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ronearoundblindly · 8 months

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Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve.

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.”

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left.

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America.

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you.

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again.

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real.

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job?

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.”

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes.

“On your six, Cap.”

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out.

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ.

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.”

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

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

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

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

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you��re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

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

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

“It’s not your job to save me.”

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

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

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

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

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

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

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

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

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

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

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

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

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

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

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet.

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

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise.

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.”

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

“I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it.

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

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

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#shy anon #ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #old dog new tricks #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america smut

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venusstorm · 1 year

Note

What about shy!steve rogers?

Just imagine you fresh in your relationship and he is still shy about everything sexual. So one time he is jerk off and moaning your name (while he thinks you are out) but you are home and hear him. When he notices that you see him he is so shy and try to hide his member… but you help him jerk off and praise him.???🤌🏻✨

Shy!Steve Rogers just became my fav. Ty for this <33

Fantasies

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation, praise, desperation, degradation, mention of breeding, oral, and ball worship

w/c: 1.5k

'*•.¸♡¸.•*'

Steve Rogers craves your touch more than anything else in the world.

Even the slightest graze led to thoughts of burying himself inside of you. Your sugary tone as you thread your fingers through his locks always caused him to leak shamelessly into his underwear.

In his sleep, he’d shake with need, nuzzling into your shoulder to quiet his cries as he dreamt of claiming you as his. He’d wake up a sticky mess, gliding out of bed and running an ice cold shower. Throwing his head back against the wall as he slid his hand down his length, thoughts of you sinking to your knees rendering the icy water useless.

“That’s it, angel” he’d murmur, gritting his teeth to muffle his cries as he envisioned your precious lips wrapped around him.

But unfortunately, that shameless side of him had to be tucked away.

You knew him as your sweet Steve Rogers, a man who took three months to ask you out because the thought of you saying “no” terrified him. A man who drops everything the moment you call and carries you back to the comfort of your bed the instant you declare “let’s stay in tonight.”

He fantasized about leaving you broken, your pussy throbbing as he fucked you into the mattress. Shoving his cock down your throat. Getting off to the sound of you choking and sputtering as he releases. Images of tears streaming down your cheeks as he rubbed his balls all over your gorgeous face, his seed staining your skin as a gentle reminder of who you belong to.

He had never felt this way before…and it scared him. It felt wrong to think of you that way, to crave more than your gentle touch. And what if he messed up? He hadn’t been with anyone else in decades so what if you hated it, hated him for not being able to satisfy you?

So he kept those eager thoughts locked away. Promising to himself that you wouldn’t see that insatiable side of him.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t relinquish control when he was alone.

'*•.¸♡¸.•*'

Sitting atop the covers, Steve glides his hands over his aching cock. His thighs are spread wide, tip glaring red and dripping with pre cum as his hand travels down his length.

“F-fuck. Feels so good,” he whimpers, chanting your name every time he comes close to release.

His eyes roll back, fingers gliding down his slick shaft as he cries out for your touch. “Need you so badly,” he sobs. “W– want to fill you up. Make my cum leak out of that pretty cunt.”

He grips his heavy balls, tugging at them roughly. Whenever you shot him that perfect smile, he couldn’t resist imagining what you’d look like coated in his seed. Your tongue desperately licking at his balls before he shoves them into your mouth. How he’d jerk off onto your body, painting you into a perfect picture.

“Look so pretty sucking daddy’s balls, baby. Fuck, M’so messy. See what you do to me? Need you to clean it up for me. Suck daddy’s cock for me, angel.”

He swipes his hand over his slit, moaning loudly as another spurt of cum drips down his cock. Steve envisions your pretty tits dangling in front of him, your sweet, intoxicating scent wafting around him.

“I– I can’t stop cumming.”

He apologizes as if you could hear, his eyes clenched tightly as another wave of euphoria approaches.

But little to his knowledge, his cries don’t go unheard.

You inch down the hallway, following the sound of Steve’s alluring groans. You peer through the cracked door, your desperation sticking to your thighs as his moans grow louder.

Your breath halts from the sight of your man sprawled across his bed. He’s heaving, his lips parted and eyes shut. He’s covered in his seed and so were the sheets. The slick noise echoes around the room and you couldn’t help but slide your hand down your shorts.

Steve jerks upwards, a thick rope of cum shooting out towards his chest and nearly missing his jaw. “Please, angel” he begs, shouting your name as if it could magically make you appear.

He thinks about fucking you against every surface in this apartment. Breeding you so full that you’re begging him for mercy. Then he’d sink to the ground, spreading your legs and devouring every last drop.

You inch inside the room, quietly making your way to the bed. Steve’s hair is slick, his face wet with desperation.

He’d leave you wrecked and motionless. But he wouldn’t mind carrying you around his place afterwards, doing everything for you, and treating you like the princess you are. Taking you into the shower, cleaning your body, praising you for how good you’ve been. All to just hike your leg over his shoulder and grind into that pretty cunt all over again.

“Can you cum for me, Princess? Squirt all over daddy’s cock. C’mon, baby. I’ve got you, just let go for me.”

“Baby?” You whisper. Your voice is weak, eyes trapped on his twitching length.

“Mhm,” he murmurs.

You break into a smile. “Stevie?”

His eyes flutter open, the darkness now replaced by the image of his sweet girl. He scrambles for the covers, yanking them over his naked body with wide, frantic, eyes. “I’m so sorry, you weren’t supposed to– I didn’t–”

His cheeks grow red, and his chest is tight with humiliation. How could he be so reckless? He knew you had a key but you weren’t supposed to be here for another three hours. Fuck. This was it. You’d think he was a freak. Steve looks away, fiddling with his fingers as he begs for forgiveness.

“Hey, hey. Shh. It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad.”

But he doesn’t respond. Instead, he shrinks, anxiously spewing out apology after apology.

You strip yourself of your clothing as he babbles on. A smile creeps onto your face as you climb into bed and draw him to your chest.

“I’m not upset, Stevie,” you murmur.

“You’re not?” He whispers. “But–"

You shake your head, spreading your legs until he’s sitting between your spread legs. “My pretty baby. Looked so cute saying my name.” You slide your hands down his chest, kissing his neck softly.

“You could’ve told me.”

He shakes his head, “D-didn’t want you to think of me differently. I’m not good at this. I’m not experienced. I just know what I feel for you and that’s to make you happy.”

“You’ve made me happy every day since we met, Steve. You mean everything to me.”

Steve whimpers as you grasp his cock, uncaring of the fact that your hands are covered in his spend. He’s thick and heavy in your hands, throbbing as you graze his skin. You begin to pump slowly, smiling as he shutters from your touch.

His head tilts to the side to meet your lips and he melts against you, groaning as your pace quickens.

“I’m so lucky to have you. So patient and kind. Sweetest boy in the world.”

You wanted him to feel secure. To know that every thought running through his mind could be said aloud and not spoken in secret. Because truthfully, you were just as desperate for him.

The odds of him walking in on you shouting his name as you came undone were just as high. Fuck, you couldn’t wait to feel him inside of you. His heavy frame crushing your body as he grinds into you, hitting you deep.

His breathing grows heavier as you pepper him with kisses. “You know what I think about, baby?”

“Mhm?”

“How you’d shove that pretty cock into me. Stretch me until shaking. Dumping load after load into my pussy, sliding your fingers against my slit and fucking it all back into me.”

You whine as he moans your name, gripping your free hand in his. “I always cum so hard thinking about how you’d hover over me. Taunting me for allowing you to do whatever you want to my body.”

