#captain america series

[rogersideup]

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter 2

Wine and Dine

Series masterlist

Previous part: Love You More Next part: Expendable

Word Count: 6,169

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

Steve wasn't quite sure he had ever ran so fast in his entire life. Wearing a heather grey henley, jeans, and some nice shoes, he knew he probably looked ridiculous as he zoomed by people in the hallways like a gust of wind.

After being deployed on the emergency mission for almost 3 weeks now, you were just about to land at the compound. From what he understood from the gossip floating around the compound, and confirming by the report notifications that popped up in the corner of his computer, it was a really bad one.

Agents were dropping like flies, if felt like every few hours one was being sent back to the compound due to injury or a psychological break. He tried multiple times to get the Avengers on the mission to help clear it out faster, it was obviously way too big for the agents to be handling alone.

Every time he tried, Fury shot him down because there already was an avenger on the mission. Though he agreed and trusted whole heartedly that you could handle it, he knew that if he was in your position, single handedly being the only reason why anything was actually getting done under exhaustive conditions, he'd appreciate another member of his team being sent to him

Not even a full minute ago you had called him in hysterics. He could barely understand you through your cries but he could tell just by the sounds slipping past your throat that you were in unbearable pain. It made his heart pound out of his chest as he tried to console you to the point of being able to understand what had happened.

When Commander Bennet realized that the wind had been knocked out of you, he gently grabbed the phone from your hands and spoke to Steve.

"Captain Rogers?" He quested after reading 'Steve' at the top of your phone screen.

"Yeah, hi, what's going on?" Steve asked frantically.

"Agent 306 is not in good shape. We had some sort of biological weapon hit us hard. It was a pale blue, powdery substance that was causing extreme irritation and almost burn like reaction on any exposed skin it touched." Bennett explained.

"But her tact suit covers most of her skin-" Steve vocalized his thoughts.

"She tried to stop the attack before it got worse, jumped on the attacker's back to yank the weapon out of his hand but..." He sighed. "Agent 212..."

"What did Harvey do?" Steve started seething.

"To put it simply, 212 got in her way. She had it and was about to put the whole mission to an end. I'm not sure if he thought he was going to beat her to it or if he wanted to help, but he threw her off and crashed right into her. The attacker grabbed hold of the collar of her tact suit from the back of her neck and poured a pretty large amount of the powder all the way down her back."

"Oh man, how bad is it?" Steve got up, already knowing where this was leading.

"She's in excruciating pain." He put simply. "We have lab techs on board studying the substance. They said that the effects are only extreme irritation, burns, and stinging pain for upwards of 5 hours. We already informed medical, they said there's not much they can do other than shower her and try to manage the pain with ibuprofen. She said she'd rather just do that at home, and she's asking for you now. Any way you could meet us on the runway?"

"Absolutely, what's the ETA?" Steve asked, walking down the hall towards the Jet landing runway.

"Touch down in a minute-thirty."

"I'll be there." Steve said simply before hanging up.

From where he was in the building, he knew making it to the runway was a five minute walk, so he made it a one minute and thirty second run instead.

He pushed through the doors to get outside onto the runway just as the jet wheels had touched down on the tarmac. The second it stopped moving, he practically ripped the door open with his own two hands and waited very impatiently for the rush of agents disembarking before he could get to you.

Harvey didn't get a chance to pass by Steve without receiving a glare from the soldier that sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.

The very second he could, Steve rushed onto the Jet and you were curled up on the floor with your knees to your chest and your face digging into your knee caps. Commander Bennett was at your side trying to comfort you, but you were rocking back and forth to try and manage the pain, and doing your best to muffle your sobs as to not further inconvenience any of the other agents who had to hear you whaling the entire flight home.

Steve sank onto his knees right next to you, and placed a hand on you arm.

"You got it from here, Captain?" Bennett asked.

"Of course." Steve nodded, understanding he had more work to be done.

"Report back to me when you can?" Steve could see the worry in his eyes.

"Yes, sir."

Your commander got up and off the Jet following the other agents, and Steve's heart was still uncomfortably racing around in his chest.

"Hey, Bug." Steve gently squeezed your arm to try and get you to uncurl from your tiny little ball.

"M'sorry to bother you" You cried while lifting your head. Talking through the pain and shortness of air in your lungs was a struggle, but you took a moment and tried your hardest. "It hurts so bad, didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay, you're not a bother to me." He shook his head and got a good look at you.

Your tact suit was covered in smoke and ash, as well as your face. There was a deep scratch along your left cheek bone accompanied by smeared blood, presumably your own, and you jawline on the right side was bruised.

Steve's pounding heart came to a stand still before completely melting into a puddle when you let your forehead fall onto his collarbone. Instinctively, his hand gently cradled the back of your head.

Immediately, you felt safer and calmer in his hold. Letting someone take over your well-being when you had no control was terrifying, but Steve earned your trust more than anyone else in your life ever did. Around him, you knew everything would be okay regardless of the circumstances.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He questioned calmly.

"Feels like I ca-can't breathe" You hiccuped.

"I know, I'm sorry." Steve pouted. "Having the wind knocked out of you is normal sometimes when you're in that much pain. It's one of the worst feelings in the world but it'll go away. Just keep taking big deep breaths, it'll start to fade."

"S...still powder in my suit." You warned him. "Careful."

"Okay, we should get it off of you as soon as we can then." He thought out loud knowing that as long as it was still making contact with your skin, you would never start to feel better. "I'm going to get you out of here and up to your apartment okay?"

"Hurts so bad- feel like I can't move." You explained the best you could, internally panicking.

"Can I carry you?" Steve questioned, wanting to make sure he had your permission.

"What if it gets on you?" You questioned, not wanting him to feel the same pain you were in.

"I'm wearing long sleeves and long pants, it'll be okay." He reassured you. "I don't want to hurt your back even more, so wrap your arms around my neck and I'll hold onto the bottom of your legs."

You were happy to wrap your arms gently around his neck, and your legs around his waist as he carefully lifted you up. Without as much as a second thought, you nestled your face into the crook of his neck and continued to let the presence of your best friend comfort you while you focused on trying to catch your breath.

Steve was so focused on his personal mission to make you feel better that he didn't let his mind even entertain his personal feelings for you anymore. Meanwhile, you had an opposite technique to reign in some pain management. Steve smelled so good that the deep breathing with your face shoved into his neck was now a pleasant experience, and momentarily took your mind off the unbearable pain you were in.

Unfortunately his incredible taste in cologne wasn't enough to completely stop your mental and physical pain by the time he got you into your apartment and gently set you down on your own two feet. He offered you his forearm to keep a hold on to steady yourself, he could tell your muscles were overworked, exhausted, and tightly tense.

Steve could feel the hand you kept hold of him with was shaking, as were your legs, and chattering jaw that you tried your hardest to clench shut.

Single handedly, he worked diligently to remove your personal defense weapons that lived in your leg holsters. Grabbing the gun and dagger, he reached behind him and quickly put them in the weapon safe by the door.

Then he led you to the couch and had you sit down, helping you on the way down. He quickly sank to his knees and his fingers untied the laces on your boots and pulled them off your feet before he got to work on removing all the black leather straps and buckles of the holsters on your legs.

He looked up at you momentarily just to make sure you didn't seem uncomfortable by how he was touching you, but your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly and your mind was so far away it felt like you weren't even in the room with him anymore.

"Relax your jaw, Buggy." Steve caught your attention with a small squeeze to your calf before going at the holster on your thigh.

"But it's chattering" You cried, relaxing it to prove it was rattling.

"That's okay, just let it happen." He reassured you.

You nodded, eyes still squeezed shut with occasional tears slipping past them.

"Let all your muscles relax, keep taking big breaths." His sweet voice guided you, moving on from your left leg to your right. "Remember that this pain is temporary, this is the worst of it right now and you're taking it like a champ. You're doing a good job."

Letting your eyes open, you watched him shove his phone between his shoulder and head, freeing both his hands to continue removing pieces of your suit. Then he started talking, throwing around commands, asking for necessary assistance to make sure your suit is properly cleaned and the hazardous substance would be responsibly handled.

At some point, your eyes closed again and you started feeling faint. He stood up, still on the phone and walked away for a moment then came back with a glass of water for you in one hand, and medicine in the other hoping it could at least help jumpstart the pain management.

Then, you heard something that made your eyes rip open.

"Hey Buck, yeah she's okay - in a lot of pain but she's going to be fine. Hey- can you do me a favor? Can you go into my apartment and grab me a change of clothes? Just a shirt and some sweatpants please? Thank you so much, I'll leave the door unlocked for you. See you soon."

You took in his appearance and realized you had completely destroyed his outfit. Smoke and soot had smeared all over his light grey shirt and the the top of his jeans. There was blood on his shoulder from your face, and wet spots from your tears.

"I'm so sorry." You cried, genuinely feeling bad about it. "I ruined your clothes!"

"I'm not worried about it" He denied your apology. "You're more important than a shirt."

"I'll buy you a new one." You shook your head.

"You have bigger fish to fry at the moment, Bug." Steve said sweetly. "Let's get you in the shower now. The faster this gets washed off of you the better."

Deep down Steve was really concerned about you, but he internalized it as to not freak you out. You seemed weak and unsteady on your own two feet, and your cries were still sad enough to make him want to cry for you.

"Help me up?" You asked, holding out your hands.

He took them without question and helped you off the couch before guiding you to the bathroom and starting the shower for you. Making sure it was not too cold to be uncomfortable, but not too hot to hurt your burns even more, he finally settled on the perfect temperature.

When Steve turned back around to let you know it was good to go, he was going to walk right out and let you shower in peace. That was until you started crying even harder just by trying to unbutton your pants. Every move you made was increasingly uncomfortable, and in that moment you both knew that showering alone wasn't an option.

The hot shocking pain and trauma of the three week long mission alone made letting Steve see you naked feel like just another drop in the bucket. You couldn't even get yourself to pretend to care, all of the insecurities and fears you'd typically have over this flew out of the window when you could see the genuine worry in his sweet blue eyes.

"Do you need help?"

"Can you please stay?"

Both of you asked almost shyly at the same time.

"Yes please."

"Of course"

You talked over each other once again.

Everything you could've possibly been worried about wasn't even a thought in Steve's mind when you asked him to stay. Although his heart warmed over the sentiment that you felt comfortable enough around him to ask in the first place, he wanted to make sure he maintained that same level of trust.

So he took the same approach he took before any training session he knew you were scared of, or any time he had to touch your body.

A simple one word question that he always expected a completely honest response to, it always went a long way.

So before he even helped you begin undressing, he asked it.

"Trust?" He questioned.

Whenever he asked you this, he wanted a percentage out of 100 to gauge how much trust you felt for him in that very moment. Whether he was about to catch you from two stories high, or send you off to do something new, he wanted to make sure you were confident enough in him as your partner. If you ever answered below a 90, that's when he would put a stop to everything and the two of your would talk it through until you felt comfortable and confident enough to execute the plan.

"100" you answered without question, your shaky hands trying their hardest to unzip your shirt.

Only after you responded did he start to undress you. His hands took over the zipper, and swiped it downward. When he helped you tug off the sleeves he was careful to not touch the inside of your suit to not get any of the substance on himself, but once your top was off, he could tell it was all caked onto your skin and no longer dry. "If that changes or you want me to leave at any point, you tell me, okay?"

"Okay." You nodded, feeling a slight relief as the cold air hit your back.

Piece by piece, he helped you get undressed and into the shower. He stood next to you the whole time, and as the water washed off the dirt and grime, he could see the extent of the damage on your back and he internally cringed.

"You poor thing, this looks so painful." Steve pouted. Though you were quite literally fully naked in front of him, he couldn't stop staring at the plane of your back. It was fire engine red, and your skin was definitely angry at the substance.

"Fury is going to be so mad at me." You sniffled, starting to feel like you could talk in complete sentences again.

"Why?" Steve asked, head tilting slightly.

"I should be at the mission debriefing." You explained.

"You we're injured, there are exceptions." Steve denied. "You know who Fury will actually be mad at? Harvey."

Just the mention of his name had your cry growing sadder by the moment. "Can I tell you something as a friend and not as a boss?"

Steve's face softened, and he nodded.

"He did it on purpose." You claimed with confidence as your fingers scrubbed shampoo into your hair. "The whole mission Harv and his friends were doing things to sabotage me and I kept getting hurt. I felt like I was going crazy, and it was already a really bad mission to be on in the first place. I feel so defeated and defenseless right now."

When you admitted that, his eyes went from your back to a big, black and blue bruise the side of his palm right on your rib cage.

"Harvey will be dealt with whether he did it on purpose or accident. He made a really stupid choice that obstructed the mission and got another agent hurt, the best agent we got." Steve explained. "They'll probably open an investigation and pull any footage they have and talk to some other witnesses to get their side of the story. If it's ruled that it was on purpose his punishment will be much worse than if it was an accident."

"They're just going to come after me even harder." You cried. "I don't know what I did so wrong that they decided that they needed to make my life a living hell. I try to be nice to everyone, I participate when I need to, I help them when they need help, and I even do the dirty work so nobody else has to. Everyone still hates me. Nobody cares if I get hurt."

Steve's broken heart impossibly shattered again. "Do you believe us when we tell you it's jealousy? The men here have tiny little ego's. They're fragile and insecure so when they see how great you are, they just want to knock you down any chance they get. It's not your fault."

"I don't feel like I'm the best one here." You finally denied in a moment of vulnerable weakness. You we're already naked, what damage could admitting your true feelings possibly do? "I don't even feel like I'm good at what I do in general."

"You may feel like that right now, but that's not fact. It's far from the truth." Steve denied your accusations against yourself. "You're meant to be an Avenger, we're all confident in that. That mission should've never been delegated to you guys. It should've gone to the Avengers, and even then it would've been hard for us. But I was watching the updates and statistics come through while you were gone. You single handedly held the operation together and led it to success with nothing but your own guidance. You're incredible, you even outperformed the Avengers."

You shook your head in denial before tipping it back and letting the water wash away the soapy lather in your beautiful silky hair. "I should be debriefing but instead I'm crying in the shower I can't even take by myself without being a hazard."

"They have tormented you so much that you believe crying is a sign of weakness." Undertones of disapproval soaked through his tone. "Their words have you believing that you're not good enough for this, yet I don't see any of them being good enough to do half of what you do."

"I don't know how to get it to stop." You sniffled. "If I don't fight back, they keep going. If I do fight back, they come at me twice as hard. If you don't say anything, they think it's okay. If you do yell at them, it just gets worse."

"Join the team." Steve stated simply, reaching out into the shower to swipe some smoke off your face that you missed.

"I'm tired, Stevie." You admitted with a sad cry. "Right now, I don't even know how I'm going to wake up and get myself to work as an agent tomorrow. I don't know how I can do this anymore, let alone be an Avenger."

"Exactly, you're tired and you're hurting." Steve validated. "Emotionally and physically, you're a human with with needs, none of which have been met in a very long time. You had your heart broken, and with no time to recover you had tosee Harvey every day for three weeks, then he hurt you even more. We'll get you some rest, some food, you'll get some time off work to make sure you heal up and recover. I promise you that you'll feel better."

"I sure hope so." You sniffled, washing the rest of the soap off now that you were squeaky clean. "Because right now, my heart is heavy and i feel defeated."

"Then let's take baby steps towards making you feel better, we'll start by making the heaviness a lot lighter." Steve offered you a hand to help you step out of the shower as you turned the water off. A hint of a smile poked through your pouted lips as he wrapped your fluffy towel around your body as carefully as he could as to not hurt your back anymore than it already did.

"Do you have to go back to work?" You asked sadly, not wanting to have to let go of the comfort he always provided you. "I really missed you while I was away."

"It's okay, I'll take the rest of the day off." Steve denied. "I missed you too, I was worried about you."

There was a small knock on the door before Bucky came in, and before either of you could even acknowledge his presence, both of your feet carried you towards him.

Bucky quickly handed Steve the clothes he brought for him, then all his attention was on you.

"Stay with her for a minute, I'm going to change really fast." Steve squeezed Bucky's shoulder out of gratitude.

You we're still slowly crying from the pain, and wrapped up in the towel like a little human burrito.

No words needed to be exchanged between you and your friend and he very carefully pulled you against his warm body for a long hug.

After Steve changed into the clothes Bucky brought him and walked back out into the living room to the scene of you being comfortably wrapped up in his arms as the two of you exchanged quiet words he could barely hear, he couldn't help the tiny pang of jealousy. He felt like a teenage boy who had no control over his emotions. He knew it was wrong, so he pushed it down just like he did all his other feelings towards you.

When Bucky noticed Steve was back, he mumbled an apology to you about needing to get back to work, and promised he would come by later to check up on you. And just as fast as he arrived, he left.

Steve helped you get dressed again, which was a struggle. But the two of you worked together to find a loose enough shirt to put on as to not hurt your back, super soft shorts, and definitely no bra to dig into your skin. But he already saw your boobs so there was no harm in that decision.

By the time you climbed into your own bed for the first time in weeks, and Steve got in next to you, a bit of relief washed over you. The tears came to an end and now you were nothing but stray sniffles and a little ball of frustration as you tried your hardest to get comfortable without laying on your back.

Steve wasn't quite sure how it happened, but you ended up half on your side-half on your stomach with your head in his lap and one of your legs hiked up. Once you were comfortable, he pulled up the back of your shirt to let the cool air hit the burn and to make sure the fabric wasn't irritating the area even more.

He could tell you were still in pain, so he comforted you by running his fingers through your hair. You soaked up every moment of the pleasant sensation, it gave you something to focus on other than the pain.

Single-handedly, he grabbed his phone and pulled up your profile on the music streaming app you downloaded onto his phone so you could create playlists together and share music. He picked a playlist you curated of all your favorite soothing songs and played it quietly for you.

Steve knew music was important to you, most of the time you had at least one airpod in your ear and you were always showing him new music. He loved listening to the songs you found good enough to share with him, and he loved sharing the experience of listening to music with you all because he knew it made you happy.

"Do you have a comfort movie or show?" Steve asked. "Or anything you do to help you fall asleep?"

"Yeah, I get into your bed." You mumbled out a joke, feeling completely drained. Your eyes didn't need to be open to know he was smiling.

"The faster we can get you to fall asleep, the better." He noted.

"Are you tired of me already?" You questioned, another joke.

"Absolutely not." Steve denied with a giggle. "If you fall asleep, you can get through a big chunk of the pain with no awareness to it."

"I was just on a mission for three weeks barely getting any sleep. Just give me a minute, I'll sleep like the dead."

"Why weren't you getting any sleep?" Steve questioned, continuing to rub your scalp.

"They kept assigning me to sleep next to Harvey no matter how many times I asked them to not do that." You explained. "Completely separate cots and sleeping bags and he still tried to get me to have sex with him every single night we were there. Every time I denied him he'd try to spark an argument then I'd get upset and just lay awake because I couldn't turn my brain off."

"He was trying to sleep with you after a whole day on the battlefield? After he said he could never be with someone like you?" Steve questioned. "Did he not break up with you? Is he not exhausted by the end of the day?"

"You'd think there would be significant logistical issues he would consider before trying to initiate but he didn't let anything get in his way." You agreed with Steve. "I have no plans of ever having sex with him again, and he thinks it's a game. Like I'll crumble and whither away without his dick."

"That sounds like a terrible situation you have to put up with everyday." Steve noted. "If I had to look at any of my ex girlfriends every day at work, let alone be on a mission with them for three weeks I don't think both of us would make it out alive, and they would be the ones surviving every time."

You sleepily giggled at his words. "It is pretty terrible, but I'm hoping he will realize soon that there's better dick to be had elsewhere. I'm horny, but never horny enough to have sex with him ever again."

"Wow, you're so strong." Steve laughed. "That was really philosophical."

"I know right?" Your lazy smile stretched.

"If he's making you lose sleep, that's just more proof he's obstructing agents from reaching the objective." Steve noted.

You hummed in agreement, letting the heaviness in your heart and mind settle and the exhaustion in your body take over.

A few moments of silence passed before Steve broke it, his thoughts becoming too loud to keep to himself. "...I really can't imagine getting it up after a whole 12 hour day of fighting... don't think I could ever do that..."

Your smile reappeared. "That's because you actually do your job and you do it well. Harvey just kind've stands there and pretends to be helping. No person in their right mind would be able to get it up after a real day of battle."

"Wow, so you're finally in the phase of admitting that he's bad at what he does." Steve noted.

"Yeah, well, I'm infuriated that we work ourselves to the point of exhaustion and he's just walking around with the audacity to have a hard dick all the time." You noted. "He deserves a life of erectile disfunction, I deserve the audacity of a post mission stiffy."

"See, this is the kind of fire I've been trying to ignite in you this whole time!" Steve enthused. "Who knew that all it would take was a metaphorical boner?"

"Relax, I'm not hard enough yet to hop over the the Avengers." Your voice was getting raspier and quieter by the second, making Steve melt into a puddle. "Give me a little more time, maybe I'll get there eventually."

"Have you tried viagra?" Steve joked.

"Have you?"

"Is your back feeling any better?"

"Why are you deflecting?" You sleepily smiled.

"Sweet dreams, Bug." He covered your eyes with the palm of his hand. "Hope you feel so much better when you wake up."

You grabbed his wrist and directed his hand to the top of your head before letting it go, and snuggling up in the blankets the very best you could. "Thanks for coming to my rescue, Stevie. I love and appreciate you lots."

"Anytime, I love you more."

You dozed off not to long after, and fell into a sleep so deep that you felt like you had woken up in a whole different world. Your phone was ringing, and there was no longer any light seeping through your bedroom window curtains.

Judging by your door being cracked open with lights pouring through and footsteps walking around, you could tell Steve was still in your apartment. Reaching around blindly for your phone, your hand found it and answered the call.

A smile stretched across Steve's face when he heard your sweet, sleepy voice coming from your room. He could tell you were talking to family, so he waited a while until he could hear the conversation wrapping up to come check on you.

It took about fifteen minutes, but he finally came in and turned the light on as he heard some goodbyes.

"I love you so much, Buddy! I'll come see you this week okay? Maybe in a day or two." Your smile was uncontrollable. "No, I cannot bring iron man with me. Am I not cool enough for you anymore?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at you when you looked up at him with a giggle. You motioned for him to stay quiet, then put it on speaker phone.

A tiny little voice came through, and Steve immediately remembered all of the times you told him about your five year old nephew that lived with your sister not too far from the compound.

“What about Captain America?" He questioned.

"I don't know Captain America!" You denied, looking Steve dead in the eye. You laughed as Steve's jaw dropped in response to your antics.

"Yes you do! Mommy showed me a picture of you and Captain America!" He giggled.

