To say Steve was anxious on his wedding night didn’t quite paint the right picture. It didn’t explain the overwhelming pressure to be a dutiful son, a dutiful Prince. The overwhelming responsibility to be a good match, to bring prosperity and safety to his lands. They’d promised him to Prince James if he was an Omega, as the Princeling was an Alpha. There was another deal with another family if he was an Alpha, but… here they were. This union, this chance of providing military power to their small country was a unique chance, and Steve wasn’t going to fuck it up.
“Captain Rogers? This is Dr. Harvey, from SHIELD. We ran your tests overnight, and got the results back. We’ve confirmed that you’re pregnant. We’ll need you to come in sometime soon so we can do a few health checks, and make sure you’re not at any risk. It’s still early days- you should be about 6 weeks along. If you like, you can come in this Friday at 10, and we’ll go over everything?”
Steve listens in silence, and stares dead ahead. He chews his lip. There’s something like excitement, and something like anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. As well as a baby. Oh god.
In the eyes of God, Steve Rogers was dead. He was still breathing, still walking around, but he was dead.
This fic is my attempt at a functioning A/B/O universe, since most stories with this premise leave me wondering how the society could have developed to modernity with all the issues raised by heats/bonding/male pregnancy. Steve Rogers is learning to cope without his bond-mate in the 21st century, and deal with the new threats the century throws at him.
Prompt:Could you please write a ficlet about the team’s reaction to Solnishka and Zvedochka’s relationship in the beginning (but before they really got to know them), specifically when they realized the exact purpose of Solnishka and why Hydra kept him alive and close to Zvedochka all these years? Would they feel sick at the thought that Hydra gave Solnishka to Zvedochka as a sex slave? Would they want to get Solnishka away from him because they thought it was wrong/immoral/not fair to him?
Here we are, like two years after I got this prompt, and I finally finished it. This takes place directly after the Sun & the Star. Same warnings for that fic apply to this one. Sorry in advance if any of the Russian is wrong!
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Being rescued is not so different from what they’re used to, Solnishka thinks.
Thinking about dragon!Bucky again after that nsfw drawing I did…
There’s something about dragon!Bucky fic that I really enjoy… Bucky treasuring Tony in more than one meaning. I LOVE IT.
(I think about @akira-of-the-twilight’s reply in this conversation a lot. Even though it’s not actually about dragons, it’s about treasure and it’s hilariously adorable lol)
Winteriron with Dragon!Bucky Fic Recs
Precious Treasure – by @the-winter-writer (6,179 words | Not Rated, but I’d say Explicit) Bucky hoarding Tony… decadent treasure smut! INDULGENT
Uncrafted – by SleepsWithCoyotes (2,560 words | Fantasy AU) INCREDIBLE. The details in the this are just top-notch. Pre-slash, but so compelling!
A Dragon and His Prince – by @27dragons (674 words | Fantasy AU) I love outsider POV!! Such a fun and wonderfully done take on “dragon kidnaps royalty”!
Tooth & Nail – by @shi-toyu (450 words | Fantasy AU) Dragon Bucky and Tony! The design details are so fitting?? LOVE IT!
Bucky scowls and tucks just the ends of his fingers into the jeans that’re riding low on his hips, hunching his shoulders and scowling off to the side, his dark hair loose and tousled, one strand caught at the corner of his mouth. It’s bright sun and red brick and stark shadow, it’s the superhero angle of his jaw, it makes him look like he’s shrugging off the weight of a world that’s inclined to settle on his shoulders.
It’s a cover shot, no question. It’s – he’s – fuckin’ beautiful.
“You’re thinking about pizza, right?” Clint says, and manages to keep snapping even with the butterflies that swirl around his stomach when Bucky turns to face him, startled, lush mouth parting in surprise before it curls into a grin.
“Do not even talk to me about pizza,” Bucky says, his voice soft but still a little scratchy – metallic threads sewn through dark velvet, something brought out for only the most special occasions. “I haven’t had Sal’s garlic crust since November.”
“Well call me when they start letting you wear shirts,” Clint says, “I’ll take you out for mozzarella sticks and a pepperoni pie.”
Bucky’s scowl comes back, staring straight down the lens like he wants to murder it. It really shouldn’t be as hot as it is; Clint clears his throat and focuses on framing things right.
“Quit talkin’ about food,” Bucky says, growls rather, and Clint drops into a crouch so he can get a new angle and – and because of the convenient way his jeans bunch up, conceal things, maybe a little.
