cry me a river

20 | swiftie | bts army

[blowingbarnes]

NETFLIX & CHILL

PAIRING: Steve Rogers x Reader WORD COUNT: 2.6k WARNINGS: domestic fluff, established relationship, steve is tired okay?, SMUT (free use implication, so much oral (f receiving), steve is a munch, fingering, tonguefucking, spit kink, spit as lube, couch sex, p in v, mating press, creampie, cockwarming if you squint, cock pronouns (like ONCE), multiple orgasms) porn with very little plot. SUMMARY: Steve gets home and there's no better way to get his head out of thinking about work than to put it right between your thighs. +fran: I'm in such a Steve kick lately, this ovulation he has me by the clit and he's not letting go. I love how fluffy this is and I too need this man to eat me out until there's nothing in either of our heads. This is straight up blond man propaganda. Here's a little nugget of a fic while I write bigger ones.

Steve Rogers, way back when, wouldn't be called uptight. 

He wasn't much of a rule follower to begin with, seeing things morally grey instead of black and white. He's always been someone that just wants to do the right thing, whatever the cost of that may be. 

Steve Rogers in present day, however, would be uptight by 2020s Manhattan standards. 

His entire presence commanded obedience. Authority. 

Steve's star-spangled broad shoulders, squared when he stood with his hands on his belt ever the proper man, drew every eye in the room to him like a magnet. 

His voice never wavered when barking orders left and right, always a man with a plan. If strategy A failed, he was already halfway through strategy B, and had already thought of a third alternative. 

The entire weight of the world had always been on his shoulders, for the better part of 108 years. 

Steve is, however, much like a working dog. He's restless. He needs a job to do, and do well, even when his actual job stresses him the fuck out.

So when he's walking up the stairs of your condo in the Village, his throat tired from yelling over gunfire, his feet exhausted from running miles in combat boots, and his shoulders tense from holding back frustration during the debrief, the sound of your voice while you talk on the phone is a soothing balm for his soul. 

He unlocked the door and walked in, the dimly lit apartment making him feel like he could finally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. 

You were curled up on one end of the couch, throw blanket lazily over your legs as a candle burned on the kitchen isle and some trashy reality TV on, while you talked with your best friend on the phone about the events unveiling in front of your eyes.

Your weekly debrief, you called it. Steve thought it was cute. 

"Okay, but here's the thing," you were saying into your phone, eyes glued to the television. "I don't actually think she's mad about the text messages."

Steve really didn't understand half the appeal of those shows. Every week he'd come over and find some new catastrophe unfolding. Someone was cheating on somebody, someone was throwing a drink, someone was crying in a confessional interview, someone was apparently there "for the wrong reasons."

And somehow you knew every single person's name, history, motivations, and interpersonal grievances.

Steve let the door latch with a soft "click" and he dropped his duffel by the counter and shrugged his shoes off.

You turned your head at the sound immediately, your face softening the instant your eyes locked with his. 

There was something about being looked at like that after a day spent getting shot at, yelled at, and blamed for things outside of his control.

Something about knowing there was one place in Manhattan where nobody expected Captain America.

He was just expected to be Steve, or Babe, or Honey, or Stevie, or—

"Hold on," you told your friend, reaching out to him with one hand, which he knew was code for "come here and kiss me".

He smiled with the side of his mouth and complied, walking over until he was behind you, making you tilt your head back to kiss him, a little murmured "I missed you." against his lips before you went back to your conversation. 

He finished walking around the couch, laying down on top of you as you made space of his waist and torso between your legs, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled his face into your sternum.

Steve Rogers melted.

That was the only word possible for the exhale he let out as soon as your fingers tangled in his hair, nails gently scraping at his scalp as he let his entire weight just rest on you. 

"You okay, baby?" Your voice was low, not even a hair above a whisper, and he just hummed in agreement against the soft fabric of your tank top.

"Do you need to go? Baaabyyyy." You rolled your eyes at the phone. 

"Don't start."

"Oh, I'm absolutely starting. Did Captain America just come home and immediately turn into a golden retriever?"

Steve huffed a quiet laugh against your shirt. Your hand immediately moved to the back of his neck, nails grazing softly until you pushed your hand past the collar of his cotton shirt, scratching lightly at his back. 

If he was a cat, he'd be purring right at that moment.

"No, because listen," you told your friend, eyes narrowing at the screen. "The issue isn't that she lied." Steve watched you. "The issue is that she lied badly." Completely, utterly, disgustingly in love. "Those are different crimes."

Blue bird sky eyes that look up at you like you invented spring. Like your voice alone makes flowers bloom and birds sing. 

His chin rests comfortably on your stomach, one arm draped across your waist while your fingers absentmindedly travel back up to continue scratching at his scalp.

The way you laugh when someone says something stupid on the show makes him understand poetry. Because regular sentences in language aren't enough to explain what it feels like when somebody becomes your favorite thing in the entire world.

Steve had always been… tactile when he was tired. Like a working dog, he'd find something to occupy his mind until he was so tired, the inside of his skull was nothing but tv static.

Not clingy, exactly just drawn toward you in the same way a sunflower turns toward sunlight.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of your thank top, resting against the warm skin of your side, fabric riding up and exposing your stomach to him as he pressed absentminded kisses against the skin there. 

Your eyes flickered to him, another kiss on the lower left side of your stomach, big calloused hands pushing your shirt a smidge up again. 

When he grazed the skin with his teeth and soothed it with his tongue, you realized what he was getting at. Some flavor of "I gotta go, love you, bye" and the call was disconnected. 

"Steve." No answer. His hands slowly came back down the length of your waist, "Steve." He was in his own little world, fingers hooking them hem of your sleep shorts and pulling them down.

You let him, because what woman in her right mind would prevent Steve from seeking comfort, specially if that comfort was eating your pussy until you saw double?

He threw the shorts somewhere in the room, nothing but a grunt here or a groan there coming out of his mouth in the meantime. 

You put your right foot on his chest softly, as to catch his attention, sparkling eyes looking up at you with a little "hmm?" to match. 

"Are you okay?"

He sighed happily. He knew you knew you didn't have to worry about him, he's a super solder, a hero, a goddamn Avenger, what could a mere civilian like you do?

But he still loved your worry. Loved… your love. 

Steve chuckled softly and kissed the inside of your ankle, something along the lines of "always okay when I'm with you" being printed against the skin of your leg as his kisses went higher and higher and higher.

He stopped quickly when he got to your core, place a wet kiss over your panties and pulling them down your legs in one swift motion. The plane of his chest resting against the couch as he settled your legs over his shoulders. 

His arms wrapped around you legs, hands resting on top of your thighs to keep you open for him. He nuzzled his face against you first, eyes closed as he licked a flat, wide strip up your cunt.

The soft gasp coming from your lips only spurred him on, your left hand reaching down to tangle in his blond locks again while your right hand rested on his forearm.

Steve looked like he was in a trance. Hypnotized by the taste of you. He hummed against you, satisfied you were giving him what he wanted. Letting him take what he wanted. 

His tongue was soft, warm, wet as it lapped against your folds. He'd tense the muscle closer to your clit and circle it with his tongue before sucking it between his plush lips, only to slow down and do it again. 

The day had scraped him raw in a hundred tiny ways, and now he was tucked into the safest place he knew.

You.

"Mmmm, that feels good…" You settled further into the couch, letting your legs fall open around his head as he lazily made out with your pussy. His right hand reached up to shove your shirt further up, massaging your breasts once they were exposed, rolling and tugging on the nipple.

His tongue zig-zagged between your folds, bottom to top, and he sucked your clit briefly, setting it free with a soft "pop" once he felt your thigh twitch. 

"Needed this," he kissed your inner thigh. "needed you." Steve leaned further down, tensing his tongue to tease your entrance, and then burying his face in your heat. 

"Oh! Oh, G— Steve, f—mmm…" you were already babbling. The feel of his hot tongue inside of you made your hips jerk, his nose nudging your clit in the process. 

The wet noises were loud enough he could hear them even though your thighs were squeezing around his head. And God, this is what he needed, plush skin and muscle tensing under him, suffocating him in all that was you. 

"Gonna co—hah!—come all over your pretty face." Steve moaned, he moaned into you, hips grinding onto the couch cushions as yours did so against his face, pushing himself to be impossibly close to you. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth again, his tongue flicking it while it was trapped between his lips. 

Your moans grew louder, sharper, until you soaked Steve's lips and chin in wet pleasure. He let you ride the wave of your first orgasm, aftershocks flowing through your body like electricity through water. 

He dragged his right hand down from your breast to rest above your pussy, keeping you where he wanted you, and used his thumb and index finger to spread you further.

"Baby, please…" It was a mix of oversensitive and hungry pleas, which Steve took as a green light to keep going. He flattened his tongue again, licking long paths bottom to top, dipping his tongue in your entrance, and then keeping the path up.

You supported yourself up mostly by your right elbow and your grip on Steve's hair, staring at the scene in front of you with your mouth hanging open, panting. 

His left hand travelled down and he covered his index and middle fingers in your slick, pulling away ever so slightly to pool spit in his mouth and let the hot saliva flow softly from his mouth onto your clit. 

His fingers drove into you slowly with a wet squelch echoing into the room, curling them towards him when he got your folds to touch his palm. "Was only gone a day, sweetheart." He pumped his fingers. "How come you're so tight still, mmm?"

He chuckled when you had no response but a needy whine, the scene was a sight, really. Captain America absolutely lost in the pleasure of seeing his girlfriend completely pliant, missing any bottoms, with her tank top bunched up above her breasts, while he had a soaked face and a raging hard on. 

Humming as he licked and teased your clit once again, this time pumping his fingers in and out, and again, again, again, until he slurped every single drop of your second orgasm, feeling you squeeze your cunt around his fingers while your thighs squeezed every thought that didn't revolve around you right out of his skull.

