a few times, but doing it in his bed?

Delicious…

You imagine wrapping your legs around him, featherlight lest you crush his pelvis. You roll him, straddling his waist as you come down hard on his cock. Beneath you is where he looks best. Squirming and panting, hips thrusting to meet you in desperate, sloppy motions. You’d be so good to him, too. You’d ride his cock until he saw stars, until the only word that could come out of his mouth is your name…

You’d let him pump you full of however many loads that pitiful, human body of his could muster, until you’re dripping with his come and he’s yours inside and out.

Maybe you’d mark him up, too. Leave some handprints at his hips, some bite marks where he’s soft… Wouldn’t be hard… Wouldn’t take much to mar that perfect skin with your claim of ownership. Some hickeys at his inner thighs, maybe an extra special one right where his cock meets his groin.

Your salacious fantasies come to a head at the same time as your pleasure. You grind against your hand as you picture what it’d be like to milk his cute little cock. Suck him dry, watch him beg and plead, let him squeeze your head with his legs as if he could possibly make you stop. You’d eat up every ounce of him and spit it back in his mouth. Make him go down on you with a mouthful of his own come.

“Oh, fffuck!” You howl, writhing on his bed, fist gripping and pressing his blanket to your nose. Your underwear are soaked, but you couldn’t care less. Not as you pant heavy breaths, your body blissful and surrounded by him.

You linger for quite a while, only breaking away for your regularly scheduled visit with him.

You had asked for a lesson about The Federalist Era - not that you really gave a shit beyond getting to consume his time. John was all too excited at your sudden interest and he offered to stay late just for you. Ryan would be with his mother, as was the case for every Friday to Sunday, and he’d have nothing but time for you.

He meets you in your penthouse with a textbook and it's everything you've got not to devour him whole. He’s so precious. You keep your gloves off, brushing your fingers over his as you point to parts of the text you ‘didn't get.’ You do everything in your power to keep him red and blushing. You scoot closer, hover in his space, lean over his shoulder. You practically eye-fuck him every time you look at him. You toy with him all night until he finishes his lesson.

He stays for another hour just for the hell of it. Just to spend time with you. It's not until he's yawning that he entertains the idea of heading home.

“Why don't you let me fly you?” You offer, smirking at how he deeply he flushes.

“Oh, I mean... I don't- I just-” He stammers. “I’m just a little scared of heights, you know?”

You scoff a laugh at his confession, taking him by the hand and leading him to your balcony. He doesn't resist you whatsoever.

“C'mon, Johnny! I won't let anything happen to ya!” You wrap your arms around his waist and begin to hover. You whisper in his ear, “I'll protect you,” and you can feel the way he shivers before nodding.

His arms wrap around your neck, textbook dangling from one hand as he presses himself against you. The higher you rise, the tighter he holds on.

“Good boy.” You breathe soft and low, thumb rubbing circles at his lower back. “I’m a much better ride than the shit they got down there.”

He clings to you the whole way home, only realizing after you've dropped him off that you somehow know where he lives.

You drive him wild. You stir a feeling in him that he hasn't had time to focus on in so long, and it's to your absolute pleasure that you get to linger and peer through his roof that night as he takes care of himself.

John fucks his fist with reckless abandon, then his toy that he just can't help but imagine is your hole. You focus extra hard, trying to make your senses pick up on everything happening in that room. You can smell the salt of his sweat, the pheromones in the air, the scent of his precum. You hear every little gasp and moan, every groan that rattles out of his pretty little mouth. The sound of lube squelching in his stroker riles you up so much more, and you’ve half a mind to burst through the fucking wall and mount him.

You tease yourself in time with him, knelt on the roof so perfectly that no one could catch you. You gaze through matter with hooded eyes to watch him, and it’s the most beautiful, tempting sight you’ve ever seen in your life. You can’t remember a time you’ve been so fucking horny as you are right then.

He comes near violently, shouting, “H-Homelander!” as he does. Your eyes roll back and a quivering moan rips from your throat as you come apart with him. He called your name.

He called your fucking name.

He’s already yours...

He works the next day for some overtime pay. Nothing stressful, just some extra document filing. You're preoccupied with filming away from the tower, much to your heavily expressed ire, and he's bored.

He's bored for the whole day, wishing you'd come by. He stays extra late, hoping beyond hope that you’ll meander in like you don’t actively choose to come down to such an insignificant level.

But you don’t.

He’s thoroughly bummed out as he steps off the train, walking the rest of the way home in the dark. He knows you didn’t forget about him; you’re just busy. Even the world’s greatest superhero’s gotta take care of their commitments, right? He’s deep in thought as he makes his way down the cold street. The yellow glow of the streetlights sets a somber feeling deep in his heart as he shuffles further along, passing the occasional stranger, hands in his pockets. He should’ve worn more than a sweater and a scarf. He had no idea it was gonna be so chilly. Or maybe he’s just so used to running hot after spending time around you.

God, had he really caught the attention of Homelander? Like, really caught it?

He’s heard stories– god knows there’s enough to go around. Was told by more than a few of his coworkers in the archives that it’s dangerous to even be around you. That there was a good reason that the loneliest spot was always at the top.

He didn’t like that, though. What he did like, however, was you. The way you look at him as though he’s worth wanting. You give him your full attention and fuck, you always come back. It’s like he matters now. He’s not just some orphan-turned-moderate-success trying to raise his son and keep from drowning under the oppressive cost of New York’s rent. Well, he still is, but he’s all of that and he’s got the attention of The Homelander!

And he finds you sweet. Like a big, scary dog that only likes him. He wants to know more about you. As much as he likes history, he’d love yours even more.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he neither sees nor hears the man sprinting up behind him to grab him by the scarf. John chokes harshly as he’s dragged into an alley, kicking and thrashing to no avail.

He’s thrown on the ground and he wants to get back up, fight for what little good it’d actually do, but there’s a clicking sound directly in front of his face and–

He freezes. Eyes go wide, skin chills far colder than the air alone could ever turn it. A pit forms in his gut and oh god he’s fucking helpless.

“Empty yer fuckin’ pockets,” demands the gunman, motioning down with the barrel of the firearm. He can barely see them as more than fuzzy silhouettes and he realizes that he’s lost his glasses.

He pulls his wallet and phone free shakily, laying them gently on the ground before raising his hands up in surrender. He watches the man who grabbed him go through his wallet, and he hears a scoff.

“Twenn’y bucks?” The man slurs exasperatedly. “Yer life ain’t worth twenn’y, son. Ah shit… we could sell ya! I got a guy needs a good piece’a meat to throw ‘round in his dog fights. Should see the way the mutts fight over fresh food. Y’look like good bait.”

John blinks rapidly, eyes wide and panicked as each word settles in. He tries to shuffle backward, but he’s grabbed by the ankle and yanked back.

“Bet he’d go for a few hundred. He don’t stink. Not a ton of meat on ‘im, but there’s enough,” the gunman muses. “Shit, Gordy, we might as well. Fuckin’ twenty bucks… Ain’t even worth the effort to–”

John hears a sound like fabric flapping, and suddenly everything goes silent.

Silent, until he hears you.

“Howdy ho, boys!” You greet, though your tone couldn’t be further from inviting. “Say, what’s got two idiot fucks like yourselves out tonight, eh?”

John pats at the ground, desperate to find his glasses. He needs to see this- needs to see you. His heart pounds in his ears so loudly that he can’t hear what the men say to you, only the sounds of shrill, agonized screaming. Something warm splats against his cheek and a deep, unsettling feeling in his bones tells him that it’s blood.

“C’mon, boys! It’s not that bad!” He hears you chuckle, followed by a flash of red and more howls of pain. “You guys! It’s not like I’m, oh, I dunno, feeding you to a pack of dogs?”

As he scrambles, he feels the cracked lenses of his glasses and puts them on in time to see just what you’d done.

His assailants kneel on the ground, their arms laying next to them. He swears he sees bones jutting out of their legs.

You’re elbow deep in one’s chest, smiling sadistically with every crunch and squelch as you rip free a blood drenched length of bone and shreds of muscle.

His stomach should churn at the sight of you shoving the gunman’s body to the ground. It folds in half without a spine to support it, and it’s objectively the most terrifying thing he’s ever seen. The other man whispers to himself, which must really piss you off. He sees it in your eyes. Yet, he’s not scared. Not of you.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?” You muse as you stare down at the man.

John can hear him reciting a prayer.

“God? No.” You kneel down to pat his cheek, staining his skin a deep red. “No god. The only one in the sky is me.”

He watches you wedge your hands into the man’s mouth, effortlessly ripping his jaw and head apart, splitting him down the length of his neck.

John watches in a mix of awe and horror as you continue tearing all the way down through the chest cavity. There’s a sick look in your eyes. Like you’d done this before.

Like you were comfortable doing this.

So why the fuck wasn’t he afraid when your gaze flickered up to him? Why did the shakes of his body quell the minute your blood stained hands reached down to loosen the scarf still tight from when he’d been dragged?

