PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Reader
WORD COUNT: 2.6k
WARNINGS: domestic fluff, established relationship, steve is tired okay?, SMUT (free use implication, so much oral (f receiving), steve is a munch, fingering, tonguefucking, spit kink, spit as lube, couch sex, p in v, mating press, creampie, cockwarming if you squint, cock pronouns (like ONCE), multiple orgasms) porn with very little plot.
SUMMARY: Steve gets home and there's no better way to get his head out of thinking about work than to put it right between your thighs.
+fran: I'm in such a Steve kick lately, this ovulation he has me by the clit and he's not letting go. I love how fluffy this is and I too need this man to eat me out until there's nothing in either of our heads. This is straight up blond man propaganda. Here's a little nugget of a fic while I write bigger ones.
Steve Rogers, way back when, wouldn't be called uptight.
He wasn't much of a rule follower to begin with, seeing things morally grey instead of black and white. He's always been someone that just wants to do the right thing, whatever the cost of that may be.
Steve Rogers in present day, however, would be uptight by 2020s Manhattan standards.
His entire presence commanded obedience. Authority.
Steve's star-spangled broad shoulders, squared when he stood with his hands on his belt ever the proper man, drew every eye in the room to him like a magnet.
His voice never wavered when barking orders left and right, always a man with a plan. If strategy A failed, he was already halfway through strategy B, and had already thought of a third alternative.
The entire weight of the world had always been on his shoulders, for the better part of 108 years.
Steve is, however, much like a working dog. He's restless. He needs a job to do, and do well, even when his actual job stresses him the fuck out.
So when he's walking up the stairs of your condo in the Village, his throat tired from yelling over gunfire, his feet exhausted from running miles in combat boots, and his shoulders tense from holding back frustration during the debrief, the sound of your voice while you talk on the phone is a soothing balm for his soul.
He unlocked the door and walked in, the dimly lit apartment making him feel like he could finally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
You were curled up on one end of the couch, throw blanket lazily over your legs as a candle burned on the kitchen isle and some trashy reality TV on, while you talked with your best friend on the phone about the events unveiling in front of your eyes.
Your weekly debrief, you called it. Steve thought it was cute.
"Okay, but here's the thing," you were saying into your phone, eyes glued to the television. "I don't actually think she's mad about the text messages."
Steve really didn't understand half the appeal of those shows. Every week he'd come over and find some new catastrophe unfolding. Someone was cheating on somebody, someone was throwing a drink, someone was crying in a confessional interview, someone was apparently there "for the wrong reasons."
And somehow you knew every single person's name, history, motivations, and interpersonal grievances.
Steve let the door latch with a soft "click" and he dropped his duffel by the counter and shrugged his shoes off.
You turned your head at the sound immediately, your face softening the instant your eyes locked with his.
There was something about being looked at like that after a day spent getting shot at, yelled at, and blamed for things outside of his control.
Something about knowing there was one place in Manhattan where nobody expected Captain America.
He was just expected to be Steve, or Babe, or Honey, or Stevie, or—
"Hold on," you told your friend, reaching out to him with one hand, which he knew was code for "come here and kiss me".
He smiled with the side of his mouth and complied, walking over until he was behind you, making you tilt your head back to kiss him, a little murmured "I missed you." against his lips before you went back to your conversation.
He finished walking around the couch, laying down on top of you as you made space of his waist and torso between your legs, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your sternum.
Steve Rogers melted.
That was the only word possible for the exhale he let out as soon as your fingers tangled in his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as he let his entire weight just rest on you.
"You okay, baby?" Your voice was low, not even a hair above a whisper, and he just hummed in agreement against the soft fabric of your tank top.
"Do you need to go? Baaabyyyy." You rolled your eyes at the phone.
"Don't start."
"Oh, I'm absolutely starting. Did Captain America just come home and immediately turn into a golden retriever?"
Steve huffed a quiet laugh against your shirt. Your hand immediately moved to the back of his neck, nails grazing softly until you pushed your hand past the collar of his cotton shirt, scratching lightly at his back.
If he was a cat, he'd be purring right at that moment.
"No, because listen," you told your friend, eyes narrowing at the screen. "The issue isn't that she lied." Steve watched you. "The issue is that she lied badly." Completely, utterly, disgustingly in love. "Those are different crimes."
Blue bird sky eyes that look up at you like you invented spring. Like your voice alone makes flowers bloom and birds sing.
His chin rests comfortably on your stomach, one arm draped across your waist while your fingers absentmindedly travel back up to continue scratching at his scalp.
The way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the show makes him understand poetry. Because regular sentences in language aren't enough to explain what it feels like when somebody becomes your favorite thing in the entire world.
