#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies
Cosimo Galluzzi
we're not kids anymore.
One Nice Bug Per Day
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Not today Justin
🪼
No title available
Jules of Nature
Xuebing Du
The Bowery Presents
Sade Olutola
roma★
@theartofmadeline
Origami Around
shark vs the universe
blake kathryn
Noah Kahan
★
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Austria
seen from Germany
seen from Austria
seen from Peru
seen from Greece
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seen from Maldives
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Bangladesh
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@everlastingmoonlightsworld
ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ
- ᴜɴғᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏᴍᴏʀᴇ, ɪ ᴍᴀɪɴʟʏ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɴᴏᴡ (most of my reblogs are smut so like MDNI)
- ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜɪs ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀs ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ'ᴍ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ
ʀᴜʟᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ
ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ-ʟɪsᴛ
ᴀɴ ᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ ɪ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ, ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ ғɪᴄs, ɪ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴛʜɪs ᴏɴᴇ ᴜɴᴇᴅɪᴛᴇᴅ
"He loves it when you..." He loves it when you... Characters: Monster Trio + Trafalgar Law Warnings: None, no smut here or nothing G
“𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍….? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝. “
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I rewatched the marineford arc last night. Why? WHY do i do this to myself 😭😭
Also might do a Ghost!Ace keychain, i need it
Teaching the Captain
Summary: Tony has the "great idea" to make the team play a "Truth or Dare" game. Some interesting truths are revealed, and some inexperience too.
Wordcount: 10.5k
Series Warnings: MDNI, oral (female receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it kids), creampie, some filthy talk
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)
A/N: Look, this is Smutty Sunday. It's a thing now.
Masterlist
The common area of the Avengers Tower pulsed with the rare, carefree vibe of a night without world-ending threats - just the team unwinding after a long week of missions.
Tony had commandeered the space like it was his personal playground, dimming the lights to a warm glow, cranking up some classic rock playlist that mixed 70s grooves with modern beats, and stocking the bar with enough liquor to fuel a small army.
The air smelled of aged whiskey, fresh popcorn from the kitchenette, and that faint metallic tang from the high-tech gadgets Tony always tinkered with. Couches and armchairs formed a loose circle around the coffee table, where an empty scotch bottle served as the makeshift spinner, glinting under the recessed lights.
You settled on the floor, back against the base of a sofa, legs tucked under you in yoga pants and a loose tank top that hugged your curves just enough to catch Steve's eye now and then.
He was across from you, perched on the edge of an armchair, his massive frame somehow making the furniture look small. Those broad shoulders strained against his gray henley, and his jeans clung to his thighs in a way that made your mind wander to what lay beneath.
No, you two weren't together. But ever since that stakeout mission last month where you'd patched up a graze on his arm, the air between you crackled. Stolen glances during briefings, his hand lingering on your lower back in the hall, the way his voice softened when he asked about your day. It was all there, simmering, unspoken.
Tony, in his element, lounged like a king on the central couch, arc reactor glowing faintly under his black t-shirt.
“Alright, Avengers, assemble for some real team-building. Truth or dare, Stark edition. No holding back, or I'll hack your playlists and replace everything with polka. And let's make it spicy… I'm talking bedroom confessions and dares that'd make your grandma blush.”
Groans and chuckles rippled through the group, mixed with eye-rolls. Natasha leaned against the bar, arms crossed, her red hair catching the light as she sipped vodka neat, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. Clint was sprawled next to her, tossing peanuts into his mouth, while Sam sat on the arm of Steve's chair, grinning like he was about to stir trouble. Bruce hovered on the periphery, nursing a herbal tea, looking equal parts amused and ready to mediate if things got too wild.
The game kicked off with Tony's signature flair for the awkward. He spun the bottle first, landing on Clint.
“Truth, Legolas. Worst hookup story, go. And I want details: positions, regrets, the whole cringy shebang.”
Clint launched into a tale involving a carnival and a strongman act gone wrong, complete with exaggerated gestures about tangled limbs and a popped tent fly that had everyone howling.
“Dude, she thought I was into wrestling fetishes after that!” The room erupted, but Tony wasn't done. “Alright, follow-up dare: demonstrate your best 'oops, wrong hole' face.” Clint obliged with a ridiculous grimace, drawing even more laughter.
Natasha's turn came next, the bottle pointing her way. Tony leaned forward, eyes gleaming.
“Truth or dare, Romanoff? Make it good.”
She chose dare without blinking.
“Flash us your most secret tattoo… and tell us what it means in the bedroom.”
Natasha rolled her eyes but stood, lifting the hem of her shirt just enough to reveal a small, intricate design on her hip - a coiled serpent.
“It means I strike when you least expect it. Happy?”
The guys whistled, Sam fanning himself dramatically.
“Damn, Nat, that's hotter than my last Tinder date.”
Steve shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to you, cheeks already tinting pink at the escalating vibe.
Your turn arrived sooner than expected, the bottle wobbling to a stop pointing at you. Steve's eyes locked with yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, before he looked away, jaw flexing. Tony leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Truth or dare, hot stuff? And remember, we're going full adult mode here.”
“Dare,” you shot back, matching his energy, though your pulse quickened under Steve's gaze and the room's charged atmosphere.
Tony rubbed his chin, then grinned wickedly.
“Straddle the lap of the person to your right for the next full round… and whisper what you'd do to them if we weren't all here.”
Your right was Sam, who raised his hands in mock surrender but scooted forward eagerly. You swung a leg over, settling lightly on his thigh, the yoga pants doing little to hide the warmth of contact. Leaning in, you murmured something teasing about pinning him down and making him beg, your breath hot against his ear.
Sam chuckled, playing it cool, but his hands hovered awkwardly at your waist. He murmured, “Careful, or Cap's gonna shield-smash me.”
The group catcalled, Tony whooping, but you caught Steve's reaction - his fists clenching on his knees, that blue-eyed stare burning with a mix of jealousy and heat. You slid off after the round, the air thicker now, every laugh laced with undercurrents.
Rounds blurred into cringeworthy territory. Sam dared Clint to text his ex a flirty emoji combo and read the reply aloud - “Eggplant, peach, and splash? Bold, Barton!” - which led to Clint's phone blowing up with confused responses. Tony truthing Natasha about her wildest spy gadget mishap in the bedroom: “Vibrating lipstick? Genius, until it stuck on high during a stakeout.” She shot him a glare that could kill, but smirked. Bruce got roped in with a dare to describe his 'Hulk-out' fantasy - “Uh, green everywhere, I guess?” - prompting Tony to cackle, “Kinky! Tie me up and smash?”
The alcohol flowed, loosening tongues and inhibitions, the room growing warmer, laughter louder and more raucous. Then the bottle spun again, this time under Sam's hand, and it slowed, teasingly, before pointing dead at Steve.
“Truth or dare, Cap?” Sam asked, elbowing him with a grin, the group's eyes turning expectant.
Steve hesitated, glancing around the circle. His eyes met yours again, and you felt that pull, like an invisible thread tightening amid the sexual haze Tony had whipped up.
“Truth,” he decided, voice steady but with that boyish uncertainty peeking through, his face already flushing from the prior antics.
Tony's grin turned predatory. He leaned back, swirling his drink. “Perfect. Let's get personal, and filthy. What's the one sexual thing you've never tried? Be specific: positions, acts, kinks. And don't dodge… super soldier serum doesn't count as an excuse. Spill, Rogers.”
The room went quiet for a beat, the playlist's sultry bass thumping in the silence, then exploded into anticipatory murmurs and snickers. Natasha arched a brow, intrigued; Clint whistled low; Sam leaned in, eyes wide. You held your breath, heart pounding, as Steve's cheeks flushed that deep, endearing pink. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit from his pre-serum days that always made him seem more human, more approachable, especially now with the spotlight on his inexperience.
“Come on, Steve, we're all friends here… pervy friends, apparently,” Tony prodded, though his tone was light, not cruel, gesturing around the circle where half the team was stifling grins.
Steve exhaled, staring at the floor before lifting his gaze. It swept the group, lingering on you - vulnerable, almost seeking permission or reassurance amid the cringe. “Alright. I've... never really gone down on a woman. Like, properly. In the '40s, it wasn't something you... discussed or did openly. And after waking up, missions, everything… it just never happened. I mean, I've been with women, but that part... oral, giving it... no. Never had the chance to learn it right.”
Silence hung for a split second, then Tony burst out laughing, slapping his knee so hard his drink sloshed.
“Oh man, the Star-Spangled Virgin in pussy-eating skills? Priceless! Cap's got the shield but not the tongue game?”
Clint joined in, clapping Steve on the shoulder a bit too enthusiastically. “Respect, dude… saving yourself for the right mission. Or the right... target.”
Natasha smirked, tilting her head. “It's an art form, Rogers. Involves more than just brute force: patience, listening to her moans.”
Sam chuckled but shot Steve a sympathetic look, though his eyes danced with amusement. “Hey, better late than never. We could set up a tutorial sesh… team building!”
Bruce cleared his throat awkwardly, face buried in his hands. “Uh, pass the popcorn? Or maybe the fire extinguisher for this burn.”
But you? Your mind raced, heat pooling low in your core at the image - Steve's strong hands parting your thighs, that earnest mouth learning your body, his confession hanging raw and inviting in the sexually charged air. He avoided eye contact now, embarrassment etching lines around his eyes, but you saw the undercurrent: curiosity, a spark of want, amplified by the game's escalating filth.
Tony, sensing the goldmine, spun again immediately. “Cap's turn to dare someone… make it revenge!”
Steve, still red-faced, pointed the bottle at Tony with a small smile.
“Dare. And keep it clean-ish.” Tony added, matter-of-factly.
“Recite the periodic table... while doing your best impression of a phone sex operator.”
Tony dove in with over-the-top moans between elements - “Hydrogen... oh yeah, baby... Helium... deeper!” - turning the whole thing into a spectacle of secondhand embarrassment that had everyone in stitches, the cringe factor maxed out.
The evening stretched on like that, the bottle spinning a few more times into increasingly risqué territory. Your next truth, courtesy of Natasha. “Hottest dream you've had about a teammate. Details.”
You dodged lightly with a vague someone with broad shoulders, but the implications hung heavy, Steve's gaze snapping to yours. He endured another dare from Clint - to describe his ideal first time with “that act” in PG-13 terms - which came out adorably fumbling. “Gentle, I guess? Focused on her pleasure.”
Tony heckled relentlessly. “Poetic, Cap! But add tongue action next time.” Laughter filled the space, but every glance you stole at Steve carried new heat, the tension coiling tighter amid the awkward, sex-laced banter.
The game night wound down eventually, the Avengers scattering like leaves in the wind after Tony's final, predictably over-the-top dare - something involving him attempting a striptease to 'Stayin' Alive' that had everyone groaning and fleeing before it could escalate further.
Laughter echoed down the halls as you made your way to your room, the buzz of alcohol and adrenaline still humming in your veins. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the chaos, and you kicked off your shoes, padding across the cool hardwood floor to collapse onto the bed. The sheets were soft against your skin, a stark contrast to the electric tension that had built all evening.
You lay there, staring up at the ceiling, the faint glow from the city lights filtering through the blinds in hazy stripes. Your mind wouldn't quiet; it looped back to Steve's confession, replaying it in vivid detail. The way his voice had dropped, rough with that mix of embarrassment and honesty, admitting he'd never gone down on a woman.
His cheeks flushing that deep crimson, eyes darting away but always circling back to you, like you were the anchor in the storm of teasing laughter. Tony's cackles, the group's snickers - they faded into the background.
What stuck was Steve: vulnerable, earnest, his broad frame shrinking just a fraction under the weight of the spotlight. You could picture it so clearly - his strong hands hesitating, that full mouth hovering, eager but unsure. Heat stirred low in your belly, a slow uncoiling that made your thighs press together instinctively. God, the thought of guiding him, showing him exactly how to unravel you with his tongue... It was intoxicating.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, your pulse a steady thrum against your ribs.
You sat up abruptly, running a hand through your hair, the decision crystallizing in the quiet of your room. No more waiting, no more dancing around the spark that had been igniting between you two for weeks.
You slipped your feet back into your sneakers, grabbed your keycard, and headed down the hall, the carpet muffling your steps. Steve's door loomed at the end, simple and unassuming, much like the man behind it.
Your knuckles rapped lightly against the wood - three quick knocks that echoed louder in the late-night silence.
There was a pause, the faint sound of movement inside, then the door swung open. Steve stood there in a white t-shirt that clung to his chest and sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair slightly tousled like he'd been running his hands through it. His blue eyes widened in surprise when he saw you, that boyish smile flickering to life before concern softened it.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm, leaning against the doorframe. “Everything okay? Do you need help?”
You met his gaze, heart pounding, the words tumbling out before doubt could snag them. “Actually, maybe I'm the one who could help you... with what you told us tonight.”
Steve's eyes widened, the surprise hitting him like a freight train, his hand tightening on the doorframe as if it were the only thing keeping him steady. A flush crept up his neck, turning his ears pink, and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out - just a soft, strangled exhale that spoke volumes. He shifted his weight, the sweatpants whispering against his legs, clearly caught off guard by your bold words hanging in the air between you.
The hallway felt too exposed suddenly, the distant hum of the Tower's systems the only sound breaking the tension.
“Can I... come in?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to escape.
He blinked, swallowing hard, then nodded, stepping back with a quick, awkward gesture.
“Yeah, sure. Come on in.” His tone was rough around the edges, that classic Steve politeness masking the whirlwind you could see churning in his blue eyes.
You slipped past him into the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. Steve's space was a study in understated simplicity - nothing like Tony's tech-overloaded chaos or Natasha's minimalist edge.
The bed was neatly made, a navy comforter tucked with military precision, and a worn sketchbook lay open on the nightstand next to a single lamp casting a warm, golden glow. Posters of old Brooklyn baseball teams adorned one wall, faded and cherished, while a stack of history books teetered on the dresser. It smelled faintly of him - clean soap, a hint of sandalwood from whatever cologne he used sparingly, and the underlying freshness of fresh laundry. A pair of running shoes sat by the closet, laces untied, the only sign of disarray in the otherwise orderly room. It felt safe, inviting, like stepping into a piece of his history amid the high-tech gloss of the Tower.
You turned to face him as he lingered near the door, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched just a bit like he was bracing for impact.
The alcohol from the game still buzzed in your bloodstream, a warm haze that loosened your tongue and dulled the sharp edges of nerves. Was it the liquid courage talking, or just the pent-up want that had been simmering all night? Either way, the words spilled out before you could second-guess them.
“Look, Steve... since you have to learn this stuff anyway, maybe it's better if you do it with someone you know. Someone who can... guide you through it.”
Steve crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing subtly under the sleeves of his t-shirt, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made the air in the room thicken. There was something primal in those blue eyes, a wild edge that flickered like a spark in the dim light of the lamp, and it sent a rush of heat straight to your core. You had to fight the urge to press your thighs together, to chase the ache building there from the way he looked at you - like he was already imagining pinning you down.
“So, basically, you're offering to teach me how to go down on you?” His voice came out low, rougher than usual, the words hanging between you like a challenge wrapped in velvet.
You nodded, your pulse thumping in your ears, the alcohol still lending you that reckless edge. “Yeah. I am.”
He uncrossed his arms, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he studied you, that flush creeping back up his cheeks. “And... what do you get out of this? Why would you want to?”
The question almost made you laugh, the absurdity of it bubbling up amid the tension. You stepped a little closer, close enough to catch the faint warmth radiating from his body, and met his eyes with a teasing tilt of your head.
“Well, apart from probably coming undone on your tongue?”
His face went crimson, the color spreading from his neck to the tips of his ears, but you didn't miss the way his body reacted - the subtle shift in his stance, the twitch in his sweatpants as his cock stirred, thickening against the fabric.
He cleared his throat, eyes dropping to the floor for a split second before snapping back to yours, that animal glint sharpening. “Jesus, you don't hold back, do you?”
You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips as you closed the distance further, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm. The contact sent a jolt through you both, his skin hot under your touch.
“Not tonight. Look, Steve, we've got this... tension. Has been building for weeks. And after what you said in the game? I just thought... why not make it real? I can show you exactly what feels good. Slow. No pressure.”
He exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to cup your elbow, thumb tracing a gentle circle that belied the hunger in his stare. “You're serious. This isn't some drunk prank from Tony's game?”
“Dead serious.” Your voice dropped, laced with promise. “I want this. Want you. And I think you want it too.”