Steve nearly broke from the picture that you had just painted. He mewls, gripping your hand tighter as your thumb rubs against his slit.

“I’m sorry you’ve been so pent up, baby. You’re always so sweet. So patient. These past few months have been the most memorable days of my life and it’s all because of you.”

“I love you”

“You love me?” He whimpers. It was the first time those words had escaped your thoughts. The relationship was still new and yet, all you ever thought about was how much you loved the man before you.

You nod, “More than anything.”

You love him. His body tenses as you pepper kisses along his neck, whispering praise into his ear as you stroke him sensually.

“I- I love you too.”

Steve searches for your lips once again right as thick white ropes erupt from his cock. His legs shake as he reaches his high. His seed drips down your fingers and pools around his base and eagerly you bring them to your lips, sucking them dry before pressing your mouth back against his.

#Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers fics #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #Steve Rogers smut #steve rogers x female reader #shy!steve rogers #steve rogers captain america

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bethsvrse · 2 months

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Can we ban shy!readers? please 🙏

#bethsvrse #it’s not that I don’t like them #it’s just i want more badass reader who wouldn’t be afraid to sucker punch someone #or at least someone who can talk without stuttering or blushing every second word #fanfic #text post #sirius black x reader #james potter x reader #dean winchester x reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #bucky barnes x reader #peter parker x reader #steve harrington x reader #peeta mellark x fem!reader #shy!reader #let’s ban shy!reader #steve rogers x reader

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holylulusworld · 2 months

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Shy guy (4)

Summary: You grew up together. Bucky is the one. He’s just too shy to make a move.

Pairing: Shy!Bucky Barnes x Fratgirl!Reader

Sidepairing (friendship): Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: a kiss between Steve & Bucky (not reader), mentions of sex (Steve), the reader being a good friend, teasing, banter, friendship

Inspired by this ask: Shy guy ask and @dawn-petrichor-world made me do it…The idea for the kiss came from her too. 😊

Shy guy (3) - Past

Shy guy masterlist

Two years later, age of sixteen…

Your friendship with Bucky wasn’t the same after what happened with John Walker. You pulled away ever so often when Bucky invited other people to his birthday party or movie nights.

It wasn’t unusual for people to invite other people to a party, but it always left a bitter taste on your tongue remembering what happened because Bucky wanted to spend time with John Walker.

You were still friends, and you still felt deeply for Bucky, but Steve turned out to be a better friend. He was less impressed by other people trying to join your little clique.

Steve was still a heartbreaker, and notorious womanizer, but at the same time, he was the best friend you could wish for.

One call and Steve Rogers stood in front of your door, asking who you wanted him to beat into a pulp.

He didn’t want Bucky and you not to be friends, but at the same time, he enjoyed being your best friend again.

Movie nights were special to you and your friends. Sadly, you couldn’t join the latest movie night, and this is how Steve and Bucky ended up at Steve’s place, fighting over the movie they wanted to watch.

“So, any girls you dated lately?” Steve tried to tease his friend. He knew Bucky had never had a date with a girl before.

“No,” Bucky grunted and glared at Steve. “I’m not a serial lady-killer like you. I’m waiting for the right girl.”

“Did you ever kiss a girl?” Steve pressed on.

“I won’t tell you,” Bucky sighed, ashamed he still didn’t find the guts to finally ask you on a date.

“How do you wanna know you are into girls if you never kissed one or asked a girl out?”

Bucky frowned deeply. “What’s that supposed to mean? The way you treat girls tells me you can’t be into them either. You treat every girl you date like shit.”

“What?” That made Steve rethink his whole dating history. “No…I mean…I’m totally into girls!”

“Are you sure?” Bucky grinned as his friends suddenly looked like a confused puppy. “If you like them so much, why do you always break up with them after one date?”

“Hmm…” Steve nodded. “That’s nonsense! I like girls!”

“How do you wanna know? Maybe you are into guys and don’t even know it!” The brunette argued. If Steve wanted to mess with him for being shy around girls, he’d pay him back.

“How do want me to find out?” Steve bit back. “I’m pretty sure that I like girls.”

“How shall I know?” Bucky muttered.

“Hey, guys!” You almost ripped the door open to scare your friends. “I’m back and made it to movie night!” You stopped in your tracks as your friends looked like you caught them jerking off or something. “Okay, what did you do?”

Both refused to look you in the eyes. You had to annoy them for almost half an hour before they told you about their discussion.

“Easy!” You exclaimed. “I’ll kiss Bucky, and then Bucky will kiss you!”

They stared at you, wide-eyed and scared. “What?” They both hiccupped. “NO!”

“Oh yeah!” You nodded and already crawled onto Bucky’s lap. If he was too shy to make a move, you’d take matters into your own hands. “Relax, Buck. It’s only a kiss.”

“Only a kiss…right,” he stammered. Bucky didn’t want you to know it would be his first real kiss with a girl.

“We kissed before, on the mouth,” you cupped his face and brushed your nose against his. “I hope you brushed your teeth.” You teased before going for gold. Bucky gasped when you claimed his lips, gentle yet determined to make him see he only wants to kiss you from now on. “There, you go, Bucky.”

“I—” Steve cleared his throat. “Uh-will you kiss me too, Y/N?”

“Nah, you had your lips on every girl in our school!” You wrinkled your nose. “I won’t kiss you. You’re like a brother to me. That’s odd!”

“And?” Steve asked Bucky.

“It was…good.” He grumbled and shifted on the couch. “I think I’m into girls.”

“You can’t be sure,” you hopped off his lap and winked at Steve. “Now, kiss him, Stevie. I wanna know if you can do it better! But remember, no tongue!”

“Tongue?” Bucky shrieked when Steve sat next to him. Your friend never was one to back down. You challenged him so he’d kiss Bucky to prove a point.

“Relax, I’m a good kisser,” Steve cupped Bucky’s face, unsure if he should kiss him or wait for Bucky to take the lead. “Fuck it.”

You giggled when Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s. They quickly parted and wrinkled their foreheads before wiping their mouths on their shirt.

“That was—” Steve retched. “I don’t want to kiss you again!”

“Same,” Bucky shuddered. “Y/N is a better kisser.”

You grinned at Bucky’s words. Of course, you were a better kisser. You practiced in front of a mirror, imagining it’s Bucky kissing you back.

“I win,” you sat between your friends and chuckled. “So, are you both into girls?”

“YES!” They hastily said.

The rest of the night was filled with friendly banter, lots of teasing, and stuffing junk food into your mouth.

Two years later your lives changed again.

The first days at NYU were almost the same as usual. You would spend your time hanging out with Steve, and teasing Bucky after classes, or try to hit it off with the new friends you made. Natasha, Wanda, and Okoye.

Steve and you were still best friends, and Bucky was still too shy to ask you out.

The only difference was you weren’t living at home any longer. You made enough money with your part-time jobs to pay for a small apartment off campus to have some peace and quit once in a while.

“I need to tell you something,” Steve stormed into your small apartment, making you shriek. You gave him a key for emergencies, not to storm into your room when you are chilling on your couch in nothing but your underwear.

“STEVE! We talked about boundaries. I could’ve been naked!”

He shrugged and plopped down on your couch. “I did it!” He grinned from ear to ear.

“You did what?” You groaned and put the book you tried to read down. “I hope you don’t mean you bought that bike you were talking about!”

“I meant sex, Y/N,” Steve smirked. “Peggy and I made the next step. I know this is sudden, but I think I love her!”

“Whoa!” You jumped off the couch to pace the room. “Steven Grant Rogers!” You looked at him like a strict parent. “I hope you used protecting, young man.”