You’re drenched in blood. The pungent liquid soaks you, drips down your collar and into your suit. It’s all over your face, coating your hair, resting thick on your eyelashes.

His hands come to settle at your cheeks, thumbs smoothing through the viscera as he gazes up at you in awe. Your grip on his arms is featherlight at most, and he’s amazed.

You are a creature of unfathomable violence. You have ripped and torn through an incalculable amount of flesh, committed sins far greater than even his mind full of historical horrors could imagine, and yet…

You hold him as though you’re afraid to break him.

Even as you gather him in your arms and fly away, you’re so gentle with him. Considerate and kind, courteous and caring as you bring him home. Your boots leave bloody prints across the hardwood floor of his bedroom as you walk him to the bathroom. You’re on autopilot and that nagging voice in your mind berates you for prioritizing some simple mud person over yourself, over the thrill of the kill.

“Are you hurt?” You hear him ask, and it leaves you deeply confused. Are you, The fucking Homelander, hurt? Are you, indestructible force that you are, in pain?

He forces you to sit on the edge of the bathtub as he scrambles around for supplies. You’re not sure why you let him move you around. Hell, you’re not even sure why you let him wash the blood from you.

Worse yet, you let him strip your upper body bare.

You let him see the truth of your suit and what you lack beneath. You’ve got the power of a god, certainly, but you’re so regular underneath the facade. But you can’t find it in yourself to care as he wipes you clean with a warm, wet cloth. Not with the way he holds the back of your head and removes the evidence of just how far your love for him will push you.

At some point your eyes lock and his hands stop moving.

Time stills, but he does not. He leans forward and takes you in a kiss so soft that you wonder if it even counts. Just a peck at first, barely even a graze of his flesh against yours. When you don’t pull away, he comes back, this time brushing his lips to yours with the slightest bit of pressure. His lips are soft, his kisses unsure until you finally reciprocate.

Then?

Oh, then he devours you with a need fit to rival your own. His arm wraps around your upper body and pulls you against him, all while your own hands scramble to grab at him. Your breaths mingle together, fanning hot and heavy against each other. He tastes blood on your lips, and you taste the remnants of his afternoon coffee. The scent of iron mixed with him surrounds you, and god it is the most exquisite aroma.

His taste, his scent, his touch, his sweet little gasps…

You want it all.

He pulls away once he, fragile human that he is, gets dizzy. John giggles breathlessly against your mouth, tongue sliding over his lower lip to lap at your lingering taste. You smile in return, indulging in something you’ve never quite felt before. His hands still roam, and you’ve a pretty good idea of exactly where this night will end up once he’s got the rest of that pesky blood wiped from you. For now, though, you’re satisfied even if you’re not entirely satiated.

After all, you’ve truly proven yourself to be–

“My hero…”

#homelander x reader #homelander #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #antony starr #the boys #this is hands down my most fav x reader to have written #this prompt was so fun

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irondadfics · 30 days

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So, I want some fics where Peter hides his identity from Tony and the Avengers, especially with identity shenanigans. I need something to read all night, after all. This includes fics where he's an intern. Longer fics would be appreciated! Only on ao3 please, my Kindle Paperwhite can't go on FF.net due to Cloudflare.

Fics that I already know about (so don't recommend them):

Hidden Truths by lostintheclouds321

Coffee, Interns, and Other Mysteries by sabertoothhousecat

Intern Spider by Emily_F6

Rise from the Ashes; Just to See You Again by Milstrim

Throwing Caution to the Wind by violetsunflowers (violet_sunflowers)

Just a friendly neighborhood spider by sarcasmismyweapon

Cluless is My Middle Name by pandaluna

Chasing a Spider by pandaluna

Adopting Identities by Thisisentertaining

Finding Home by Pink_Sunsets

Evasion by gammathetaalpha

Martian Child by Phiod_Muse

here’s some recommendations

Missing Links by spagbol99

The Rogues are back; Tony Stark couldn't even be mad about it - it was his idea after all. He's an Avenger and that means protecting the Earth at any cost - even if he has to deal with a certain star-spangled man and his sullen sidekick. After all, he's been through worse in his life; the loss of his wife and the disappearance of his son 12 years ago. Compared to that, this would be a walk in the park. Bucky Barnes is back on US soil as a free man. But freedom is more than just physical. On top of that, Steve is desperate for him to be the man he was before. The only problem is; that man is long dead. Peter Parker has been through the mill but he knows he just had to adapt, roll with the (many) punches and keep going. Spider-man is his safe place now, the one time he could truly feel like himself. Like he is making a difference. He'd make sure no one would suffer like he has, even if he has to track down the perpetrator himself.

Thunder and Attrition by magniloquentChanteuse

Peter Parker had been Spider-Man for five months and things were looking up. The beautiful and intelligent Gwen Stacy was showing interest in him. He found budding friendships with the Avengers. His reputation was growing in New York City. Spider-Man seemed to be at the top of his game and Peter Parker was finally regaining his footing after the death of his Uncle Ben. But as Gwen lamented his lack of attentiveness, the Avengers sniffed around Spider-Man's secret identity, and a mysterious man with a strange power and a terrifying plot emerged, Peter realized that he still had a lot to learn about leading this life he'd chosen. And with tragedy poised over his head, ready to fall, Peter was going to need to learn fast.

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Homecoming AU. Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway. So he leaves. Simple. Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

#fic rec list #fic rec #secret identity #the avengers

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hsllfirescoopsreblogs · 2 months

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╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all steve rogers stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!)

MASTERLIST • MARVEL MASTERLIST • 04/16/24

: ̗̀➛ code blue by @bonky-n-steeb

✮ Steve is angry on you for behaving recklessly and you decide to let him take his anger out on you in a very unprofessional way...

: ̗̀➛ oh captain my captain by @starryevermore

✮chris knows how much you enjoy captain america, so he makes sure you live out all of your fantasies. (chris evans pretending to be steve rogers)

: ̗̀➛ it’s you that i lie with by @lipstickbisous

✮pt 1- steve rogers realizes that his love for you is unparalleled, but when he chooses to return to you by the lake, he receives a certain visit from the time variance authority

: ̗̀➛ mr. perfectly fine by @sparkleofpizza

✮Hello, Mr. perfectly fine, how’s your heart after breaking mine?” - Taylor Swift (Mr. Perfectly Fine)

: ̗̀➛ @espinosaurusrexex

☾ forever, of course

✮Steve has a crush on you but your flirty character isn’t making things easy for him. Now he even has to marry you to please a 6-year-old superfan of his. Whether that’s a good plan or not, isn’t quite clear for Steve yet.

☾ watchful eyes

✮When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

: ̗̀➛ something new by @buckyownsmylife

✮The one where Steve moved onto another woman’s arms after the blip, but now that you’re back…

: ̗̀➛ back to you by @literaryavenger

✮You've always been there for Steve, and now you're watching him go back to the girl he always wanted.

: ̗̀➛ hideout by @ronearoundblindly

✮Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

: ̗̀➛ he’s just not into you by @sergeantbarnessdoll

✮Steve isn’t into Sharon, but he’s in Y/N.

: ̗̀➛ to know him is to love him by @anonymityisfunwriter

✮ to know steve rogers is to love him. to know him is to keep handing over your heart over and over again. to know him is to be broken by him.

: ̗̀➛ airbag by @ichorai

✮ five time steve tries to propose to you, and one time he actually does.

: ̗̀➛ lift by @str-spangled-banner

✮ You confess to Steve that you’ve always wanted to do the Dirty Dancing lift. Somehow, he agrees to do it with you.

: ̗̀➛ caught by @moonlightyeager

✮ you and steve get caught

: ̗̀➛ you’re stuck with me by @your-eternal-lies

✮ As his perfectly normal civilian neighbour, you’ve always been secretly curious about the Captain. Getting to know him while trapped together in your building’s elevator, however, definitely wasn’t on the agenda.

: ̗̀➛ hangry by @just-another-blog-of-fluff

hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3

#steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers series #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff

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oopspeter · 8 months

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We'll never have sex

SUMMARY: Returning from a year long mission should be a relief, but the terrors from those hard months have followed you back home. Struggling to find comfort in your old ways, a certain co-worker introduces you to his own salvation-- distraction.

WARNINGS: 16+ rating for mature themes, blood, allusions to torture, foul language, minor to medium injury descriptions, weapons and violence.

WC: 3.6K

NOTES: First fic! Please let me know what you think-- it hasn't been proofread very well.

"Are you taller than the last time I saw you?" You tease, in awe of his largely built physique.

"I guess everything finally loosened after being off of the ice for so long," Bucky says rather non-chalant.

"Has the giant stick finally fallen out of your ass then?" You quip with a cheeky grin.

"Never," he shakes his head with an equally matched smile.

"And decided to evolve from that 'lord and saviour' haircut?" You motion to his new trim.