Steve's grip tightened just a fraction, his breath hitching as he searched your face. Then, with a nod that seemed to release something inside him, he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Alright. Show me. But... go slow. I don't want to mess this up.”
The words ignited something fierce in you, and you guided him toward the bed, your hands steady on his shoulders as you eased him down to sit on the edge.
The mattress dipped under his weight, and you stood between his parted knees, heart racing as you lifted your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed over your skin, darkening with desire, his cock now visibly straining against his pants. You reached for the waistband of your own clothes, sliding them down inch by inch, exposing yourself to him - the soft curve of your hips, the trimmed patch above your pussy, already slick with anticipation.
Steve's hands clenched at his sides, but he didn't move, waiting, learning, just like you promised. “Tell me what to do first,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
You threaded your fingers through his hair, tilting his head back slightly. “Start with your hands. Touch me. Feel me.”
Steve's hand settled on your thigh, his palm warm and slightly calloused against your bare skin, fingers splaying wide to cover as much of you as possible. The other hand curved around the swell of your ass, gripping just firmly enough to pull you a fraction closer between his knees. You bit down on your lower lip, the sharp sting grounding you as a low hum of anticipation vibrated through your limbs - like your entire body was tuning itself to his touch, even though you'd barely begun. Heat pooled low in your belly, your pussy clenching with the promise of what was coming, slickness already gathering between your folds.
He started to explore then, his movements deliberate and worshipful, like he was committing every inch to memory. His thumb traced lazy circles on the inside of your thigh, inching upward but never rushing, while the hand on your ass kneaded gently, testing the give of your flesh. You could feel the tremor in his fingers, the mix of nerves and eagerness that made his touch all the more electric.
“Tell me,” you murmured, your voice breathy as you leaned in, your hands resting on his shoulders for balance. “About your last times. What happened?”
Steve's eyes lifted to yours, that primal spark still flickering, but now softened by a hint of vulnerability. He swallowed, his thumb pausing its path for a beat before resuming, higher now, brushing the edge of your hip.
He hesitated, but you shook your head quickly, no judgment in your gaze, just genuine interest. This wasn't about digging into his past; it was about understanding him, peeling back the layers to make this moment deeper.
“I mean, what did you do? With women, back then. Or even after. What felt good for you?” You clarified softly, your fingers threading through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
His grip on your ass tightened briefly, a reflexive squeeze as he processed the question, his breath warm against your stomach. He leaned forward just a touch, nose grazing the soft skin below your navel, inhaling your scent - musky and aroused - before answering in that gravelly tone.
“After the war, things were... different. I woke up, and suddenly I was this... super soldier. Women noticed. But it was always quick. Fumbled, sometimes. I'd kiss them, touch their breasts, slide inside. Missionary, mostly. They liked it rougher than I expected - scratching my back, pulling my hair. One time, in a bar in Brooklyn after a mission, this brunette... she rode me in the back room. Ground down hard, her nails digging into my chest until I came so fast I saw stars.”
His words painted the picture vividly, and you felt a fresh wave of wetness coat your inner thighs, your body responding to the raw honesty. His hand on your thigh ventured bolder, fingers slipping between your legs to trace the outer lips of your pussy, feather-light, reverent, like he was afraid to break the spell. He parted you just enough to feel the slick heat there, a low groan rumbling from his chest at the discovery.
Steve's eyes flicked up to yours, wide and patient, like a man starved but holding back for permission to feast. He didn't push further, his finger hovering at your entrance, waiting for your cue, the reverence in his posture making your heart stutter.
“What did they do to you?” you asked, your voice a husky whisper as you traced the line of his jaw with your thumb. “Did they suck you off? How? Did you like it?”
Steve's breath hitched, his hand on your ass flexing instinctively, but he didn't move without your word.
“Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough with memory and the strain of restraint. “Most of them did. One knelt between my legs, took me in her mouth slow at first - swirling her tongue around the head, licking the underside like she was savoring it. She bobbed her head, taking me deeper until I hit the back of her throat, gagging a little but not stopping. I... God, I loved it. The wet heat, the way she hummed around my cock, making my balls tighten. Another time, one used her hand at the base, stroking while she sucked just the tip, teasing until I was begging to thrust.” His words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, his gaze locked on yours for approval.
“Alright,” you breathed, rewarding him with a nod. “Start by caressing the outer lips now… gentle, like you're mapping me out. And what your hand's doing to my ass? That's perfect. Keep kneading it, follow your instincts there. Squeeze harder if it feels right.”
He obeyed instantly, his fingers on your pussy gliding along the outer folds, tracing their shape with feather-light pressure that sent sparks racing up your spine. He spread your slickness there, coating the sensitive skin, his touch exploratory but controlled, learning the texture of you. The hand on your ass responded to your praise, gripping firmer, pulling you closer as his thumb dug into the curve where ass met thigh, instinctive and bold.
Then his mouth moved, lips brushing the soft skin just below your navel before his teeth grazed it - nibbling lightly, a playful bite that tugged at your core. The sensation shot straight to your clit, a sharp zing of pleasure making your knees buckle. You gripped his shoulders hard, nails digging into the muscle there to steady yourself, a soft moan escaping as your body trembled against him.
“Steve,” you gasped, your hips rocking forward on instinct, pressing your pussy more fully into his caressing fingers. “Just like that. Don't stop. Now, tell me more. What else did they do that drove you wild?”
Steve's fingers continued their gentle exploration along your outer lips, but his voice dropped even lower as he answered your prompt, the words vibrating against your skin where his mouth lingered.
“One of them... she touched my ass,” he confessed, a flush creeping up his neck. “Slid her fingers back there while she was stroking my cock, teasing the rim before pushing one in, slow and slick with spit. It caught me off guard, but fuck, it made everything tighten… my balls drawing up, my whole body on edge. I came harder than I ever had.”
His admission hung in the air, raw and intimate, as his thumb circled the curve of your ass cheek, kneading deeper now, instinctive and assured under your earlier praise. You could feel the heat of him, the way his breath ghosted over your lower belly, but he held back, eyes lifting to yours for the next step.
“None of them ever really asked you to eat them out?” you murmured, your fingers threading through his hair, tilting his head just enough to meet his gaze. “To go down on them, lick their pussy until they scream?”
Steve shook his head slowly, his lips still pressed to the soft skin just below your navel, the faint scrape of his stubble sending shivers through you. “No,” he admitted softly, the word muffled against you. “They never did. I wanted to, God, I thought about it, but it never came up.”
You could understand why, at that moment.
His hands alone, those broad palms mapping your body with such careful reverence, the fleeting brushes of his fingertips against your most sensitive spots without diving in fully - they had you aching already. A deep throb pulsed between your legs, your clit swelling with need, and all you could think about was straddling his hips, sinking down onto that thick cock straining against his pants, riding him until you both shattered.
Or dropping to your knees right there, parting his thighs to wrap your lips around him, sucking him deep and hollowing your cheeks until he groaned your name. The temptation clawed at you, but you held the reins, savoring the slow burn.
“Okay,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your thighs. 'Gently part the outer lips now… spread me open for you. Then test my entrance, slide a finger in just enough to feel how wet I am.”
Steve's eyes darkened with hunger, but he moved with precision, his fingers obeying as they eased your folds apart, exposing the glistening pink core to the cool air of the room. A soft gasp escaped you at the vulnerability, the way he stared like he was committing every detail to memory. His fingertip traced lower, circling your entrance before pressing in shallowly, the intrusion slick and welcoming as your arousal coated him immediately.
He groaned again, deeper this time, feeling the tight heat clench around the tip of his finger. 'You're soaked,' he breathed, awe threading his voice, his free hand gripping your ass to steady you as your body responded, hips canting forward instinctively.
You swore under your breath, a breathless laugh bubbling up as his finger sank deeper into your slick heat, curling just enough to brush that sensitive spot inside. “I'm gonna come right there if you start talking filthy on top of the rest,” you warned, the words tumbling out half-joking, half-desperate, your body already coiling tight from the barest intrusion.
Steve's eyes locked onto yours, a spark of challenge flickering in their blue depths, his lips curving into a smirk that made your pulse stutter. He didn't pull back, though - his finger stayed buried, pumping slowly, testing the way your walls fluttered around him.
“Focus,” you managed, your voice firmer than you felt, gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. “You're learning.”
“Yes, ma'am,” he murmured, the title rolling off his tongue with a husky reverence that sent fresh heat flooding through you. Obedient but bold, he pushed his finger in fully now, the thick digit stretching you open, sliding through your wetness with ease. The pressure built instantly, a sharp spark igniting behind your eyes - you could swear you saw stars bursting in the dim light of his room, your vision blurring at the edges as pleasure lanced up your spine.
Your knees buckled then, thighs quivering uncontrollably, but Steve was there in an instant, his free arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.
With effortless strength, he scooped you up, lowering you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. The mattress dipped under your weight, sheets cool against your heated skin, but it was his scent that enveloped you - clean soap mixed with the faint musk of arousal, woodsy and masculine, filling your lungs as you sank into the pillows.
Lying there, exposed and aching, you watched him through half-lidded eyes, his broad frame hovering over you. “Remove your shirt,” you commanded softly, your voice laced with need, wanting to feel more of him, to level the playing field just a little.
Steve paused, his finger still lodged inside you, thumb now circling your clit in lazy strokes that made your hips jerk. He withdrew slowly, the drag pulling a whine from your throat, before straightening up on his knees. His gaze never left yours as he gripped the hem of his plain white t-shirt, peeling it up and over his head in one fluid motion.
The fabric whispered against his skin, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest - hard ridges of muscle honed from decades of battles, dusted with a light trail of hair that led down to the waistband of his pants. His shoulders flexed as he tossed the shirt aside, the lamplight casting shadows that accentuated every dip and curve, making your mouth water.
He was a vision, all power and restraint, his cock tenting the front of his pants obscenely, but he didn't rush. Instead, he leaned back down, bracing his hands on either side of your hips, his bare chest brushing your thighs as he settled between your legs again.
“Like this?” he asked, voice rough, but his eyes sought approval, eager to please even as his body thrummed with barely leashed hunger.
You nodded, a soft hum of approval escaping your lips as his bare chest pressed warm against your inner thighs, the heat of his skin seeping into yours. Reaching out, you traced the firm ridges of his pectorals, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your fingertips, a testament to the restraint he was exerting.
But words weren't needed for what came next - your body spoke for you, legs parting just enough to invite him closer, the cool air of the room brushing against your exposed folds and making you shiver in anticipation.
Steve's eyes darkened with intent, his broad shoulders slotting between your thighs as he lowered himself onto his stomach, the mattress shifting under his weight. His hands came to rest on your hips, thumbs stroking soothing circles into your skin, grounding you both in the moment. You could feel the brush of his breath against your core already, warm and teasing, sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs.
“The same as with your fingers,” you instructed, your voice low and steady despite the tremor of need threading through it, “but use your mouth this time. Start slow, from the outside… kiss and lick the edges, get a feel for it.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, but there was no hesitation in the way he leaned in.
First, his lips ghosted over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses that trailed upward in a deliberate path. Each one lingered, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin, drawing a quiet gasp from you as he worked his way closer to where you ached most. The stubble on his jaw scraped lightly against your flesh, a delicious contrast to the tenderness of his mouth, building the tension until your hips lifted instinctively toward him.
Finally, he reached your center, his breath fanning hot over your slick folds. Steve paused for a heartbeat, inhaling deeply as if savoring your scent - musky and sweet - before his lips made contact. He started experimentally, sealing his mouth over your outer lips, sucking gently at first, then with more pressure as he gauged your reaction. The wet pull of his tongue followed, lapping at the soft, swollen flesh without delving deeper, exploring the texture and taste with focused curiosity.
The sensation hit you like a spark, sharp and electric, your body arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
Your hand flew to his hair without thinking, fingers threading through the short strands and gripping hard - not to guide, but to anchor yourself as the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth and the insistent suction that made your clit throb in response.
“Steve,” you breathed, half-moan, half-warning, your thighs trembling around his head as he hummed against you, the vibration sending jolts straight to your core.
The firm grip of your fingers in Steve's hair elicited a deep, rumbling groan from him, the sound vibrating straight through your core where his mouth still lingered on your outer folds. His hips shifted restlessly against the mattress, a subtle grind that betrayed the strain of his thickening cock pressing into the sheets, seeking any relief from the building ache. You felt it all - the heat of his breath, the pull of his lips - and it took every ounce of willpower to steady your voice amid the haze of sensation clouding your mind.
“Try licking my clit now,” you murmured, your words laced with a husky edge as you fought to focus, your body already thrumming with need.
Steve pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes hazy with desire and a flicker of uncertainty, lips glistening from his earlier explorations.
“How do you want me to do it?” he asked, voice rough, his chin hovering so close that the warmth of his exhale ghosted over your slick entrance, making your inner walls flutter in response.
You swallowed, guiding him with deliberate calm. “Start with the flat of your tongue instead of the tip… that's how I like it at first.”
He nodded, determination etching his features, and dipped his head again. The broad, warm slide of his tongue pressed flat against your clit, lapping in slow, even strokes that covered the sensitive nub without overwhelming it. The pressure was perfect - firm yet yielding - sending sparks of pleasure radiating outward, your thighs quivering around his shoulders.
Pleasure built like a tide, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut as you bit down on your lower lip, stifling the mewling whimper that threatened to escape. Your back arched slightly, hips tilting to chase the rhythm he was finding, each pass of his tongue drawing you deeper into the bliss.
“Now... you can suck gently on it,” you managed, voice breathy and strained, the words tumbling out between gasps.
Steve hummed in acknowledgment, his mouth sealing softly around the swollen peak. He drew it in with careful suction, alternating with light flicks that had your toes curling into the bedding. The dual sensation - wet heat and gentle pull - coiled tension low in your belly, your breath hitching as waves of heat pulsed through you.
“What do I do with my hands in the meantime?' he asked, lifting his head fractionally, his question muffled against your skin. The rush of cooler air from his words against your drenched pussy made you clench involuntarily, a fresh gush of arousal slicking your thighs.
“You can... you can slide one finger inside to start,” you replied, the instruction coming out in a whisper-shout of need. “Slowly… curl it just a bit once you're in.”
His hand moved with purpose, calloused fingers tracing your inner thigh before one thick digit pressed at your entrance, easing in with agonizing patience. The stretch was exquisite, his touch deliberate as he pushed deeper, the pad of his finger brushing your inner walls while his mouth returned to your clit, sucking with renewed focus.
The combination shattered your restraint, a low moan slipping free as your body surrendered to the mounting ecstasy.
Steve's finger delved deeper, exploring the slick heat of your pussy with careful intent until he brushed against that hidden ridge inside you - the one that sent a jolt of electricity straight through your core. Your body bucked wildly against his mouth, hips jerking upward in a desperate arch as the sensation ripped a gasp from your throat.
He felt it immediately, the way you clenched around him, and his eyes darkened with resolve. Without hesitation, he zeroed in on that spot, curling his finger to press and stroke it with firm, rhythmic pressure, each motion designed to unravel you further.
His mouth never faltered, lips and tongue lavishing your clit with unwavering attention - sucking gently, then flicking with the tip of his tongue in quick, teasing laps that made your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The dual assault was overwhelming, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your belly like a spring wound to its limit.
His free hand splayed across your hip, fingers digging into your flesh with just enough force to pin you down against the mattress, holding you steady as he devoured you. The strength in his grip grounded you even as it heightened the intensity, his super-soldier control keeping you right where he wanted you - spread open and at his mercy.
“Steve,” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, over and over in a breathless litany that filled the room. “Steve... oh God, Steve…” Each syllable trembled with the building ecstasy, your voice rising in pitch as waves of heat crashed through you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on as your body surrendered to the rhythm he set.
Then, with a low growl of satisfaction vibrating against your skin, Steve shifted his approach. He withdrew his finger just enough to thrust it back in alongside the flat slide of his tongue, plunging into your pussy in tandem. The wet, invasive heat of his tongue paired with the insistent curl of his digit stretched and filled you in the most delicious way, mimicking a deeper penetration that had your walls fluttering wildly.
At the same time, the bridge of his nose nudged repeatedly against your clit - firm little bumps that added a rough, friction-filled spark to the mix, grinding just right with every subtle rock of his head.
It was too much, the perfect storm of sensations overwhelming your senses.