“Yeah…of course! I’m not stupid, Y/N!”

“Good!” You nodded. “And…uh…I’m so happy you found someone you love, Stevie.” You wrapped your friend in a hug and kissed his cheek. “I hope you were a gentleman too.”

“She kinda took the lead,” he admitted. “I mean…it wasn’t her first time. I wish I was her first, but I wasn’t, and…” Steve nervously babbled. “But I love her, and it’s okay. We can do it for the rest of our lives.”

“Whoa!” You slowly let go of Steve, grabbing his upper arms to get a good look at your friend. “You really are in love!”

“Yeah,” his cheeks turned pink, and it made him look even more adorable. “I am.”

“Yes, it finally happened,” you wrapped your arms around him. “Maybe I can invite the both of you for dinner. I asked Bucky, and the others yesterday. If you want to, you can join us.”

“I’m the last one you ask?” He grunted.

“Babe, you weren’t available. I ended up on voicemail. You should check your messages,” you snickered. “But I get it. Your dick finally got some action, and all your blood ran down your lower half.”

You patted his back and sighed. If Steve was happy, you’d gladly support him and his blooming relationship.

Even though, Peggy Carter was the last girl you wanted to be around your friend. She always gave you the stinky eye, and you had no clue why…

“Dinner is ready,” you clapped your hands and looked around your crowded living room. “We’ve got pasta, salad, and vegetarian pizza. There are more than enough snacks too.”

“Where’s Steve?” Okoye asked. You didn’t hear from Steve for the better of a week, and worried about him. He didn’t call you back, but you assumed he was busy with his girlfriend and his art classes.

“He promised he’d be here. Don’t worry. Stevie likes to run late,” you grinned and popped a grape in your mouth. “Go ahead, have some food!”

You walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind you to call Steve again. It wasn’t that you wanted to be the kind of friend getting on Steve’s nerves, but you missed your friend and worried more than you’d like to admit.

“Still no sign?” Bucky followed you outside and glanced at your phone. “Do…do you want me to drive you to the frat house?"

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just busy with his girlfriend. Peggy is not a big fan of me,” you said and shook your head.

“Why not?”

Before you could answer, someone walked toward your apartment. It was Steve, looking like someone had kicked him in the guts.

“Stevie?” You ran toward him to wrap him in a hug. “What happened? Is something wrong at the frat house? You can bunker at my place if you want to.”

“It’s not the boys. They are cool,” he sniffled and hid his face in your shoulder. You ran your hand over his head, and down to his shoulder, murmuring soothing words. “She broke things up with me for some other guy. Peggy said she doesn’t love me and that she only wanted to see if I can keep up with my reputation.”

“Oh, Stevie,” you whispered and kissed his cheek. “She’s a stupid bitch and doesn’t deserve my best friend.”

“I liked her so much, and she only wanted me for sex,” he snorted. “Can you imagine, she laughed right in my face when I admitted that she was my first.”

“I’ll kill that bitch,” you wrapped your arms a little tighter around your friend. “Do you want to go for a walk or…”

“Can I have some food? I didn’t eat anything today,” Steve rubbed his face on your shoulder. “You promised pasta and snacks.”

“Sure thing, Stevie.”

Steve spent the evening with you, Bucky, and your new friends. The others went home while Bucky, Steve, and you had a sleepover just like when you were just kids.

“She’s such a bitch,” you gritted your teeth as you had to watch Peggy be all over John Walker. They made out right in front of your friend, and it made you furious. “I’ll pay her back.”

“Forget it,” Steve shrugged. It was a few weeks later, and he slowly got back on his feet. “I got a date with her cousin, Sharon.” He grinned like the devil. “I heard through the grapevine that Sharon and Peggy hate each other. And Sharon is into kinky shit.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” you slapped his chest. “You sneaky bastard!”

“What? Sharon always had a thing for me, and now that I did it, I feel confident enough to do her good,“ he smirked. “I bet she’s love sucking my—”

You covered his mouth with your hand. “If you mention your dick, I’ll kick your balls. Just be careful and use protection.”

“Aw, you’re such a good friend,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed your cheek. “Like a mom.”

“Dude don’t call me a mom! I’m not ready to settle down and have kids,” you snapped at Steve. “I worry about you, is all.”

“…and I love you for it,” he pecked your cheek. “Please never change, doll. You are one in a million.”

“Can you tell this to Bucky?” You sighed.

“Y/N, if you want to get your hands on our friend Bucky, you must take matters into your own hands. He’s shy, and if you wait for much longer, some other girl will make a move on him. You don’t want him to end up with someone like Peggy, right?”

“No!” You hastily said. “Hmm…take matters into my hands.” You looked at Peggy shamelessly making out with Walker. “I think you are not wrong, Stevie. I should make a move on Bucky…”

Shy guy (5) - Present

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #shy bucky barnes #college au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #Shy guy (4)#steve rogers x best friend reader

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orions-athenaeum · 11 months

Text

When You're Smiling- Prologue

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x F!reader

Synopsis: Throughout your life you have been labeled "boring" because of your quiet, thoughtful attitude. For example, you weren't a fan of parties, frats or really anything that required you to be around big groups of people. But after being dragged to a party, you meet someone who seems determined to prove that you have an adventurous side as well.

Chapter Warnings: panic attack, anxiety, drinking, sexual harassment

Word Count: 1.5k

Prologue

“Please Y/n. You don’t even have to stay for that long.” Sitting on the floor of your apartment, you continued to track your eyes over the pages of your textbook. You weren’t really retaining any information, you hadn’t been since your roommate Wanda barged in five minutes ago and began pestering you to go to a frat party with her.

“Seriously, a night out would be good for you. You don’t even have to talk to anyone, but at least leave this apartment. Honestly, it’s getting kinda sad that you just sit here with your books every night-”

“OK.” You cut off her somewhat offensive rambling by roughly slamming your psychology textbook shut. “If you are so concerned about my social life I will, for forty five minutes, go to this party.” Wanda squealed and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you, I promise once you get there you’ll have so much fun!” Your face remained neutral but inside your stomach was beginning to twist itself into a tight knot. There was a reason you didn’t really like parties, of course you wouldn’t judge your friends for going to as many as they could, they just weren't your scene. “-oh, I’m gonna call Nat, she can bring over some tops for you to try, let me grab my phone, I’ll be right back.” You didn’t realize you had zoned out long enough for Wanda to bring your other friend Natasha into the equation. When Wanda left the room you tried to distract yourself from spiraling by watching the rain dance against the window. This is “cozy romance novel reading” weather, not “get wasted with a bunch of randos” weather, you thought to yourself, but then instantly shook your head and brushed your glasses up to rub your eyes. Maybe you were in desperate need of a party. Or not. Because frat parties were the worst. The last one you were at was three years ago during your freshman year: you went in excited to try something new, and ended the night drenched in someone else’s beer, with tears running down your cheeks and mascara staining your face. You didn’t know who spilled beer on you, but the tears and mascara combination was courtesy of having to watch the guy you liked make out with not one, but three girls that night. To top it all off, one of your heels had snapped, forcing you to walk home in 30 degree weather with no shoes. So you weren’t a fan of frat parties, and maybe you shouldn’t base your judgements on one awful experience, but you had never been party type before and that night seemed like a sign from the universe confirming, “you and parties do NOT mix.”

Wanda’s hurried footsteps interrupted the mental storm that had been picking up speed over the time she was absent.

