Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 693
Summary: Your psychiatrist takes advantage of your vulnerable state.
Warnings: AU. Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. Non con/dub con elements. Somnophilia (kind of). Soft!dark Andy. Shy!sweet Reader. Oral sex (f receiving). Unprotected sex.
A/N: This is an old hoe thought that I dusted off after a recent ask response wishing I’d write some more power play dynamics. This is for you, nonnie! 😘
Hoevember 2025 Masterlist
Let’s talk about psychiatrist!Andy and how he uses hypnosis on you.
You think it’s to help you with your severe social anxiety, as he claims, and he does get in a bit of that genuine work with you, but a majority of the time you’re under?
Andy is doing very unprofessional things to you…
It started with stray, lingering touches, because it was torture to have you—so beautiful and sweet—sitting across from him week after week, and yet still, Andy couldn’t have you.
No matter how much he knew it was exactly what you needed, him to protect you and appreciate you, someone who had a deep understanding and sympathy for your issues but who could also, in time, he was sure of it, lure you out of your shell and, at the very least, make that tempting body of yours come alive.
But after just a few weeks, touches weren’t enough.
Andy needed to taste you, and not just that sweet mouth, oh no. He needed to feast on your pussy like a man starved.
So of course Andy took it as “a sign” that the same day that he woke up from the most intense wet dream ever—dreaming of ruining you from his place between your thighs—you wore a pretty dress for him, for the first time in weeks.
If that wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was.
As exquisite as it was to drink from your sweet cunt, nothing compared to the first time he filled you with his cock.
You were under just enough that you couldn’t resist—not that you would, he was sure of it—but still aware enough that you could feel him and hear him and respond to him.
Beg him.
And you did.
He had barely stretched you open before you were mewling and moaning and pleading for more, your fingers curling into his crisp button down, your mouth as responsive as your cunt around his cock as he dipped close and kissed you deeply.
And the icing on the cake? Without any prompting or influence at all, you said his name, his given name–”Andy!”–as you came around his cock, sending him over the edge right after you.
Andy groaned against your neck as he pumped into you a few more times, spilling his seed deep and marking you in the most intimate way he could. Making you his completely, whether you knew it or not–for now, anyway.
And once he was done? Andy cleaned your sensitive cunt with his mouth, forcing another orgasm from you, eyes shining as your fingers gripped his hair, your eyes still closed and face sweetly twisted with your pleasure.
Andy shifted your panties back into place, tugging your dress back down and smoothing it for good measure. He stole one more kiss before returning to his chair across from the sofa where you laid, now freshly debauched by him, and clueless about it.
He took his time gently pulling you back to the surface of consciousness. Smiling encouragingly as your shy gaze briefly met his as you sat up and primly tugged your dress as far down as it would go, crossing your legs at your ankles before folding your hands in your lap.
“How do you feel?” Andy asked.
He barely suppressed a smirk as you squirmed in your seat, avoiding his gaze.
“Um, good actually. I don’t feel as tense as when I first got here.” A small, beautiful smile broke out across your face as you glanced up at him. “I guess our work is paying off, huh?”
“I certainly think so,” Andy grinned, making a note in his pad. “I say we strike while the iron is hot and double up our weekly sessions for the time being, what do you think?”
“If that’s what you think is best, Dr. Barber, then let’s do it.”
Smiling, Andy resisted the urge to praise you with a gentle “good girl.” He promised himself that he’d save that for your next session, which he could barely wait for, growing hard again already merely at the thought of having you again.
And again, and again.
I won’t even apologize 😌
—
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Summary: After a long day, Ari decides he's had enough of your bratty ways...
Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Smut, Brat!Reader, References to Public Bathroom Sex, Manhandling, Allusions to Rough Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI
A/N: Hey, ya'll! I'm finally happy to be back with something new. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
Taking a deep breath you force yourself to look away from the mirror so you can concentrate on washing your hands. Technically, it wasn’t your fault that you were feeling so grumpy this evening. In fact, you hadn’t even wanted to come tonight. Not after the long day you’d had trying to wrangle suppliers and missing shipments at the bookstore.
But here you were.
Not because you wanted to be, but because a certain bounty hunter insisted that a little fresh air and fun would be just what you needed to help you relax. Little did he know that you would’ve been just fine snuggled next to him in bed while happily watching reruns of Parks and Recreation.
Of course when you’d tried to explain that to him, he’d had the nerve to ignore your concerns before nudging you in the direction of your closet and politely ordering you to put on one of those new sweater dresses you’d bought last month. And that had been it. That had been the entire conversation.
Such a handsome, dismissive bastard.
So now you were pouting – a fact that you were adult enough to admit. You were tired, you felt bloated, and your too-tight ponytail was starting to give you a headache. Drying your hands on a nearby cloth, you find yourself fantasizing about what would happen if you snuck the keys to Ari’s truck and left his overly-friendly self at the bar.
Oh, your sweet Beast would tan your ass for sure. Which was why you planned to hide in here for the foreseeable future. Or better yet – you were gonna call yourself a cab and see yourself home. That way your man could continue having a good time and you could avoid any more unnecessary human interaction.
Decision made, you turn to exit the bathroom only to jump back in surprise when the door swings open to reveal none other than Mr. Ari Levinson. And in the women’s no less.
Just what the heck did he think he was doing? Was he trying to get you both kicked out?
“Been in here a long time, baby.” He grunts, resting his big body against the only available exit. “Was startin’ to get worried.” HIs soulful blue eyes connect with yours, as if searching them for answers.
“I’m fine.” You tell him before turning your attention back to the mirror to dramatically fluff your curls. “So get out.” Try as you might, you can’t quite keep the bite out of your tone.
“You done yet?” He quirks one tawny brow as you bristle.
“Nope.”
Ari’s chest heaves in annoyance as he reaches behind him to secure the lock. “You’re not usually the type to be rude, pretty Bird.” Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of his corded muscles bunching and flexing beneath his navy blue flannel. “But I can tell you right now that I’ve had about enough of this little tantrum you seem so hellbent on throwin’.”
“Then maybe you should’ve left me at home.” You give up on your hair in favor of digging around in your clutch for your lip gloss.
“And maybe you could try to have a good time instead of stewin’ in whatever this is.” He fires back before he can stop himself. Even though he was itching to do so, he was positive that picking an argument with you would do more harm than good. So he tries a different tack “Look, sweetness. Why don’t you c’mon back out there and let me buy you another drink, hm?”
“I’ll come out when I’m good and ready.” You huff. It was painfully obvious that you were feeling extra prickly tonight. And if your bounty hunter continued to poke the bear, it wouldn’t be your fault if he lost a finger or two. “Now go the fuck away.”
Ari growls low in his throat as he comes to stand at his full height. At an impressive six-foot-four, this man towers over your much smaller, curvier frame. However, you refuse to back down. Right now, you were done taking orders from him. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d leave you alone before you–
Unfortunately, your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden flash of movement. The next thing you know, he’s now standing behind you, his large hands gripping your waist as he hauls you back against his solid frame.
“I see you’re just determined to be a brat, huh?” His deep voice rumbles, his lips lightly grazing along the shell of your ear. “Is that what we’re doin’ tonight?” You feel his thick fingers dig into your tender flesh when you fail to answer him in time. “Answer me.”
“I’m not being a brat.” Comes your weak protest. God, sometimes you hated the way your body always seemed to respond to his quiet authority. “It’s just–”
“Nah, baby.” Ari swiftly interrupts, his traitorous hands possessively kneading your curves. “You’ve been snippy with everyone the whole night. That’s not the little Bird I know.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the only one you’re gonna get right now.” The angry words come tumbling out before you can stop them. Tired of this game, you grab at his wrists as you attempt to extricate yourself from his hold. “Let go so I can go call a cab!” But as usual, your overbearing bounty hunter proves to be a much stronger opponent.
Which meant you weren’t going anywhere until he was ready to let you go.
“Not happenin’, sweetness.” One warm, calloused palm moves to rest on the softness of your belly. “You’re gonna adjust that attitude. And then you’re gonna go back out there and have some fun for thirty minutes. After that, I’ll take you home so you can get some rest.”
“And if I don’t?” You take a shuddering breath when you feel that same hand trail down your body before disappearing beneath the hem of your dress to weave its inside your panties. “W–what are you–?” A pitiful sound escapes you when you feel him cup your pussy.
“Well…” Ari muses, in between nibbling his way along the delicate column of your throat. “Then I reckon I’ll just have to fix your attitude myself.” You rise on your toes as his palm begins to grind against your sensitive clit. “Won’t I?”
“Oooh!” You cry as he increases the pressure, making your thighs clench around him. “Beast – wait! Someone…someone…oh God!”
There was no way you could let him do this here – in a public bathroom at your favorite bar. Not when someone could walk in at any moment. Pissed or not, the last thing either of you needed was to catch a public indecency charge.
“Fuck everybody else.” Your man rasps as his free hand moves to cup your breast, his skilled fingers playfully toying with your nipple. “Just like I should fuck you right here in this bathroom.” A soft moan makes its way past your lips when you finally notice Ari’s thick erection pressing against your lower back. “See how much energy you got left after I’m finished poundin’ all that disrespectful sass out of that greedy little pussy.”
“You can’t though.” You whine as you feel an embarrassing gush of wetness between your thighs, which only adds to the delicious friction. “People might…they might…” Your words trail off as he abandons your soaked cunt in favor of grabbing the edge of your satin panties, ripping them from your tender mound with practiced ease.
“They might what?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone as he dangles the lacy scrap of fabric in front of your face. “You don’t think you can stay quiet while your man busies himself givin’ you some good, old fashioned get-right?”
“Nooo!” Your breath hitches in your chest as he takes the liberty of stuffing your panties in your mouth.
Jesus Christ, every time you thought you couldn’t get any wetter this man just had to go and prove you wrong.
“Guess we’ll just have to keep you quiet.” Ari chuckles softly as he grinds his thick cock against you, letting you know just how ready he is to make good on his threat. Or was it a promise? Right now, you couldn’t summon the mental clarity to ask. “Because I’m gonna go deep, baby. I’ma give it you so good, and so deep, you’re gonna feel me for days.”
Your entire body begins to tremble as he slowly raises your dress, bunching the fabric around your waist, baring your mound to his hungry gaze. “And by the time I’m finished with you, baby, everyone in here is gonna know what happens to bratty little birds who don’t know when to cut the sass.”
You’re thankful when he kindly decides to remove your panties before stuffing them in his back pocket. After all this time you think you’d be immune to the filthy gesture. But nope. Not yet.
“Ari…” His name comes out barely above a whisper. Meanwhile, your eyes remain glued to your reflection. You can scarcely breathe as you take in the sight of your swollen clit delicately peeking out from between your slippery folds.
Like it or not, your body was begging for your man’s attention. Suddenly, you wanted him to touch you. Tame you. To teach you a lesson like some of the heroes in some of the dog-eared books you kept tucked away in the back of your bookshelf. You’re so caught up in the moment that it takes you a while to notice that your beast of a man is still talking.
“Is that what you need, sweetheart?” Two nimble fingers reach down to lightly stroke the tiny bundle of nerves, making you mewl. “Need me to keep you stuffed full of my cock until you forget all about what’s got you stuck in such a bad mood?”
“Yes.” It’s the only sensible word in your vocabulary, right along with: “please.”
“I should.” He rumbles before briefly bringing his glistening fingers to his lips for a quick taste of you. “I should give you what you need right here. Send your bratty self right back out to that bar with my cum dripping down your thighs. Bet then you’ll remember how to be my good girl.”
“Uh huh.” Your lashes flutter closed as your legs threaten to give out.
“Too bad that’s not the way this works.” While his voice remains deceptively gentle, the sudden switch has you on high alert. “I’m afraid I ain’t big on rewarding brats for bad behavior.” With that he lets go of your dress before taking a step back.
“Jesus Christ, Ari Levinson!” It takes everything in you not to stomp your foot in frustration. “You are such a goddamned tease.” You wanted this man right here, right now. And it was all his fucking fault.
Flashing a positively sinful grin, your bounty hunter jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Later you would learn just how hard it was to keep himself from touching. From bending you over the sink and punishing you the way your body begged him to.
“Sorry, Duchess. But your man just wants to make sure you learn your lesson good and proper first.”
This man and his goddamned lessons. Feeling bereft and unfulfilled, you give in to the urge to pout. Ari responds by leaning down to press a tender kiss against your lips – which only leaves you wanting more.
“Tell you what…” Still grinning, he walks over and unlocks the door. “You prance your pretty little ass back out there and try to have fun for thirty minutes and you have my word that I will take you home and give you and that greedy pussy of yours everything you fucking need. Okay?”
“Fine.” You mumble, your body still tingling from his early ministrations. But a deal was a deal. And you’d have to be stupid to turn down an offer like that. So, blowing out a determined breath, move past him and wrench open the door before turning to smile at him. “But the clock starts now, big guy.”
With that you sashay out of the bathroom with renewed vigor. All you had to do was last for twenty-nine more minutes and then your man was going to take you home and fuck you silly. You were so close to the finish line you could almost taste it.
Meanwhile, Ari follows out behind you. But not before taking a moment to rearrange himself in his pants. He watches your hips sway in time to the music before sending up a silent prayer asking for patience, strength, and the necessary willpower to survive – frowning he takes a look at his watch – the next twenty-eight goddamned minutes.
Pairing: Mob Boss! (Art Collector) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)
Summary: You pose so that Steve can sketch you.
Word Count: 299
Sexy September Scribbles Day 2: "Don't hide your face."
A/N: This is Day 2 of the #SexySeptemberScribblesChallenge. This is a Peach Fic. Steve first sketches Peach in Peach VI. Other Steve +Peach bondage/shibari turns come in Ties that Bind and Say Please. 😬 Let me know if you like this one by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve and Peach (they are warnings unto themselves, Beloved), Rope play, consentual established relationship, toy in v, voyuerism if you squint? over stimulation, forced orgasm, promise of p in v.
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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
----------
The rope was decorative, at least that’s what he called it.
An indulgence.
Silk wound tight around your wrists, binding you neatly to the chair, softly but firmly, cutting prettily into your skin. Steve tied the knots himself, carefully, and now you sat upright, helpless, while he worked.
Across from you, he lounged with a sketchpad braced on one powerful thigh, charcoal already smudging his fingers. The same hand that steadied the pad also held a small black remote.
Your chest heaved, nipples peaked, pussy slick, every nerve alive under his stare. The toy buried deep inside you hummed to life, low at first, then climbing. You jerked against the ropes with a gasp, thighs straining. When you tried to duck your chin to hide your wrecked expression, he clicked his tongue.
“Don’t hide your face.”
His voice was soft, but it bound you tighter than the silk. Blue fire locked with yours, unflinching.
“Every curve, every shadow,” he murmured, pencil dragging jagged and quickly across the page.
“You think I’d spend hours drawing anyone else like this? You’re mine, Peach. Every line, every tremor.”
He thumbed the dial, the vibration climbing until your breath broke into helpless moans. Your knees shook, lips parting as the toy buzzed mercilessly, his strokes on the page frantic as he sketched your ruin.
You whimpered, head tipping forward, but his voice cut sharp.
“Eyes on me.”
The command lashed through you. The toy thrummed relentlessly until your body snapped. Pleasure tore through you, bound and shaking, your cunt gushing.
Every flicker of your release was captured in his gaze.
Steve’s smirk deepened, hand still scribbling even as you shattered.
“There she is,” he rasped.
“Now stay still while I finish you. I want every flicker before I wreck you with my cock.”
Sexy September Scribbles Day 3: "Sweetest Pussy I Ever Tasted"
A/N: This is Day 3 of the #SexySeptemberScribblesChallenge. This is a Muse Fic. Let me know if you like this one by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Ari is a menace. Exotic fruit; Ari gets you there without even touching you.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-----
The balcony was cluttered with empty glasses and a plate of exotic fruit, the city glittering beneath you like a jeweled blanket.
Ari lounged in his chair like he owned the skyline.
He picked up a mangosteen slice, teeth sinking into the pale flesh.Juice spilled down his wrist, glistening in the low light. His tongue followed it slowly, dragging across his skin with deliberate indulgence.
“Mmm.” His eyes found yours, blue and knowing. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”
You choked on your drink. “Ari!”
His grin was shameless. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, pulling off with a wet pop that made your thighs clench.
“What? I said fruit.”
His gaze lingered at your hemline, then slid back to your flushed face.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re acting shy.”
His laugh was low and pleased. He licked another slice obscenely, tongue curling until you forgot to breathe.
“Don’t worry, Muse,” Ari murmured. “The fruit’s good.”
He popped it between his smirking lips.
“But your cunt? Unforgettable.”
Your pulse skipped as he plucked another piece, fingers glistening.
“Funny thing,” he mused, “fruit never measures up. Sweet, sure. Tart, sometimes. But never warm.” He bit down, juice running over his knuckles. “Never dripping.”
Your breath hitched. He licked a long stripe across his hand, catching every drop.
“Never the way you gush when you’re about to break.”
“Ari…”
He chuckled.
“Don’t pretend. You’re thinking about it.”
“When I say sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, I mean it. I catalogue every drip, every cry you try to hide.”
He sucked his thumb clean, grin wolfish. “Unforgettable.”
Your whimper gave you away. He rose, shadow falling over you, tilting your chin up.
“Sweetest thing,” he whispered, then leaned down to kiss you hungrily.
Word Count: 300 words exactly (I'm so proud of myself, lol)
Sexy September Scribbles Day 1: "Slower"
A/N: Came back from touching grass just in time to catch the #SexySeptemberScribblesChallenge in the group chat. This is my first go at the new Clark. Don't come for me, I'm still an HC girlie, but I think this idea goes better with the Corenswet Clark. And he's type fine too. 😏 Both is good, we can have both. Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Sex game, Cock riding, established relationship, shy boy Clark, overstimulation, raw p in v.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-----
It started as a game, something to shake the halo off his head. Opposite Day, you’d called it.