You pulled him up forcefully by the collar, crashing your lips together, moaning as you tasted yourself on him. Your tongue licked into his mouth like you alone could make him forget everything that happened during the mission, even without knowing details. 

Your hands grazed down his chest over his shirt, quickly finding the hem of his sweats, palming him through them. "Did you touch yourself while I was gone?" His voice was breathy against your lips, almost strained. 

You shook your head, biting your lip. "Not as good when it's not you."

Steve whined, like audibly whined at your praise as you pushed his pants down enough to free his cock. "Good girl."

It slapped against your stomach heavy, hard, and leaking, and Steve immediately reached down to rub the head up and down your slick.

"Put it in, baby, please." You sucked on his bottom lip. "Missed you so much."

Steve chuckled as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Me or him?" He didn't wait for an answer, in days like these he never did. He just pushed his entire cock in to the hilt, knocking the air out of your lungs. "Me. Or. Him?" He asked again. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, "You, baby, fuck—" you panted against his mouth, tiny puffs of air matching his every thrust. "Missed your voice, your scent, your laugh—" another harsher thrust knocked the thought out of your head. "Missed your cock too, ah!"

You felt every drag of him inside of you, the vein on the side that split into two, the bulbous head of him that notched so perfectly around the spongy spot inside of you, you'd think they made him in a lab. 

Well, they did. But you're pretty sure the SSR had no involvement in how perfect Steve Rogers' dick was. 

That was all him. 

He reached down to snake his arms under your knees, bringing your legs further up and out, until his pelvis was flush with your entire bottom. 

"That's a good girl." He sighed, pulling all the way out only to slam all the way back in again. "Always so good."

The more Steve fucked you, the less oxygen you felt you had in your lungs. Every muscle in your core was tightening by the second, everything becoming too loud, too hot, too heavy, too good.

"Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. You want that?" His lips dropped to your neck, sucking and licking on the skin there. You nodded. "But I need you to come on my cock, Princess. Can you do that for me?" 

You nodded even more enthusiastically. 

Steve licked his thumb and down to your clit it went, making your eyes cross and roll and the wave of pleasure crashed onto you again. He felt you clamp down on him, shudders licking up his spine as rope after rope of cum leaked out of him.

Steve thrusted both of you through the aftershocks, until he finally let his entire weight rest onto you as your nails once again grazed his back and neck. 

He lifted his head from where he was resting his forehead against your collarbone and gave you a peck on the lips, then another, then another, until it turned into a slow, deep kiss. 

He motioned to pull out and start to clean up, but you squeezed your legs around his waist. "Just stay with me a little longer here, Stevie." He looked at you like he always did when you asked that, when he knew you asked for it more for him than for you, but still gave in, staying with you until your breaths evened out while the TV played in the background. 

bro honestly idk what took over my body in this ovulation... I already humped my husband every single day this week. THE SHACKLES.

💌 permanent freaks taglist: @chateaubarnes @houseofhyde @heldbybarnes @iamthatonefangirl @superbassbuck @its-in-the-woods @wildflowersandvibranium @unificsation @flockoff-featherface @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @winterdecember18 @juniebjonesin @barnesonly @bckyslover @buckyfmd @starfire-irl @tw1sters @pinksplace @artficlly @daddysbitchybaby @globetrotter28 @epiphanyrogers @famoushoshi @avgdestitute @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @buckybsdoll @allthingswickedpodcast @love-stucky @singulartoast

[semper-nox]

Another Beautiful Mistake (Masterlist)

Series Summary: A secret relationship with Steve Rogers begins to fracture when he starts pulling away, unable to face what he feels. As the silence between you turns into hurt, humiliation, and reckless self-destruction, the cracks spread through every mission, every glance, and every choice - until everything comes to a head in the worst possible way.

Series Warnings: heavy angst, no happy ending, major character death, secret relationship, emotional repression, miscommunication, grief, guilt, jealousy, emotional self-destruction, reckless behavior during missions, injury, blood, graphic wound description, femoral artery injury, panic, near-death scene, death scene, funeral aftermath, complicated Steve/Reader/Bucky dynamic, one-night stand with Bucky, non-romantic rebound/comfort sex, emotional distress, implied poor sleep and loss of appetite.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)

Please read the warnings before continuing. This fic contains heavy angst, emotional self-destruction, a secret relationship falling apart, reckless behavior, jealousy, a one-time sexual encounter used as emotional escape, graphic injury, major character death, and a grief-heavy ending. This is not a fix-it and does not have a happy ending.

UPDATED: 05.31.2026

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

[semper-nox]

𝔈𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭, 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔭; 𝔈𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔩𝔩, 𝔄 𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔱 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩.

⊱ 𝖓𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 𓉸

✸ masterlist ✸ wip ✸ taglist ✸ my first rant + another one followed by one and two answers ✸ tbr ✸ recs ✸ ao3

⊱ 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𓉸

marion/nox || she/her || 35+ || marvel enthusiast || angst lover || shy || previously solivagant-reverie

⊱ 𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘 𓉸

Welcome to this little corner of the dark.

This is an adults-only space. Minors, please do not interact. You will be blocked.

I write mostly for Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, though now and then Tony Stark, Thor, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson may also wander through these halls.

My heart remains with the earlier corners of canon, and I have no real desire to follow what came after Endgame. That chapter, for me, is less canon than old wound, and a rather painful one at that.

Some of my work explores heavy, dark, or otherwise sensitive themes. I do my best to tag carefully and thoroughly, and to make my warning lists as complete as I can, but I still ask that you move through this space with care and mindfulness for your own limits. Please curate your experience accordingly.

My ask box is open. Requests are closed. Kindness is welcome here; malice is not. I have no interest in entertaining cruelty, and hate will be shown the door without hesitation.

I am, hopelessly and without shame, very fond of comments. If a story of mine lingers with you - if it haunts you a little, if it leaves a bruise, if it makes you feel anything at all - I would love to hear it. A long, thoughtful message is treasured, of course, but so is a small, breathless jumble of words. Every response is received with gratitude and will be answered (except if eaten by tumblr).

I also write smut, and some of my work is intended for mature readers only. As a general rule, please assume this blog is really not a space for minors.

And lastly, I don't use AI (since apparently it needs to be marked down) and I don't want my work fed into AI.

Enter gently. Read with care. Linger, if you like.

⊱ 𝖙𝖆𝖌 𝖘𝖞𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖒 𓉸

#little words ꧁ : my fics

#small noises ෴ : whenever I yap about something

#new mail ღ : answers to asks

#reading corner ✦ : my to be read list

#favs ❣ : my recommandations

#ink spills ✒ : if you ever want to read me talk about my fics or my wips

#moots დ : anything related to my mutuals

#grateful thanks ᦦ : thanking messages for comments and reblogs of my fics

#planning ✩࿐ : post for what is going to be written and published during the month

[castielscaplan]

Steve Rogers Masterlist

Updated April 25 2026

Main Masterlist || Requesting Rules || Tag List

Angst Masterlist

Fluff Masterlist

[madhatter885]

Fire and Ice

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: Steve Rogers. You love him and hate him. The two of you are like fire and ice (no pun intended). You push each other’s buttons and never see eye to eye on anything. Knowing he’ll never see you the way you want him to just makes you act out more childishly and frustrate him more.

Little do you know Steve does actually have feelings for you. Fed up with the two of you constantly fighting Bucky and Natasha decide to intervene.

Words: 8,000

EXPLICIT / 18+ Only

Tags: Frenemies to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Smut, P in V sex, Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Dirty Talk, Angst and Fluff, Poor Communication.

A/N: I normally post on AO3. So I hope I didn’t miss anything. 🤞

Stepping onto the Quinjet, all eyes are on you. You throw your comm at Steve, who is staring at you disapprovingly with his hands on his hips. “What the hell just happened?” He snaps as you brush past him. You roll your eyes even though your back is now to him. “You wouldn’t stop squawking in my ear. So, I turned it off.” You huff.

“I was telling everyone to evacuate immediately. You ignored a direct order.” He snaps again, hot on your tail as he follows you. 

“I was on my way out! But you missed a bad guy, Captain Crab Ass! I was dragging him out with me.” You groan as you flop down in a seat. 

“That was reckless. That place was rigged to explode. You’re lucky Tony was able to disarm it.” Steve says as he towers over you with a deep frown on his face.

You throw him a sarcastic smile. “Then I’m failing to see the problem. I’m fine, and I caught the last straggler.”

Steve throws his hands in the air. He turns to your friends who are silently watching the exchange between the two of you…again. This happens frequently. “Will one of you talk some sense into her? There’s a chain of command for a reason.” Nat, Clint, Bucky, and Sam all keep tight-lipped, shaking their heads. They aren’t about to get in the middle of the latest argument between the two of you. “Children! You’re all children!” Steve groans as he goes to the front of the Quinjet to join Tony.

“You sure know how to get that vein throbbing on his forehead, doll. You’re gonna make him blow a gasket one day.” Bucky teases.

“Good. Maybe that will make him unclench and let the stick fall out of his ass.” You mutter. Then you can’t help yourself but take a sneak peak at his gorgeous tight ass. His uniform extenuates his features nicely. 

Steve fucking Rogers. You love him and hate him all at once. You’re madly in love with him, but the two of you are like fire and ice (no pun intended). You push each other’s buttons and never see eye to eye on anything. Knowing he’ll never see you the way you want him to or reciprocate your feelings for him just makes you act out more childishly and frustrate him more. Definitely not the adult like way to deal with things, but you can’t seem to help yourself.

Nat moves and sits down next to you, blocking your view of Steve’s ass. “Better wipe the drool of your face.” She teases, but she only says it loud enough for you to hear.

“Oh shut up.” You grumble. It wasn’t hard for the spy to figure out your little crush on Steve. She would never tell anyone, but she does love to give you shit about it. 