“Ok, Nat is on her way, and she’s bringing options for shirts, and I have this new pair of heels that would look so-”

“No. No heels, sorry Wan.” You said somewhat sheepishly. You hadn’t known Wanda yet when you went through the frat debacle a couple years ago and for some reason you had elected to withhold that story from your two closest friends. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t brought it up, maybe you figured they would stop trying to force you to party every weekend, or maybe they would insist you give it another try. The latter is what you were afraid of, and knowing Nat and Wanda, the former was not likely to happen.

Wanda gave you a curious look, but if she thought something was off she didn’t say anything. Instead, she ran to the door as a buzz sounded on the intercom.

__________________________________________

An hour later, you were dressed in a long sleeved open back top, baggy jeans, and a pair of well loved (extremely dirty) shoes. Wanda and Nat practically dragged you out of your apartment and down the street, laughing and talking animatedly all while you stayed quiet and counted the yellow taxis that rushed past you.

When the three of you finally made it to the party, an inky darkness had settled over the city. The grass beneath your feet was still damp from that afternoon’s rain and you couldn’t help but frown at how humid it had become, dreading how suffocating it was going to be inside the house.

“Do you wanna grab something to drink?” Nat yelled over the bass as you tried to squeeze through the crowded entryway. You were immediately overwhelmed, strobe lights were flashing against the walls, music was shaking the floor and hot, sweaty bodies kept bumping up against you. You closed your eyes in an attempt to somehow center yourself. After a few seconds of futilely waiting for a moment of peace, you let your eyelids flutter open and to your annoyance, Nat and Wanda were no longer standing beside you. You knew it wasn’t their fault, and that they would never intentionally leave you alone, but you couldn’t stop the panic that began rising in your chest from the absence of your two friends. Not knowing what else to do, you shouldered your way through the mass of drunk college students, searching for a quiet place to stand and look for Nat and Wanda. You had scouted out a small, unoccupied alcove under the stairs and made your way to it. Two steps and you would have gotten some reprieve from the chaos, but instead a tall body blocked your path and sharp brown eyes eyed you up and down.

“Haven’t seen you at one of these yet.” His voice was slightly slurred and the mix of alcohol and cheap cologne pouring off of him was almost nauseating. “You lookin’ for someone to spend a little time with?” He asked inching closer and forcing you to press your back against the railing of the staircase. Now your breath was coming much too quick and the familiar numbness sprouting in your fingertips told you that you were on the verge of having a panic attack. You’d been through enough over the past years to recognize when one was coming. You also knew that if you could’t find a calm place to ground yourself in the next few minutes you were going to break down. With your mind in panic mode, you glanced over your shoulder and saw that the staircase you were pinned against led to a seemingly quiet hall. Deciding that was your only option, you shoved the guy’s chest and used his sluggish, drunken state as an opportunity to escape his grasp and head towards the stairs. You jumped over the “Stay Downstairs or Thor Will Kick Your Ass” sign that was haphazardly strung across the bottom entryway and took the stairs two at a time to get to the hall. There were no lights on in the corridor, but the strobes from the party downstairs provided you with enough light to find a doorknob. You desperately pushed on the door, but it was locked, so you ran to the next one, only to find yourself in the same situation. You didn’t notice the faint glow under the third door you tried and you almost cried in relief when the knob turned without any resistance.

You hurried into the room and closed the door, pressing your back against the cool wood and shutting your eyes. Starting at 100, you took a deep breath and exhaled counting backwards by three in your head. In your anxious state, you barely noticed the tears that were rushing down your cheeks. And you really had not noticed that you weren’t alone in this room.

“Uh, is everything- are you ok?” A baritone voice caused your eyes to shoot open as you desperately tried to figure out its source through your blurred vision. Bringing your hands to your eyes you began to furiously wipe away the tears, ignoring the slight burning caused by the friction from your shirt against your skin.

“Hey, whoah, hold on, you're gonna hurt yourself.” The voice said again, this time with more urgency. Suddenly, a pair of warm hands wrapped carefully around your wrists, gently pulling your hands away from your face. You were able to blink back enough tears to make out a head of blonde hair, broad shoulders, and kind eyes. The man in front of you continued to coax you down from your panic, and slowly the tears stopped falling as your breaths evened out. As embarrassed as you were that this saint of a man had to witness your anxiety attack you were grateful for his help. But just as you began to offer your thanks the door was thrown open, and a new, deep voice shouted over the blaring music downstairs.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing locked away in your-” his words trailed off as his steel blue eyes landed on your tear stained face…

Chapter One coming this week!

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sokovianheadtilt · 11 months

Text

Tug of War (11)

Steve Rogers x black!reader

Summary: Y/N caught the attention of her boss, who’s determined to win her over

A/N: Hellooooo everyone :) again, so sorry for not updating since November, was a little lost on where I want this story to go and plus being a college student doesn’t give me enough time to write, but it’s summer, i’m BACK, and working on new chapters and plot points, love you all <33

Warning: angry reader, threats of violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

After dinner with Y/N’s mother, Steve did everything in his power to lift your spirits, took you out on dates, showered you with the love and affection you deserve, basically treating you like his queen, like he’s been doing….time a million, and Y/N could admit, it worked wonders. Her confidence was back, she felt on top of the world because she had everything she ever wanted…until now.

Steve’s been extremely busy for the last few weeks. He’d come home late from the office, missing dinner, coming in with a kiss on your cheek as he changed out of his clothes and fell into bed, letting the exhaustion from his day overtake him. You did your best to be supportive, knowing he was working extra hard to maintain the lifestyle he’d built from the ground up. Now that his efforts didn’t only affect him, but the love of his life as well? He was willing to work a few extra hours to secure deals that would pay off in the future and lead to more time with you. But Y/N was fed up. She missed him, she missed his hugs, his kisses (real ones not quick cheek kisses like you were his grandmother), the sex- god she missed the sex. Steve knew how to leave you trembling and gasping almost every night and her vibrator could never replace the real thing. Y/N knew she had to take action.

It all came to a head today. You texted Steve asking if he would like to get lunch with you so you could spend time with him and discuss a new business venture you wanted to pursue, and when he said he had a meeting during that time, you snapped. You put on your favorite dress, a pink, skin-tight, sleek dress with matching pink heels with your matching purse, making sure your hair and makeup was done to perfection before leaving to drive to the office.

Getting out of the car, you stormed inside, the click of your heels could probably be heard from the floors above you with the way you were stomping to the elevator. As she got on and pressed for the top floor, the floor you knew was for executives only, you looked up as the numbers in the elevator changed before the doors opened and you stepped out. You knew where his meeting room was and went to go inside, yet it was guarded by security who stopped you when you tried to go inside.

“Ma’am we can’t let you through here, this room is occupied” the tall burly man said to you as you scoffed

“I don’t care! I’m going inside whether you like it or not” you were getting angrier than you were before. You never got angry often but when you did…it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Ma’am I’m going to have to ask you to leave” the guard said as he crossed his arms

You let out a humorless laugh “You think you scare me? You can make your threats all you want but I’m getting in there”

He went to grab your arm to take you out but you bypassed him as you went to open the door, storming inside the room.

“Steve Rogers!” your voice boomed

The room fell silent, filled with powerful men and women, looking bewildered at what was happening, probably judging you silently but you didn’t care, you had one target in mind and he was sitting right there at the head of the table, looking as handsome as ever. Steve’s eyes widened as he quickly stood up “Flower what are you doing here?” He saw the security guard come in to take you away but Steve held his hand out, letting him know not to do anything, god knows what he would do if he saw another man's hands on you anyway.