Every stop meant please, go. Every wait meant hurry up.
He’d flushed scarlet, stammered like he couldn’t imagine playing, but he agreed. Because Clark always agreed with you.
Now you were in his lap, straddling his thick length in the dark, his broad hands gripping your ass like he was holding on for dear life. His mouth dragged heat from your throat to your jaw, each kiss rougher than the last.
Every time you gasped stop, he surged harder, faster, driving up into you until your vision blurred. Every wait had him chasing, desperate, hungry in a way you’d never seen, his hips snapping like he couldn’t get enough.
His glasses were gone, hair ruined between your fists. That sweet, angelic restraint dissolved one shuddering breath at a time. He kissed you like he was burning alive, like he’d waited his whole life for permission to misbehave.
“Please…” you moaned, meaning don’t stop.
He understood, groaning into your mouth, his cock filling you so deep your toes curled.
“Wait!” you gasped, and he gritted his teeth, pulling you closer, pounding up into you, each thrust devastating.
And then, when you thought you couldn’t take another second, you whispered the word you actually meant.
“Slower.”
Clark froze, eyes wild, chest heaving, the halo still clinging to him for half a heartbeat before the rules clicked.
Opposite day.
He choked on a laugh, then ruined you. Faster, harder, reckless, his pace relentless, his strength held back on a string as your body shattered around him.
You screamed his name, nails attempting to stripe down his back, as the boy scout finally broke, finally let go, finally fucked you like the world might end tomorrow.
Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach)
A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes about a year after the events in Say Yes and also some time after the Bucky fic At Last. 😬 Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging. This is in answer to this ask from my beautiful @fenixstar. ❤️
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve and Peach (they are warnings unto themselves, Beloved), Angst, smut, fluff. Established relationship, post partum issues, body issues, breast feeding, newborn life, first time after baby, Steve and Peach against the world. Consentual free use, rope play, Good Boy oral (m/f receiving), face riding, size kink, breeding kink, edging, denial, public teasing, raw p in v, dripping, woman on top. Service top Steve.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
———
You hadn’t planned on crying today.
You’d told yourself you’d be strong.
That this morning would feel normal.
That you’d be able to slip into your studio and remember who you were before everything changed.
Christopher Grant (Kit) Rogers was eight weeks old. He’d been a whopping nine pounds, and for ten full hours you’d tried to push through before they wheeled you into surgery for a cesarean.
It was a lot, but so, so worth it.
You and Steve didn’t have the kind of family your cousin and Bucky did, people who swooped in to help without being asked. Who held the baby so you could shower. Who stocked your freezer and checked in every day.
You had all the money in the world for nannies and night nurses, and you used them when you needed to. But it wasn’t the same as the warm, gentle help of people who loved you.
So you’d tried to be everything yourself. Supermom. Superwife. Superhuman.
And God, how you loved your baby. He was joy incarnate, so alert already, holding his head up like he had something important to say. He looked so much like both of you: blond curls, golden skin, those striking blue-hazel eyes.
Sometimes you just stared at him, unable to believe you could love something so much and so purely.
But no one warned you that after the baby was here, after the long nights and the weeks of feeling like your body belonged to someone else, that you’d look in the mirror and wonder if you were still the woman who could make Steve Rogers drop to his knees.
No one warned Steve, either.
No one told him that seeing you uncertain, when he’d only ever known you fierce, would make something in his chest ache in a way nothing else ever had.
Your aunt was in town visiting your cousin and Bucky, who were already juggling a two-year-old and four more months of pregnancy, and she’d offered to take Kit for the night.
It meant more than you could say to have someone you trusted just down the hall.
At eight weeks postpartum, you were officially cleared for exercise, for sex, for all the things that were supposed to signal you were “back to normal.”
But you didn’t feel even remotely ready.
The night before had been the first night without Kit in the next room, and you thought maybe you’d rediscover something with Steve, some easy version of the love you’d always had.
Instead, you’d crawled into bed exhausted, and Steve held you, his arms warm and steady around you. He’d pressed his mouth to your hair and whispered that he loved you.
That you were doing so good.
And for a moment, you’d wanted him so badly it almost hurt. But you still felt too tender. Too raw.
And you cried.
So you’d fallen asleep like that, tucked into him, yearning and grateful all at once.
Steve hadn’t slept much.
He’d stayed awake long after your breathing evened out, staring at the ceiling while the city glowed outside your windows.
He remembered the first time he ever saw you at Regine’s in Atlanta, the way you’d curved him, eyes mesmerizing, that wicked little smile promising he’d never be the same.
And he remembered the night he finally got to have you, just a little, before he stopped because he was lying to you. And the night a month later in New York, when you both told the truth and ran away to get married.
He remembered the morning you found out you were pregnant, your voice trembling, and the excitement in your beautiful eyes. He remembered the way pregnancy had made you more powerful somehow, how you carried yourself like a queen, and how you drew everyone under your spell without trying.
He remembered every second of the hours you spent trying to bring Kit into the world and how he’d never felt so helpless in his life. Steve would never forget kissing your forehead when they finally laid your son on your chest, so relieved you were okay and that your son was finally here.
He didn’t know if he could go through that again.
Now, he held you closer in the dark, pressing more kisses to your temple.
There had been a shift in your spirit since Kit was born. You loved your baby, doted on him, and you tried so hard to be the best mother you could. But he felt the difference in you.
You weren’t the same inimitable Peach Rogers who never questioned her worth. Even though you insisted you were fine, he knew by the way you curled in on yourself, by how you hadn’t let him touch you since the baby came, that you didn’t feel the same.
And that broke his heart.
You didn’t see yourself the way he did. Not anymore.
And he didn’t know how to make you believe you were still that woman, still the one who had owned him from that first look across the room.
All he knew was that he loved you. All of you. Every version.
He’d do whatever it took for you to feel it again too.
—---
You’d promised yourself this morning would be different.
You woke up early, slipped into soft leggings and a loose sports bra, and tiptoed out of the bedroom before you could change your mind. You were determined to spend an hour alone in your studio, determined to feel something, anything, like yourself again.
The playlist you used before the baby was still queued up on your phone. When the music started, your throat closed.
You loved this room.
The floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The barre along one wall. The smooth expanse of polished wood under your bare feet. The brass pole in the middle that had once felt like an extension of your own body.
It used to be your sanctuary, the one place you felt certain of yourself. The one place your body felt like an instrument you knew by heart.
You hadn’t been on the pole since you were six months pregnant.
Back then, you’d felt luminous. Invincible. And you loved the way Steve looked at you, like you were something holy and dangerous all at once.
But now…
You placed your palms on the pole, closed your eyes, and took a slow, steadying breath.
Just move, you told yourself.
The first beat dropped.
Your hips swayed, cautious at first, but then muscle memory stirred. You slid one hand up the cool metal, letting your thigh brush along the pole as the music threaded into your blood.
For a moment, it almost worked.
For a moment, you almost believed you were still her, the woman who could bring a room to its knees without even trying. But then you felt the pressure of your milk coming in when your weight shifted, and a warm rush against your breasts.
Your eyes dropped, and your heart sank.
A damp bloom spread across the soft cotton of your bra. Another mirrored it on the other side, evidence of all the ways your body wasn’t your own anymore.
Your throat tightened as tears prickled hot behind your eyes.
“Peach.”
You hadn’t heard him come in, and you couldn’t turn to face him. You crossed your arms over yourself to hide.
“Please,” you whispered, voice thin and unsteady. “Don’t.”
He came up behind you anyway, his hand landing gently on your shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice so low and gentle that it made something in your chest crack open.
“I know.” Your voice wavered.
“But I needed this today. Just…to feel like me again.”
“You are you.”
He moved closer, the warmth of his shirtless body curling around you as his mouth brushed the back of your neck softly.
“You’re still the woman I built this room for when you weren’t even speaking to me. The woman who held a knife to my throat for showing up at Thanksgiving dinner. The woman who makes everyone fall in love with her.”
The tears slipped free.
“I don’t feel like her,” you managed shakily.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t try to talk you out of it. He just wrapped his arms around you, drew you in, and pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.
“Then let me remind you.”.
You shook your head and pulled away from him, your breath shuddering.
“I need a shower,” you whispered, the last word nearly swallowed by the ache in your throat.
He stepped back without protest, and you slipped past him before you broke completely.
—-----
After pumping, you climbed into the steaming shower. The water was almost scalding, and you let it sting. You leaned on the tile with one hand while the other pressed over your mouth to muffle the sounds you couldn’t hold in.
You were still you.
You were still you.
You repeated it over and over until you almost believed it.
—-
When you stepped back into the bedroom, skin warm and flushed from the shower, you froze.
Steve was waiting.
On his knees. Completely naked. The rope lay coiled neatly in his big hands like an offering.
He looked up at you, blue eyes blown wide and dark with need. His chest rose and fell with a ragged rhythm, like he’d been holding his breath since you left the room.
“I’m yours,” he said quietly.
Your breath caught in your throat.
“Steve…”
“You don’t feel like yourself,” he murmured. “Then let me belong to you. Let me remind you.”
God, he was beautiful. Hair mussed where his fingers had dragged through it. Shoulders broad and golden in the morning light. His cock thick and heavy, already stirring against the cut plane of his thigh.
You stared at him, drinking in every inch. You didn’t even realize you were crying again until the tears fell on your collarbone.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. You could feel how badly he wanted to get up, to cross the space and wrap you in his arms. But he stayed perfectly still. He waited. Because he knew that was what you needed most.
“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice wrecked.
His throat worked as he swallowed. Then he nodded.
“I want you to take whatever you need,” he rasped.
The sob burst out of you, half a laugh, half a cry. You wiped your cheeks with shaking hands, and then you smiled at him, feeling something fierce crack open inside you.
“Get on the bed,” you said, your voice steadier now.
He obeyed instantly, climbing up to sit against the pillows, his big body sprawling wide, legs parted.
You stood at the foot of the bed and let yourself look. Really look.
His forearms were corded with tension where they rested on his thighs. His abs flexed with every breath. His cock twitched under your gaze, a single bead of slick gathering at the tip.
Four bottles of water sat on the dresser, and a bottle of lube. You uncapped a water and drank while he watched, never looking away. Your pulse thundered.
Setting the bottle down, you climbed onto the bed and trailed your hand up his shin, over his knee, and along the muscled line of his thigh. He shuddered under your touch, hips jerking almost imperceptibly.
You cupped his jaw, your thumb brushing the stubble along his cheek.
“I need to see you touch yourself,” you said softly. “Use the lube.”
Steve’s breath caught and he nodded.
He stripped the plastic, squeezed lube into his palm, rubbed his hands to warm it. The image alone made your body respond.
His fist wrapped around his cock, thick fingers curling around the flushed length. He stroked once, slowly, and your cunt clenched at the sight. You opened your robe and his eyes raked down, hungry.
You shifted onto your knees between his spread legs, your own hand sliding down the front of your robe and into the slick heat waiting there.
“Don’t cum,” you warned.
“I won’t,” he panted, voice strained already.
You matched him, slow at first, watching tension build in his neck, and the taut line of his belly. Tendons stood out in his forearm as his grip flexed.
“God, look at you,” you whispered. “You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”
His head tipped back, jaw tight.
“Yes,” he rasped, voice breaking. “Anything.”
You didn’t slow your hand. Pressure built until your thighs trembled. You circled your clit faster, eyes locked on the flushed head of his cock disappearing into his fist over and over.
Your release hit in a blinding rush, sharp and electric, your free hand bracing on his knee as you came with a low, broken moan.
Steve’s eyes were glassy with hunger and his lips parted on a strangled groan.
“You’re not allowed to cum,” you managed, still breathless. “You don’t get to finish yet.”
His hand fell away like it weighed a thousand pounds. His hips jerked helplessly, chest heaving.
“Give me the rope,” you said.
He lifted it at once, wrists offered. You took your time. You wrapped him with deliberate, careful precision, knots snug and sure, enough that he couldn’t move, couldn’t touch, could only watch you.
Just like he’d taught you.
When you finished, you traced your fingers over the warm skin of his forearm.
His hands were tied in front, resting on his thighs. He could grab his cock if he wanted to, but he knew better.
“Perfect,” you murmured. “You look perfect like this.”
“Please,” he whispered, voice shredded.
He didn’t say what he was begging for. But you knew.
“Not yet.”
You climbed into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You wrapped your hand around him again, pumping him slowly, feeling the way he throbbed under your touch and the way his slick, warm skin pulsed in your hand.
He made a rough, desperate sound.
You bent forward, tongue flicking over the bead of precum on his tip, circling the sensitive slit. The flavor of the lube exploded on your taste buds and you moaned, making his whole body lock up and his arms flex uselessly against the ropes.
“God…Peach…”
You pulled back, lips wet.
“You’re not close already, are you?”
His long lashes fluttered, pupils blown.
“I…I’m trying….”
“Try harder.”
You sat up and guided him to your entrance and tried to sink down. But you were still too tight.
His jaw clenched. His hips bucked.
“Jesus…”
He could feel you dripping on him and the tease of your flesh yielding then resisting at your opening. His whole world narrowed to getting inside you after so, so long.
“Please, Peach… let me taste you…”
You tugged his shoulder, signaling him to slide down until he was flat on his back. Then you stood on the mattress and let the robe fall, savoring the hoarse curse that caught in his throat as his eyes roamed.
Power slid back into your bones.
You turned and twerked slowly over his face, grinning when his cock jumped, wetting his clenched stomach.
“Ah-ah, Mr. Rogers. Control it.”
“Let me eat it.”
When you looked back at him, that sparkle in your eye and said, “Say Please,” Steve knew you were back.
His gaze was deadly serious.
“Please. Let me eat that pussy, Peach.”
You lowered, knees planted on either side of his face.
“Eat,” you ordered.
Steve licked the lips of your cunt and you shivered, but it wasn’t enough. For you or for him
“Sit down.”
Steve was slipping into dom mode. You sat up, pulling away from him.
“What did you say?”
“Please, Peach, sit all the way down on my face. Drown me in that shit. Please.”
You did as he begged and you sat down on his open mouth.
His first stroke over your clit made your whole body jolt.
He groaned in response, deep and broken, the vibration rippling through you.
“That’s it,” you panted, grinding down on his mouth. “Don’t stop.”
He licked you like he was starving, like this was the only thing he’d ever needed. His tongue circled and flicked and lapped, his mouth wet and hot and relentless.
“You love this, don’t you?” you gasped. “Tied up with your mouth on me?”
His only answer was a helpless moan and a new surge of heat against your clit.
You came with a strangled cry, thighs tightening around his head as pleasure ripped through you. When you climbed off him, you were shaking. He was trembling, licking his lips like he could keep you on his tongue.
You kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his mouth. When you pulled back, slick and shaking, he was ruined, cock dripping, chest heaving, eyes glazed.
“Not yet,” you told him, smirking when he whimpered.
You licked a slow stripe up his length, and pulled back just as he groaned. Then you untied him slowly, watching the ropes fall away. You climbed on his lap, your slick cunt grinding on him again.
“Get dressed,” you whispered against his mouth. “Time to go.”
—-----
You took him back to the studio.
“Sit,” you ordered, pointing to the couch. He obeyed instantly, hands braced on his thighs, cock still heavy and leaking. His eyes never left you.
You climbed the pole carefully, kind to the body that had carried your son. A glide, a turn, and a spin that kissed your toes to the floor, later and you felt the music thrumming back into your blood, your body remembering itself.
“Eyes on me,” you said.
“I can’t look anywhere else,” Steve rasped.
When you came down, you stopped so close his breath brushed your skin. You brushed his bottom lip with your thumb.
“Color?”
“Green.” His voice was wrecked.
“Good boy.”
—
In the kitchen, you hopped onto the counter.
“Feed me.”
He sliced strawberries, mango, and a ripe peach with hands still shaking. He lifted each piece to your mouth, and you took them from his fingers with slow, obscene intent. Juice ran over your lips, and you licked it clean, sucking his thumb into the heat of your mouth until his eyes fluttered shut.
“Peach…” he groaned, desperate.
You released him with a nip.
“Not yet. Get my bag.”
-----
You made him wait.
Every step down 5th Avenue, every glance at your body in leggings and a loose sweater, was its own kind of torture. He carried your bags in silence, jaw tight, cock still aching from the morning.
You stopped in front of the boutique’s glass doors, silk, lace on display beneath gold lettering, and watched his whole body tense.
“Peach,” he muttered.
You smiled sweetly.
“What? You don’t think I deserve something pretty?”
He swallowed hard.
“You deserve everything.”
You kissed his cheek and felt him strain to avoid chasing your lips like a simp.
Inside, you strolled the racks, fingertips grazing satin. Every time you bent to check a tag, your ass brushed his thigh. His eyes never left you and you swore steam was venting out of his ears.
You held a black lace teddy against your body in the mirror with barely-there cups, and delicate crisscross straps.
His reflection in the glass was a study in agony: eyes riveted, lips parted, pupils blown.
“You like this one?” you teased.
His throat bobbed. “On you? I’d love it.”
You smiled wickedly. “Perfect. I’ll take it.”
You carried a small armful to the fitting room, and when Steve moved to follow, you put a hand flat on his chest.
“Stay.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t argue. He dropped onto the velvet bench outside, elbows braced on his knees, head tipped back against the wall. Waiting.
You slipped into the fitting room, left the curtain just barely open, enough for him to see inside if he leaned the right way.
Just enough to torture him.
One by one, you tried things on.
A satin bra and thong in champagne.