"I've decided that look only suits the holiest of men, which of course I don't qualify for," he instinctively runs his fingers through the chopped locks.

The sound of a heavy heel echoes on the polished concrete, a grand entrance for the one and only Tony Stark.

"Hermit and the recluse!" His hands spread out like an awful gesture of welcome.

"I thought you were too old for modern hip-hop references, Anthony," you push your lips into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Puh-lease, as if gramps here even knows what I'm yapping about," Tony points his thumb over his shoulder at Bucky as he walks past.

Even though he was totally right, Bucky also refrained from producing any sort of a reaction.

"Here to spread anything useful or are you just trying to be a dick?" Your current distaste for the playboy was evident in your tone, but it was nothing new. Deep down inside you did feel a sense of protectiveness towards him, as did he to you.

Opening the large, stainless steel refrigerator that looked like it could hold at least six months worth of food at a single time, he snatched a bottle of lemon water before slamming the door shut again.

"Since you're back, Banner wants to do a few procedural run throughs just to check up on your health," he flicks the cap off of the bottle which goes flying into the bin. "Oh, and the Star Spangled Banner would like to see you as well-- not the Bruce Banner, but the Star Spangled one."

"You can just say Steve, you know that right?" You squint at him as he daintily sips from the mouthpiece of the bottle.

"Just proving my vocabulary has extended further than the most generic white-man name in America," he shrugs coolly, and you kinda' wanna punch him in his smug face.

The ex-soldier stands as still as stone beside you during your exchange with Tony, if you couldn't see the gentle rise and fall of his chest you'd think he was dead with the lack of noise emitting. Choosing to ignore him, the man takes the cue to leave the room, still feverishly sipping the bottle of lemony water. Once the sound of his heavy heels disappeared out of the kitchen and down the hallway, you noticed how Bucky's shoulders relax.

"Bet you're dreading being back, huh?" You allow to corner of your mouth to turn upwards slightly.

"I could say the same thing to you."

There's an unspoken tension in the air, something far from awkward but not any nearer to comfortable either. Had it been a year and a half since you last saw him? On his six month mission to Angola, at the fourth month you had been sent off on a mission of your own in the Pacific islands to track down an old HYDRA associate who had formulated a plan to obliterate the entire planet from his tiny laboratory in the middle of bum-fuck no where.. no biggie, right?

The seemingly short mission of yours turned into a solo, twelve month exhibition trying to chase a man who was half the size of yourself and almost as clever. Eventually when you caught up to him and the few friends he had made along the way, the year job was over in thirty seconds. Underwhelming.

Sure, you’d escaped death a few times, but not by the man who you’d been hunting. Turns out there were a few other undesirables along your path that you just couldn’t miss the opportunity to lock up. Maybe that was a bit of a roadblock, too.

“I don’t want to keep Bruce waiting, I’ll uh.. see you later?” It was a hopeful question.

“Certainly,” he nods his head in reply, and your heart skips a beat or two.

You blame the heart issues on being so emotionally disconnected from anyone for the past twelve months.

The appointment with Bruce was swift, you chat for more of the time than you did actually doing the check up. He prescribed you with a few pain meds, re-dressed some wounds you’d brought back with you and altered your fitness plan to better accommodate your new injuries. Bruce had a way when it came to making people feel safe, despite the fact any moment a big green monster could jump out and crush you.

There were the usual questions like, how has your diet been-- have you been getting enough sleep-- are the night terrors still occurring-- any unusual pains-- are you sexually active?

The answer has always been something along the lines of nutritious, not at all, all of the time, plenty and no.

It's hard to maintain a sex life being away all the time and locking yourself in your room when you are around, even harder trying to manage a relationship. Sure, you've dated before, dabbled in a love life or two before inevitably deciding it wasn't for you. It never will be for you.

It's far past nightfall by the time you actually decide to leave your room, walking barefoot through the long, cold halls of the tower before finding yourself in the kitchen. Your stomach growls to protest your hunger, throat scratchy and dry as symptoms of your thirst. The automatic lights flicker on the moment you walk through the threshold into the kitchen. A pristine, clean kitchen soon to become the next victim of your horrific cooking skills.

First of all you grab a glass from it's respective cabinet, running the water from the tap to fill it up. Your lips meet the mouth of the glass and you drink, quenching your thirst with a relieved sigh. The water here is refreshing, hygienic, in great contrast to what you've been drinking for the past year. Feeling the coolness in your palms you go to take another sip.

It's metallic, tastes like you've drunk straight from a muddy puddle. The water they have just thrown on your face definitely mixed with the blood dripping from your nose and clinging to your lips. Coughing up a mix of flehm and mucky water, you thrash around in the flimsy wooden chair you've been restrained to.

The room smells of mildew, wet dog fur, and something that is heavily rotting. You can blame the stink of decomposition on whatever is beneath that blue tarp tucked away in the far corner of the room. There's no light aside from a single bulb eerily hanging above your head like some old, cliché horror movie.

Your wrists hurt more than usual and this time you can't blame it on early on-set arthritis, but instead the finger-marks imprinted in a purplish green and the thick rope that rubs against them. The silhouette hiding in the dark approaches you in the light, the indistinguishable appearance morphing into that of a tall man with a mask that hid his face and resembled a smiling monkey. It would be the least menacing thing in the room if he wasn't wielding a knife as large as your forearm.

It's silent aside from the obnoxious drip from the ceiling on the tarp. Drip. Drip. Drip. The face of the knife shines in your eye, reflecting from the light of the bulb hanging from the ceiling. His feet drag along the crusty floor, it's evident he has a limp by the way he carries himself towards you. If you had a free leg or two you'd drive your foot straight into his knee to completely eliminate that problem for him, forever; but how tightly they had bound you prevented even a nudge of movement.

The masked man is close enough for your knees to touch, taking the tip of the sharp knife and dragging it across your cheek to leave a light mark that brings blood in it's wake. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of even a slight whimper which evidentially leaves him unsatisfied, because the knife leaves your face and dives into your--

"Hey, are you okay?"

The glass in your hand shatters completely, hundreds of shards diving and piercing the skin on your palm, the water that was left now drenching your socks. Were you holding it so tightly that the sudden fright made it break?

Swinging around with a crimson hand you find an equally shocked Bucky, lips slightly ajar as a physical indication of his surprise. Not even a moment later he's rushing over with a dishtowel to wrap around your bleeding hand, the white terry cloth quickly becoming stained. You can tell he's panicked by the rise and fall of his shoulders, yet you are struggling to even breathe.

The rotting and mildew is replaced by lemon disinfectant and lingering cooked onion. A dark, dank room now replaced by a pristine, white kitchen. The man in front of you is not a man who wears the mask of a monkey, but instead the one and only Bucky Barnes.

"Fuck, fuck," he has the towel wrapped so tightly around your palm. "We need Banner--"

"No!" You interrupt him, finally finding your own voice. "I don't want to wake him, please don't disturb him."

"Then what do I do?" You can tell he is trying his best to keep his composure and not snap at you for being so stubborn like he has so many times before.

"Get the kit from under the sink, wait for the bleeding to calm and I can take the remaining shards out of my hand," you instruct.

"I will take the remaining shards out of your hand," he corrects. "Keep pressure on it please."

His callous hand places your other hand on top of the towel, pushing the back of it down to apply the same pressure he was before. He's rushing to grab the kit from beneath the kitchen sink, taking his hand to shove all of the bleach bottles aside instead of carefully rummaging through.

You've already made your way to the island, taking a seat at the bar stool and leaning your elbow against the marble. It fucking stings. You have no idea how you transported all the way back into the room after shoving the memory so far down to the depths where you thought it could never recover.

You take in his evening look, those baggy grey sweatpants a signature at-home look of his. The creased t-shirt a dark navy and border lining a compression tee from the way it hugs his torso and biceps so tightly. There are bags under his eyes like there always is, and his brows are pulled tightly together in deep concern.

Your heart does that concerning thing again. Perhaps the bloodloss?

He stands beside you at the end of the counter, the fine marble a slight barrier between your bodies. He unzips the kit with such force you're surprised the entire thing hasn't ripped. He's panicked, you can tell.

"Hey," your uninjured hand reaches out to lightly touch your wrist. "Breathe, it's okay, I'm not dying."

Bucky pauses, and he isn't breathing-- until he does. His tense shoulders drop and his face finally relaxes, then he moves your hand back to apply pressure to the towel.

The silence between you is intense and lasts for what feels like forever. You can tell there's a question on the tip of his tongue that he's too afraid to ask, and you've got a feeling you're not quite sure how to answer it either why. You're not sure why you broke the glass, or why you became absent for so long, or why you were back in that room again.

"Why are you awake?" He interrupts your escape into your own head.

"I couldn't sleep," you answer honestly. "Neither could you?"

Bucky shakes his head in reply. "No, I couldn't."

"Never can." You both say in unison.

There's a pause.