"No, that's not Captain America, that's my friend Steve." You joked.

"That's Captain America's name!" Your nephew defended himself.

"No way, really? That must be a coincidence."

"What is your friend Steve's last name?" He questioned.

"I'm not really sure, I'll have to ask him next time I see him." Steve shook his head at you with a mischievous smile while sitting on the edge of your bed. "What is Captain America's last name?"

"Rogers! How do you not know that!?" The boy laughed over the phone. "Don't you work with these people?!"

"I dunno, maybe you should be an Avenger. You know a lot more about this stuff than I do."

"Okay I'm ending this conversation before my son tries to break into the compound and steal Captain Roger's shield." Your sister took the phone away from the five year old.

"Did you hear that Steve? If your shield goes missing, we have a suspect." You told him.

"Oh god... is Captain Rogers in the room with you right now?" Your sister questioned with a sigh.

"No, she's talking to herself. She's kind've crazy." Steve denied earning a laugh from the other side of the phone.

"Tell me about it! I've had to deal with her all my life!" She laughed. "I'll let you go now, Smalls. I'm glad you're okay, let me know if you need anything. Also feel free to come over whenever you want. You know Luca loves you more than anyone in the world, we would take good care of you if you need it."

"Thank you! And thanks for checking up on me, sorry you got that alert, that must've been scary."

"It's okay, I'm just glad you're alright. Stay safe, I'll see you soon."

"See you soon" you agreed before hanging up.

"You're gaslighting a child?" Steve questioned.

"He knows it's a joke." You denied with a tired giggle. "Luca is obsessed with the Avengers but especially you. If I ever actually admitted to him that were close friends he would lose his mind and never leave us alone."

"But he's so cute! You should bring him to the compound and give him a tour!" He enthused.

"I think he would actually combust." You sat up. "Maybe one day, but my Sister doesn't think he's ready for that yet."

"What's her name?"

"Jane, she's four years older than me." You explained. "She called me in a panic because she's my emergency contact. I think Commander Bennett added an injury report to my file so it sent her an automated phone call that I got hurt in battle. It scared the daylight out of her."

"I don't blame her." Steve shook his head. "Thats one of the worst phone calls to ever receive."

"It really is" you agreed. "What time is it?"

"7:30 pm." He grinned. "How are you feeling?"

"A lot better. It just feels like a really bad sunburn now." You explained. "I still feel pretty beat up from the mission though."

Steve nodded his head in understanding. "I got an email from Bennett, you were cleared from the roster for the rest of the week. So you'll start work again on Monday. Oh, also, someone from the hazard team came and picked up your suit to clean it. They reported back to be about an hour ago that it wasn't salvageable so weaponry is making you a new one. Should be done by the time you get back to work on Monday."

"Thank you, Stevie, you're the best." You smiled.

"Ugh, I know right?" He joked, back flopping right next to you.

"I take it back." You laughed, gently flicking his head.

"Fine. Next time, call Bucky." Steve joked.

Your laugh got louder and you shook your head. "Bucky would've left me on the Jet floor to beat the shit out of Harvey."

"Exactly my point." Steve settled with amusement.

"Speaking of Bucky, do we know where he is right now?"

"Probably beating the shit out of Harvey"

"You boys are exhausting." You sign smiled.

"But you love it." Steve pointed out, poking your cheek.

"I do." You admitted.

Comfortable silence fell over the two of you, nothing significant was running through your mind, but you could tell Steve's mind was running around one thought and one thought only.

"... You're hungry aren't you?" You questioned rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

"How could you tell?" He turned his head to look at you with a big beaming smile on his face.

"I know you like the back of my hand, Rogers."

He hummed in agreement. "You're hungry too."

"How could you tell?"

"Because your stomach was growling in your slee- I mean... because I know you so well!"

"Food?"

"Food." He agreed.

"Alright, let's go big guy." You pat his shoulder twice. "You saw me naked today so now I get to wine and dine you."

"Bug!" He barked out a laugh, and his cheeks immediately turned a pretty shake of pink. "Don't you even start with me!"

“Oh, and by the way, if you tell anyone you’ve ever seen me naked, I’ll beat you to a pulp faster than any other agent in the compound gets the chance to call me a whore.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Next part: Expendable

Tag list: @saranghaey @firephotogrl74 @selella @talesofadragon @ss28 @nekoannie-chan @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @spikeluv84 @crazyunsexycool @callmissrogers @xxxalicerogersxx @whore-for-chris-evans @em8rin @mulbsstuff @qalijahbydior @awkotaco24 @buckybarnessimpp @nicoline1998enilocin @buckystevelove @rogersbarber @mybuck @ynstark @dbnightingale24

#steve rogers fluff #steve rogers #captain america #captain america fluff #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #chris evans #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu x reader #chris evans fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #captain america series #steve rogers series #captain america fan fiction #the Gemini #rogersideup #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfic writer #marvel #MCU #mcu x you #bucky barnes #Sam Wilson #natasha romanoff #agents of shield

[shurisneakers]

bridges break (iii)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, possibly wrong geography. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.

A/N: there are only like 2 chapters in this fic that's less than 5k words long and this is one of them. anyway. thank you for your kind words and comments. know that i see them and keep them in my pocket to take with me everywhere <3

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

From Bucky: you say it yet?

______

Steve sits at the edge of his bed.

The thin, white sheets bunch up in his grip tightly, head hung low. The muscles in his shoulders strain while his feet press heavy into the threadbare carpet.

The sunburnt room smells of stale smoke and an overabundance of air freshener used in an effort to mask it.

He inhales and exhales deeply, methodically and purposefully.

Ten deep breaths.

Nine things that you can see.

Pinup curls, stained rifles, gunshot wounds, closed warehouse, darts, sticky toffee--

He forces himself off the bed sharply. Skin stretched tight over his knuckles, they press into his closed eyes hard enough to have the familiar white dots rock across his darkened vision.

Grounding was a no-go. It didn't mean he could give up on finding a way to centre himself again.

So, he runs through his routine in his head-- wake up. Brush. Shower; he can feel his hair stick to his forehead, so he knows he's done that.

He's still in his sweatpants, though. Did he leave the room that morning? What the hell was the time again?

“Stevie." Your knock comes at the door like a shot. "You up?”

He lets out a shaky breath, clenching his eyes close for another second before he shakes himself out of it.

“Give me a minute,” he calls out, pulling a shirt over his head, his sneakers on his feet and grabbing his duffle bag.

Pull yourself together, Rogers.

Steve pauses at the handle, shaking his limbs before pulling on a straight face. There were too many locks on this damn thing-- and he'd done up every single one of them.

He wants to scoff. Which attacker of his would be kind enough to use the front door?

The entrance creaks open on rusted hinges, revealing you with two paper cups, a box of something that swiftly makes up for the stench of musty carpets, and an excited grin.

Regardless of how shit his morning had been so far, a soft smile effortlessly makes its way onto his face at the sight.

“Breakfast,” you hold up the box, “and your usual.” You extend a cup out to him.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He takes the weight off your hands, swinging his own bag over his shoulder. “Where’d you get this?”

“I was up early,” you say, moving aside as he shut the door behind him. “Complimentary breakfast didn’t look too good so I got us some from the bakery. It’s bagels.”

The coffee’s a blessing considering how long he was up last night, tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress with hair damp from sweat since the air conditioning unit gave up on him about midway through his attempt to beat the possible reappearance of his stupid dream.

He makes a small sigh of relief when it hits the back of his throat, further going on to wish that the headache would clear itself up without much of a hassle.

“You got the keys?” You drop the trunk shut, making your way over to the passenger’s side.

They jingle as he holds it up, climbing into the front seat. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, typing in a quick response before placing it in the cup holder.

To Bucky: Not yet.

Steve rolls his neck to get rid of the stiffness before starting the ignition.

___

By the time the car pulls into the city, the sun has shifted from overhead and was steadily moving towards the horizon.

Time had slipped past smoothly on stops for lunch and to let Steve stretch his legs out, maybe even take a short walk. You'd insisted heavily on taking spending a while more so that he could have some respite from being behind the wheel that long, but he promised you that he was fine.

At the diner, Steve finds himself doodling absentmindedly on a stray napkin as he listened to you talk. A plain road and an adjoining footpath, desolate. But the water stain from his glass smudges the ink, and there is nothing left to do to save it.

The evening shines golden, and when he does opt to lose the faded blue baseball cap for a few minutes, so does his hair in the light. A song plays at a steady volume from the radio, the playlist a balanced list of road trip essentials, occasionally mixed in with hits from previous generations for him.

"Navy Pier’s close by.”

“Navy Pier’s a tourist trap.” Your feet were propped up on the dashboard. It doesn't even occur to him to go into a spiel about how the car was rented. “Reddit told me.”

“Then let’s go someplace else.” Steve catches your eye through the rearview mirror, tinted by the sunglasses that are perched on the bridge of his nose. “What’s on the list?”

"Well, first thing's first, you're gonna have to pull up near Adams Street," you read out to him.

"What's on Adams Street?"

Your mouth twists into an easy smile. "You'll see."

______

It's a pole.

More specifically, an inordinately decorated and obviously well-loved signboard marking the historical beginning of the route.

Stickers littered the entire length of it, and those who could get to the actual board on top have snuck a few on there too, right under the lettering.

You squint at a few questionable choices of content, but overall think it's pretty neat.

"I got us one too," you inform him.

"Sticker?"

"Close enough." You pull out a small stack of pale yellow sticky notes and hand him a pen. "Go on. Sign it."

He complies, and you fill the remaining space with your signature before peeling it off the top and pressing it proudly to the pole. It'd probably rip away within the next hour from the wind, but it hardly fazes you, so he adopts a similar approach.

"Welcome," you announce, voice deep, "to the beginning of the end."

Steve raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't outright question your choice of words. Though it was absolutely a joke, he can't help the vine of discomfort that suddenly creeps up the walls of his stomach.

"Go stand there so I can take a picture." You wag a finger at the sign.

"What about you?"

"Someone's gotta take the picture, Steven."

"Why would I stand alone?" Steve questions. "We're here together."

"Fine," you relent, eyes scouting around until your sight lands a few seconds later.

Steve watches you bound over to someone, thumbs hooking onto the buckle of his belt to give him something to hold onto.

The guy you speak to dons a beanie with necklaces drooping well down to his chest, a black oversized t-shirt and similarly oversized pants.

Steve had done a video with a bunch of teens a while ago where they dressed him in something familiar, but no component made a lasting impression on his wardrobe choices. Contrary to what the publicist had said, he wasn't sure how that helped his public image-- but whatever.

A few seconds later the guy's nodding in agreement and you jut your thumb out in Steve's direction.

"Okay, c'mere," you tug Steve towards the pole, sliding an arm around his waist.

Without any thought, his arm goes around your shoulder, giving it a short squeeze, bringing a dizzying smile to your lips.

"Any chance of you takin' that non-disguise disguise off?" you whisper to him.

On one of the most crowded streets, in the middle of the week at what was nearing rush hour traffic?

"Nope," he replies, volume low.

"Cheese!"

You grin. Steve puts on a polite smile.

____

Three hours later and Steve's been dragged up and down the Magnificent Mile in search of odd trinkets or maybe to scoff at high-end stores, fed copious amounts of popcorn and a hotdog. His metabolism thanked you for remembering.

He's seen the gigantic metal bean, and the outside of Wembley and ate another hotdog. You'd already bought two knickknacks to take back home, true to your promise of singlehandedly reviving the recovering economic system. It makes him think your threat to his non-existent protein powder may hold true.

"We can check out the stadium, or maybe Millenium Park?" you suggest, scrolling rapidly through your phone, eyes unable to stop reading even for a second.

"Both of them sound good," he replies, a faint flush covering his cheek.

"I'll have to check if they're open, though," you wonder, like you're making a note to yourself. "Maybe we could go check out the inside of Sears instead."

The sun had finally gone down, and Steve's fingers thrum against the wheel as you run every option out loud. The traffic light blinks red and he increases the speed of the AC.

"We've got another day here, right?" Steve inquires when you list another three landmarks to yourself.

"What was that?" Your eyes snap up to meet his.

His brows raise in amusement. "Maybe we should save something for tomorrow."

Questioning gazes melt away into slightly embarrassed guilt when you finally notice Steve's hair tousled and lips a little darker.

"You're right," you admit sheepishly. "I got a little carried away."

A reassuring smile curls at his mouth. "I think it's sweet."

"So that leaves dinner." You choose to ignore the heat climbing up your neck. For the sake of your sanity, that is.

The traffic lets up for a few seconds and Steve brings the car to a crawl.

"Where to?" he asks.

You hum, looking out the window. "I got an idea, but I'm gonna need to talk with someone first."

_____

Steve waits by the car, arms stretching over his head tightly as he watches you chat spiritedly to the security guard at the entrance of a random clothing store.

The man laughs at something you say and your shoulders rise and drop, one palm balanced on your hip. The guard points to something in the distance, explaining something with exaggerated hand gestures in the form of directions and you hang on to every word, nodding at timed intervals.

If he wasn't aware that you had just met the man, he'd have thought you'd been friends for ages by the way he chuckles and beams at you.

Steve's phone buzzes, and he's momentarily torn away from the sight.

From Bucky: you ARE going to, right

He swallows back the lump that suddenly appears in his throat, but he finds himself typing out a response agonizingly slow, letter by letter.

His thumb hovers above the send option as he reads, and then re-reads the sentence.

"Okay, so here's the plan."

Steve's eyes snap up to yours, and he locks his phone, sliding it back into his pocket.

"Xavier there says that trying to get to the top of Sears is pointless. Huge crowd at all hours, and it'll be closing soon now anyway."

"Right." Steve clears his throat to get rid of the itch.

"That building there, however-" you make a mention with your index to another high rise a few ways down, but starkly visible against the night sky-- "we can walk into the bar, get a drink and get basically the same view without the two hour wait time. Sound good?"

"Sounds great."

"Cool. Keys," you request and Steve tosses them to you without question.

"Thank you!" you call out again to Xavier who gives you a small wave in return.

_____

The music and laughter were raucous around him, energy pulsing through the air with every beat that reverberates through the floor. It’s such an acute contrast to the quiet keyboard clicking of office hallways and hushed whispers in boardrooms.

The ‘Leave your sad shit outside’ sign at the door probably had something to do with the kind of crowd the establishment attracted. That, and the several colourful illuminated signs, brazen humour and purposeful graffiti in the industrial, neon-style bar.

You were off on a little sidequest; the last he had seen of you was when you were talking to the bartender. He has no idea how you do it. He'd basically held conversation only with you today and he was already at his limit.

Instead, Steve was tasked to go find a seat, which he did, relatively close to the whole view of the city. The game playing the flat screen TV from the bar reflects in the glass, and Steve peers at it occasionally when his attention is stolen by the sound of a blender or clinking of ice.

It’s a lively little place and for a second, he remembers what it’s like to just relax.

Dugan's moustache had a thin trail of foam beginning to attach itself under it.

Steve eyes him in question as he raises his second pint of the night.

"Well, I’ll always fight. But you gotta do one thing for me," he lets the proposal hang in the air.

Relief floods his system, not shown on his face as the one corner of his mouth still remains upturned.

"What’s that?" Steve inquires.

The man slams down his empty beer mug and a refreshing exhale.

"Open a tab."

“Alcohol.”

Steve's attention springs back to you when you set down two pints on the table rather loudly, the bar stool scuffing against the floor as you take a seat.

When Steve's eyes lift from the pale, strange liquid to catch yours, you make a mention with a shoulder.

“Courtesy of the boys over there.”

He follows your line of sight to a group of men watching both of you intently.

“I have a feeling this isn’t meant for me," he comments.

“I did tell them I had a hot friend.” You blow them a small kiss and a wave, and they don’t look very happy about the turn of events. “It’s their fault that they just assumed.”

"Should I bother saying thanks?”

“Somehow I don’t think they wouldn’t like that very much, Steve.” You push the glass to him, expertly navigating around the untouched plate of nachos that Steve had been valiantly guarding. “Also, it’s basically nothing. Can’t get drunk if I’m driving tomorrow.”

“You know I can't get drunk, right?” He accepts it from you, leaning forward on his forearms. "You should drink if you want to."

"I do. I also remember promising you that I would most certainly find a way around that." You pop a chip in your mouth with a grin on your face.

"You got hold of some Asgardian stuff?"

"No." You scoff at the idea. "I've never even met Thor. Feels a bit rude to be having him pick me up something from duty free, no?"

Steve scoops up some guac with his fork. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"I bet. But nah, if I'm doing it, I'm doing it from scratch." You watch him, jaw resting on your palms. “And either way, we’re taking turns driving. What fun would it be if I just passed out in the passenger's seat?”

“You’d miss all the cows.” There were so fucking many of them. He thinks he's seen more cows on this trip so far than he has his whole life.

“I’d miss all the cows,” you repeat, a grin on your face.

Someone laughs loudly into a set-up for a live band, turning it into his personal karaoke bar, stumbling over words and half singing a Tina Turner song into a switched off mic. His friends holler back the lyrics, a few hands in the air to wave about.

“We could spend another day here,” you offer, pulling his attention towards you. “Like, even if we don't finish tomorrow, we could check out the stuff we missed day after.”

“Anything you want to do, I'm down with,” Steve says in true honesty, because while it still feels locked away behind a window he doesn't have a key to, he can understand why you chose this place. It’s magnetic, a vibrant kind of bliss that was difficult to find these days.

“You sure about that?” you ask slowly, the smile never leaving. "Doing anything I wanna do?"

He raises an eyebrow, setting down the pint when the mischief finally surfaces.

Your head tilts towards the stage where the group from earlier had all crowded on in support of their friend.

“No way.”

“I know you got a set of pipes in you, Rogers.”

“Yeah, no one said the pipes were good. City’s been through enough.”

“Whatever you say, buddy,” you tease, scooping another chip into your mouth and dusting your hands off. “Still think your cover of Doris Day beats the original.”

“I bet you do,” he says dryly, eyeing you as you relax into your seat. "Can't be the cause for Miss Day turning over in her grave tonight."

Your eyes dart about for a while, observing the people around you.

Steve takes a sip of his-- well, whatever this was. His mind hasn't really zeroed in on what he was consuming.

His mind floats back to his initial promise. Hell, you didn’t even have to go anywhere after this. He’d be more than happy spending it in the car as long as the glint in your eye still remained the way it was right now.

"Do you miss it?" you ask, soft smile on your face at the chaos on stage. "Being able to get drunk?"

"Sometimes." He pushes around a small chopped piece of tomato around the plate. "I didn't do it often, but it was all right. Don't miss the throwing up part though."

Your nose wrinkles. "Yeah, no, agree. Worst part about getting drunk and high every day was cleaning the bathroom the next morning so your roommate doesn't complain, even when you can barely stand straight yourself."

Steve's eyes flicker over to your face for a second at the mention of that part of your past.

You, however, gloss right over it. "What about the rest of it?"

Steve's sight lands on the table and the strange burn mark on the wood.

"I don't know. Some parts, I guess, but I've never really thought about it."

It creeps up at times when he least expects it, leaving him wondering why he misses the feeling of being tired after a five-mile run. He wonders if it'd be easy, too, when he sits in another board meeting, to get out of these meetings if he'd somehow gone back to his pre-serum self. They probably wouldn't even want him there.

The thought is all too tempting, sometimes.

"What about you?" he diverts.

"I don't really remember much from that era," you admit. "Which is good, I think. It's mostly a big blank, I missed out on a good coupla years."

"If it helps, we both kinda did." Steve takes another slow sip from his drink.

"Oh, yeah." You poke at his forearm across the small table. "Twinning."

He gives you a tiny smile, and you toss another chip into your mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully.

"What do you wish you were around to see?" you ask, watching the lights shift from pink to blue to purple on Steve's face. "The advent of the internet? Full House?"

He doesn't think he's ever been asked this before. It's mostly always just about his workout routine or his comment on a new government fuck up.

"Drive-in theatres," he replies after a while. "Always thought that woulda been fun."

It's not an answer you expected, but you're still quick to say, "Those are still around, you know."

"Yeah, just never found the time." He shrugs.

"Let's go now," you announce, dusting off your hands and making a show of standing up. "C'mon, I'm pretty sure they have late-night screenings."

He'd agree except he'd slept for a total of maybe ten hours in the last week, and whether he liked it or not, the lack of shut-eye had begun to take its toll on him. The idea of staying up till 2am when that was usually when he caught his troubled half hour of sleep before shooting awake again didn't look all that great right now.

Steve chuckles. "How does tomorrow after dinner sound?"

"Sounds perfect," you agree. "I'll look for tickets. It'll be fun."

The stupid-- what he expects is completely dopey-- smile on his face refuses to leave, no matter how much he can feel his cheeks strain or mind wander.

"Do you want something else to drink?" you ask pointedly towards his pint.

Steve looks at your half-empty mug and his nearly full one.

You watch as he downs it like pure water in three strong gulps.

"That was terrible," he lets you know, placing his mug down.

"Well, I mean--" you gesture to it vaguely-- "it was free, so I can't imagine it was really the best quality drink they have to offer."

"Fair enough." Steve pauses. "Next round's on me."

_____

It’s a walk and a half to get you back to the car, all the way in the parking 96 floors below.

“You think you can walk straight?” He has an arm around your shoulder, keeping you close.

“I’m not a lightweight, Steven. Have a little faith.” You roll your eyes but you keep his arm around you all the same.

“I believe ya.” He receives a shove in response, more for the satisfaction than an actual attempt to push him away. ”What? Swear I do.”

You huff in disbelief but inch closer to him than you had been a few seconds ago, all the way until you reach the place your rented SUV had been parked.

“Motel's, like, ten minutes away." You reluctantly separate from him so that he can grab the keys from his pocket. "You know the directions?"

"What's the name of the place again?"

You squint while trying to recall before giving him the right name, and he fishes out his phone to enter it into the GPS.

"Coward," you sing. "Use the maps."

"Y'know, the motel was built after the 1800s," Steve replies, jabbing in his password.

"I'll have you know the map was revised in '02, thank you very much."

"1902?"

"Oh, hello. The man who carries around a compass suddenly has a lot to say about primitive tech now."

Steve grins, and offers no rebuttal.

The screen opens to the last page it was on before he'd hastily shut it.

From Bucky: you ARE going to, right

The light buzz he'd collected just by being around infectiously happy people disappears almost immediately.

Steve's eyes raise from his phone to meet yours. The look in your eyes is purely sanguine, lips lifted in contentment and a hum on your tongue, the last song playing as you left the bar as you looked around the parking lot, waiting for him to open the door to the car.

"Found it yet?"