Nat pats you on the shoulder. “How about a girl’s night? I already text Wanda, and she’s in. You can drink your woes away.”

“You could have just started with the drinking part. I’m in. What about you, Bucky?” You ask with a teasing smile.

He scowls at you. “Since when am I one of the girls?”

You stick your bottom lip out and pout. “We need a designated driver. You can’t get drunk, so you’re perfect for the job. Pretty please?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Fine. How am I supposed to say no to that face?”

Steve glances over his shoulder as you’re giving his best friend a pouty face. His fowl mood made worse now. You’re never that way with him. You’re fun and playful with everyone else. But with him, you actively and effectively figure out how to push all his buttons. But seeing you so lighthearted and playful with Bucky makes his jealousy bubble. He wants that with you. But he’ll never have that with you because you don’t see him that way. 

_______________________________

Steve’s sitting in the shared living area of the Compound just staring at his phone. He has a photo of you and him together. It was taken ages ago, back when he first met you. You’re actually smiling at him in the photo, not looking at him with anger or defiance in your eyes. He thought you two started off on the right foot and got along in the beginning. He’s not sure when or why things changed and got to where they are now. 

Hearing the sound of your laughter pulls him from his thoughts. He quickly turns his phone off to hide the photo and then looks up to see what has you laughing. He immediately regrets looking up. He sees you on Bucky’s back, arms wrapped around his neck, legs around his waist, and a big smile on your face. 

Bucky nods his head once at his friend. “Later pal.”

Steve’s frown deepens. He finally notices Natasha and Wanda are also with the two of you. “Where you guys off to?” He asks, trying to sound curious, but it comes out more like a dad asking his daughters where they are going.

“Out.” You huff with a frown. 

Nat rolls her eyes at you. “Girl’s night out.” She says, trying to give a little more explanation than you. Steve raises his eyebrows and gives Bucky a confused look. Wanda giggles at the look on Steve’s face. She bumps her shoulder into Bucky’s. “He’s one of the girls now.”

You twirl your fingers in Bucky’s hair. “Does that mean we get to brush your hair and paint your nails now?”

Bucky ignores you and Wanda. “I’m just driving them. They needed a designated driver.” He throws you glare over his shoulder and swats your hand out of his hair playfully. 

“Oh.” Steve mumbles, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. Seeing you with Bucky is like a slow, painful dagger to the heart. “Well, have fun.” He says, trying to plaster on a fake smile. As the four of you walk away, he can’t help but yell. “Make good choices!” Then he face palms himself when he hears your response. 

“Fat chance of that Captain Sour Puss.”

___________________________________

At the bar, you throw back shot after shot. You lost count of how much you’ve drank. Your plans to drink your thoughts and feelings for Steve away isn’t working. It’s actually making it worse. Like your drunken brain can only focus on the one thing you don’t want to think about. Nat and Wanda left to go to the bathroom. So that leaves you with Bucky. 

You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder. He’s one of your best friends. Too bad he’s Steve’s best friend. The object of all your never to be fulfilled desires. “Just because Steve has a nice ass doesn’t mean he has to be such an ass.” You grumble.

Bucky chokes on his glass of whiskey. “Doll, what did you just say?”

“Why does he have a permanent stick up his ass? Why doesn’t he like me the way I like him? It’s not fair.” You pout childishly. Not having any sort of filter in your drunken state you don’t think about or realize you’re spilling your secret crush to Bucky. 

“You like Steve? Like have feelings for him?” He asks cautiously. 

“Well duh.” You say, lifting your head and throwing back another shot. Then, you put your finger to his lips. “Sshhhh it’s a secret.”

“Oh no.” Nat whines, having just returned back to your table. “She has a big mouth when she’s hammered. Pretend you didn’t hear any of that.”

“Hear what?” You ask when you hear Nat’s voice. 

“Nothing.” Nat and Bucky say in unison. 

You just shrug your shoulders and go back to drinking. 

That night on the drive home, you and Wanda are passed out in the back seat. Nat’s still standing. She can hold her liquor better. Bucky double checks in the mirror that you’re still out cold, then he looks at Natasha. “So you knew about her having a thing for Steve?”

Nat nods her head. No use in lying you’re the one that spilled the beans anyway. “She’s been head over heels for that man for far too long. She deals with all that unrequited love and sexual frustration by pissing him off.”

Bucky’s face skews as he thinks. “Might not be unrequited.” He starts.

Nat perks up. “Really? I’ve never really been able to tell. She does have a point about him having a stick up his ass. He’s so tightly wound I bet he could turn coal into a diamond.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh. “Can’t argue with that. So, I can’t totally confirm he feels the same. I asked him about it once a long time ago, and he brushed it off. But if you think about it, it totally makes sense. She’s the only one that can get him so fired up.” 

“Hmm.” Nat says, tapping a finger against her chin as she thinks. “If they keep getting worse, we may have to intervene. What do you think?”

“Don’t get me wrong watching the two of them is entertaining. But they can’t go on like this forever. I’m in.”

_______________________________

“Steve is such an asshole.” You hiss.

“Did you piss him off last night?” Wanda asks curiously, looking down at you. 

You’re lying flat on the floor of the gym with sunglasses on looking like a douchebag wearing them indoors. You’re hungover from your girl’s night out, and Steve suddenly decided to force you all into a training session on your day off. “I didn’t know his gear was on the floor. I didn’t mean to puke all over it last night. Why was it in the fucking living room in the first place?!” 

“Oh dear.” Wanda mutters, fighting her own hangover.

“Language!” Steve hisses.

“Fuck off!” You hiss back. Then groan, rubbing your forehead. The yelling worsening your pounding headache. Suddenly the light is blocked out, a shadow looming over you. 

“(Y/N), get up.” Steve grits out.

“No.”

“What if we got called out on a mission? Are you going to tell the bad guys you’re too hungover to fight? Work through it, get up.”

“Did it hurt?” You ask Steve curiously.

He cocks his head to the side with a frown. If he wasn’t irritating you so badly right now you might have found it adorable. “Did what hurt?”

“When that stick got shoved up your ass?”

Tony, Clint, Sam, and Wanda burst into laughter.  No one talks to him the way you do. They can’t help but find it hilarious. Nat and Bucky trade looks like they are having a silent conversation. Maybe they’ll have to intervene sooner than they thought. If they push hard enough surely one of you will crack. 

Steve lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh. “I’m not going to ask you again (Y/N). Get up.”

“Or else what?” You fire back with a raised defiant brow.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Or else I suspend you from field work for a month. Maybe two. I haven’t decided yet.”

Slowly sliding your sunglasses down your nose so you can see him with your own eyes, you glare back at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Stop pushing me (Y/N).”

Bucky walks over and stands between you and Steve. “How about I train with little miss sassy pants today.” He says as he extends his hand for you to grab. You let out an annoyed groan as you take Bucky’s hand. “I’ll show you, sassy.” You mutter.

Steve glares at you a moment longer. Then waves Bucky off. “Fine. She’s your problem today.” Then he storms across the gym. 

Bucky shakes his head at you. “No one can push his buttons like you can, doll. Now take those ridiculous sunglasses off, and try to behave for five minutes.”

“I make no promises.” You grumble as you take your sunglasses off, squinting your eyes. 

Bucky can’t help but laugh. Besides Steve, you are one of his closest friends. Your attitude and sassiness he’s always found endearing. “Well I’ll just have to knock your smartass around a little, I guess.” He teases.

“Bring it Barnes.” You tease back.

Steve hangs his head, feeling defeated. With his back turned, he can hear you laughing and joking with Bucky. Bucky’s always been better with women than him. But he wishes just this once that it wasn’t true, not with you. 

Nat claps Steve on the shoulder. “Don’t take it, personal Steve. Sometimes, she doesn’t think before she speaks. She’ll calm down in a little bit.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah for everyone, but me. So, how am I not supposed to take that personally?”

“Well, this is just a suggestion, but maybe try talking to her as a friend and not as her boss.”

___________________________________

Steve stands in the kitchen, washing the same dish over and over. He can see into the living room from the kitchen. He narrows his eyes, practically boring holes through Bucky. He’s sitting on the couch, teasing you. He turned on a TV show you don’t like, and now he’s keeping the remote away from you. 

You’re practically in Bucky’s lap, trying to wrestle the remote out of his hands. “Give it up, old man!” You growl.

“Just for that, I’m definitely keeping it longer.” Bucky fires back teasingly.

“I think it's clean.” A voice says, coming from behind Steve and startling him. Steve turns his head with a confused look and sees Sam looking at him. Sam chuckles at his friend and points to the dish. Steve is still absentmindedly washing. “The dish, it’s clean.”

Steve smiles at his friend sheepishly. “Right, thanks. Just got lost in thought, I guess.”

“You mean thoughts about (Y/N).” Sam says with his arms crossed and a knowing look on his face. 

Steve’s eyes go wide. “What?”

Sam scoffs at Steve’s reaction. “Come on, man, I know you like her. I’ve stayed out of it because it’s not my business, but it’s getting more painful to watch. You don’t know how to talk to her, so you bomb every time.”

Steve’s shoulders slump as he leans against the kitchen counter. “You’re right. I don’t know how to talk to her. Not anymore, at least. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m pretty sure she likes Bucky. I mean, just look at them.”

 Sam scoffs for a second time. “She doesn’t like him like that. Hell, she was calling him one of the girls the other night, which was hilarious. But they’re just friends. And we both know Bucky isn’t shy, if he liked her as more than a friend, he would have asked her out already.”

“Maybe.” Steve mumbles with a heavy sigh as he looks over at you again. Just in time to see you beating Bucky upside the head with pillows. He can’t help but smile at you. But his smile quickly falters. “She’s never that way with me. She’s the exact opposite with me.”