Your back bowed off the bed, toes curling into the sheets as the orgasm hit you like a freight train - fierce, unrelenting, and utterly consuming. You cried out without holding back, a raw, uninhibited keen that echoed off the walls, your pussy clenching hard around his finger and tongue in pulsing waves. Juices flooded his mouth, your body shuddering violently as pleasure ripped through you, leaving you gasping and spent, every nerve alight with aftershocks.
Steve didn't pull away immediately, riding out your climax with gentle laps and soft sucks, drawing out the bliss until you were a quivering mess beneath him. Only then did he lift his head, lips shiny and swollen, a smug yet tender smile curving his mouth as he watched you come down, his own arousal evident in the heavy breaths he took and the prominent bulge straining against his pants.
Steve lingered between your thighs for a few more heartbeats, his breath warm and steady against your oversensitive skin as the last tremors of your orgasm ebbed away. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, right where your pulse still fluttered wildly, before slowly withdrawing. His hands slid up your sides in a soothing caress, giving you the space to catch your breath, to let the haze of pleasure settle over you like a warm blanket.
After a moment, a satisfied laugh bubbled up from your chest, light and breathless. You reached down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, and murmured, “Guess you're a natural.” The words carried a teasing lilt, laced with genuine awe at how effortlessly he'd unraveled you.
He lifted his head then, his blue eyes meeting yours with a hint of hesitation, as if he were still gauging your reaction, still the soldier unsure of uncharted territory.
But you weren't about to let that linger. With a gentle tug, you drew him up your body, guiding him until his broad frame hovered over yours. Your lips met in a deep, unhurried kiss, and the taste of yourself on his mouth - salty and musky, mingled with his own clean scent - drew a low moan from your throat. You savored it, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, pulling him deeper into the shared intimacy.
He broke the kiss just enough to search your face, his expression feigning a boyish shyness that didn't quite reach his eyes. “So, you liked it then?” he asked, voice roughened by desire, the words hanging between you like an invitation wrapped in playful doubt.
You pulled back slightly, staring at him as if he'd lost his mind, your brows furrowing in mock disbelief. “You're really asking me, the woman who just came on your tongue, if I liked what you did? Are you fucking with me?”
The profanity slipped out naturally, born of the lingering heat in your veins, but it took a beat for the double entendre to register. Then you caught the curve of his mouth, that smug, knowing smile spreading slow and wicked across his face.
“Well, actually, I am not,” he replied, his voice dropping to a gravelly timbre that sent fresh sparks skittering down your spine.
“Not yet, at least.”
His eyes darkened with promise, the hesitation from moments ago vanishing as confidence flooded back in. He shifted his weight, the hard length of his erection pressing insistently against your hip through the fabric of his pants, a reminder of his own unmet need. One hand trailed down your side, fingers splaying possessively over your hip as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting your ear.
“But if you're offering... I'd like to make sure you enjoy every second of it.”
You met Steve's gaze, the air between you thick with lingering heat and that newfound spark of playfulness.
“You're a menace,” you said, your voice a husky whisper, laced with affection and the remnants of your satisfaction.
His hand on your hip kneaded the soft flesh there with deliberate gentleness, fingers digging in just enough to send a fresh wave of awareness through you. You felt your pussy clench involuntarily, aching around nothing, the emptiness a sharp reminder of how much more you craved. The sensation pulled a soft gasp from your lips, your body already responding to his touch like it had been waiting for this all along.
“Am I?” he murmured, his tone teasing, eyes gleaming with that mix of innocence and growing boldness.
You nodded, capturing your lower lip between your teeth, the bite a small anchor against the building tension. But he wasn't having it. Leaning in, he captured your mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss, his tongue sweeping in to claim you, effectively silencing any further words. The kiss deepened, hungry and unyielding, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to hold you close.
Your hands found the boundary where his sweatpants met the warm, taut skin of his abdomen, fingers splaying across the defined ridges of muscle. You pushed gently, a silent urging, and he understood immediately.
Without breaking the kiss - his lips moving against yours with insistent rhythm - he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and shoved the fabric down his hips. The pants slid off easily, pooling at his ankles before he kicked them aside, leaving him gloriously bare.
Now fully exposed, his cock stood hard and thick, the length curving slightly upward, the head flushed and glistening with pre-cum. He shifted forward, settling between your spread thighs, the heat of his body pressing against yours. The tip of his erection brushed your inner thigh, a teasing graze that made your breath hitch, your core throbbing in anticipation.
His hands braced on either side of you, caging you in without overwhelming, his eyes locking onto yours, and he paused, his body heat radiating against your skin as he hovered above you, that thick cock of his pressing insistently against your thigh. His blue eyes searched yours, a flicker of uncertainty cutting through the raw desire.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. “We've been dancing around it with that excuse of me learning to go down on you, but... this? Actually fucking? That's crossing a line we can't uncross.”
You reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips, feeling the stubble rasp against your skin. Your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your words. Softly, you murmured, “I've been thinking about it for weeks, Steve. Every time I see you, every late-night talk... I want this. I want you inside me.”
A groan rumbled from his throat, and he buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your pulse. His lips brushed your skin there, not quite a kiss, more like he was savoring the scent of you - sweat and arousal mingling in the air.
“You're the menace now,” he whispered, the words muffled but laced with that teasing edge you'd come to crave. He nipped lightly at your collarbone, sending a shiver racing down your spine. ‘You can't say something like that and expect me to keep being a gentleman afterwards.’
His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips with a firmness that made your breath catch. You arched up instinctively, your pussy slick and aching, the wetness from his earlier attentions still coating your folds. He shifted, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance, not pushing in yet, just teasing with shallow rocks of his hips. The friction dragged along your clit, pulling a whimper from you as your inner walls fluttered, desperate to be filled.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him closer.
“Then don't be a gentleman,” you breathed, your nails scraping lightly down his shoulders. “Take what you want. Fuck me like you've been imagining.”
Steve lifted his head, eyes darkening with that primal hunger, the last threads of restraint snapping. He captured your mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue thrusting deep as his hips finally surged forward. Inch by inch, he sank into you, stretching your pussy around his girth. The burn was exquisite, your body yielding to him as he bottomed out, his balls pressing flush against your ass. You gasped into the kiss, the fullness overwhelming, every ridge and vein of him pulsing inside you.
He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting in the charged silence.
“God, you feel... so good,” he rasped, voice strained with the effort of holding back.
Then he began to move - slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged his cock along your sensitive walls, building that coil of pleasure low in your belly. His hands roamed, one cupping your breast to thumb your nipple into a tight peak, the other bracing beside your head as he set a rhythm that had the bed creaking beneath you.
You met each roll of his hips with your own, grinding up to take him deeper, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Sweat beaded on his chest, dripping onto your skin as he picked up pace, his breaths coming in sharp bursts.
“Tell me if it's too much,” he murmured between kisses, but his eyes burned with the need to lose himself in you, to chase that edge together.
“It's not too much. It's nearly not enough,” you panted, your voice breaking on the words as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Steve's thrusts had you teetering on the edge, but you craved more - deeper, harder, the kind of connection that blurred every line between you.
He paused mid-thrust, his cock buried to the hilt inside your clenching pussy, and met your gaze with those intense blue eyes, now stormy with lust. Without a word, he shifted, rising up onto his knees in one fluid motion, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you upright with him.
The sudden change made you gasp, your body molding to his as he settled back on his heels, guiding you to straddle his lap. Your thighs spread wide over his, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him, and the new angle drove him even deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against that sweet spot inside you.
A long, throaty moan escaped your lips as you adjusted, the fullness overwhelming in the best way. Every inch of him stretched you perfectly, your inner walls gripping him like a vice, slick with your combined arousal. The position let gravity do half the work, his thickness filling you completely, rubbing against your sensitive nerves with every tiny shift.
Steve's large hands slid down to cup your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh with just enough pressure to make you arch. He lifted you slightly, then guided you back down, setting a rhythm of slow, rolling thrusts that had you both groaning.
The movements were deliberate, intense - each forward slide grinding your clit against his pubic bone, each pull back dragging his shaft along your fluttering walls. It was more potent than before, the friction building faster, hotter, your body trembling as pleasure coiled tighter in your core.
Your breasts brushed his sweat-slicked chest with every undulation, nipples hardening further from the teasing contact, sending sparks straight to your pussy.
You leaned in closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the musky scent of him - salt and man, mixed with the faint trace of his soap from earlier. Your lips found the taut skin there, and you sucked hard, teeth grazing before you bit down, not enough to break skin but firm enough to mark. He shuddered beneath you, a low growl rumbling from his chest, and you felt his cock twitch deep inside, pulsing against your depths.
To soothe the sting, you licked over the spot, tongue flat and warm, tasting the salt of his sweat.
Steve's grip tightened on your ass, pulling you down harder onto him as he rocked up to meet you. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice hoarse and ragged, his breath fanning hot against your ear. “You keep doing that, and I'm not gonna last.”
His hips snapped up sharper now, the slap of your bodies echoing wetly in the room, your juices coating his balls as they tapped against your ass.
You rode him with abandon, hands clutching his broad shoulders for leverage, nails biting into muscle. The pace quickened under his guidance, those powerful hands kneading your cheeks, spreading you wider to take him fully.
Your moans mingled with his grunts, the air thick with the sounds of sex - the creak of the bed, the slick glide of cock in pussy, your shared breaths coming in desperate pants. That coil in your belly wound tighter, heat spreading through your limbs, and you knew you were close, teetering on the brink as he filled you over and over.
Steve's fingers threaded through your hair at the nape of your neck, gathering the strands in a firm grip. He tugged gently but with unyielding control, arching your head back to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.
The pull sent a shiver racing down your spine, your body yielding instinctively as cool air kissed your skin. His tongue followed, hot and wet, tracing a slow, deliberate path up the column of your trachea, from the hollow at your collarbone to just below your jaw. The sensation was electric - rough texture against smooth flesh, his breath ghosting over the damp trail, making your pulse thunder in your ears.
At the same moment, his other hand clamped onto your hip, the one in your hair joining it to seize control. With superhuman strength tempered by care, he lifted you off his cock just enough to reposition, then slammed you back down, his hips bucking up to meet you in a punishing rhythm.
The shift was brutal in its intensity; each thrust drove his thick shaft deep into your soaked pussy, the head battering your cervix while his girth stretched you to the limit. Your walls clenched around him, fluttering wildly as the friction ignited every nerve.
You cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained, echoing off the walls as pleasure spiked through you. His pounding was relentless - wet slaps of skin on skin, his balls smacking against your ass with every upward snap.
The coil in your core snapped taut, then shattered. Orgasm ripped through you like a storm, your pussy spasming around his cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy pulsed from your clit to your toes. You screamed his name, body convulsing in his lap, nails raking down his back as you rode the high, juices flooding over him in a gush.
Steve groaned against your throat, the vibration humming into your skin as your climax triggered his own. He buried himself to the root one final time, hips grinding in circles to prolong your shudders, then tensed beneath you. Hot spurts of cum erupted inside you, filling your pussy with thick ropes that coated your walls and leaked out around his base. His hands stayed locked on your hips, holding you flush against him while he pulsed and throbbed, drawing out every last tremor.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you panting, slick with sweat and spent. His cock softened slowly within you, still twitching occasionally as aftershocks rippled through. Steve's arms wrapped around your back, one hand stroking your hair where he'd pulled it moments ago, the other rubbing soothing circles on your lower back.
The room smelled of sex - musk and salt, your mingled releases - and the air felt heavy, intimate.
He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “That was... wow,” his voice rough but tender, as your heartbeats synced in the quiet aftermath.
With Steve still half-buried inside you, his softening length a warm, intimate weight that kept you connected, you hesitated to shift even an inch. The aftershocks of your release lingered like echoes in your limbs, leaving you blissfully adrift on that hazy cloud of satisfaction.
Your forehead nestled against the crook of his neck, where the scent of his clean sweat and faint cologne mingled with the raw tang of your shared arousal. Each exhale from your lips brushed his skin, raising faint goosebumps along his collarbone, and you felt the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your cheek - strong, reassuring.
"So..." The word slipped out softly, tentative, as you groped for the right way to voice the thought swirling in your mind. Your voice was husky from your cries, barely above a whisper in the quiet room.
Steve's arms tightened around you just enough to anchor you closer, one broad hand splaying across your bare back in slow, soothing strokes. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your spine, from the dip at the small of your back up to your shoulders, as if memorizing every curve.
He didn't rush you, didn't interrupt; he simply held you there, his chest rising and falling in sync with yours, patient as ever. The warmth of his body enveloped you, a solid wall of muscle that made the world outside this bed feel distant and irrelevant.
"Maybe this... teaching thingy... could become more permanent?" The words finally tumbled free, laced with a mix of vulnerability and hope. You lifted your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes - those blue depths still darkened from passion, but now softened with something deeper, more tender.
A slow smile curved his lips, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made your heart stutter. He shifted beneath you, careful not to pull away fully, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck.
"Permanent, huh?" His voice rumbled low, rough around the edges from exertion, but warm with amusement and affection. He brushed his thumb along your jawline, tilting your face so he could hold your gaze steadily. "I like the sound of that. No one-off lessons... just us, figuring this out together. Every night, if you want."
The sincerity in his tone sent a fresh flutter through your chest, chasing away any lingering uncertainty.
He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before capturing your lips in a lingering one that tasted of salt and promise. His free hand wandered lower, squeezing your hip possessively, as if sealing the idea. You melted into him, the suggestion hanging between you like an invitation to more - lazy mornings tangled in sheets, stolen touches during team briefings, and endless explorations that blurred the line between teacher and lover. For now, though, you stayed like that, bodies entwined, letting the quiet affirmation settle as his fingers continued their calming dance across your skin.
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Avengers' communal kitchen, casting a warm glow over the sleek countertops and the scent of fresh coffee brewing.
Steve sat at the island, nursing a mug of black coffee, his broad shoulders relaxed but his posture still carrying that innate soldier's straightness. He looked more at ease than usual, a subtle smile playing at the edges of his mouth as he flipped through a newspaper - old habits dying hard, even in the 21st century.
Tony, ever the instigator, sauntered in with his usual swagger, a tablet in one hand and a smirk already forming. He slid onto the stool next to Steve, clapping him on the back a bit too enthusiastically.
“So, Cap,” Tony drawled, his voice dripping with mischief, “how's the weather down there in uncharted territory? Did you finally conquer that whole... cunnilingus virginity thing? Or are we still talking baby steps?”
Steve's cheeks flushed a faint pink, but he kept his eyes on the paper, folding it neatly before meeting Tony's gaze with a level stare.
“Tony,” he said evenly, though there was a hint of warning in his tone, “not everything needs to be a headline.”
But Tony just leaned in closer, undeterred, ready to launch into another round of ribbing.
That's when you walked in, hair still tousled from sleep, wearing one of Steve's oversized shirts that hung loosely over your frame. The sight of Tony gearing up for his tease made your eyes narrow playfully. Without missing a beat, you crossed the kitchen in a few quick strides, your bare feet padding softly on the cool tile.
As Tony opened his mouth for another quip, you reached out and delivered a swift, light smack to the back of his head - firm enough to make him yelp but not hard enough to bruise.
“Ow! Hey!” Tony rubbed the spot dramatically, spinning around on his stool to face you with mock outrage. “Assault on a genius! What did I do?”
You slid onto the stool on Steve's other side, your hand finding his knee under the counter in a subtle, reassuring squeeze. Leaning forward just enough to catch both their eyes, you grinned, your voice carrying a mix of pride and finality.
“You leave him alone, Stark. Steve didn't just pass the cap… he aced it. Brilliantly. No more virgin territory there.”
Steve's flush deepened, but his hand covered yours, his thumb tracing a gentle circle on your skin. A soft chuckle escaped him, the sound warm and genuine, cutting through any lingering awkwardness. Tony's eyes widened in theatrical surprise before he burst into laughter, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Alright, alright! Message received. Congrats on the upgrade, Cap. Just don't go writing a field manual on it.”
The three of you settled into easy banter after that, the teasing dissolving into the comfortable rhythm of team mornings - pancakes sizzling on the griddle, coffee refills, and plans for the day ahead.
But as Tony eventually wandered off to tinker in his lab, you lingered with Steve, your fingers intertwined with his. The teaching had evolved into something real, something permanent, and in the quiet moments like this, it felt like the best kind of victory.
No missions, no battles - just you and him, building a future one shared secret at a time.
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Cover Story
Summary: Two days into a cover mission, you and Steve are already frighteningly good at playing newlyweds: hand in hand, pet names on autopilot, smiles for the neighbors. It’s supposed to be safe. It’s supposed to be fake. But the more convincing the act becomes, the harder it is to remember where the cover ends… and what it’s waking up between you.