"Just a second," he says, voice coming out very slightly strained. "Signal's bad in here."

"So much for your fancy shmancy, anti-map technology." You scoff good-naturedly at him. "Do you want me to check?"

But Steve's barely paying attention. In fact, he gets then exactly why he’d been avoiding your calls. Why he'd rescheduled and cancelled hangouts more times than he could count and why visits never lasted too long.

The minute he sees you, it’s all he can think about. This is what he knows will rest in his mind for days to come.

Bucky was right, he'd been avoiding it for as long as he could. And you didn't deserve that.

"Got it," you respond, holding up your phone. "Leggo."

Before he can even compute what's going on, Steve's hand encases yours, causing you to taper off in your attempt to open the car door.

You narrow your eyes playfully. "I've told you before, Steven, I can open the door for myse-"

“I need to tell you something,” he interrupts, all but blurting his words out.

It catches you by slight surprise, but you drop your hand from the door and spin to face him.

"Okay. Tell me what?"

Steve stares at you like an idiot, wondering how the fuck he got this far and what to do with it now.

It'd been more progress than he'd made in months. This was beyond the erased messages he'd meant to send and leaving in a haste before he could feel it bubble out of him on movie nights.

You wait for him to go on, a small smile on your face. Whatever effect the alcohol had, he knew it'd worn out a while ago; this happiness was just you from a good evening. God, he already fucking hated what was about to happen.

The overwhelming urge to just fucking lie and tell you it’s about how he had a good time, or about the kid from his block or just anything other than-

“I think I wanna go back,” he says stoically, a little too loudly to just shut up all his other thoughts.

You tilt your head in confusion, arms pulling over your chest.

“To the bar?”

Fuck.

That was a second chance. He could still get out of it.

He swallows hard, words at the tip of his tongue faltering.

Steve couldn't just fucking lie to you again, could he?

Should he?

“Steve?”

“To the forties,” he falters. “I think I’m going back to the forties.”

He watches with bated breath as the words register in your brain.

When it finally does, the world feels like it's moving through quick sand, deathly slow and sinking.

It altogether stops when your smile disappears.

Next part

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #mcu fic #marvel fic #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers series #captain america fluff #captain america angst #captain america series

[heliads]

I Wish You Could Be Honest Masterlist

HYDRA didn’t die out when it failed to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. during the time of the Winter Soldier. Now, top enemy agent Y/N L/N has been sent to finish the job by killing Steve Rogers. When she’s captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., she doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly doesn’t involve Captain America himself trying to win her over.

masterlist

Completed Series

Chapter One: We All Make Mistakes

Chapter Two: How Much Do You Know?

Chapter Three: Pass the Test

Chapter Four: To The Uninitiated

Chapter Five: I'd Bare My Heart

Chapter Six: Leaving is Only for the Faint of Heart

Chapter Seven: Homecoming

Chapter Eight: The Turning of the Tables

Chapter Nine: In My Sights

Chapter Ten: To Be Yourself Someday

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers series #captain america imagines #captain america x reader #captain america oneshot #captain america series #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot #mcu series #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #avengers series

[theriseandfallofshittyurls]

bucky: :/

sam: :)

bucky: :)

#liv’s art #art #marvel #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky art #sambucky #caatws #captain america series

[supermarvelgirl15]

The World's Tree

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)

Thor (2011)

Loki (2023) — 2.06 “Glorious Purpose”

#i am not normal about this #loki spoilers #marvel #loki #loki series #loki season 2 #thor #captain america the first avenger #the world's tree #yggdrasil

[anonymityisfunwriter]

"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

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[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the ravenous rupture

fused with the foe, chapter five

a/n: and that's it for fused with the foe! but don't you worry, our wonderful king and queen will return in both of the next instalments of the series ♡ (the release date for the next one is already up on the masterlist)

summary: “I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, smut, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, love confession, crying, kissing, loss of virginity, semi-public sex, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, dirty talk, oral, fingering, handjob, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, aftercare

word count: 3895

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Raising yourself up onto your tip toes, your fingertip still didn’t even manage to graze the spine of the tome you were trying to reach, only the tall shelf it stood on. 

But just then, before you could turn to get a chair to balance on, an inked hand came into view and grasped the book for you. 

“The Biology of Soil: A Farmer’s Comprehensive Study of Dirt,” Barnes dryly read the title out loud, “sounds absolutely riveting.”

“Don’t mock,” you snatched the leatherbound tome out of the knight’s hand, “it is interesting!”

“Of course, it is, your majesty,” he bit down a chuckle, “my apologies.”

A soft laugh couldn’t help but bubble out of you as you exited the library, “you know, you remind me a lot of my brothers.”

Walking at your side, he shot you a squint, “is that a compliment?”

“Well, I meant it as so, but I guess it could also be interpreted as an insult, all depending on which brother.”

Sinking further back into the plush armchair, your eyes danced from star to star as they glinted back at you through the big library window. 

The full moon was so bright that you hadn’t needed to light a candle in order to make out the sentences in the open book that rested in your lap. 

But suddenly, the creak of the heavy double doors to the chamber found your ears and when you twisted your head to discover who it was, your frame immediately sprung up from your comfortable seat. The forgotten tome tumbled to the floor with a dull thump as the embroidered dressing gown you wore over your ivory chemise fluttered around your legs as you swiftly stood.

“Your majesty–, Steve, I mean, Steve,” you clumsily corrected yourself, “hi, hello.”

“Evening,” he simply smiled, slowing his stride as he watched you bend down to pick the hardback off the floor. 

Hugging the book to your chest, you blew out a breath, “what–, uh…” you eyed the loose linen shirt he had sloppily tugged into his trousers, “what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he shrugged, “thought a boring novel might do the trick,” letting his fingertips kiss the ends of each bookcase as he neared you by the window, “what about you?”

“Yeah, I can’t sleep either,” a soft sigh flowed from your lips, “my mind just doesn’t seem to wanna settle down these days…”

A gentle furrow appeared to Steve’s brow, “what’s troubling you?”

“Ah, it’s nothing,” you placed the book down on the round side table by the armchair. 

“If it’s keeping you up then it’s not nothing,” gripping the tall back of the chair, he rested against it as he gazed at your visage in the moonlight, “come on, you can talk to me.”

The knot in your chest tightened, “no, I can’t,” and you averted your gaze to the stone floor, “I really can’t…”

“Why?” 

“Because–…” clenching your jaw in an effort to keep tears at bay, you briefly shot him a glare as you snapped, “because I just can’t, alright?” squeezing your eyes shut, you quietly muttered just beneath your breath, “gods… how long will I have to wait…” 

Having apparently had better hearing than you’d thought, Steve then queried, “wait for what?”

Fluttering your eyes back open, you met his gaze and uttered sombrely, “…for it to pass…” feeling your heart thump painfully in your chest just from the mere sight of him. 

A low sigh slowly seeped out of his lungs before his unwavering gaze averted to the upholstery of the chair, “…I hope you know that I’ve grown to care for you a great deal. You’re a very dear friend,” he uttered with the utmost sincerity, “and as a dear friend, I wish for you nothing but the purest of happiness. I want you to experience all of the great and wonderful things that life has to offer,” his ocean eyes then drifted back up to catch yours, “don’t let our union hold you back for any of that.”

Sucking in a breath, you asked, “what do you mean?”

“I don’t want you to think we have to have a conventional marriage, gods know we haven’t so far,” he added with a tilt of his head, “so, I just wanted to convey to you that if you ever want to be with someone else, at any degree, then you have my full support to do so.” 

Averting your gaze, “…is that what you want?” you dug your nails into your opposite palm, “for us both to openly be with other people?”

“I don’t want you to be lonely and depressed,” fragments of desperation resonated in his tone, “you’ve already experienced more than one lifetime of hardships and I really don’t want this to be another one. So, when you fall in love, please don’t hesitate. You of all people deserve to experience that.” 

“…I–…” a shaky breath escaped you, “I can’t–…”

“…you can’t?” he echoed in nearly a whisper. 

“I can’t because–…” lifting your gaze, the library around you grew more blurry by the second, “because I can’t stop thinking about you,” you revealed, “from the moment that I wake to even the dreams that possess me at night. I can not shake you from my thoughts no matter how hard I try,” as you blinked, a tear escaped and rolled down your cheek, “Steve, I wish for you to experience those very joys you speak of just as fiercely. I just want you to be happy even if I’m not the source.”

Looking as if he was scarcely breathing at all, his gaze stayed fixed upon you as he uttered, “dove, why do you think I wish that for you?” your eyes grew wide at his confession, “I don’t wanna be with someone else when you are the one I want by my side,” his fingers faltered from the grip they had on the back of the armchair as his slow steps began to carry him closer to where you stood, “not just as my queen, but as my friend, as my conscience, as my judgement, as my heart,” his eyes glistened as he then declared, “I am yours, Y/n. I didn’t plan for it, I don’t even know when it happened or how, but I do know that it’s true.”

Closing the short distance that remained, you walked up and pulled him down as you began to rise up to your tip toes. As you crashed your lips against his, it didn’t take long before you felt his broad hands glide over your waist. 

Breaking the kiss, you retracted just enough to catch the beguiling look in his eye. The corners of his lips drew up dreamily just as yours did right before you dove back in.

As your fingers weaved in his beard, so did his tongue as it danced against your own, making you lightheaded as your feet began to shuffle back, though you didn’t realise that you’d even been moving till your spine crashed against a sturdy bookcase. 

Parting momentarily at the impact, a soft giggle swiftly followed your initial squeak the collision conjured. As his gentle chuckle echoed your own, Steve’s palm caressed down your features before he captured your lips once more. 

When the fire inside of you crackled and burned too hot for you to ignore, you pulled back, a glossy string of saliva still kept you connected a moment before you gasped, “Steve, I–… I–…”

Resting his palms over yours as they clutched the top of his tunic, he tilted his chin back further, “what?” creating enough of a distance between you to truly check in. 

But how you were going to ask of him what you desired remained a mystery, no matter how hard you scrambled your fuzzy mind. So instead, you wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists and slowly guided it lower. 

“Dove…” he sucked in a breath as his gaze shadowed the journey you were taking his touch on, “do you wanna–…” finding your eye, he asked you softly, “you sure you know what it is you’re asking for?” 

“Yes,” swiftly flowed out of you as you nodded dizzily, “I–… I know. I read the books, I read all of them, I know how it all works,” your rushed words conjured a lovely little chuckle from the royal, “I just–… please?” your hot breathed fanned across his features as he leaned back in close, “I–… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…” with your fingers still enveloped around his wrist, his touch slowly began to take over and to move on its own, “fantasising about what you might be like…” unhurriedly ghosting up and down the curve of your waist, “about what your touch must feel like…” each time creeping closer and closer to where you wished for him to caress, “how it differs compared to my own…” till his teasing touch ended each fluttering swoop with feather-light grazes at both the swell of your tits, as well as the lower part of your abdomen, just before he actually reached anything real, through still leaving you utterly dazed. 

Leaning a forearm against the shelf behind you, he smirked, “…you think about me?” 

“Every night,” you dug your fingers in the fabric of your chemise and pleadingly began to hike it up, “sometimes the sun doesn’t even manage to set before I need a moment alone… all because of you.”

As he then captured your lips in a fierce kiss, his wandering hand dipped under your thin shift before you’d even raised the hem completely. When his touch found your buzzing pearl, a whimper slipped from your lungs and vibrated against his tongue as your grip on the fabric faltered and it dropped to hang around his wrist like a curtain.

“Is this how you dreamed about me touching you?” he gazed down at you, smiling at the way you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

Mind melting to ooze, you bubbled, “yes–, but also–, oh!” your brows knit together as he switched to circle your clit harder, “a-also–”

“Also how?” you could hear your want reverberate off the palace walls as he touched you, “did you dream about me kissing you down here?” holding your gaze, Steve then sank to his knees before you. 

Your breaths came in ragged as you blinked down at him, “y-yes,” watching intently as he dipped his head under your gathered-up skirts. The sloppy pecks he then lavishly began to plant over your glistening petals felt like nothing you’d ever imagined, “oh, that’s–,” you let out a broken moan, “don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

Throwing your head back against the bookcase, Steve’s grip buried in your crumbled clothes as his soft tongue dragged through your desperation. 

Letting go of your chemise with one hand, it drifted down your hip. Enclosing his lips around your throbbing clit, he sucked down hard as his fingers joined to sweep through your mess, only parting from you for a breath, “gods, you taste so fucking good,” before he eased one digit inside your clenching cunt. 

You barely noticed that it was falling before the robe you wore slipped off your frame and tumbled to a puddle on the floor, leaving you with only the thin shift and the king’s hot kisses for warmth in the cold night. 

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you whimpered, reaching down to thread your fingers in his honied hair as a second finger sneaked in beside the other, fucking you gently with them. 

You nearly wiggled out of his grasp when his luscious laps unravelled you completely, but somehow the monarch managed to follow your every squirm till he softened his efforts and replaced them with a few soft pecks over your sensitive clit that made your whole form twitch.

Fluttering your eyes open, you met his gaze as he raised the back of his hand to wipe some of your juices from his beard. 

Breathlessly, you uttered, “get up,” and as he did, you didn’t waste any time before your eyes drifted from his tender stare, “take your shirt off.” 

With one hand, he reached back and tugged the tunic off of his head, swiftly letting it drop to the floor and join the fabric puddle already at your feet. 

For a moment, he didn’t give in on his urge to close the short distance between you, simply stood there and let your stare study him, learn the galaxy of his flesh, every little mark and scar that told the story of his past. 

With your eyes still glued to the burliness of his fuzzy chest, you uttered, “tell me again,” before lifting your gaze up to meet his, “tell me again so that I know this is real.”

Reaching out to grasp your right hand, he said, “it’s real,” stepping closer as he placed your ceremonially scarred palm over his heart, “I’m real, this is real,” his fingers on his own marked hand, which clasped over yours, gently brushed over your knuckles as he spoke, “I am yours,” he shifted again and closed the small gap between you, “I will always be yours till my dying breath.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, you watched as the moonlight glinted in the blue of his eyes, making them look like the sea on a stormy night. 

“I think my heart has belonged to you ever since the dragon attack,” you professed, “though it took me a while longer before I realised what it was, why you made me feel the way that you do,” you parted your fingers against his chest, “Steve,” and let his weave in with your own, “I love you.”

Using his hold as an advantage, Steve yanked you to him till your lips crashed against his. Letting your free hand wander across his warm skin, it swiftly came down to cup the palpable tent in his trousers.

“Fuck…” he groaned lowly as you offered him a light pet. 

As you shifted to fiddle after the buttons on the side of his breeches, even the aid of your other hand didn’t yield any success in undoing more than one of them. Swiftly coming to your rescue, you swore it only took him three seconds before they hung loose enough around his hips for his cock to spring free.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe as you glanced down at length which stood so proud it poked you in the stomach. If only you had the proper context to truly know how intimidated you should have been at the discovery of his fat girth. 

Hesitantly inching your fingers closer as you stared, you asked, “can I–…?”

“Mhm,” he hummed as he slowly brought your hand the rest of the way down, engulfing his own grasp around yours and gently showing you how to touch him. 

As a sinful curse flowed from Steve’s lips, his free hand drifted up to weave itself into your hair. 

“Will it hurt?” you watched how your fingers failed to meet on the other side of his girth. 

“I don’t know, I hope not,” his forehead rested against your own, “but if it does, then we just stop and figure something else out, okay?”

“Okay…” you hazily nodded. 

Feeling his fingers flex around your own, you saw precum glint at the bulbous tip. 

“It’s all for you, dove,” you felt him throb at your touch, “all because of you,” a desperate growl then seeped out of his lungs as he seized your lips in a fervent kiss, and the next thing you knew, the whole world fell out from under you as he scooped you up into his arms. When a shrill yelp escaped you, Steve simply readjusted his grip on you and said, “don’t worry, I’ve got you,” nipping gently at your neck, “I won’t let you fall.”

With your fingers still grasping his girth, the new position now had your pussy pressed dangerously close to it, so close that you couldn’t help but sweep the head of his cock through your soppy folds and drench him. Tapping your clit a few times, the instinctual drive of his hips triggered you to simply cup his length near and let him part your pretty petals and lather himself in your needy nectar. Each desperate thrust ended in an electric nudge at your pearl, rendering you to whimper shakily into the night. 

But then suddenly, in the fog of it all, the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside, purely because of just how wet and ready you were. 

“O-oh, fuck!” everything froze as you reeled at the staggering sensation, breathlessly digging your nails into his broad shoulders and leaving crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

“Sorry,” he hastily panted, “you okay?”

“Uh–… uh-huh,” you nodded fuzzily, shutting your eyes a moment as you caught your breath. 

But then as your gaze fluttered open once more, you caught his stare and offered him a short, affirming nod, holding his eye as he slowly began to move. 

Your mouth hung agape as he shallowly fucked you, barely even giving you anything but still turning you into goo in his grasp. 

“Y-you’re so beautiful,” you whispered as you fluttered around him. 

Gliding you’re your palm up to his cheek, moans tumbled out of you both as he gently began to offer you more. Your legs couldn’t help but twitch in his grasp as he practically split you in half with the way he eased you down on his fat cock. 

“You’re doing so well,” his face crumbled up in a silent moan as you felt every detail of him slowly stretch you out, “gods, you’re so wet…”

And the next thing you knew, it wasn’t so slow and steady any longer, as the bookcase your spine was pressed against rattled at his efforts. 

You thought before that just the bulbous head of him was overwhelming, but to have that tip kiss desperately against the deepest part of you was something else entirely. You couldn’t speak, you couldn't think, you could barely even breathe, just go slack in his firm hold and feel him, not just right there, but fucking everywhere, that’s how stuffed you were. 

Steve’s strength wasn’t that novel to you these days, but to have him lift you up and sink you down on his cock, like you were just a leaf on the wind, still managed to amaze you. 

“F-fuck,” you blubbered as you tumbled over the edge once more, “oh, fuck!” accidentally knocking a few books down as one of your arms flailed for purchase. 

You barely registered the loud thud the crashing books emanated as your frame melted down into his hold. Your face buried itself in the crook of his neck as he breathlessly came to a halt, still embedded deep inside of your clenching cunt. 

The sound of his breaths directly in your ear helped to soothe your tingling senses as he rested his cheek against the crown of your head. 

Shifting his feet, Steve carried you the short distance over to the comfortable armchair you’d inhabited earlier. Carefully sitting down in it and keeping you in his lap, his arms silkily slid up your back and hugged you close. 

After persuading you to curl out of your hiding spot by planting soft pecks all over your face, you blinked down at him, bathed in the moonlight that gushed in from the tall window beside where you sat.

Gliding a hand around to your front, Steve gently tugged on the thin string at your neckline, undoing the bow, before he pulled the shoulders down your arms till you slid out of the sleeves and the top of the undergarment crumbled to gather at your waist with the rest of the fabric. 

As he pressed his lips to the peak of your tits, one of his palms accompanied the kisses. A soft whine flowed out of you as your hand slid down to where your bodies were still joined and played with your puffy pearl. 

Casting a glance down, he groaned, “yeah, rub that little clit for me,” and your hips intuitively began to rock gently. 

As you touched yourself, something else caught your attention as you slowly began to ride him. At the lower part of your stomach, you felt the dull bulge of his staggering size poke your palm steadily to the rhythm of your gentle efforts.

Letting your pebbly nipple escape from his lips with a pop, his gravelly timbre washed over you as you slowly rocked, “that’s it, fuck–,” his grip slid down to be firm on your ass, “that’s my girl.”

Abruptly, as if snapping out of a trance, you notice just how loud you both were being.

“Wait,” you shushed him though didn’t halt your hips motions, “we’re in the library, someone could hear us!”

“Then fucking let them hear us,” his fingers dug into your ass as he desperately took over and bounced you in his lap, manhandling you as he slammed you down on his cock hard enough for you to lose your breath, “no one would dare bother us, trust me.”

And before you knew it, your cunt clamped down one last time around his cock, hard enough to halt his efforts and milk him of all of his worth. 

Weakly letting his dick slip out, your skin was practically glued to his as you plastered yourselves to each other and you sensed his hot load slowly leaked out of your sensitive hole. 

As you listened to his heartbeat slowly return to normal and your heavy lids fought to stay open, a thought entered your mind. 

“Hey, Steve?”

Shifting his arms around you, his soft hum washed over you, “hm?”

Keeping your voice low, you shared, “I don’t wanna sleep alone tonight…” but to your surprise, a gentle chuckle then rumbled in his chest, “what?” you lifted your head and blinked up at him, “why are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just­­–,” he smiled, gazing down at you as if Zondür himself had divinely created you especially for him, “you really think I’d let you skip off to your room alone after all of that, like it never even happened?” 

Huffing out a short giggle, you lowered your glance, “well, when you put it like that…”

“Yes,” he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, “if you want me to sleep beside you, I will,” rising from his comfortable seat, he readjusted his grip on you, twisting you to him as he hooked an arm behind your knees and at your back. As he carried you close, he began to lumber out of the library and down the hallway, concurring the short distance to where your chambers lied, “my queen, I would love nothing more for the rest of my days than to fall asleep with your head on my chest and wake up to your softness arching against me…”

Flexing your fingers around his neck, you raised yourself up enough to capture his lips in a tender kiss one last time just as he kicked your bedroom door shut behind you both.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

#lea’s writing #eflorr au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers au #steve rogers series #king!steve rogers #chris evans smut #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans au #captain america smut

[krirebr]

More Than This Masterlist

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, explicit language, the slooowest burn - See each chapter for individual warnings. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

One

Two

Three

Four

Series in progress

#series masterlist #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #knives out #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #fanfic #steve rogers #captain america #reader insert #arranged marriage au #kris wrote something #more than this #more than this masterlist #ce characters

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lost 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of loss, grieving, death, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: nomad!Steve Rogers

Summary: You move into a shared flat and encounter a mysterious man.

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

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

“And this is your room,” Muriel stops before a door along the short hallway. “You have a neighbour just across the hall, and two more on the other side of the kitchen.”

You nod. It isn’t an ideal situation. Not one you ever saw yourself in. But survival isn’t built for the fussy. There are many others like you. Those not so lucky, those who are dead. Many who never got the choice of a new home.

You keep your hand on your rolling bag, your other on your canvas knapsack. They’re full of items that aren’t your own. Second-hand clothes acquired from shelters and toiletries given out by the support workers. You’re on your own now.

“Anything else, dear?” Muriel asks to your silence.

“Thank you, Muriel,” you murmur.

She hands you the key and leaves. Before showing you your own space, she took you around those shared by the rest of her boarders. You suppose they’re your roommates now. A kitchen, two bathrooms, a front room with a tattered couch and old tube television. You’ll stick to your own four walls.