“Try talking to her, you know as a friend. Stop barking at her for starters.” Sam claps Steve on the shoulder as he walks away. Steve has his back turned so Sam gives Nat a thumbs up who was peaking around the corner listening. 

___________________________________

“Not a fucking peep. I don’t want to hear it.” You huff as you hobble out of the infirmary on crutches.

Steve has his arms crossed over his chest and a cocky raised brow. You’d like to slap that look off his stupidly handsome face. “Tough you’re going to hear it. Had you listened to my orders, you wouldn’t have needed to jump out of the window at the last second and injure yourself.”

“It’s a sprained ankle. I’ll be fine in a couple weeks.” You stop your hobbling and turn toward Steve, grumpily poking a finger into his firm chest. “And had I listened to you, we wouldn’t have the intel that we needed. I needed an extra minute to download those files off the computer. So how about you tell me thank you for once!”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Thank you? I’m supposed to thank you for once again defying my orders and putting yourself in danger? Did you hit your head when you jumped out that window, too?”

“Ugh! Have you ever been hit in the head with crutches? Cuz if not, your about to! You are so infuriating!”

“Oh yeah, well so are you!” Steve yells back. Watching you attempt to storm away on your crutches. 

Nat steps out into the hallway, shaking her finger at Steve with a disapproving look on her face. “If that was you talking to her like a friend, you have more issues than I thought, cuz that went horribly.”

Steve points in your direction with one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, but no words come out. He’s trying to come up with a counterargument. Natasha tried coaching him before that conversation happened, and he threw everything they talked about out the window the second you snapped at him. “Oh, come on. You heard how she was talking to me.” He whines.

She rolls her eyes and looks at her watch. “Wait five minutes. Then go try again.” 

“Fine.” He says sounding like a scolded child.

___________________________________

As you slowly hobble your way through the Compound you grumble under your breath the entire way. Stupid Steve. Can never thank you or tell you good job. He bitches and nit picks at everything you do. “Stupid smug super soldier.” You growl as you enter the kitchen. 

Bucky who’s sitting at the kitchen table raises his eyes. “I haven’t done anything today.”

You roll your eyes. “Not you. The other one.”

“Probably should have guessed that.” Bucky chuckles. “Was he on you the second you walked out the infirmary?”

“Yes!” You yell with an exasperated sigh, throwing your hands in the air and accidently dropping your crutches on the floor. “Do I get a thank you, or atta girl for getting the intel we needed? No, I get a lecture and an I told you so.”

“Doll, maybe he was just worried about you. Cut him a little slack, maybe?” Bucky says, trying to reason with you. 

You scoff at that. “Well he has one hell of a way of showing it.” Then you stretch on your only good foot, trying to reach for a bowl out of the cupboard. The tips of your fingers can’t quite reach it, and your leg is starting to get tired since you aren’t leaning on your crutches.

“For the record. I do worry about you.” Steve’s voice says from behind you. Then suddenly, you feel a large muscular frame pressed up against your backside. Your brain short circuits, and you lose all ability to think straight. The only thing you can focus on is Steve’s body pressed up against yours. But it doesn’t last long as you would have liked. With one hand, he grabs the bowl you were reaching for, and the other is on your waist to steady you. 

You feel cold when his warm body pulls away from yours, making you shiver. Steve bends down and grabs your crutches off the floor. When he hands them to you, your thought processes are still halted, so you just stare at him blankly. “Am I doing something else awful by handing these to you?” Steve asks after a few beats of awkward silence. 

You shake your head in a feeble attempt to clear your mind. “Um…no. Thank you.” You mumble in a low voice. For once not yelling at him. 

“You’re welcome.” He says with a kind smile that has not been pointed at you for a very long time. 

You look at him skeptically. His behavior feels suspicious. “Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”

“Because I’m generally a nice person.”

“Uh huh.” You say with a confused frown, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“If you would just listen to me, I’d be a lot nicer to you.” Steve blurts out and then immediately regrets it. 

“Yep. There it is. Knew it was too good to be true.” Now, having lost your appetite, you make your way back out of the kitchen. “Jackass.” You mutter as you leave.

Steve hangs his head, cursing himself. Bucky quietly gets up and leaves the kitchen also. He not surprisingly runs into Natasha, who was listening nearby. “I think we’re going to have to take more drastic measures.” Bucky says to the spy. 

“Agreed.”

___________________________________

Bucky knocks on your door with a bag full of your favorite takeout. “Come on, doll open up. It’s just me.” He waits for a couple beats. When there’s no response, he tries again. “I have food.”

“It’s open.” You immediately call back.

He shakes his head and laughs. Food bribery always works with you. He enters your room, but leaves your door open. He finds you sitting on your bed with ice on your swollen ankle. He hands you the bag of food. “I know you haven’t eaten, so here you go.”

“You’re the best.” You say as you grab the bag without questioning his motives. 

“Remember those words, and don’t try and kill me for this. We’re doing this because we care.” He blurts out as he backs out of the room. 

“What?” You question with a confused frown. Suddenly, you see Bucky, Nat, and Wanda shoving Steve into your room, and they slam the door shut. 

“You two are staying in there until you talk out your issues. And if you try breaking out, Wanda will zap you right back in there.” Nat yells through the locked door. 

“Oh come on!” You and Steve yell in unison. You yell from your spot on the bed. Steve jiggles the door. And to reiterate her words Steve gets thrown backwards and lands on the other side of your room. You snort out a laugh. “Okay that was funny. Everything else NOT COOL!” You yell towards the door. 

Steve sits up and puts his back against the wall. “Great. Just great.” He mutters to himself.

“This is the last time I accept food from Bucky.” You say with an annoyed sigh as you dig into the food anyway. “Traitorous liar! Payback’s a bitch Bucky!”

Steve leans his head back, making a thud against the wall as he chuckles. “Well at least I won’t be the only super soldier that you hate anymore.”

You ignore Steve and eat your food in awkward silence. You should probably offer him some. But you’re too pissed off and annoyed to care. Once your done you toss everything in the trash, dusting your hands off and lean back on your bed getting yourself more comfortable. You know you’re going to be in there a while. 

You’re not sure how much time passes. You decided to ignore the clock. Staring at it will just make time go by slower. But you can feel Steve’s eyes on you. Apparently, enough time has gone by to make your temper go down a little. “I don’t hate you.” You say without looking at Steve. 

Pulling his knees up to his chest, he sighs. “Then what happened (Y/N)? I thought there for a while we were friends. What changed?” His voice sounding sincere.

You bite your lip to keep it from quivering. Remembering the words you heard him say that day always shatter your heart no matter how much time has passed. You wish you would have never overheard that conversation between him and Bucky forever ago. “Nothing changed I guess. The truth just hurts I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” 

You take a deep breath, feeling your eyes start to water. “It doesn’t matter.” You say in a low voice. You’re not going to let him see you cry. 

Steve lets out an annoyed groan. “It does matter. It matters to me. And apparently, we aren’t getting out of here until we talk about whatever happened to get us to this point. So what did I do?”

“Why would I be interested in a girl like her?”

His face skews. “What?”

“Those are your words. That’s what I heard you say to Bucky. He was teasing you about how much time we were spending together, and he asked if you liked me. You said, of course not why would I be interested in a girl like her. Words hurt Steve. Even if I wasn’t meant to hear them.”

The room gets so eerily quiet that you could hear a pin drop. You’re not sure what you expected him to say in response to that. You suppose his lack of a response is enough, validating what you already heard him say.

Suddenly, you feel the bed dip. You had your eyes closed trying to control your breathing to keep yourself from crying. You open your eyes and see Steve looking at you. He extends his hand and wipes the stray tear that manages to escape with his thumb. “You’re right. I did say that. I didn’t know you overheard that, and I’m sorry you did. But I also didn’t mean it. Bucky caught me off guard, and I panicked. What I was really thinking was, why would a girl like you be interested in an awkward out of place, old man like me.”

You give him a small, watery laugh at the last part. You’d like to think he was telling the truth now. But that annoying little voice in the back of your mind starts eating at you. Telling you he’s just saying things you want to hear. Saying whatever he has to, to get out of this situation. “Why would you care what Bucky thought?”

“Well, honestly, I always thought you liked each other. Look how close the two of you are.” He says with sadness in his voice. 

Now your face skews. “Bucky and I are close, but it’s more of a brother-sister type of dynamic. There’re no romantic feelings between us. Plus, he’s not shy, if he wanted to ask me out, he would have done it shamelessly.”

“That’s exactly what Sam said.” He chuckles with a small smile. “So, all this time we’ve spent fighting is because I said something stupid?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I never expected you to feel the same way I did. But hearing you say it and how you said it just kind of dug salt in the wounds, I guess.”

It takes Steve’s mind a moment to process your words. He’s a little slow to the catch sometimes. Especially with women. “Wait…you didn’t think I would feel the same way you did? So that means you do…or did have feelings for me?” Then, before you can even get a reply out, he leans down, putting his hands on your face, crashing his lips against yours.

Now you’re the one with the slow brain. It takes your mind a moment to catch up with what’s happening. When you don’t kiss him back right away, Steve worries he may have read things wrong and starts to pull away. But you come to your senses and wrap your arms around him, and kiss him back. 

You can’t believe this is happening, that Steve Rogers is actually kissing you. You dreamed about it for so long, but never thought it would come true. 

Steve wedges his body between your legs but is careful not to bump your swollen ankle. You feel his impressive hard length pressing against your center and moan into his mouth. He seizes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. He slips his tongue into your mouth. 

The sound of your bedroom door being unlocked completely destroys the moment. Steve bolts upright and jumps off the bed like he’s just been burned. You lay there feeling a little dazed as he hurriedly straightens himself out. 

Nat peaks her head in the door. “As much as it pains all of us to have to let you out already we need Steve for a mission ASAP.”