Wordcount: 12.4k
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)
Warnings: MDNI, porn with plot (for once), pronebone, unprotected p in v, big dick Steve (I mean... yk what I mean...), fake marriage au, undercover au, mission partners to lovers, friends to lovers, slow burn (but make it fast), mutual pining, pet names (honey, baby, sweetheart, doll), domestic fluff, protective steve rogers, sam wilson is an idiot
Elixir's Arcade Event: Flush with "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?" + "Do you know how hard I'm trying not to kiss you right now?" + "We're not supposed to do this." - "Then stop kissing me like that."
A/N: I was a little stuck with this one at first, because I knew I wanted it to be smutty, but at the same time I had no inspiration apart from some "vanilla" sex. And then, Cassie talked to me about the lack of pronebone fics with Steve, and I had no idea what that was, and looked it up, and I went "Oh. That. I want to write that." So, this one got @blobfishlol 's stamp of approval.
Masterlist
The plan had come out of Sam’s mouth like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“You’ll go in as a married couple.”
You had stared at him over the edge of the briefing table, waiting for the punchline to land.
It didn’t.
Sam, completely unfazed, had leaned back in his chair and shrugged like he’d just suggested ordering takeout. “It’s clean. It’s believable. People don’t look too hard at married people.”
Across from him, Steve had gone very, very still.
Which, in your experience, usually meant he was either biting back a comment… or bracing for impact.
You took a slow breath through your nose.
“Sam,” you said, carefully. “Do you realize who he is?”
Sam blinked. “Yes?”
“You know, the part where he’s–” You pointed at Steve without even looking at him, because it felt like pointing at a monument. “–Captain America.”
Steve’s ears turned pink. Of course they did.
Sam lifted his hands. “I’m aware.”
“So walk me through this,” you pressed, leaning in. “Walk me through how this is supposed to work in a world where everyone and their grandma recognizes his face.”
“It’s a cover,” Sam insisted. “Not a red-carpet announcement.”
You let out a laugh that had no humor in it. “A cover. Right. Because nothing says ‘low profile’ like Captain America suddenly having a wife.”
Steve cleared his throat, very quietly. “It doesn’t have to be–”
“No,” you cut in, because if you gave him room, he would try to smooth it over, and you were not in the mood to be smoothed. “No, Steve. We’re not doing this thing where we pretend it makes sense just because Sam said it with confidence.”
Sam’s smile widened, annoying and victorious. “Confidence is important.”
“It’s implacably stupid,” you snapped, and you didn’t even feel bad about it. “It’s the kind of stupid that only sounds brilliant if you say it fast and then leave the room before anyone can argue.”
Bucky, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, made a noise that might have been a laugh if he’d ever allowed himself joy. Natasha’s eyes flicked to you, sharp with interest – like she was watching a fire catch.
Sam pointed a finger at you like you were the one being unreasonable. “Okay, hear me out.”
“No.”
“Just–”
“No.”
Steve shifted again, his gaze fixed somewhere near the schematics, like the diagram might save him. “It’s… not the worst idea.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Don’t.”
His mouth shut. The pink in his cheeks got worse.
Sam seized the opening like a man starving. “Thank you! It’s not the worst idea.”
You looked between them – Sam with his smug optimism, Steve with his painfully earnest discomfort – and felt a headache blooming behind your eyes.
“You’re telling me,” you said slowly, “that we’re going to walk into a place crawling with people who have televisions and internet access, and our plan is… what. Hope nobody says, Hey, isn’t that Captain America? and then immediately follows it with, Wait, why is he wearing a wedding ring?”
Sam tilted his head. “People will assume he has a life.”
“Steve doesn’t have a life,” you said flatly, then immediately regretted the words when Steve’s expression flickered – something quick and wounded that he covered before it could fully exist.
You exhaled, rubbing your forehead. “Okay. That came out wrong.”
Steve shook his head once, small. “No, you’re… you’re not wrong.”
That was worse.
You straightened, forcing yourself back into the argument because it was easier than looking at the way his hands were folded so tightly in front of him.
“It’s not believable,” you said, more controlled now. “It’s not clean. It’s not anything. It’s a neon sign. People don’t look too hard at married people? They look at him.”
Sam leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright. “That’s exactly why it works.”
You stared at him.
Sam smiled like he’d been waiting for this moment. “They’ll look at him and stop thinking. They’ll fill in the gaps themselves. Captain America is married? Sure. Why not. It’s not like the tabloids haven’t tried to marry him off a hundred times.”
Natasha made a thoughtful sound. “He’s not wrong.”
You turned to her. “Don’t you start.”
Natasha’s mouth curved. “I’m not starting. I’m observing.”
Bucky hummed. “It’s gonna be funny.”
You glared at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I’ve had a hard life,” he deadpanned. “Let me have this.”
Steve finally lifted his eyes to you. And there it was again – that quiet steadiness that made you feel seen in the most inconvenient way.
“I’ll do whatever makes the mission safer,” he said, simple as that. “If it’s a bad idea, we’ll find another cover. We don’t have to force it.”
Sam pointed at him again, triumphant. “Look at that. Team player. America’s husband.”
“Sam,” Steve warned, but it had no bite. It never did.
You pushed your chair back with a scrape that sounded louder than it should have in the sterile briefing room.
“It’s stupid,” you repeated, because you needed them to understand that you meant it with your whole chest. “It’s stupid and I’m not backing down. There are a dozen other covers we can use. Hell – put a fake mustache on him. That would be less recognizable.”
Sam’s grin widened to something almost affectionate. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“I will end you,” you said, without missing a beat.
Natasha’s eyes gleamed. “Please do it quietly. Some of us are trying to work.”
Steve’s lips twitched, traitorous. He looked away quickly, like smiling at you was a secret he couldn’t afford.
That – that was the problem.
Not the ring. Not the paperwork. Not the logistics.
The problem was that this ridiculous idea had already started to pull at something that had been tight and controlled between you and Steve for months. A thread you both pretended wasn’t there. A tension you both filed away under not now and not allowed and don’t even think about it.
And Sam, in all his “brilliant” stupidity, had just yanked on it with both hands.
“We’re not actually married,” you said, pointing at Steve again like it would somehow anchor reality.
Steve nodded, earnest. “I know.”
“And we’re not going to act like we are,” you added, sharper. “We’re going to act like… like two people who–”
Sam cut in immediately, delighted. “Like two people who love each other.”
You made a sound of pure, visceral disgust. “Absolutely not.”
Steve’s breath caught – so soft you almost missed it – and his eyes flicked to yours.
For a second, the room faded. The table. The files. The mission.
Just his gaze. Just the way it held too much.
Then he blinked, and it was gone, tucked back behind the shield he wore even when the shield wasn’t in his hands.
Sam clapped his hands together. “Great! So we agree.”
“We do not–” you started.
“–agree,” Sam finished, completely ignoring you. “Rings, names, backstory. We’ll workshop it. Steve, you’re gonna have to get used to saying ‘my wife’ without looking like you’re about to apologize.”
Steve’s face went red so fast it was almost impressive.
You threw your hands up. “This is incredibly stupid.”
Sam beamed. “See? You’re already saying it like it’s a catchphrase.”
You glared at him so hard it should’ve set him on fire.
Steve shifted beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, and his voice dropped just for you – low, quiet, sincere.
“We can still say no,” he murmured. “If you want. I’ll back you.”
You should’ve said yes.
You should’ve grabbed onto that lifeline and dragged yourself out of this before it became something you couldn’t control.
Instead you looked at him – at the honesty in his eyes, at the way he offered you safety even when it meant making himself uncomfortable – and something in your chest went soft in the worst possible way.
And Sam, watching the two of you with the satisfied patience of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, just smiled wider.
“Come on,” he said, already gathering the folders. “It’s gonna be fine. Everybody loves a wedding story.”
You muttered, under your breath, “I hate you.”
Sam didn’t even pretend to be offended.
“I know,” he said cheerfully. “Now pick a date. Nothing says ‘committed’ like a date.”
Steve made a strangled sound.
And you realized, with dawning horror, that this mission wasn’t going to be dangerous because of the target.
It was going to be dangerous because of the lie.
By the time you reached the apartment, you already hated everything about Sam’s “brilliant” plan.
It wasn’t a safehouse in the usual sense – not a bunker, not a sterile S.H.I.E.L.D. box with reinforced doors and cameras in the vents. It was an ordinary unit in an ordinary building with beige walls and a lobby that smelled faintly of old mail and someone’s reheated pasta.
Normal.
That was the point.
You went up the stairs with your duffel biting into your shoulder, Steve a step behind you with his own bag like he wasn’t Steve Rogers, like he was just another man moving in with his wife.
The thought made your jaw tighten.
Inside, the apartment was… decent. Small, clean, staged. The kind of space someone had rented out furnished and forgotten about. A neutral sofa, a little kitchen, a table with two chairs. A framed print of something abstract on the wall that looked like it had been chosen specifically because it meant nothing.
You dropped your bag by the entryway and did a quick scan out of habit – sightlines, exits, hiding spots, anything that could turn into a problem.
Then you walked toward the bedroom, pushed the door open, and…
Of course.
One bed.
One, single, wide bed that took up most of the room like it had been placed there to make a point. Crisp white sheets. Two pillows. A faint scent of detergent and that slightly too-sweet air freshener smell that every “temporary” apartment seemed to have.
You stood there for a second, staring at it like it might multiply if you glared hard enough.
Behind you, Steve halted in the doorway. You didn’t have to look at him to know he’d clocked the same thing.
Silence stretched.
You exhaled slowly, turning on your heel. “I’ll take the couch.”
Steve’s head lifted, as if he was going to argue – and of course he was. Because Steve would rather sleep on broken glass than let someone else be uncomfortable.
“I can–” he started.
“You can take the bed,” you cut in before he could do the whole gentle martyr routine. “This isn’t a debate, Steve.”
His brows drew together. “It’s not fair.”
“It’s a mattress,” you said, grabbing one of the throw blankets from the sofa like you’d already decided. “I’ll survive.”
He opened his mouth again…
And the doorbell rang.
Sharp. Immediate. Like the universe had impeccable comedic timing.
You froze.
Steve’s entire posture changed in an instant – from awkward and domestic to alert and ready, the kind of switch that always made you remember he was built for war even when he was holding grocery bags.
You moved toward the door without thinking, peeking through the peephole.
A couple stood in the hallway: middle-aged, friendly faces, the kind of people who waved at neighbors and remembered birthdays. The woman held a small plate covered in foil. The man wore a baseball cap and a curious smile.
Neighbors.
Great.
You pulled the door open and forced your expression into something approachable.
“Hi,” you said, brightening your voice just a touch. “Can I help you?”
The woman’s face lit up. “Oh! Hi. We’re so sorry to bother you, we just– we saw someone moving in and thought we’d come say welcome. I’m Linda. This is my husband, Mark. We’re right across the hall.”
You smiled, polite. “That’s really nice, thank you.”
Before you could add anything else, Steve stepped up behind you.
And then it happened so smoothly you almost didn’t register it until you felt it.
His arm came around your shoulders – warm, solid, familiar – pulling you in just enough to make it natural. Not possessive. Not dramatic. Just… intimate, in that casual way couples were intimate without thinking about it.
Like he’d done it a thousand times.
Your body reacted before your brain caught up: a stiff little jolt in your spine, your breath catching in the back of your throat.
Steve didn’t hesitate.
“Hi,” he said, easy, friendly, utterly un-Captain-America in the best way. “I’m Steve. Thanks for coming by.”
Then, without even looking down, he tipped his head toward you and added, voice softening just a fraction, “Honey, do we still have those waters in the fridge?”
Honey.
The word landed like a hand on your pulse.
Not because it was loud.
Because it was right – in the worst possible way. Like his mouth had shaped it naturally. Like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.
You felt the neighbors’ eyes flicker between the two of you with immediate approval, the way people did when they sensed something familiar and comfortable.
Linda beamed. “Oh my God, you two are adorable.”
Mark nodded, grinning. “Yeah. Welcome to the building.”
You forced a laugh that sounded a little too high in your own ears. “Thanks.”
Steve’s thumb shifted against your shoulder, a tiny squeeze – a silent play along.
Your brain finally caught up enough to do its job.
You leaned into him, just slightly. Let your shoulders relax. Let your body lie as convincingly as your mouth was about to.
“Sorry,” you said, aiming for warm. “We just got in and we’re still… unpacking.”
Linda lifted the plate. “We brought you something. Banana bread. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s fresh.”
“That’s so kind,” you said, accepting it with both hands. The foil was still warm.
Steve’s arm didn’t move.
His presence at your side was steady, reassuring, and suddenly far too distracting.
Linda’s gaze dropped – naturally – to your hand. To the ring.
And then to Steve’s.
Her smile widened like you’d just confirmed something she wanted to believe. “Newlyweds?”
Oh, for the love of–
You felt Steve’s breath change. Not a flinch, exactly. Just a fractional pause, like even he hadn’t anticipated the direct hit.
But he recovered instantly.
“Yeah,” Steve said, gentle, almost shy. “Pretty recently.”
Your stomach flipped.
Linda clasped her hands together. “That is wonderful! Congratulations!”
Mark chuckled. “You picked a good building, man. Quiet. Safe.”
Steve nodded. “That was the idea.”
You kept smiling, kept your face smooth, kept the lie sitting on your tongue like it hadn’t just scorched your throat.
“Thank you,” you managed. “We’re… we’re happy to be here.”
Linda’s eyes softened in that way women’s eyes softened when they thought they were looking at something sweet. “Well, if you need anything – sugar, flour, a screwdriver, someone to take a package – you just knock.”
“We will,” Steve promised. “Thank you. Really.”
They said their goodbyes after another minute, still smiling, still satisfied.
You kept waving until the elevator swallowed them.
The second the door clicked shut, you exhaled so hard it felt like you’d been holding your breath for hours.
Steve’s arm fell away immediately, like he’d been burned.
The warmth it left behind on your skin was almost worse.
You turned slowly, banana bread still in your hands like evidence.
Steve stood a few feet away, eyes on the floor for a beat, then up to you – apologetic already forming on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he started.
You held up a hand. “Don’t.”
His brows knit. “I just– it was automatic. I thought–”
“I know,” you said, because you did. That was the problem. It had been automatic. Instinctive. Like his body knew the role.
Like he’d wanted to play it.
You set the plate on the counter a little too carefully.
Then you looked back at him, trying for exasperation and landing on something softer you didn’t want.
“Honey?” you repeated, dryly.
Steve’s face went red in a way that would’ve been funny if it didn’t make your chest ache.
“I panicked,” he admitted.
“You panicked and your brain decided ‘honey’ was the best option.”
Steve’s mouth opened, then closed. “I–”
You shook your head, letting out a small, incredulous laugh. “This is going to be a long few days.”
His gaze flicked to the bedroom door behind you.
Then to the couch.
Then back to you, like he wanted to say something responsible and didn’t know where to put it.
You could see the thought forming – the inevitable argument about who slept where, about propriety, about comfort, about what you were “supposed” to do.
And then, like the universe wasn’t done tormenting you, you heard footsteps in the hall again. Another door opening. A murmur of voices.
Other neighbors.
More eyes.
More “welcome” smiles.
More rings to notice.
Steve’s shoulders squared subtly, the way they did when he stepped into a role.
When he looked at you this time, there was an apology in his eyes – and something else, too.
Something you didn’t let yourself name.
“Okay,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “Ground rules.”
Steve blinked. “Ground rules?”
“You do not call me honey,” you said firmly.
His lips twitched, helpless. “What about–”
“No.”
“Amazing,” he murmured, like he couldn’t help it. “Because I was going to suggest we–”
The doorbell rang again.
You both froze.
Steve’s gaze slid to yours, and for half a second, you saw it: the way he was already bracing to put his arm around you again.
The way you were already bracing to let him.
You swallowed, stepped toward the door, and forced your best smile back into place.
Behind you, Steve moved closer – close enough to feel.
Close enough to make the lie believable.
And you hated how easily your body adjusted to it.
By the end of the first day, you hated two things with equal intensity.
Sam’s smugness.
And how quickly your body learned the rhythm of the lie.
Because outside the apartment, Steve didn’t just play along. He inhabited it like he’d been born knowing how.
It started small – almost reasonable.