You slide the key in the slot, the metal grinding loudly. You hear a throat clear and peer towards the noise. The walls must be thin. You’re still alone. You let yourself into the room, pulling the door shut behind you. You flip the lock back into place before you shove your bags by the wall.

There’s a twin bed with a metal frame, a single night table, and a standing lamp. There’s also a shallow closet. It’s not much but you don’t need more than that. It’s good to have a roof over your head.

You sit on the lumpy mattress and the frame squeaks loudly. You stand up again and pace around. There isn’t too much room. It shouldn’t matter, you won’t need it. You’ll be out working and back to sleep again. You start tomorrow at the convenience shop.

You hear a thump and your head pops up. You can’t help but jump in your shoes. Ever since the city rained down around you, every bump, every sudden noise has you skittish. It’s nothing, only another boarder.

You go to your bag and unbuckle the flap. You pull out a can of beans and the pocket knife in the side pocket. You go back to the bed and sit, another shrill whine from the metal frame. You pull out the can open from the pocket knife and peel back the lid. On the same keychain is a small metal spork you use to scoop out the beans, eating them cold as your stomach growls hungrily.

You eat, bite by bite, staring at the wall, just beside the only window. It isn’t home. You don’t expect one of those. It’s just a place to live. To survive.

🚪

You take your toothbrush and your tube of toothpaste with you to the bathroom down the hall. It’s just across from the other bedroom on that side of the flat. The doorway is dark, beckoning you inside. You flip on the light and shut the door as you enter.

You turn on the tap and set to brushing your teeth. Such a basic and simple task but one you didn’t always have the chance to do. It’s almost soothing to feel the bristles in your mouth. It makes you feel almost normal.

You take your time as the mint flavour sticks to your tongue. You rinse your brush and flick off the excess water, sliding it back into the travel tube and capping the paste. You look at yourself in the mirror, not for long, just to make sure you still recognise you.

You clutch your things in one hand and flick the light off. You open the door and nearly shriek at the shadow waiting in the hall. You waver in the doorway as a tiny wisp escapes your throat. You blink as the dark silhouette stands with arms crossed in the dim hall.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man says gruffly.

He's tall but mostly obscured. His hair wings out around his neck and his shoulders bulge broadly. You feel his eyes boring into you, as he can see through the darkness and you.

You dip your chin and sidle out, keeping your distance as you sidestep along the wall. You should apologise but your voice is buried deep down. You put your hand up in a show of deference.

“You done?” He asks.

You pause and look at the plaster across from you. You nod then turn your back to him completely. He must be the neighbour. You quickly shuffle to your room and hide behind the door. It’s much better than the shelter, you don’t have someone rolling into your sleeping bag, but still, you’re claustrophobic.

You mourn that most. The sense of privacy. Of personal space. Have a place that’s your own with people you know. People you love.

You toss your toothbrush and toothpaste onto the night table and huff as you sit on the bed. You frown and push your head back, trying to soothe the tightness between your shoulders. You blow out, breath rattling as your nose tingles.

You can never go back to Sokovia or how it was. You can only go forward and the road ahead is very lonely.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the lost #mcu #marvel #captain america #avengers #nomad!steve

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (4.2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down. 

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it. 

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke. 

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.” 

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit. 

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him. 

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.” 

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man, part one]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #touchstarved #touch starved!steve #touch starved #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #nomad captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #hideout series

[rogersideup]

｡°✩ ♊︎ The Gemini ♊︎ ✩ °｡

Chapter four

Pink Peonies

Series masterlist

Previous part: expendable next part: Rearview

Word count: 7,972

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions and descriptions of sexual acts, anxiety, and sever depression.

The week leading up to your final evaluation was nothing short of absolutely miserable.

Between losing Steve and Bucky, the only two people that made the compound a bearable place for you, fully processing your breakup with Harvey, and the stress that came along with such an important test made you feel like you were completely lost.

You showed up to work and private training like a good little agent regardless of how much internal pain you felt looking at Steve's face. You endured the two hours of uncomfortable silence with him after enduring working alongside Harvey for 5 hours, then went to the gym and worked out to make sure you stayed prepared and in tip top shape for evaluation.

But once your day was done and you were left to your own devices, it felt like you were shattering and crumbling between the walls of reality.

You could barely eat with the constant stomach ache you've had since Friday night, you could barely sleep through the sheer amount of racing thoughts in your head or the pain of your heart that felt physically broken, and in the morning you barely got yourself out of bed.

Showering and brushing you teeth felt like fighting a war, drinking water might as well have been an Olympic sport, your hair stayed up in a bun or a ponytail because doing anything more than brushing it wasn't in the cards for you.

The highlight of your day recently had been a phone call from Jane and Luca around 6:30pm, it was simple but still enough to keep you going. Your sister fed you just enough encouragement to get to your evaluation, and your nephew was just adorable enough to put a smile on your face even if it was short lived. They encouraged you to keep going, and promised they would be there for you on evaluation day.

It was a graduation of some sorts. Agents got to have close friends and family come watch and support them on the test day, and you we're looking forward to them finally getting to be in the compound with you.

However, all the happiness of Luca getting to live his dreams of seeing the Avengers compound was clouded with anxiety about Steve. You knew he would see his favorite superhero, and you knew there was absolutely nothing you could do to keep that from happening. But you were unwilling to not have your favorite little human not at such a monumental achievement in your life.

Luca watching you become an official, fully operable agent was important to him, almost more than it was to you. So you just hoped and prayed that Steve would react kindly to him, and your sister would react kindly towards Steve after knowing everything that happened between you two. For your sake and the five year old's, you needed everyone to just momentarily pretend like everything is alright.

The night before the big day had you in shambles. Your hands had been shaking with anxiety all day long, and as every minute passed and got closer to evaluation day, the anticipation killed you a little less slowly and a lot more aggressively.

You tried everything you could to calm your nerves. The animated movie illuminating your living room was going by unwatched, the comforting bowl of pho you got yourself was getting colder and less enjoyable with every individual noodle you convinced yourself you had to eat, and the quick shower you needed to take turned from a 10 minute task to a 45 minute one. You couldn't convince yourself to get in, then once the hot water rushed against your body with a comforting pressure, you couldn't convince yourself to get out.

Eventually the walls of your apartment felt like they were swallowing you whole, and no nook or cranny could provide you enough peace to calm your mind. So you threw on a big hoodie and grabbed a blanket before walking the halls until making it outside of the high tech building and onto the lawn.

You found a perfect spot tucked away by the building, it was clear enough out to see all of the stars twinkling in the night sky, and the moon was big and bright. So you laid out your blanket, and laid out on the underneath the night sky.

Rather than letting all of your thoughts and all of the new changes in your life scare you, you tried to slow them down and think through them logically. You thought about everything Steve said to you, what his feelings for you meant and how they affected what you thought you once knew about him and what they meant for you in the future.

You thought about how Harvey was probably going to fail his evaluation tomorrow, and how he would proceed after the fact. Would he give up working for Shield, or would he try again come next evaluation day?

You tried your hardest to avoid thinking about Bucky, because the situation with him was a new kind of pain. The platonic love you had for him was immeasurable, and day by day you found it harder to not forgive him. Because when it came down to it, you understood why he told Steve about your one time escapade. But for as long as Steve was upset, you knew it wasn't worth trying to mend your friendship with Bucky.

Rather than trying to run away from all of the hurt in your heart, the stars and the moon encouraged to you sit in those feelings for awhile. You got about 20 minutes into accepting them for what they were and working through them without pushing them away.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, but you accepted those too. Instead of wiping them off your face, you just let them drip off the bottom of your jaw with the understanding that they would dry when they were ready.

Footsteps and booming laughter approaching from a distance made you sit up instead of laying flat on your back, not wanting to worry the people about to walk though the area. You tucked your knees to your chest and hugged your legs while continuing to watch an occasional lonesome cloud slowly pass by in the dark sky.

All of the grounding work you did to try and calm your mind and ease your broken heart was reversed as the laughter and footsteps came closer, and you started to recognize the people that the voices belong to. And sure enough, they came into eyesight faster than the universe allowed you to walk away.

Steve and Bucky turned the corner, and they were obviously very happy. Their laughter over what you assumed was an inside joke you were never included in didn't falter. Their happiness and humor felt insensitive at the moment, there was a split moment where you couldn't fathom that they were so jovial at time where you haven't genuinely smiled in almost a week.

You curled yourself up smaller and held your breath, hoping they wouldn't notice you or your slow falling tears. Though you were quiet, made yourself small, and sat in the dark on the grass furthest from the concrete path, they were trained to sense other people around them.

As if you had greeted them first they both stopped at the same time, their laughter fading just to give a friendly greeting to whoever was sitting out there. Only when they looked at you did you try to subtly wipe your tears and unblock your nose. With the hood of your jacket over your head, you could tell it took them a moment to recognize it was you.

You could see the very second your identity dawned on them, both of their shoulders fell and Bucky's face looked apologetic. Steve looked at his watch before looking at you.

As if you knew it was going to happen, your eyes met the grass before you let them look into his. You hadn't made eye contact with him since the initial argument, and you knew that killed him slowly and painfully.

They could both tell you were hurt, but especially Steve. Every single day he's seen you at work you looked just a little worse. It was as if you were slowly deteriorating from the person he once knew. Your big bright eyes where now dull and your eyelids were heavy, your pink cheeks were pale, your energy had sunken in.

"The sprinklers go off in two minutes." Steve told you.

Not expecting either of them to actually say anything to you, your brain couldn't process his words.

"What?" You questioned, looking up at Bucky in confusion, still refusing to look at Steve.

"The lawn gets watered every night at 10pm. It's 9:58." Bucky explained, his tone of voice was apologetic with a hint of empathy. "The sprinklers turn on in 2 minutes."

"Oh..." You understood, feeling disappointed that you had to move. "Thanks."

Expecting them to walk away, you stood up and grabbed your blanket off the grass. But when you turned around, they were both still standing there. Both still staring at you.

You moved onto the path, and they still stood there and stared. Not understanding their intentions, you cocked your head to the side and raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Excuse me?" You questioned, requesting them to stop blocking the path so you could get home and far away from them.

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked.

"Just peachy" You responded simply, pushing past their two bodies to walk along the path.

They started walking behind you, all three of you needing to get to the same elevator. Your body and mind filled with dread, hoping and praying they weren't going to follow you in and get in the same elevator as you. But just in case they were, you tried your hardest to stop crying. You were far too stubborn to let them get a rise out of you.

"You don't seem very Peachy." Bucky said. You could hear the pout and genuine concern in his voice. "We still care about you, Bug. We're worried about you."

"Don't call me that." You sadly shook your head. "And maybe speak for yourself."

Steve sighed at your comment, and you missed the way he tossed his head back trying his hardest to remain composed. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of course he cared about you, of course he was worried, but he was also mad and didn't want his words to be misconstrued as him trying to make advances towards you.

Bucky backhandedly smacked Steve's chest, trying to get him to say something. You heard the impact, and tried not to smile at Bucky trying his hardest to make it better.

As suddenly Bucky found out that Steve had feelings for you, he started recognizing that you also had very deeply suppressed feelings for him too. The difference was that you pushed them down because your heart was so disconnected from your soul from the amount of torment you went through on a daily basis. Your confidence had never been lower, you genuinely believed you weren't worthy of love, and no part of your heart was open enough to let in or accept that anyone could ever care for you the same way you did for other people.

The compound wasn't good for you, and he knew they made it worse. He wanted to fix it, he wanted both of his best friends to be happy.

"I care about you too, 306." Steve mumbled, hoping it wouldn't back fire.

You just kept walking, trying to blink back the new rush of tears in your eyes and noting that the sprinklers did really turn on at 10 o'clock.

"Why are you out here so late? You have a big day tomorrow." Bucky noted. "I know you're upset and rightfully mad at us, but I'll be there cheering you on tomorrow. No matter what happens I'm always rooting for you."

"Are you sure that's not going to make things weird?" You sassed, but your comment wasn't directed towards him. It was meant for Steve, and he felt the bitterness in every word.

Once again, you heard Bucky's metal hand make harsh contact with Steve's chest. This time it was accommodated with a small 'oof' but he had nothing to say in response to that comment.

"You're going to do great." Bucky said.

You reached the door to the lobby and Steve rushed to the handle to open it, but you got to it before he did, pulling it open and walking through, letting each of the boys hold it open for themselves.

"Thanks." You accepted.

A thick and uncomfortable silence took over as they followed you to the elevator, waited for the doors to open, then the three of you got into the small confined space together.

The silence was so intense that they could hear your tiny sniffles, and you nearly bumped Steve with your elbow as you rushed to wipe away a tear.

They rode it up to your floor first since they lived 3 floors above you, and you felt immediately relief as it stopped on your floor and the doors slid open once more.

Steve's heart thumped so hard he could hear the rush of blood in his ears. He knew this was his last chance to say something before your big day, and he knew he would kick himself if he didn't.

"Good luck." Steve offered with an artificial tight lipped smile. "It'll be easy for you, promise."

As if he said nothing at all, you got off completely unaffected by his words.

"We love you!" Bucky shouted as the doors closed behind him.

You got back to your place and bolted the locks behind you, not even letting yourself begin to unpack that interaction before diving straight into your bed and willing yourself to sleep.

Unfortunately, the morning came way too fast. Your phone was flooding with notifications from your out of state friends and family wishing you well on your big day. And as you slid into your uniform, and did your hair and makeup, you started receiving texts that your support had arrived to the compound.

Making the walk down to the training room and getting checked in was the scariest part. Once everything was set in place and you were waiting for your evaluation to start, you stretched out your arms, legs, and back while looking out into the crowd of your colleagues friends and family.

Surprisingly, you were feeling pretty good. You spotted your Mom and Dad, Sister and Brother in law, Luca all sitting clumped together. Sitting with them was Bucky and Natasha, who also brought along Tony who sat with sunglasses on and a face so straight while he pretended like he wasn't there.

Then walked in Steve, him and Commander Bennett, and Agent Maria Hill were the three leaders who graded each agent on their final and most important test.

The grading system was simple. It was pass or fail, with a note explaining why.

You could hear Luca's little voice through the small crowd of people when Steve walked in wearing his suit. His tiny little voice projecting the announcement that "Oh my gosh CAPTAIN AMERICA IS HERE!" Was just too damn cute for anyone to ignore. It earned lots of laughs from everyone in the room, and it brought a big smile to Steve's face.

Of course he immediately knew who that voice belonged to, but that didn't stop him from finding him in the crowd and waving at him. He understood why you loved the kid so much, he was just about the cutest thing Steve had ever seen.

He noticed Luca looking at you after he waved at him, so he looked at you too. You had a big smile on your face just for five year old who was bouncing with excitement, but Steve could tell the difference between your genuine happiness and the fake smile smeared on your lips.

Eventually the evaluation started. Agents were tested 5 at a time, all running the same sort of obstacle course and shooting test. By the end of each evaluation, it seemed as though each agent was struggling to catch their breath while dripping sweat. A few of them even sprawled out on the floor the second they crossed the finish line.

But you? When you finished your evaluation Steve noticed you were barely panting. Not a hair on your head was out of place, your makeup was still perfect, he couldn't even spot a single bead of sweat along your hairline.

He knew it would be easy for you, he practically passed you before you were even properly evaluated, but the way you were almost unaffected by the rigorous testing and walked away from it without batting an eye was even impressive to him.

The worst thing Steve took away from this, was the understanding of how deeply down bad he was for you. Because even in the midst of the pain of hurting each others feelings, he was immensely proud of you, and never found you more attractive than in this moment.

Because even as you walked up to the three assessors to collect your results, you still refused to look him in the eye. Although his feelings for you were completely misunderstood, he respected the way you held your ground in order to protect yourself and what you believe in.

It was a big improvement from the way you let Harvey drag you along through miles of mud and utter bullshit.

When you looked down at your papers, a very humble, yet genuine smile took over this time, and Steve was happy to see it. You didn't even bother reading the notes that were written for you before walking away quickly to unite with your family.

Steve watched from afar as your parents embraced you both at the same time. Your mom left kisses on your cheeks, your dad the top of your head. With no hesitation, your sister who had your kind eyes and familiar beauty joined the hug, followed by your brother in law, then Luca who tried his hardest but just ended up with his arms embracing your legs.

He couldn't help but to smile as you bent down and picked up the 5 year old, he flopped upside down before you lifted him up and over your head to sit on your shoulders. His belly laugh bounced off the smooth walls as he reached down and grabbed your cheeks, tipping your head upwards to look at him.

"Can I meet Captain Rogers?" He asked.

In an instant, your authentic smile turned plastic. "Who?" You joked.

Steve stood a little straighter, then made awkward momentary eye contact with your dad. Steve died a little on the inside when he politely motioned asking him to come here, presumably to meet Luca, but a part of him wondered if he had heard the news of what happened between him and his daughter. Keeping a professional face, he did consider that he was about to get his ass kicked by the man who created you.

"Look, Luca, he's coming over now!" Your dad announced.

"Oh, what a joy!" Your sister smiled wide, squeezing your arms and shaking you around a bit.

Okay, Sister definitely knows.

One deep breath for you and Steve, and your brave faces were on.

"Congratulations, Agent." Steve spoke firmly as he approached. "You did great, far beyond expectations."

"Thank you, Captain." Just like that, you made eye contact with him for the first time in a week. It was a testament to deep love you had for your family, but especially for Luca. You'd be damned if you crushed his tiny superhero loving heart, so you did your best to pretend like everything was perfectly normal. Luckily, five year olds can't see lingering pain deep behind your eyes like Steve could. "This is Luca, he's very excited to meet you. He was wondering if you would take a picture with him."

"Hey buddy! I've heard so much about you!" Steve's smile widened at the boy who was in absolute shock, staring right back at him with wide sparkly eyes and a slack jaw. "I heard you're going to join the Avengers soon, is that true?"

"I'm only 5!" The boy giggled.

"What?! You look strong enough to be an Avenger!" Steve enthused, "let me see how strong you are, give me a high-five."

Steve stuck his arm up over your head, and your nephew smacked his hand as per request. After hearing their two hands meet in the middle, Steve pulled his away and shook it off "oh yeah, we definitely have a future superhero on our hands."

"My mommy and daddy said I have to be a teenager before I can be an agent like Auntie." Luca explained.

"They sound very smart." Steve chuckled at the boy who was wise beyond his years. "Is this them?"

Wonderful. Of course Steve would be the man to introduce himself to your family completely unprompted. You watched him shake hands with your dad, sister and her husband, meanwhile your mom went for a full blown hug. In that moment you wanted to shrivel up and let the floor swallow you whole, maybe rip your mom away and correct her mistakes for the improper greeting to such a highly decorated service man. But Steve took it like a champ, and you knew he loved it, which made you want to rip him away and tell him to stay away from your mom for the rest of eternity. You wanted him to stay away from you for the rest of eternity.

Looking around for Bucky and Nat, maybe even Tony, shit, even Harvey to try and get you out of your own personal hell was wildly unsuccessful. The room was far too busy and disorderly to plot an escape plan before your Dad was shoving Steve next to you and Luca with a camera in your face telling you to say cheeeeeeeeessseeeee.

Hopefully your smiling face didn't come across as vicious as it felt when that photo was inevitably plastered across social media for the entirety of the internet to see.

Eventually you managed to peel Luca and your Dad away from Steve and herd your family around the compound and up to your apartment. As you were leaving you could see Harvey with his head down, yet all of his browbeater friends were celebrating around him. It made you roll your eyes, but once again you moved on for the sake of your family.

As you approached the door with your key in hand and family behind you, there was a big, beautiful fresh flower arrangement in front of it with a card. Your mom made some comments about how beautiful it was as you picked it up and let them inside.

You had a feeling you already knew who it was from, so you left it on the kitchen counter and decided to read the card later as you vowed to spend much needed quality time with your family.

Although the beginning of the day was emotionally exhausting, the rest of the day felt like a big breath of fresh air. Spending time with your family in your own home made the compound feel so much warmer than it ever has. A good meal, lots of laughter, and so much play time with the little one had your parents exhausted and shuffling out of the compound around 7pm after more hugs and lots of kisses.

That left Luca and his dad that we're both fast asleep on the living room rug as the TV played a Disney movie, and Jane who was sitting across from you on the couch.

"I can feel you staring at me." You looked over at her with a questioning tone.

She had a loving smile on her face. "I'm proud of you. You've turned into such an incredible woman right in front of my eyes, and I'm just so grateful that I get to look up to my own little sister. How many people can say that?"

"Well, I still look up to you everyday." You denied her complement, but she was still looking at you as if there was more she had to say.  "Cut to the chase."

"You've spent a lot of time crying on my couch, I need to talk about the boy." She stated.

"Which one?" You grumbled. "I hate that there's 3 options."

"Steve." She said sympathetically. "I get to call him that because he hurt my baby sister's feelings."

"At least you didn't hug him." You shrugged. "Kind've don't care about respecting titles anymore."

"I know how much he hurt you, and I know he jumped the gun and is treating you unfairly compared to Bucky. I even know that you feel like your whole friendship with him was just his attempt at trying to sleep with you, but Smalls..."

"Don't say it." You plugged your ears and sunk deeper into the couch cushions.

Jane reached out and ripped your hands away from your ears. "The way he looks at you is just so sweet. And the way he was so kind to all of us and Luca even though you two aren't on speaking terms says a lot about his character. He's head over heels for you."

"The way he looks at me?" You scoffed. "He looks at me like an asset because he wants me to join the Avengers. They all see me like a little worker ant that's going to pick up the weight of their jobs."

"No, that's not it." You sister denied. "You know the truth and you're pushing him away because he hurt you. You hurt him too, even if you didn't mean it. I can see it in his body language that he cares for you, he seemed nervous for you today, and he looked so happy when you did well. That's not someone who's just trying to sleep with you and run."

"Well even if that's the truth, it doesn't matter because he's never expressed any of that to me with his own mouth." You explained. "You know how he handled the situation was wrong, he had no right to come at me with an attitude like that. Him and Bucky had no right to put all the blame on me. If he's having big feelings, he can express them with his big boy words. I'm not going to play a stupid little game with him like we're teenagers."

"I understand, and you're right." Jane validated your emotions. "But he seems really sweet... and he's absolutely gorgeous so maybe you should just consider my point of view."

"Ugh, his gorgeousness starts going blind to your eyes after a few hours. You get used to it, that's not a reason to forgive him." You lied.

"Who are the flowers from?" She quipped, knowing you lied straight through your teeth.

"I don't know."

"Should we read the note?"