"I'm sorry for scaring you," he doesn't look you in the eyes, instead stares at the red cloth covering your hand.

"You didn't mean to," you shake your head with reassurance, offering a small smile to show that you aren't upset with him at all.

"What if I did?" The corner of his lip upturns.

"Then we'd have a bit of a problem, wouldn't we?" Your tone is playful.

"How about we leave the sparring for after, when all of the glass is out of your hand y'know," he shrugs jokingly.

"Right," you nod your head in agreeance, pulling the towel back to reveal the palm of your hand.

It's definitely not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but not the worst either. There's only one significantly deep cut but the rest just brushed the surface few layers of skin. Bucky is quick to get to work with the tweezers, disinfectant and plasters.

As he works on mending your hand you can't help but look at his face.

Compared to the last time you saw him there's a scar or two more on his right cheekbone, a significant healed slash across the bridge of his nose, a few extra wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. The stubble on his jaw, chin and upper lip is well maintained and lacks intensity on his neck. The cropped look suits him, hints of grey coming through as a reminder of his aging body now that he has been off the all the chemicals and the ice.

Your eyes trace his side profile, from his hairline to his forehead, eyebrows to the tip of his nose, nose to his lips, lips to his chin and then back to his lips. They're pursed as a habit of concentration, blue eyes trained on the task at hand (literally).

Though it stings, it's practically painless with the way he leans into the counter to reach you. Your heart is skipping again, but this time you think you know why.

"Done," he claps his hands together. "I definitely recommend seeing Banner tomorrow though, even though I spend my weekends fixing myself up I sure as hell ain't a doctor."

"You did a mighty fine job anyways, Mr Barnes," you admire his handy work, though you definitely need that deeper cut a proper look at tomorrow. It'll definitely stop the bleeding and keep it all together for the meantime.

The tension resumes it's place between you, it's palpable.

Your stomach growls in the quiet room.

"Are you hungry?" He quirks a brow.

"Yeah, I was initially in here to cook," you nod your head and rub your forearm with your uninjured hand sheepishly. "Kinda' foiled now." You wave your now bandaged hand.

"Can I take you somewhere?" He's polite, and looks at you like an expectant puppy. You can't help but grin.

"Sure."

It’s a stones throw, or two, from the tower before you finally arrive at your destination. The roaring of his motorbike falls to silence as he uses his heel to push out the kickstand, leaning the bike on it and throwing his leg over to hop off. Reaching his hand out he offers to help you down, which you gracefully accept, placing your hand in the palm of his own and jumping out of your seat.

Dinner was gorgeous. Some little, family owned, Thai place hidden in Brooklyn, where the women knew Bucky’s name and the men shook his hand. They presented you both with a free entrée. It sure as hell made you forget about that little episode in the kitchen. The second the food met your tongue you practically melted into your seat, and Bucky laughed as if to say ‘I know, right!’

Conversation flowed easily, any moment of silent was just a cause of food being stuffed into your mouths. He didn’t ask why you couldn’t sleep, or why you were in such a state and broke the glass. Bucky knew you’d tell him when you were ready.

A shared plate of Khao Niew Ma Maung and a more than generous tip later, you find yourself standing outside of the door to your room. Laughter echoes down the empty, dimly lit hall as you keep at least a foot between you— not daring to even brush arms. His strong featured are illuminated by the shadows, and that funny feeling rests heavily in your chest.

There’s a blanket of silence that falls between you two, not wanting this quiet moment to end. You can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and if the super soldier hearing was true he’d definitely be able to hear the heavy beat of your heart.

“Thank you,” you break the silence. “I— tonight was lovely.”

Bucky hums. “It was.”

Neither of you move a muscle, an invitation lingering on the tip of your tongue.

You open your mouth to speak. “Do you—”

“Yes, please.”

Inside your room is sweet, the bed is made with the cosiest of sheets, books stack shelves accompanied by little trinkets you display proudly. Flicking a match you ignite your pumpkin-scented candle for a source of light, the blinds already automatically pulled down on the floor-to-ceiling windows. If the crisp, untouched sheets were not enough of a sign that you couldn’t find rest, perhaps the growing bags under your eyes were.

Respectfully he kicks his shoes off at the door before stepping on your plush carpet, shrugging off his own jacket and neatly placing it on the back of your desk chair. He’s never been in your room, no one has besides Banner who stumbled in panicked to find you a shaking mess on the floor. That’s a story for another time.

You lay on top the bedspread and rest your head on the plush pillow, hands intertwining on your stomach as you stare at the ceiling. Letting out a gentle sigh you feel the mattress dip to the right of your feet.

“You can lay with me, don’t be shy.”

He’s hesitant to do so, but you can feel the warmth of his body as he lays parallel to yourself. You can smell his cologne and it’s much nicer than your expensive candle.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he motions with his hand that you can see in your peripherals.

“You thought I’d be happy with the Stark furniture they so kindly gifted us all when we first moved in?” You put a certain emphasis on the word, which causes him to chuckle. The bed shakes under his weight, and the butterflies flutter.

“I think I broke the bed frame on the third day,” he shuffles beside you, you can tell there’s a smile on his face that matches yours.

“Holy shit, who did you do?”

“No— no— not from that!” He’s quick to jump in and defend himself, evidently flustered. “Turns out the billionaire couldn’t spare the few extra dollars to buy something that could hold 260lbs.”

“So what, you were just sleeping and it collapsed beneath you?” You turn your head slightly to glance at his face.

“I mean I kinda’ face planted on it after I got home from a frustrating mission, and it just splintered beneath me.”

“Oh god,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle a giggle. “I would’ve paid to see that.”

“I was pissed,” he shakes his head, turning it slightly to look into your eyes. “I stormed through the complex and kicked open Stark’s door.”

“Did you get a new bed frame?”

“No, my mattress is still on the floor.”

“I think you need to make another complaint to head office then.”

“You bet,” he shakes his head with a heavy sigh, but the upturn of his mouth tells you that it’s the least of his worries right now.

There’s a certain tension in the air as his cerulean eyes drown in your own, nothing but the crackling of the candle wick and your combined breaths filling the void.

“Thank you, for taking me out tonight,” your eyes trace his jaw to his lips before flicking back to his own. “I—I wasn’t doing too well.”

“I know,” he nods his head in understanding. “I should be thanking you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mrs Nguyen so happy to see me walk through that door with someone other than myself.”

“Is that why she’d check on our table every five minutes despite the fact we were the only people dining there?”

He chuckles, running his hand through his chopped hair. “Seems so.”

For the first time in a very long time, you feel your lids getting heavy as your body sinks further into the mattress. There’s a warmth rather than that awful cool you feel so often, and it’s starting to become a challenge to keep your eyes open.

After what feels like an eternity of struggle you lift your head slightly to notice how Bucky’s lashes now rest on his cheeks, lips parted to let out quiet breaths. And suddenly in this moment you are safe, and everything is okay.

Your lips meet his forehead in a soft, gentle kiss. “Thank you.” Before you rest your head a little closer to his own and fall into a sleep you’d been praying for.

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whore-for-chris-evans · 2 months

Text

I lack the wisdom required to write this fic, but I hope someone skilled enough takes the initiative to.

Have any of you ever thought about Steve Rogers waking up from the ice and not going back to fighting?

He wakes up, Fury tells him he needs him, and Steve makes a choice for himself and says no, at least for now. Fury respects that choice, Steve gets a therapist (a good one, not Dr. Christina Passive-Aggressive Raynor) and uses his second chance in life to do the things he actually wanted to. Art. History. Maybe he goes to college again.

On top of all this, he figures out the internet (come on, he's a smart man. He's not gonna be clueless forever) and you know golden boy Steve would jump at the chance of using social media for a good cause.

And I also think Steve would be great at debates. The fucker (affectionate) has a way with words. He's also a nerd. He's well informed and has quick thinking skills. He gets into online fights a lot. Tweets and retweets a hell lot.

Gets Tumblr. (Steve would love tumblr don't lie to me) Reblogs things like it's his last day on earth. (But somehow makes sure to utilise the tag feature perfectly so everything is organised).

Some dudebro makes a misogynistic comment and he's there to verbally drop kick Dudebro into the next week.

Somebody makes an offhand comment regarding something historical and Steve gets his trusty motorcycle and drives his star spangled fine ass to the library and the next day there's a video circulating the internet of him citing sources (down the page number, paragraph number and line number) to prove why the offhand comment was grossly incorrect.

Someone angrily reposts his tweet saying "THAT IS NOT THE AMERICA OF MY DREAMS TALKING" and Steve proceeds to respond with "I'm a person. I can't be a country. What I can try to be is a good human being." and then absolutely demolishes the other person. (Yes to Steve reclaiming himself as Steve Rogers and not Captain America)

He also posts art. Like, everyday. But it gets slightly overshadowed by everything else he does and says.