A “honey” murmured at the corner store when you reached for the wrong brand of coffee filters. A “darling” said with a soft laugh as he held the door open for you, palm resting at the small of your back like it belonged there.
The first few times, it made your spine go rigid.
Not because it was inappropriate – you’d done worse covers than this – but because it was Steve. Because his voice did something unfair to those words, like he meant them even when he absolutely couldn’t.
And the worst part was that it worked.
The cashier looked at you and didn’t see an Avenger and an agent. She saw a couple. A man with a patient smile, a woman rolling her eyes affectionately, two people bickering gently over which cereal was “actually edible.” She saw normal.
The building’s doorman learned your faces. The elderly lady on the second floor smiled at you like you were her favorite kind of story. The guy with the dog stopped giving Steve the suspicious once-over after the second day, because Steve had started crouching down to scratch the dog’s ears like he didn’t have a single dangerous thought in his head.
And you…
You held his hand.
Not dramatically. Not with some performative squeeze meant for an audience. Just… naturally.
Because it was easier.
Because it was safer.
Because once you’d done it once, your fingers started reaching for his the next time without you even thinking about it.
Two days.
Two days and your body began to anticipate the warmth of his palm before your brain could remember why it was a bad idea.
You ran the perimeter as if you were just stretching your legs after unpacking, strolling past the same coffee shop twice, ducking into a small bookstore, lingering at the window of a florist for no reason other than to look like you had time.
Steve walked beside you like he belonged there.
Sometimes his arm would slide around your shoulders with that same easy familiarity, tugging you in against his side when you crossed a street. Sometimes his hand would settle at your waist when you paused near a storefront, a light pressure that felt like an anchor.
He said your name less.
He said darling or honey more.
And each time he did, it got… easier.
Less jarring.
Less like a performance.
More like a habit.
You told yourself it was because repetition made anything feel normal. That this was just conditioning. That if you repeated a lie often enough, it stopped feeling like a lie.
It was a comforting thought.
It was also a dangerous one.
By the second night, you’d stopped flinching when he touched you.
By the second night, you’d stopped fighting the instinct to lean into him.
By the second night, you’d caught yourself laughing at something he said while his arm was around you – and you’d forgotten, for half a second, that anyone was watching.
You’d forgotten the mission.
You’d forgotten you weren’t supposed to let this seep under your skin.
That was what terrified you.
The third morning should have been routine.
The apartment was quiet in that early way, the kind of quiet that felt domestic whether you wanted it to or not. Pale light spilled through the blinds. The building’s pipes hissed somewhere in the walls. The scent of coffee hung in the air, warm and grounding.
You were sitting at the small table with your laptop open, hair still messy, one knee tucked up under you. A map and a list of names were spread out beside the keyboard, the practical skeleton of the operation laid bare.
Steve moved around the kitchen with a kind of careful ease you didn’t know he had – barefoot, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from the shower. He’d taken the couch the first night. You’d argued. He’d insisted. You’d rolled your eyes and let him, because it was easier than acknowledging how the idea of sharing the bed made your pulse do stupid things.
He’d taken the couch the second night too.
You’d told yourself that proved you were both being professional.
You were still telling yourself that when he approached with a mug in each hand.
He set one down in front of you – black, two sugars, exactly how you took it – like he’d been doing it for years instead of… forty-eight hours.
Then he tilted his head, mouth curving, voice soft with that morning warmth that made you want to throw something at him.
“Here you go, darling.”
You froze with your fingers hovering over the keyboard.
It wasn’t the word.
It was the way it came with no hesitation at all. No performative wink. No glance toward a window to check who might hear.
Just… natural.
Intimate.
Like you were alone and it was real.
You looked up slowly.
Steve was still smiling, but there was a question in his eyes too – like he wasn’t sure why you’d stopped moving. Like he was just… existing in the habit you’d both built.
Your gaze flicked to the coffee. To the mug. To his hands, big and steady and careful not to spill.
Then back to his face.
“You’re getting comfortable,” you said, suspicion sharpening your tone on purpose, because if you didn’t make it a joke, it would turn into something else.
Steve blinked. “What?”
You nudged the mug slightly, as if moving it could shove the moment back into place. “With the… pet names.”
His mouth opened like he was going to deny it. Then he seemed to think better of it.
A faint flush crept up his neck.
“I thought–” he started, then stopped, because whatever excuse he had didn’t sound convincing even in his own head.
You leaned back in your chair, lifting an eyebrow.
And then you let it land exactly where it needed to.
“Do I need to remind you we’re not actually married?”
For half a second, Steve just stared at you.
Like the words had yanked him out of a daydream.
Like you’d pulled a thread and something inside him had gone tight.
His gaze dropped to your hand – to the ring that still sat there, simple and cruel – and his jaw worked once, as if he was swallowing something he hadn’t meant to taste.
Then he looked up again, and the softness in his expression didn’t disappear.
It just changed.
“I remember,” he said quietly.
There was no defensiveness in it.
No embarrassment.
Just… truth.
And for a moment, the apartment felt too small. The air too warm. The coffee too rich in your throat.
Because he wasn’t arguing.
He wasn’t correcting you.
He was simply acknowledging the line you’d drawn – and the fact that he’d stepped close enough to it to make you nervous.
You forced a small, dry smile, because you needed control back in your hands.
“Good.”
Steve’s eyes held yours, steady and too honest for seven in the morning.
“I’m not doing it to–” he began, and stopped again, like he was choosing his words with care. “It’s… habit. Like you said.”
“Right,” you agreed quickly. “A habit.”
He nodded once, but his voice was lower when he added, almost like he couldn’t help himself–
“It’s easy.”
You didn’t breathe for a second.
Easy.
Like it didn’t cost you anything.
Like it didn’t twist something in your chest every time he called you darling.
Like it didn’t make your skin remember his hand around your shoulders before you’d even stepped outside.
You looked away first, because if you didn’t, you were going to let him see too much.
You reached for the mug, wrapping your hands around the heat like it was something solid to hold onto.
“Let’s just… keep it outside,” you said, casual on purpose. “In here, we can be normal.”
Steve’s lips quirked faintly. “Normal.”
You shot him a look over the rim of your coffee. “You know what I mean.”
His smile softened – gentle, almost fond.
And that was the real problem.
Because you were starting to recognize that look.
Not from missions.
From moments.
“I do,” he said. “I’ll– I’ll be careful.”
Careful.
You nodded, taking a sip, letting the bitterness ground you.
Then the quiet stretched, filled with the small sounds of morning – the building settling, the distant hum of traffic, the faint clink of Steve setting his own mug down.
You told yourself you’d put the line back where it belonged.
That you’d reminded him.
That you’d reminded yourself.
But when you stood a few minutes later to grab the printed file from the counter, Steve shifted to make room for you in the narrow space.
And as you passed him, he murmured, almost too soft to hear, “Sorry, honey.”
The word curled around you like smoke.
You stopped for half a beat.
Steve went still too, like he realized what he’d done at the exact same time you did.
Then you exhaled slowly, not turning around.
“This is going to be a long mission,” you muttered.
Behind you, you heard the smallest sound – not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.
And Steve, voice warm with something dangerously close to amusement, answered anyway.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
The invite had come through one of the informants like it was nothing.
A “small get-together.” A “few people.” A “chance to be seen.”
Which, translated into your world, meant: a room full of eyes you couldn’t afford to trigger.
It wasn’t black-tie. No glittering ballroom, no orchestra, no photographers. But it was still the kind of evening where people noticed details. Where you couldn’t show up in tactical gear and a hoodie without sticking out like a warning sign.
So you made an effort.
Steve did too.
That was part of the problem.
He’d swapped his usual mission-friendly layers for something softer, cleaner. Dark jeans, a button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, the collar open just enough to look relaxed. His hair was still Steve-hair – stubborn and slightly unruly – but he’d tamed it a little, like he’d actually stood in front of a mirror and tried.
You hated how unfair it was.
How one small shift made him look less like Captain America and more like… a man.
A man you had to pretend was yours.
You chose something simple. Nothing that screamed date night, nothing that made you feel like you were trying too hard. Just a dress that hit your knees and a jacket you could move in, your hair pinned back enough to keep it out of your face. You’d checked the seams, the pockets, the way the fabric fell – because even when you were dressed like a civilian, you still thought like a soldier.
In the hallway mirror, you’d both looked almost… believable.
Steve had glanced at you, then away, like looking too long would be a mistake.
“Ready?” he’d asked.
You’d swallowed. “Yeah.”
And then you’d stepped into the lie together.
The party was in someone’s apartment a few blocks away – bigger than yours, warmer, louder. The kind of place where furniture got pushed back to make room for bodies and music and laughter. Someone had lit too many candles. Someone had put together a playlist that tried hard to be cool.
There were drinks on every surface.
There were clusters of people talking with their whole hands. Couples leaning close. Friends laughing too loudly. A dog weaving between legs like it owned the place.
Normal.
That was the point.
You and Steve slipped into it like you belonged there.
He rested a hand at your back when you moved through the crowd. You smiled at strangers. You laughed at jokes you barely heard. You nodded along to conversations about work and rent and the building’s plumbing like you weren’t mentally mapping exits.
You played your role.
He played his.
And together, you were… seamless.
A couple.
A unit.
Steve’s “honey” came out at the right moments – just loud enough for other people to register, just casual enough to feel real. He introduced you with an arm around your waist. He let people assume things about you without correcting them.
And the room accepted it.
The dangerous part was that you started to accept it too.
You should have paced your drinking. You knew that. You always knew that. But the atmosphere was easy, and the conversation was harmless, and it felt good – too good – to let your shoulders loosen for once.
Someone handed you a glass of something citrusy and sweet. Then another.
Steve didn’t say anything at first. He watched, as he always did – quiet, protective, letting you make your own choices.
But at some point, you realized his hand had moved from your waist to your hip, firmer now. A silent reminder. A steadying weight.
When you glanced up at him, you found his eyes already on you.
Careful.
A little concerned.
A little… something else, maybe.
“You okay?” he murmured, close to your ear so no one else could hear.
You smiled, too bright. “I’m fine.”
Steve’s thumb pressed once into your hip. “You’re flushed.”
“It’s warm in here.”
His gaze dipped to your mouth. Came back up.
“You’ve had a few.”
“Captain,” you teased, leaning in just enough to make it look affectionate, “are you monitoring my alcohol intake?”
His mouth twitched. “Someone has to.”
You laughed – real, this time – and Steve’s expression softened like that sound had hit him somewhere tender.
It made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t have permission to feel.
So you drank again, because it was easier than thinking about it.
You left at the right time.
Before anyone got too drunk to keep their stories straight. Before the noise turned sloppy. Before you started forgetting why you were there.
Steve guided you out with a hand on your back and a polite smile, thanking the host, waving to people you’d spoken to for exactly twelve minutes and would never see again.
Outside, the air was colder, cleaner. The night pressed against your skin like a reset.
You inhaled too deeply and swayed just slightly.
Steve’s hand immediately tightened on your arm.
“Easy,” he said, voice low.
“I’m fine,” you repeated, stubborn.
“I know,” he replied, and there was something in his tone – patient, affectionate, impossibly gentle – that made you look at him.
Really look.
Streetlight pooled gold on his hair. On the line of his jaw. On the collar of his shirt, open at the throat like he wasn’t wearing armor for once.
His face was relaxed from the social performance, but his eyes were still sharp, still tracking, still Steve.
Only now, with the alcohol warm in your blood, you couldn’t keep your mind on the mission.
You saw the way he’d smiled at the dog. The way he’d said your name like it mattered. The way his hand had stayed on you the entire night, not for show, but because he didn’t seem to want to let go.
And something in your chest went strangely quiet.
When you reached your building, you fumbled slightly with the keys.
Steve took them from your hand without a word, unlocked the door, held it open. His shoulder brushed yours as you stepped inside.
You were too aware of that brush.
Too aware of him.
The elevator ride was short and silent.
In your apartment, the familiar blandness hit you – neutral walls, neutral furniture, neutral space that was supposed to be a base and not a home.
Steve set the keys down, loosened his shoulders, exhaled like he’d been carrying the night for both of you.
You turned to face him.
The room was dim. Just the kitchen light, soft and yellow, catching the edges of his features.
You stared.
Not like you normally did, quick and pragmatic, checking for tension, scanning for stress.
Different.
Longer.
Like you were seeing him as something other than a teammate, other than a symbol, other than a role.
Steve noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze flicked to your eyes and held, suddenly still. Something changed in his posture – not alarm, not defense.
Awareness.
A careful kind of attention that made your skin prickle.
“Hey,” you said, and it came out quieter than you meant it to. Almost tender.
Steve didn’t answer right away. His throat worked once, like he was swallowing.
He took a step closer.
Not enough to crowd you.
Just enough that you could feel the heat of him.
And when he spoke, his voice was low – roughened by restraint, by the whole night of playing husband, by the way you were looking at him now.
“Do you know how hard I’m trying not to kiss you right now?”
The sentence hit you like a shove.
Not because you hadn’t felt the tension.
But because he said it like it was the truth. Like he couldn’t carry it alone anymore.
Your breath caught, your pulse spiking under your skin.
“Steve…” you whispered, and you didn’t know if it was a warning or a plea.
His eyes dropped to your mouth again, just for a second – like he was measuring the distance. Like he was imagining it. Like he was fighting himself with everything he had.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t touch you.
He just stood there, hands loose at his sides, looking at you like he was asking permission without daring to ask.
The alcohol in your blood made you brave in the worst way.
Or honest.
You took a small step forward, closing the space he refused to close.
And you tilted your head, voice soft, almost teasing – but your eyes were serious.
“Then don’t look at me like that,” you said.
Steve’s breath stuttered.
His jaw clenched.
“We’re not supposed to do this,” he murmured, like the words cost him.
You could almost hear the mission between you. The rules. The consequences.
You could almost hear Sam’s laugh if he knew.
And still – you didn’t move away.
Instead, you lifted your hand, not touching him yet, just hovering near his chest, feeling the heat radiating off him.
“Steve,” you said again, quieter. “You’ve been calling me honey all week.”
His eyes flicked up, sharp with something raw. “That was for the cover.”
“And what about the way you held me tonight?” you asked, too softly. “Was that for the neighbors too?”
Steve’s throat bobbed. His voice came out even lower.
“Stop,” he warned – not harsh, not angry. Just desperate.
“Why?” you whispered.
Because he was losing, and you could see it.
Because you were losing too.
He swallowed, eyes burning into yours like he was trying to memorize you before he did something he couldn’t take back.
“Because if you keep talking,” he said, “I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
The air between you tightened.
Your smile trembled at the edges, not quite playful anymore.
“Then stop trying,” you breathed.
And that was the moment.
The exact moment when Steve’s restraint cracked – not into violence, not into recklessness.
Into want.
His hand lifted, finally, and hovered by your cheek like he was still giving you a chance to back away.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t.
You just leaned in.
Steve kissed you.
It wasn’t careful, not this time – not the gentle, testing press that left room for doubt. This was heat and momentum, the kind of kiss that swallowed the air between you like it had been starving for it.
His hand found your jaw, thumb braced beneath your ear, and you felt the tremor he tried to hide. Like even now, even with his mouth on yours, some part of him was still fighting – counting consequences, holding the line by sheer force of will.
You made a small sound against his lips, and it was like the last thread snapped.
Steve pulled you closer, chest to chest, the slide of fabric and warmth and breath. Your fingers fisted in his shirt, dragging him in because you couldn’t do anything else. Because you didn’t want to.
You broke apart only to breathe, foreheads nearly touching, mouths still brushing – stolen seconds, stolen air.
His eyes stayed on you, dark and wrecked with restraint.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he breathed, the words catching between your mouths like a prayer he didn’t believe in anymore.
You almost laughed. Almost.
Instead you kissed him again, and the sound he made was all frustration and surrender.
He moved you without thinking – one step, then another – until your back hit the wall. Not hard. Not violent. Just decisive, like his body knew exactly where it wanted you. Like he needed something solid behind you to stop himself from falling.
His hands came up, sliding into your hair, fingers spreading at the base of your skull to hold you steady, to keep your face exactly where he wanted it. The tenderness of it should have felt contradictory with the hunger of the kiss, but it didn’t.
It felt like Steve.
Like devotion, even when it was dangerous.
Your breath hitched as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, like he was learning the shape of your mouth by force. Your hands slid up his sides, gripping him like you could anchor yourself to him and keep the whole world from tilting.
Between two kisses, you felt his forehead brush yours.