"Nope." You looked straight forward at the TV screen. "That's not a question I need answered right now."

"Smalls..."

"What?"

"His gorgeousness never gets old, does it?" She called out your lie.

“... no." You threw your head back in complaint.

Eventually the three of them left as well. The day was getting late and Luca was exhausted from so much excitement, but the second you were alone in your apartment again you felt the weight of the compound right back on your shoulders.

Anxiety bloomed deep in your stomach and crawled up to your heart as you dragged your feet over to the flower arrangement that was left untouched on your counter. Your fingers struggled to open the card, but you got there eventually.

Before you even got to the note, you noticed that the arrangement was made of your favorite flower, pink peonies.

The entirety of your relationship with Harvey, he only bought you flowers once and it was after an explosive argument. Steve and Bucky came over the next day, and without fail both of them barked out a laugh at the flowers he had chosen because they weren't even your favorite kind of flower.

You didn't necessarily remember even disclosing your favorite flowers to them, yet they always referenced the bouquet of sad looking yellow chrysanthemums from the grocery store. Of course you reminded them that the type of flower or where he got them from didn't matter to you, it was just the effort and the gesture. The boys were fast to shut that sentiment down, because really, the pretty pink peonies weren't that hard to obtain, so how he managed to mess that up too was beyond your chivalrous best friends.

It didn't take long before you opened up the card inside and recognized the handwriting on it. There was an obvious effort made as it was written neatly and the lines were nice and straight.

Congratulations, Agent!

      We're all so proud of you and everything you've accomplished through hard work and dedication. We've been keeping an eye on you, and we know this journey has been difficult regardless of how easy you made it look. Watching you grow from a rookie to the highest ranking Agent Shield has ever seen has been a privilege to say the least. Although you're skillful in battle and combat, your kind heart and determination that never faltered through the journey is what will get you far. We see all the amazing qualities that make you not just a great fighter, but a great person. We could always use more people like you, and we're here whenever you're ready. From the bottom of our heart, we hope you consider a place on our team once more.

With warm regards and no pressure,

Steve + Bucky, The Avengers.

(Okay, maybe a little bit of pressure.)

You put the letter down, not allowing yourself to break down and over analyze the potential double meaning behind each of the words. The ache pounding at the back of your skull was already a nuisance, and trying to figure out why the boys were being so nice to you after treating you so poorly and denouncing your friendship was bound to make the dull ache sharper.

You dragged your feet all the way to bed before flopping in and wrapping yourself up into the tightest, fuzzy blanket cocoon.

Even with your accomplishment today, tomorrow was your first day as an official agent, and there was more work to be done.

Just like there would be the next day, and Monday, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and Thursday....

Well, Monday through Thursday were pretty uneventful. You dug your head into the new work assignments you got now that you didn't have normal agent training, and you loved every second of it. It was worth all of your blood, sweat and tears to get there. Then you moved on to individual training with Steve that you painfully wished could be over soon.

All week you let him talk at you, and you never verbally responded. Just as much as you didn't want to be there, you could tell he didn't want to be there either. Today the two of you just sat as he showed and explained to you the different kinds of restraints you would be seeing out in the world on missions, then he would put them on himself and show you how to get out of them.

Deep regret was the only emotion you could use to describe the feeling of saying you would finish off your last few weeks with him working through your biggest fear. It seemed like a good idea two weeks ago when you still had full trust and confidence in him, but now he was flailing ropes, zip ties and handcuffs in your face while you sat completely silent, hoping your face wasn't giving away how unsettled you truly felt by this.

Maybe it would've been better if his voice wasn't so low or monotone, maybe if he actually had changed into gym clothes instead of sitting on the floor in his well put together office outfit you would feel less intimidated.

The only words that made you feel less uncomfortable today was that he wouldn't have you practicing any of this until tomorrow. But his words sat heavily on your mind and made your hands shake all throughout the rest of your day, they made you lose sleep that night, pulled your mind away from work the day of, and made the brain noise so loud that you had to listen to music in your headphones to keep your anxiety to a manageable level just to get yourself to even walk to training again.

Trying your absolute hardest not to think about what was about to happen, you looked down at your own two feet and counted each step as you made the walk, and let the melody of your favorite song distract you from reality.

Unfortunately your music wasn't loud enough to drown out the sounds of your name being called from behind you in the hallway empty besides you and one of three people you really didn't want to see.

So, you tried your hardest to ignore the tormenting happening behind you.

"I know you can hear me, stop being a bitch." Harvey's voice cut through the peaceful music.

"Stop walking I'm trying to talk to you."

"Baby, please. It'll only take a minute."

"I swear to fucking god!" This time he shouted and grabbed your arm, yanking it as hard as he could. An excruciating pain through your shoulder manifested as a yelp and your feet stoped in their place. Keeping hold of your wrist, Harvey used his other forearm to dig into your collarbones and shove you against the wall, using his body to cage you in. "Don't walk away when I'm trying to talk to you."

He ripped one of your AirPods out of your ears and stomped it with his foot. "What the fuck do you want?" You questioned, hoping and praying the pain in your shoulder that was radiating down your arm was nothing but a short term reaction to his assault on your body.

"You blocked my phone number, you ignore me when I try to talk to you in person. How am I ever supposed to get through to you?" He scolded, getting all up in your face as an intimidation tactic.

"You're not supposed to." You sassed. "That's the point. Will you let me go now? You're going to make me late."

"Did you pass evaluation?" He asked.

"I'll tell you if you let me go."

"Of course you did." He got even closer and his voice louder. The whole font of his body was pressing into yours, creating an uncomfortable vice between him and the wall. "You never would've passed had it not been for your scheduled time to jerk off Captain Rogers every day."

"Is that what you're telling yourself to feel better about your failed assessment?" You asked, exhausted of the narrative that your success only came at the mercy of the men around you.

"Why would you think I failed?"

"Because you're sloppy, you don't take your job or the training seriously, you've spent more of you energy worrying about me more than yourself, oh, and your uniform still has the rookie patch on it." You let your words flow out of you like venom. Frankly, you didn't care if it upset him, traveled through his blood and left a toxic taste in his mouth.

Your shoulder was killing you, you were tired and angry, and in the middle of an argument with two grown men over the fact that you quite literally did not jerk Steve off. So yeah, you weren't going to bat your eyelashes and smile at a man who had you pinned against a wall.

Harvey was speechless for a moment, so you continued. "So, I don't think you failed, I know you failed. And I didn't only pass because of Steve. He helped me, but I was doing well before him and I'll continue to do well after him."

You used all your force to shove Harvey off of you, in a moment of shock from your words and behavior, he stumbled back. Then, he was angry all over again.

He tried to throw a punch right at your jaw, but you blocked it, and kicked him right in the stomach. Not hard enough to intend to hurt him, but hard enough to knock him off of his feet and flat on the ground.

With a groan and some struggle, he tried to get up. So you left your foot flat on his stomach as a statement. It quickly got him to stay down.

"Don't you ever try to contact me again. Not through my phone, not to my face, never." You practically growled, still trying to make sure he couldn't tell that he had caused you pain.

Once you were positive that you got your point across, only then did you remove your foot from his body, pick up your broken AirPod to keep as evidence, then start walking away.

“Everyone knows what you and Sargent Barnes did." His voice sounded from behind you.

You stopped in your tracks, oxygen momentarily leaving your lungs. "What exactly did Sargent Barnes and I do?" You asked while keeping a stern face, hoping it was all the same rumors that float around about you and Steve.

"I don't even have to tell you, because you already know what you did." Harvey denied your peace of mind. "Now I know what everyone else knows to. I should've never trusted that you were just friends with both him and Captain Rogers, and that you're the biggest slut in this place."

This time you really did walk away, ignoring his last attempts at getting you to bite into his bait by calling you a whore from his spot in the hallway unable to peel himself off of the ground.

Once he couldn't see you anymore, tears flooded your eyes but you couldn't tell of it was from the physical or emotional pain, and your gripped your shoulder trying to rationalize that you didn't need to go to the medical bay.

The last thing you wanted to do now was see Steve, but you hoped he would go easy on you considering the circumstances.

Your faith in his ability to be a kind and empathetic person completely faltered as your pushed through the doors to the gym and he was already angry at you.

"You're late." He told you sternly, his face was set in a disappointment.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and squeezed your shoulder, hoping the added pressure would help sooth your pain.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be late. I was on time then Ha-" You started explaining, looking at him with fear and tears in your eyes.

"I don't need an excuse." Steve grumbled, cutting you off and very obviously in a foul mood.

He started walking towards you with a rope in his hand, and your heart dropped to your stomach. "Wait, please just- I was on my way here but Harv-"

"I don't care, it's fine." Steve cut you off again. "We're already behind on time, let's just start."

He got close enough to touch you, and you instinctively took a big step back, but it didn't even phase Steve. He grabbed your hand off your shoulder and put it behind your back. Bracing yourself for the pain of him inevitably grabbing your other arm, you frantically let the words "he hurt me" Spill out of your mouth like vomit.

But it didn't come out fast enough, and before you knew it, both of your arms were behind your back and the pain shooting through your arm combined with the devastating realization that Steve didn't care about you anymore made you feel like you were going to be sick.

You could feel the rope around your wrist becoming uncomfortably tight, each knot he tied added another knot to your stomach. "Zero percent."

"What?" He questioned.

Your tears spilled over the edge. "Zero percent trust in you right now. Please stop and just listen to me for one second."

"You're only saying that because you're scared of the restraints." Steve rationalized. "I showed you how to get out, you'll be fine."

"You don't understand" You cried, feeling more and more unsettled by the second, a deep panic settling in your stomach. "Please, I'm trying to tell you what just happened and you aren't listening to me"

He finished up the knot then turned around to face you again. "This is the first time you've tried to even have a conversation with me in two weeks, why should I hear you out when you won't even begin to let me speak to you?"

Steve sat you down on a chair, and started tying your feet. Everything in you told you to fight it, but you were feeling unexpectedly scared of him. You knew you could never match his strength to fight off his efforts and you could never outrun him.

Your friend Steve was nowhere to be found, in front of you was only a dark and stormy Captain America. A weapon of a man with no intention of switching on the safety.

By unintentionally denying his affection towards you two weeks ago, you loaded him up and now the barrel was was pointed directly at your chest. Now, there was no empathy for your fear, no husbandry to make you feel more comfortable in a situation you told him you never wanted to be in, and no regard to what you just went through.

"I'm sorry, I'm just trying to tell you now because odds are you're going to hear about it eventually because-"

"Okay then I'll hear about it when it gets back to me. We really need to get this going" He told you. "Just calm down, and try to get out how I showed you yesterday."

"You're mad at me, and I get that, but I need my boss right now." You cried, yanking at the ropes on your wrists and ankles, none of them budging.

"I'm not your boss anymore, I haven't been since you passed evaluation." He told you, setting a timer on his phone for 54 minutes. "I only have an hour for training today because I was double booked. I'm going to leave you here to calm yourself down and figure out how to get out. I'll be right back there, either come get me when you're out, or I'll untie you at the end of the hour if you can't do it."

"Steve, don't walk away from me right now, I'm trying to tell you I need a medic." You said frantically, your panic attack hitting you harder by the second.

"Out on a mission we don't get to pick and choose when we get held hostage, consider this extra practice." He started to walk off.

You felt pathetic as your lungs stung with every panting breath, your hands shook as your fingers tried their hardest to untie the knot Steve made sure to pull extra tight, your stomach churned with uncontrollable fear, and your heart thumped so strongly and passionately that you could hear it in your ears despite the physical pain you felt in chest.

Whenever you had panic attacks, your skin broke out in a red splotchy tint, and the world seemed to spin around like a bad case of vertigo. It felt like the floor beneath you was crumbling and cracking with every moment passing, as the walls slowly closed in and the ceiling came down.

Black fuzzies and watery tears altered your vision as you pushed past the pain and tried to get your hands free. It only took about 15 minutes before the rope fell to the floor and the circulation rushed back to your hands. Untying your feet was a lot easier with two free hands, but still mildly difficult with Steve's knot tying skills and the sharp sting in your shoulder every time you exerted your arm.

You got out, you never doubted that you could. But that was never the point, and Steve would've known that had he ever just listened to you. That only fueled your panicked rage as you grabbed the ropes off the floor and stomped over to him, sitting in the very back corner of the gym watching you with a blank look on his face.

The thick ropes smacked the floor right next to his legs, exactly where you aimed as you snapped them out of your hands. "I have no interest in completing the rest of the hour you so graciously gifted me, and absolutely no interest in training with you ever again."

Steve was taken back by the fiery rage that was being directed at him. He knew he was being hard on you, but he was only being hard on you because he thought you could take it. "Woah, hold on. Let's just take a breather for a second."

"No, I don't need a fucking breather, you dipshit." You shouted at him, tears still flowing, hands still shaking. "I need to go see the doctor, that's what I need and that's what you're not understanding. I needed you to listen, I needed you to understand that I wasn't trying to get out of the lesson. I wasn't scared of your fucking ropes, I was scared of Harvey, and now I'm scared of you."

Steve immediately felt awful as your hand found your shoulder again, now that he was getting a better look he could tell it definitely wasn't in the right place. He gulped understanding that he let his pre-existing bad mood deepen the hole he dug your friendship into. "I'm sorry I didn't realize..."

"Now it's my turn to not care." You cried. "I didn't lose trust in you before, not even after you came into my apartment and yelled at me for what I did with Bucky, maybe a little after I found out our whole friendship was just because you wanted to get into my pants. But this stunt you just pulled? You've broken every ounce of trust I've ever given you and I don't think it'll ever be repaired."

"I- I didn't mean to." He said quietly, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have been so hard on you, I'm sorry, I was in a bad mood and I just... let it out on you and it wasn't fair."

"I don't deserve to be treated like this over one mistake, Steve. One. I'm sorry I accidentally hurt you, it was never my intention and I'll regret that till the day I die but I never deserved this." You cried. "Please just leave me alone now. I don't want formalities or pleasantries in passing, I don't want anymore flowers or congratulations, I don't want anything other than to just be left alone now. Because I can't do this anymore."

"Okay, I'm sorry." He surrendered, recognizing the agony you were truly in over this.

"This was way worse than anything I ever did to you." Your voice cracked. "It's a good thing you aren't my boss anymore, because as far as you're concerned I don't even exist to you anymore."

He couldn't mutter anything close to a proper apology or even a goodbye as you stomped away from him for the very last time.

Next Part: Rearview

OOP… angsty. Sound off in my inbox! I want to hear all your juicy opinions!

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[shurisneakers]

bridges break (iv)

summary: steve shuts himself away. you pull him along on a trip of a lifetime in an attempt to reconnect. great plan! except there's one big secret he's keeping from you that could change the course of your entire relationship, and there's no greasy stack of diner pancakes in the country big enough to hide behind.

(road trip!au, best friends to lovers)

Warnings: angst, mental health issues and disorientation, ptsd, swearing, mentions of death. lemme know if i missed anything and I'll tag it.

A/N: *tommy wiseau voice* i did not forget to update this, i did not. oh hi mark. ANYWAY. YOUR COMMENTS HAVE ME CRYING SCREAMING THROWING UP I WANT TO ACTUALLY PASS AWAY THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH ILOVE U

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Steve’s legs dangle languidly off the concrete shore. His palm should be pressed to the ground, keeping his balance, but they instead defiantly clasp around an old worn-out sketchbook. His fingers nimbly capture ships on the horizon, waves lapping at the wall several feet below him and the orange of the evening reflecting off of rusted metal.

He looks up for a moment when a horn blares, loud and good. A smile slips past as he snaps his notebook shut and places it beside him, clenching his eyes shut and deeply inhaling the saltiness in the air.

“Steve,” a voice speaks from behind him, softly enough to not startle him. “I knew I’d find you here.”

His head whips around. “What the-- what are you doing here?”

Life is warm. Life is stripped down to its bare essence and still, life is good.

You didn’t spend another day in Chicago.

You'd turned in your keys to the reception the next morning, chucked your bag into the trunk and got into the driver's seat without a single word. The only exception was when you asked mutely if he was hungry or not. Steve had followed with a pounding headache and a string of unread messages from two of his friends.

Breakfast is silent.

You thank the waitress when she refills the mugs of coffee, but your eyebrows knit together the second your sight turns back down to your plate.

Steve's reclined in his seat, one hand aimlessly pushing around some scrambled egg. The booth is pushed up against large fingerprint-smudged windows, overlooking the front where the car was parked somewhat haphazardly. He keeps his ear trained for the jingle of the bell overhead each time someone new walks in and the clinking of spoons stirring against coffee cups.

"Anything else I can get ya?" she asks, eyes flitting between the both of you.

"We'll let you know. Thanks." You give her a small smile. Steve does the same.

She leaves, not before throwing another look over her shoulder at the both of you. He wonders how obvious the contention must be for her to take notice on a packed morning like this.

He should ask. He knows he should ask, but the question curdles unrelentingly on his tongue, leaving his mouth bitter.

He could text Mona and get the next flight out of here, make sure that all the expenses were compensated and covered. Take steps to ensure you never had to see his face again, if that’s what you wanted.

He shovels a spoon of egg into his mouth. It feels like sandpaper going down his throat.

Steve lifts his gaze briefly, catching the same troubled expression. You hadn't fared too well on breakfast either.

He should ask. It isn't fair to wish for a trip after this.

He swallows through the dryness in his mouth and the nausea in his gut.

"If you-"

“How long have you-"

Genuine surprise flashes across both your features, but he recovers quicker, nodding for you to go on.

And so you ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?”

His mouth opens and shuts in slow succession. He’s not stupid; he knew this conversation had been inevitable and the timer had started ticking the second he’d confessed. Yet every single possible sentence he had rehearsed and re-rehearsed dissipated on the spot, leaving his mind blank and undefended.  

“Since I got back from returning the stones.”

He watches your face screw up as you calculate it in real time, and the subsequent realization that it had been a few months ditzes across your eyes for a millisecond. It looks hauntingly like heartbreak, before stoicism reworks itself onto it.

“Who knows about this?”

“Sam and Buck.”

You scoff slightly, head shaking. “And you didn’t think you should mention it to me too?”

It’s one of the only things he’d been thinking of for months. The more he did, the less he wanted to do it. And as it always had, it still sounded like a pathetic goddamn excuse.

"I did," he says. "I promise you-- I didn't mean to keep it from you this long."

"But you did," you refute. "You did keep it to yourself this long. You waited till we were on a trip together to tell me."

"I think I wanna go back.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “To the bar?”

He swallows thickly, praying that he doesn’t lose confidence.

“Steve?”

“To the forties,” he completes. “I think I’m going back to the forties.”

"What?" you ask. "As like, a day trip or?"

"No," Steve wants to crumble at the way your face slips into confusion. "To stay."

"To stay?" He can almost see the gears turning to make sense of this. “You mean--”

Steve nods silently.

"What-- how? And-- and why?" you ask, letting go of his hand. "Steve, what are you talking about?"

"I..." he trails off, forced to combat the sudden cold your hand retracting from his had left behind.

You wait for an answer, an explanation, something.

Steve just balls his hands into a fist in his jacket pocket.

There is nothing. With each passing second, your confusion morphs into something that makes his stomach clench uncomfortably. Betrayal? No, he had seen betrayal. This was-- Christ, he isn’t even sure.

"Sweetheart--" he tries, but you shake your head.

"We'll talk about this later," you say, clearing your throat and straightening your posture. "Not tonight. Not like this."

"I didn't-"

"I think I wanna go back to the motel now," you say quietly, taking a step away from him. "Let's just go. Please."

If he thought the world was quiet before, he has no idea what to say to it now.

You didn't once bring it up on the drive back, nor when he dropped you off to the safety of your door.

He left his window open wide and, in the midst of darkness, developed a dependence on the late night check-ins pulling up the hotel to distract him each time his spiral deepened.

Didn't matter much though. Each time, it picked up at the same place he'd left off: the look on your face the minute it registered what he said.

He'd flip to the other side, to a cooler part of the sheet, and to a fresh smell of cheap detergent. And it went on and on and on.

In the last hour before sunrise, he did manage to doze off.

That is, until the same stupid fucking dream had him bolting upright again. And just like the last few weeks, it’d progressed a sentence or two beyond the previous time, leaving him scrambling to get rid of it before he was forced to remember.

His mind wanders and he thinks, once again, that his memory is a curse.

"If we hadn't come on this trip," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady, "when were you planning to tell me?"

"I don't know," he admits. "I was waiting for the proper time. For it to make sense."

It doesn’t seem to be enough, which, fair enough.

"Steve, would you have told me? At all?"

At that, his muscles stiffen and he no longer leans back. "I would. Swear it to you-- I wouldn't just disappear. I woulda told you, some way or the other."

You search his face for any betrayal of his statement, but you weren't going to find any. Steve doesn't move either, not until you knew he wasn't lying to you, not now.

Your fork sets down with a quiet clang, and you finally break the stare. He watches you take a sip of lukewarm coffee, wincing when it goes down your throat.

When nothing follows immediately after, Steve goes back to pushing his eggs around the plate. His toast stales, firm to the touch and the coffee’s weak froth had floundered miserably to the middle.

“Why?” you ask suddenly.

Steve’s gaze doesn't shift from the plate, and the writing on it. He thinks it’s the diner name engraved on it, but it was harder to register when they all looked like meaningless shapes.

“Something’s been different,” he lets out, “Ever since I went back to the 70s to get the particles, something’s different. I thought it'd sort itself out after I got back and started workin' but it's been that way for months. Hasn't left.”

“Different means therapy, Steve,” your voice is a little louder than it was a second ago. “It means- I don’t know- dyeing your hair or getting a piercing. Going back to the forties?”

He doesn’t anticipate the shift from anger to desperation. The feeling of nausea worsens, joining the growing pit in his stomach.

“I did go to therapy.”

“Yeah, for a month before you walked out and never went back,” you counter. "And I get it, sometimes therapists fuck up, or you both don't click, or sometimes traditional therapy isn’t for some people. But a few sessions isn't enough, not for something like this."

A quick glance at the wall. A note of the time.

The doctor’s head tilted slightly, staring intently at him.

“Do you feel restless, Steve?”

“And that- the spacing out,” you wag a finger at him. “They’re all related to this?”

His head draws a blank, much like it does these days when he tries to think too hard about it.

“Can we talk about this later?” Steve's lips purses inwards. “Your food’s getting cold.”

You stare at him wordlessly and he ignores his worsening headache to meet your eyes.

Finally, you pick up your fork and continue eating.

---

Steve has his eyes closed, focusing on the low vibration of the window. He’s certain that if he opens his eyes again, he'd go right back to looking at you in anticipation for any kind of reaction.