He has a separate Instagram. For more personal stuff. Pictures of himself? Rarely. Pictures of birds and animals and trees and sunrises and sunsets? Absolutely. Pictures of the cat and the dog he rescued and now is a proud dad to? Everyday. (He's definitely a both person.) Maybe someday he'll step out of his comfort zone and start going live. Everyone loves him. Everyone rational, that is.

He stays away from tiktok.

2014. Fury shows up at his apartment and gets shot. Something stirs in Steve's brain as the masked assassin catches his shield. Those eyes seem familiar. Despite his reservations, he jumps back into the fray. The whole CATWS thing happens.

He finds Bucky. Brings him home. Fights tooth and nail for the charges against him to be dropped. He's got 70 years of military back-pay, he's got no problem getting the best lawyers (Matt Murdock is definitely among them) for the love of his life.

Anyways Bucky is set free. Moves in with Steve. People start gushing over him too. He stays out of Steve's internet life at first, but then the old Bucky comes back little by little. Maybe he'll join the livestreams. Maybe he'll make an Instagram of his own to post more of Steve.

People, being people, start shipping them. The two of them have a good laugh over it.

One day, out of nowhere, Steve shows up on one of his livestreams wearing a wedding ring. Comments go crazy. Bucky joins him on the couch, throws an arm around his shoulder, flashing his own matching band, smirking lazily.

The rest is mayhem. But they don't care. For Steve, life is perfect.

[I'd love to see Steve Rogers vs internet troll he'd eat that up]

I hope the good Steve Rogers authors see this. This has potential I think.

#steve rogers #steve and bucky #bucky barnes #stucky #steve rogers and bucky barnes #captain america #marvel #avengers #chris evans #sebastian stan

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olsenmyolsen · 9 months

Text

Feeling Used

master list

dark master list

MCU AU (Vampire Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: When you are rescued by The Avengers you find it hard to do anything else but be lost in your thoughts.

Word Count: 2.5K

TW: Mentions of Hydra, Nightmares, Fluff

Reader POV

It wasn't always like this.

I wasn't always like this.

I had a life before I was bitten. Just like I had a life after the bite. Don't get me wrong, it was worse. But Hydra kept me alive. Only after they had their fun when they knew I couldn't fight back. Over and over again.

But that was a life.

My life.

Until a group of uniform-wearing people picked me up. The Avengers was their name. Or at least that's what the guard screamed outside my cell before a stream of red mist threw him like a pebble.

She was the first person I saw when the doors opened. Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. I remember as her powers disappeared into thin air before she greeted me slowly as the others ran by to free the rest.

Knowing her now, I could've made myself look stronger back then, but I cowered myself in the corner, afraid she was just like anyone else who entered my cell.

But she persisted even after I swung at her and flew myself across the room. She came forward. Strong and confident. Although once my pointed teeth shined in the swinging light above us, I saw the switch in her eyes. It was something new. It wasn't the same old scared look I had been used to in the past.

Once again. Knowing her now, I could've explained the whole teeth situation better.

The last thing I remember happening in that cell was Wanda's green eyes looking into my black ones. Her telling me her name in an accent I couldn't place, and then, like magic, a memory I had long forgotten about was in my mind before I was out like a light.

According to the star-spangled man, I was the last "enhanced" Hydra had left. Switch out that word for monster, and he would've been right. But that's not what I wanted to be.

I never wanted that.

Time wore on once the Avengers found a spot for me. After tests, a meeting with a scary one-eyed man, a holding period in a newly furnished cell, and training, I was moved to the benchwarmers. At least, that's what The Black Widow calls me.

I was given a room. Bland but a place I could make my own. The room was on the same floor as Natasha and Wanda. The latter was the only one ever to try and speak to me as if I didn't have these.. what was the word speedster used.. abilities. She was one of the very few so far who chose to spend time with me no matter how little once the test and training was done.

She talked to me. Really talked to me. Maybe it was because we both came from Hydra. Or perhaps because she felt like she had an obligation, what with rescuing me and all. I don't know. May..maybe she just wanted to know she wouldn't... Wanda wouldn't use me. Right?

Oh, come on, freak.

Why not? You read the files. She used the deepest fears against her teammates before. What would stop her now from doing the same to you?? She probably knows them already.

That's why she's been so nice to you since you arrived. That's why you're not even on the team. You'll never be good enough for them. Or her. You're only here so they can pick you apart and throw you away. She's just here to make sure you don't go.

No, Wanda wouldn't do that. She wouldn't.. she.. she saved me. Wanda saved me!

Knock

"Y/N!" I jolt up from the floor, covered in sweat, at the sound of Wanda's voice outside my door. I quickly take in my surroundings before realizing I'm in my room. My room. Avengers compound. Second floor. I'm safe.

I touch my face and feel the tear tracks that are left behind. "Y/N?" Wanda calls out again before another series of knocks land. "One second!" I yell back in a less than put-together manner. With a deep breath out and take a moment to collect myself. Running a hand through my hair before pushing it and those dark thoughts to the back of my mind.

"It's okay. It wasn't real." I silently remind myself before attempting to stand on my legs before falling onto the bed. "Y/N?" Wanda gently calls out again. "Are you okay?" I don't want to lie, so I don't respond. Instead, I pull a new shirt towards me and quickly change before making my way to the door to see a worried-looking witch.

I open my mouth, but no words come out as Wanda's hands land on the sides of my face. "Oh Detka.." I still don't know what that means, but hearing it this tone hurts me. "What's wrong?" I lift my hands to hers slowly bring them down.

She's using you!

No, she isn't.

Wanda quickly looks up into my eyes, but I look away from the stare to down the hall to her open bedroom door.

Most people in this building wouldn't be able to hear it, but I do. The outro to a show I've heard numerous times called The Dick Van Dyke Show playing on low from Wanda's TV. The bag of chips sitting on her bed, slowly crumbling down. Or even Wanda's breathing slightly increases when she follows my gaze before looking back at me. Wanda clears her throat before asking. "Would you like to join me?"

"No- I-"

"No, Y/N. Come on, it'll be fun." Wanda excitedly pulls a smile and looks up at me. "Please?" Her lips form into a pout that I see right through, but I give in. "Okay." In an instant, the witch is pulling me to her room and using her powers to shut the door behind us.

Once the door closes, I take in the surroundings. The only quarters I've seen the inside of is my own. Wanda's is drastically different from mine. She has color and a specific pop that mine lacks. Her identity is all over the room. In fact, it's as bright as she is.

Although, thank goodness she isn't any brighter than the sun, or I wouldn't be able to see her.

Little vampire joke.

Hmm? I move my head to see Wanda looking at me, holding her lip between her teeth. Her heartbeat has picked up once again. "Everything okay?" I ask. Wanda nods her head at me before waving me over to the edge of the bed. "Come sit." I take one step before: "Oh no, no, wait!" Wanda stands and stops my movement with her hand. "Wasn't I supposed to invite you in?!" Wanda lowers her hand but looks at me with such intensity, but I have no idea what she means. "Huh?"

"Vampires, aren't they- like- you uh, vampires can only be allowed to places if they're invited. Right?" Everything I was thinking before this moment is melting away the more I look at the witch's face. "Where did you hear that from?" I manage to ask without laughing.

"Well, Pietro said that you- oh my God, never mind!" Wanda puts her head into her hands and laughs, letting me break as well. "Don't listen to my brother!"

"Well, I wasn't going to start now." I take a seat next to Wanda. Close enough to be comfortable and not touching. This seems to satisfy Wanda as she starts the episode of the show over. "Have you seen this?" I shake my head no as the introduction with a tune begins to play. "Um.. before.. Well, before, this wasn't something that existed, and then it's not like Hydra had time for enhanced like me (monsters) to be watching.. whatever this is called." I smile and force a chuckle at the end of my sentence as I look at Wanda. She has a frown on her face that confuses me, but before I can comment on it, she looks away from me and to the screen as the show begins.

I'm Weak.

"Hmm?" Wanda looks over at me. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh." Wanda's eyes stay on me before she once again looks at the man on screen. "It's called Bewitched. The show we're watching." I look over to Wanda, who holds her hands together. "Before Hydra and the bombings.. these shows. These American shows were what my family had. Whatever Papa didn't sell, we got to watch and learn for one more night. This." Wanda gestures to the screen. "This was always one of my favorites." Wanda rubs her hands on her thighs. "It's why I always have them on. So I don't forget them."

Wanda turns to face me, and I see the tears in her eyes. "I never told anyone that." I scoot closer and, wrap my arms around the sad witch and hold her close.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Wanda," I say into the top of her head, knowing she'll hear me.

Seconds of holding her turn into minutes, not that I mind beca- "Y/N?" Wanda pulls out of the hug and looks up at me. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" I hesitate. Questions at Hydra were always a trick. "Sure." Wanda nods and wipes her eyes. "Do you like being here? At the compound." I nod almost immediately. "Anything better than Hydra, huh," Wanda says, making me smile and nod again. "Yeah."