“We really–” he started, voice ragged. “We–”
You cut him off by pulling him back in, your mouth demanding his until the thought evaporated.
He kissed you like he was trying to convince himself. Like he was trying to forget. Like he was trying to remember, all at once.
When you finally managed to speak – when your lips parted just enough to let words slip out – you were still pinned there, still held in place by his hands in your hair, his body a shield in front of you.
“Then stop kissing me like that,” you whispered, breathless and accusing and not meaning it at all.
Steve stilled for the smallest second.
His eyes flicked over your face – your mouth, your eyes, the way your hands were still gripping him like you were afraid he’d disappear.
His thumbs pressed gently against your scalp, grounding, reverent.
And then he leaned in again, lips brushing yours like he couldn’t help it.
“I can’t,” he murmured.
The admission hit harder than any of the kisses.
Because it wasn’t an excuse.
It was surrender.
You swallowed, your pulse a loud, reckless thing in your throat. Your fingers slid up, catching at his collar, tugging him down again. You wanted to taste the truth of what he’d just said until it stopped making you feel like you might break.
Steve’s breath shuddered against your mouth.
His hands held your head carefully as he kissed you – like he was afraid of hurting you, like he was afraid you might change your mind, like he needed you to stay right there because if you moved away he’d come apart.
You felt the restraint in him anyway, under the hunger. The way he kept stopping himself from crowding you too hard, the way his hips stayed just far enough back, the way he kept his hands only where they could steady you.
Like he was drawing the line with shaking hands.
Like he didn’t trust himself not to cross it.
You pulled back a fraction, just enough to look at him.
Steve’s eyes were blown wide with want, his breathing uneven, his mouth swollen from kissing you like he’d forgotten how to do anything else.
He looked… undone.
And still, even like this, there was a question in him. A need to be sure.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again, voice breaking at the edges, as if saying it cost him.
Your chest rose and fell too fast.
You could feel the mission hovering in the air like a ghost. The rules. The rings. The thin walls. Tomorrow.
But Steve was here, in front of you, holding your head like you were precious, kissing you like he couldn’t survive without it.
You lifted your hand, sliding your fingers along his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble there.
“No,” you breathed. “Don’t.”
The sound he made was almost a groan – caught in his throat, swallowed by the next kiss as he pressed his mouth to yours again like you’d just given him permission to breathe.
His lips moved to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw – slower now, reverent in a way that made your skin prickle. He lingered like he was trying to map you. Like he was trying to memorize the places that made you go still.
You tilted your head back instinctively, giving him more.
Steve paused, his forehead resting against yours again, his hands still in your hair, holding you there.
“You’re sure?” he asked, quiet and wrecked.
Your answer came without hesitation, even if your brain was still screaming about consequences.
“Yes.”
Steve closed his eyes like that single word had finally broken him.
Then he kissed you again – deep, aching, unhurried – and his lips pressed harder against yours in the dim light of the kitchen, his strong hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head just right to deepen the kiss.
His fingers threaded through the strands with a firm grip, holding you steady as your tongues met in a slow, heated dance that sent sparks racing through your body. Each swirl and flick left you both gasping for air, breaths mingling in short, ragged bursts between the press of mouths.
Your arms slid up around his broad neck, pulling him closer, fingers digging into the muscles at the base of his skull. He responded instantly, his large hands dropping to your thighs, gripping the soft flesh there with effortless strength. In one fluid motion, he hoisted you up as if you were weightless, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The cool edge of the kitchen counter brushed your back for a split second before he spun you both, pinning you firmly against the wall with his solid frame.
The impact jolted a soft moan from your lips into his mouth, and he swallowed it greedily, his kisses turning fiercer, more demanding.
His body trapped yours there, hips grinding subtly against you, the hard line of his cock already straining through his pants against your core. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his chest heaved with every breath, matching the wild thrum of your pulse.
For what felt like an eternity but was probably only moments, you lost yourselves in that wall-bound embrace–lips bruising, tongues battling, hands roaming just enough to tease without mercy.
But soon, the thin barriers of fabric became unbearable, a frustrating veil between skin and skin. Your fingers clawed at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward to expose the chiseled planes of his abs, while his palms slid under your dress and went up your body, calloused thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, making your nipples harden instantly under the touch.
He broke the kiss just long enough to growl low in his throat, eyes dark with hunger as they locked onto yours. “Doll,” he murmured, the word rough and intimate, before his mouth claimed yours again. One hand stayed firm on your thigh, keeping you elevated, while the other pushed your dress higher, fingers tracing the edge of your panties, dipping just beneath to feel the damp heat waiting for him.
Steve's hips rolled forward in a deliberate grind, the rigid length of his cock pressing insistently against the damp fabric of your panties, sending jolts of friction straight to your core. Each subtle thrust built a mounting ache between your thighs, his body heat seeping through the layers as he trapped you more firmly against the wall.
His mouth left yours with a wet pop, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. He nipped there lightly, then sucked harder, marking you with a blooming heat that made your pulse thunder in your veins.
His lips wandered lower, brushing over the exposed curve of your collarbone, then dipping toward the swell of your breasts where your dress had ridden up. The fabric bunched awkwardly, but he didn't care – he kissed and licked at whatever skin he could reach, his breath fanning across your chest in ragged exhales.
One hand kneaded your thigh, fingers digging into the muscle to hold you steady as his hips kept that torturous rhythm, rubbing his erection along your slit through the barriers, teasing your clit with every pass.
Your fingers twisted deeper into his hair, clutching the thick strands like a lifeline, pulling him closer as if the touch alone could ground you amid the whirlwind of sensation. The pull elicited a low groan from him, vibrating against your skin, and he rewarded you by sucking a spot just above your pulse point, his tongue swirling to soothe the sting.
Your body arched into him instinctively, breasts pressing against his chest, nipples pebbling painfully against the confines of your bra, begging for more direct attention.
He shifted slightly, his free hand sliding up your side to cup one breast fully, thumb circling the hardened peak through the thin material. The pressure was exquisite, bordering on rough, and you gasped, your grip in his hair tightening enough to make him hiss in pleasure.
“God, sweetheart,” he rasped against your throat, voice thick with need, before his mouth returned to yours in a brief, devouring clash – tongues tangling fiercely while his grinding grew more urgent, the seam of his pants dragging over your soaked folds.
“Steve,” you panted, the word escaping in a breathless rush as he pulled back from the kiss just enough to draw in air, his lips hovering inches from yours, swollen and glistening.
"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into yours, eyes dark and locked on you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.
"Bedroom. Now. Need you inside me." The demand tumbled out, raw and urgent, your body thrumming with the ache he'd built, every nerve screaming for more.
A deep growl tore from his throat, primal and possessive, as his arms tightened around you.
He glanced down to ensure your legs were locked around his waist, your fingers still buried in his hair, and then he moved – super soldier speed turning the world into a blur. In less than fifteen seconds, the cool tile of the kitchen floor gave way to the plush carpet of the bedroom, the dim lamp casting golden shadows across the king-sized bed.
He lowered you onto the mattress with controlled strength, his body following yours down until he hovered above, caging you in with his broad frame. The weight of him pressed you into the soft sheets, his hips settling between your thighs, that hard cock still straining against his pants and nudging insistently at your core.
Without pause, his mouth crashed back onto yours, kissing you like a man deprived of his fix – desperate, devouring laps of his tongue against yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip to draw out a whimper.
His lips trailed fire along your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, sucking and licking at the tender skin there.
"Bet you taste as sweet as honey," he whispered hotly against your pulse, his breath fanning over the damp marks he'd already left, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head for better access. The words sent a shiver racing down your spine, your hips bucking up to grind against him in response.
"But need to be in your pussy now," he added, the confession rough and edged with hunger, his free hand yanking at the hem of your dress to shove it higher, fingers hooking into the waistband of your soaked panties and tugging them aside.
You arched beneath him, legs spreading wider to accommodate his bulk, the friction of his clothed erection dragging over your bare folds making you gasp into his mouth. He groaned at the feel of your wetness coating him through the fabric, his hips thrusting forward in a sharp snap that had the head of his cock pressing right against your entrance, teasing without entering.
His mouth returned to your neck, biting down gently as he rocked against you, building that slick heat until you were writhing, nails scraping down his back under his shirt, desperate for him to follow through on that promise.
Your hands fumbled with the buttons of Steve's shirt, fingers trembling from the heat coursing through you, while his strong palms worked at the zipper of your dress, yanking it down with impatient tugs. Fabric whispered against skin as it peeled away – his shirt tossed aside to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest, muscles rippling under your touch; your dress shoved up and off, leaving you in just your damp panties, which he stripped next, the cool air hitting your exposed folds like a shock.
He shed his pants in a swift motion, kicking them off, his thick cock springing free, heavy and veined, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the base, stroking once, twice, feeling him throb in your grip, but he captured your wrist gently, guiding you back to the bed.
Naked now, skin flushed and slick with sweat, you collided again in a frenzy of kisses – lips crashing, tongues tangling in wet, open-mouthed exploration.
He positioned himself between your spread thighs, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping his shaft as he dragged the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds. The first slide coated him in your arousal, his length gliding easily now, lubricated by the evidence of your need.
You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled as his glans nudged your entrance, parting your lips just enough to tease penetration before pulling back, only to repeat the motion – rubbing up to circle your clit with deliberate pressure.
Each pass sent sparks exploding behind your eyelids, your hips jerking up to chase the friction, a sharp gasp escaping when the broad tip bumped your sensitive nub, nearly slipping inside but holding back at the last second.
“Oh fuck,” you whimpered, the pleasure coiling tighter in your core, your walls clenching around nothing, desperate for him to fill you.
He groaned low, his breath ragged against your cheek, hips rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm that had his cockhead kissing your clit again and again, dipping shallowly at your opening each time, stretching you fractionally before retreating, building the ache until you were dripping onto the sheets.
Your teeth grazed his lower lip in a playful bite, nipping just hard enough to draw a hiss from him, and you pulled back slightly, eyes locking with his heated gaze.
“Want you to take me from behind,” you moaned, the words laced with urgency, your voice husky from the moans he'd already pulled from you.
He panted, chest heaving, his cock twitching against your thigh as he processed your plea.
“You want that?” he rasped, voice thick with desire, one hand sliding down to squeeze your hip possessively.
You nodded fervently, biting your lip as another wave of need washed over you.
“You want me on top of you?”
“God yes. Want to feel you everywhere,” you confessed, arching into him, your breasts pressing against his chest, nipples pebbling from the contact.
“Okay. Okay baby, let's do this,” he murmured, his tone rough with promise.
With gentle but firm hands, he rolled you over, helping you shift onto your stomach, your cheek pressing into the pillow as you stretched out fully on the bed. Your legs parted instinctively, ass lifting just enough to present yourself to him, the cool air kissing your exposed pussy.
Steve settled behind you, his thighs bracketing yours, the heat of his body blanketing your back as his cock rested heavy along the cleft of your ass, still slick from your arousal. His hands roamed your sides, thumbs tracing the curve of your waist before one slid up to cup your breast, pinching the nipple lightly, while the other gripped your hip, positioning you just right.
Steve lowered his body over yours, the solid heat of his chest pressing against your back as he aligned himself fully behind you. One strong arm braced beside your head, muscles flexing to hold most of his weight off you, while his other hand wrapped around the base of his cock, the thick shaft sliding down from the cleft of your ass to nudge insistently at your slick folds.
He dragged the swollen head through your wetness once more, parting your lips before pressing forward, the tip breaching your entrance with a slow, deliberate push.
The stretch hit you immediately, his girth forcing your walls to yield as the head popped inside, filling you just enough to steal the air from your lungs. Your breath hitched sharply, a gasp escaping as your body tensed around the intrusion, the sensation bordering on overwhelming.
“God, you're big,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut, lashes brushing your cheeks while you focused on the burn of accommodation, your inner muscles clenching involuntarily around him.
His hand released his cock, leaving it buried to the tip as he reached for yours, fingers seeking and finding your own splayed on the sheets. He laced them together tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, palm rough against your softer skin.
Leaning down, Steve's lips found the curve of your shoulder, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the slope, then trailing up to the sensitive skin at the nape of your neck. His breath fanned hot there, stirring the fine hairs as he nuzzled closer, teeth grazing lightly before soothing with his tongue.
“Breathe for me, doll,” he whispered against your skin, voice low and gravelly, laced with restraint as he held himself still, letting you adjust.
“Let me in. Let me make you feel good.”
You drew in a shaky inhale, the air filling your lungs as you relaxed fractionally, your free hand clutching the pillow beneath your cheek.
The fullness at your core pulsed with each heartbeat, a mix of ache and promise, your arousal easing the way as he began to inch deeper, the veined length of him sliding past your gripping entrance. His hips rocked gently, feeding more of his cock inside with controlled thrusts, the friction igniting sparks along your nerves.
Steve's mouth continued its worship on your back, kissing the knobs of your spine, sucking lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder, marking you with faint red blooms that would linger as reminders of this moment. Your joined hands squeezed, anchoring you both as he sank further, the weight of him grounding you in the building pleasure, your moans mingling with his soft grunts of effort and desire.
Steve pushed forward with a steady roll of his hips, the remaining length of his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy until his pelvis pressed flush against your ass, his balls nestling heavy against your clit.
The full invasion stretched you wide, every inch of him buried to the hilt, filling you so completely that your walls fluttered around the pulsing heat of him, a deep ache blooming into exquisite pressure that radiated through your core.
He stilled there, his breath ragged against the back of your neck, giving you those precious seconds to adjust to the overwhelming girth splitting you open, your body trembling as it accommodated the sheer size of him, slick arousal coating his shaft and easing the burn into a throbbing need.
His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping to a husky growl as he murmured filthy words against your skin, each one sending fresh sparks of heat coiling in your belly.
“Fuck, doll, your pussy's gripping me so tight, like it never wants to let go,” he rasped, the obscenity vibrating through you, making your inner muscles clench involuntarily around his buried cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses that drew a low groan from his throat.
“Gonna ruin this perfect little hole for anyone else– make it mine, all mine.” The dirty promises ignited your arousal further, your hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the fullness as wetness seeped around where he filled you.
“Move, please,” you begged, the words spilling out in a breathless plea, your fingers tightening around his in a desperate squeeze, nails digging into his knuckles as you held on, the interlaced grip your lifeline amid the intensity. The ache inside you demanded friction now, your body craving the slide and drag that would turn the stretch into shattering pleasure.
Steve obliged with a slow, experimental thrust, pulling back just enough to feel your pussy cling to his retreating length before driving forward again, the motion deliberate and controlled, his cock plunging deep once more with a wet, obscene sound.
The sudden glide hit every sensitive spot inside you, the head nudging against that hidden bundle of nerves, and a sharp wave of ecstasy ripped through you, forcing a high, mewling cry from your lips – almost a whimper, raw and unrestrained, your back arching as stars burst behind your closed eyelids.
“You like that?” he murmured into the hollow of your ear, his free hand sliding up your side to cup your breast, thumb circling the hardened nipple as he held himself deep again, the question laced with dark amusement and hunger, his hot breath teasing the shell of your ear while he waited for your response, his cock twitching inside you in anticipation.
“Yes,” you panted, the word escaping in a ragged breath that caught in your throat, your body still reeling from that first thrust.
“Feels – oh! Feels so good, Steve!”
The pleasure crashed over you in waves, your skin prickling with goosebumps as shivers raced down your spine, every nerve ending alight from the way his cock filled you so utterly, the stretch turning into a delicious burn that made your toes curl against the sheets.
Steve's mouth found your shoulders again, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the slope of your skin, trailing up to your neck where he nipped gently with his teeth. His free hand gathered the strands of your hair, pushing them aside with a tender sweep to clear the path for his kisses, his breath warm and uneven against your damp flesh as he savored the taste of you, the salt of your sweat mingling with the faint scent of your arousal.
He established a steady rhythm then, his hips snapping forward in measured strokes, pulling his thick cock almost all the way out – enough to let your pussy walls drag along the veined length, clinging desperately – before slamming back in with a forceful push that buried him to the root, his pelvis slapping against your ass with a sharp, wet smack.
Each thrust drove deeper, the head of his cock grinding against your inner walls, hitting that spot inside you that sent jolts of ecstasy sparking through your core, your juices slicking the way and easing the glide while your body adjusted to the relentless pace.
“Been wanting to– ah, fuck,” he groaned, the words breaking off into a guttural moan when your pussy clenched around him again, the involuntary spasm milking his shaft in tight, fluttering squeezes that made his control waver, his fingers tightening in yours as he fought to keep the rhythm.