A thin thread of guilt laces itself through him at the fact that you're driving today. He’d have taken up the responsibility if it meant you had time to think without having to pay attention to the road too, but he also knows you like having something to do with your hands when you’re contemplating something.

There’s a thin crease between your brows and your grip on the steering wheel was tight. You’ve been chewing on your lip for a while now.

You haven’t even looked at him once since you’d gotten in the car.

He’s tried, he really has, to not make it obvious he was peering at you because surely, that would only add more pressure to an already bad situation.

Still, he can't help himself, not when it's you. It’s pathetic, really. Even though he's sure you’ve taken note of how many times he’s looked at you in the past hour.

And so he glances over at you again.

Nothing has changed in the last fifteen minutes, no life altering difference. Same brows pulled tight, lip caged between your teeth.

“You’re gonna pull a muscle, Rogers,” you mumble. “I’m not gonna jump out of this car, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He turns back to the road, slightly embarrassed.

But your words only serve to remind him of his original hesitation, and this time, he doesn’t really want to wait till it’s too long.

"I can look up flight timings," he says. "We can get on the next one outta here."

Your frown deepens. "What for?"

"We don't have to do this trip," he says softly. "I know you've got a whole plan laid out, but I can take care of all the cancelling and refunds."

In an act of grace, you finally look at him from the corner of your eye. "Do you want to?"

"It's not up to me."

"Okay, but do you want to?" you repeat.

He's silent for a while, following your gaze as you turn back ahead.

"No," he confesses. "But it's not my choice. You should decide."

"It's settled then." You barely take any time to decide. "If you don't want to, and I don't want to, then I guess we're gonna keep going."

Steve looks at you, lines visible on his forehead. "Are you sure? We don't have to."

"I know we don't," you say, "but I want to. So unless you don't want to join me, I'm just gonna keep driving to the next stop."

It beats down on his chest suddenly-- the overwhelming urge to just lay it all out there and apologize. For everything, but beginning with flinging this at you suddenly without any kind of preparation. You deserved better than a random Chicago parking lot.

But Steve bites his tongue, and looks out the window instead. His apology had to be better, more thought out than his reveal at the very least. A simple 'Hey, look, I'm really sorry' wouldn't suffice.

“I wanted to make a stop,” you say, eyes trained on the road. “Not exactly a detour, but it isn’t along the main route”

“Where is it?”

“A few miles out. It's not really a tourist spot. You don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”

That only piques his curiosity more, but he waits.

The sky’s a brilliant, bright blue and there’s a trail of smoke from an plane flying overhead.

Steve wonders what it’d be like to lie under it, eyes closed and heart free. As his imagination dares to run wild, he sees you beside him. He hopes you’d be there beside him.

Summers in Brooklyn were humid. His hair plastered to his face and his cheeks were flushed pink and he remembers Bucky’s mom’s lemonade sticking to the back of his throat.

Rebecca smacked her brother upside his head when he doused himself in water on his front step like a moron, getting all three of them drenched for no reason.

It was a happy memory. Brooklyn was a happy memory.

He feels too tall for his skin, now.

"There are Skittles in the glove compartment if you want," you tell him. "You'll have to make do with those until we get some proper snacks."

Steve opens the compartment with a click and reaches in for the bright red packet.

He tears it open carefully so as to not scatter them everywhere. The car was rented, they probably didn't appreciate lone Skittles under the seats when you returned it.

He stretches it out to you first.

You look at him and Steve unknowingly catches his breath, then down at his hand holding out the sinfully sugary candy.

It feels like a test. He doesn’t know of what.

Your fingers reach in, gathering a few before turning back to the road.

Steve lets out a breath quietly, picking up one to chew on.

Purple. It tasted like grapes.

____

It takes a while before he sees what you were talking about on account of it being well outside the main city.

Acres of land cleared out to make place for a park that housed giant marble walls, several feet high. Well manicured lawns and pathways to navigate the stone labyrinth, with benches in front of each in case you wanted to sit there.

He knew that they had come up in several places all over the country. He had been to a few himself, but never longer than a few minutes.

"They're startin' to take it down," you voice. "San Francisco's nearly done. Started pretty late over here."

“Are they replacing it?” he asks, the Wall of the Vanished becoming larger as you neared it.

“I think so.”

Now that the people who were lost had returned, all the cities and towns that had put up their names in remembrance were tearing it down. For those who didn’t make it back, new memorials were set in place. Smaller, but just as meaningful.

"But in case they don't, I just wanted to pay my respect," you continue.

“You knew someone here?”

“I did.” You pull into the parking space. "It's not gonna take long.”

"Okay."

You pause with your hand on the door handle. “You don’t have to come with. I know this can be a bit... much."

He knows. “I want to.”

You scan his face once, biting your lip before opening the door and letting yourself out.

Steve watches you go for a second before pushing the door and stepping out.

Walking through the stones felt roughly the same as it had always been.

The day in background was blissfully unaware, childlike and happy, while the etchings on the walls were solemn and cold.

The exhibit here was smaller. The ones he had seen in New York and Washington felt like it stretched on endlessly, but it was probably because he had painstakingly combed through it for specific names.

You don’t wait to see if he follows, but you're aware he's there half a step behind you at all times. You take your time stopping in front of each, quickly running through every person’s name in search of who you were looking for.

"What letter are we searching for?" Steve asks.

"V," you say, moving on to the other side. "Vlaslov."

Steve takes another wall, running through Vernon's, and Vasquez's. They weren't in exact alphabetical order. Names were added well after construction went underway once more people were realized to have disappeared.

“There you are,” you let out at last, from two stones away.

Steve follows your voice to find you looking straight ahead at a name, perfectly at your height.

“Found you, you miserable bastard.” It’s fondness that he detects in your tone even though the words were vulgar.

Yegor Vlasov, he follows your gaze to. It rings vaguely in his head as one he recognizes from somewhere.  

“Wish I could leave him something. I’d pour him some of the damn tequila he liked so much.”

Flowers and any kind of memorabilia had been banned since the thousands of wilting bouquets each week had become tedious to clean up day after day. The stench of beer on grass was only manageable for about a month.

But the alcohol is clue enough for him to suddenly piece it together.

“Work, right? You used to work together?” Steve watches you you reach forward to touch the engraving. This stood crisp and sharp, unlike the others whose edges has becomes very slightly smoother. “I remember you telling me about him.”

“Yeah.” Your face cracks into a smile. “One of the best scientists I knew. Never stuck around in one place too long, so he moved here for research a couple of years ago, but he stayed in touch occasionally. Told me he'd save me Cubs tickets if I ever came down here.”

Though he should be glad a smile had finally made its way onto your face since its disappearance nearly a day ago, there is still sadness that lies just beneath the surface.

“Were you close?”

“Just work friends.” You drop your hand down. “Maybe if he stayed on a few more years, we’d have been actual friends. He didn't have any family so he spent a lot of time at work. Real mad scientist types. Genuinely insane."

"He sounds fun." The corner of his lip curls up.

"Oh, he was," you say with a quick laugh. "When the lab heard he disappeared, we did some shots in his name. Then sent the bottle on a homemade rocket to who knows where."

"What?" Steve asks in confusion.

"Long story," you dismiss. "But then when they all came back, he didn't. Guess he was one of the other ones. Wrong place, wrong time."

Your voice tapers off towards the end of your sentence.

His thumbs hook onto the buckle of his belt, slowly taking a few steps back to give you some privacy. After all, it was the inescapable tragedy of war that lingered under his feet when the clouds moved above a clear day.

"Okay, let's go," you say, voice quiet.

Steve lets you lead the way. The winds rustle, and in the distance he can see a couple standing in another corner of the park, hand in hand.

His mind flashes to the memorial back home. The names on the walls he recognized.

A gravestone in a quiet corner of the cemetery.

Steve's glad that when he flinches, no one is around to see.

---

It goes without saying that you haven’t talked much since the memorial.

Steve asks if you’re okay.

You reply with an airy “Just peachy", and don't bother to elaborate.

The AC whirs, and you turn down the offer for more Skittles. He simply rolls up the pack and leaves it in the glove compartment again.

He honestly believes the sugar made his migraine worse-- that or the fact that he’s been running on a incredible four hours of sleep.

Steve picks up his phone to check how far the next rest stop is so he can take over driving.

Lunch is takeout from that morning’s diner. There's no protest when he gets a salad to go, and a sandwich. You just get whatever the waitress recommends, mind elsewhere.

You pull over on the side of the road for a break when you spot a tree with branches spread wide enough to cover the hood of the car, since that was where you had opted to eat your food on top of.

Steve joins you, needing a respite from the closed space, but maintaining a respectable distance from you.

You stretch your arms above your head. Steve leans against the car as he checks his unread messages.

Mona’s sent him updates and reports and everything in between. He checks a few of them, mouth twisting at particular content, and shoots her a few texts back. Most of it he’s aware she's more than capable of handling on her own, and it’s further proven by the fact that she hadn't asked for his opinion or anything.

What she does ask is how the trip is going. He elects to reply to the text after that.

“Is the country falling apart without you?”

“It’s holding on.” Steve looks up. “For now.”

You nod, taking a sip from your bottle before tightening the lid back on.

The afternoon stretches lazily on, the heat climbing. He shrugs off his jacket, ties it around his waist.

Steve only manages about half his sandwich before he packs it back up. Maybe you were right about the burgers.

Above all else, Steve ignores the strange pangs of craving at the back of his mind.

He tastes phantom sugar on his tongue, so he deduces it to be something sweet. Something tells him he's tried it before-- it was too familiar, but he couldn't place his finger on it.

"You sure that’s enough?" you question, watching the sandwich find its way back into the box. "It's really a scenic route. There’s not a lot along the way and we're only gonna reach at night. Your metabolism's gonna go haywire."

"'M not really hungry," he says in assurance. "I'll just eat the rest if I am."

"You’re not gonna get hungry?" you push.

“If worse comes to worst, I’ve got the Skittles. Nutrition, if I ever seen it. "

It's not exactly funny, but it has you pushing back the whisper of a smile before you clear your throat in defiance and hop off the hood of the car.

You offer him a bottle and he takes it, extinguishing the rising warmth spreading through his body with cold water.

It goes back to silence, only dry wind occasionally and the click of the car unlocking. You stretch your arms above your head one more time, rotating your wrists.

"Are you okay?" he asks again. Force of habit.

"I'm fine, Steve," you reply. "I should be asking you that."

His eyebrows pull together in confusion. "I'm fine."

You don't say anything, only continue to look at him for a second or two more before breaking the stare to walk to your seat.

“I'll drive,” he offers immediately.

You tug open the door and get in the driver's seat, leaving him to watch.

"Not today." Your head ducks out of view and into the car. "You look fuckin’ exhausted."

Steve pulls his bottom lip between his teeth when you start the engine, kicking a pebble resting near his feet one last time before opening the door and climbing back into his seat.

With nothing else to do, he pulls out the GPS on his phone and enters the destination, intent on helping on navigation at the very least.

“Says you gotta take the next exit off this highway,” he parrots back to you when you pull the car back onto the road.

You give him a hum in acknowledgement and he leans back into his chair.

Steve keeps himself occupied enough. The further you drive, the more he calculates the distance between the next bus stand and New York in case you suddenly decide to send him along his way in an uncharacteristic move.

"Steve."

"Yeah?" He perks up. "Next turn is-"

“Get some sleep,” you say, the edge in your voice jaded. “I’ll wake you up when we reach.”

"No, it's fine, I'll get some-"

"It's a straight road. The thing is voice enabled," you cut in. "I will be fine. Sleep."

Steve exhales through his nose when you don't show any inclination of changing your mind. He leaves his phone in the cupholder.

He shifts his whole body towards the door.

The AC’s turned down low, but the air outside is too hot to have the windows down.

He had read of how drastically the weather changes along this route, and to come as prepared as possible because you never knew what could hit you. For now it felt like summer was going to stay a while.

You’ve let a podcast on at the lowest volume on to fill the silence. He listens for a while, but soon the words start fading in and out, and he can barely remember what they said last.

He leans his head against the glass.

Trees blur past.

He slips into darkness.

“What have you been drawing?” she asks again, picking up the book.

“Just some ships.” Steve looks back out at the water. “Nothin’ special.”

“Mind if I take a look?” Polite as always, there’s a hint of gentle curiosity in her eyes.

He wordlessly gestures for her to go ahead, and she flashes him a smile before doing so.

Steve doesn’t know what about this is different, but he’s sure this is the prettiest she’s looked in a while.  

“You did all this now?” She traces a finger lightly over the sketch, making sure not to smudge the intricate lines.

“Yeah.” He switches between looking at her and the drawing, trying to get an analysis of her judgment before she hands it to him.

She turns to him with half a glare, unimpressed.

His eyes shoot open, sucking in a breath sharply.

It takes him a second to adjust his heightened hyper-vigilance to where he was-- not the docks, not the sunset, but an SUV-- and a second longer to let go of the seat he held so tight in a white knuckled clench.

The car wasn't moving. A swift look to his right and he realises you’re not in it either.

Steve rapidly unbuckles his seat belt, almost ripping it off it in an attempt to get rid of the weight that was pressing down on his chest. He sits up straight, shoving open the car door to get some air because fuck, the atmosphere was suffocating.

He remembers to breathe in, one, two, and out, one, two, three, four and count to ten mindfully.

His eyes stay open, however, as he glances around, but his chest rises and falls in exaggerated motions.  It works, but only after he does it twice, hands on his hips.

Once his spine straightens out again and he begins to make a move towards the car to grab the bottle, is when he sees that he’s at a gas station. There’s a little store adjoining and once he squints, he can see you over at one of the aisles through the storefront window.

Steve lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, sinking back into his seat, gripping tightly onto the bottle as he chugs the remaining water.

"Fuck," he curses, pressing into his temples hard.

He can't remember the last time it had been this bad, but he also hadn't fallen asleep in a small space any time recently, buckled to a seat. It had been about eighty years, give or take.

You were still checking out boxes, still within his sight. He wonders how much of his outburst depended on the split second thought that you had just left him here.

He mumbles something else to himself and it’s more so just to get his brain to calm down again.

Like every time, he resorts to the one activity that gets him more bored out of his skull than anything else. It’d become an unhealthy habit by now. He hates that he checks it ever morning as soon as he wakes up.

Arm still numb from sleeping on it, he scrolls through his notifications. He swipes away the emails from various reporters and agents and promotional messages and goes straight to his messages.

Govt. Reallocates Defense Budget, to Announce New Welfare Policies.

Jesus. His lips press into a straight line, partly impressed.

Mona’s sent him a Bitmoji in celebration. He sends her a balloon emoticon.

Right as he clicks out of the chat, someone else sends him a text with an attachment.

It’s a picture of a window. A tiny plant sits on the wall overlooking a a gorgeous view of a lake, but the whole image was a bit blurry.

To Steve

stop ignoring me. dick.

Against all circumstances, Steve's mouth twitches into a trace of a smile.

“Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again, Rogers,” his best friend doesn’t hesitate the second he picks up the phone.

“My phone wasn’t exactly falling off the wall from your calls either.”

“You know me-” Bucky grunts slightly as something drops to the floor “-Mr Popular an’ all that. I was too busy havin’ a life.”

“Right.” Steve snorts. “Who fed your seventy cats while you were away?”

“Oh, fuck off.” He laughs, however. He’d been doing that a lot more recently. Steve thinks it's a good look on him.

“How you been, Buck?” He pulls his one arm across his chest, keeping an eye on the little store and your silhouette moving between the aisles.

“Like I said, busy.” Another object lands with a thud. “I have been left in charge of a fern.”

“Congratulations,” Steve says, smile growing on his face. “Who bestowed that honour upon you?”

“Oh, you know. The king of this country,” Bucky’s voice is muffled through the phone. “It’s a gift. Since I'm now officially therapy cleared.”

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

"Yeah, graduated class of '24. Got the go-ahead to start poking around in there and not have me go murder mode, at least immediately," Bucky says casually, but Steve can hear the slight elation in his voice. "Woo hoo."

"Shit, Bucky.” Steve breathes out. “That's incredible."

"It's all right," he says. "They're having me move out of the hut and into an apartment. Getting a head start on readjusting, reintegrating-- somethin’ like that."

"You're moving?" Steve questions in mild surprise. "I coulda helped you, you know."

"Nah, I'm saving that favour for the penitentiary."

Steve winces at the thought. "You're not going to jail, Bucky."

"I know, I know. Sorry. 'M supposed to stop making those jokes. Apparently, they're not good for my self confidence or whatever.” He shrugs it off. "Murdock's flying in next month."

"Yeah?"

"He says he wants to take the whole thing slow, to make sure I was ready," Bucky says. "Told him to buy me dinner first."

Steve's face breaks into a grin. "I don't think you're his type."

"Bullshit. I'm a fuckin' sweetheart, I'm everyone's type." Bucky scoffs. "And I know you've been avoiding me, by the way."

"Why would I be avoiding you?" He knows exactly what he's talking about.

"Because-" The sounds from his end make sense now; boxes sliding across floors and tape being ripped off cardboard. “I asked if you told Y/N yet.”

Steve bites his lip before releasing it. “I did.”

There’s a silence at the other end before Bucky asks more seriously, “How'd it go?”

“Wouldn’t say it went too well.”

“I’ll bet. Pissed, huh?”

Steve sighs. “Has a right to be.”

“Y/N's gonna come around. I hope.”

Steve watches you walk towards the register.

"Did you?” he asks.

There is no response from Bucky’s end until a chuckle comes back, sounding a bit distant. Sad, almost.

“Took me a while, too, Stevie.”

At least his friend doesn’t lie to him. Steve chews on the inside of his lip, a furrow between his brows.

“Just give it some time. It'll be okay,” Bucky pipes up again. “Or, you know, this trip’s gonna be awkward as all hell.”

A corner of Steve’s mouth raises in a half-smile. “Still wish you were invited?”

“Fuck no.”

Bucky says a few more blasphemous things and Steve bickers with him for a few more minutes before the former says goodbye. The unsaid promise of a call soon hangs in the air.

When he looks back at you, you’re talking animatedly with the girl at the register the way old friends do when they run into each other after years. She says something and you laugh, nodding along.

He likes that-- how you find friendships wherever you go. He doesn’t have the same privilege, but he doesn’t hold it against those he encounters, given that most circumstances when he meets them are less than ideal.

He’s just glad the time he crashed in and shattered half the equipment in your lab wasn’t the first and last time you spoke to him.

It takes another few minutes for you to wave at her and grab the brown paper bags before walking out and to the car. You open the backseat and leave most of the stuff there, all the while balancing a large cup of something.

“You should eat.” You don’t wait for an answer, tossing a pack of trail mix at him. “That’s probably the healthiest thing in that store.”

“Thanks.” Steve watches you clamber in. “D’you know her?”

“Who?”

His gaze shifts from yours and towards the cashier, head lifting pointedly in her direction.

“Oh, no.” You pull on your seatbelt, clicking it into place. “I've never met her before.”

“Just looked like you did." Steve quietly tears open the packet of food and tosses a fistful into his mouth.

“I have friends in weird places.” The car switches on, pulling out of the station. “This store just ain’t one of them.”

He looks at you questioningly, before his face twists at the unwanted raisin that ends up in the pile.

“You meet people at conventions,” you say dismissively. “You never know when contacts from Zloda or Madripoor come in handy.”

Strangely, he remembers Tony saying the same thing years ago. Guess it just came with the job.

“And also-” You twist your body to reach into the backseat, shaking a magazine out of a cover before tossing it into his lap.

He holds up the glossy copy of Gardening: 4427 Brilliant Tips & Ideas to examine it.

“What’s this?”

“I know you like to read, Steve.” You readjust in your seat. “This was the least offensive one I found.”

---

The motel room doesn’t reek of stale cigarette smoke. The smell of clean sheets and carpets, and mothballs was predominant but frankly, he’d take it any day.

Steve leans his body against the headrest, freshly showered and mostly full from a few bites of some salad and a steak.

His TV is kept running in the background as noise, but his attention strays between the sketchbook on his lap and several other undefined thoughts that floated in and out at their will.

His hand absentmindedly sketches out basic images. Wildflowers on the side of the road, gas pumps, feet propped up against the dashboard.

He steadily keeps track of the minutes in his head, counting down to your arrival. It had given him enough time since you'd checked in to get dressed and ready.

“There’s a show I booked a while ago. It’s a band that does covers of modern songs in old genres. Swing and stuff.” You glance at him. “We don’t have to go.”

Steve can imagine why you’d think that, but he’s quick to reply, “No. No, let’s go.”

The look you give him is doubtful, but he nods again.

"It sounds great."

"Okay," you hesitate. "I'll see you at 7."

There were a few minutes left, but it was sufficient for his mind to play on loop bits and pieces of the conversation from that morning.

Steve had gone to therapy, but you weren't wrong in your call out either when you said it hadn't been nearly enough.

He'd seen firsthand how men suffered when they couldn't accept help. Hell, he'd gotten certified himself and was a counselor for a while till he stopped for reasons that outweighed his altruism.

But he was given a task. It was simple, glaringly so. But he hadn't finished it. And for that alone, it doesn't feel right to go back yet.

“I was told it’s the only way they’d let me come in.”

“To help with the aftermath, you said?” she clarifies, looking at the three total lines she probably had on him.

"Yes,” he replies. “Relocation, search and rescue for people missing after the battle.”

“Right, the Battle of Earth.” Dr. Nasser writes something down. He follows the movement of her pen. “We haven't talked in too much detail about that.”

"Steve?" You knock twice on the door. "You ready?"

"Coming," he calls out, sending one last glance down at his doodles.

Amidst the gas station and the gigantic marble walls is a familiar wooden pathway in front of a store. He frowns at it for a second before shutting his book and pushing off his bed.

He gives you a quick greeting when the door opens to reveal you, arms tucked awkwardly over your chest.

"Sure you wanna do this?"

"Absolutely," he affirms, closing the door behind him, all the while trying to place where he'd seen that particular background.

____

The crowd is buzzing by the time you get inside.

It's lively chatter, smiling faces and excitement all around.

Steve is sure he drops the energy of the room just by walking in, like some undead spirit.

You, however, have a tiny smile on your face the second you step in.

The lobby outside the actual theatre is fucking fancy too; gold accents, marble pillars and chandeliers from tall ceilings. Long staircases along the side lead to the upper floors.

"This is supposed to be a theatre?" Steve asks. "A theatre for movies and shows?"

"The creators wanted to make a palace for the people," you explain, following the flow of people walking up the stairs. "Apparently it's haunted."

"To be fair, that's what they say about all joints older than twenty years," Steve replies.