Steve glances at you and then nods his head to Nat. “Alright, let’s go.” Then he takes off without another word to you or even a second look. 

You groan wiping a hand down your face. “What the fuck just happened?”

___________________________________

1 week passes. You’re stuck by yourself in the Compound for a week with your mind running rampant. You keep replaying your last conversation with Steve in your head. You thought you were actually making some headway. Like the two of you were finally laying it all out there. But the way he jumped off the bed when Nat came in and the way he left leaves you feeling confused. 

The final conclusion you’ve come to after a week of arguing with yourself and the evil voice in your head is that he’s embarrassed he has feelings for you. That’s why he said what he said to Bucky forever ago. That’s why he jumped away from you, so whoever was coming in wouldn’t know he had his tongue down your throat. And that’s why he left without so much as a goodbye, or anything to insinuate this conversation would be picked up later.

So, when everyone returns, you avoid Steve like the plague. You revert to your childish ways and hide from him. You’re not going to be his dirty little secret. Whenever Steve touches you, it seems to make your brain short circuit, and you know you’ll be foolish enough to let him talk you into keeping things between the two of you. 

That worked out for about a week. Steve finally corners you in the kitchen one day. It’s been just long enough for your ankle to heal up and the doctor to clear you for field work. But Steve also has to clear you. 

Looking at you with his disapproving frown, Steve approaches you. “The doctor cleared you yesterday. Why weren’t you at training today?”

“Did feel like it.” You say with a shrug while avoiding making eye contact. 

“(Y/N).” Steve grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

You cross your arms and glare back at him. “Why what?”

He bites his lip like he’s trying to stop himself from saying something. Instead, he points down the hallway. “Just get in the gym now. Or I won’t clear you.”

After the last argument you had with him like this, you know he means it. “Fine.” You grumble and brush past him. 

Bucky who’s been actively avoiding you since you swore to exact vengeance on him, slowly steps into the kitchen once you’re gone. He claps Steve on the shoulder. “A word of advice. When she’s upset, she forgets how to use grown-up words. You’re gonna have to spell things out for her.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Want Nat and I to lock the door again?” Bucky teases. “She’s got her mobility back so she can make a quicker getaway.”

Steve gives his friend an appreciative smile. “Thanks pal, but I got it this time.”

___________________________________

Moments later, Steve enters the gym and finds you pacing around. After having a very long candid talk with Bucky and Nat, he thinks he’s got a better understanding of how your mind works. So, he opts not to start up a conversation with you just yet. You’re still irritated, so best let you get some of that aggression out. 

“Alright show me what you got.” Steve says sarcastically to goad you into charging at him.

“Careful what you wish for.” You grit out. Doing exactly as he was expecting you run towards him. When he falls backwards, he pulls you down with him, so you fall on top of him. To your shame, and as you expected, your brain comes to a screeching halt when you realize you're straddling him. Too bad it’s not in a more sexy way. You snap back to reality when you see Steve smirking at you. You narrow your eyes at him. “How dare you go easy on me.” You huff as you push yourself back to your feet.

“Okay, careful what you wish for doll.” He fires back when he pulls himself off the floor. Using your previous words against you. 

Your temper is flaring even more as you take another run at him. This time he knocks your legs out from under you, making you fall backward. He lands on top of you. His body feeling in a familiar position, wedged between your legs. He’s leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you. You blank out again, liking the feeling of his body weight on top of you. When he doesn’t move or make any attempts to get up, you finally make eye contact with him. “What are you doing?”

“We need to talk. Communication seems to be a troublesome thing between us, so I thought I’d try something different.”

“I don’t want to talk.” You huff as you try wiggling out from under him. But it’s pointless. He’s got you pinned to the floor, and you both know it.

“Well it’s going to happen, and I’m not letting you up until you talk.” He says with a raised brow, leaving you no room for argument. “Now I thought we had talked out not all, but at least made a good dent in what our issues were about before we got interrupted. Then I come back and what do I get? Complete avoidance. Very mature by the way.”

“Save it. I don’t need to hear any of your damn lectures Steve.”

He ignores your protest and continues on with what he was saying. “So, I need you to be a big girl and use your words to tell me what has you so upset. I’m not a mind reader, and I’m a little old so help me out here.”

You groan, smacking your palms against the gym mats beneath you. Logically, you know he’s right. You can’t just assume he will automatically know what has you pissed off this time. But your irrational brain always tries to push to the forefront of your mind. You internally argue with yourself for a few moments while Steve just patiently waits for some sort of response from you. For once, you let your rational side win. “When Nat…interrupted our ‘conversation’ you jumped off the bed like it was on fire. Like you were ashamed to be caught kissing me. Then you just leave without saying anything to me. So, I didn’t know what to think. The only thing I could come up with was that you didn’t want anyone to know you had feelings for me. So, I avoided you when you got back.”

Steve’s face finally softens. He shakes his head at you. “(Y/N) I don’t understand why you are so negative about yourself. That couldn’t be further from the truth. First of all, I was raised to be a gentleman. A gentleman shouldn’t kiss and tell. And secondly, knowing you, I figured you didn’t want to give Nat and Bucky the satisfaction of knowing their little stunt worked. That’s why I got up so fast, and I wasn’t sure what to say with Nat watching us.”

You open and close your mouth a couple times looking like a fish, trying to find the right words. “Oh.” Is the only thing you end up saying out loud. Internally you are completely embarrassed. You sure did read that all wrong. And he’s right you don’t want to give Nat and Bucky the satisfaction. “I’m sorry?”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “Even though that sounded more like a question I’ll take that as the first ever apology I got from you. I’m sorry too.”

You can’t help but smile back at his handsome face. “Okay, now that’s settled. Now what?”

“Well since we cleared the air and we’re on the same page for the first time in a long time, how would you feel about going on a date?”

“Really?” You squeak out in a higher pitched voice than you meant to. Then you bite your lip feeling embarrassed again, but you couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face if you tried.

He nods his head with a smile. “Really. See communication works.”

“Whatever smart ass. Yes, I would love to go on a date. And I will work on telling you if something is wrong rather than picking a fight with you.”

“Well I think me and my best girl are on the right track finally.” He says as he lifts one hand, sweeping some of your hair away from your eyes. Hearing him call you his best girl makes you feel giddy inside. You bite your lip again, which makes him break eye contact and drop his eyes to your lips. He cups your cheek in his hand and uses his thumb to free your bottom lip. He looks into your eyes briefly once more and then closes the small distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. 

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer as you kiss him back. The kiss quickly gets heated, much like it did the first time you kissed a couple of weeks ago. Steve slips his tongue into your mouth and removes his hand from your cheek, and slides it down to your waist. 

You feel him quickly getting hard. You get excited and grind against him, moaning into his mouth. But you end up disappointed when Steve breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against yours, and he’s breathing like he’s trying to catch his breath. Which you find odd, the super soldier never gets winded. He must sense your disappointment because he shakes his head slightly. “I need to ask you this before I lose all ability to think clearly. Do you want to stop?”

“Honestly, no. But do you?”

He lifts his head so he can look into your eyes. He shakes his head again. “Doll I have wanted you for so long. Of course, I don’t want to stop.”

You raise one eyebrow at him and smirk. “Well then, Captain, give it to me.”

He lets out a growl and pulls you up with him as he climbs off the floor. Which you’re actually thankful for. You didn’t realize how stiff you had gotten laying there. He ends up pinning you against the wall. All the pent-up sexual tension now flowing between both of you. You reach for his shirt and pull it over his head. He follows suit and does the same to you. Both of you have a brief moment where you just gaze at each other’s bodies. 

Then you’re crashing your lips hungrily back together again. Hands roam all over each other’s bodies as you devour each other’s mouths. Next, he reaches for your shorts, his fingers dipping into the waistband. You eagerly shimmy out of your shorts, and then reach for his. 

Both of you now down to your underwear. Steve grabs you by your thighs like you weigh nothing and pins you between his body and the wall. His painfully hard cock pressing against your center. You moan into his mouth as you rut against him. “Steve, I want you.” You gasp against his lips. 

“You have me.” He gasps back. Then he frees himself from his boxer briefs. Sliding your panties to the side, he presses against your entrance and slowly pushes inside you. You moan out in pleasure as he slowly fills you, feeling yourself stretch around him. 

He removes his lips from yours and drops his forehead to your shoulder once he’s fully sheathed inside you. “Fuck, you feel so good. I never thought I’d get to have you like this.” With one hand he manages to remove your bra, his bare chest presses against your breasts.

You can barely form a coherent thought, and he hasn’t even started moving yet. “Fuck me Steve. Make me cum all over your cock.”

He lets out a growl, nipping at the skin on your neck. He pulls out of you slowly, and slams his cock back in earning another moan from you. He does that a couple more times. Then the flood gates open and he starts pounding into you with all that super soldier strength. 

Your eyes roll back, and you just hold on tight letting him fuck you senseless. He hits that sweet spot over and over. It doesn’t take you long before you feel your orgasm building. “Steve, I’m gonna…” Your voice trails off as he opens you up more so he can go deeper.

“Me too. Cum for me.” He grunts next to your ear.

Your nails dig into his back as your legs shake, reaching your climax you cry out. Probably loud enough for half the Compound to hear, but you don’t care at this point. As you’re still riding out your orgasm Steve lets out a deep guttural moan, his hips still as he spills his release inside you. 

Coming down from your highs, Steve kisses along your neck, then presses a soft kiss to your lips. His forehead resting against yours. “We should have had this talk so much sooner.” He whispers.

You snort out a laugh. “Can’t argue with that.” Then you kiss him once more. You realize he’s still inside you and his cock is still rock hard. “How are you still hard?” You blurt out.

Steve smiles at you. “Perks of the serum.”