The sound of his voice, raw and strained, only heightened your own building tension, your hips rocking back to meet his thrusts, chasing the friction that had you gasping.
“God, do that again, baby, please?” he begged, his tone laced with desperate hunger, the plea vibrating against your ear as he leaned over you, his chest brushing your back, the heat of his body enveloping yours like a blanket of fire.
This time, you did it on purpose, focusing on the muscles inside you and contracting them deliberately around his buried cock, squeezing him in a slow, pulsing grip that rippled from base to tip, feeling every ridge and vein throb in response as you held him tight, your arousal dripping down your thighs from the effort.
“Oh, you feel like heaven, doll,” he rasped, the praise spilling out in a low rumble that made your heart stutter, his thrusts picking up speed now, pounding into you with more urgency, the bed creaking under the force as his balls slapped rhythmically against your clit, building the pressure toward an inevitable peak. His hand released your hair to slide down your side, gripping your hip to angle you better, pulling you back onto him with each drive, the interlaced fingers still locked as he anchored you both in the storm of sensation.
Steve's lips returned to your neck, pressing fervent kisses along the sensitive curve where your pulse hammered wildly, his tongue flicking out to taste the sheen of sweat there as he sucked lightly, drawing a fresh wave of heat through your veins. The sensation sent sparks racing down your spine, amplifying the building pressure in your core, your body arching instinctively into him.
You moaned deeply, the sound raw and unrestrained, vibrating from your chest as your fingers clenched tighter around his, nails digging into the back of his hand in a desperate grip, seeking an anchor amid the overwhelming tide of pleasure that threatened to sweep you under.
“Steve,” you gasped out, the warning laced with urgency, your voice breaking on his name as the first tremors of your climax coiled tight in your belly, your pussy fluttering erratically around his plunging cock, the walls gripping him in spasmodic pulses that made your thighs quake.
“I’m– Steve– Gonna–”
“I know, honey,"“he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and ragged as he maintained that relentless rhythm, his hips driving forward with unyielding force, each thrust burying his thick length deeper, the slick sounds of your joined bodies filling the room like a primal symphony.
He didn't falter, didn't slow, instead pushing you closer to the edge with every measured snap of his pelvis against your ass.
“Can feel your pussy squeezing me,” he growled low, the words vibrating through you as his free hand dug into your hip, holding you steady for his assault, his cock stretching you wide with every withdrawal and re-entry, the veined shaft dragging along your inner walls and sending jolts of electricity straight to your clit.
He delivered another powerful thrust then, the head of his cock slamming against that sweet spot deep inside, grinding insistently as his balls slapped wetly against your swollen folds, the impact ripping a cry from your lips.
“God,” he groaned, the exclamation torn from him in a guttural burst, his body tensing above yours as your contractions intensified, milking his dick in rhythmic squeezes that had him shuddering, his control fraying at the edges.
“You gonna drive me crazy. Your cunt feels too fucking good.”
The words, filthy and possessive, tipped you over the brink.
Your orgasm crashed through you like a storm, your pussy clamping down hard around his cock in vise-like waves, convulsing as ecstasy ripped through every nerve, your vision blurring with stars while your body convulsed beneath him. Juices gushed from you, soaking his shaft and dripping down your thighs, your moans turning into breathless sobs of release as the pleasure peaked, leaving you trembling and spent, your inner muscles still twitching in aftershocks.
Steve followed moments later, unable to hold back against the vise of your climax. With a final, deep thrust that seated him fully inside you, he came undone, his cock pulsing as hot spurts of cum flooded your depths, painting your walls with his seed in thick ropes.
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning your name like a prayer, his body jerking with each release until he was utterly drained, collapsing partially over you while still lodged deep, both of you panting in the hazy aftermath, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction.
Before his full weight could pin you down in the languid haze of release, Steve shifted with deliberate care, rolling onto his side and easing his spent cock from your pussy in a slow, slick withdrawal that left you feeling achingly empty, a warm trickle of his cum seeping from your folds to dampen the sheets beneath you.
The sensation drew a soft whimper from your lips, your inner walls fluttering in protest at the loss, still sensitive and pulsing from the intensity of your shared climax.
He gathered you close without hesitation, his strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, pulling your sweat-slicked body flush against his chest where his heart thundered steadily, a rhythmic counterpoint to your own ragged breaths.
One hand splayed possessively across the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin, while the other cradled the nape of your neck, tilting your face up to meet his gaze – those blue eyes softened now, filled with a tender affection that contrasted the raw hunger of moments before.
His lips found yours in a gentle kiss, unhurried and deep, his mouth moving with a reverence that spoke of more than just the physical sating; his tongue brushed yours lightly, tasting the salt of your shared exertion, as he poured quiet reassurance into the connection.
You melted into him, your hands sliding up his broad shoulders to tangle in the damp strands of his hair, returning the kiss with equal softness, the world narrowing to the warmth of his embrace and the subtle press of his body against yours, bodies entwined in the quiet aftermath of passion.
The bedroom was dim, lit only by the thin spill of streetlight through the blinds and the soft glow from the hallway you’d forgotten to turn off. The air still felt warm, heavy with the aftermath – quiet in that particular way a room became when it had held too much breath.
You lay tangled together on the bed, bare skin against bare skin, the sheets kicked into a messy heap around your legs. Steve’s mouth was still on yours – slower now, unhurried, like he was making sure you were still here. Like he was learning you in a language that didn’t require urgency.
His hand traced the line of your jaw, knuckles brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. When you sighed against his lips, he kissed you back, softening into it until the kiss became less about hunger and more about… staying.
Eventually, you pulled away just enough to breathe.
Steve followed, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still stroking your cheek in an absent, reverent motion.
“Hi,” you whispered, because your brain had decided that was the only safe word in existence right now.
Steve’s answering smile was small, almost shy. “Hi.”
Your laugh came out quiet, shaky around the edges. You tucked yourself closer, as if proximity could make the world stop moving. Steve’s arm tightened around you, pulling you in until you were pressed against his chest, your ear over his heartbeat – steady now, slower than before.
You listened to it for a few seconds, letting it ground you.
Then reality, rude and persistent, slipped back into the room.
You shifted slightly, drawing back just enough to see his face in the low light. “We should talk,” you murmured.
Steve’s eyes opened fully. A flicker of seriousness crossed his features – immediate, attentive, the soldier in him snapping back into place.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”
Your fingers traced idly over his shoulder, a nervous habit. “We… can’t let this screw up the mission.”
“We won’t,” Steve promised at once, firm. “I won’t let it.”
It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t a denial of what had happened. It was a vow, plain and simple.
You nodded, swallowing. “And when we go back to the base…”
Steve’s jaw tightened. You could see him thinking – logistics, fallout, consequences. Who would notice. Who would talk. How it would change the way people looked at you. At him.
“How do we handle it?” you asked softly.
For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just watched you, eyes moving over your face like he was trying to hold onto every detail.
Then his voice dropped even lower, a whisper meant only for you.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
Steve exhaled, slow. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Your throat tightened.
You looked away for half a second, because the words hit too close to what you’d been trying not to want for too long. Then you looked back at him, the truth already climbing out of you like it had been waiting for permission.
“It’s been months,” you admitted, barely audible. “Months since I stopped wanting to be… just your colleague. Or just your friend.”
Steve’s expression softened in a way that made your stomach flip. Like he’d been holding the same confession between his teeth, afraid it would cut someone if he let it go.
His hand slid up to cup your cheek again, thumb brushing beneath your eye with impossible gentleness.
“I’ve always wanted more,” he said, voice rough. “From the moment we–” He hesitated, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to say it. “From the moment our eyes met the first time.”
You stared at him, stunned by how simple he made it sound. How true.
“How long ago was that?” you whispered, half a joke, half a plea.
Steve’s mouth curved faintly. “Long enough.”
Your laugh was breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know,” he murmured, and the way he said it was fond. Warm. Like he’d finally stopped fighting the idea of being happy for five seconds.
Silence settled between you again – thick, intimate. Steve’s thumb kept stroking your cheek like he couldn’t stop, like touching you was an instinct now.
You laced your fingers with his, pressing your palm to the mattress beside your head.
“Okay,” you said softly, as if naming it could make it real without breaking it. “We finish the mission.”
Steve nodded once. “We finish the mission.”
“And when we go back,” you continued, voice steadier, “we don’t hide it.”
His gaze sharpened, searching you. “Are you sure?”
You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
A beat of silence.
Then Steve’s face changed – something like relief sliding through him so visibly it almost hurt to witness. As if he’d been bracing for you to take it back.
He leaned in and kissed you again, not hungry this time. Just grateful. Just certain.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Okay,” he whispered. “No hiding.”
You let out a slow breath. Your heart felt too full, too loud.
“And if anyone has a problem,” you added, because you couldn’t help yourself, “they can–”
Steve’s smile flickered, amused despite himself. “They won’t.”
You huffed softly. “You say that, but…”
The image hit you then – Sam’s face when he found out. The grin. The commentary. The insufferable victory lap.
A smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it.
“Sam is going to be unbearable,” you said, voice warm with resignation.
Steve’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his thumb still tracing your cheek like he’d never get tired of it. “Yeah.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling. “I’m already regretting telling him later.”
Steve’s hand drifted down, the back of his knuckles brushing your skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze stayed locked on yours, steady and tender.
Then, in a low murmur – half promise, half threat – he said, “I’ll make him pay during training.”
Your laugh came out quiet, bright in the darkness.
“Please do,” you whispered.
Steve kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering there as if he didn’t want to move away.
And for the first time since the mission began, the lie felt less like a trap and more like the strange, accidental path that had finally led you somewhere honest.
taglist: @mrsevans90 | @blobfishlol | @phoenix-in-writing | @sassandscribbles | @alyssinwunderland-blog-blog | @pattiemac1 | @fantasyfootballchampion | @theoryxwaller + @elixirfromthestars for the event
Comment here if you want to be added to a taglist.
cw: smut, double penetration, probably inaccurate idk
—
support!reader who’s earned the affection of the two tanks, Dr. Strange and Magneto. mag will toss you a bubble or strange will explode the enemy so they don’t harm you and in exchange you keep them up. after a particularly nasty fight they’re both pretty banged up and you’re nowhere near your ultimate! your primary fire, regular bullets charged up with healing magic stored within your body, aren’t doing the job fast enough and they need to get back out there before the enemy delivers the payload! lucky for your vanguards, stephen knows how to tap right into your magic’s source with the help of the master of magnetism, of course.
“keep your head up,” magneto instructed, plunging his cock into your hole. you moaned, thighs trembling against dr. strange’s palms. your feet where off the floor and your back to him and your front to magneto, sandwiched between two vanguards and their cocks while bullets bounced off the giant piece of concrete you three took cover behind.
dr. strange shuddered as he slid into you embarrassingly easily, both massive cocks deliciously rubbing against each other while you clamped down, making the two men groan out in pleasure.
“ah, much better,” magneto chuckled, his tongue sliding between your lips while strange reached to rub liver your clit with his fingers, your poor pussy clamping down as they fucked you through another orgasm.
stephen moaned, softly biting your ear, greedily pulling your ass back against his hips. “your magic is…ah…exemplary, my dear,” he panted, peppering kisses onto your flushed cheek. both their cocks moved agonizingly slow, both men too aware of their size.
magneto was less vocal than strange but no less sweet. he grunted against your mouth, pulling away to let you breathe, his beard tickling your neck as his rythm grew increasingly faster. “truly a marvel,” magneto praised, locking eyes with strange. he was close too. their cocks rubbed against each other inside your sopping pussy, bouncing you between them before they simultaneously groaned, flooding your spent cunt.
you craned your head up, fucked out and buzzing with pleasure. “all healed?”
magneto an strange exchanged glances. their health bars had been maxed out ages ago…
Loki Laufeyson Headcanons: jealousy.
Cw: possesiveness, maybe toxic Loki, bite marks, manhandling, thick/fleshy!fem!reader, bruises, hickeys.
Loki can be very posessive at times. he had always felt like he wasn't enough and he clung deeply to everything he could have for himself; so when you were his, he got you as close as possible.
it starts slow, subtle hickeys on your cleavage, his hands groping on your hips, Loki making suggestive or flirty comments about your body, physical touch, keeping you close.
then, he starts consuming you, your identity. You can be yourself, of course, but there's always something. The horns, colour green, anything that screams his name everywhere, so everyone knows you're his.
and then there's jealousy.
everything is soft and sweet, a passionate possesion that he keeps and that its completely understandable.
but when Thor starts smiling at you too much, When the boys ask you out right then and there, when you look too beautiful, he has to stop everything.
Loki doesn't respect alone time anymore. he'll go to your room and grab your thick legs only to bury his canines in your thighs as his fingers bruise the extra flesh on your hips.
he starts mentioning your flaws in public. Stretch marks? he doesn't mind them, but he will bring them up because the rest does. your tummy? he loves it, but he will bring it up so the rest gives up, he needs no competition.
but at the end of the day, he follows your orders. if you don't like that, he will probably convince you or reduce his feelings to side eyes and the bedroom.
The GOAT
summer vacation
other versions beneath the cut
MASTERLIST
Thor Odinson
Guide
Angst: 🌧️ (always with comfort, I don’t write no comfort)
Fluff: 💕
Smut: 🌹
One-Shots
And Then They Were Roommates — You and Thor are hit with the reality of your fathers arranging a union between your houses. By you marrying each other. You could deal with it, until you found out that he has a mortal lover. 🌧️🌹 Words: 25k
Just A Friend That’s All — You have been best friends with Thor since your childhood, he was always there whenever you needed him. He’s always been a good friend, cared for you—did anything for you, really. Except you didn’t want him to merely be your friend. You were in love with him. But it wasn’t possible for you to be with him, because he didn’t love you. At least that’s what you thought. 🌧️🌹 Words: 27k
You Have A Way Of Showing It — He was your grumpy trainer, a handler to help you keep your newly discovered powers at bay. You were hopelessly in love with him yet you knew he couldn't look at you that way. Oh, how wrong you turned out to be. 💕🌧️🌹 Words: 32k
Not So Much — He was your teammate but also the person you disliked the most in the universe. He was always loud, he thrived on impulsive decisions, and he loved annoying you. You were the opposite, you moved through shadows quietly, analyzed every move before you made them. And now? They were sending you on a mission with him. Just the two of you. As husband and wife. 🌧️🌹💕 Words: 40k
Multiple Parts
A Little Death (Completed)
Part 1 , Part 2 — The Asgardians betrayed your people—who fought alongside them—long ago, when the war emerged, resulting in both Asgardians and your people being sworn enemies. Your people are casted aside, forgotten about. Even though they officialy belong to the Nine Realms, no other Realm associates with them. Then there is a pact signed for your people to be accepted back, you The Princess, to work alongside the Avengers—alongside Thor Odinson. Your enemy who your soul burns for, but there’s a little problem. He’s promised to an Asgardian woman. 🌧️🌹 Total Words: 37k
Cannot Do This (Completed)
Part 1 , Part 2 — Thor was your best friend, your whole world really. You were in love with him, desperately so. Though just as you thought he felt the same way about you, you overheard him say that you were just a tool of the throne. Heartbroken, you left asgard for a year, only to return to a Thor who clearly dispised you. 🌧️🌹 Total Words: 69k
getting into atla for the first time this little bald baby makes me so emo
I demand more Musashi (Baki) smut. /j (no seriously)
‘Sword of Degradation’
Sensei! Miyamoto Musashi X Slutty Student FEM! Reader 18+
Summary : As the secret family whore, you finally get what you crave, the legendary Miyamoto Musashi.... (this timeline took place in Edo period)
Warnings : age gap (18 & 40), rough vaginal sex, deepthroat, choking, spanking, hair pulling, spitting, creampies, squirting, multiple orgasms, dirty talk/humiliation/degrading kink, some scene contained sword hilt penetration, brat-taming¿
A/N : Btw i know he is not a teacher yet at the age of 40 but i just need this for a plot
i don know i think im lowk suck at this but whatever
The heavy wooden doors of the dojo groaned open with a deep, resonant protest, as if the ancient structure itself sensed the intrusion of something untamed. Late afternoon sunlight sliced through the thick, swirling motes of dust like hesitant golden blades, illuminating the vast training hall in a haze of ethereal light. The air hung heavy with the rich, layered scents of aged cypress wood, the lingering salty sweat from earlier rigorous sessions, and the faint, smoky sweetness of sandalwood incense that always clung stubbornly to the high rafters.