The kid in his apartment-- Meskill, his name was-- maintained that it was haunted too. Mrs McKinnon didn't take kindly to being sprayed in the face with ‘holy water’ from Walt’s kitchen tap and being told to 'leave this mortal coil!'. It explained why he never received a knitted scarf but Steve did.

"Bet you'll be a lot nicer when the instruments start to float, Rogers," you dish back distractedly, still in awe at the majesty of the place.

Steve shrugs, too occupied trying to figure out all the influences that had inspired the architecture of the place to realise it was the first real crack at a joke you'd made all day.

Greek, Roman, Baroque, Byzantinian, Venetian was what he'd counted so far.

"Why do you do that?"

Steve looks at you, then himself. "Do what?"

Your finger points at his waist. "That. Holding onto your belt like that."

His eyes trail down to where he latches onto the buckle, finding contentment in the balance.

"I don't know," he replies. "Didn't even realise."

"You do it a lot." Your gaze flickers up at him. "Why'd you start?"

"Can't remember." Steve let go of his belt, feeling a sudden awkwardness at the gesture. "Been doin' for as long as I remember."

You nod at his answer, unsatisfied but unwilling to show it.

Steve's eyebrows knit together in puzzlement the second you turn away from him. Where did it come from? Some old Western movie? Was he imitating someone? Why'd the memory seem so far away?

"Let's go?" you ask carefully.  

Steve nods and you lead the way up the stairs, holding on to the banister for support.

___

You're nearly twenty minutes ahead of schedule. It's good, there was no rush to get to your seats or crowd to shove through.

Steve had a glossy copy of the programme in his hand. He'd already memorised the biography of the band, making a mental note to check their channel out after it was done.

"How long is the show?" Steve whispers to you, maintaining the hushed tones those around him were speaking in.

"About two hours, I think?" you squint.

"Cool," he says, flipping the pamphlet back to check the set-list. "They've got a good line up."

"Yeah," you say, voice a bit far away. "You'll let me know if you want to go, right?"

Steve turns to you but the houselights go off, leaving him blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to-"

Steve tries your name again when you don't answer.

"I'm sorry," you say all of a sudden.

"Please ensure your mobiles are switched off for the duration-"

Steve inclines his head towards you. "What are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have been so harsh," you continue. "This morning, at breakfast. I wasn't the nicest. Shouldn't have discounted your experiences like that, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Steve says because he didn't even think about it that way. "I understand."

"I was angry and upset, and I thought I had time to calm down, but it wasn't enough and I took it out on you," you continue, voice low. "And I'm sorry for raising my volume, too. I can't imagine it was easy to have your experiences invalidated. It won't happen again."

He calls out your name, further urging, "You had every right to be upset. You don't have to apologize."

You nod, eyes trained on the stage as members of the crew dressed in black dart about for final checks.

"I wanted to tell you earlier. I did," Steve brings up.

"I know," you reply.

"I'm sorry," Steve says. "I'm really fuckin' sorry. I've been trying to work on it-- telling people things before it's too late. I was going to tell you, even if we weren't on a road trip, but there's no real justification. I should have told you when I told both of them. It wasn't right."

"The show will begin in another five minutes. Please sit back and-"

"Thank you." You clear your throat. "I'm-- I know I've been cold, but I'm gonna take some more time to process it. There's-- you know, it's--"

"You don't have to explain," he breaks in gently. "You do whatever feels right."

He wants to squeeze your hand the same way you do to his sometimes. A reassurance to one who seeks it. He can't offer any right now, he's already done the damage.

"Has it been difficult? Keeping it in this long?" you ask as someone murmurs an apology for stepping over you to get to their seat.

Steve's chest feels hollow. Because to be fucking honest, it had been easy.

It'd slipped out almost, the few times he'd seen you in between, on his couch or for brunch. He knew it in his bones that it wasn't right and would never be, but overwhelmingly, keeping the secret till he died was something he'd found as easy as breathing.

But he's lied so much already.

"Harder than you'd think," he says because he should. Because you deserve the effort.

There is the clicking of drum sticks together, and the intro to the performers starts playing, loud and colourful.

"You'll tell me if you want to leave, won't you?" you whisper.

Hoping to God he's being honest this time, he replies, "I will."

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

The audience hoots and cheers, even the people right beside him.

But Steve's mind still lingers on an empty promise and a belt buckle.

next part

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #mcu fic #steve fic #steve rogers fic #steve fluff #steve rogers fluff #steve angst #steve rogers angst #bridges break fic #captain america x reader #captain america fluff #captain america angst #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #marvel fic #captain america fic #steve rogers series #captain america series

[heliads]

I Wish You Could Be Honest Chapter Ten: To Be Yourself Someday

HYDRA didn’t die out when it failed to take down S.H.I.E.L.D. during the time of the Winter Soldier. Now, top enemy agent Y/N L/N has been sent to finish the job by killing Steve Rogers. When she’s captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., she doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly doesn’t involve Captain America himself trying to win her over.

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After that, it does not take long to pull yourself together and get back. You can’t say that you’re going home, not anymore. Every place that has ever been yours is gone now, lost through some twist of fate or through your own stubborn refusal to ever stick around in one location long enough to belong to it.

Who, after all, is to blame for this other than you? You made your choice. You were the one to cut your ties again and again. Now that you’re alone, you don’t know what to do with yourself. What do you do with the spy who’s double-crossed everyone who ever shook her hand? You watch as she tries to pick back up the pieces and retreat back into the shadows, and that is what you must do now.

You arrive back in Manhattan late the next day. Steve Rogers will already be at home in the Avengers Tower, likely engulfed in a crush of agents and coworkers all falling over themselves in relief that their golden boy has come back without them having to lift a finger to save him. You wonder if he looks for you in that crowd, if he’s looked for you even once since you left him back at that rest stop.

You don’t know how he’s doing. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t want to publicize the fact that Captain America was stolen out of their own base, right under their noses, so none of the news sources have any idea of what happened. This is for the best, because you don’t particularly want other HYDRA affiliates to try their hand at kidnapping Steve, but it also means that you have no real idea if he got back or not.

Perhaps he’s out there still, relentlessly combing the area for you. That’s what part of you wants to believe, at any rate, that you would be so important to him that he would never dare to leave lest risk losing you again. The cold truth is that you’ve already lost him yourself by vanishing after you saved him.

It was for the best, and you know that. Still, repeating the facts a thousand times in your head doesn’t warm you to them, and you move through the day in a bleary sort of haze, wondering why you’re so stuck on a man that you’ll probably never see again. There is a reason, of course, but now that you’ll never cross paths with Steve it seems rather pointless to voice.

You stay in Manhattan. It’s a terrible plan, certainly; both S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA have bases here, and they could find you with ease if they tried. They have tried, actually, but you’ve grown so accustomed to dodging security cameras that you can do it once more. A couple of HYDRA agents tried to tail you on your second day back, but you were able to lose them so quickly that they’ll wonder if you were ever there in the first place.

It’s best to live like this, in mystery. If you take out a single HYDRA agent, even just to knock them unconscious, they’ll know that you’re still here and double down on their attempts to get you back. At least now they’ll have to spend their days cloaked in uncertainty, just like you.

You get a small job in the city. It’s not like you have to, you’ve put aside most of your paycheck over the years in a separate account unknown by either of the two organizations, but it gives you something to do instead of restlessly checking the news for some sign of Steve.

You weren’t intending to get a job at first, but one day when you were out wandering the streets in search of some sign that you might be okay, you saw it. A small bookstore, one of a thousand shops on a commercial block. It had a faded awning striped blue and red. Inside, you could see the owner milling about in the back. A hand lettered sign on the door announced that they were looking to hire an additional hand to help out around the shop, and before you knew it, you were walking in and asking for the job.

It’s good, you think. You need something like this, a relentless monotony to distract you from feeling like a definitive part of you has been suddenly ripped out of your chest, leaving your ribs gaping open and bloody. At least now you can keep yourself busy.

The bookshop owner is an elderly woman, with soft curls of white hair that crown her head in pearlescent strands. She alternates between wearing clearly hand-knit sweaters and soft, floral long sleeved shirts, her pants always crisply ironed. Her palms are as wrinkled and folded as some of the secondhand books in the shop, but she still lays them calmly on your arm as she directs you to get something from a taller shelf.

After a while, you settle into a comfortable rhythm. You show up early in the morning, letting yourself in with the key carefully allotted to you. You clean up, straighten the various signs and posters, and restock shelves that have grown empty. Once the owner arrives and gives you the all clear, you open up the store, then retreat to the back, where you can haunt the recesses of the shop without being seen unless you wish it.

It’s a wonderful place, you can admit it. Books of all shapes and sizes practically paper the walls, some nestled inside cardboard strawberry flats spread across long tables, or jammed horizontally, vertically, and on occasion, diagonally, into wooden bookshelves along the walls that might have been here even before the owner opened the shop. 

It’s fairly quiet for most of the day, with the exception of afternoon rush and break times. Then, you allow yourself to be seen by those you determine are not agents, although shady characters rarely stop by. HYDRA is looking for you at shooting ranges or mercenary hunts. They’re hunting a killer, but you hung up that mantle when you saved Steve.

Still, it’s fun. You don’t entirely abandon the character of the agent, just choose to focus on specific qualities. You can still read people like the books you sell, and take great pride in formulating an exact idea of every shopper just before they ask you for a recommendation, and sometimes even earlier. That girl in the long coat is looking for a historical nonfiction, she just doesn’t know it yet. The man in the cap pulled down over his face really needs a sci-fi classic. All this and more, you can do it.

Yes, it is good. This is the peace you’ve sometimes dreamt of, when missions left your hands far bloodier than they were supposed to be. You’re no longer an agent, but this quiet afterlife still doesn’t feel right. It seems temporary, as if you’re waiting for the sign that you’re going to have to come out of hiding and return to the killer you were born to be. You just don’t know what you’re searching for yet, or how you’ll know when it comes to you.

Two weeks after you take up your job at the bookstore, you’ve done your best to accept that whatever happens to you will happen. You’ll handle a change of scene as you always do, on your feet, but that seems to be in the far off future. You may be staying in this state of limbo until the end of time, but that doesn’t mean that it will feel any more permanent.

You’re straightening a row of classic novels when the disturbance finally comes. Jane Eyre refuses to stay in her slot, and copies of 1984 are disappearing off the shelf every time you look away. Your fingers, which once fired a gun with deadly accuracy, fix the cover of The Scarlet Letter before it wrinkles.

A voice behind you makes you startle. “You know, I didn’t expect to see you here of all places.”

You have your back to the speaker, so he doesn’t see you close your eyes as if praying for strength. Steve Rogers is not supposed to find you here. You’d know his voice anymore, even the soft tread of his shoes against the creaking floorboards of the bookshop, but that doesn’t mean you’re any less sure that this encounter is anything more than pure hope.

“I work here,” you offer. The voice laughs.

“That doesn’t explain why an ex-spy chose a bookstore for her final resting place. I thought you would have been long gone by now.”

You know it’s Steve. At last, fearing a Eurydice-style disappearance, you turn carefully around, but no. It’s him, he’s here, and he is not leaving. In fact, he seems just as bright as ever. A shard of sunlight from the open window paints a direct path to his face, illuminating him by some sort of godly spotlight. 

He smiles, as if sensing your doubt. “I mean, you left, Y/N. Why are you still here?”

You sigh, quiet as a dove. “You weren’t supposed to look for me.”

Steve cocks his head to the side, surprised. “Why not?”

The question is simple, the answer less so. “I betrayed you by taking you to the HYDRA base. I paid off my debt by getting you out. That means our scales are balanced, and it means that you go back to your normal life and forget all about me. You have no reason to stay, and by default, neither do I.”

Steve’s brow furrows. “That explains why you left, but not why I’m here.”

You fold your arms across your chest, oddly defensive. “Always the interrogation, huh? If you’ve got your truth, say it. Otherwise, I will go back to my books, and that is a threat.”

Steve chuckles, then crosses the room to stand by your side. He leans against the table of books, facing down the rest of the store, then reaches for you, positioning you with your back against his chest so you can have the same view as him. When he speaks, you can feel the vibration of the words echoing through you. You only hope he can’t hear the urgent hammering of your heart calling to be let free.

“I see why you like it here. It’s simple. It makes sense. Do you know how many times I’ve considered running from the Avengers? They’d let me go if I asked, I think. Depends on when I asked it. But I always stay.”

Your voice is scarcely more than a whisper. “Why?”

All you can feel is him. All you can hear is his voice, right above you, billowing around you. “The same reason you haven’t left Manhattan. Some part of me would always resent myself for leaving if I thought there was still something I could do. You have a fantastic skillset, Y/N, something many people would kill for. Whether or not you actually want to use it to kill is up to you, but don’t waste it on dusty shops.”

You poke him in the arm. “Rude. I actually spend a good portion of my day making sure the shop isn’t dusty.”

Steve chuckles. “You’re going to have to find a new way of deflecting my questions, you know. I’m on to you.”

You grimace. “This is awful. If I can’t avoid your questions, what else can I do?”

Steve tilts his head down to look at you pointedly. “Answer them?”

You break away from him, spinning around so you can look him in the eyes. You’re not sure if this makes you any more able to get your thoughts in order, but at least you’re no longer distracted by the feeling of his arms on your sides, keeping you so close to him.

“Why are you so keen to offer me a job? You did it back at S.H.I.E.L.D., which obviously didn’t work out too well, and now you’re doing it again. What is it about me that makes you think I’m the kind of person you want around?”

Steve chuckles quietly. “You really don’t know?”

You spread your hands. “Obviously not. Care to enlighten me?”

He smiles. “I love you.”

It is said so simply that you almost don’t notice. The truth of it shocks you like an open nerve. It cannot be so. It cannot be that he can match your emotions so fully, that despite the fact that the two of you could not be more different, he can love you just as you love him: fully, completely, without a trace of hesitation. Surely, someone like him would not fall for a bloodstained martyr, yet here he is, completely gone for you.

Steve is still standing there as if he’s merely announced the weather or a change in parking arrangements, not a life changing revelation. You hardly know what to do with yourself, because acknowledging that Steve loves you despite all that you’ve done to him means that your foolish, broken heart still has a chance, and that chance is enough to destroy you.

You should shut this down, now. It’s what an agent would do. Love has no place in a game of life and death. Still, you haven’t been an agent in what feels like forever.

“Why?” You ask. You’re fairly sure that Steve already knows how you feel, or he wouldn’t be looking at you so proudly. He has always known how to read you, hasn’t he? Like no other.

He considers the question anyway. “A couple of reasons.”

You begin to listen in earnest. Surely, you’ll be able to find some fragment of fable in what he says. None of this would make sense without it being based in fiction.

“You’re the only one who’s ever tried to see me for me since the 40s.”

Truth.

“You’ve made me question more of myself than anyone.”

Truth.

“You are the only one who could make me want to leave S.H.I.E.L.D. behind for good.”

Half lie. More like three-quarters lie. 

You have no doubt that Steve questioned S.H.I.E.L.D. before meeting you, and he certainly doubted its efficacy while you were still in one of their holding cells, but something happened to make him change his mind. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve fully left HYDRA, indicating that there is no other option. You don’t think you mind the lie, though. If anything, it makes you like him more for trying to sort out his feelings regarding the two organizations. You know well enough how difficult it is.

“And I keep offering you a job because I keep hoping you’ll take it. At least that way, if you feel differently than me, I can still be selfish and have you in my life, because no matter how hard I try, I keep trying to find you.”

Truth.

You smile at last. “What, you think that I feel differently?”

The corners of his mouth twist up, pulled by invisible strings. “Do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” you say, and then you can’t say much else because he’s leaned forward and kissed you, and every other thought has been dashed completely from your mind. This is the sign you’ve been hoping for in the weeks since you left, the sign that you can come back home. This is your home, it’s him. Perhaps it always has been.

When you break away, Steve’s grinning like he’s won the lottery. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an eerily familiar small black box. You swear that you’ve seen this scene play out before, and it ended up with you receiving a knife disguised in a badge. 

“If you’re still willing to take me up on my offer, I figured I should at least tell you what you’re getting yourself into.” He says.

Curious, you open the lid, and have to fight back a surprised laugh. Nestled in the black walls is another badge, yes, but it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., nor HYDRA. This is a scarlet A, enclosed by a similarly colored circle.

You stare back at Steve. “You want me to join the Avengers? I don’t have powers, though. I’m not a supersoldier.”

He shrugs, still looking rather pleased with himself. “You don’t have to be. We need a team of our own agents, people we can trust. The Triskelion proved that. I don’t trust any one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s guys like you.”

You arch a brow. “Even though I killed you and tried to throw you back to HYDRA?”

Steve considers this. “Yeah, but you got me back both times. Besides, I think your guilt is beating you up on that more than I ever could.”

You lift a shoulder. “You’re not entirely wrong there.”

Steve holds out a hand. “So? What do you think?”

You smile, then take his hand. “I’m in.”

There’s a road opening up before you, a path you never thought you’d get the chance to take. You don’t have to be S.H.I.E.L.D., with their stifling regulations, nor HYDRA, with their duplicitous promises. At last, you have a way to work towards that dream you had when you first started as an agent, the one about making a world in which people could be better. On top of that, you won’t be alone. You have Steve, which is a blessing within itself. Nothing could make you happier.

You head for the door, Steve right beside you. The two of you have a lot of work to do.

a/n: and that's the end of the series, babes! honestly this might be one of my favorite fics i've written, thanks for reading. if you want the sole piece of inspo i had for all ten chapters and 30,329 words (yes i counted lol) of this bad boy, please listen to the song 'i wish you could be honest' by the neighbourhood. yes this was a songfic yes i am ashamed. love y'all lots

series/marvel tag list: @maluisamarvelfan123, @navs-bhat, @faiirybread, @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @caswinchester2000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers series #captain america #captain america imagines #captain america x reader #captain america oneshot #captain america series #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #marvel series #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #avengers series #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot

[whereireid]

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

pairing:dark!boss!steve rogers x virgin!fem reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.9k | warnings: dubious consent ! power imbalance (boss!steve, employee!reader) sexual naivety, height difference [6'6 steve, 5'3 reader], oral m receiving, rough p in v, misogyny, sexism, breeding kink, daddy kink, housewife kink, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, praise kink, spanking, captain kink, dumb baby reader (in steve's eyes), nonconsensual pregnancy, reader loves big mean stevie and loves when he taints her <3

PSA: YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. 18+ ! If any of these topics trigger you, please do not indulge in this content! This is a DARK!FIC, and is intended to come across as such. Minors, please dni - this content is 18+ and is under my #WOMNSFW tag.

summary: Steve Rogers is in deep need of a new personal assistant. You, an intern for Stark who often loiters around the Avengers Compound, put yourself forward for the position. You believe working under the Captain America will help you to get in good graces throughout your career. Little do you know, being America’s golden boy’s personal assistant means doing a little more than rummaging through files and writing letters.

—

So pretty, so perfect, so poised. Steve Rogers sits back comfortably in his chair, his eyes trained on you, never leaving, not even to acknowledge the poor waitress who puts his beer down in front of him. You speak proper, each word flowing from your mouth with purpose, your speech coherent, and your voice confident.

It makes Steve’s cock twitch in his trousers as he watches you. Your gaze on him doesn’t linger, but you do flinch when he reaches towards his beer too quickly. It makes his stomach flip, and he tries to hold back the hiss that threatens to slip past his lips. He knows he’s America’s Golden Boy, and that he’s supposed to be better than this; but he was raised in the 1930’s, and his ideals surrounding women never really fizzled out.

Your voice fades back in, and as you address him, it snaps Steve out of his train of thought. “So, I’m sure now that we’re well acquainted with each other, Captain Rogers—“

“Please. Just call me Steve. We’ve known one another long enough.”

He quirks a brow as your cheeks flood over in red, before beckoning you to continue your speech. “Well, then, Steve,” you swallow thickly, your voice dropping a few octaves, and Steve senses that he’s embarrassed you. “Now that we’re well - uh, better - acquainted, I hope that you can consider me for the position of your personal assistant.”

“What?” Steve’s blue eyes bore into yours, and they make you brood in anxiety. You feel childish, sitting in front of him in a flowery dress, at what could somewhat be considered an interview, asking to work for him. Perhaps you should’ve dressed nicer, more work appropriate? Yet, before you can blubber on, Steve continues; “doll, if you wanted to work for me, you could’ve just said. Did you do all of this to ask for the position?”

He blinks at you. Embarrassment washes over you like a tsunami wave as you blink back at him. Of course, you could’ve just said you wanted to work for him - you feel naive ever thinking otherwise. Steve’s not a stranger, you practically work with him every day, and he'd be more than enthusiastic to hear you out. He's not one of. the guys at work who ignore women and everything they have to say. He’s nice enough to always say hello to you and sometimes buy you coffee, and flowers if you were down. He's one of the good ones!“I thought it might’ve been inappropriate to ask you whilst you were training.” You shoot him a small smile, trying to ignore how the upwards tug of his lips makes your skin rise with goosebumps.

“Does Stark know you’re applying for this role?”

"He’s actually the one who suggested it.”

Steve takes a long sip of his drink. He stares at you over the rim of the glass, watching you squirm and ponder over his answer. He already knows the answer to your question, but watching you shuffle in your seat and act silly in front of him makes his cock throb, and he enjoys the feeling. You’re so innocent, pressing against the table, wide-eyed, acting as though your tits aren’t pressed together and basically on display for him. The dress is so low-cut. It makes him want to take you right here.

Did you wear that just to get him riled up? “Well, I can’t think of anybody more suitable to fit the position. You know the Compound, you know my office, and I’ve noticed you get on well with higher authorities. You seem like a doting employee.” He kisses his teeth slightly, looking down at the table, before looking up at you through his lashes. He tries to hold back the smirk on his face as he speaks, but it’s impossible not to: “of course, you will also be expected to work somewhat more flexible hours. Later start times, later finishes. We won't always be in the office at the compound - a lot of my additional work files are at my personal home office, but I can always make you up a key to give you easier access."

“Of course,” you chirp, nodding at him enthusiastically. “I’m okay with longer hours, and I can work around you and what you need.”

Steve grins. “Perfect.”

—

It has been about three weeks since you left your position as an intern at Stark Industries and began working for Steve Rogers. It was an exhausting process at first; the sudden change in routine, the heavy workload, the unsociable hours, and Steve often worried you would change your mind. If you couldn't bend for this position, you would break, and he was incredibly worried you'd do the latter. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen you frown so often before, but during the first fortnight of working as his assistant, your lips were always somewhat tugged downwards, and you were always so busy, unable to even joke with him.