“Be good for five more minutes and I’ll buy you an ice-cream,” Clint tells him, and Bucky pulls one foot up to rest against the wall behind him. He tilts his head back, looks at Clint through half-lidded eyes, brings one hand up to rest against his collarbone.
“I’ll be good for you,” he says, husky and low, and he’s – Clint understands that he’s playing, that he’s trying to get Clint back, that it doesn’t mean – but that doesn’t stop Clint blushing all the way up to his ears.
War was always chaos and Steve–Steve had been through enough war that he was good at blocking out the parts that didn’t readily concern him. If he’d been a little worse at it, maybe he would’ve noticed the warning signs before it was too late.
This is part two of two roundup posts for the bingo fills completed over the last month of November, for the Happy Steve Bingo challenge. All works are ordered alphabetically by username.
Please reblog and share this post with your friends to support creators. Thank you everyone for participating! We will post a Master Post of all the completed bingos next.
Preserved: After the rescue of the 107th, Steve Rogers cashes in all of his favors and makes what deals he can to get Bucky a medical discharge from the Army, sending him home to Brooklyn and far from enemies and curious scientists both. But Steve’s war goes on until it ends badly, in an…
If you aren’t reading this, you should be. Excellent Cap genfic. Only one more part to go in this story – and a huge back catalog of completed stuff while you wait.
It’s hot on the bus, and Bucky’s trying hard to keep away from the people next to him. People are full of strange smells and textures, perfumed with chemicals he doesn’t recognize. They smell like sweat and food, and none of it is like he remembers. He pulls his hat down and watches people board.
A girl gets on the bus and pauses at the front to rummage in her purse for a token. She’s got brightly colored clips in her hair, a denim vest studded with shining buttons, and short shorts that reveal a muscular brown thigh and calf. But that’s not why Bucky suddenly finds himself staring.
He’s looking at the other leg.
The bottom section looks like a piston, one thin metal bar sliding into a mechanism whose workings seem to be mostly hidden where the prosthetic disappears into the girl’s boot. The top is larger, and above the knee joint, there’s a large cylindrical casing almost the volume of the girl’s other thigh. The casing is painted, covered entirely with an astonishingly vivid range of blues, violets, turquoises, sea-greens, creams, and golds. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his memory spits out the name Claude Monet, and water lilies, and an image of a blond-haired boy standing beside him, mouth open in wonder.
Bucky’s heart thumps hard in his chest, and when the girl sits down across from him and pulls out a book, all he can do is stare, because abruptly she’s the most amazing thing in the world: a person who’s made herself whole.
He was the oldest of four children, the exhibit says, but what it doesn’t say is that he was the only boy. It doesn’t say his mother had two miscarriages between him and Helen, who was six years younger, that Lizzie came four years…
So I’ve decided Steve totally wore that unbelievably tight shirt as a way of getting Sam’s attention.
He spots Sam while they’re both running, but he can’t think of how to start a conversation that won’t be awkward.
He mentions it to Natasha during one of her insistent and almost always bizarrely-timed attempts to improve his love life.
“There’s a guy on my jogging route,” he admits, ducking bullets or punches or both.
“You should talk to him,” Natasha says as she drops another mercenary.
Steve dodges a knife swing and knocks the guy unconscious. “I don’t even know his name.”
“That’s what the talking’s for.”
“We’re always both running, isn’t there some kind of etiquette about not interrupting?”
“Depends,” she says, snatching a rifle from the guy aiming at her and smoothly dismantling it into three pieces before hitting him over the head with one of them. She drops the pieces on his prone form with a shrug and looks at Steve. “Just how desperate are you?”
Steve pauses for a millisecond. “What am I gonna say?”
He only ever passes by the guy, and they both keep to their own bit of path; it’s not like he needs to yell ‘watch out’.
She smirks as they walk to their extraction point. “You’ll think of something. And if that fails then just a wear a smaller size of whatever you usually go running in.”
He makes a face. “Really?”
“You have assets, Rogers, it’s just good sense to use them to their full effect.”
The chopper’s close enough Steve can hear the rotors whumping. “Fine, but if it doesn’t work you can’t try and fix me up for a month.”
She smirks again but doesn’t say anything, which means she’s planning something.
When he wakes up the next morning, the shirt’s sitting neatly folded on his bedside table. He’s given up asking Natasha not to pick the locks.
The note placed on top reads “Desperate times…”
Even if he can’t think of anything better in the moment than ‘on your left’, it only takes a few repetitions to get a response, and he’s only a little worried about the shirt cutting off the circulation in his arms.
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