Strappy red lace.
The black teddy.
Each time, you adjusted slowly, turning in the mirror, watching his reflection catch glimpses. You caught the way his hand twitched on his thigh, like he was one second away from palming his cock through his jeans.
When you stepped out in the teddy, his eyes widened. His lips parted like he was gasping for air.
You twirled slowly, letting the straps hug your curves, the lace barely covering your breasts. You pretended to examine the hem while his gaze devoured you whole.
“Think this one’s worth keeping?” you asked, voice silky.
He dragged his eyes up to yours, pupils blown, and whispered hoarsely: “Please.”
You almost laughed. It wasn’t even a question.
You kissed his cheek lightly as you passed, carrying the lingerie to the counter. He sat there, trembling, desperate, hard as a rock in public with no relief in sight.
You whispered in his ear as you signed the receipt: “Tonight.”
—---
The limo was waiting. Tinted glass, leather seats, the hum of the city beyond. You slid across first, Steve following with the boutique bags like a man walking into church.
You crossed your legs and put your heel between his thighs.
“Hands flat.”
He pressed his palms to his knees, trembling. You traced a lazy line up his inner thigh, just shy of where he ached most. His breath hitched, chest rising ragged.
“Who do you belong to?” you asked softly.
“You,” he said instantly. “Always.”
You leaned close, lips grazing his ear.
“Say please.”
“Please,” he whispered, ruined.
You smiled and pulled a chilled water bottle from the console, pressed it to his straining cock through denim. He jerked and swore under his breath.
“Long way downtown,” you told Nico.
“Yes, ma’am,” came the reply.
Steve stayed trembling and obedient the whole ride, the weight of your command and the promise of what was coming conducting through him like a spark.
------
Back home, the apartment was quiet. Kit was still with your aunt, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like fucking your husband.
After a dinner where you tortured him with the vision of your mouth, Steve felt like putting you under the ground.
You carried the boutique bag into the bedroom, setting it on the dresser with a flourish. Steve’s eyes followed it like it contained dynamite.
“Peach…” His voice was low, already strained.
You turned to him slowly, letting the anticipation build.
“Strip.”
He obeyed, peeling off his hoodie, jeans, boxers until he was bare in the lamplight, cock heavy and flushed, veins stark against golden skin. His chest rose and fell fast, eyes fixed on you like you were the only thing in the world.
You slipped the black teddy from the bag, holding it up so he could see.
“Sit on the edge of the bed.”
He lowered himself to the mattress, big body sprawled, thighs spread wide. Every muscle in him screamed restraint.
You undressed, then turned your back to him and began sliding the teddy on. Sheer cups molding to your breasts, delicate straps hugging your waist, lace barely concealing anything at all. You caught his reflection in the mirror, his hands fisting the sheets, jaw clenched so hard it might crack.
When you turned, his breath caught audibly.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
You sauntered forward and stopped just out of reach.
“Hands behind your back.”
He did as he was told, crossing his wrists without hesitation. You took the rope and bound him again, until his hands were useless behind him. He shifted, testing the knots, and groaned low in his throat.
“Perfect,” you murmured.
You climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs, and ran your hands up his chest, over the cut lines of his shoulders. His cock strained between you, leaking against the lace of your teddy.
“Beg,” you whispered as you gave him a silent lap dance.
“Please,” he rasped. “Please, Peach… anything you want.”
You leaned down, kissed him deep, then pulled back just enough to smirk against his mouth.
“Not yet.”
You slid off his lap and knelt between his knees. Your tongue traced the length of him, savoring the way his whole body jolted. You sucked him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, taking him deep until he groaned brokenly.
Then you pulled away, licking your lips while he trembled.
“Please,” he whispered again, voice shredded.
You shook your head. “No.”
You climbed back into his lap and shifted until your soaked lace pressed against his cock, grinding slow circles that made both of you moan. The teddy was ruined already, wet heat soaking through.
“God, Peach,” he choked.
You reached back, guided him to your entrance, and sank down, slowly, tightly, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside you. The stretch made your head fall back, a broken sound tearing from your throat.
Steve was wrecked, jaw slack, eyes glazed.
“So tight….so perfect…fuck….”
You set the pace, slow at first, rolling your hips to drag him over every sensitive place. His bound hands flexed uselessly behind him, his chest heaving, his cock twitching deep inside you.
You leaned close, lips brushing his ear.
“Say please for me again, Stevie.”
“Please,” he groaned. “Please let me come inside you. Please let me fill you up, Peach.”
Your power thrummed through you, and it was a heady feeling. You were so back.
You rode him harder, faster, every grind pushing you both closer to the edge. His thighs trembled and his head tipped back on his shoulders.
When you were right there, breathless, unraveling, you tangled your fingers in his hair and whispered, “Now.”
He shattered. A ragged cry ripped from his chest as he spilled inside you, hot and endless. His hips jerked helplessly, ropes of cum filling you as your own release tore through, clenching around him, body shaking with the force of it.
You stayed there, straddling him, both of you trembling, your forehead pressed to his, your breaths mingling.
When you finally untied him, his arms came around you instantly and tenderly, holding you tight against his chest. He kissed your temple.
“Feel like yourself again?” he asked softly.
You smiled through the tears and the afterglow, that fierce Peach grin that he adored.
Summary: Steve fills you up over and over for his birthday. And you keep saying yes.
Word Count: 4 K
Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach)
A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes about 15 months after the events in Pop Fly and also some time after the Bucky fic At Last. I'm trying to get Steve and Bucky caught up to the same point in time as Ari. This might be a little too much. 😬 Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve and Peach (they are warnings unto themselves, Beloved), Angst, smut, fluff. Talk of trying for a baby, anxiety about fertility, it's Steve's Birthday! Established relationship, Steve is all dom, all day, consentual free use, Good Girl and heavy praise kink, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, shower sex, multiple positions, BREEDING kink; raw p in v, pussy stuffing, dripping, cum play, over stimulation, after care, pregancy test. Basically porn for Steve's b-day!
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-----
You woke up before him.
Steve lay on his side, one arm draped heavy over your waist. His face was smooth in sleep, mouth parted, dark blonde hair shining in the sunlight.
He looked younger like this. Less like the man who used to run half the city from back rooms and more like the one you’d married one early December morning, your hearts too full to wait.
A year and a half of marriage.
You’d had an entire year of planes and trains and beaches. Bi-weekly trips to Atlanta to oversee things there, the other weeks in Brooklyn and monthly escapes away to someplace special.
It was a year of no expectations, no countdowns, no baby plans. Just you and him, learning each other.
Just being together.
But now, you were trying to have a baby.
And after six months of trying, some days felt easier than others. Some mornings you woke up sure it would happen.
Some mornings, you wondered if waiting had been a mistake.
But you’d decided to let go of all of that today, because today was special.
You studied the curve of Steve’s jaw as his hand instinctively tightened on your hip when you shifted.
God, you loved him.
Even if you never had a baby, you loved him more than you knew how to say.
You pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
“Happy Birthday,” you whispered.
His eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he just looked at you, hazy and warm.
Then a slow grin curved his mouth.
“Mornin’, Peach.”
You smiled. “Morning, old man.”
He groaned, pulling you close and burying his face in your neck.
“Not old.”
“You’re a year older today,” you teased.
“And I’m going to spoil you so rotten you’ll forget to be embarrassed about it.”
His breath tickled your throat.
“You don’t have to…”
“I want to,” you interrupted gently.
Because you did. You wanted this day to feel like proof that love could still be simple, even when everything else felt complicated.
You let him kiss you sweetly, your body already warming under his touch. When he pulled back, you rested your palm on his cheek.
“I’m yours today,” you said softly. “Anything you want. Anything.”
His pupils blew wide. His hand tightened on your hip.
“Anything?”
“Everything,” you promised, and meant it.
He exhaled, like he was steadying himself. Like he knew exactly how he planned to spend the day.
And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest loosened.
His hand went between your legs.
“Steve,” you whispered as your eyes fluttered closed, your breath already unsteady.
His thumb stroked slowly up the seam of your pussy, spreading the slick already gathering there.
“Eyes open.”
You blinked into the half-light, and his gaze was so hot it made you shiver.
“Say it again.”
“Anything you want.”
His mouth curved. “Good girl.”
Your heart stuttered.
God, he knew exactly what that did to you, how just those words made your body tighten, how that phrase made your pussy wet.
Without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them deep. The slick sound of it made your face burn. Your hips jerked, and a ragged moan breaking from your throat.
“You’re already soaked,” he rasped. “You like this, don’t you? Lying here open for me?”
“Yes…”
His thumb brushed your clit, just enough to make your vision go white at the edges.
“You know what I’m gonna do to you today?”
You swallowed, breath shuddering out. “Yes?”
You didn’t know, but the answer would be yes all day.
He chuckled and leaned down, lips brushing your ear.
“I’m going to fuck you as many times as I want,” he whispered.
“Fill you up until you can’t take any more. Until you’re so full of me it’s dripping out of you.”
Your whole body went tight, hips bucking helplessly into his hand.
“God. Steve…”
He smiled. “That’s it. Show me.”
He shifted over you, one arm beside your head. With the other hand, he guided himself to your entrance, the thick head of his cock pressing against your slick heat.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
You did.
He pushed in slowly, inch by glorious fat inch, and you felt it, every thick stretch, every hot drag. Your back arched off the bed as a strangled cry tearing from your throat.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned. “Every time.”
His hips rolled deeper, bottoming out. You could feel every thick inch of him so deep it was almost too much.
“Say you’re mine,” he breathed, his thumb brushing your lower lip.
“I’m yours,” you gasped.
“Say you’re gonna take every drop I give you.”
Your breath caught. “I…I’ll take it…”
“All of it,” he growled.
“Every time I fuck it into you.”
You were already close, the heat building fast. But his words.
This man and his words.
“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, I need…”
“I know,” he rasped. “Give it to me.”
His hand slipped under your knee, pressing your thigh higher, opening you wider. The new angle sent you spinning, pleasure crashing over you so fast you couldn’t even scream.
You came clenching tight around him, trembling all over, the sound of your slick cunt stretched around him obscene.
He held you there, hips grinding through every wave. And when he came, when he groaned your name, it felt like he was everywhere.
Flooding and marking you in the most primal way.
He stayed buried inside you, his breathing ragged against your neck. You felt the slow trickle of him threatening to slip free.
“No,” he murmured, voice hoarse.
One broad hand slid down to cup you, pressing you closed, sealing it in.
“Keep it,” he ordered softly. “All of it.”
Your breath hitched, tears prickling your eyes at how badly you wanted it too.
“Say yes,” he whispered, his thumb stroking where you were stretched around him.
“Say you’ll keep every drop.”
“Yes,” you choked out.
He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good girl.”
And finally, finally, he eased out carefully. And despite yourself, you felt it slip free in a warm rush, and your face burned.
But before you could close your thighs, he caught your hip, holding you open.
He watched his cum slide down your pussy and gathered it on his fingers, pushing it back inside.
“Not wasting a fucking drop,” he intoned, the most serious he’d been about anything in his life.
—--
He didn’t let you out of bed right away.
Steve kept you in his arms and finally shifted onto his back, pulling you with him until you were sprawled over his chest. You felt the slow throb of him hardening again against your belly.
“Shower,” he murmured, voice still rough.
The water was warm, steam filling the space. You stepped under the spray, tilting your head back, letting the heat loosen the ache in your muscles.
Steve’s hands settled on your waist from behind. For a long moment, he just held you there, your back against his chest, the water rushing over both of you.
Then one palm slid up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked tight.
“You have no idea what you look like right now,” he rasped against your ear. “How perfect you are.”
You swallowed, your breath catching when his other hand moved lower, fingers stroking between your legs.
“Steve…”
“You said anything,” he reminded you, his mouth brushing your neck.
His fingers found your entrance, still so sensitive, still slick from everything he’d left inside you. He groaned low in his throat when he felt it.
“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured. “Dripping.”
You braced your hands on the tile, shivering as he worked two fingers inside you again.
“I can feel it,” he whispered. “Feel my cum inside you.”
Your knees went weak.
“Please…”
“Please what?”
“I don’t know…”
He smiled against your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there.
“I think you do.”
His thumb circled your clit, gentle but relentless. You gasped, your body already spiraling.
“Cum for me,” he ordered softly.
“Show me how much you love it.”
You came hard, clutching the tile, your whole body shuddering as he held you up with one arm around your waist.
When it was over, he kissed the side of your neck again, voice rough but tender.
“That’s my girl.”
—----
You were still shaky when you finished your shower.
He let you put on one of his softest shirts and nothing else. And when you padded into the kitchen, he lifted you onto the counter.
“I want to watch my Doll look pretty for me while I cook,” he said.
You smiled and watched him move around the kitchen, relaxed, in just grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
God, he was beautiful. And he was yours. Despite being skillfully used, you grew hot for him again.
When he finally brought your plate and set it on the counter beside you, you reached for his hand and pulled him in.
“Tell me what you want,” you said, your voice low.
He searched your eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, the hunger there so raw it made you clench.
“I want you on your knees,” he said.
His voice was quiet, but it held no uncertainty.
“I want to watch you take me. I want to see your mouth around me.”
You swallowed. Your whole body went warm.
“Yes.”
“Here.”
He pointed to the floor in front of him.
You slid off the counter, the tile cold under your bare knees.
He stepped closer. One big hand cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking over your jaw as he looked down at you.
“Open,” he murmured.
You did.
He worked himself free of his sweatpants, and his cock was thick and heavy in his palm, already flushed dark with need.
“Look at you,” he said hoarsely.
“So fucking pretty like this.”
You flushed hot all over and looked up at him.
“Take it,” he whispered.
Your lips parted wider. He slid the blunt head over your tongue, groaning when you closed your mouth around him.
“Fuck…”
He let you set the pace at first, your hands on his thighs, your mouth moving eagerly, savoring the heat and heavy weight of him. But it didn’t take long before he threaded one hand into your hair, guiding you deeper.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Take all of it.”
You tried. But he was too big to fit all the way, so you worked him as deep as you could, your throat fluttering around the stretch.
He hissed, his hand tightening just enough to hold you in place as his hips rolled forward.
“Look up at me,” he rasped.
You did.
The sight of you, lips stretched wide, spit falling from the corners of your mouth, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, made his jaw go tight.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “So fucking good for me.”
Your thighs pressed together at the praise. And when he felt you moan around him, Steve’s head fell back on his shoulders and he groaned low.
“You want it?”
You nodded as best you could, your tongue teasing the underside of his thick head.
“Then don’t stop.”
His hips rocked deep into your mouth, his free hand caressing your cheek, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
You took everything he gave you, every inch, every ragged breath, every curse whispered just for you. And when he finally pulled you off, your lips were swollen and wet, and you were gasping for breath.
He leaned down, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your tongue.
“Perfect,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re fucking perfect.”
—-----
Steve didn’t let you stand right away. His hand stayed tangled in your hair, thumb brushing your cheek as he looked down at you. His breathing was rough, like he was trying to get control.
“You know how beautiful you are right now?” he rasped.
Your lips parted, but you didn’t know how to answer. You just looked up at him, flushed and trembling.
He smiled at you.
“The answer is yes.”
He swallowed, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Then lower.
“Get up.”
You rose slowly, your knees stiff from the tile.
“Sit,” he ordered quietly.
He turned you with gentle hands and guided you to sit your bare cunt on the hard muscle of his thigh. The warmth of his skin, and the way the strength of it flexed under you made your whole body go tight.
“Eat,” he murmured.
You looked up, wide-eyed.
“Eat,” he repeated, voice low and calm, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t filthy and tender all at once.
You reached for your fork with a trembling hand. He watched you bring the first bite to your mouth, watched you chew and swallow.
“Good girl,” he praised, and the muscle beneath you tensed.
You gasped, hips rocking instinctively.
“You gonna cum on my thigh while you eat your breakfast?” he asked softly.
Your breath hitched.
“Answer me.”
“Yes,” you whispered.
His strong hands steadied you on his thigh.
“Keep going.”
You lifted another bite to your mouth. You could barely taste it. All you could feel was the relentless heat building between your legs, and the slick glide of your pussy against him.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “You’d let me do anything to you.”
Your hips rolled again, a slave to the feeling.
“Tell me.”
“Yes…” you gasped. “Anything. All of it….”
He flexed his thigh again, the hard muscle pressing right against your clit. You nearly choked on a whimper.
“Keep eating,” he ordered.
You did, one hand white-knuckling the counter, the other shaking as you lifted the fork to your mouth.
“You gonna cum?”
“Yes, please!”
“Do it.”
The next slow drag of your hips sent you over the edge. You came shaking, your cunt pulsing against his thigh, your body curling forward as your moan broke free.
His hands held you steady. His voice stayed low, warm, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “So fucking good for me.”
You collapsed against his chest, your heart racing.
He kissed your hair, breathing you in.
“Finish your breakfast,” he whispered against your temple.
“We’ve got a long day ahead.”
—------
He told you to change into a dress before you left the apartment, but no underwear. You obliged and then rode the elevator down to the lobby, where you and Steve started the short walk to the Rebirth Gallery.
You laced your fingers through his as you walked, Brooklyn moving around you at a low hum.
He squeezed your hand, thumb stroking the back.
“You okay?”
You looked up and saw how serious he was. How careful he was of you.
“I’m okay,” you said.
He nodded, understanding what you were in your head about, then pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head.
And you just walked like that.
Like you hadn’t spent the last six months counting days.
—-----
The gallery was empty, closed to the public for the day. But you still felt exposed as you walked through the halls just a cream sundress that you bought in Positano, nothing underneath, his cum still sticky on your inner thighs.