Miyamoto Musashi stepped inside the room. His bare feet made almost no sound on the cool tatami mats after he kicked off his simple slippers. He was twenty minutes late, something he normally never allowed. But his mind was heavy with this temporary duty: training five privileged heirs from famous families for only one short month.
His gaze swept the room, taking in every shadow and detail. Then it locked onto the scene unfolding in the far corner, partially concealed behind a carelessly ajar sliding screen.
You were lost in pure, animalistic ecstasy. Your worn-out kimono was untied and hunched around your waist. Your soaked panties lay discarded like a forgotten trophy on the mat nearby, stained with your arousal. You rode the other student with shameless, rolling abandon; your hips grinding and bouncing in a filthy, wet rhythm that made your perky breasts strain and jiggle enticingly. Hands pressed flat on his heaving chest for leverage as your tight, dripping pussy swallowed his cock, squelching sounds echoing softly with every downward slam. Soft, breathy, needy moans poured from your parted, swollen lips, “Mmmh… ahh, fuck yes…” growing louder and more broken as your orgasm built to a fever pitch.
The boy beneath you gripped your soft, supple thighs with desperate, bruising strength, his face contorted in overwhelmed bliss, his hips jerking up weakly to meet your demanding bounces. The thick, unmistakable scent of sex; musky arousal, sweat, and the heady tang of juices, already permeated that secluded corner of the dojo, hanging in the air like an invitation to sin.
Musashi’s jaw tightened visibly, a subtle tick appearing on his cheek. The temperature in the vast room seemed to plummet instantly, the air growing thick, electric, and almost suffocating with tension. His dark eyes narrowed into slits, pupils flaring with a potent mix of shock and disapproval. For a long, frozen moment he stood motionless, one hand still gripping the door frame, the other flexing tightly around the wrapped hilt of his sword. This is what they sent me? The thought sliced through his mind like a katana through silk. A spoiled 18-year-old brat from a proud warrior line, spreading her legs and creaming all over a man's cock instead of honoring the blade and the discipline it demanded.
Your head tipped back in rapture, exposing the flushed column of your throat as a loud, shattering moan tore free, “I’m cumming so hard—!” Your body convulsed violently on top of the boy, your pussy clenching and fluttering visibly around his shaft as hot juices gushed down his balls in rhythmic spurts.
The next day, the dojo felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension that crackled like static before a storm. Musashi had dismissed the other students early with a curt command about “personal reflection on discipline,” his voice brooking no argument. Only you remained, summoned to face him alone.
He stood like an unyielding mountain in the center of the mats; arms crossed over his broad, sculpted chest, the black gi stretched taut across muscles honed by decades of war and brutal training. At forty, Miyamoto Musashi radiated intense aura: tall, heavily scarred from countless battles, and imposing in every sense. His gaze pinned you in place as you approached with deliberate, swaying hips, your kimono slightly askew as if deliberately daring him to notice.
“You will not do that again,” he growled, his voice low and edged like sharpened steel, echoing through the empty hall. “Not in my dojo. Not under my instruction. Discipline is the foundation of the sword. Without it, you are nothing but a liability.”
You tilted your head innocently, your lips curving into that signature bratty, seductive smirk that had gotten you into trouble more times than you could count. He saw everything yesterday. Good. The image of his frozen, hungry gaze had kept you fingering yourself to orgasm after orgasm all night long, your sheets soaked and your mind replaying every imagined detail. You hated this forced legacy, the crushing weight of generations of swordswomen pressing down on you, demanding perfection and honor. Training? Bloodline duty? None of it excited you like the raw, degrading pleasure of being used and conquered did.
“I don’t want to be here, Sensei,” you purred sweetly, stepping so close that your breasts nearly brushed against his broad chest. His masculine scent; clean sweat, worn leather, and testosterones, flooded your senses, making your clit throb with insistent need. “My parents forced me into this. You know that. Why pretend I’m anything but a needy girl who craves cock more than I crave the blade?”
His expression remained granitehard, but you caught the subtle flare of his nostrils and the faint twitch of his fingers at his sides. “Then leave. Walk out that door right now. But while you’re here, under my roof and my guidance, you will show respect for the way of the sword.”
You weren’t listening. Your fingertips trailed lightly down the front of his gi, feeling the incredible heat and unyielding firmness of his chiseled muscles beneath the fabric. The contact sent electric sparks racing through your body. “Make me respect it, Sensei. Punish your naughty student… teach me a lesson I won’t forget.”
The air between you crackled dangerously. Musashi’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck standing out. He could feel the feverish heat radiating from your young, supple body, see the defiant lust burning bright in your eyes.
You leaned in closer, soft lips brushing teasingly against his ear, your breath hot and laced with sin. “I saw how you watched me yesterday… your eyes glued to my pussy as I came all over that boy’s cock. Did it make you hard, Sensei? Did you imagine replacing him with me?”
His hand shot out with lightning speed, gripping your wrist in a bruising hold that sent delicious sparks of pleasure-pain racing up your arm. For a heartbeat, everything stopped; the world narrowed to the heat of his grip and the intensity in his eyes. Then you twisted free with a wicked, triumphant grin and sank smoothly to your knees on the tatami mats, staring up at him with pure, hungry defiance that challenged him to stop you.
“Sensei…” you whispered, voice thick with unbridled sin. Your hands slid boldly up his powerful thighs, squeezing the rock-hard muscle through the fabric, feeling the tension coiling there. You could already see the growing bulge straining against his gi pants, and it made your mouth water.
Musashi’s breath hitched audibly. I should stop this right now. But the sight of your pretty, flushed face so close to his groin, those eager eyes looking up at him, made his cock twitch traitorously.
Your mind was a whirlwind of filthy, overwhelming need as your trembling fingers worked at the ties of his gi pants. Your pussy clenched hard, leaking fresh juices down your inner thighs in anticipation. You’d always been the secret family whore, finding power and freedom rather than the suffocating chains of duty. And now you had him—the legendary Miyamoto Musashi, right where you wanted him.
His massive cock bobbed softly as the fabric fell away, heavy, veined, and rapidly hardening to its full, intimidating size. The thick, musky scent of him; pure masculine arousal mixed with the faint salt of his skin made your mouth flood instantly with saliva. You wrapped both soft hands around the hot, pulsing girth, marveling at how your fingers couldn’t even fully encircle it. Slowly, teasingly, you stroked him from base to tip, feeling every ridge and throbbing vein pulse against your palms. You twisted your wrists gently on the upstroke, squeezing just enough to draw a low rumble from his chest.
“Oh my god, Sensei… your cock is soo huge,” you babbled breathlessly, your eyes wide with genuine awe and lust as you continued pumping him with both hands. “It’s so thick… I can barely wrap my hands around it. It throbs for me. I want it stretching my tight little pussy open so bad… but first, I’m going to worship it like the good little student I should be.”
You leaned in and dragged your warm, wet tongue slowly from his heavy, full balls all the way up the thick underside of his shaft, savoring the salty, masculine taste. You repeated the motion again and again, licking every inch, tracing the prominent veins with the flat of your tongue while your hands kept stroking in perfect rhythm. Your fingers worked the base firmly, occasionally dipping down to cup and massage his balls, rolling them gently in your palm as you planted soft, open-mouthed kisses along the length.
Musashi’s hand came down to fist your hair tightly, not guiding yet, just holding. His growl was low and rough. “Filthy slut. Your family would be ashamed of what a cock-hungry whore their precious heir has become. This is all you’re good for.”
“Mmmph—yes, Sensei,” you moaned around his shaft as you finally took him into your hot, wet mouth. Your lips stretched obscenely wide around the massive girth, struggling to accommodate him. You bobbed eagerly at first, sucking with wet, sloppy sounds while one hand pumped the thick base in time with your mouth and the other continued fondling his heavy balls. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head on every upstroke, tasting the salty precum that leaked steadily for you.
Then, you pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his glistening, veined length. Breathing hard, you looked up at him with tear-filled eyes full of lust. “Your cock tastes so good, Sensei… so big and heavy and perfect. I love gagging on it. Please, fuck my throat. Use my mouth like a toy.”
Musashi spat on your face, smearing it across your cheek with his thumb. “Pathetic. Look at this drooling little whore begging to have her throat used. You’re a disgrace to your bloodline, you brainless cumdump.”
You dove back down, forcing him deeper this time, your nose pressing toward his pelvis as you relaxed your throat. The stretch burned deliciously, making you gag loudly, but you pushed through, holding him there as long as you could while your hands stroked what you couldn’t swallow. Tears streamed down your flushed cheeks, mixing with the drool dripping messily down your chin and onto your cleavage. You pulled back, gasping for air, then immediately took him again, bobbing faster, sucking noisier, your hands twisting and pumping in slick, coordinated motions. You alternated between deepthroating as far as you could and focusing on the head, sucking hard while your tongue flicked the underside relentlessly.
For long minutes you worshipped him like this, lost in the act. Jaw ached from the stretch, but the pain only fueled your arousal. You hummed and moaned around his thickness, the vibrations making his cock twitch and leak more precum down your throat. Your hands never stopped; stroking, squeezing, teasing his balls until they drew up tight. You even pulled off to spit messily on his shaft, using the lubrication to jerk him faster with both fists while you licked and sucked at his balls, taking one into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.
“What a greedy mouth,” Musashi groaned, his grip in your hair tightening as he began to thrust shallowly, testing your limits. “Cry and choke harder, stupid brat. Your family would vomit if they saw their precious daughter gagging on cock like a cheap brothel slut.” You encouraged him with eager whimpers, relaxing your throat further so he could push deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of your sloppy fellatio filled the dojo; gagging, slurping, the rhythmic slap of your hands on his slick shaft. Spit ran freely down your neck, soaking the front of your kimono and making your hard nipples visible through the thin fabric.
You kept going, edging him with your skilled hands and mouth, building him up only to pull back and tease with slow licks until he was growling with frustration and need. Only when your own pussy was aching unbearably from neglect did you finally pull off, gasping.
Soon, he yanked you off his cock with a wet pop, saliva strings still connecting your swollen, abused lips to his glistening, rock hard length. Breathing hard, chest heaving, he reached for his sword, gripping the thick, polished hilt with purpose. A dangerous smirk appeared on his face.
“Since you love playing with hard things so much, brat…”
He shoved you onto your back on the tatami, roughly pulling your kimono open and flipping the fabric up as he pressed the cool, rounded hilt of his sword against your soaked, puffy folds. The stark contrast of the cold metal against your burning, dripping pussy made you gasp sharply, your hips bucking up instinctively.
“Ahh Sensei! It’s so—fuck!” You writhed wildly as he rubbed the thick hilt over your swollen clit in slow, deliberate circles, then pushed it inside your clenching entrance. The textured wrapping dragged deliciously against your sensitive inner walls as he thrust it deeper, twisting it with controlled precision.
“Take it, you bratty little cunt,” he snarled, fucking you with the hilt in steady, deepening strokes. “Fucked by your sensei’s sword like the needy whore you are. This is what happens when you disrespect the dojo. Look at you squirting on a weapon, you disgusting pathetic bitch. Your noble blood is wasted on a brainless fucktoy like you.”
“It feels so good—oh god, the hilt is so thick and hard inside me!” you cried out, your voice breaking into desperate whimpers. Your hands flew to your breasts, pinching your nipples through your kimono as the intense sensations built. “I’m such a dirty girl… cumming on a sword...ahh.. I’m cumming so fucking hard—!”
Your orgasm crashed over you like lightning. You screamed, body convulsing violently, your juices squirting messily around the invading hilt and soaking the mats beneath you. Your legs shook uncontrollably, tears pouring down your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure.
Musashi pulled the dripping hilt free and replaced it instantly with his massive cock in one savage, powerful thrust, burying every thick inch inside your spasming, cum-slick heat. He wrapped one strong hand around your throat and squeezed.
“Fuck—Sensei! Your cock is so much bigger—!” you babbled loudly, your nails digging into his broad back as your walls fluttered wildly around him. “It’s so deep… I can feel it pressing against my belly. Pound my slutty pussy please! Ruin me with that huge cock!”
“Ruin you? I’m going to breed this worthless cunt until it’s ruined for anyone else, you stupid fucking brat,” he growled, slamming into you with brutal force. “Tight little cunt squeezing me so damn much. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
“Harder, Sensei—yes! Your huge cock is ruining me... I love it— I’m your personal fuckhole!” you wailed, legs locking tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, your breasts bouncing wildly with the force.
He flipped you onto all fours without pulling out, slamming back into you in doggy style. The new angle hit even deeper, making you see stars and moan incoherently. “Arch your back, slut,” he ordered, delivering a sharp, stinging spank to your ass that bloomed into hot pleasure. He yanked your hair back hard, forcing you to arch deeper.
“Yes—spank me! Fuck my pussy... your cock is so deep like this, hitting all the right spots!” you moaned filthily, pushing back against him. “I’m creaming all over your big dick, Sensei—don’t stop, please! I’m your cock-addicted little whore!”
“Creaming like a bitch in heat,” Musashi smirked and laughed cruelly, spanking you repeatedly while pounding you senseless. “You brainless whore, let the whole dojo know what a disgusting family disgrace you are, getting bred on the training mats like a stupid animal.”
He railed you savagely for what felt like an eternity, his hips snapping forward with powerful speed, one hand reaching around to rub your swollen clit in tight circles. “Say how much you need sensei’s cock destroying this greedy hole.”
“Sensei, Sensei—! Your cock is making me cum again! I’m squirting—fuck— I’m your slutty brat forever!” Your voice shattered as another explosive orgasm tore through you, your walls milking him rhythmically, juices flooding out around his pistoning shaft.
He came with a deep roar, flooding your womb with thick, hot ropes of cum that overflowed and leaked out around his still-thrusting cock. Sweat slicked both your bodies, the entire dojo reeking of sex; musk, sweat, and cum.
You lay there trembling, cum leaking steadily from your stretched hole, but you smiled that same bratty smile and whispered breathlessly, “More, Sensei… please fill me again with that perfect cock. I’m not done being your fucktoy.”
The second round was even filthier and more drawn out. He bent you over a low training bench, gripping your hips bruisingly as he took you from behind with long strokes that made your ass ripple with each impact. “Still begging for more, you insatiable little cumrag? Fine. I’ll pump another load into this sloppy, ruined pussy until it’s overflowing like the worthless breeding sow you are.”
“Sensei, I can feel the head kissing my cervix. Fuck me harder—use me!”
Then, he made you ride him next, sitting on the mats with you straddling his lap as you bounced desperately on his massive length: “It’s hitting so deep… my pussy lips are stretched so wide around you… I’m going to cum just from grinding my clit against you…” Your breasts bounced in his face as he sucked and bit at your nipples, his hands guiding your hips in a punishing rhythm.
You lost count of how many times you came; squirting, shaking, screaming his name before he filled you again, then again. The sessions stretched on, positions blurring together: prone bone on the mats, you bent over with your face pressed into the tatami as he took you from behind; sideways on the bench with one leg held high so he could watch his cock disappear into your creamy folds; even against the wall, your cheek pressed to the cool wood as he railed you senseless.
“This is what you were born for, getting used and bred like a stupid, cock-drunk animal.”
Avatar God AU (Nomad)
Aang >:)
Info! Had a LOT of fun combining Air Nomad outfit elements with a more typical "travel" outfit. Super warm colour palettes of course! Aang is the god of balance, travelers, and hospitality. He's a bit of a free spirit and a lot of the more serious gods find him a bit annoying (Sokka.) People often pray to Aang when they have to go on long journeys, or invoke his name when they need to stop to rest. It's a well-known fact that the god of travelers has a habit of wandering around incognito-- he just does it because he likes interacting with people without being recognized. In doing so, however, he accidentally started to enforce his hospitality domain, as mortals became terrified of accidentally offending him if he were to show up at their door. He loves to follow Sokka around on hunts (he gets to explore dangerous areas)-- Sokka hates when Aang follows him because he almost always ends up losing his catch. Katara and Aang's Justice and Balance domains mean that they often are called upon together by mortals. Katara, to enact a fitting punishment upon perpetrators. And Aang, to provide reparations to victims. It's found to be very fitting that they ended up becoming a couple.
Previous // Next
Beginning
hey alexa play "the boxer" by simon and garfunkel
WHY DOES KREGG ONLY EVER HAVE PUPPY EYES IN FRONT OF THRAGG???????????????????
WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE THAAAAAAAAT
