taylor swift lyrics / prompt list

I know you don't have this on the list but I love to see what you could do with it

there it goes the last great American dynasty

Steve/Tony and Howard/Maria

I loved this prompt so much! It took me a while to get to it but I love how it turned out - thank you so much for submitting it!

Last Great American Dynasty Pairing: Steve/Tony; Rating: T

Tony pushed open the door to the Rhode Island mansion he swore he’d never step foot in again. A ray of light swirled through the entryway windows matching the array of emotions swirling in the pit of his stomach. The last time he walked through this door, he’d been slamming it. Part of him thought that one, or both, of his parents would have to be six feet under for him to step foot in this mansion ever again. 

But that had been before Steve. 

Like a gorgeous, golden, hug of a wrecking ball, Steve entered his life and somehow managed to soften all his edges. Where before there were grudges and remorse, with Steve everything felt possible.

And then there was that day when Tony’s cell phone rang, the caller ID read his mother’s name, and Steve, sitting next to him, gently suggested picking it up. “You talk about her frequently, and very little of it is of the bad times. I’m just saying that if you want to…do what you want.”

With Steve, everything seemed easier.

So he picked up the phone, had the first conversation he’d had with either parents in over five years. And it was awkward, but not angry. And when he hung up a swell of emotions broke like a damn and Steve was there to hug him through it.

That was a year ago. And now, he stood in the entryway of this mansion, and in the distance he heard his mother’s heels tapping against marble tile, and he could already smell the lingering smoke of his father’s tobacco pipe. He was back in Rhode Island, and for the first time in a long time that didn’t cause his stomach to twist and nausea to bubble in his throat. 

Probably, because he was returning with his “home”, the man whose hand came to rest securely on his waist.

His mother’s charming voice broke through his thoughts. “Tony!” She pulled him into a hug, Chanel No.5 wafting through his nose and hitting him like a tonne of memories, causing the corners of his eyes to sting. She pulled back and turned to Steve, her smile only growing as she moved to hug him too. “Steve. It’s so good to meet you. I feel like we already know each other.”

“Talking once a week on the phone will do that, mom.”

Maria winked at Tony and looped arms with Steve, walking him further into the house, the tapestries and statues watching as one generation of the Rhode Island dynasty ushered in the next. Tony watched them walk, and swore he could hear the tiny pitter patter of feet rushing down the stairs. A phantom sound of possibility, of the next generation that this Rhode Island mansion may one day see, now that Steve was here.

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Feel free to send me in some prompts if you're interested!

hello! my three words would be:

- clothes

- autumn

- marshmallow

and the ship is stucky !

goodluck on the pseudo nanowrimo!! hope u have a great november 🫶🫶

Thank you so much for the prompt! It was so much fun getting back into the swing of writing. If anyone else is interested in sending me 3 words and a ship, I'd love to write more!

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Autumn Leaves Paring: Stucky / Rating: T

The chill of early autumn floated in the air but in his layers of thick, scratchy wool, Bucky barely felt any of it. The leaves crinkled under his boots as he walked to the spot he’d discovered shortly after their regiment made camp for the night. The sun still hovered on the horizon, casting a glow through the tree’s golden leaves. 

Bucky had always loved autumn, and here, an ocean away from everything he’d ever known, the war prevailing over everything, autumn still painted the landscape with such a familiarity that he had to take a moment to soak in.

And then “home” continued to follow him when footsteps behind him rustled the leaves; a stride he’d recognize anywhere, even with all the changes the dumbass intentionally injected into his veins. Before Bucky even turned around, he felt Steve’s thick coat land on his shoulders. The heavy weight from a wider chest might be new but the scent of Steve was long ingrained. Bucky almost shook it off, a lecture ready on his lips that Steve might be bigger, heartier now, but he still needed to keep warm. 

But then Steve slid under the coat next to him, wrapping both of them in the woolly warmth.

“You always loved this season,” Steve said as he brushed their shoulders together. “Your ma would bring out hot milk with bits of marshmallow in it--”

“--and we’d sit on the fire escape and take bets on what leaves would fall to the floor the fastest--”

“--from that one maple tree in the middle of the sidewalk.”

“It’s a good tree,” Steve finished their joint memory, plucking the ending right from Bucky’s mind like he always seemed to do. Bucky wondered if that New York maple would still be there, after the war. If they’d both survive to see it again, or if these leaves falling on a foreign tree would be the last they ever experienced together.

The thought didn’t sullen Bucky’s mood. Like many things in wartime, he just took a deep breath and appreciated the moment.

Little did he know that the next month, he’d fall from a train and everything would change.

The decades fell like leaves, colored blood red then deathly brown. Winter overtook autumn, and somehow, a century later, Bucky stood in front of that same New York maple tree. 

He watched from the sidewalk, ignoring the bustle of those walking by, and took in the golden hues of the leaves forever changing. It didn’t take long before a familiar stride broke through the rest, and Bucky’s breath caught until he felt the heavy weight of a coat wrapped around his shoulders.

“Hot chocolate with marshmallows?” Steve asked, handing over the warm to-go cup, a matching one in his own hands.

“I don’t even want to know what superpowers you used, to get these cups here and to put a coat over my shoulders.”