Every time you stopped to look at a piece, he stepped close behind you, his hand sliding up under the hem to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
“Hands on the railing,” he murmured when you paused in front of a massive canvas.
Your palms pressed to the smooth wood. He lifted the shirt over your hips, baring you completely. The cold air made you shiver, and made you even wetter.
“Look at it,” he ordered, his voice rough. “I want you to see yourself while I take you.”
There was a tall glass panel beside the railing. Your gaze met your reflection, hair mussed, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. You looked ruined already.
“Beautiful,” he said, just before he slid inside you again.
You didn’t try to hide the way you moaned.
He fucked you there with slow, hard thrusts that made your reflection blur in the glass.
Every time you shifted, you felt the slick slide of him, the obscene wetness of your own arousal mixed with what he’d given you earlier.
You watched yourself take it, watched your own lips part with a helpless sound when he bottomed out. When he came this time, it was quieter. Just a shudder and a low groan against the back of your neck, his hands holding you tight.
You felt the spill of him again, thick and hot, your skin sticky again where it dripped down your thighs.
And God, you loved it.
He didn’t move for a long moment, just breathed with you, his cheek pressed to your hair.
Finally, he eased out, and you whimpered at the emptiness.
He caught your chin in one hand, tilting your face up until your eyes met in the reflection.
“You good?” he asked softly.
You nodded, your pulse fluttering.
“Turn around.”
You did.
He smoothed your dress down over your thighs like nothing had happened, like you weren’t still trembling, your cunt swollen and dripping.
When he pressed a kiss to your temple, it felt more intimate than anything else.
“Dinner,” he murmured.
You blinked up at him, dazed.
“Like this?”
He smiled, slow and devastating.
“Exactly like this.”
—---
The restaurant was just a block away, one of those low-lit places you never visited without him, because every table felt like it belonged to people who could buy and sell your entire life.
The maître d’ greeted Steve with that particular blend of respect and wariness that always followed him.
“Mr. Rogers. Right this way.”
Steve held your chair out, helped you sit and settled into the seat across from you like he hadn’t just bent you over a railing ten minutes ago.
The waiter came with water, menus, and the quiet question.
“The usual for you, sir?”
“Yes,” Steve said, not bothering to look away from you.
“And for the lady?”
“I’ll have the same,” you managed.
When the waiter left, Steve reached across the white linen, his thumb brushing your knuckles.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured.
You swallowed.
“That everyone can tell.”
His blue eyes sparked, wicked.
“They can’t,” he promised.
“But even if they could…”
He leaned closer, his thumb sweeping over your palm and your wrist, tracing the line of your pulse.
“They’d just know you’re mine.”
He watched you closely.
“Is that what you want?” he asked softly.
You met his gaze, your heart thudding.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he murmured.
“Because after this, I’m taking you home. And you’re going to spend the rest of the night exactly how I want you.”
You exhaled unsteadily.
“And how is that?”
His smile was lethal.
“Full of me. Until you forget how it felt to be empty.”
—---
Once in your bedroom, Steve didn’t rush undressing.
He never did.
He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, letting you watch the way each new inch of skin revealed the hard lines of his body. He kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, slid his trousers down those powerful thighs.
When he joined you on the bed, you shivered at the heat of his skin against yours. His big hands traced over your hips, your belly, and up to cup your breasts.
“You remember what I promised?” he murmured, voice rough.
You nodded.
“That I’d keep you full all night,” he supplied, as his hand moved lower, sliding between your thighs. He found you slick and swollen, still messy with his last release.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “So ready.”
You made a helpless sound when he pressed two fingers into you, spreading you wide.
“Steve…”
He shushed you with a kiss. Then he pulled his hand away, lined himself up, and pushed inside in one slow, steady thrust.
You both groaned when he bottomed out, the thick weight of him filling you completely.
“God, baby,” he breathed. “Feel how deep I am?”
“Yes,” you gasped.
“Good.”
He set a slow, rolling rhythm, his hips grinding deep, making you feel every inch.
“Not gonna stop,” he promised. “Not until you come for me again.”
His thumb found your clit, stroking in time with his thrusts.
“Tell me whose you are.”
“Yours,” you panted, voice breaking.
“Say it again.”
“Yours…yours…”
“That’s right,” he growled. “Always.”
When you came, it was sharp and bright, a rush of heat that made your vision go white.
But he didn’t let up. He flipped you over and pushed his thick cockhead into your abused pussy again.
The angle was deeper this time, and every stroke punched a ragged moan from your throat. Your cheek pressed to the pillow and your body was boneless as he fucked you.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice so tender it made your chest ache.
“Taking everything I give you.”
“Yes,” you whispered, your voice raw.
He leaned over you, his chest warm against your back, his hand curling around your throat.
“You’re mine,” he breathed.
“Yours.”
“Forever.”
When he came, it was with a groan torn from deep in his chest, his hips pressing tight to yours as he filled you again.
He stayed there, breathing hard, hand still around your throat, the other over your heart.
And you just let yourself feel it. His weight, his heat, his love.
—--
He was gentler after, easing out of you slowly and gathering you against his chest as he tucked the blanket up around your shoulders.
He didn’t say anything for a while. Just held you. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head against his chest.
“No.”
His hand smoothed over your hair.
“You sure?”
You looked up at him.
“I’m sure,” you whispered.
His jaw flexed, something unsteady in his eyes.
“You make me feel like…fuck. Like everything else is noise.”
Your heart fluttered.
“I love you,” you said simply.
His mouth curved, soft and a little sad in the way it always did when he didn’t have words.
“I love you too.”
“Best birthday I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice dropped.
“Not because of the sex. Because you let me have you today. All of you.”
You swallowed around the lump in your throat.
“I’m scared,” you admitted finally, voice small. “What if…?”
“Peach.”
He rolled you carefully onto your back, his gaze steady, so sure it made your chest ache.
“If it takes another six months… another year… ten years… I don’t care,” he said quietly.
“It’s you I want. Always you.”
Tears pricked behind your eyes.
“I know. And if it happens…”
He kissed you. “When it happens.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, collecting the single tear that escaped.
“You’re everything,” he whispered.
And you believed him.
—----
Two Weeks Later
You hadn’t planned to take the test today; you’d told yourself you’d wait.
But you’d woken up feeling different somehow.
And now here you were, sitting on the closed toilet lid in your robe, clutching the little white stick like it was a live wire.
You didn’t hear him come in, didn’t realize he was there until you felt his hand on your shoulder.
“Peach.”
His voice was so careful.
You looked up, and he was crouched in front of you, hair still rumpled from sleep, eyes searching yours.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, “talk to me.”
You tried to swallow.
“I....I can’t look.”
Something in his face broke, just a little, but his hand never left you.
“Okay,” he said, so calm, so steady. “I will.”
Your heart was a hurricane. He reached for the test and turned it over.
And he went very still.
You felt your breath catch, your whole body strung tight.
“Steve?”
He swallowed.
“It’s positive.”
The room spun.
“Don’t…” You shook your head, voice breaking.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
He looked up then, and you knew in your bones he wasn’t lying.
“It’s positive,” he whispered, voice cracking.
“Baby…it’s yes.”
You pressed a shaking hand over your mouth.
“Yes?”
He nodded, tears gathering in his eyes.
“Yes.”
Your vision blurred, a sob catching in your throat. And then you were in his arms, clinging to him like you were drowning. He held you so tight you could feel his heartbeat.
“You did it,” he murmured, voice hoarse against your hair. “We did it.”
You pulled back just enough to see his face, tears slipping freely down your cheeks.
“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice small.
“I know.” He kissed your wet cheek. "I am too."
You swallowed hard.
“But I want it,” you whispered. “I want this.”
His hand curved over your belly, thumb stroking the soft skin there.
“Say it,” he asked, voice low and rough. “One more time.”
You met his eyes, and even though you were trembling, you said it without hesitation.
Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach); Ari Levinson x Reader (Muse); Bucky Barnes x Frumoasa
A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes directly after the events in the Muse: Five and also some time after Show Off and the Bucky fic At Last. I'm trying to get Steve and Bucky caught up to the same point in time as Ari. It's been a minute for these two freaks, lol. Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve and Peach (they are warnings unto themselves, Beloved), possessive Steve, horny Steve, Chaotic Peach, public displays of ferality, dry humping in a stadium, Dom, yet slightly subby Steve, oral (f receiving), multiple uses of the term good boy, untouched orgasm, Steve makes a mess in his pants, oral (m receiving) woman on top, over stimulation, raw p in v, praise kink, soft talk about weddings and babies.
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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
-----
Steve passed you one of the beers the vendor handed him without looking, eyes already scanning the crowd like he felt something coming.
His old instincts were kicking in.
“Did Bucky say where the seats were?” you asked, slipping your arm through his.
“Just said first base side. Section 112 row one.”
You made it three steps into the row before Steve stopped short.
There was Ari Levinson.
Sitting halfway down with a beer already in hand, ball cap, tee shirt, posture deceptively casual, but there was tension in his shoulders.
And next to him was a beautiful woman.
Damn, she was fine.
And you recognized her.
She was in sunglasses and cutoff shorts and a top that was going to haunt a few men tonight. One devastating leg was crossed over the other, and her head was thrown back as she laughed at something Ari had just said.
Steve didn’t move.
You looked up at your husband and saw it hit him: not jealousy, but recognition.
That was the girl.
The one Bucky had said might just be it for Levinson. The one who walked into his life and somehow made him decent. And the way Ari was looking at her?
Yeah. She was it.
You bumped Steve’s hip.
“What’s that face?”
Steve didn’t answer. Just watched as Ari leaned in slightly to say something to her. Watched the way her mouth curved, slow and tentative, not giving him too much of her.
“She’s gonna ruin him,” you murmured, admiration threading through your voice.
“God, I have to meet her.”
You stepped forward before Steve could overthink it.
“C’mon,” you said, breezy as hell.
“Let’s go meet the girl who finally shut him up.”
You didn’t wait for permission. You didn’t need it. You made a beeline down the aisle and Steve followed, stoic and careful, but something tight flickered in his jaw.
—---
Steve’s arm was wrapped tight around your waist, like he needed the contact to breathe evenly. You were making him hot, sure, but he wasn’t totally focused on you or the game.
He was watching Ari out of the corner of his eye.
He didn’t trust him.
But Levinson wasn’t looking your way. His hand rested on Muse’s thigh, their heads tipped together, a whisper slipping between them.
Steve exhaled.
It had taken a model to distract Ari Levinson. Someone bold enough to match him. Smart enough to hold him. And beautiful enough to make him forget anyone else.
Not that Steve had ever truly worried.
If it came down to it, he would’ve broken Ari in half.
End of story.
But that wasn’t what this was. He didn’t want a fight.
He just wanted you.
And in the quiet relaxing of his shoulders, you felt it, his relief.
You reached up and kissed his jaw, the way you always did when you could feel his temper running hot beneath the surface.
A grounding touch. A reminder.
“I’m yours,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”
His eyes closed for a beat. Then he leaned in and kissed your temple.
“I know.”
You smiled, wicked and sweet.
“Good. ’Cause you in that hat and those jeans are making me wet, Mr. Rogers. There’s no other man for me here than you.”
Steve huffed a laugh, something primal flickering behind his eyes.
“Goddamn right.”
But you weren’t done with him.
—-
You’d been teasing Steve since the minute you sat down from talking to Muse. The scent of lust and love in the air had you feral.
It began with you leaning in to Steve a little closer than necessary. Then your fingers danced on his thigh, featherlight every time you reached for your drink.
You’d laughed louder when Muse said something sharp. And you’d reapplied your gloss in slow, hypnotic strokes that caught the stadium lights, and Steve couldn’t stop watching.
By the fourth, you were shifting just to watch him squirm. Uncrossing and recrossing your legs with deliberate grace, the hem of your tennis dress sliding up inch by inch until his brain short-circuited trying to follow it.
It wasn’t just the dress. Or your laugh, It was the way you looked at him, eyes all heat, lips parted, with your breath grazing his neck.
“Peach,” he breathed, barely audible.
“What?” you asked innocently, as your hand inched higher.
“You wanna start something in the middle of a baseball game?”
You grinned. “Who said I was starting it? You throwing caveman vibes has me about to get on my knees right here in the stands.”
His cock throbbed in his jeans.
He clenched his jaw, trying to breathe through the way your leg brushed his, the way your gloss gleamed under the lights.
He remembered that gloss smudged on his cock.
On his stomach.
His nipples.
You turned your head and licked your lips and Steve nearly came undone.
He leaned in like he was whispering something, but his mouth found your neck instead, lips dragging against the spot that always made you sigh. And you did, breath catching, thighs pressing together, heat blooming between your legs so fast it made your head spin.
Ari noticed. Eyes flicked to Steve’s hand and then to your mouth.
Muse caught it too.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
“They’re like this everywhere,” Ari muttered, resigned.
And you were. No shame.
By the fifth, you were in his lap.
Steve’s knuckles turned white where he gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm just enough to make you feel it. Make you remember.
The press of your ass against his jeans was enough to make him see stars, but he kept it slow and controlled.
Barely.
You were both pretending to watch the game. But you hadn’t seen a single play since the fourth inning.
You tilted your head, let your hair brush his cheek, let your teeth catch your lip just as you rocked against him again. Every movement shot fire through his spine.
He was one second from dragging you out of there.
“You gonna be good, Mr. Rogers?” you whispered.
He groaned, quietly desperate.
You barely made it to the end of the game.
—----
Steve was on you the second the door clicked shut. Not rough. Not frantic. Just pure wound up heat. He’d been white-knuckling his restraint the entire night.
He caged you against the hallway wall, lips crashing into yours, hot and claiming. You let him take for a moment, let his tongue slide deep, his teeth catch your bottom lip.
But then you flattened your hands to his chest and pushed him back.
“Strip,” you said softly.
Steve’s chest rose, then fell. He didn’t move fast enough. You tilted your head.
“You don’t get to fuck me tonight, Rogers.”
His cock twitched. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
“You’ve been misbehaving in public. Touching me like that at the game. Making Muse blush. Making Ari jealous.”
He exhaled a shaky breath against your throat.
“You loved it.”
“Oh, I loved it,” you whispered.
“But that doesn’t mean you get to cum easily.”
“I just want to worship my wife, Peach.”
You drew back enough to meet his eyes, molten blue.
“Worship?” you repeated.
“You sure about that, Mr. Rogers?”
He nodded.
“Every time. Every inch of you.”
You smiled slowly.
“Good. Then get on your knees.”
The words hit him like a bullet. You felt it in the shift of his breath, the twitch of his fingers, and the brief falter in his composure before he dropped.
Just like that.
To his knees.
At the foot of the bed, in front of you. Looking up like he knew exactly who was in charge.
All Steve needed was to belong to you.
You let your tennis dress fall in one smooth motion, the soft fabric pooling at your feet and his eyes devoured you. You stepped closer. Close enough that your thighs framed his face, close enough that your fingers tangled in that perfect hair and tugged until he met your gaze.
“Then worship.”
And he did.
He kissed the inside of your thigh, then higher, his tongue dragging along your skin, tasting salt and heat. His hands greedily grabbed your ass, pulling you closer.
“Perfect,” he rasped.
“You’re so fucking perfect. My good girl.”
You guided him where you needed him, your cunt already slick, already aching. He opened his mouth like he was made for this, tongue flicking and curling deep into your wet heat.
Your gasp punched the air and your knees nearly buckled.
“That’s it,” you whispered, pressing his face tighter to you.
“You want to be good? Make me fall apart.”
He moaned against your cunt and doubled down, ams tight around your thighs, tongue circling and dipping, his mouth wet and unrelenting.
You rolled your hips into his mouth and you were so wet and perfect on his tongue, so fucking powerful above him, that Steve had to try to focus.
He just needed to stay grounded and to make you cum.
That was his only job.
His only purpose.
You’d told him to worship. And he meant to do it.
And every second you moaned, every time your fingers tugged his hair tighter, every time your thighs clenched around his head, he felt himself slipping.
And then you said it.
“Good boy.”
God, your voice. Your praise.
It made him feel split open. Like everything inside him was raw and soft and trembling.
He hadn’t even touched himself.
He didn’t need to.
The words wrapped around his spine like a fist and something cracked open inside him. His pulse surged. His hands gripped tighter, and his hips twitched helplessly in mid air.
He tried to breathe through it. Tried to fight the heat crawling up his spine. He clenched his jaw and buried his face deeper between your thighs like he could outrun it.
But he couldn’t.
Not from the way you smelled.
Not from the way you tasted.
Not from the way you owned him with nothing but your voice.
You said it again. “Good boy.”
And Steve Rogers came in his fucking jeans.
He choked down a moan against your pussy as his cock throbbed and he came, hard, in his pants like a virgin who couldn’t hold it.
No friction. No hands.
Just the heat of you.
The sound of you.
The unbearable beauty of submission.
Heat flooded his jeans.
His hips bucked once, involuntarily, but he kept licking you through it because he didn’t want to stop.
Because he didn’t want to miss the sound of you gasping.
Because he hadn’t made you cum yet.
Because he was yours.
“Being in love with a beautiful woman is hell on your ego.”
Steve had said it to Levinson, smug and knowing. But now with his face soaked, his thighs shaking, and his cock still twitching in his wet jeans, he felt it in his soul.
You were beautiful and devastating and so far out of reach, even when you were right on top of him.
And somehow, still, you were his.
And when he looked up at you, he was hard again before his heart even slowed.
—----
You knew when it happened.
You felt it his whole body tense, the soft, stifled moan against your cunt, the way his body twitched. His shoulders shook. His face was wrecked.
And then you realized it.
“Steve…” you murmured, and tipped his chin up. His lips glistened. His eyes were dazed.
“Did you just come?” you asked.
He swallowed hard.