“You think you can blow me off for lunch like it’s nothing?! Do you not know who I am?!!” you yelled at him

“Fairy let’s take this outside” Steve tried to reason with you

“No! I haven’t had time with you in weeks and I miss you, but no, you’re working all the time while I sit in that big house by myself with a cat for company” you crossed your arms over your chest

A man sitting at the table cleared his throat as he spoke up “You couldn’t have done this another time? We’re kind of busy here, the drama can wait”

Your eyes widened at his words as you dropped your purse and went to jump over the table to attack him but Steve was quicker at grabbing you and carrying you out of the room as you yelled “This is none of your business you fuck-wit! Don’t be mad at me because I actually love my partner, you asshole!” You were thrashing in Steve’s arms as he set you down outside the room and cupped your face in your hands “Baby, baby- please calm down” he said gently

“Is work more important then me Steve? Has it come to that already? It’s only been a YEAR, didn’t think I’d lose your interest so fast” you shoved him away

“No no no, of course not flower” he reached out to take your hand “I’m so sorry I made you feel neglected, it wasn’t my intention at all. These guys are some potential partners for the firm and the more hands on deck, the less work for me in the long run. I’m doing it for us baby” he reasoned with you

“And I thank you for that, but Steve I hate how late you come home, how when I wake up you’re already gone” you started to tear up “We haven’t had dinner together in so long, no quality time” you hiccuped “I hate it” you sniffled as he pulled you into a hug and kissed the top of your head “I am so so so sorry my beautiful girl. I never want to make you feel like you aren’t worthy of my attention. I can barely breathe when we aren’t together, and I promise I’m going to do better” you looked into his eyes, seeing the regret and sadness within them as you leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his lips “I forgive you, but this better not happen again”

He nodded quickly “Never again” he leaned down to kiss you again

“Also, storming into my meeting? Kinda hot” he said with a smile as you giggled “I’m sorry about that, I went a little crazy”

“Don’t apologize my peony, you were upset” he rubbed your back “Okay, I’m going to go and finish this meeting, you want to sit in on it with me?” he asked as you nodded “Then afterwards, I’ll let someone else take care of the rest of my work and I’m all yours” you smiled softly as he led you back into the room, sticking your tongue out at the security guard as you passed by him and glaring at the man who decided to stick his nose in other people’s business.

Picking up your purse from the floor and handing it to you, Steve sat back in his seat as you sat in his lap, like a queen on her throne.

“Now, where were we?”

taglist: @ljstraightnochaser@pastelbabygirl19 @datsavageavenger

#sokovianheadtilt #tug of war #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x black!reader #black!reader #ceo!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #y/n #black!fem!reader #steve rogers x shy!reader

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shy-violet-soul · 2 years

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Heroes Make Me Tired

Summary: I’m just trying to do my job - keep my team safe, keep my bosses out of court…and myself out of the looney bin. One of those is too tall an order.

Characters: a very, very tired HR person (female), and assorted Avengers. Mentions of other fandoms (gold star to those that find them!)

Warning: Avenger shenanigans, and possible bad language words.

Word Count: 2,700-ish

A/N: This piece of ridiculousness is 100% inspired by and written for @thesassywallflower. As someone who’s worked in HR for over 20 years, and has dealt with more than my share of ridiculousness, I can personally attest to the fact that the struggle is REAL.

++++++

It’s only 7:45am, and I can already feel my blood pressure rising.

I cricked my neck to keep my phone against my ear as I juggled my laptop bag, security access card, and glasses. Finally swiping the card against the access plate, I jammed my elbow against my floor button and sagged against the wall as my coworker screeched out the latest calamity.

“...and now they want us to pay for a new set of tires. An entire set - four freaking tires - AGAIN!”

“No. Absolutely not. I don’t care what monster did it this time. You go back and tell them that the benefits handbook clearly states that damages to personal items in the course of performing your job duties are only eligible to be reimbursed up to an annual maximum of $1,000.00. Total. Not each incident. TOTAL. They used all of that up with that thing, that monster in Oregon? With the pennies?”

Julia’s sigh groaned through my ear. “A Nachzehrer.”

I closed my eyes, dragging in a deep breath. “Whatever. You know what? I don’t even care. If they would have taken the stupid company car, just like everyone else, they wouldn’t have to stress so much about their precious Impala. Tell ‘em ‘no’.”

“Will do. You on your way upstairs to your 8:00am?”

“Yeah.”

I could feel Julia’s shudder from here. “I’ll be all ears when you get back. The meetings with that crew are always…entertaining.”

The elevator doors opened as I snorted my agreement. I paused to collect myself in the entryway, silencing my phone before tossing it in the bag and pushing my glasses up my nose.

Okay. You’ve got this. Don’t let them rattle you. Stay calm, stick to your talking points. Think positively - maybe they’ll be actually sorry this time.

So buoyed, I strode into the hall and towards the waiting conference room.

Avengers division employee Agent Natasha Romanov stood waiting for me, her face as fathomless as usual. The smile I offered her faltered as she extended a Starbucks drink in my direction. The smell of chai spices wafted upward. If this troublemaker came bearing gifts, that only meant one thing. This meeting was going to suck.

I grasped the venti-sized life saver, took an eye-watering gulp, and silently cursed the complete and utter imbecilic moron who proposed gathering all superhero, crime fighting, general population saving teams under one umbrella, which led to the creation of my department.

Human Resources to the Heroes.

It sounded so rewarding on LinkedIn. I couldn’t believe it when I made it through the first round of interviews. Meeting with the liaisons for the major players was nerve-wracking to say the least. Nick Fury is everything he’s rumored to be. Bruce Wayne is actually a little bit boring. And Mr. Singer is my favorite. Not that I would ever tell him. And truly, the job is rewarding…

But sweet baby Moses in a basket, some of these people have lost their damn minds.

I didn’t blink at the assembly before me as I entered the conference room, smiling professionally as I sat down. Sam Wilson practically radiated frustration where he sat with his forehead in his hand. I love Sam. He knows the way to an HR person’s heart - consistency and documentation. God bless the Army.

And then there were these three: Clint Barton. James B. Barnes. And Steven f-ing Grant Rogers.

Steri-strips ribbed across the bottom right of Barton’s forehead, I fervently hoped holding what’s left of his brains in. Barnes sat with his arms crossed over his chest, looking somewhere between nonchalant and put-upon. Rogers looked like he’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” I dug out my legal pad, two pens, and a file folder.

“Good morning,” Sam and Steve replied. From Barnes, I got a chin lift. Everyone’s gaze turned to Barton. The famed archer sat reclined in his chair, head resting against the high back.

“Mr. Barton.” Nothing. My blood pressure ticked up a notch. “Mr. Barton,” with a little more volume, and a perfectly natural, not at all fake and threatening smile. Nothing.

Barnes banged on the table in front of the man, his metal fist clanging against the surface. Barton and I both jumped, my pen flipping out of my hand and flying across the table.

“Turn your fucking hearing aids on,” Barnes barked, pointing at his own ear when Clint turned confused eyes towards him. Sam sighed , eyes closing, as Steve slid my pen back to me.

“Sorry about that.”

I nodded my thanks, then folded my hands over my notepad once I had all their attention.

“So. Mr. Barton.” The file folder whispered as I flipped it open. “According to this incident report, it looks like you violated the same policies. Again.”

He scratched his head thoughtfully. “Which ones this time?”

My left eye wanted to twitch so bad. “Accessing secured areas without authorization, Employee right to privacy, and Sleeping while on duty.”

“Firefighters sleep on duty and no one gives them shit,” he groused. Twitch.