Steve smiled and looked towards the tree, he bumped their shoulders together before he replied, “The timeless kind.”

steve rogers: cockwarming, paperwork, crying

This fic took a bit longer to get out than I'd expected but I hope you like it nonny! It's Hydra Trash Party - so please heed the tags. Thank you for the inspiration <3

Paperwork

Steve hadn’t even blinked his eyes open, unconsciousness still catching the last of his sleep-warm body, but HYDRA didn’t care. Steve knew enough to understand that it didn’t matter who was tugging him from his holding cell, the result would end up the same: Steve would be tied up somewhere, used, abused, then put back in his cell with nothing but a bucket of water and a dirty cloth. 

It’d been a long time since he’d been captured, far past the time he thought the Army would rescue him. No one knew he was still alive, dug up from the frozen sea in some unknown time, by a world power he’d thought he’d torn down.

None of it mattered anymore. The HYDRA agent locked his hands behind his back with reinforced cuffs then pushed Steve so that he tripped over his own feet as he was tugged, pulled, forced forward then pushed into an elevator. It was only then that he looked up and saw who was escorting him. It was the one they sometimes called Crossbones, mostly referred to as Rumlow. It could be worse, could be better--Rumlow liked to play with his food. He winked at Steve when he saw him looking, then pressed the number five on the elevator.

Steve let out a true breath of relief. Not the worst option. The fifth floor meant the conference room and that could only mean one thing: paperwork duty. 

Rumlow shoved him out of the elevator when the doors opened, kicking his heels unnecessarily. Steve was already walking towards the conference room, but Rumlow must like to see him trip over himself. Steve turned to look at him over his shoulder, glaring. Rumlow laughed in reply, a dark bark of a sound, borne more from taunting than amusement. He shoved out a hand and pushed Steve hard, so that he hit the door of the conference room with the side of his face. 

“Your meeting awaits,” Rumlow said with a smirk. 

Steve rolled his eyes, which made the smirk turn into a grimace and earned him another shove. This one had him falling through the door but he didn’t hit the ground, recovering on his heels with a skillful balance.

“That’s enough, Rumlow.” 

Steve’s shoulders tensed at the voice. Alexander Pierce sitting in the conference room could mean a variety of things, many of them not good for Steve. He looked across the conference table and met Pierce’s gaze dead-on. With his eyes still locked on Steve, Pierce nodded a signal and Steve didn’t even have time to flinch--though he had no desire to give Pierce the satisfaction--before Rumlow punched him in the gut. It forced Steve to break his stare with Pierce, which was probably partly its intent. Pierce hated when one of his “toys” didn’t avert its gaze. The punch also barreled Steve over, wind knocked out of him. It only took a quick swipe of Rumlow’s boots under his feet for Steve to hit the conference room carpet. 

“Secure him at the head of the table.”

[Read More]

Heeey ashes, do you still take prompts? If yes, consider this: a stevetony Burlesque setting!! Unfortunately that is all that I have but if you want to make something with it, I’d be more than happy :P

This is finally done! Thank you so much for the inspiration. It was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy!

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In the Wings

Steve/Tony; Rated M

Steve rocked on his heels from behind the shadowed wing of the stage. The curtain blocked him from the audience as he waited for his cue to sashay under the spotlight. The music from the opening act had become so familiar he knew every beat. 

Steve didn’t have to be on standby this early, most of the performers in his number arrived right before the curtain fell. But Steve arrived in time to see the entire thing, night after night, so much so that he knew every twist and turn of the choreography. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Tony Stark. 

Clad in skin-tight pants and a sheer, black crop top, Tony slung his thighs astride a backwards chair. His hips thrust forward, back, every which way, before he kicked up a heeled foot and ran his slender hands up, up and down his calf. 

Tony was a walking tease, a talent unsurpassed, their notable and infamous opening act. Steve had been working at the Burlesque theater five years, but Tony had practically been raised in this theater, and the way he glowed under the stage lights proved his worth. 

When the curtain dropped and the audience went wild with applause, Tony turned his head to look at the wing, right at Steve, and winked. The tiniest of gestures, specifically designed to taunt Steve, to get under his skin. 

In his barely there costume--just a pair of skintight shorts and a pair of suspenders--Steve couldn’t let there be any visible sign of the effect Tony's presence had on him. Instead, Steve clenched his jaw in reply and turned his head to look at one of Tony’s backup dancers instead. He thought maybe he heard Tony’s distinctively satisfied laugh, but he couldn’t be sure.

The man loved to unnerve Steve. It was like he knew Steve admired him, and held it against him just for the fun of it. 

The performers eventually broke their final pose and suddenly Tony was in Steve’s wing, stepping into his personal space. It was impossible not to notice the way the glitter shined off his nipples, even in the shadows, through the sheer fabric. The lithe muscles of his abdomen, bare below his crop top, seemed to pull Steve’s gaze like they carried their own magnetic force. When Steve finally dragged his eyes over Tony’s face, he wasn’t surprised to see the man’s lips curled in a smirk that carried as much amusement as it did condescension. 

“Gotta focus on your act, Blondie, and not my delicious body.”

And there was the thrum of frustration that never failed to beat alongside Tony’s words whenever he deigned to talk to Steve.  “Don’t call me Blondie--I was not looking at--!”

The curtain opened and the music for Steve’s number rang through the theater. Tony gripped around Steve’s bare shoulder, finger teasing under his suspender. Steve tried to muster the wherewithal to pull away from his touch but failed, instead he felt the hand like a burning brand that made everything--the music, his choreography, his goals to surpass Tony to get the opening act slot--fall away.

“You’re on.” Tony leaned forward, presumably so Steve could hear him over the music but it had the unintended consequences of causing a line of goosebumps to cascade down Steve's neck. “Heard you had a new routine. I’ll be watching.”

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