“Yeah,” he said, barely audible.
“I...I couldn’t help it. You said…”
“‘Good boy,’” you finished for him.
“You came in your jeans from eating me out.”
His face flushed with embarrassment. But you weren’t done.
You kissed him hard, tasting yourself on his lips.
“That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
He still looked stunned.
“I need to make you come again…”
“You will,” you promised.
“On your back.”
You stripped him slowly, jeans damp and clinging to his thighs. He looked wrecked and gorgeous.
He was yours.
When he laid back, cock twitching with the beginnings of another erection, you ran your mouth down his chest, licking the evidence off his skin and dragged your tongue up the length of his cock.
He shouted your name.
You straddled him, slick still smeared on your thighs. You teased the head of his cock along your folds, watching his throat work.
“No hands,” you said. “You made a mess in your pants for me, now you’re going to lie there and take it.”
He whimpered.
Steve Rogers, ruthless former crime boss, at your mercy.
You took his hard huge cock in your hand, tutting at his oversensitivity, and sank down on him slowly, until you were seated all the way, hips flush to his.
His beautiful neck tipped back with a guttural groan as you fluttered around him.
“You’re already hard again?” you teased, grinding once.
“God, Stevie. One taste of me and you lose your fucking mind.”
His whole body arched.
“Please, Peach…”
You rocked slowly, just enough friction to make him twitch, but not enough to let him finish.
“You gonna come again for me, Baby?” you purred.
He shook his head, trembling.
“Can’t,” he whispered. “Not yet. Too much.”
You leaned in closer, nose brushing his, your breath hot against his cheek.
And then you whispered it again: “Good boy.”
That was it. His hands clenched at his sides, white-knuckled on the rug.
His body arched beneath you, every muscle locking as he came again, this time inside you, this time so raw and needy he didn’t make a sound, just a long, broken gasp as he flooded you.
You didn’t stop. You rocked through it, holding his shoulders down, making him feel it, making him sob through the overstimulation.
When his body finally went limp beneath yours, when his eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed, you leaned down and kissed his jaw.
“I love you like this,” you whispered. “All messy and feral. And all mine.”
His arms finally came up to wrap around you, trembling but tight. You curled up on his chest, both of you panting, wrecked, and soaked with each other.
He laughed, exhausted and wrecked for you.
“I think you’re gonna kill me,” he said.
You smiled.
“Not yet.”
—-
You woke up sticky, flushed, and still a little drunk on power.
Steve was sprawled on his back beside you, mouth slightly open, one arm flung across his eyes. You ran your fingers lazily along his chest, tracing the light scratch marks you'd left the night before. He stirred under your touch, groaning low in his throat.
“You alive?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.
“Barely,” he rasped. “Pretty sure you broke me.”
You smiled, slow and smug. “You begged me to.”
He turned his head toward you, blinking through the haze. His hair was a mess, cheeks still rosy, and his lips were a little swollen.
“I still can’t feel my legs.”
You kissed his shoulder.
“You don’t need them for what I have planned later.”
He laughed easy. The kind of laugh that belonged to a man completely undone and completely in love.
You stretched slowly and settled against his chest, resting your chin just below his collarbone. His hand slid into your hair, absent-mindedly stroking as the silence shifted, warmer now.
“You saw the screenshot of the ultrasound Bucky sent?” you asked, your voice bright with excitement. “And the bump pic?”
Steve hummed, a little stunned at your smile.
“Yeah. She’s starting to show.”
“She looks so good,” you murmured. “She’s glowing!”
“Bucky’s still in shock,” Steve replied.
“He texted me right after they found out the sex. Said, ‘Am I allowed to cry at a gender reveal or is that soft?’”
You snorted.
“That is soft. But we love him.”
Steve laughed under his breath.
“Yes. Even if he still pretends I didn’t catch him crying at the wedding.”
You both went quiet for a second, remembering.
The island had been glowing that night. Pale stone altar, sunset in the background, string quartet playing something romantic and slow. You and Steve had danced barefoot in the sand. It was perfect and your cousin was so happy.
“God,” you whispered. “That wedding.”
Steve shifted to see you better.
“You thinking about it? Want one?”
He asked it carefully. You could hear the tension underneath, like he was afraid you’d say yes, that you regretted what the two of you had done. It had been just you and him, a quick elopement before the holidays.
A stolen moment of peace in a city where nothing stayed quiet for long.
You shook your head.
“Not that. Ours was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
He relaxed slightly.
You trailed your fingers down his chest, your touch softer now.
“I meant… how ready they looked. Ahhhh! The picture with their hands on her little belly. The way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching.”
You hesitated, then added, quieter, “It was more than just being married. It was making a life.”
Steve didn’t say anything. Just kept watching you.
“I want that,” you said.
“Eventually. I really do. But not yet.”
He nodded once, slowly.
“I want to learn you,” you said.
“Before everything changes. Before there’s diapers and bottles and spit-up on your ties. Before I’m someone’s mother. I want to just be yours first.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, lingering.
“You already are.”
You kissed his palm.
“I mean really be yours. Without rushing. Without timelines or countdowns or expectations.”
“I don’t want to rush it either,” he said.
“I like waking up with you like this. Just us.”
“Me too.”
He dipped his head and kissed the corner of your mouth.
“We’ve got time. And you’re going to be the most terrifying, beautiful mother anyone’s ever seen. But right now?”
His fingers slid to your hip.
“I want you selfishly.”
“Greedy,” you teased, tugging his hand back to your waist.
“Absolutely.”
You curled into him, the conversation folding gently between your bodies.
No pressure.
Just heat and love and the sense that you had time.
FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!
i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛
Call Me Captain When I…| Mood | Captain. My Captain
Summary: Steve promises you something for later.
Word Count: 2.6 K
Pairing: CATWS era Captain Steve Rogers x SHEILD Reader; Sam Wilson x Steve and Reader (Platonic)
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Not Beta’d. Read at your own risk. S MUT! CATWS Steve, Dom Steve, Captain and Sir kink, Brat reader, teasing, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, Sam is horrified, dirty talk, reference to safe word, consentual filming of sex acts, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, rough sex, oral (female receiving) references to m receiving, rough sex, bruising, squirting, raw p in v, aftercare.
A/N: This can be seen as adjacent to the Captain Steve fics that start with Call Me Captain When I..., but can be read as a stand alone. It's you know who's bday today, so I'm having a moment. Block me if you don't like it. Otherwise, let me know if you do.
I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
NOTICE: I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
----
It was a weekend morning in your quarters and you woke up with your muscles deliciously sore and Steve’s arm draped heavy over your waist like an anchor. He hadn’t moved much all night, just held you close, his big hand resting over the curve of your hip, proprietary even in sleep.
Last night had been another marathon of expression, and you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you snuggled deeper into Captain Steve Rogers' chest.
When your alarm finally buzzed, he groaned, pressing his face into your shoulder.
“No.”
You smiled, turning just enough to brush your lips against his hair.
“Brunch, remember? Sam’s expecting us.”
A beat of silence.
Then his grumbled reply, “Sam can expect disappointment.”
You shifted, stretching, the motion pressing your bare skin to his.
Always enough to get his attention.
His hand slid up your ribs, thumb brushing over the mark he’d left on your breast hours before. You felt him smile against your skin.
“Don’t tempt me, sweetheart. Not if you actually want to walk into that diner under your own power.”
You huffed a laugh and finally peeled yourself away, dressing at a leisurely pace under his watchful eye. He didn’t rush you. Just watched. Like he was still filing every detail away for later.
—--
When you and Steve finally strolled into the little diner Sam had picked, the smugness waiting for you was practically a wall. You’d thrown on a light sundress, easy and casual, a big change from your every day uniform. You’d pulled Steve’s hoodie over it before leaving the apartment, and from the barely concealed grin stretching across Sam’s face, it wasn’t exactly a subtle choice.
“Took you long enough,” Sam teased, leaning back against the worn leather bench, arms crossed. His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp.
Steve slid in beside you, settling a warm, steady hand over your thigh under the table.
“Traffic,” he said smoothly.
Sam raised his eyebrow.
“Uh-huh. You two look like you’ve been through traffic. Or a category five hurricane.”
Your cheeks flushed, but Steve only gave that slow, lazy half-smirk, the one that said he knew exactly what Sam meant, and didn’t give a damn.
You ordered coffee and tried to behave, but the ache still pulsed low and deep, the memory of Steve’s voice on repeat in your head.
Say it again.
Sir.
Again. Louder.
“So,” Sam piped up after a while, glancing between you and Steve with barely disguised amusement.
“Captain Rogers taking well to his... continuing education?”
You almost choked on your coffee. Steve cleared his throat, a low, sharp warning.
“Very well, actually,” you replied sweetly, glancing up at Steve through your lashes.
“Sometimes we get deep... into discussions.”
Sam leaned forward, entirely too pleased.
“Oh, knowing Steve, he’s relentless about driving his point home.”
Steve’s mouth twitched, but his voice stayed calm.
“You have no idea.”
Brunch meandered along, easy and warm, with Sam doing most of the talking as usual while Steve chimed in here and there, all charm and dry wit. You basked in the rhythm of it, the weight of Steve’s hand on your thigh, the occasional brush of his fingers a quiet, possessive reminder.
You sat back in your sundress, legs crossed under the table, toe occasionally nudging his calf, watching Sam and Steve bicker their way through a story about Bucky nearly getting himself arrested over a parking dispute.
You waited until Sam paused, mid-sentence, laughing about something dumb Bucky did on patrol, and then you leaned close to Steve, your voice soft, syrupy-sweet.
“Would you pass me the salt, Sir?”
The reaction was instant.
You saw the sharp flicker in Steve’s jaw, the curl of his fingers around his coffee cup. Sam froze mid-sip, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.
Steve passed the salt, his voice cutting and clipped.
“Here.”
You batted your lashes and accepted the shaker like nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Thank you, Sir.”
Sam choked on his juice and you three fell silent, the air suddenly thick with realization.
Steve set his cup down slowly, his hand sliding under the table again, fingers finding your thigh and squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch.
Sam’s eyes flicked downward, then back up, wide with dawning understanding. Then he rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head.
“Yep. That’s exactly what I thought. Jesus Christ.”
Steve didn’t even blink, still watching you.
“Excuse us,” he said, his voice smooth and final. “We’ll be back in five.”
Sam raised both hands in surrender.
“Don’t explain. I don’t wanna know.”
—--
Steve’s hand stayed locked around yours as he led you out the back door of the diner. The second it swung shut behind you, he had you pressed against the brick wall, breath stolen by the force of his kiss.
“You think you’re cute,” he murmured against your lips, his hands already mapping familiar territory, sliding beneath your dress.
“You think I’m cute, Steven. Said so yourself last night when I was on my knees…”
Your didn’t voice waver with the way his fingers were teasing the sensitive skin of your thigh, nor with the wicked promise in his eyes.
“Cute was not the word, Sweetheart. And you’ve got some nerve,” he whispered, voice dark and honey-smooth.
“Saying it like that, in front of him. You wanted me to lose it, didn’t you?”
Your only reply was a shiver and the soft, broken sound his mouth swallowed as his his large hands lifted you up.
It wasn’t gentle. And it wasn’t meant to be. It was the kind of punishment you’d goaded him into all morning without saying a word. He entered you quickly, stretched you with no prep for his huge cock, and had you pinned to the bricks, thrusting rough and fast until he spilled inside you with a low, guttural grunt, uncaring of your release.
When he was finished, when you sagged against the brick, dazed and breathless, he straightened your dress for you like a gentleman.
Except for the glint in his eyes.
“Now you’ll sit pretty through the rest of brunch,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth.
“And you’ll behave. And maybe, just maybe. I’ll let you cum later.”
You tried to answer. Your knees nearly buckled instead.
You didn’t finish, but you got what you wanted.
Steve lost control for you.
You walked back into the restaurant a little too slowly, legs not quite cooperating, the glow on your cheeks unmistakable, and it wasn’t from the sun. Steve trailed behind you, relaxed, sleeves rolled up, cool as a cucumber. He sat down like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t just fucked you against a wall.
You tried to smooth your dress. Failed. Tried to sit like normal. Failed harder.
The wince gave you away.
Sam kept his eyes locked on the menu, lips pressed into a thin, grim line. You reached for your water, hands still trembling faintly, downing half the glass in one go. Steve sipped his coffee, unbothered, then glanced your way.
“You good, sweetheart?”
Sam choked on his juice. Again.
You flushed, but your voice was sweet and perfectly polite.
“Yes, Sir.”
Sam slammed his menu shut.
“Nope. I’m out. I fought aliens for this? Bucky when he was a crazed super soldier assassin. But somehow this brunch is still the most traumatizing thing I’ve ever lived through.”
You bit your lip, trying not to smile. Sam pointed directly at you.
“You. Don’t even pretend you’re innocent. You limped back in here like you got benched mid-mission.”
Steve, for once, actually choked on his coffee.
You ducked your head, whispering just loud enough for them to hear: “You should’ve seen what he did last night.”
Sam groaned and threw his napkin on the table.
“I need new friends.”
“You love us,” Steve said easily, his arm sliding along the back of your chair, fingers toying lazily with the strap on your dress.
“I do not,” Sam shot back, already getting up.
“I’m going to sit at the bar. Text me when you’re done being freaks.”
You leaned against Steve’s side, smug and breathless.
“That was fun.”
Steve’s gaze dropped to you, soft but hungry.
“You’re not off the hook, sweetheart.”
“I didn’t think I was.”
He kissed your temple.
“Good. As long as we understand. Make sure you remember your safe words.”
—--
You were already soaked when he told you to get on the bed.
The second the tripod clicked into place and the camera’s red light blinked on, your heart kicked up a notch.
Steve didn’t speak. Just sat in the chair across from you, fully clothed, legs spread, those thighs on display, blue eyes looking to the bottom of your soul.
“Look at yourself,” he said finally, voice deep and calm.
You turned toward the mirror and saw it: the flush blooming across your chest, the gleam of slick glistening between your thighs, and the wide, glassy look in your own eyes.
“You’ve been waiting all day to cum, haven’t you?”
You nodded, voice already caught in your throat.
“Yes, Sir.”
Steve smiled devilishly.
“Then let’s make up for lost time.”
—---
The first orgasm came fast. Too fast.
His fingers were inside you before your knees even stopped shaking from the command to spread them. Two strokes. Three. Your back arched, your hips jerked, and he was right there, voice low and steady as your body crumbled.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl. Needed that, didn’t you?”
You were still trembling when he didn’t stop. His mouth replaced his fingers, tongue circling your clit while two fingers worked deep and sure, stroking that spot that had you seeing stars.
The second orgasm broke through the remnants of the first, sharp and blinding. You cried out, hands scrabbling at the sheets. It was sharper this time, tighter, like your nerves couldn’t keep up.
“Steve…fuck!”
He didn’t say a word. Just kept licking, relentless and patient.
The third took you apart. Your vision went white and you tried to twist away, legs trembling violently, but he caught your hips like you were made of tissue paper and dragged you back down to the edge of the bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I…I can’t….”
“Yes, you can.”
You were already shaking, your body too sensitive, every nerve exposed and electric. He filled you to the hilt and didn’t give you time to adjust.
“You wanted to come,” he said, voice thick, breath hot on your neck. “Now take it.”
He fucked you slow at first, then harder. Deeper.
You came again. And again. Four. Five. Six. You lost count somewhere between sobbing his name and biting down on his hand to keep from screaming.
The mirror was brutal. It showed you everything: the shake in your thighs, the drool on your chin, the way your eyes rolled back. You didn’t recognize the woman in the reflection, wrecked and ruined and still begging for more.
The camera kept rolling.
“You’re so fucking pretty when you break,” Steve gritted out, one hand anchoring your hip, the other sliding between your legs again. “Show me one more.”
You shook your head wildly.
“I can’t…I’m gonna…”
“Yes. Yes you are.”
He pounded into you faster, thumb rubbing that overstimulated bundle of nerves in evil little circles that threatened to drive you insane.
Your body gave up, gave into the violent, full-body detonation. Your vision blurred. Your voice cracked. You went boneless, collapsed onto the mattress in a wet, twitching mess.
And still, he kept going.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, slowing down, riding it out with you.
“That’s how you cum for me.”
You were sobbing into the sheets, overwhelmed, ruined, and completely wrecked.
He kissed your shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You did so fucking good.”
You didn’t even realize you were still on camera. And you didn’t care.
You just let him gather you into his arms and hold as your body trembled against him as you watched his hand slide down your belly again in the mirror.
You were spent.
Your body twitched with the aftershocks of too many orgasms stacked too close together. You didn’t know which one had made you cry. The fourth? The sixth?
You didn’t know how long it had been since brunch.
Since he’d denied you.
Since he’d promised you later.
This was later.
Steve was between your thighs, mouth slick and possessive.
You could barely breathe, but he still asked, “Think you’ve got one more in you, sweetheart?”
Your eyes flicked to the mirror.
At the blinking red light.
At the wrecked, and yes, beautiful, woman staring back at you.
At the camera with its steady red light blinking in the corner, still rolling, capturing every second of this.
You opened your mouth, and your voice cracked.
“Yes, Sir.”
He groaned.
“Good fucking girl.”
And then he went back down.
His mouth was everywhere. His tongue circled your clit, then pressed flat against it, slow and hard. Your hips bucked, but he just held you down tighter.
The overstimulation rolled in hard and sharp, blinding you.
You tried to close your legs, but you couldn’t. His forearms pressed them open; you just knew there would be bruises tomorrow.
You were floating on feeling.
“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice low and ragged. “Give it to me, baby. Let go.”
You sobbed, body curling, every nerve screaming.
And then he found it.