Steve had always been… tactile when he was tired. Like a working dog, he'd find something to occupy his mind until he was so tired, the inside of his skull was nothing but tv static.
Not clingy, exactly just drawn toward you in the same way a sunflower turns toward sunlight.
His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your thank top, resting against the warm skin of your side, fabric riding up and exposing your stomach to him as he pressed absentminded kisses against the skin there.
Your eyes flickered to him, another kiss on the lower left side of your stomach, big calloused hands pushing your shirt a smidge up again.
When he grazed the skin with his teeth and soothed it with his tongue, you realized what he was getting at. Some flavor of "I gotta go, love you, bye" and the call was disconnected.
"Steve." No answer. His hands slowly came back down the length of your waist, "Steve." He was in his own little world, fingers hooking them hem of your sleep shorts and pulling them down.
You let him, because what woman in her right mind would prevent Steve from seeking comfort, specially if that comfort was eating your pussy until you saw double?
He threw the shorts somewhere in the room, nothing but a grunt here or a groan there coming out of his mouth in the meantime.
You put your right foot on his chest softly, as to catch his attention, sparkling eyes looking up at you with a little "hmm?" to match.
"Are you okay?"
He sighed happily. He knew you knew you didn't have to worry about him, he's a super solder, a hero, a goddamn Avenger, what could a mere civilian like you do?
But he still loved your worry. Loved… your love.
Steve chuckled softly and kissed the inside of your ankle, something along the lines of "always okay when I'm with you" being printed against the skin of your leg as his kisses went higher and higher and higher.
He stopped quickly when he got to your core, place a wet kiss over your panties and pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. The plane of his chest resting against the couch as he settled your legs over his shoulders.
His arms wrapped around you legs, hands resting on top of your thighs to keep you open for him. He nuzzled his face against you first, eyes closed as he licked a flat, wide strip up your cunt.
The soft gasp coming from your lips only spurred him on, your left hand reaching down to tangle in his blond locks again while your right hand rested on his forearm.
Steve looked like he was in a trance. Hypnotized by the taste of you. He hummed against you, satisfied you were giving him what he wanted. Letting him take what he wanted.
His tongue was soft, warm, wet as it lapped against your folds. He'd tense the muscle closer to your clit and circle it with his tongue before sucking it between his plush lips, only to slow down and do it again.
The day had scraped him raw in a hundred tiny ways, and now he was tucked into the safest place he knew.
You.
"Mmmm, that feels good…" You settled further into the couch, letting your legs fall open around his head as he lazily made out with your pussy. His right hand reached up to shove your shirt further up, massaging your breasts once they were exposed, rolling and tugging on the nipple.
His tongue zig-zagged between your folds, bottom to top, and he sucked your clit briefly, setting it free with a soft "pop" once he felt your thigh twitch.
"Needed this," he kissed your inner thigh. "needed you." Steve leaned further down, tensing his tongue to tease your entrance, and then burying his face in your heat.
"Oh! Oh, G— Steve, f—mmm…" you were already babbling. The feel of his hot tongue inside of you made your hips jerk, his nose nudging your clit in the process.
The wet noises were loud enough he could hear them even though your thighs were squeezing around his head. And God, this is what he needed, plush skin and muscle tensing under him, suffocating him in all that was you.
"Gonna co—hah!—come all over your pretty face." Steve moaned, he moaned into you, hips grinding onto the couch cushions as yours did so against his face, pushing himself to be impossibly close to you.
He sucked your clit into his mouth again, his tongue flicking it while it was trapped between his lips.
Your moans grew louder, sharper, until you soaked Steve's lips and chin in wet pleasure. He let you ride the wave of your first orgasm, aftershocks flowing through your body like electricity through water.
He dragged his right hand down from your breast to rest above your pussy, keeping you where he wanted you, and used his thumb and index finger to spread you further.
"Baby, please…" It was a mix of oversensitive and hungry pleas, which Steve took as a green light to keep going. He flattened his tongue again, licking long paths bottom to top, dipping his tongue in your entrance, and then keeping the path up.
You supported yourself up mostly by your right elbow and your grip on Steve's hair, staring at the scene in front of you with your mouth hanging open, panting.
His left hand travelled down and he covered his index and middle fingers in your slick, pulling away ever so slightly to pool spit in his mouth and let the hot saliva flow softly from his mouth onto your clit.
His fingers drove into you slowly with a wet squelch echoing into the room, curling them towards him when he got your folds to touch his palm. "Was only gone a day, sweetheart." He pumped his fingers. "How come you're so tight still, mmm?"