“Mr. Barton, we’ve discussed this. Firefighters are on duty overnight. This was at 1:13pm on Tuesday.”

“We do the life saving thing, too, you know!”

“It was your first day back from vacation!” I exclaimed, then sucked in a breath, trying to settle down. “All you were required to do that day was visit the armory and assess your equipment. And I’m not going to engage in a back and forth with you on that. Now - you’ve been counseled on the following occasions about your lack of compliance in these areas.” He glared at the list of dates I slid across the table to him. “With these additional incidents, we are officially placing you on a Performance Improvement Plan-”

“Hey! What about him?” he thumbed in the Sergeant’s direction. “He’s the one who shot me!”

This time, a muscle in my jaw tic’d.

“And I will address that with him in a moment. Right now, I’m going to ask you to review this document. Please sign and date it where indicated, and you can add any comments in the space below.” I chose to ignore the mutterings that followed as I fixed my gaze on Barnes.

“Sergeant.”

“Warden.” Twitch. Tic.

“You have also been counseled on the discharge of firearms on premises not in the course of your job duties.”

He rolled his eyes so hard, I’m sure he saw the inside of his skull.

“I thought it was an intruder!”

Reserve your chaos. Reserve your chaos, I chanted, pulling in another very deep breath. Calmly, I opened the folder again and withdrew a stapled packet.

“Sergeant Barnes. According to this file, your hearing is approximately 27% more acute than an average male of the same age, and your sense of smell is approximately 14% more sensitive-”

“Yeah, like a dog,” Sam murmured under his breath, earning a reproachful look from Steve.

“Is that from my medical file? What about the hippie law?”

I blinked at the righteous indignation on his face before the dots connected. “That’s HIPAA, not hippie. And as HR, I’m entitled to have access to the personal health information that demonstrates your ability to do your job.”

“Whatever. What’s your point?”

“My point, Sergeant, is that your physical abilities demonstrate that you did, in fact, know it was Mr. Barton. No intrusion alarms had been activated - I checked!” I cut off his budding interjection. “There’s no other way to interpret the evidence but that you knowingly chose to violate this policy and shoot him.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. They were rubber bullets.” Barnes flopped back in his seat like a scolded kid, arms crossing sullenly over his chest. While from my seat, shock at the ridiculousness of his response nearly had my eyeballs falling from my skull.

“Seriously. You don’t see the big deal that you shot your coworker, injuring him, causing the ceiling tiles to break and him to fall through said ceiling, causing more injury?” I barely tracked Steve’s wince as my volume increased with each word, too focused on maintaining my slippery grip on sanity.

“Hey! At least they weren’t real bullets. He’s the one who told me to switch to the rubber ones.” With zero hesitation, he threw Steve under the bus. Friends till the end of the line, my ass.

Whatever Steve saw on my face…I literally watched him try to choose between defensiveness, betrayal, groveling, and ‘kill me now’, all at the same time.

“That might not be entirely accurate,” he stumbled out. Bucky turned on him like a top.

“‘Not entirely accurate’? You bought me the damn box! You even said, and I quote, ‘you don’t want to technically,” he air quoted, “violate the policy again ‘cuz that HR broad will be pissed and get all up my ass’!”

I heard a sound that I was fairly convinced was one of my blood vessels bursting. Or a molar cracking. But no, it was just Barton cackling as he scribbled his signature on his stupid PIP. Sam was trying to clandestinely scoot himself as far away from the potential strike zone as possible. Bucky looked like Steve was single handedly responsible for everything up to and including global warming. And the look on Steve’s face? Apparently he’d finally picked an emotion, settling on ‘whattya gonna do about it’ defensiveness.

My pen clicking sounded like the pin being pulled from a grenade. Fire in the hole, bastard.

“Tell me something, Captain. When the battlefield on which you’re engaging the enemy is rugged terrain, who has your six?” Any other normal person wouldn’t have caught the flick of his gaze towards the Sergeant. Good thing I’m not normal. What HR pro is? “Because you need a trained sniper watching your back. Correct?”

“Affirmative.”

“And when the unfriendlies are aerial, who’s your six then?”

“That would be me,” Sam carefully interjected. I didn’t so much as blink my straining eyelids as I stared down the Captain.

“Because having someone with countless hours of training and operational experience is critical. Isn’t that right? Captain?”

Barnes’ spidey-sense must have finally realized how perilously close to death they all were as he unfolded his arms and straightened in his seat. Rogers, apparently, was dumber than I gave him credit for.

“I think the answer’s pretty obvious. Even for a civilian.”

The sag of Barnes’ shoulders at the unmitigated, galling sass of his bestie had the weariness of decades behind it. The weariness of a bestie who routinely chose death as his destiny. But that’s fine.

Captain Rogers knew not with whom he fucked.

“And when you’re not on the battlefield, who has your six?”

Captain Sass-pants blinked at me.

“Ma’am?”

Slowly putting my pen down, I got to my feet with blessedly unusual grace. “Suppose that a recruit in the new agent training class alleged that you stole funds from the organization?”

If Barton snorted any harder, his sinuses were going to hit the table. Rogers looked horrified. Saint Sam smirked.

“I would NEVER-” came the barking indignation.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. But let’s say she did. Who has your six? Or, let’s say Wilson here says he hasn’t been compensated at the appropriate overtime calculation for the last year? OR,” I cut off the Captain before he could think about interjecting, “what if the Rumlow family sued you, stating that former S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Rumlow had been harassed during his tenure, leading to emotional distress that caused his change in philosophy. Who’s got your six, then?”

“What, harassed him into those ugly-ass scars?” Barton chortled out.

“Shut up, bird brain!” Barnes hissed at him, scooting both of their chairs away from Steve. I would have laughed, but I was too busy realizing that the whole ‘vision going up in a red haze’ thing was real.

“I have a Bachelor of Science in Psychology, a Master’s degree in Organizational Behavior. I have certifications in benefits administration, training and development, and change management. I’m required to do hundreds of hours of continuing education every year. And I have over fifteen years of experience in Human Resources. Technically speaking, I have more education and operational experience than Torres. A team member you trust your life with.”

Now, Steve was squirming. That’s right, squirm, you star-spangled ass! But I wasn’t done yet.

“Oh, and then there’s the matter of all the agencies. The Department of Labor, OSHA, the Wage & Hour Division, the Employee Benefits Security Administration, the Office of Workers Compensation Programs, the Equal Opportunity Employment Commission. And those are just the big ones. Then there’s all the insurance laws, compensation requirements. And, since some of our divisions are tied to the government, we have whole different record keeping requirements. Did you know that, Captain? That the records I keep for you and your team are different from the ones I keep for the supernatural division?”

He didn’t even bother speaking, just mutely shook his head. I plowed on, my blood pressure pounding in my temples as I slipped the leash on my chaos.

“No. You didn’t. Because all you need to worry about is a battle strategy, right? Mr. Star Spangled Man with a Plan?” My volume increased with every word, as did the size of Rogers’ eyes. “All I’m asking, Captain, is that you try, for the love of all that’s holy, TRY to follow the damn policies just once in a while. And trust that this ‘HR broad’ might actually know what she’s doing. And realize I’ve got your fucking six everywhere BUT the battle field. OKAY?”

My rage-sweating hands slapped against the conference room table as I leaned forward, shouting at the man. Months, months of diplomacy in the face of his and his team’s mulish obstinance went up in a flaming glory.

They could hear Steve’s gulp of terror out in the hall. He nodded jerkily in the silence that followed.