That perfect pressure, that rhythm that pushed you beyond pleasure into something raw, overwhelming, and uncontrolled.
You gasped.
“Steve! Oh my God…I’m…”
“I know.” His tongue flicked harder. Faster. “Let go for me. I want all of it.”
You shattered. Your back arched, your thighs clenched around his head, and then…you released.
A sob tore out of your throat as your body convulsed, a sudden gush soaking his mouth, his fingers, and the sheets.
You screamed. You couldn’t stop and you couldn’t think.
Steve moaned into your cunt like he’d been blessed.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s my girl. Fuck, look at you…”
You squirted again, shorter and sharper this time, your body pulsing around nothing, too empty, too full, too much. Your thighs shook violently as another wave hit you, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop praising.
You could only cry.
He licked you through it. Praised you through it. Held you through the fall.
You didn’t even register when it stopped, just felt the cool air on your skin, the hot press of his chest as he gathered you up and whispered softly, “Shhhh, baby. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
—----
The world came back in pieces.
Steve carried you to the bathroom, gentle with you, quietly murmuring to you the whole time. He ran the water warm, checked the temp three times, then climbed in first and pulled you onto his lap like you were fragile.
You felt boneless, floating.
His arms wrapped around you, lips pressed against your temple. He rocked you in the water and whispered things only meant for you.
“You did so good for me.”
“I love you so much.”
“You gave me everything.”
“I’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful.”
His hands smoothed over your thighs. Down your back. Up your arms. He washed you carefully. Between your legs, he was even gentler with soft strokes and apologies in every touch.
When your breathing evened out, he held up a bottle of water.
You blinked at him, dazed.
“Small sips,” he said, helping you drink. “I need you to stay hydrated, sweetheart. You lost your whole mind for me.”
You smiled, dazed, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
“I’d do it again.”
He laughed, rich and wrecked.
“Don’t tempt me,” he whispered. “You say that again, and I’m starting the camera back up.”
Summary: This is the one. The one where decisions are made. Words are said. The end or the beginning of you and Ari.
Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader
Word count: 3 K
A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 . This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. If this drabble makes you angry, let me know! I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Angst. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, Dominant Ari, Missed connections, yearning, the green eyed monster, late night confessions, oral (f recieving), fingering, hint of breeding kink, size kink, nipple obsession, nipple play, protected sex, the 'L' word (finally).
I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
--------
Two days later, you were shooting inside one of the most beautiful spaces you’d ever worked in. It was a gallery so beautiful it felt dangerous ot breathe. A curated reverence hung in the air, the kind that made you instinctively speak softer and move slower.
But you were on edge, because you hadn’t known the shoot would be here.
No one had said Red Sea Gallery. The one owned by Ari Levinson. Just: White walls, natural light. Tribeca-adjacent. Minimal set.
When you put the address your agent sent you into your maps app and the name popped up, you were gobsmacked. You tried to prepare yourself in the two hours notice you had before the shoot, but you weren’t.
There were the standard issue floor-to-ceiling windows, along with the scent of clean wood, old paint, and history. What was unexpected was the way the afternoon light struck a sculpture in the corner, a piece too raw to be just decoration or inventory.
It was too intimate not to notice.
You stared at it, knowing that he had chosen it, and how much more you understood about Ari because of it. There was something about the shape of the metal, the tension in the curve, the heat in the cold material. It was alive somehow.
It was you come undone.
Your stylist, Misty, snapped her fingers.
“Hey. Earth to supermodel. Time to get into look number three.”
You nodded, throat dry. “Right. Sorry.”
But as you changed in the makeshift dressing area, pulling silk up over your hips, you couldn’t stop staring at the sculpture.
Couldn’t stop feeling him.
Ari had studied your face in the dark, and he’d whispered, “You don’t even know what you do to me.”
Yeah. Well, you fucking knew now.
You posed for the camera like everything was fine. Hip cocked, chin high, face set to neutral.
But inside, everything churned.
And then, you saw a flicker out of the corner of your eye. You turned your head just in time to catch a shadow slipping past the far end of the gallery. The figure was tall and broad with a confident stride.
Ari.
You didn’t need to see his face.
Your heart rate spiked, your skin prickled, and your body betrayed you all over again. But by the time you crossed the floor barefoot and barely covered, the hallway was empty.
He was gone, just a ghost of cologne in the air.
The photographer called your name.
You turned back slowly, with one last glance at the metal sculpture, gazing at the raw emotion rendered in steel.
You hadn’t spoken to Ari in days.
He hadn’t texted. You hadn’t called.
And still, the city kept folding you into each other’s orbits.
Near.
But not enough.
—----
Ari hadn’t meant to stay, it was going to just be a fifteen-minute walkthrough before tomorrow’s showing, nothing more. But the moment he heard the shutter snap and then heard your laugh, Ari stopped breathing.
He knew that you were here in his gallery and in his world. That world tilted a little bit.
His adrenaline spiked as he ducked into the shadows between exhibits, watching you from there. You were barefoot, bare-shouldered and bathed in golden light, wearing a gown that clung to your body like a second skin.
You were fucking good at your job, and Ari was witnessing first hand the work that went into producing those gorgeous pictures. You were professional and poised, but he knew the passion that lay underneath.
Ari’s fingers became fists at his sides because he had touched that fire, he’d tasted it. And now, all he could do was watch as he starved for you, every nerve stretched thin, every breath hard to take.
It had been days, not weeks or months, but he felt too long deprived of the sight of you. Even though he’d decided not to contact you again after that night that felt like war.
You turned slightly, your hips angled, one hand at your waist, and the light hit you just right. Like you’d been lit by God himself.
Those lips. That jaw. That hourglass silhouette that curved into him like a puzzle piece, you were amazing.
His hands had memorized every inch of that body, but at the moment he couldn’t move to touch you, couldn’t speak to you, couldn’t even fucking blink your image out of his brain.
The photographer said something about “more edge,” and you smirked, dropping your chin just enough to make mischief with your gaze.
It wasn’t meant for Ari. But fuck, he felt it.
Ari stayed in the shadows just long enough to carve your image into his bloodstream.
Then he turned and left, silently bleeding for you.
—--
You weren’t trying to be on your phone, but it buzzed three drinks deep at some rooftop party, where the music was loud and the faces were blurred by flash and too much champagne.
The second your screen lit up, you sensed it.
A DM. Then another. You tapped through. And there he was.
Ari Levinson. Black sweater. Cocky smile. Calm, cool, and collected.
A woman with mile-long legs and too much lip gloss draped herself over him, laughing into his shoulder in the boomerang video.
Made so you could watch it over and over again.
Ari didn’t touch her; he barely looked at her. But he didn’t move away either.
And that was enough.
You locked your phone, shoved it under your thigh, forcing your lips into a smile when your friend slid another drink your way.
“You good?”
You lied. “Peachy.”
It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t own him. You didn’t even call him yours.
But all you could see was him, the man who once kissed you so hard you forgot your own name.
The man who made you feel.
And now he was somewhere else and you were losing your mind in an Uber home, crafting and deleting half a dozen texts you’d never send.
you looked good tonight
Delete.
was she worth it?
Delete.
i can't stop thinking about your mouth
Delete. Delete. Delete.
—--
Ari left that rooftop party ten minutes after that girl posted him.
He didn’t even say goodbye because he hadn’t wanted to be there. He hadn’t wanted anyone but you. And when he saw your name light up his notifications, saw that you’d watched, well shit, it made him feel sick.
Because he knew what you’d think, and it wasn’t the truth. The truth was you were already under his skin; you were already it for him.
He didn't know why that was so important to him, but it was.
You were.
—-
The knock came at 1:42 a.m.
You were scared, because you knew it was someone who could hurt you.
You knew it was Ari.
You padded barefoot to the door, one hand trembling against the wood as you peeked through the peephole. Ari was there in a Tribeca Festival hoodie, his hands deep in his pockets and his jaw tight.
You opened the door and didn’t say a word. Neither did he. For a moment, the city noise poured in behind him and then you stepped back.
He walked in like he was home. And you let him.
—--
You didn’t speak.
Just closed the door behind him and walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t shown up at nearly two am with that whole brooding/penitent thing going on.
You opened the fridge, poured a glass of water and sipped. You should have been an actress.
Ari stayed where he was, near the door, hoodie pushed back, hands in his pockets, eyes never leaving you.
You didn’t spare him a glance.
“Thought you were busy tonight,” you said evenly.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I was,” he said finally.
You set the glass down, still not looking at him.
“Saw the party,” you added. “Looked like fun.”
Nothing in your tone gave you away. Not the way your chest was tight, not the sting behind your eyes, not the taste of jealousy in your mouth.
"Didn’t stay long," he said finally.
The laugh that escaped you was bitter and broken.
"Long enough."
You turned, and there he was, suddenly in front of you, so close you could feel his heat.
"You were watching," he said quietly.
You glared up at him.
"Is that why you’re here? Because I saw?"
"I’m here because the second I saw your name on that story, I felt like I couldn’t fucking breathe."
You stared at him and saw that he wasn’t untouched. He wasn’t fine. He was fucking wrecked.
"You think you know what I’m feeling?" you said, voice cracking.
"I know exactly what you’re feeling," he said, fierce and low.
"Because it’s the same thing I’m feeling."
The words landed because they were true. Because he was the one person who saw through all your practiced detachment and soft cruelty. Even after so little time.
It was lightning in the bottle, finding the one who looked at you, read your bullshit and still wanted more. On a dating app no less.
Fuck your life.
You walked past him toward the couch, brushing too close on purpose.
“You think you know me,” you said, sitting down and crossing your legs slowly.
“But I don’t own you Ari. You're free to do what you want. And she looked like a good time.”
You shrugged.
“You showing up somewhere with her is none of my business.”
Ari bristled.
“I didn’t show up with her. I went alone. I left alone.”
You blinked as he crouched in front of you, his hands on the edge of the cushion, one knee brushing your thigh.
“And I’m here now. With you. Because all I could think about was you sitting here, alone. Wondering what it meant. Wondering if I was fucking her. Wondering if I’d moved on.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He reached up, thumb brushing your jaw.
“I haven’t. I can’t. You’re in my fucking bloodstream," Ari said.
"And I can’t rip you out."
He bent and pressed his forehead to your knee and just breathed.
Your fingers hovered above his head for one breath. Then two. And then you gave in. They slid into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and his whole body tensed, like he hadn’t expected you to touch him, like he was braced for a shove instead of tenderness.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when your hand tightened, just slightly, he looked up.
Those eyes. God, those eyes. Those eyes gutted you the way they looked at you like you were the one who might disappear if he blinked.
You leaned in just enough to make him meet you halfway. And when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t greedy.
It was devastating. You couldn't pretend any more.
You broke the kiss only to whisper, “I hated seeing you with her.”
His head dropped, breath ragged against your knee.
“I didn’t touch her,” he rasped. “I haven’t touched anyone.”
You tilted his chin up. “Why?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Because I can’t get you out of my fucking head. When I look, I can’t see anyone else but you. I don't want anyone else."
That was when you lost it. The dam broke. You grabbed his hair, dragging his mouth to yours.
The kiss wasn't sweet. It was needy. It was desperate. Your teeth, hands, and mouths were ferocious, and still, it wasn’t enough; it would never be enough.
"Tell me you hate me," he whispered against your mouth.
You kissed him harder.
"Tell me you don’t feel this."
You gasped, "I can’t."
You kissed him again.
"I don’t want to feel anything.”
“I know.”
“And I still fucking do.”
“I know that too.”
Ari groaned against your lips, the sound low and primal, and it shot straight through you. His hand found the hem of your tank top and found the warm skin underneath.
You shuddered and gripped the front of his hoodie, yanking him closer and when the kiss broke and you gasped for air, he pressed his forehead to yours.
"You are so fucking stubborn," he whispered.
"I know," you rasped.
His hand slid up your ribcage and weighed your breast, thumb tracing your areola.
"Still want you," he said. "Even when it hurts."
He pinched your nipple to emphasize his point. You grabbed his jaw, palm dragging over his beard.
"Show me," you whispered.
Ari groaned and peeled your top over your head with shaking hands, tossing it somewhere neither of you cared about. You stripped his hoodie and t-shirt off too, tugging him closer by his broad shoulders, breathing him in, burying your face in his throat for one dizzying second.
Ari turned and sat on the couch, lifting you onto his lap. Your knees sunk into the cushions on beside his thighs and your bodies crashed together. He kissed down your throat, stopping at your pounding pulse to bite down gently. And when you felt the huge ridge of his cock through his jeans, you moaned helplessly.
"You drive me insane," he whispered into your skin.
“Can’t fucking breathe without thinking about you."
You whimpered and arched into his touch while his thumbs circled your nipples until you were gasping in his lap.
"Ari," you moaned.
He kissed every inch of you he could reach.
"I’m here," he said. "I’m right here."
He carried you up to your bedroom, and the way he looked at you when he laid you on your bed made your heart ache. When he slid your panties down your legs, he kissed the inside of your ankle, then your calf, your knee, working his way up your body like he had all the time in the world.
You tangled your fingers in his hair and whimpered when he kissed between your thighs.
"Need to taste you," Ari stated. And then he did.
His tongue licked into you as his hands pinned your hips down when you tried to buck them up into his face, feeling like a desperate slut for him. Ari was an expert at making you feel good; his tongue was perfect on your clit and licking inside your folds, and his fingers fucked you open, lighting you up from the inside out, over and over, until you were a trembling, trembling, moaning mess under him.
You came hard, gasping his name, nails clawing at the sheets, and he didn’t stop tasting you until you came down. Then, he kissed up your body, planting open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, your ribs, and your throat.
At this point you were beyond feral, and you yanked at his jeans, needing more, needing him. He stripped them off, pushed his boxers down, and there he was, thick, hard, beautiful, aching, and dripping for you.
"Condom," you panted.
"Fuck…. Okay, yeah."
He scrambled for his jeans, hands shaking, and you couldn’t help but smile; wild and wrecked looked good on him. He rolled it on, kissed you again and then he guided the broad tip of his cock to your snug, slippery entrance and eased inside you.
You both gasped. He was so fucking big. Ari destroyed you so good.
It wasn’t just physical. It was everything. All the denial. All the want. All the feelings. It all combined to have your cunt slowly pulsing around him already.
Once fully inside you, he stayed still, forehead pressed to yours, giving you, and himself, time.
"You good?" he whispered, his voice wavering as your cunt pulsed around him. He was so close already.
It had never been like this.
The question was strange. He'd never cared this much while he was fucking you. But this time, it wasn’t just fucking.
You nodded, eyes burning.
"Move," you said.
And he rocked into you slowly at first, like he was savoring every second. You clung to him, nails dragging down his back, thighs tightening around his waist, making involuntary whimpers and ragged gasps.
His fingers glided over your clit and the pleasure exploded in a rich, crazy rush.
"Ari," you sobbed.
"I know, Baby," he panted against your neck. "I know. Feels so damn good."
He kissed your jaw, your temple, and your mouth like he couldn’t get enough. You rode his thick cock as his fingers spun your climax higher and higher as you tipped over the precipice again, crying out, your cunt locking down around him.
He groaned and thrust harder, losing control. It was the quickest he would ever come with you.
"Can’t…fuck…can't hold on..." he gasped.
You grabbed his face, made him look at you.
"Come inside me," you whispered. "Please."
This wasn't about the condom. It was the sentiment.
Ari's brain blanked, his whole body shuddered, and he buried his face against your throat and let go, hips jerking, mouth open in a silent cry.
You held him through it. And when it was over, he didn’t move. Just stayed pressed against you, still inside you, breathing hard.
"Don’t leave," you whispered into his hair.
He made a broken sound, half a laugh, half a sob.
"I’m not going anywhere, Muse." he said.
"Not anymore."
—---
You woke tangled in Ari, your cheek pressed to his bare chest, his arm heavy across your waist, his breath steady against your hair. For a second, you just laid there, afraid to move. But then, his fingers moved up and down the curve of your spine.
You swallowed hard and shifted slightly, feeling him stir against you, realizing that he was hard again.
God, you were wrecked for him. Beyond reason. And beyond pride.
You tilted your head back to look at him, and saw that he was already awake, watching you. You opened your mouth to say something, something stupid. Something defensive.
To make a joke. To make it light. To pretend it didn’t mean everything. But Ari beat you to it.
His voice was rough with warning.
“Don’t run from me.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a plea. It was a command.
Your chest hurt because God, you wanted to run.
It would be safer. Easier. But you couldn’t run from him anymore.
You dragged your hand up his chest, feeling the rough patch of hair and the steady thump of his heart.
“You make it really fucking hard to breathe,” you whispered.
Ari smiled and kissed the corner of your mouth. Your cheekbone. Your eyelid.
And then he rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, keeping you locked against him as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you even closer. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, breathing him instead of air.
And then he said it, the words that split the world wide open.
“I’m in love with you.”
Like it was simple. Like you could just say shit like that.
You froze.
But he didn’t flinch, backpedal, or give you a single out. He just held you.
Like what he’d just said wasn’t terrifying.
And now you were crying, hot rivulets of your tears running down his neck.
You pulled back just enough to see his beautiful, stubborn, stupid face, and you gave him the only thing you had left.
Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader
Word count: 1.3 K
A/N: Muse will be a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the second one. We’re gonna hear from them at least every week. 😏 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and has endured me being unhinged in her inbox. She also patiently endures my questionable choices. This AU is tangential to the Peach and Knock You Down verses. If this drabble makes you angry, let me know! I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. The angst starts now. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, dating app life, casual sex, Dominant Ari, size kink, breeding kink, nipple obsession, nipple play, oral sex (f receiving), sex in multiple positions and locations in Ari's loft, protected sex, all lies told, smoking and drinking, one night stand with zero feelings caught (lies!). This is basically porn with a side of angst.
