steve's bday


It’s My Birthday

Though the crowd swelled early, the tavern air stilled as the cool night waned. People huddled together in small clusters, talking in more and more hushed tones- save for the few people who’d imbibed too much.  

Darcy, alone, swirled the remains of her too-warm ale and took a small, bitter sip.  She hadn’t really wanted to drink ale so much as not to be alone with her thoughts.  She didn’t regret breaking things off with Ian at all, but every now and then ‘alone’ crossed the line to ‘lonely’. She missed her parents and old friends more at holidays and special days and found the bustle of strangers gave slight comfort.  She ran a finger through warming condensation on the old wood of the bar.  The punchline of a joke across the room put a slight smile on her face.

One of the men further down the bar finished his drink and stood, stretching, “Well, unlike you, I need sleep.  Hard to stay this handsome without it.”  

Darcy looked at him and ranked him as a stunner. The African American man had a gorgeous grin, as attractive to Darcy as his muscled forearms.  Darcy speculated to herself that he must sleep a lot, if that was what he attributed his looks to.  Dude was fit.

As he  tossed cash down on the bar in front of his friend, he looked around carefully.  “I got this. It’s almost the 4th.  Happy Birthday, Man.  G’night.”

Darcy turned her eyes to the seated man, an even more stunning, scruff-faced guy who offered a wry grin and a tip of his glass to his departing friend. 

“NIght, Sam.  Thanks.”  His accent was American, with a hint of Brooklyn.

The floor boards squeaked as the first man strode past.  He winked at Darcy, grinning as he noticed her ogling him and then his friend. She ducked her head.  Darcy cut another glance at the seated man.  Handsome.  His leather jacket creaked as he lifted his mug to full, sensuous lips.  He had nice hands, strong and capable looking. She nibbled at one of her own lips as naughty fantasies flitted across her mind’s eye.

After the bell on the door quieted, Darcy shifted down and turned towards the handsome stranger.  “Is today your birthday?”  Her face burned as her impetuous actions caught up with her. She held her breath, waiting to see if he would welcome her query or not.

He looked at her in a friendly manner, shook his head, and kept his voice low.  “Nope. It’s not quite midnight yet. Tomorrow.”  He shifted on his stool, averting his handsome face, cautious.

Darcy giggled, “Born on the 4th of July?  Who are you?  Yankee Doodle? Captain America?”  She felt anxiety charge the air between them as he tensed.  His blue eyes went wide for a second before he shook his head unconvincingly.  Darcy sucked in a quick breath.  “Wait. What? Get out!”  She studied his face carefully and nodded, recognizing the truth of her random guess.  “Oops.  You’re pretty nice looking for the world’s most wanted man.” 

His eyes crinkled for a second as rueful amusement showed clearly. “Please, don’t tell anyone…”

She snorted, “I don’t think the crime of wanting to help people and save the world is all that bad, Birthday Boy.”  She liked the half smile she’d put on his face.  The desire to see a full smile and hear him laugh put a twinkle in her eye. Goals.

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A snippet of a little Steve/Darcy fic I’m working on…or should be working on. Anxiety is a rank walnut so all the words have run away for now. Maybe in posting this little bit it will call Sybil back from wherever she is hiding and I can get the last few paragraphs written. Maybe.


The decontamination showers are just off to the right of the landing pad. She’s fighting with the zipper of her jacket as she squelches into the room on slightly wobbly legs.

“Got you, you little bastard,” Darcy mutters, jerking the zipper teeth free of each other. The jacket falls to the floor, soon followed by the filthy layers of her shirt and vest.

The room isn’t empty. Steve is standing beneath the spray of one of the shower heads. The top of his uniform and his underarmor shirt are in a muddy heap on the floor. His pants and torso are as filthy as Darcy feels. His hair is spiked up with mud and a green lump of something sits high on his shoulder. His mouth fishes open, hand freezing over the weird spat thing on one of his boots.

“Uh, ….Captain,” Darcy says, a jolt of adrenaline sluggishly creeping down her spine.

Steve clears his throat, pulling off the boot. A stone clatters to the tiled floor amid a stream of muddy water. “Lewis,” he says. The boot hits the sodden pile of Steve’s uniform pieces and he rolls his shoulders back.

“There’s a thing,” Darcy says waving at her own shoulder.

Steve reaches up brushing the swamp snot from his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“No problem-o,” Darcy nods. A clump of muddy hair slips forward over her eyes with the movement of her head. With a groan she bends down and unbuckles her own boots–well, boot. Her socks are black, where they once had been pink with happy little green frogs in pink bowties. “Ugh. I’m just gonna,” Darcy says with a half wave of her hand towards the line of shower heads. She shoves her hair back and marches forward to start the water running.

She trails her fingers through the water with one hand, adjusting the temperature up and back down again. It’s nearly scalding, or so it feels after being dressed in wet clothes for what seems like days with only the comfort of a discarded burrito wrapper blanket while on the quinjet.

“Maybe I should go,” Steve says. He sounds tired, more so than how Darcy feels.

… to be continued…soonish.
Birthday Drabble #17.

Prompt: A story born in old pages.

Word Count: 775.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Curvy!Reader.

Warnings: Some cursing.