“Do we all understand each other?” The chorus of instantaneous ‘yes, ma’am’s’ did their mamas proud. I yanked myself to stand straight, knees trembly. Wow, post-battle adrenaline really is a thing.

“Excellent.” Bucky flinched - actually flinched - as I snapped my folder so hard, the paper bent. I snatched the PIP out of Clint’s hands so forcefully, the paper ripped, and I didn’t even care. That’s why God made tape. I stuffed the innocent document and the folder into my bag with a crunch that would have Julia hating me later when she had to scan it for filing.

“Is…is that all, ma’am?” Captain America just about cowered.

“Yes. No,” I swiveled back towards them, causing the three troublemakers to reel back. Clint actually fell out of his chair when he rolled back with a touch too much fear. “Captain. Pick three federal laws from Section 2 of the employee handbook. One for you, one for the Sergeant, one for Agent Barnes. Each of you will write me an essay on why that federal law is so important to your division. I want it in my email inbox by 8:00am tomorrow. Any questions?”

“Why doesn’t the other birdbrain have to do one?” Bucky asked with tentative sullenness. My left eye twitched in time with the vein bulging in my forehead.

“Because, Sergeant,” I tossed at him as I tugged my bag over my shoulder and snatched up my precious comfort chai, “he knows how to follow policy.”

I didn’t see Agent Romanov’s impressed gaze or the dinner-plate-sized eyes of the other employees hovering in the hall. I didn’t hear the elevator bell that heralded my floor. All I knew was the onslaught of chemicals in my body as I flopped into my chair - fight-fueled cortisol, and victory-induced dopamine.

There just isn’t enough chai in the world to make up for my need for a vacation.

A tentative tap-tap-tap at my door heralded Julia. “Um - you okay?”

My throat burned as I chugged back some latte, then sighed huge and straightened up to look at my comrade-at-arms. “No.”

“I…I really hate to tell you this, especially now. But the bard from the convergence division called again. He wants to file another harassment complaint on that mage.”

All my stalwart battle-readiness left me, and my spine Slinky-d forward until my brow thunked down on the desk blotter before me.

“What’s our motto, Julia?” I mumbled out with a groan. My colleague and fellow-sufferer sighed.

“Heroes make us tired.” Rubbing my temples, I avoided thinking of the likelihood that Captain Rogers’ potential tattling on me would result in my unemployment.

“So. Fucking. Tired.”

#Steve Rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #sam wilson #falcon #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #clint barton x reader #sam wilson x reader #shy vy writes #Heroes Make Me Tired

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justalonelyslytherin · 1 year

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You know the new tiktok/insta trend where girls ask their boyfriends to test and remake scenes from romantic shmexy books? Like the leaning in the doorframe thing and the grabbing you by the neck to kiss you?

Just imagine it. Asking Steve or Ari to do it? They are smirking to themselves, happy to fulfill all the fantasies. And how smug they'll be if they can ilicit a flustered reaction? Ugh, I need it.

#i need a boyfriend like that #like asap #but just imagine any of them doing that #steve would be defo a little shy and blushy in the beginning #but the bastard would so blossom in the role #and do not imagine it with Hangman #cocky bastard would start to read up on stuff and do it to you unprompted #steve rogers x reader #ari levinson x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader

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barnesify · 7 months

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enchanted ୨୧ winterspider abo chapter 2

read on ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49615612

Peter is sipping tea, curled up in an armchair a bit too big for his size as he waits carefully. His father is sitting next to him, stern eyes watching the door for Bucky’s arrival. King Rogers is pacing, glancing at his watch and then back down every few moments.

Bucky walks in, silent but articulate as he bows to the Kings and their presence. He knows that he’s in for a whole world of trouble if he doesn’t make it up to them. Thinking about the princess is one thing, but dancing with him? It’s nearly forbidden.

“Barnes,” King Rogers says, finally ending his pacing to turn and look at the young alpha.

Bucky gulps. He glances at Peter, who’s almost shy as he curls into the chair and takes another gentle sip from his tea.

“It seems that—“

Tony cuts Steve off, standing abruptly. He seems like he’s about to burst from anger. “This cannot be true. You have imprinted on my son?! What a disgrace! He has tens, hundreds of young men lining up to take his hand and you have ruined it all!”

Bucky shys away, lowering his head like a kicked puppy. He knows that. Peter is a once in a lifetime opportunity. An omega born from alpha blood is rare, but a male omega? It was no wonder that King Stark was so protective. He understands the King’s rage.

“He must be executed!” Tony yells again, and King Rogers lets out a disgruntled sound.

“Stark,” He begins, almost gentle. Steve knows that Tony’s alpha brain is kicking in. This is his son, after all. “Barnes is my best asset. He has done many great things for the Rogers kingdom. He has never slipped up like this before. And well… is your son in any danger? Any harm?”

Tony’s disposition falls for a moment. He turns, looking at his young omegan son. He’s beautiful, curled up, gazing over at the three men. His own crown has been retired to the table, his curls a mess, but his dress is still snug against his lithe frame. There isn’t a scratch on him. Tony knows that, but..

“A bodyguard dancing with a member of the royal family is highly inappropriate, Steven. You know this as well as I. And I mean, look at the brute. I wouldn’t be surprised if he would be able to tear any omega he sees in half.”

Bucky looks at Tony, hands clasped behind his back in respect. He’s itching to say something, to tell the Kings that it was an accident, that he had no idea that Peter was apart of the royal court.

Both of the Kings open their mouths to argue yet again, before a lovely little chirp fills the room.

“I like him.”

It takes Bucky a moment to realize that Peter has just spoken. He blinks, eyes wide. King Stark and King Rogers both turn to look at Peter, who’s now setting his cup of tea down.

“Oh, my angel. My bambino. You could not be serious. This… this alpha is not a prince. You could have anyone, anyone in the world. I will give you anything. You can’t..” Tony tries, stalking over to his young son. For the first time, Bucky can really smell him.

King Stark’s scent has now turned from anxious to protective. A wave of guilt hits Bucky.

“If I can have anyone, why not him?” Peter says again, soft brown eyes landing on Bucky himself.

The alpha blushes on contact, feeling himself get hot and red from the gaze of Peter. God, Peter. He really is such a gorgeous boy. He’s fit to rule a kingdom, after his father retires the crown. He’s beautiful, and wonderfully shy, but he voices his wants when they really matter and—

Bucky finds himself smiling, albeit discarding it when he notices that King Stark and King Rogers can see it too.

“Well, you see, Bambi, you are going to rule one day. And well… Mr. Barnes is not. It’s just how life works.”

Bucky feels a pang of hurt in his heart. But King Stark is right. Peter was born to rule, born to live with fame and fortune and riches of the highest kind. And Bucky was born to be a guard. To protect. He wasn’t born out of wealth, this he knew.

“I know that,” Peter says, undoubtedly wise despite his age. “It’s just..” The omega’s eyes flash back to Bucky and where he’s standing. Bucky realizes, in the dim light, that Peter’s eyes are filling with crystal tears. All of the alphas in the room are in a alignment at once, any omega whose tears threaten to fall can cause any alpha’s resolve to break. It’s a trick that Peter’s used on his father many times.

Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky steps forward only slightly, feeling his chest ache, but he watches as Tony leans down to sit with his son. Bucky watches. He notices their movements, how this is something they’ve done before, the way Peter curls up against him and cries. Crying? Over a dirty old alpha? Bucky almost feels flattered, but the sound of Peter’s weeping makes him more concerned than ever.

“Oh, angel. My beautiful heir to the throne.” Tony tsks and pets his head carefully. “I…. will see what I can do.”