“Well then, I think we have lost time to make up for. I’m ready for round two Captain.”

___________________________________

6 months later….

Storming off the Quinjet, Steve is hot on your heels. “Are you just physically incapable of following orders? Is that it?” He yells. 

“When it’s a stupid ass order, yes.” You yell back over your shoulder. You reach for the door to head inside the Compound, but Steve catches you by the arm and pulls you back toward him. 

“I’m not finished.” He seethes.

“I don’t care. Not my problem that stick found its way back up your ass again!”

Steve narrows his eyes, pushing you up against the wall. “You’re pushing me (Y/N).”

You smirk at him. “What are you gonna do? Punish me?” You challenge, with a coy smile.

His eyes darken. "Remember, you asked for it." He says just before he crashes his lips against yours for a bruising kiss.

Bucky lets out an annoyed sigh, standing next to Natasha. The two of them watching you and Steve argue…again. Then suddenly, the two of you start making out like horny teenagers against the wall. “I still don’t know if this is an improvement from before.” Bucky mutters.

Nat shakes her head with a smirk. “Well now she’s pissing him off for an entirely different reason, the make-up sex. I don’t think he’s figured it out yet.”

Bucky sighs again. “Poor naïve Steve. He’ll catch on eventually, I guess. Maybe.” Then he looks toward his best friend, tired of seeing the sight before him. “Hey, take it inside pal!”

“Don’t make me bring out the hose again!” Tony yells, now standing next to Nat. “Do they have no shame?” He grumbles half-jokingly.

Hearing your friends yell at the two of you makes Steve pry his lips off yours. Suddenly, he lifts you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You smile and wink at Nat. She always knows what you're up to. 

Steve practically kicks the door open to your shared bedroom and sets you on the floor. Slamming the door shut behind him. “Take your clothes off.” He says in his commanding Captain voice. The voice that makes your panties get wetter, feeling eager.

Biting back a smile, you peel yourself out of your field uniform. While watching your boyfriend angrily do the same thing. You picking fights with Steve isn’t the same as before. And you don’t necessarily enjoy fighting with him. It’s the end result that you enjoy. Aside from that, the first time you had sex in the gym, normally in the bedroom he’s sweet and gentle, he makes love to you. That’s not a bad thing, you love that about him. 

But when you get him all wound up it’s completely different. He’s bossy in a sexy way, with a filthy mouth, and he fucks you senseless. You love that too. The first time the two of you had a fight as a couple it just kind of happened, and it was amazing make up sex. Then you wanted it to happen again, and well now here you are. Picking fights with him again.

“On the bed. Hands and knees.” He growls. 

You do as he says and climb onto the bed, getting on your hands and knees looking at him over your shoulder with hungry eyes. 

Steve climbs up the bed behind you. His body hovering over yours. He moves his lips next to your ear. “Looks like you’re capable of following orders after all.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. “Like I said, when it’s not a stupid ass order.” You say mockingly to push his buttons some more. 

He lets out another growl, putting his hand between your shoulder blades pushing your front flat on the bed. His other hand lines up with your exposed, aching entrance and shoves his cock inside you in once swift fluid motion. “You have been a very bad girl (Y/N). I’m going to fuck your pussy raw.”

“Promise?”

With an angry grunt, he grabs your hip with one hand, the other is still pushing your front down. He mercilessly starts pounding into you at a punishing pace. His grip on your hip is so tight there will surely be finger sized bruises left behind. 

He easily makes you a moaning mess as your hands grab onto the sheets, looking for purchase. Your eyes roll back with each thrust. 

“I don’t hear that smart mouth anymore.” He grits out. The hand between your shoulder blades moves and spanks you on the ass. "Who's in charge?"

You just moan at him in response. You can barely comprehend what he's saying.

When he doesn't get the answer he wants, he abruptly stops pounding into you and holds your hips so you can't try rutting against him. "You wanna cum on my cock don't you?"

"Yes." You whine while pointlessly trying to move your hips. "Come on, please."

He slips his hand between your soaking wet thighs and teasingly rubs around your clit. "Who's in charge (Y/N)? I wanna hear you say it."

"You are Steve!"

"Good girl." He praises and seemingly satisfied he goes back to fucking you into the mattress. This time he pulls your hips to him to meet his thrusts. Pounding into even harder.

You were already on the edge when he abruptly stopped so it's not going to take much more for him to make you cum.

He knows you're close when you start clenching around him. "Fuck yes Steve!" You yell. Suddenly your hips start shaking and you cry out as you cum hard.

As you're riding out your orgasm he comes shortly after you. His thrusts get sloppy and his hips stutter. He slams into you one last time as he spills his release inside you.

Contrary to his prior actions, he pulls out of you gently and collapses on the bed, pulling you with him. Now you're lying with your back against his front. You're sweaty and out of breath. While he's not the least bit winded and not a hint of perspiration. Feeling completely spent and satisfied, you start to doze off.

Steve kisses your shoulder. "I'm onto you." He whispers.

"Huh?" You mumble sleepily.

"I admit it took me a while. But I'm onto you. You're picking fights so we can have rough makeup sex."

Your eyes fly open hearing that. You turn around in his arms so you can see his face and smile at him sheepishly. "Okay, guilty. Are you mad?"

He chuckles at you. "I want to be, but it's kind of hard to after all that. Which I'm sure is part of your devious plan. By the time I realize what you’re up to I’m already too fired up to care."

"I'm sorry? At least they're sexy fights."

He shakes his head and laughs again. You never do give proper apologies. "If you want it a little rough, all you have to do is ask. You know I'll give you whatever you want. You don't have to start a fight to get it."

You shake your head in disagreement. "Nope, I've tried that. It's not the same. You have to legitimately be mad. Sorry babe, I have to fire you up first."

"Well no one can wind me up like you can. But maybe one day I might not fall for it." He teases.

"I'm not worried." You tease back. Then lean up, capturing his lips for a sweet kiss. "I love you Steve." 

"I love you too doll."

___________________________________

💞💘💞

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

I originally posted this on A03. Here's the link.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[zaraomarrogers]

Holy moly!!! What a treat!!! Exactly the kind of thing I wanted to read❤️🔥 loved it!

Thankyou for writing and sharing with us. I immensely enjoyed reading this 💕❤️

[seraphinastan]

‘Tis The Season

Steve Rogers x FemReader.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: 18+ Smut/Sexually explicit content MDNI, fluff, mutual pining, mention of injury from mission, sub!reader, dom!steve, semi-public sex, oral (fem receiving), size difference, bondage kinda, pet names: “Angel”, “baby”. Reader is described as having healing abilities.

Summary: It’s the holiday season and Steve teases you until finally showing you what that mouth do. Lol.

A/N: Baby’s first ff on Tumblr! Not that i’ve done much writing outside of this… The holidays are coming up and I love a man in a sweater, especially when it’s Chris Evans, so here we are. Bucky is my #1 so I will be writing something for him at some point but I just got some inspo for this so we’re starting with Steve. I kind of rushed through and didn’t do a proofread so it might be terrible? I was going to write more but im just lazy. So, Lmk how I can improve, especially with formatting, because I’m new to writing on this platform. Also if you have requests??? Enjoy, you freaks.

Morning light filtered through the large windows of the Avenger’s compound and into the kitchen where you sat.

The cabinets were already decorated with garlands and the room smelled like pine, cinnamon and the faint smell of hot chocolate from last night.

You were seated at the large island over a bowl of untouched cereal, stirring the spoon slowly while your mind was a thousand miles away, thinking about yesterday’s mission. The warm Quinjet on the flight back to the compound was a stark contrast to the chill outside and the snow that had begun to fall. The coppery smell of blood filled the air and Steve Rogers leaned against his seat wincing from the pain of the gash on his ribs. You were used to healing your teammates-that was your main job on the team- so you were more than capable. You pressed your palms against his skin and a faint glow began to emit from them. Healing wasn’t the problem. He was the problem.

As you pressed against his warm, firm skin, your heart was beating way too loudly. You watched the way his breath hitched- or was it yours? The way his blue eyes watched you, intense and unblinking, as you knit his flesh back together. And in a few seconds, the gash was gone, leaving behind nothing but the blood soaked suit. Not even a scar.

You wished you had enough control to hold yourself together around him, but every time he was close, you forgot how to breathe, your heart flutters, and you feel like you might faint from overheating.

It was very unlike you. You were always the perfect example of control. You were sarcastic enough to go toe-to-toe with Tony Stark himself, constantly making quick-witted remarks to tease your teammates. But the moment he would walk into the room, the words coming from your mouth would hesitate and you’d find yourself stumbling over your words more than you’d like.

You couldn’t help it. From the very first day you joined the team, you had your eye on Steve. You loved the way he could command a room, the way his shirts pulled tightly over his big chest and broad shoulders, the sound of his voice with that Brooklyn accent, the way he’d swoop up a punching bag with one arm as if it weighed nothing (oh how you wished to be that punching bag), the way he’d stretch over you to grab the mug out the cabinet you couldn’t reach, how he looked in his sweaters this time of year, the way he’d compliment you during trainings not knowing he was making your heart skip a beat. It killed you.

You never hesitated on a job. Always fierce and independent with enough moves in your back pocket to take down a 300 pound man. Always dominant, always in control. But God, how you’d let him take control. Nat knew you liked him but you still couldn’t even admit to her just how much you thought about all the things you’d let him do to you. Fantasizing about him during meetings, your thighs pressing together ever so slightly under the table just to feel some type of relief from the ache he gave you. Daydreaming about him pushing you onto the table after everyone else was gone and taking you right there.

You shook your head as if it’d send the thoughts flying out your brain, and then a soft swoosh of the door broke the silence.

Of course it was him.

“Morning.”

He walked in, wearing a simple grey t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was still damp from a shower. He moved to the coffee machine with familiar ease, his broad back to you as the machine whirred and he spoke again without turning.