"Can I ask another question?" The first didn't hurt, so why not? "Okay." Wanda turns her body more towards me now. "Do you trust me?" I hear Wanda's heartbeat pick up as she waits for my answer. But why do I wait? Of course, I trust Wanda. She helped me. She saved me. It's Wanda!

She's using you.

"I'm not!" Wanda speaks up with a wide-eyed look, slightly startling me. "Oh my God, Y/N, I'm sorry!"

What?? Did she just read my thoughts?

"No, Y/N! I didn't mean to. I normally don't. It's just your thoughts are so loud sometimes! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

I slowly move myself off the bed and start backing away from Wanda, who looks at me with a destroyed look. "I promise." She pleads. "Y/N, please." Wanda stands up and walks to me. For a second, when I blink, I see us back in Hydra's cell after she arrived with the rest of the team. "Y/N?" I close my eyes and focus on the one thing that matters right now.

"Repeat it," I ask. "What? I-" "The apology.. I believe you, Wanda, but please.."

I sense Wanda nod, and I listen to her as she voices her sorrows once again—every word she says with conviction and truth.

Especially when she says: "And you're not weak. Or a monster. I've fought monsters. They don't look like you." Wanda quickly smiles. "No matter what you think or what Hydra made you think. You're stronger than most people I've met in this line of work. Because of what you had before them. Before the bite. Is you. It's you, Y/N. I'll always remind you of that."

I open my eyes and run back into her arms. "Can I, uh, ask you something," I ask into the air floating around us. "Anything."

"You never have... or ever will use me, right?" I hold onto Wanda tighter because I know if I look into her eyes, I'll break down. "Never Y/N. I never have, and I never will." Truth. "Thank you." I hold her close and let the few happy thoughts I have fly around my brain.

"Read my thoughts, Wanda."

Wanda giggles at one of my favorite memories before her. "I know you didn't mean to read my thoughts before. It's okay, Witchy."

"Sometimes they just get too loud, and I can't help it. It happens to the others as well. But tonight, your nightmare- I just wanted to ensure you were okay."

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not because she saw my nightmare. I had a feeling. But because she cared enough to check on me.

"Thank you for waking me."

"Now Y/N. Can I ask you something?" I let out a shaky breath with a smile as my grip around Wanda loosens. "Sure."

"This isn't my question, but can you look at me?" I look down to see a smile on the witch's face. She pulls the ends of her sleeves down and wipes below my eyes. "Better." She says with another shining smile before it morphs into a soft, compassionate face. "This is a serious question. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Pietro says vampires can't have garlic. Is this true?" Wanda's lips crack into a smile just as mine do the same. The air in the room becomes lighter as her angelic laughs fly around. "No, it's not true."

"Stakes? True or false?" She asks as we find ourselves planting our butts in the middle of the bed. The complicated conversation and the show playing in the background become something we can look back on. "Wooden stakes. Yes. True." Wanda makes a hmm noise before offering me the Garlic and Herb bag of chips that's been sitting there since I got here. "The team. Do they trust me?"

"Bucky no. Natasha maybe. The rest, yes. But that's because you scare two of them." I tilt my head, confused. "Who do I scare? I've barely talked to them."

"Sam and Peter."

That makes sense. Wanda hums in agreement before taking some chips and placing them in her hand. "Besides flying, strength and powers. What else can you do?" Wanda innocently asks.

"I can turn into a bat."

"Shut up!! Really?!" I shake my head no and laugh to let her know I was joking. "Aww Y/N! That would've been so cool. And cute!!"

Cute!?

"Do your fangs hurt?" Wanda asks before eating her last chip. "Not me," I respond with a wide grin, showing off the fangs that, for some reason, I hear Wanda's heartbeat growing faster..?

"Wow." Wanda breaths out before she looks away from me and to the room around us. "Let's get more comfortable," Wanda suggests as she gets up and grabs the remote for her string lights, dimming them before moving to the top of her bed. Leaning her back against the headboard. "Come on." Wanda waves me over again.

Just like before, I get comfortable next to Wanda; however, where there was space between our bodies before it is now gone. As her thigh touches my own. "Is this okay?" Wanda asks me. I don't know whether she's referring to us touching or the new show she's putting on, but I nod.

I smile at the thought that this won't be the last time I watch TV with Wanda in her room. "It won't be." She smiles at me.

"Thank you, Wanda."

"You're welcome, Detka."

dividers by @/benkeibear

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lullabyes22-blog · 2 days

Text

Snippet - Puppy Love - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Sevika narrates a sad story...

tw: violence, gore, gang warfare

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"You have your city. Powder has no place in it. Let her have a normal life. In Piltover, with me."

Sevika stares a moment before a laugh spangles out. It's like rich, smoky music. In it, Vi hears echoes of a girlhood lost. She hears other things too. Disbelief, disdain. And the shock of epiphany, as if Sevika finally understands that Vi and Powder aren't simply sisters, but strangers to each other. Different species.

To Vi, Zaun is a black maw. To Powder, it is a cradle.

"A normal life?" Sevika repeats, when she can breathe without gulping. "With you? Do you even know what that means? Jinx would be a fucking fugitive. They'd throw her in the clink."

"I'd keep her safe! Get her across the sea." Vi's eyes glaze wetly. "We'd run away. Together."

"Yeah? Where would you go?"

"Wherever. It doesn't matter. Someplace warm. An island in Tereshni. With sun and sand. Or a fishing lodge in Bilgewater. Anything, as long as it's not here. She can paint, or build model ships, or—"

"You think it's that easy? Just pick up and start over?" Sevika's eyes are so dark the pupil and iris are indistinguishable. "What do you think she is, a fucking doll? Put her someplace new, and bam! She's fixed." She shakes her head. "Your sister's fucked beyond repair, Vi. There's no place for her anywhere. Except Zaun. Because our city gives her what she needs." She taps her temple. "Someplace to put all that chaos."

"That's not true! She doesn't have to be a monst—"

Vi breaks off, horrorstruck. She's spoken the forbidden truth. Her sister is a monster.

Just like Silco.

Sevika's eyes gleam cruelly. "Monster? That she is. No use making her into something else." Her chin tips. "Come to think, there was a kid who tried. After Silco took over the Drop, he'd hang around. Try to catch Jinx whenever she was alone. He'd show her toys he'd tinkered with. She'd show him her inventions. They'd be happy as clams." The reminiscence curdles into cynicism. "But whenever Silco showed up, Jinx clammed right up. Wouldn't leave his side. It didn't matter what the boy did or said. He might as well have been a pebble on the street. Something to make way for the man of the hour."

Realization judders through Vi.

"Ekko," she says.

"Yeah, that's right." Sevika snaps her fingers. "Ekko. The little man at Benzo's shop. He and Jinx had a thing, didn't they? Puppy love. I remember how they'd be off in the corner, doodling together. Always a few inches apart. Then he'd whisper something in her ear, and she’d light up like a birthday candle." A beat. "She sure wasn't smiling by the end. Neither was he."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, right. You were in the slammer." A faux-pitying sneer, before she sobers. "After Jinx came to live with Silco, he needed someone who could fine-tune her... talents. Take her knack for guns, and make it deadly. But the teachers he brought in, they couldn't handle her. Too scared. Too impatient. One of 'em went apeshit on her. Slapped her upside the head a couple times. She ended up with a busted lip. Silco found out, and, well. It's never wise to lay a hand on what's his."

Her once-over takes in the topography of Vi's bruised flesh. Vi braces for fresh mockery. It doesn't come. Sevika's features remain neutral; a look that's seen it all before.

"After the crew dumped the fucker's body," she goes on, "we decided to look closer to home. Found ourselves a local tinkerer. Old Giz, down at the Abattoir. Fine gunsmith. He'd done business with Silco before. Had the smarts and the patience to deal with a powderkeg like Jinx. Every week, he'd take her out to the scrapyards. Show her how to dismantle a firearm. How to build it back up from scratch. She gave him plenty of lip. Called him Geezer and made fun of his gimp. But she listened. Learned. Soon, she was building her own guns. Models with unique designs. Ones that made Giz's creations look like junk. Silco was real impressed. So were the rest of us. Until..." Sevika's jaw hardens. "Turns out, Giz was too much of a softie for his own good. Silco had been paying him a premium to give Jinx private lessons. But Giz, he'd turned his shop into a bona fide daycare. He let Ekko drop in whenever the kid pleased. Didn't mind having him underfoot, either. Boy had a way with tools. He'd sit and work with Jinx, and they'd chatter non-stop. Sometimes, they'd be too busy playing to work. Giz didn't mind. The way he saw it, the kids deserved to be kids."

Vi's throat works. "And—Silco found out."

"What can I say? He's a man who expects a bang for his buck. When he heard Giz had been letting Ekko hang around, he was none too happy. Giz had designed the security rigging at the Drop. And he knew where we stored the Shimmer. One slip-up, and our headquarters would be compromised. Silco was pissed. But he didn't think Ekko was trouble. So he let it slide. Told Giz not to make the same mistake twice." Her lips pull in tight. "Then Giz did something even stupider."