I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
------
His loft was exactly what you expected.
Tribeca.
Concrete floors.
High ceilings.
Walls of windows that didn’t have curtains because men like Ari don’t mind being seen.
Shelves lined with art books, half-burnt candles, and sculptures that probably cost more than triple your rent. It smelled like cedarwood and something else you couldn’t place.
Ari let you in without a word.
You didn’t ask for a tour.
Didn’t want conversation
You wanted the undoing.
The second the door shut, he had you pinned against it, mouth claiming yours like you belonged to him.
Like he’d been starving for you.
Like he already knew you’d let him.
Heat roared between you, the hunger devouring pretense. He kissed like a man who knew exactly how it would end: you, ruined and wrecked in his bed.
Or against the wall.
Or anywhere he wanted.
You let him have you. Just enough to make him want more.
“You always kiss like it’s the last time,” you murmured against his mouth, breathless.
“I’m not big on next times,” he replied, voice low, certain, but there was the smallest crack in his armor when it came to you.
And you felt it. After all, it was already the next time.
His hand found your thigh, his fingers trailing higher, the pad of his thumb pressing into the soft swell of your ass, kneading you like he was mapping the shape of you by touch alone.
When he found the slick heat between your legs, his fingers parted you and cupped you from behind, making you moan into his mouth. That pulled a deep, ragged tone from him too as his tongue swept inside, hungry to taste more.
You nipped at his bottom lip, soothed the sting with a slow, soft lick, and felt his self-control fray beneath your hands.
Ari’s hands moved to your tits, thumbs circling tight peaks through your shirt until you gasped, your body arching into him. He tugged your top up, baring you to the dim light and his hungry eyes.
Candy.
That’s what he remembered. Your nipples looked like candy, and Ari had one hell of a sweet tooth at the moment.
He bent his head, took one rigid peak between his lips, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing you with just enough edge to make you gasp, his mouth suckling you until your noises tangled into sharp, breathless whimpers. His free hand teased the other, rolling and pinching, coaxing more and more sounds from you until he switched sides, making you arch into him as you floated on sensation.
Your body responded to him like it had been waiting for this. For him.
Your hips rolled against him, seeking friction, and his cock, heavy and hard, pressed against you, straining through his sweats. You reached for him, sliding your hand inside, fingers curling around the thick weight of him.
Damn, you’d forgotten just how big he was. One slow stroke, and you felt him shudder against you.
Ari was already fighting for control. Fuck. He couldn’t remember what his plan had been with you, if there’d even been one.
When he dropped to his knees and dragged your panties down with his teeth, the sight alone knocked the air from your lungs. You threaded your fingers into his hair, and gave it a firm tug, your voice a rough whisper.
“Careful, Ari. I might start thinking you like me.”
“I don’t,” he growled, lips brushing your inner thigh, breath hot against your skin. “I just think your pussy deserves a museum wing.”
Ari kneeled in front of you and moved your panties to the side.
“Fuck!” he exclaimed as your scent surrounded him. He was intoxicated by his need for you and somewhere in the back of his mind, he dimly realized that it wasn’t this way with anyone else.
Shit.
He pushed your legs apart, and you whimpered, desperate for him.
"That’s it, Muse," he whispered. "Let me see how pretty you are."
You’d prepped for someone else, some other guy who couldn’t even get you wet with conversation, and bailed on him without a shred of guilt the second Ari replied to your Hey, Big Head text with nothing but his address.
Ari looked up as he handled you. He drew in a breath as your smooth skin gave way to swollen lips that he needed to taste. His thumbs parted you, and the way you trembled under his hands only made him smile.
"Don’t forget to hold on, beautiful. I'm going to take my time until you melt."
Ari wanted you so fucking bad. He’d been thinking about the last time since the last time. His mouth found you, tongue slow at first, savoring the taste, then hungrier, lapping you up like you were the only thing that could satisfy him.
He slid his tongue over your labia, and you immediately cried out. You were sweet, spicy and so good. He lapped at you again and again, every stroke designed to pull you apart, and when he locked his lips around your clit, the moan that tore from you had his cock twitching in response.
Your hands gripped the wall, breath catching as he ate you like he was trying to collect your essence. And then he held your legs wide with his hands and fucked you with his tongue. Your hands slid into his hair, holding him to you as your slick dripped down his chin.
With a grunt, he grabbed your ass and lifted you even closer to him, spreading your cheeks slightly so that he could lick at your tighter hole, pleasuring you while his thumb pressed hard on your clit.
Your breathing went choppy, and your desperate gasps made his cock jump as you ground your hips into his face, begging him not to stop. With his thumb on your clit, he slid a finger deep inside you and curved it until the pad of his finger rubbed over your G-spot.
You flew apart, your body convulsing as the orgasm hit hard.
Aris blue eyes were looking up at you.
“Yes. Fuck yes.”
He said it into your cunt because he realized that he loved nothing more than watching you cum. He drew back with a growl and watched your body convulse as you bit your lip to keep from saying too much, feeling too much.
But you let your fingers tangle in his hair after, just for a second.
Then you pulled away.
“You done being generous?”
He smirked up at you, chin glistening, absolutely wrecked.
“Not even close.”
—--
The rest of the night was friction and ruin.
He quickly slipped on a condom and then, in one swift stroke, slid into you to the hilt.
“Fuck. So fucking good.”
Ari drove into you hard, deep, and unrelentingly.
Against the wall.
Bent over the couch.
Spread open on the rug beneath a Rothko you barely noticed.
When he flipped you, fucked you into the floor, left handprints on your ass and bite marks on your shoulder, it was possession. No sweet talk. Just skin and sweat and the kind of claiming you’d pretend to forget.
You left scratches. He left marks. Nobody left promises.
When it was over, he lit a cigarette and offered you one. You took it, not because you smoked, but because it kept your hands from reaching for him.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you said, smoke and denial curling from your lips.
“Good,” he replied, not even looking at you. “I’d hate for us to ruin something so perfect by pretending it’s more.”
You nodded. Stubbed out the cigarette. Pulled on your dress.
“You leaving?”
“You’d rather I stay and talk about feelings? Then yeah, I’m out.”
Ari watched you longer than he should’ve. Watched you put your shoes back on, watched you blow him a kiss you didn’t mean before the door clicked shut.
Outside, the city was colder than you remembered.
Inside, Ari stared at the door, jaw tense, heart louder than he liked to admit.
“Fucking Muse,” he muttered, pouring himself a drink and ignoring every match from that app that popped up on his phone.
Summary: Steve and Peach have thier first fight as newlyweds.
Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach)
A/N: Not sure If I am correct about any element of shibari, but I tried. Really nervous. This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and comes after the events in Peach VII. Interaction is life! Let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Shibari (may not be well written, sorry.) Peach Peaching, Steve is angry and scared, first fight. Allusions to violence, talk of pregnancy, mistaken identity, veiled threats. Trust is a major theme. Rope play, dominance, submission, oral, (f and m receiving), nipple play, spit play, ass play, reference to anal, rough, raw p in v, sensory overload, breeding kink, 'lil bit of knife play, aftercare.
I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘
I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.
--------
You woke up before dawn, Steve’s arm draped over your waist and pulling you to him, his warmth wrapping around you and forming a secure cocoon.
You smiled as you gazed at his sleeping face, lightly brushing back the dark blond hair that had fallen over his face.
You were still tripping over the fact that you were Mrs. Steve Rogers.
He made you very happy.
These past few weeks were a wonderful whirlwind of love and affection. Steve was consistently attentive to you and gave you anything you wanted.
And he was square with you about the realities of his life.
He, Bucky, Nat and Sam had made a lot of money, not only for themselves, but for the people they’d done business with. And some people were angry that it was over.
You heard that, but you didn’t listen.
And you’d left lots of loose ends in Atlanta.
There was Peach Preserves, your dance studio, and your students to think about. This was the preparation week for classes to begin again after the holidays, and you weren’t there to do your work.
Dance was your first love, and you didn’t want to give that up. Steve didn’t want you to either, he just wanted you to hire help and work out a schedule where you could have time together as a couple.
And then there was the question of where you would live, Atlanta or New York.
You were antsy to get back to Atlanta, but Steve wanted you to wait a couple of days longer to go down.
He’d distracted you the night before with some stunning cunnilingus, and a thorough rough fucking that you could still feel as you shifted in the bed.
You bit your lip and smiled wider.
Being Mrs. Rogers had its benefits: Steve’s thick, stiff cock was top three. And it was always ready for you. That helped because you always wanted it. But he couldn’t distract you with that for long.
You were bound and determined that you were grown and that you could handle going to Atlanta by yourself. After all, it had been your city for almost 10 years before he came along.
It would be fine. And today was the day.
Before you escaped the bed, you let yourself revel in the warmth of Steve’s arms, daydreaming about letting him wake up, pull you close, press a kiss to your shoulder, and convince you, yet again, that waiting a little longer wouldn’t hurt.
It would be easy to just go with his flow. But you were you. You loved doing things the hard way.
You slipped from under his arm, moving slowly and carefully, barely breathing. Steve stirred but didn't wake.
Breathing a small sigh of relief, you dressed quickly. Your bag was already packed, tucked behind the closet door. You grabbed it, hesitating for only a second before leaving a note on the nightstand.
I’ll call you when I land. Love you.-- Your Peach
The rideshare to the airport was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. You knew Steve would be upset when he woke up.
----
Steve reached out, fingers brushing the cool sheets where you should have been. His chest tightened before he even opened his eyes. He knew something was off.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat, scanning the room. Maybe you were making breakfast, or in the dance studio, but before he could go see if you were there, his eyes settled on the nightstand, and there it was.
A small piece of folded paper.
His heart thudded as he picked it up, unfolding it with fingers that suddenly felt too stiff as he read it.
Steve exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. Atlanta. You went. Even after everything you talked about, after he told you to wait, after he swore he’d go with you.
A slow burn of frustration and worry curled in his stomach. That feeling was rare before he met you. But then again, all feelings were rare before he met you.
Steve shook his head.
You thought you’d be fine. Of course, you did. That was just who you were, stubborn, independent. And that was why he loved you. But you didn’t know the danger, not like he did.
His jaw clenched as he reached for his phone. His fingers flew over his phone’s keyboard, and he took deep breaths to calm down. Then he went to his closet.
He needed to get to Atlanta.
-----
The second your plane landed in Atlanta, and you turned off airplane mode, your phone buzzed.
You really think you can just run off like that?
The message was from hours ago, when you were in the air. You exhaled slowly, gripping your phone as you replied.
I had to.
Almost immediately, three dots appeared. Stopped. And then appeared again.
You should’ve waited for me, Peach.
You closed your eyes. You could hear his voice in the words, low and growly. You loved him, but you weren’t quite willing to give up all of your spirit and independence.
The studio needs me.
A full minute passed. You didn’t move, despite others around you getting ready to deboard the plane.
I know that. But I need you to trust me. I need to be able to trust you. I need you to be with me, present in this marriage. Need you to be safe.
Shit, Peach, I just need you.
Your stomach was in knots. You didn’t have an answer to that. So you just said the only thing you could.
I love you.
The dots again
Love you, too. But this discussion isn’t over.
Your heart started beating fast because you knew that he was coming for you. You knew he would never, ever hurt you, but you were filled with anxiety for what was going to happen when you saw him again.
You locked your phone and got ready to walk off the plane, your heart pounding.
—--
The sun was setting by the time you pulled up to your townhouse, exhaustion weighing heavy in your bones. The day was long, checking in on your students, arranging for instructors and making sure the studio could run with you there day to day for a while.
You should have felt relieved.
Instead, all you felt was restless. You missed your husband. Steve hadn’t texted again since you landed this morning.
You stepped onto the porch of your place, fishing your keys from your bag, when the hairs on the back of your neck rose.
That familiar tingle was there, the extra sense that alerted you to danger back when late nights at Regine meant dealing with more than just drunk men and bad tips.
Someone was watching you.
“Well, well, well.”
You froze, fingers tightening around your keys. You knew that voice.
You turned around slowly to find Sully leaning against his car at the curb, arms crossed and a smirk twisting his mouth.
He looked the same as he did the last time you saw him, right before Steve forced him out of Regine. But there was something different in his eyes now.
Your stomach flipped, but you kept your face neutral.
“Sully.”
He pushed off the car, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.
“Heard you and Grant, or should I say Steve, took a little honeymoon.”
His eyes dropped to your stomach, then back up to your face.
“Didn’t take long for him to knock you up, huh?”
You didn't flinch or react at all, although you were confused.
“Now that you know who he is, you can probably guess that Steve wouldn’t take kindly to people showing up at his wife’s place uninvited.”
You hoped that Steve was really coming.
Sully laughed, a hollow sound.
“Is that so?”
He tilted his head, watching you like he was trying to figure out how much of a fight you’d put up. He should’ve known from seeing you scrap a couple of times at the club.
“See, I think Steve’s real good at running his mouth. All talk and no action. He let you come back here. Alone.”
You wanted to laugh out loud. Let this asshole fuck around and find out with Steve Rogers.
“What do you want, Sully?”
You kept your voice calm and controlled.
His smile faded.
“I want what I’m owed.”
You rolled your eyes.
“What are you even talking about, Sully?”
He stepped closer to you, and you didn't back away.
“You and that attitude, Peach. ‘S gonna get you hurt one day. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Your husband put me out on my ass, and now, I’m gonna return the favor.”
His lips curled as his eyes swept down your body again.
“And since you’re carrying the next little Rogers/Barnes/Romanoff/Wilson prince or whatever, that makes you real valuable.”
Your blood ran cold. That’s what this was. Sully thought you were pregnant. He had you confused with your cousin. He thought you were pregnant and that was why you and Steve eloped.
Idiot.
You weren’t about to set him straight and put your family in danger. Your fingers tightened around your phone, and you forced yourself to breathe evenly.
“Sully, you’re making a mistake. Whatever you think you’re doing? It’s not worth what Steve will do to you.”
He stared at you menacingly for a long moment, like he was waiting for you to break. But he was going to have to wait a long time for that. You held his gaze.
Steadily.
Then, slowly, he smirked.
“We’ll see about that.”
He turned and walked back to his car. You didn’t move until the taillights disappeared down the street. Then, with shaking hands, you pulled out your phone and typed.
Sully was here.
The read receipt popped up immediately. Steve always had them on for you.
Stay inside. Lock the doors. I’m almost there.
—-
The traffic around him inched forward at a crawl, horns blaring. Steve swore under his breath, his pulse hammering. He needed to move. Needed to get to you. But he was trapped, locked in place.
You were okay, you’d just texted him, but he was beyond frustrated. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel, frustration boiling over. Every second wasted in this damn traffic was another second Sully could come back.
His mind raced through every possibility. He should’ve been there. Should’ve made you wait.
He should have tied you to the bed.
A gap opened up in traffic. Steve hit the gas, weaving between cars, eyes locked on the road ahead. He was coming. And if Sully was still anywhere near you…
-----
Ten minutes later, the knock at the door was heavy and deliberate. You don’t even have to check, you knew it was your husband.
Still, you hesitated, but not really out of fear. It was more like anticipation. You exhaled, steadying yourself, and unlocked the door.
Steve was standing there, his broad shoulders tight, and his jaw set like he’d been grinding his teeth the entire time you’d been apart. There was a backpack slung over one arm and his eyes flicked over you, scanning, searching to make sure you were okay.
The second he saw that you were fine, something else surfaced in his gaze.
----
The door opened and relief hit him first, because you were there, standing right in front of him, whole and unharmed. But the relief crashed straight into the anger, the frustration, and the fear that had been eating at him the whole morning.
He was still struggling under the weight of every worst-case scenario still running through his brain.
Still, despite everything, when Steve’s eyes locked onto yours, he couldn’t deny that he was a simp because all he wanted to do was to take you in his arms. But something had to change.
Because at the end of the day, you’re his.
You were standing in front of him, looking at him like you knew exactly what he was feeling. And that was the only thing keeping him from going nuclear.
----
You knew Steve was angry.
And it made you weak, wanting to supplicate for him and beg for forgiveness around his cock. But of course you resisted that urge and chucked your chin higher.
Steve never felt so angry and so grateful at the same time. But then he saw the glint in your eye and shook his head, almost wanting to laugh.
This is what it was going to be like married to someone as stubborn as he was.
He stepped inside without a word, closing the door behind him. The space between you crackled like a live wire.
“Tell me what the fuck happened.”
You crossed your arms and cocked your hip meeting his stare head-on. Steve was angry and hard, ready to fuck you into submission.
But first he needed answers. You told him what happened, including the most important part.
“Sully thinks I’m pregnant.”
Steve’s entire body went rigid. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a second, he didn't say anything.
Sully was threatening his family?
For half a second, the blood rushed in his ears as the adrenaline flooded his senses, and he had the urge to tear something apart. He had to consciously slow his breathing to keep from running out of the door after Sully.
“He what?”
“He thinks that’s why we eloped,” you said, keeping your voice steady.
Steve turned away for a second, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself from exploding. It didn’t work.
“He came here,” he turned back to you, eyes flashing, voice barely controlled.
“Because he thought you were carrying my kid?”
You nodded.
He stared at you before stepping closer. You were looking up at him, breathing his air, looking into those l blue eyes, with everything on you that could get erect standing at attention. This was going to be your first fight.
And what a fight it was.
“And you didn’t think to tell me the second it happened?”
“I did–”
“Not after, Peach," he interrupted.
“Not when he was already gone. When he was here. When you were standing face-to-face with the sonofabitch who threatened what was mine?”
“Steve, I handled it.”
“Oh. You handled it.”
His hands raised to the sky and then raked through his hair, wild with frustration.
“You think telling a man like Sully to fuck off is handling it?”