“Good work last night. Don’t know what we’d do without you, Angel”

Angel. The nickname everyone called you because of your miracle healings. But coming from his mouth? It had a completely different effect.

You bit your lip, staring at his back where you could see the outlines of his muscles through the material.

“Just doing my job, Captain.”

As he poured the coffee, all you cared to smell was the scent of his soap from his freshly washed hair- clean and masculine- filling the air between you. He turned to face you, mug in hand, raising it to his lips.

“The team’s putting up ornaments later. Could use your artistic eye.”

The tree in the living room was comically large because of course it was, Tony picked it out. And currently, it was bare.

“I might make an appearance then.”

His eyes held yours for what felt like eternity, making your breathing speed up.

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Before he made it out the door he turned his head to say one more thing.

“Wear something comfortable.”

And then he was gone. The instruction was simple, practical even, but the implication lingered. Of course you’d overthink it. What else would you wear?

What you didn’t know, was that Steve was enjoying every second of watching you squirm around him. He started making a mission out of it,- brushing past you in the hall, using casual pet names to catch you off-guard, holding yours gaze a moment too long- all because he knew how flustered it got you.

Later, in your room, you stood in front of your closet, his words echoing in your mind. Simple and maddening. What did that mean for Steve Rogers? A tactical suit was “comfortable.” So were sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Neither felt like the right answer.

Your fingers trailed over the fabrics and paused over a soft, crimson cashmere sweater. It was simple but fitting. Comfortable. Red was also a good color on you.

You walked into the common room about an hour later. Bucky was sitting down in an armchair, frustratingly attempting to untangle a large wad of string lights and muttering curses under his breath. Boxes of ornaments were scattered over the floor, the scent of pine filling the air. Tony and Sam were debating on whether to use tinsel or garland on the fireplace.

Before you saw him, you felt him. His tall presence coming up behind you. When you turned, he was close enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

“Just in time. We should start decorating so we can get to the ornament that lights up and sings ‘Jingle Bells’ before Tony does.”

He was wearing a dark green sweater that only emphasized his bulk. You were practically matching in holiday spirit.

He gestured his chin towards the tree in the corner of the room and led the way. His tall frame creating a bubble of semi-privacy amidst the activity. He knelt beside one of the boxes and you followed his movement, kneeling on the opposite side of it.

You reached for a silver-star ornament and his hand was already there, reaching for the same one, enveloping your fingers in his warm solid hand. Electric. The bickering faded into the background behind you. You hated how the simple contact made your brain forget how to function.

But he didn’t pull away his hand. Instead, his thumb moved a slow, deliberate stroke against the back of your knuckles. It was a feather-light touch that sent a shockwave up your arm.

What was he doing?

His blue eyes were fixed on yours, the intensity stripping away any pretense of this being about tree decorating.

“Looks like we had the same idea.”

His voice was low and made your cheeks burn. You cleared your throat and pulled your hand back gently, reaching for a different ornament.

For a moment, the air crackled with unspoken tension. His fingers, the ones you intrusively imagined inside you a few hours ago, curled around the silver star and he watched with an unreadable expression as you picked up a red sphere from the box.

“The red one’s good too. Matches your sweater.”

The comment was friendly and casual. Too casual for the way your stomach was flipping.

Pull yourself together.

“What was that?”

You felt a flush run up your neck. “Nothing.”

An hour or so later of easy conversation, “accidental” touching, and eye contact that lasted a smidge longer than necessary, the tree was finally dressed in glistening glass and string lights. The one that sings ‘Jingle bells’ was stashed somewhere among the empty boxes and Steve throws you a knowing wink when you tell Tony it must’ve gotten lost.

“Can’t forget…”

He pulls out a golden angel topper, holding it out to you, the light catching its delicate wings.

“Seems fitting that you put it up, Angel.”

You take the figurine from his hands and look between him and the tree. You didn’t have to say anything. You both knew damn well the idea of you reaching the top of the tree double your size was laughable.

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

He chuckled lightly, a sound that made your knees weak.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” He lowered, his back facing you as he kneeled before you. “Get on my shoulders.”

The others were already in the kitchen starting the hot chocolate and popcorn to go with the movie you were all gonna watch tonight.

His hands were near both his shoulders, palms up and ready to help hold your hands and stable you as you hopped onto his shoulders. He didn’t have to ask twice, you always dreamed of having his head between your thighs.

“Alright, just don’t drop me…”

When you were secured on his shoulders, he brought his hands to hold firmly on your thighs right above your knees, keeping you in place. The whole situation making you hope he couldn’t feel the wet heat radiating behind his neck.

He lifted up slowly from the ground, his warm hands firm on your skin and he took a step closer to the tree.

“I’ve got you.”

When you were close enough, you lifted up from him slightly to reach forward to the top of the tree, one hand on his head for balance and you could’ve sworn his breath hitched, taking a moment to place the angel before coming back down.

You used his hands again as leverage to push yourself over and off his shoulders. When you were back on the floor, his hands were still holding yours.

“Perfect.” His voice was low and admiring, but he wasn’t looking at the tree, he was looking at you.

You pulled your hands away gently, the rest of the team now in the theater room calling out to tell you guys The Grinch was starting.

“Hot chocolate?” He gestures to the kitchen with his chin and you just nod back.

There was already a pot of it made by Sam on the stove and Steve grabbed two mugs, ladling the liquid into them as you lean patiently against the big island. The silence was comfortable but tense at the same time.

He turned back to you with the filled mugs and stepped a bit closer, handing one to you. His eyes flickered to your lips for a fraction of a second. You pretend not to notice just like you did when his thumb brushed over your hand, when his eyes lingered on you, when his hands were on your thighs. You convinced yourself that you were overthinking all of it because you’re so down bad. That all those things are just two friends interacting. Two teammates.

You both drink from your mugs, letting the silence stretch a few moments. He sets his down before he’s suddenly closer.

“Angel…”

The word came out more serious than the light conversations happening before and rang through your ears like a gunshot. You look up at him over your mug before lowering it and responding with a curious hum.

He just looked at you a moment before continuing.

“You know, I like watching you try to keep it together.”

His gaze was unwavering. Challenging.

“And I love it when you can’t.”

Your face was burning hot hearing the suspicions you pushed away become evident. You swallow hard and just stare at him.

“Steve…”

He raises an eyebrow, taking another step closer so that he was now towering over you.

“You’re gonna keep pretending? Like I don’t notice the extra shake in your hands when you heal me. The way you forget how to breathe when I touch you.”

His hand comes up to glide softly along the top of your arm, the mug of hot cocoa forgotten behind you on the counter. You’re flustered slightly by the way your breath hitches at his touch, just like he described.

“No…”

You spoke lowly, done pretending, urged on by his straightforwardness.

“No more pretending.”

He smirked down at you, face lighting up as both hands lifted to cup your face and his thumbs stroked over your cheekbones. He leaned his head down and whispered.

“Good. I don’t think I could’ve waited another second.”

And in a second, he had captured your lips in a searing kiss. It was hungry, claiming, and hot. His hands held you in place as his mouth explored yours.

You hooked your fingers onto his belt buckle and pulled him closer so that your bodies were touching. You felt him groan into your mouth and in one swift motion, he swept his arm across the counter behind you, sending the mug into the sink with the loud sound of broken glass that you couldn’t care less about right now. He never broke the kiss as his hands found your waist and lifted you easily onto the countertop, settling between your legs. One hand slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the angle. The other slid down your back, pressing you into him.

You could hear the distant movie chatter from the other room. You slid your hands under his sweater, feeling the warmth of his abdomen and he pressed himself closer with a low groan at the touch of your cool fingers, allowing you to feel his hard length pressing under his pants. His voice was strangled as if it was taking everything in him to keep any kind of composure.

“Your hands…”

His own hand slid up your ribcage, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the sweater, the other one now gripping your hip.

“Is this okay?”

The Christmas lights cast shifting patterns across his face, highlighting the stark need written there. You whispered back.

“More than okay.”

The permission was all he needed for him to capture your lips again like a man starved, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a possessiveness that stole air from your lungs. His hand slid upward to cup your breast fully, thumb sweeping over the peak and he groaned just at the feel of you. He trailed his mouth to the crook of your neck, kissing it in just the right spots, breath warm against your skin.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long.”

His teeth nipped at the skin beneath your ear and soothed it with his tongue, pulling a small whine from your mouth. His hips ground against yours and the world narrowed to his scent, his hands, the sound of his ragged breaths. His voice was a desperate and raw whisper in your ear.

“Tell me what you want. Right now.”

His hand on your breast lifted to cup your jaw as he met your gaze with pure, unadulterated intent.

“I want you to stop asking questions.”

His lips pulled into a dark possessive smile.

“I can do that. No more talking.”

He smirked, pulling you into the kiss again and the hand on your hip slid down to your thigh, gripping it and pulling it to wrap around your waist. You followed his lead, wrapping yourself tightly around him, pressing you more firmly against the hard outline of him and earning a sharp, gratified sound from deep in his chest. He lifted you from the cold quartz and carried you back to the glow of the Christmas tree, laying you down on the soft rug. He followed you down, covering your body with his.

His hands were on your hips as he kissed you, slowly bringing them up to lift your sweater in one slow, smooth motion, only breaking the kiss to lift it over your head. He didn’t pull it off of you fully, leaving the fabric around your wrists and holding them there above your head. His voice was a low murmur as he dragged his eyes over your form, taking you in.

“Leave that there.”

His mouth moved to the crook of your neck, sending shivers along your skin. You tried to bring your hands forward to touch him but he quickly pushed them back above your head.

“Stay.”