"What?"

"He left the schematics of the Drop's security at his workshop. Ekko, the little shit, found 'em. Took a good long look. Made his own copies. This was right around the time Jinx stopped taking her lessons with Giz. I don't know why. Maybe she got tired of his chatter. Maybe she found a better way to blow off steam. Whatever the case, Ekko didn't like it. He got it into his head that something fishy was going on. That maybe... Silco was hurting Jinx. He went from playing with her to pestering her. I'd see them sometimes on the rooftops. He'd be tugging her arm. Trying to get her to run away with him. But she wouldn't listen. Everytime Ekko pushed, she'd push back twice as hard. Eventually, he gave up." A beat. "Or so we thought."

A foreboding chill creeps in. "What happened?"

Sevika's eyes flick left and right, before resettling on Vi. "Ekko staged an... intervention. He got a bunch of brats from the Lanes together. They memorized the security checkpoints at the Last Drop. Then they decided to break inside, torch the Shimmer storehouse, and make a run for it—with Jinx in tow." She shakes her head. "The moron. I warned him to stay away. But he was gung-ho. Only fourteen, and Jinx was the moon to his sky. So, he and his gang—they snuck in at midday. Right when the guards changed shifts."

Vi's mind reels. She knows what comes next.

"It was a massacre. Jinx knew they were coming. Don't know how, exactly, but she knew. She went and told Silco. I remember them both in the barroom the night before. Him sitting at the counter. Her standing by his shoulder. Going on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. They had the same look. Same set to the mouth. The same fucking eye." Sevika's features shade into grimness. "The next day, Ekko and his gang snuck in. One of them stepped on a trigger wire. Set off a silent alarm. When they entered Silco's office, our guards were waiting. The punks didn't have a chance. Most were scrappers with switchblades and flashbangs. Silco's crew were trained militia. And they'd been armed with the brand-new guns Jinx had designed. I still remember those babies. The model was similar to a High Standard 10 riot gun. Generates a muzzle velocity of 625 feet per second. Enough to blast through an armored vehicle—or blow a man's guts across the room."

Vi's skin feels two sizes too small. She remembers the way Powder used to hold the toy guns at the old Arcade. The way she'd cock her elbow and squint down the barrel, her tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth.

Just a kid.

And Silco turned her into a killer.

"How many…?" she whispers. "How many kids were with Ekko?"

"Six. All gangly brats. We had 'em rounded up in seconds. Then Silco ordered 'em dragged outside. There, as the Lanes watched, our men popped 'em, one by one, like fish in a barrel. Ekko got the ringside view. Held Silco's attention till the very end. Till his last little friend went belly-up, and his skull split like a melon. Ekko started crying. But Silco didn't want tears. He wanted to send a message. The old days of turf wars were over. The thefts, the break-ins, the midnight raids. They were all gonna end. And the Lanes were gonna toe the line. Or else."

Vi swallows a reflux of bile. "Ekko was a good kid. He didn't deserve—"

"He and his pals were a bunch of uppercut morons. What'd he think would happen? He and Jinx would ride off into the sunset on a pair of unicorns?" Sevika’s lips peel back from her teeth. "All of it could've been avoided if he'd minded his own damn business. Left Jinx be, and respected Silco's rules. But no. He wanted to play the big damn hero. To take Jinx away from the one man who had the resources—the balls—to keep her safe."

"Ekko was trying to protect her!"

"Bullshit. He was trying to 'fix' her. Same as you. He thought she'd be someplace different, and click! All that faulty wiring would untangle itself. Like she was a clockwork toy that needed a new set of springs." Disgust grits itself into Sevika's features. "People aren't gears and levers, Vi. And the past doesn't wash off like dirt. Everything Jinx did at the Cannery—the blood, the bodies—was a consequence of her own goddamn choices. There's no undoing that. Or unmaking her. A monster is… as a monster does."

The dreary summation of life and death in the Lanes—a lesson of brutal math that Vi has known since she was knee-high—doesn't keep the boiling tears from her eyes. Vi sinks her teeth into her lower lip until the pain stills the impulse to cry.

Or scream.

"Ekko got the message," Sevika goes on. "So did Jinx. She watched the whole thing. Watched the kids fall, one by one. Watched Ekko break down crying. Watched his rescue mission turn into what it was. Just a bunch of punks running around half-cocked. By the end, Ekko was a mess. Splattered in his friends' guts, and shaking like a leaf. He kept looking to Jinx, hoping against hope she'd help. That she'd do something. Anything. But she never did. She just stood by Silco's side. Didn't cry. Didn't even flinch. After the bodies were hauled off, Ekko got locked up the basement. Silco planned to put his skills to use. Get the little rat to work for Zaun. But it didn't work out. After a week, the kid slipped loose."

"How?"

"Good question." Sevika tips a shoulder. "I suspect Jinx knows the answer."

"You think… she helped him escape?"

"Like I said. Puppy love. Maybe she cared. Or maybe she thought it'd be funny. A final Fuck You." Her laugh holds a note of marvel. "Point is—the kid scarpered. Doubt he got very far. Likely some charitable soul took him in. Likely Giz himself. We sent the crew to his shop, but Giz denied harboring fugitives. And Silco didn't want to kill the only gunsmith in the Lanes. He was ready to let Giz be. Except the old man had nearly cost us five-thousand Hexes of Shimmer. An example had to be made. Silco ordered me to take his right eye. So I did." A shrug, but her expression, for a moment, is oddly spooked. "You wanna know the funny thing? The old man didn't scream. Not once. He said he understood the risks, and was willing to pay the price. Afterward, he told me something else, too. Said he didn't blame Jinx. Told me she'd have been happier with Ekko, but she was safer with Silco. And if those are a girl's only two options, then fuck it. It's the world at fault, not her."

Her face clears, then closes like a door. "Maybe he had a point. The fact is, Jinx made her choice. She did the night she chose to tell Silco about Ekko's plans. She did when she watched those kids die without lifting a finger. She did when she let Ekko loose, and took her place by Silco's side. Your sister knows the score, Vi. Always pick the winning team. No matter how much it hurts. Because the world doesn't give a shit about your tears. It's not gonna hold your hand and kiss your boo-boos. It'll push you down and grind you under, and it'll do it with a smile. And if those are your odds, it's better to have a monster in your corner—and firepower in your hands—than to have a hero with nothing but a fucking wrench in his."

Vi has no comeback handy; her tongue is a desiccated stub.

She thinks of Ekko as a boy. Quick with a quip; quicker with a smile. A boy who'd lost his family, then lost whatever remained. Who'd witnessed a slaughter at Silco's hands. Who'd gone on, as a full-blown adult, to fight the monster with everything he had.

No matter how much it hurt.

"Winning team, huh?" Her throat is raw. "What about the people caught in the middle? Where's their victory?"

"Them's the breaks. The past is the past. There's only one direction. Forward."

Sevika's delivery is a smooth; her eyes are flint. Like a gambler who's all in. Vi wonders what feeds her stoicism. Wrong choices in the past, where she'd been forced to live with the consequences. Or right ones, and their bitter pay-off. Vi thinks of the woman's history. Her father, the Wharfside Devil. His business: bootlegging, brawling, murder. His fate: a life sentence in Stillwater.

Sevika, Vi thinks, is the byproduct of her father's errors.

Just as Powder is the byproduct of Vi's.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #snippet #arcane sevika #arcane vi #arcane ekko #ekko #vi #timebomb #jinx x ekko #ekkojinx

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capn-america · 5 months

Note

eyyyyy there the other old man is, how’s it going star spangled man?

Other old man? I'm not that old, Shuri.

I'm doing well! Thank you for asking. :-)

#captain america #marvel #marvel comics #marvel mcu #mcu #steve rogers #queue #shuri #black panther

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ronearoundblindly · 9 months

Text

Sneak Peek!

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader excerpt

Summary: Steve reaches his breaking point when you return to the field after severe injuries.

Warnings for a touch of the spice and a vicious/hot argument. WC ~550 *This work is not in final edits yet. All mistakes are my own.

“You’re not my superior officer, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot in the head.”

“Fine," Steve shouts, arms crossed over his chest, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

“A what?”

“You heard me.”

“If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked, you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can’t handle myself." You push weakly at his chest like it's a game. "Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, a derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. Out there. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about a job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Excuse me?”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you taunt, rolling your eyes. “Play martyr all you want, but we both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head. He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Let’s see how you like feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.”

His last word thickens the air on the jet.

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables? Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out, leave you wondering if I’ll ever touch you again, wondering if…”

“Yes,” you breathe.

a/n: Tentatively planning to have this done to post on Sunday since the original was a 'Sweet Sunday' ask. Per usual, don't quote me on that, but I got a huge chunk done today which was likely the hardest part. Thank you to all those who sent messages of support! I won't let you down 🫡

[Main Masterlist; Old Dog, New Tricks; Ko-Fi]

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #sneak peek #old dog new tricks #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fic #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x you

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mercurygray · 1 month

Note

A kind anonymous friend here responding to your latest prompt ask!