“I think if I’d called you while he was still here, you’d be dealing with a murder charge right now,” you snapped back.
Steve stared you down and you didn’t break eye contact. Neither did he. The air between you was thick, buzzing, and charged with frustration. You longed to put your arms around his neck and turn back time to the chalet.
But the honeymoon was over.
Finally Steve took a slow breath.
“Sully needs to understand that he doesn’t threaten my family. Or his threat needs to be eliminated.”
Steve pulled out his phone without another word, already dialing. He paced the living room as it rang, muscles still wound tight. You watched him, fighting the urge to touch him.
His eyes were on you the entire time.
“You should’ve waited for me,” he said suddenly, voice quieter, but still railing, his anger simmering all over him.
You exhaled, leaning against the table.
“I know.”
He shook his head, not looking at you. His free hand gripped the back of his neck like he was trying to keep himself grounded. The call connected.
“Buck,” he said, his voice deadly calm.
“We’ve got a problem.”
—--
Steve hung up the call with Bucky, his grip on the phone so tight you half expected it to snap in his hand. His jaw was clenched, his breathing measured, like he was barely keeping himself in check.
“What did he say?” you asked carefully.
“He’s on his way to get her now. Said he’d call me once they’re somewhere safe.”
Steve finally looked at you, and the intensity in his eyes made your stomach flip.
“I should’ve been here.”
You crossed your arms, lifting your chin.
“And what? Sully shows up, you do whatever mafia thing you do, or worse, he does something to you and now we’ve got a problem and if you get killed or go to jail now, Steve Rogers, I will murder you.”
Steve moved closer to you, the space between you shrinking.
“The problem is that you were alone. I wasn’t here to protect you. That is my one job in this life.”
You cocked your head and smiled at him, your heart wrenching.
“Baby. That is not your one job in life. You do lots of good work in the art world, with Rebirth…I can take care of myself, Steve.”
His jaw ticked.
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?” You held your ground. “Because as far as I can tell, I handled it.”
Suddenly, Steve moved, and although you expected him to come for you, he stepped past you, toward the door, his voice low and sharp.
“I’m going to find him.”
Your reaction was immediate.
“Steve, don’t!”
He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob, thinking about tracking Sully down, and putting an end to this permanently.
“He came to this house. He threatened you. That is never going to happen again, Peach.
Steve's anger was controlled. Focused.
You stepped closer, and he could sense your strength, the kind of strength that always had the power to stop him in his tracks.
“Steve, I get it. I do. But you just got out of the life. You wanted out.”
He turned his head slightly, jaw tight.
“I did. Because of you.”
The weight of that settled between you.
Steve could feel the pull, the fine line between who he was now and who he used to be. The life he swore he left behind was still there, still waiting for him to step back into it.
“Steve, Sully wants you to go back to that. You gonna let him win?”
Your fingers curled lightly around his wrist, grounding him, but he didn’t move for a moment. Then, his fingers relaxed on the doorknob. The storm inside him didn’t disappear; it shifted.
His priorities realigned. He chose you over his rage. Always.
You two needed to work this out. Immediately.
You let out a breath, but you both knew this wasn’t over. He took your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin, watching the way your eyes flickered with wariness.
“Come with me. I’ve got something to show you.”
—-
Steve led you to the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, picking up his backpack along the way. His grip on your hand was firm, to keep you close.
When the door shut behind you, he turned, those clear blue eyes searching yours, a mixture of anger and something deeper. You were so damn nervous.
Who was this man before you with this dangerous look on his face that was pointed at you?
“You don’t listen, Peach." Steve was willing you to understand. “You think you have to handle everything alone.”
You lifted your chin, defiant as ever.
“I can handle myself.”
Steve let out a slow breath, a smile tugging at the corner of hisn mouth. He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your lips.
“I know very well that you can,” he admitted. “But, baby, you don’t have to. Not with me.”
Your breath caught, as his hand slid to your neck, fingers threading through to your nape as he tilted your head back, forcing you to hold his gaze.
“I love you,” he said, and it made your stomach flutter. “And I won’t ever stand by while you put yourself at risk.”
The look in his eyes was molten blue.
“If Sully hadn’t left,” Steve continued, his voice rough with emotion, “if he’d put his hands on you… what would you have done?”
You swallowed hard.
“I would’ve taken care of it,” you whispered.
Steve hummed, like he wasn’t quite convinced.
“You’re not invincible, Peach,” his voice was softer now. “And you don’t get to decide when I protect what’s mine.”
The way he said 'mine' sent heat curling low in your stomach and moisture pooling between your thighs. His lips brushed your forehead, lingering there, and your chest tightened at the sheer devotion in the act.
Then he turned, reaching for the bag. When he faced you again, a length of smooth, ivory rope was coiled in his hands. Your stomach flipped and your heart started racing.
“Do you think you can just do whatever you want?”
You held your breath as he uncoiled the rope, and you watched his fingers working it with practiced ease.
“Steve,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”
His jaw flexed. His fingers paused on the rope. And then, slowly, he lifted his eyes to yours.
“Yes, I want you to trust me.”
You blinked up at him.
“I do trust you.”
Steve almost believed you as he looked down into your beautiful eyes. But then he shook his head.
“You didn’t this morning,” he said quietly. “You left without telling me. I need you to prove that you trust me to take care of you.”
“What do you mean?”
Steve stepped closer, jaw set.
“You’re scaring me,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
You searched his face for meaning and he gave you nothing. Butterflies rioted in your stomach as he moved behind you and his lips touched the edge of your ear.
“Good. You’ll cum harder that way.”
You gasped as your cunt clenched. You couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“I’ll what?”
“I need to remind you what it feels like to let someone else be in control.”
He slid his hand up your arm and turned your head so you could look at him.
“You gonna let me?”
It wasn’t really a question. But he waited for your answer anyway, his gaze steady.
Slowly, you nodded. Steve smiled.
“Good girl.”
You had visions of him inside you right at that very moment, but he interrupted your thoughts.
"Take off your clothes."
The command was quiet, but it left no room for defiance. You complied, the air cool against your skin as you got naked for him, excitement building inside you from the way he watched you.
“You put yourself in danger,” Steve continued, his voice thick with emotion. “And you expect me to just let that slide?”
His stepped behind you and his hands moved over your arms, holding you close against his rock hard body.
“You are my world, Peach.”
He whispered it into your ear and you shuddered.
“Steve…”
“You were reckless with your safety,” he interrupted as his fingers worked the first knot, wrapping the rope around your wrists, securing them just enough for you to feel it, but not to hurt.
Steve worked quickly but precisely, bathing you in tenderness, preparing each area with soft kisses before his ropes made the next pass.
He bound your wrists behind your back, the smooth fibers digging in just enough to make you feel helpless under his control. He moved swiftly, looping the rope around your torso, cinching it tight across your chest, down your waist, framing your curves in a way that made you lose your breath.
You were surprised at how much this turned you on.
“What is this, Steve?” you breathed.
He leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple.
“I'm teaching you how to let go, my love.”
His hands continued their work as he held your gaze, and strangely as he tied your body together, it didn’t feel like a punishment.
It felt like a lesson in trust. And surrender.
Steve stepped back, taking in the sight of you. His eyes darkened with awe.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, almost to himself.
Your cheeks burned. Your heart pounded. You never felt more vulnerable. Or more seen.
Loved.
He reached out, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.
“You know I’d never hurt you, right?”
You swallowed hard and nodded and his thumb brushed over your lips.
“Good. Now relax, Baby. I’ve got you.”
You exhaled shakily, easing into the bindings. You felt better now. Safer, somehow.
Steve watched you, his gaze lingering on the way your body softened. His hands slid over the rope, testing its hold and making sure it wasn’t too tight on your satiny skin.
“Kneel for me, Peach.”
The deep baritone of his voice made your pussy clench, but you obeyed, sinking gracefully to the floor. Your breath caught as your knees hit the soft carpet, the vulnerability of the position sinking in.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
You did, and the sheer adoration in his expression made your chest tighten. His fingers skimmed over your bound body, teasing you, sending shivers racing across your body.
“Remember Peach, I’m doing this because I need you to know that you don’t always have to be the strong one.”
His hands moved over your back, tracing the rope, grounding you.
“You’re gonna feel everything I do, and you’re not gonna fight it.”
His eyes locked onto yours and you held his stare.
"...Okay"
Steve chuckled at your spirit. He loved the fuck out of you, but you needed this lesson.
“Good girl.”
Your eyes closed at the praise and he stepped back, his fingers once again skimming over your restrained skin.
“You’re trembling,” he observed, voice tinged with amusement. “Are you nervous?”
You swallowed. “A little.”
“Don’t be.”
He down beside you and leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder, then to the curve of your jaw.
“Steve…,” you whimpered.
“You trust me, right?”
His lips were against yours now.
You exhaled a shaky, “Yes" into his mouth.
“Then let me take care of you.”
He pulled away and his eyes held yours for a long beat, making sure you understood. His hands moved around your rope-bound ass grazing the ropes framing your thighs, the ones holding your pussy lips apart.
You gasped as his fingers brushed against your aching heat.
“You're dripping for me already, Peach. Do you like being tied up?”
You were delirious with anticipation. But you didn’t know how to feel.
“No!.. Yes… I don’t know.”
He got down on his knees behind you as you tested the binds instinctively, your wrists straining just enough to remind you of your helplessness. The pressure was intoxicatingly restrictive and unrelenting.
You didn’t know that you craved this.
A warm hand slid over your stomach, fingers grazing the rope cinched tight around your waist. He pressed in, letting you feel the heat of his palm against your skin and the graze of his fingertips against your clit. Not to mention his hard cock pressed into your spine.
You bit back a moan as he continued, his touch slow and purposeful. Steve’s hand slid to your throat, his grip firm, but not choking.
"You are my wife," he said, enunciating each word with quiet intensity. I am responsible for your safety… and when you forget that?"
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second before releasing and trailing down your neck.
"I will remind you."
He murmured against your ear, his breath making you wetter. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to him.
"Do you love me?" he asked.
"Yes," you whispered, the answer spilling from your lips without hesitation.
"Why?"
You’d been broken down to the raw truth.
“I don’t know. So many reasons.”
You were trying to collect your thoughts which were scattered like leaves in the wind.
"I see you in everything," you whispered.
"In every work of art, in every song that I dance to. I feel you in places I didn’t even know existed."
Steve’s smile was angelic.
"Do you remember when I first saw you?"
His teeth scraped the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw, a nip that made you suck in a breath and shudder. His lips curved into a wicked smirk against your skin.
You exhaled as your pulse quickened. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t escape the press of his body behind you and the overwhelming heat of him surrounding you just like the ropes.
"On stage at Regine’s?" you guessed, breath hitching.
"No," he said, voice rich with memory.
"You were walking into the club, lost in your own world, bopping along to your music, completely unaware of me. You were gorgeous. Sexy. Free."
His hands traced the rope securing your thighs apart, squeezing just enough to make you whimper.
"I had to know who you were. I had to get you to notice me. And when you did?"
He exhaled, like the memory itself was intoxicating.
"I felt like the luckiest man on earth, Peach."
Your body sagged into his, relaxing even more, drawn in by the absolute possession in his voice.
"I can’t tell you how many times I’ve envisioned you like this," he murmured.
"What?" Your voice was barely a breath. "Bound and helpless?"
Steve chuckled, the sound rich and sinful.
"Sweetheart, you are far from helpless."
You closed your eyes as his fingers traced slow circles over your inner thighs, where the rope dug into your skin.
"And you shouldn't be in any pain."
His lips brushed your ear, his voice dipping lower, a promise wrapped in silk and steel.
"I think you're going to enjoy the hell out of this."
He guided you down, so that your cheek was on the carpet, eyes searching for his as he ran his hands over you again. The ropes made every sensation more intense, and you couldn't help the sounds coming from your mouth.
You felt his breath on your ass before you felt his tongue strike out to lick a stripe up the center of you as your body arched. You needed more.
A finger worked inside you, then two, scissoring and curling with a sinful knowledge of your body. Steve worked you over with his hand as his mouth played with your emotions. You were so close to release because every thought was centered in that direction.
But then his fingers withdrew and his warm mouth left your pussy.
You moaned in protest as he pulled you up by the ropes and moved in front of you, unzipping his pants.
Every sense was magnified and the sound of his zipper sent waves of your slick sliding down your thighs and blood racing to your nipples. You were oh so hard and wet.
His hard cock was ready and silky smooth, rolling over your lips as his musky scent surrounded you. It only made you want him more as you opened your mouth wider to taste him on your tongue.
Steve hissed, groaning as you took him deep in your throat.
"So good, Peach..."
He rocked into your throat, careful to let you breath as you concentrated to focus on this one thing. You were moaning around him, the pleasure that you were giving him close to getting you off as well.
He stopped pulled off the rest of his clothes, depriving himself at that moment. Again, he lifted you by the ropes onto the bed and handled your ass again, spread open by his handiwork.
"Remember when you trusted me to fuck you here?"
Steve spit on your asshole and rubbed his finger there as you writhed in your binds.
"Ughhhhh! Steveeeee."
You could barely form coherent thoughts as you shook beneath him.
Steve rubbed himself up and down the split of you repeatedly while you kept moaning his name. You were both very nearly insane as he let his cock rest at your entrance, pounding on your door to get in.
His fingers grabbed the ropes on your thighs, pulling you sharply onto his cock. And you screamed, cumming almost immediately with his first stroke.
"Holy fuck, Peach!"
Steve felt you coming apart around him while held together by the rope and he threw his head back as he set a beautiful pace in and out of you. The sound of skin smacking soundly onto skin lent depth to the pornographic sound of your screams and his groans.
And the ropes on your skin lent an extra dimension of sensation. You were intoxicated with feeling, bound up but feeling so free.
“So tell me, Peach…”
Steve bent over you and his fingers found your nipples and pinched, rolling them hard. It was so much that you nearly came again right then then and there. The next words sent you further into the brink.
“What happens if you get pregnant?”
Steve rolled his hips over and over again into your pulsing, clenching cunt.
"Oh, Steve.. fuck..."
“Who is going to protect you and my child from the likes of scum like–”
“Don’t, fuck, Steve, don’t say his name…”
It would ruin your high, thinking of Sully at the moment.
“Say it, Peach. Who is supposed to do that, Peach? Who’s gonna protect my family?”
Steve said it through clenched teeth, but you knew he wasn't just angry. He was scared.
“Answer me, Peach!”
“You would, I know you would, Steve?”
“Are you sure? You gonna let me? Gonna let me knock you up? You gonna trust me to take care of you?”
His pace was frantic, the vision of you pregnant and safe in his arms propelling him forward into the abyss.
Tears stung your eyes at the thought that he doubted you.
And they fell when you realized that you’d given him reason to.
“I do, I trust you Steve. I promise. I’ll let you take care of us. I swear.”
Steve slammed into you harder, holding you tight with each thrust.
“Is that what you want? Do you really want me to do that?”
You just wanted to soothe the hurt.
“I’m sorry, Steve,” you sobbed.
“I want you. I trust you. I need you. I’m sorry!”
Steve’s thumb found your clit and rubbed your sparking bundle of nerves relentlessly, causing you to strain against the ropes again.
“Oh, Steveeee!”
You shattered into a thousand pieces, only to be held together by the rope Steve wove around you. He pulled out and stoked his cock over you, painting the exposed pieces of you with his cum.
You shook as each hot drop hit your skin, aftershocks rocking you as you found his lust blown eyes.
“F-fffuuuckkkkk!”
Steve was profane as he came all over you, lost to the feeling of your release and his. He reached in his bag again and brought out a knife and started cutting you out of your bindings, kissing and massaging each place on your legs that he cut free.
He licked his cum off of you, paying special attention to your cunt, swiping you with his wide, flat tongue as he soothed your skin with his hands.
When you came again, he moved on, cleaning you up and cutting you loose carefully and tenderly. The disparate sensations of his tongue on your skin, his hands massaging you, and the cold steel of the knife set you alight one more time, and as he sucked his spend off your nipples, you came again, untouched.
It was a perfect, tiny aftershock of pleasure.
—-
You opened your eyes to the harsher light of your bathroom, as Steve was lifting you with him into your garden tub filled with hot water. He cradled you in his embrace.
His hands, the same ones that had restrained you so firmly, now moved with infinite gentleness over your skin in the water, watching you closely for discomfort.
"You okay?"
His voice was low, quiet, and filled with genuine concern. You nodded, your limbs heavy, your body still floating somewhere between exhaustion and satisfaction.
But Steve wasn’t satisfied with a nod. He tilted your face toward him, meeting your sleepy gaze, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"Talk to me, sweetheart," he intoned, thumb stroking over your cheek. "I need to know you're alright."
A small, tired smile tugged at your lips.
"I’m perfect," you whispered, and it was the truth.
The intensity of it all, the way he had pushed you, claimed you, and him caring for you made you realize how safe he made you feel.
And that was the point.
Steve exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath, then pulled you closer, wrapping you in his embrace. The contrast was stark, from restraint to absolute freedom, from domination to protection.
You melted into him, feeling the steady, soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. Suddenly, a bottle of water was produced from the side of the tub and you wondered how long you were out after you came.
“Drink. Let me take care of you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple.
His hands never left you, fingers brushing over you in quiet reassurance as you drank.
"You did so well," he bragged, his voice laced with admiration and pride. "I’m so proud of you.”
You got emotional. You drank half the bottle and put it down, turning in the bath to put your arms around his neck and resting your head on his chest, seeking the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.
i’ve been so excited for this since you posted that snippet.
my eyes lowkey started watering when Peach realized Steve was worried about her not trusting him. this was so well written and the perfect mix of steamy and emotional. well done!