It’s like Peter’s been programmed to cry on command, because as soon as Tony says it, his face lights up and the tears diminish immediately. “Oh, thank you, daddy!” He grins, utterly delighted now.

୨୧

The next day, Bucky is being assigned a new job. One that nothing could have ever prepared him for.

“Princess Peter Stark’s personal bodyguard.” He reads the parchment, gulping dryly.

“It’ll be fine, Buck. The Stark Kingdom is lovely. Plus, you’ll get to hang out with Peter Stark. I mean, it’s every dying man’s wish.”

Bucky grumbles absentmindedly at Clint’s teasing, signing his name carefully on the parchment. This job was the only way that King Stark would agree to let his and Peter’s relationship ever get to see the light of day.

“Hey, don’t forget me while you’re gone.”

“How could I forget with all your incessant babbling?” Bucky bites back, but it’s all in good fun.

He’s packing his bags, now, only having a couple of clothes for downtime, but the rest are being provided by the king. There’s a pool of anxiety swirling at the bottom of his stomach. Without Steve there to calm the storm, who knows what Tony will do to him?

#winterspider #peter parker #tony stark #bucky barnes #omegaverse #abo #steve rogers #royalty au #omega peter #alpha bucky #alpha steve #alpha tony #shy bucky how i love you #lee writes

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togrowoldinv · 7 months

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I saw a Captain America costume at the store so naturally I’m wondering how Steve Rogers would react to it

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #I think he’d be all shy about it #chris evans #captain america #Chris would be too #chris evans x reader

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cloudbells · 3 months

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Okay, I have officially reached a standstill. I think I'll just clean it up now...Maybe add some flat colors. I might ask the Steve Bingo discord (this drawing is gonna be for my "Demon Steve" square) for some help on those damned horns. The more I look at them, the more I want to mess with the angle. I know it's wrong, but don't know HOW exactly lol

#steve rogers #steve rogers art #fanart #me my mine #my art #art chronicles #i might be too shy to post in the steve bingo server so maybe i'll ask for help in the steve server instead

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esotericgalaxy · 10 months

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Steve can rail me in any form 💕🤪

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holylulusworld · 1 year

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A fresh start (1) - Support Group memories

Summary: The world is safe. Thanos is gone. What now?

Written for my 16.666 followers celebration. Requested by @elle14-blog1

Pairing: Pre-Endgame!Steve Rogers x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, shy reader, plus-sized reader, mentions of loss of loved ones, support group, meet cute

A/N: This part takes place in the past. It’s how they met and a short prologue.

A fresh start masterlist

16.666 followers ‘16 days of requests’ celebration

Two years after the blip, support group meeting, …

“Welcome to our support group,” you shyly glanced up at the tall man holding out his hand. “I have never seen your face here before. Do you want to have a seat? We got tea and some cookies. I think Cherice will bring cake today.”

“I-uh,” you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I heard about this group. I thought…maybe I can support you too. I got a bakery across the street and made some cupcakes.”

You pushed the box filled with cupcakes into his hands. “I got cupcakes and some cookies. I know from my granny that people get hungry after talking. I mean…she was…Everyone came to my granny with their problems. She always had an open ear for them. Now she’s gone…”

“I’m sorry to hear, Y/N,” he softly said. “I wish we could’ve done more.”

“OH! No…no,” you shook your head. “My granny didn’t get dusted.” You gave Steve a weak smile. “She died a few weeks before all of this happened. At least I can visit her grave. I can talk to her and…” You sighed deeply. “I came here because I want to help. My granny would’ve done the same.”

“I’m Steve and we gladly have you around, Y/N. Do you want to help me with the chairs? The others aren’t here yet.”

“O-kay,” you looked the man up and down. He was a tall and handsome man, with his blue eyes, pink and plump lips, and the thick bead framing his face. He reminded you of someone, but this couldn’t be. Or could it?

“Great.”

“Do I know you?” you asked before you could stop your tongue. “Sorry, it’s just you remind me of someone but I’m bad at memorizing names.”

“Guilty,” he laughed nervously.

“It is really you?” you gasped. “Captain…thank you for your service.” Without thinking twice, you hugged Steve, holding him tightly. “Sorry…it’s just…we all saw the pictures and you fought so hard for all of us. So…thank you.”

God, you felt so stupid. How could you just pounce on Steve Rogers? Captain America in flesh and blood.

“It’s fine,” he softly said while running his hand over your head. “No one thanked me for failing them. I let the world down.”

“Captain, you didn’t fail us,” you hastily said. “You and your friends fought so hard.” You teared up. “We all lose sometimes. It’s just the way this world works. Sometimes you win, other times you lose.”

He smiled. Steve didn’t know how long it has been since he smiled. But right there, in this very moment, it felt right to smile.

“Still, I wasn’t strong enough.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t want to make you sad.”

“No, you—” looking at each other, like you are the only two people you didn’t recognize the room filled with the members of Steve’s support group.

“OH! We forgot about the chairs, Steve.”

The spell was broken when you turned around to help the others with the chairs. Steve watched you for a moment, a content smile on his lips.

“Please welcome Y/N, our newest member,” Steve introduced you to his support group. “She lost her grandmother before the snap. Y/N was kind enough to bring us cupcakes and to offer her support.”

“I remember your grandmother,” Semira, your former neighbor’s daughter said. You remember the cocky girl too. She always listened to the same song and sang along. “She was kind. Always was there for us.”

“She liked you too, Semira,” you whispered. You always were a little shy around too many people, or in general. But at that moment, with everyone staring at you, including Captain America, you felt even more nervous. “Granny was the heart of Brooklyn.”

“Do you want to talk about your grandmother, Y/N?” Steve asked. “Whatever you tell us will stay within these walls.”

“I only came here to help. You all lost so much more,” you dropped your gaze. “Please continue. I’ll get more tea and coffee for all of you.”

After the other members of the support group left, you and Steve cleaned the room for the next group.

“If you want to, you can tell us more about your grandmother next time,” Steve broke the comfortable silence.

“It’s fine,” you gave him a weak smile. “This is a support group for survivors who lost their loved ones in the blip.”

“We support everyone,” he looked down at you, features softening as he could see the hesitation in your eyes. “Or we can talk after the meeting if you want to, doll.”

Your cheeks heated up at the cute nickname. “I don’t want to waste your time. You already do so much. This world is…different now. Colder. Harder. You are a light in the darkness.”

He smiled. Again. For the third time that day.

“I lost my two best friends in the blip and Tony…we don’t know what happened to him. Maybe he got dusted too. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” you grasped for his hands. “You lost so much and yet; you blame yourself for a fight all of us lost. Not only you.”

“Doll, it was my fault. I failed all of you.”

His eyes dropped to your hands holding his so larger ones.

“Maybe you need to take your own advice and talk about your feelings more. You listened to all of them but didn’t give away what’s hurting your heart.”

“Maybe you can listen to me from now on?” he asked, making your heart flutter. “I know we barely know each other. But I can talk to you better than to the people I know for so many years.”

You chewed on your lower lip. “If you want to, you can visit me at my bakery. I live upstairs.”

“I’d like that,” he said, offering you another smile.

After that day Steve and you became friends.

He often visited you at your bakery and you joined him at the meetings. If only to support the members and your friend.

You talked for hours after the meetings, sharing your feelings. Steve was a constant in your life for almost three years.

Until one day he said something making you fear for his life.

“We know how to undo the blip…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#A fresh start (1) - Support Group memories #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #plus-sized reader #virgin reader #shy reader #16.666 follower requests #16.666 followers

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