How about Molly and Rosie with “Stars”? I have become a complete sucker for this pairing and would love to see where else you would take them! (sorry Tab 😏)

Eee, thank you, Kind Anonymous Friend! I am so glad you are on this bus with me. (Sorry, Tab.)

In his dream someone was screaming.

Or maybe it had been something - air rushing over an open port as the plane went into a dive, whistling into the approximation of a human voice in agony. The sound had been endless, and the only thing that had brought him out of it was waking up, Molly bodily shaking his shoulders.

Slowly he returned to himself in the dark. Outside the window it was still night - or terribly early morning - and Molly was in his bed, looking over at him with concern in her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I haven't - haven't had one of those in a while." They'd been quieter, once - his dreams. There'd been a while, when he'd first started, where he simply couldn't sleep, but that had passed, and then there had been nothing until the end of the war, and suddenly everything had started...catching up.

"What are you apologizing for? I don't know a single person who doesn't."

He stared. "You don't."

"You just haven't seen mine," Molly said with a patient enigma of a smile. A long pause. "Do you want to talk about it, or no?"

Rosie swallowed, unsure he wanted to return to the dream. "Not really."

She nodded, eyes understanding. "Smoke?"

He shook his head, and she set the pack back down on the nightstand, thinking for a moment before lying back down on her pillow and patting her chest, right above her heart, as clear an invitation as any. His laugh came out in a little huff and he laid his head down on her chest just as she'd suggested, arms folded to slot better into her side, one of her hands joining his while her other began to pet his hair, her arm a pleasant weight. His ear was pressed to the warmth of her skin and the thin strap of her slip, and just beneath all of it her heart beat slowly on, the oldest human lullaby.

It was somehow easier to contemplate telling her when he couldn't see her face. "We interrogated Goring today."

"Oh?" The single syllable was full of interest - a quiet prompt for more. They had a somewhat unspoken rule not to talk about work, but this felt - different, somehow. Connected.

He swallowed and gathered his thoughts, his fingers still loose in hers, seeing the man's face as they'd laid question after question on the former Air Marshal, sitting in state in his gray uniform jacket, the utter calm of a man who believes himself to be right. "It just…brought a lot of things back, I guess."

Her hand was still in his hair, petting. "I'm sure it would. For anyone."

Outside his window the sky was all ink-black and star spangles, the city around them darker than a city should have been. The hotel where they had him staying was in the older part of town - not that there was much left of old or new. No streetlights here - precious few cars, and the looming threat of blackouts around every corner. Just the intermittent glow from windows, and after that little more between the whole city and the true depth of night.

"You know, they wouldn't ever let us fly at night. They were afraid we wouldn't be able to see the targets. If it was night you weren't flying, so night was…safe. And now it's -" he paused, took a breath, returned to her heartbeat. "Now it's not, either." Now there's screaming in the dark.

She lifted her head up and pressed a kiss into his hair. "On the ground, night means you don't know where the enemy and you don't know where your friends are, either," Molly submitted, still quiet, still stroking. "I used to hate it. Now I think about how it means you'll be with me." Rosie smiled against her skin. "Go back to sleep," she said. "I'll take first watch."

"In case anyone comes for our foxhole?" He asked, just to feel the laugh ripple in her chest.

"Yeah, that."

Rosie closed his eyes, smiling again when she started humming, the music tying him together with her, and he drifted back to sleep thinking of stars, and directions home.

#asked and answered #Kind Anonymous Friend #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #molly mahoney

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ntls-24722 · 3 months

Text

I was thinking about @/artastic-friend's tags on my Comet post, and, first off thank you it was really sweet, but I had also realized that I wasn't even on tumblr to show the REEEAAALLY early designs of Comet, so here they are!

Comet had gone through a lot of changes, the most important one being... not looking exactly like DJMM! Comet originally looked exactly like DJMM since a good 80% of her body used to actually be mechanical, and her organism part was... very minimal and degenerate. But I very quickly found that lame - what's the pizzazz in being ~secretly a manmade organism~ if most of you is still mechanical anyway? I found an old picture of her transition from this (i apologize for the low quality, but much of the old sketches are super smudged n junk.) She still had motors and but much more of her internals filled up the plastic exoskeleton's empty space.

A detail i had actually forgotten now that I read back through old messages and pictures is that she used to be compatible with eating/drinking gasoline AND actual food? She had microbes that could eat it in her stomach and then she'd eat THOSE microbes like a cow??? that was kinda sick, past me, good job.

Comet's actual face being striped originated from her bony skeleton being full of bigbig holes (shown below, left) - they were meant to just be the frame for the plastic cover, but when the mechanical parts were taken out the holes condensed into stripes (shown below, right), partially being inspired from this Clownsuu post (AUGH ITS SO COOOOOL)

The 10 eyes thing stuck because it was like... representative of her kids' souls being infused with hers after she unknowingly ingested them after brain surgery?

She didn't like, pick them up and start chowing on her own children like you would with a bunch of dry cereal - in order to make the Comets less resource-needy the Oort Cloud would give some of the remnant they produced back to them? When Comet found out where it came from and where one of her missing kids went, she refused to eat or sleep at all until she almost died of exhaustion and finally went unconcious. The Oort Cloud took advantage of the fact she was finally not resisting and did the surgery as she slept. She didn't remember anything when she woke up and... ate for the first time in awhile not knowing what was in it, or that she even had kids in the first place.

Making the surgery easier is actually why the side of her head in this picture is exposed and Boneless (in some pictures there's actually huge stitches on there, too) but i realized that any behavioral disruptions would be directed to the frontal lobe, and that's why Modern comet actually has this little plate right between her eyes - that plate of exoskeleton is actually slightly loose and you can take it off n put it right back on for the least amount of scarring. It's also why Luz and Zoey don't have it.

For some reason I chose a marching band theme for her, maybe to cover up her skeleton-y Beneathness, and that is what made her into the star-spangled DJMM we know today. I chose a space-y theme since the Plex is.... somewhat space themed? Not entirely sure why but I'm glad I did it. She was intially accented with minty blue rather than the bold one she is now. This is where she also got her name, though it was initially "Comet Music Man."

She used to, temporarily, also have a 4 pairs of antennae coming from her wrists. I took it out cuz i couldn't find a reason for them

Comet wasn't based on any particular spider BUT there was the initial concept of having her be based off of the mirror spider and have a.... disco ball butt (you can kinda see it in the skeleton face pic) But in another universe, She could've been a spiny orb weaver, or a scorpion-tailed spider.

I did sometimes COMPLETELY go south with how her Beneath would look like in favor of a soft, fleshy interior, and I made...this! I hated it and I'm forever glad I didn't decide to go with this! jesus christ!

There were also the origins of the little harpoons - I had a headcanon that DJMM has little pedipalps on the inside of his mouth that looked like little STAFFbot hands and that got integrated with Comet, too

Alsoalso: the Neck

Couldn't figure out how to do it for a long time, since it's long and dragon-y and flexible and curvy, which is why half of it was exposed skin for awhile. In this outdated organ diagram i actually made the neck a bunch of layered "bowls" like one of those rainbow slug toys (not that you can.... see much of it lol) (also old sona jumpscare HOOH)

There's probably more considering Comet is now a year old and also her entire universe and story got REALLY derailed from a oneshot self-insert fic that i never even finished (the contents of which actually are why Comet and Fritz live where they are, in some abandoned factory - it was Fritz and DJMM's hideout) (also, Fritz predates Comet by a lot) because i thought WAYYYYY tooo hard about the implications of DJ Music Man, the giant spider, being alive

("what are you? are you a species or were you created? for what? By who? why are you pretending to be a robot? Are you pretending? What do you eat, and what's feeding you? Do you need to? Why do you have to be alive, and not an animatronic like everything else?) (also technically Bighand is just the alternate and anticlimatic version where he's just like "yeah I'm alive and I just work here") (both leave bc it sucks)

bonus patch notes that I couldn't cover:

neck became attached further up the head instead of below the jaw because keeping it the way it was was... not good

ALL of her became metallic-looking

She went from being a mirror spider to a sparklemuffin spider because of the coincidence that those spiders had the same yellow stripes from their eyes as she does.

The antennae became just 1 pair because the fact she had 2 pairs was also unnecessary

She used to have 2 little flesh strands from her top jaw and bottom jaw. They served no purpose only to get in the way of things so I got rid of them.

Her dewlap used to have music notes, stars, and lines

The tongue went from being thick n long to being flat and rounded. Fits in the mouth better

#ntls-24722 #djmm #dj music man #fnaf dj music man #fnaf djmm #djmm fnaf #dj music man fnaf #comet #fnaf au #security breach au #(almost) daily music man

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