You soldiered on, though. Managing to catch up to months worth of missed calls, avoided emails, old paperwork, and forgotten documents. Steve praised you every time you completed a task, and often he found you beaming up at him, prideful and flustered.

Yet, whilst peeking up from his desktop, he finds himself annoyed. You’re sitting quietly opposite him, noting down things and scheduling appointments, and he can’t help the twitch of his cock as he watches you do it. You're not incredibly busy anymore, and yet you're not engaging in any conversation with him. Steve knows you value professionalism, but he only really let you have this job because of his alternative motives when it comes to you.

His eyes flicker back to the computer screen, and then back to you. It's like before his brain can register what he's doing; he's doing it, but he doesn't mind. This is his office, after all, his space. You're his assistant, and if anything, you're supposed to assist him in doing it. His hands are wrapped around his thick, angry cock, and he pumps slowly, watching you intensely.

You're tapping away at your computer so innocently. Your eyes are wide and interested, and clearly whatever your scheduling for Steve has your entire attention because you don't even look up at him. He strokes his cock carefully, and slowly, and his breathing wavers as he runs a finger over his angry, red tip, using some of his precum for lube.

“You okay, Steve?” your voice fills the quiet room, and he looks over at you, his hands still wrapped around his cock. The naivety of your tone makes his cock twitch in his hands, and his pace slows. He makes eye contact with you, never breaking it as he slowly strokes his hand up and down his length. It makes him so much harder that you have no idea what he's doing, and he imagines what your lips would feel like wrapped around him.

“Fine, doll. Just a little sore.” Steve purses his lips as you nod. He meets your eyes, and you hold his gaze, concern plastering over your face.

You're so... modest. Completely unaware of what he's doing, and he loves it. Steve craves you; craves to taint the innocence which consumes you. You're too trusting for your own good, and one of these days, it's going to get you hurt.

Steve just needs to make sure it's him that hurts you, and nobody else.

“You do look awfully red, Steve.” You murmur across from him, concern painting your features. The heavy gaze your boss has on you makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable, but worry overrides any instinctive emotion. “Do you feel hot?”

Steve grunts in agreement with your question. He looks more disheveled than usual. His posture seems hunched, but he seems somewhat relaxed, and his gaze is hard and trained on you. You're unsure as to what's wrong - he's so red, it looks like he's burning up. Perhaps he has a fever, but you're sure the Super Soldier Serum ensures that he doesn't get ill. “Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of water?” you ask innocently, standing up from your desk chair, slowly walking towards him.

His computer monitor thankfully covers his crotch. Steve’s eyes don’t leave you, and it makes his cock leak when you softly begin to walk over to him. He’s almost certain you own nothing but inappropriate, seductive clothing; he’s seen more of your cleavage these past three weeks than he has anyone else’s, and it’s driving him crazy. The fact he’s managed to hold off from devouring you is insane, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can take.

Being the nice guy just doesn’t seem to be working. The hand which was stroking his cock stills, and he commands you to stop once you’re mere inches away, stood behind his monitor, so small he can hardly see you. “Do you own any appropriate clothing?”

His question is direct and his tone is reprimanding. Your knees wobble, and your head hangs slightly. Shame spreads throughout your body. “I didn’t realise this was inappropriate. My apologies.”

It’s unlike Steve to bark at you. Usually, he’s incredibly soft-spoken and considerate, yet it seems you’ve worn any patience he’s held for you thin. “Doll, every outfit you’ve worn this week has been low-cut and short.” He breathes, and your neck prickles with discomfort when you notice how dark and blown his pupils are. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think these kinds of… outfits would be appropriate elsewhere. You didn’t wear these outfits when interning for Stark.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your subordinate manner only makes his cock twitch more, and he’s thankful his hand is sheathing his cock, because the precum that trickles out of its covers his skin and not his trousers. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”

It’s painful to let go of his length, but he has to, and he shoves it back inside of his trousers and innocently buttons them up. “Are you wearing these suggestive outfits to get a rise out of me?”

You gasp. “No. Never. I - Sir, I aim to be as appropriate and considerate as possible. I’m sorry I’ve been misleading you.” Steve rises from his seat, and you swallow thickly, feeling incredibly small compared to your boss. You’ve often been close to him - side by side, brushing shoulders, but he’s always been soft-spoken and gentle, apologetic and genuinely caring. Now, it seems like his patience is worn thin, and as opposed to seeing a civilian Steve, you feel as though you're standing in front of a soldier. “I can go and change now if you want?”

“No.” His tone is so low it matches that of a growl, and you cower weakly as he towers over you. Fear pulsates in your being as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe, and your heart races in your chest. Steve would never hurt me, you remind yourself, he’s one of the good ones.

You open your mouth to speak, but Steve shushes you. His finger splays over your lips, and you feel scolded and childlike. “I think you do it for attention.” His finger pushes against you, as does his body, as he stalks forward and you shuffle backward, trying to keep any space between the two of you. “You know, it’s been hard staying silent for this long. Watching you from afar, never knowing what to say or do.” His hot breath fans your ear, and Steve’s nostrils flare. “Trying to be a gentleman. Buying you coffee and flowers and cards when you were working at the Compound as a way to be friendly and nice. But I don’t think you want that.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You squeak out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Steve’s fingers gently press against your skin, wiping away any that spill, his skin icy against your own. “I-I’ve appreciated the gifts. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He asks, his eyes shooting down at you. You nod your head eagerly, staring up at him, trying to ignore how the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think you’re truly sorry. I gave you this job to be my personal assistant. I expected more of you. You’re dressing as whore, and you can’t even apologize correctly.”

You swallow thickly, staring up at him. “‘M sorry. I haven’t meant to present myself that way,” your voice wavers. “What would y-you deem a suitable apology, Steve?”

“Captain.” Steve’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you squeak slightly as he tugs at it. “You only get to call me Steve when you’ve been good, which you haven’t.”

“How should I apologize, Captain?”

Your voice is an incredulous whisper. The subordination you show drives Steve crazy, and it takes everything in him not to force your mouth open and push you onto his cock. No, he needs to coax you into it - make you agree that this is the best way to apologize. Any other way wouldn’t suffice.

It’s as though you can’t believe this is happening - and in a way, Steve can’t, either. He’s always imagined this happening - having you begging him to tell you how to do something in a way that’s deemed fit in his eyes, having you be in pain whilst doing it. He curses slightly, before breathing out, “use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me’. Don’t expect me to repeat myself again.” He warns, blinking down at you, before muttering, “you’ve dressed like a whore, sweetheart. I think it’s only fair the Captain treats you as such.” His thumb drags down your lips, and you look up at him with such hesitation it makes his balls throb. He feels as though the look on your face could make him cum already.

Warmth floods over your cheeks. It feels wrong as Steve’s palms press heavily on your shoulders, the weight of him coaxing you down. A shudder leaves you as he forces you onto your knees in front of him, and you stare at his trousers, which are tight by the groin. “Captain, I don’t think -“ you swallow thickly, shaking as he comes down to unbutton his trousers, and flinching once his hands clasp yours, “-I don’t think this is appropriate.”

Your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, and he glares down at you, relishing in your embarrassment. Your eyelashes are wet and tears prickle your eyes still, “You’re on your knees now, doll.” He huffs, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Your hands shake as he guides them to his trousers. “You might as well get on with it.”

“No I - I don’t want to.” Your voice wavers as he uses your hands to pry his cock out of his trousers, which is an angry red and seeping with cum, and you feel like scurrying away from it. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this before.” Steve is stronger than you and the grip he’s got on your wrists makes you feel as though they will snap, so you decide not to, rather cowering away from his length in fear.

“Are you a virgin?” His question makes your head shoot up in embarrassment, your eyes wide and distraught, and he groans. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking virgin.”

“I never said I was,” you mutter, yelping when his hands strike you against the face. Fresh tears fall over old tear stains, and you flinch as his fingers splay over your chin.

He tuts. “Don’t lie to me. Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you murmur, shameful, eyes watery as you stare up at him. You sniffle, thankful for his gentle touch, which replaces the cruelty of his hands seconds ago. It makes your heart bloom with warmth as he brushes your face softly with his fingers, although he’s wiping away the pain he’s caused.

“My pretty little baby’s a virgin,” Steve coos, and the tone of his voice makes pressure form in your lower belly. “This mouth has never been around anyone’s cock before? Ever?”

There’s almost a deluded tone in his voice as he presses his tip against your lips. You quiver below him, your eyes trained on him as he pushes himself in your mouth. It feels wrong to do this with him - it feels exploitative, and whilst you opt to pull away from him, the wetness in your panties warns you otherwise. You’re enjoying this, and it’s making you feel terrible. You’re letting your boss take advantage of you and you love it.

You'd be lying if you denied the fact that you found Steve attractive. You had a thing for blonds, and the Golden Boy reputation he had made butterflies form in your belly. The fact he was so unlike what he seems makes your thighs clench and your pussy throb. A Golden Boy with an urge to taint; and somehow, you want to be tainted.

You hum against his cock, and it makes Steve’s stomach explode with heat. The wet of your tongue and the hot of your mouth is everything he’s ever wanted and more, and as your teeth scrape against him, he hisses, trying to hold back the smack he wants to deliver to you. You’re not ready for that yet; you’re a virgin, a sweet girl who needs taking care of. He needs to be gentle with you. “Nuh-uh-uh, doll. Cover those teeth of yours and hollow your cheeks - yes, like that, baby."

Steve breathes heavily as you take it in. It feels intrusive to your mouth as you suck on his cock, your tongue swirling up and down his tip. His hands make their way into your hair, and he gently begins to slide your head up and down, going at a quicker pace. It makes your belly ache with warmth as he does it, the feeling of his hands wrapped in your hair making you feel surprisingly... horny? It makes your face flush when you realize you're enjoying being used by Steve, and you eagerly begin to run your tongue up and down his length, tracing his veins and making sure to pay extra attention to his tip.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably, “make your daddy’s cock nice and wet.” Steve’s pace quickens, and more and more of his cock forces its way into your mouth until your eyes are pricking with tears and you’re almost certain his length is going to suffocate you. Gag after gag follows through with each desperate thrust of his hips, and you clasp your hands around his thigh, looking up at him, eager to breathe. He doesn’t let you.

“My perfect little girl. Let daddy cum in your mouth and he’ll forgive you for dressing like such a whore.”

It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice anyway. In Steve's eyes, he's waited long enough to paint you in his cum, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. He pulls out slightly, spewing cum over your cheeks and lips, grunting with approval at the sight of you. His innocent little personal assistant, who has never felt a man’s cock before today, has just had her throat fucked as though she were a fleshlight. Steve groans, steadying himself by using your head for support, and your nose crinkles as you swallow his cum which had painted your tongue.

It doesn't taste that bad.

“Best you clean yourself up.” Steve murmurs as you clamber up, knees shaking, the heat between your legs throbbing. “I don’t want my personal assistant to look so... defiled whilst she’s working alongside me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As you attempt to scurry off to the bathroom, Steve stops you. “I want to make a few things clear about your position as my personal assistant, doll.”

You nod your head, uncertain as to what he might say next. The sight of you covered in his cum makes his heart bloom with pride, and he realises that he has finally got you where he wants you to be. “Your role as my personal assistant is to assist me with anything I deem necessary. Whether that be sexual or otherwise. You got that?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

—

Your body has been aching and sore for days. Forcing yourself up from your desk chair, you jolt slightly at the sudden pain which shoots up through your spine. You look away from Steve’s hot gaze, which makes you feel flustered and funny, and you begin to flip through pages in your folder, desperate to keep yourself occupied and not draw too much attention from Steve.

“Come here, doll.” His voice is gentle, his arms wide and open, urging you in.

You nod your head, opting to agree. You've become conditioned to his sexual advances, and he accepts when you're not in the mood, saying that he doesn't want to pressure you. Steve is a good guy in that way; he wants you to move at your own pace. You only have to do this for a few more months or so, as that’s how long your contract is.

Steve taps his lap. You comply, carefully seating yourself atop of him, crinkling your nose when he gets too close. He notices, but he doesn’t care, leaning backward slightly and brushing a curl away from your face.

“What have I done for you to hate me?” his once confident voice is quiet, oozing with rejection.

You blink at him. “I - I don’t hate you.”

Steve hums, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You shuffle uncomfortably in his lap, looking up at him with big, doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch. You’re so innocent, so friendly, a big baby that needs protecting from the world. All Steve wants to do is protect you and keep you safe. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he notes quietly. “You used to look at me like I was a savior before you started working under me.”

You shuffle uncomfortably, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves slightly to get comfortable, and your breath hitches in your throat when his clothed crotch rubs against yours. “I still think of you as a savior, Stevie,” you murmur quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

You’ve worked for Steve long enough now to know that the way around difficult conversations is to stroke his ego. His hand snakes around your back, and he traipses his fingers up and down your back slowly. “No bra, huh? What have I told you about dressing appropriately?”

“S-sorry, Steve.”

“Mmm, I forgive you, baby.” His hands fall to your skirt, and his fingers slowly ride up them. The material parts with the moving of his hands, and your body flushes with heat when his finger slides up and down your slits. He tuts. “No underwear, either? This'll be a little harder to forgive.”

You squeak slightly as Steve pushes a finger inside of you. “Y-you asked me not to wear underwear when I'm around you.”

“Nuh-uh-uh. I don’t remember that, doll. Don’t make things up to try and make yourself better off.” Except, he does remember it because he practically commanded you to strip your underwear off the last time you wore some when working alongside him. But you don’t need to remember that. Steve wants you to believe everything you do for him is because you want to do it, not because he’s told you to.

“Really?” you squeak as he curls his finger inside of you, ensuring he hits against your spongy spot. You try to ignore the heaviness of Steve’s gaze, and you swallow dryly, stuttering as Steve slips another digit in, beginning to fuck you faster with a ‘come-forth’ motion.

“Yeah, doll. Maybe you just wanted your daddy to have easier access to this pretty pussy of yours. I know how much you like getting that little pussy touched.”

His fingers slow down inside of you, and he gazes down at you with a raised brow. You protest, trying to roll against his fingers, but he grabs your thighs and shakes his head. “Bad girls don’t get to feel good.”

“I’m not bad," you whine, and Steve shakes his head in response.

“You lied to daddy. Said he wanted you to wear no underwear. You said it like I’ve been forcing you not to wear underwear when it was your decision.”

The sharpness in his tone makes you recoil, and you still your lower half. against him, not wanting to make him anymore angrier than he already is. “I-I’m sorry. It was my decision. I’m sorry for lying.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You know, I’ve been holding back these past weeks. I wanted to break you in.” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine in protest, but your sounds are muffled when he shoves them inside of your mouth. You suck instinctively, and he groans against you. “I’ve been wanting to use that pretty pussy of yours for so long, doll. Been wanting to defile you and make you mine.”

Before you can even react, the tip of his cock is pressing against your slits. “I’ve wanted to fuck you and fill you up with my cum for so long now.” His voice is a growl, and you feel frozen in place, beginning to slowly shake your head. “Fuck you full of my babies. And I know you want that, too.” He groans as he presses harsh kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin.

“No, Steve,” you breathe heavily as he holds you into place, your own body no match for the strength of his. “I- I don’t want that. I'm not ready for a baby."

“But you are. You just don’t know it yet.” His cock pushes into you, and you let out a whimper, struggling against him. Your walls sheathe him, and you let out a pained squeak. "Look at how well you take me, baby. You were made for me. You’re so wet for me. Look at you, trying to deny your rightful place as my subordinate. My pretty little girl.”

He forces his cock into you slowly. Your walls squeeze around him, sheathing his cock so well, and you whimper, squeezing your nails into his shoulders so hard you feel as though you're going to leave behind crescent moons. "No, Steve," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the burn between your leg. "'t hurts. Stevie, I'm not ready."

"You're ready, baby," he seethes, throwing his head back slightly as he pushes his hips up further. "Your little virgin pussy is hugging my cock so fucking tight."

A mewl escapes you as his cock brushes up against the spongy spot inside of you. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and mascara begins to brew below your lash line. Steve stares at you, his gaze passionate, wondering how he ever got so lucky. Not only has he got you exactly where he needs you, but he's also ruining you, tainting you for other men.

The only way he can truly ensure other men will leave you alone is to fill that belly of yours with his baby, so that's exactly what he intends to do. "Does that feel good?" he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. "You feel so full, baby?"

"So full, Steve," you whine, trying to adjust yourself to gather more comfort. Your walls rub against his cock as you adjust, and it feels kind of... good, so you do it again. Your hips slowly roll atop of him, and you whimper to yourself, pain mixing with pleasure.

Steve lets you bounce on him. It's a slow pace, and it doesn't hurt, though it feels unnatural to have something this big inside of you. It's not that you're entirely sexually naive - you've masturbated before, but this is completely different. Steve is huge, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel him. There's no room for escape, and your stomach flips as you throw your arms around his neck. "Steve," you breathe, eyes flittering shut as the coil inside of you threatens to break and snap, your toes curled in desperation. It feels as though you're just inches away from experiencing pure ecstasy, but you can't reach it, and it's making you so frustrated, you feel as though you could cry. "H-help me, Steve."

"You want Daddy's help when getting off?" he coos, brushing a curl away from your face. You stare down at him, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, and he groans slightly. So cute, so small, so ready for him. This is how you should be - begging for his help, needing him, relying on him. You're just a woman, after all; you need a big, strong man like Steve to take care of you.

His hips thrust up, and it's incredibly painful at first. Steve's pace is nothing compared to yours - you were being slow and gentle with your body, and he just wants to ruin it. His hips smash into you, his cock sliding in and out, and he peppers harsh kisses against your neck. You mewl against him, pressing up against his chest to feel him, your toes curling in your flats, your eyes dazed, mouth gaping. You look like a picture-perfect image, and Steve grunts as he fucks you, wanting to tip you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until the coil snaps. You murmur and shake against him, your thighs clenched as you cum, squirting all over his cock, drenching his balls and trousers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you yell against him, his cock relentlessly fucking you throughout your orgasm.

"I'm gonna fill you with my babies," he growls, "drown your pussy with my fucking cum."

"No," you cry out, unable to move as he thrusts himself into you; again and again and again. You feel so helpless, so small and weak against him, and you stare up at him. His pupils are dark and blown, and his Adam's apple bobs desperately, his nostrils flaring as his cock twitches inside of you. "Please, pull out!"

"I don't think so, baby," he grunts, and with one final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you. Your walls squeeze him simultaneously, and he lets out a low, powerful groan, as he coaxes your walls with his cum. "Gotta make you a nice little housewife. Gonna have you popping out all of my babies."

Steve brushes away the tears which slip down your cheeks. He doesn't even realize how hard he's been holding you until he lets go, your arms riddled with handprint marks which he's sure will bruise. "Don't cry, doll," he murmurs, "you knew what came with the job."

"No, I didn't," you sniffle, pressing your head into his neck. It's wrong how his warmth and his smell act as a safety valve for you when he's the reason you're so upset. "I would've never - I would've never gotten into this if I knew what you expected from me."

A gentle sob racks your body, and Steve looks down at you, caressing your face gently. "Baby, stop crying. You're ruining that little face of yours." In honesty, Steve's patience is running thin. He's been good to you; caring, doting, paying you well for an easy job, and this is how you react? You cry into his arms after he tells you he's going to pump you full of his children? He's Captain America, for God's sake. You should be begging for it. "Just - Jesus fucking christ," he huffs as you continue to cry, grabbing your face harshly, and the sudden grip shocks you. "Stop crying. If you're going to speak, at least try and be fucking coherent."

Nodding your head, you wipe your eyes, which are tender and you assume, red. "I'm not ready for this," your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve almost feels a bit sorry at the sight of you. "I- I don't want this."

"Only good girls get what they want," Steve states plainly, staring at your disheveled face. He certainly got what he wanted - you look ruined, and you feel it, too. He imagines his cum is mixed with a bit of your blood; what, with him defiling you and all, he probably broke your hymen as well. The thought makes him grin to himself, and he utters, "I don't think you've been good, so you don't get what you want, baby."

"I'm sorry! I just - this doesn't seem like a fair punishment! I don't want this!" You cry out as Steve delivers a harsh smack to your ass, and you gaze up at him pathetically through your lashes as he tuts.

"I don't care if you think it's fair or not. You've been teasing me ever since you were an intern at Stark Industries, doll. I've been waiting to breed you for that long," his voice vibrates against you, and you shake your head, ashamed that you even thought you could get away with arguing against him. He's the Captain, and he has all of the control. "Anyway, you're just a dumb little baby. You have no idea what you want right now. But I do. I know what's good for you. Don't you trust me, baby?"

#steve rogers #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x reader #steve x y/n #marvel avengers #the avengers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x female reader #chris evans #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x y/n #steve drabble #dark steve rogers #captain america #captain america x you #steve rogers series #oneshot #dark chris evans #womnsfw #1k 💕

[crazyunsexycool]

A love as sweet as honey

Coming soon… series taglist open, comment to be added. 18+ minors DNI

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: this series is set in the My little love universe and after the events of that story. While you don’t have to read it there are characters from that fic that will definitely make an appearance or will be important parts of this fic!

Prologue

Extras: snack time

The friendship you had with Steve Rogers was odd. At least to you it was. Steve was well liked, social, kind, friendly and always there to lend a helping hand. You saw it in the way he cared for his best friends’ kids or how he looked after the team. On the other hand you weren’t too much of a people person. You preferred solitude, were easily annoyed by others and most people would describe you as a grump. Yet these differences didn’t stop the friendship from blossoming. It didn’t stop your attraction either.

That attraction combined with alcohol and loneliness lead to the one thing you never thought possible. A one night stand with Steve Rogers. You thought it would be one night and done but you were wrong. A few weeks later and a fainting spell later you get the news that you’re pregnant. The news turned your world upside down. You had to tell Steve but you weren’t sure what his reaction would be. More than that what will happen with the baby? Will you have to fight to stay in his or her life? What will Steve think of all of it? Does he even want kids?

Steve likes you. Even if you try and hide behind this wall of solitude you've built. He can see right through it. The trust issues, how you’ve been burned before. None of that stops his growing affection for you. So when you both get drunk and wake up naked, he’s slightly shocked but mostly glad it was you. Then you tell him the best news anyone could have ever given him. He was going to be a dad. Will you finally let that wall down and let him in? Will you finally stop pushing him away? What if this was just a ploy to create another super baby that can be used as a weapon?

#a love as sweet as honey series #Steve rogers x reader #Captain America #Steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dad!steve rogers #dad!steve rogers x mom!reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #Steve rogers series

[darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club Masterlist

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found. [Bucky Barnes]

Status: In Progress

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

#bucky barnes #stalker #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #dark!fic #fic #series #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #falcon and the winter soldier