He chuckled when you had no response but a needy whine, the scene was a sight, really. Captain America absolutely lost in the pleasure of seeing his girlfriend completely pliant, missing any bottoms, with her tank top bunched up above her breasts, while he had a soaked face and a raging hard on.
Humming as he licked and teased your clit once again, this time pumping his fingers in and out, and again, again, again, until he slurped every single drop of your second orgasm, feeling you squeeze your cunt around his fingers while your thighs squeezed every thought that didn't revolve around you right out of his skull.
You pulled him up forcefully by the collar, crashing your lips together, moaning as you tasted yourself on him. Your tongue licked into his mouth like you alone could make him forget everything that happened during the mission, even without knowing details.
Your hands grazed down his chest over his shirt, quickly finding the hem of his sweats, palming him through them. "Did you touch yourself while I was gone?" His voice was breathy against your lips, almost strained.
You shook your head, biting your lip. "Not as good when it's not you."
Steve whined, like audibly whined at your praise as you pushed his pants down enough to free his cock. "Good girl."
It slapped against your stomach heavy, hard, and leaking, and Steve immediately reached down to rub the head up and down your slick.
"Put it in, baby, please." You sucked on his bottom lip. "Missed you so much."
Steve chuckled as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Me or him?" He didn't wait for an answer, in days like these he never did. He just pushed his entire cock in to the hilt, knocking the air out of your lungs. "Me. Or. Him?" He asked again.
Your eyes squeezed shut, "You, baby, fuck—" you panted against his mouth, tiny puffs of air matching his every thrust. "Missed your voice, your scent, your laugh—" another harsher thrust knocked the thought out of your head. "Missed your cock too, ah!"
You felt every drag of him inside of you, the vein on the side that split into two, the bulbous head of him that notched so perfectly around the spongy spot inside of you, you'd think they made him in a lab.
Well, they did. But you're pretty sure the SSR had no involvement in how perfect Steve Rogers' dick was.
That was all him.
He reached down to snake his arms under your knees, bringing your legs further up and out, until his pelvis was flush with your entire bottom.
"That's a good girl." He sighed, pulling all the way out only to slam all the way back in again. "Always so good."
The more Steve fucked you, the less oxygen you felt you had in your lungs. Every muscle in your core was tightening by the second, everything becoming too loud, too hot, too heavy, too good.
"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. You want that?" His lips dropped to your neck, sucking and licking on the skin there. You nodded. "But I need you to come on my cock, Princess. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded even more enthusiastically.
Steve licked his thumb and down to your clit it went, making your eyes cross and roll and the wave of pleasure crashed onto you again. He felt you clamp down on him, shudders licking up his spine as rope after rope of cum leaked out of him.
Steve thrusted both of you through the aftershocks, until he finally let his entire weight rest onto you as your nails once again grazed his back and neck.
He lifted his head from where he was resting his forehead against your collarbone and gave you a peck on the lips, then another, then another, until it turned into a slow, deep kiss.
He motioned to pull out and start to clean up, but you squeezed your legs around his waist. "Just stay with me a little longer here, Stevie." He looked at you like he always did when you asked that, when he knew you asked for it more for him than for you, but still gave in, staying with you until your breaths evened out while the TV played in the background.
bro honestly idk what took over my body in this ovulation... I already humped my husband every single day this week. THE SHACKLES.
i missed you too! are you restarting your blog? will you be reuploading your old work? - 🐺
I will be restarting my blog! It’s just for funsies for now I didn’t save any of my old work sadly, I still have to find my old moots if they still remember me 🫣
That was the rule you made for yourself the first time you clicked on Bucky Barnes’s stream.
No faces, no feelings—just something to pass the time.
But then he started noticing you.
At first it was small—your username said out loud in that low, gravel-edged voice. Then it became….more, like he was waiting for you to type. Little smirks that only showed up after your messages showed up on the screen.
But tonight felt different.
“You’re quiet,” he murmurs, leaning closer to the camera, metal fingers brushing his jaw. His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s searching for you through the screen. “That’s not like you.”
Your heart stutters.
The chat is flying, but somehow it still feels like it’s just the two of you.
Ridiculous but..true.
“I know you’re there,” he adds, softer this time—dangerously soft.
Your fingers hover before you finally type something simple.
@ softcorebaby: ‘I’m here.’
His lips twitch, slow and satisfied.
“Yeah,” he exhales, leaning back like he just proved a point. “Thought so.”
There’s a beat. His gaze lingers—heavy, intentional.
“Don’t disappear on me, sweetheart.”
And the worst part?
You already know you won’t.
Can’t.
You’re far too deep
And somehow you love it. Deep down, you never want to get pulled out.
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