A/N: Birthday drabble for @hatterripper31 
Sorry for the delay but I couldn’t post it before.

Originally posted by bluebrooklynkid

“Nine times already since my birth the heaven of light had almost revolved to the self-same point when my mind’s glorious lady first appeared to my eyes, she who was called by many Beatrice (‘she who confers blessing’), by those who did not know what it meant to so name her. She had already lived as long in this life as in her time the starry heaven had moved east the twelfth part of one degree, so that she appeared to me almost at the start of her ninth year, and I saw her almost at the end of my ninth. She appeared dressed in noblest colour, restrained and pure, in crimson, tied and adorned in the style that then suited her very tender age.

At that moment I say truly that the vital spirit, that which lives in the most secret chamber of the heart began to tremble so violently that I felt it fiercely in the least pulsation, and, trembling, it uttered these words: ‘Ecce deus fortior me, qui veniens dominabitur michi: Behold a god more powerful than I, who, coming, will rule over me.“

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For @idontgettechnology. Happy birthday, Emily! No candles and confetti, but here, take some romangst. ❤️

What’s Your Name?

The clock in Jane Foster’s makeshift lab struck ten and Darcy Lewis turned an expectant gaze to her boss, who showed no signs of shutting down and going home. The astrophysicist was still very much engrossed in her work and most likely had no idea it was past six, which was ironic because Jane monitored atmospheric spikes every hour.

The generator continued grunting, a machine beeped every time it acquired new data, Erik’s snores steadily increased in volume, and all that noise—which had been background sounds until that moment—started grating on Darcy’s ears. She drummed her fingers on the desk and bounced impatiently in her seat, making their entire workspace tremble with her antics.

It caught Jane’s attention. “If you have to go pee, go pee,” she advised, barely raising her eyes from the computer screen.

Darcy scoffed. “I don’t have to pee.”

“Then why are you bouncing and fidgeting like that? It’s distracting.”

It was no surprise that Jane had forgotten Darcy’s birthday. She hardly ever remembered her own. Not that she needed to anymore. She had found her soul mate already. She had met Thor.

For Darcy, though, birthdays were still as important as they were to her when she was five.

She decided to remind Jane. “I’ll be 23 in two hours, Professor Absentminded.”

Jane’s head snapped up. “Shit.”

The sudden shift in her focus was entertaining to watch, as her expression morphed from do-not-disturb to surprise to apologetic in a matter of seconds. Now that she had Jane’s attention, Darcy started packing up her things.

“I need to go home and get ready for bed,” she said, trying not to think too much about what was going to happen but still failing to repress her excitement.

“Of course, you do.” Jane made a shooing motion with her hands.

There was silence as Darcy cleaned up her desk and stuffed her things into her bag as quickly as possible. Then, she heard Jane’s voice, low and wistful.

“You realize this could be it. Tonight could be the night you finally see him.” There was a soft smile on her face Darcy hadn’t seen since Thor left.

“Yeah,” she whispered, feeling a familiar giddiness take residence in her stomach. “Yeah.

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Birthday Celebration #7.

Prompt: Reader has to go on an undercover mission as Tony’s girl, Steve takes a stand and does not authorize it. But why?

Word Count: 836.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Warnings: This is quite shitty?

A/N: Birthday drabble for @girl-next-door-writeshope you enjoy it Emma and sorry for the delay. Special thanks to @minervaem and @barnes-heaven for helping me out with this!

Originally posted by imaginesofeveryfandom

Stark fumed all over his lab, packing items she did not even know what their function were as he stated how important they were for their new mission. Emma didn’t know what all the tech gadgets would help them in an undercover mission, but she did not dare to question the billionaire. No one did when he was in that state, crazy.


Emma almost dropped the round item as Tony screamed at her, his eyes and hands came to a stop as he eyed her carefully.

“What the hell? It’s just a… A ball?” She responded nonchalantly, but she should’ve of known by now that scorning Stark’s creations was a no-go.

“Just a ball? JUST A BALL EMMA?” His trademark eye-roll made a non-subtle appearance as annoyance rolled off his lips. “It’s more than that and it should not be placed in such clumsy hands as yours, so give it back to me before everything burns down.”

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Straight Up

A/N: Written for my lovely Annie, the beautiful @redlipstickandplaid, for her Birthday Challenge.  I chose the son Straight Up by Paula Abdul.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader / Steve Rogers x Reader (formerly)

Word Count: 675

Warnings: Mention of abandonment and lost love.


The dreams came whenever you slept alone. Memories of your former life crept into your subconscious and, more often than not, left you a sobbing mess as the sun rose and the light made its way into your room. Today was no different. You woke to tear stained cheeks and an empty bed, the sheets next to you so cold that it seemed as though you’d slept alone all night. The dream that had caused this morning’s distress had found you reliving the day that your world had been torn apart.

It had been over a year since you had heard from your former team members. The fall out following the proposed implementation of the Accords had ripped the Avengers apart. Fighting on opposing sides had caused more than just a rift between friends - it also destroyed your budding relationship with Steve Rogers. He had broken your heart when he left with Bucky and the others after telling you that he wasn’t willing to risk you getting caught up in the crossfire. He simply walked away and left it up to Tony to, quite literally, pick you up from the ground. 

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