He continued moving his mouth, nipping and sucking at the skin, leaving a trail of blooming marks in his path. Your breath caught at every sensation. He lowered to your collarbone and below to the tops of your breasts. One hand went under your back to help you lift up enough for his other to find the clasp of your bra. In one swift snap, that was gone too, joining the sweater around your wrists. His mouth went back to your skin, breath warm against your sternum.

“You have no idea what you do to me. So beautiful.”

His tongue rolled over your nipple, taking the tip of your breast into his mouth and sucking while his hand massaged the other in a way that made you arch into him, thighs pressing together.

When he noticed, he shifted his weight, pressing his knee between your thighs to separate them and replace the pressure with his own warmth.

His hand came down, brushing your side and making you shiver as his mouth followed down your center until he reached the top of your leggings.

He looked up at you with a question in his eyes.

“Please.” You managed to whine out.

He hooks his fingers under the material and slides them down and off your legs, leaving you in just your lacy panties. When you subconsciously roll your hips forward, he takes that as a sign to remove them as well.

You’re now bare under him, feeling a little bashful since he’s still fully clothed.

“Take your sweater off.”

He smirks up at you before doing as you say and throwing the green sweater to join your leggings on the floor.

The feel of his skin is pleasure enough when he hikes your legs over his shoulders. He moves teasingly slow as he kisses up your inner thighs until he finally reaches the spot that’s been dripping for him.

“God, you’re so wet for me, baby.” He whispers out before finally running his tongue through your slit.

The feel of his warm tongue makes you arch over the carpet and earns a whiny moan from your mouth. He lets out a satisfied hum against you, which only turns you on further. You quickly bite your lip, trying to stifle the sounds before someone hears, as his tongue gets to work, lapping up your wetness.

His fingers are bruising, gripping onto your thighs as he circles your swollen clit. His tongue is everywhere, exploring you with a punishing dedication. You already feel yourself coming undone for him, and when his lips close around you, you know you’re close.

“Steve…” you struggle out.

“Go on, come for me. Let me taste you.”

His words egg you on further to finding your release and you shake under him as his tongue rides you through it, cleaning you up. When you’re completely spent, he climbs back up over you and captures your lips in a hot kiss. He finally removes the sweater and bra from around your wrist and tosses it aside, allowing you to finally roam your hands over his back.

“See how good you taste?” He mumbles between kisses.

You reach your hands down to his buckle eagerly.

“I wanna to feel you.”

He smiles against your lips and reaches down to help you.

“Whatever you want. Anything.”

But before his belt is undone, you hear the distinct sound of the media room door closing down the hall and Sam and Tony’s voices coming closer. You and Steve look at each other before quickly darting to your clothes.

You pull on the underwear and leggings along with the sweater that sat next to it and move over to the kitchen counter to attempt to act casual.

Steve pulls on the nearest sweater and pockets your forgotten bra, looking at you like you just beat him in Monopoly.

You look at him and let out a bark of laughter when the two men walk into the room. Their eyes dart between you swallowed in the large green sweater, to Steve in the red one which fit him like a crop top.

Tony finally speaks up first with a knowing smirk.

“You two playing dress up?”

There’s no excuse either of you could come up with so you just stand there accepting your fate.

Sam just starts laughing, “You’re definitely going on the naughty list this year, Cap.”

Natasha and Bucky walk into shortly after. She leans against the doorway and takes in the scene.

“So this is where the party went.”

“The party already happened. We’re just the clean up crew.” Tony says as picks up the broken mug from the sink.

He tosses it into one of the discarded ornament boxes before something else catches his eye.

“Hey look at this! Guess it wasn’t lost after all.”

He pulls out the stupid santa ornament and flips the switch. Everyone groans as it starts singing “jingle-bells.”

[zaraomarrogers]

Oh I love it 😍

Thank you for writing and sharing, soooo good 🔥

[girlypowerfull]

Dress - Steve Rogers x Fem Reader!

Summary: Tired of being hidden in plain sight, Tony Stark’s clever new assistant is completely done with being "just a friend" to Captain America.

​Determined to break through his safe, gentlemanly defenses once and for all, she enlists the help of Natasha Romanoff to plan the ultimate distraction for the Avengers' latest victory gala. The weapon of choice? A dress.

Warnings: smut (MDNI),18+ Only!, first time, Steve dom! Reader sub!, emotional intimacy, penetration, reader wears a dress, unprotected sex.

A/N: English is not my first lenguage, so... here we go. Enjoy it!!

The lights of Avengers Tower flashed, reflecting off the expensive champagne and the tailored suits of New York's elite. Tony Stark had spared no expense. Officially, it was a charity gala to attract investors and philanthropists; unofficially, it was the ultimate victory party after the team's latest and most grueling battle.

As Tony's new assistant, she should have been checking the guest list or making sure reporters didn't wander past the designated media zone. Instead, she was hidden behind a marble column, her heart hammering in her throat, watching the man who had been stealing her sleep since the first day she stepped into the compound.

There you were, staring right at him. Steve Rogers looked unreal. His usual uniform had been replaced by a black tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders to perfection. He was chatting with a group of diplomats, smiling with that polite, old-fashioned charm that defined him.

She let out a heavy sigh, tightening her fingers around her glass. *“Just another friend.”* That’s what she was to him, and you knew it all too well. The nice girl who helped him set up his tablet, the one who brewed his coffee when he stayed late in the gym, the one who listened to his stories about the 1940s with genuine fascination. Steve was incredibly sweet to her, but he always maintained that invisible line of respect and camaraderie.

But she was sick of that line. She wanted to cross it, set it on fire, and watch it burn. Your determination that night was absolute.

"If you keep staring at him like that, you're going to burn a hole through his jacket with your mind, *kiddo*," a drawling, amused voice interrupted your thoughts.

She startled, nearly spilling her drink. Natasha Romanoff appeared at her side, looking spectacular in an emerald green gown. The spy gave her a knowing smirk, crossing her arms.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she tried to lie, her cheeks flushing as you tried to maintain your composure.

"Please. I'm a spy. And besides, Tony is blind to a lot of things, but I'm not." Natasha took a sip from her glass. "I know exactly why you spent the last two weeks sneaking into my room, asking for advice on 'the classic tastes of men from another era.'"

She gave up, letting her shoulders drop. You remembered the exact desperation that had driven her to Natasha a week ago. She was tired of the platonic glances, of the "good morning" greetings that sounded entirely too brotherly. She needed an impact, something to erase the idea from Steve's mind that she was just his teammate's sweet assistant.

Natasha, who knew Steve better than anyone, had laughed at first, but then her eyes flashed with that competitive, mischievous spark. She gave you precise advice: *“Steve is a textured man, the kind who appreciates quiet but lethal details. And he is painfully slow to notice when a woman is interested. You have to be explicit, but with class.”*

That was where they found the secret weapon. *The dress.*

She looked down, contemplating the fabric that now hugged her body. I assure you, you looked stunning. It was a piece of liquid silk in a deep wine hue, almost black under the shadows, but flashing with a dangerous shimmer under the party lights. It was sleeveless; the back was completely bare down to the base of her spine, held up only by imperceptible straps that crossed in a delicate design. It clung to her waist and fell to the floor with a free-flowing drape that shifted with her every step, revealing a high slit on her left leg. It was elegant, but eminently magnetic.

"You did a good job," Natasha murmured, snapping her out of her memories. "That dress was designed for sin. Now, go and make Captain America forget his last-century manners. I'll make sure Tony doesn't look for you for the next hour."

With a wink and an encouraging pat, Natasha vanished into the crowd, leaving you alone with your target.

She took a deep breath. The lyrics of the song that had been trapped in your head for days echoed in her mind like a private mantra: *I don't want you like a best friend. Only bought this dress so you could take it off.*

It was time to make a move.

----

She walked with a firm step toward the group where Steve was standing. With every movement, the silk brushed against her thighs, giving her a jolt of confidence that you channeled into every stride. When she was just a few paces away, Steve politely excused himself from the diplomats and turned around.

Catching sight of her, Captain America froze. His blue eyes, usually calm, widened slightly as they took a slow, almost involuntary journey from her heels, up the slit of her skirt, detailing the curve of her waist, until they met her gaze. For a fraction of a second, you managed to make the unshakeable soldier facade crack completely.

"Wow…" his voice sounded a bit deeper than usual. "You look… you look incredible. Truly beautiful."

"Thank you, Steve," she smiled, tilting her head slightly, allowing a strand of her hair to fall over her exposed shoulder. "You don't look so bad yourself. The tuxedo suits you much better than combat gear."

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, an oddly boyish gesture that betrayed his nerves in your presence.

"Yeah, well, Tony insisted. He says the public needs to see we don't just wear vibranium. How is the organizing going? Isn't he driving you crazy?"

She took another step closer to him, closing the standard social distance. She could smell his cologne: notes of wood, leather, and something purely masculine that made her vibrate inside, igniting your own desires.

"Tony is always a mess, but tonight I've decided to stop being his assistant for a few hours," she said, locking her eyes onto his. "Tonight, I want to focus on other things. Or other people."

Steve blinked, nodding slowly with an innocent smile that almost made you lose your patience.

"That seems fair. You deserve a break. If you want, I can grab you something to eat—the buffet in the corner has some excellent appetizers."

She suppressed a laugh mixed with frustration. You thought about what Natasha said: *he really is dense.*

"I'm not hungry for food, Steve," she replied, lowering her voice to a seductive whisper as she reached out. With the tips of her fingers, she adjusted the lapel of his tuxedo. The contact was brief, but she felt the muscles of Steve's chest tighten beneath the fabric as he felt your touch. "But I would take a drink."

"Right, of course," he said immediately, turning toward the bar. "I'll go get it."

She watched his broad back as he walked away. You knew it was going to be a long night, and that you were going to have to be much more direct if you wanted to break down the boy scout's defenses.

----

Half an hour later, the music at the gala shifted to a slower rhythm, a smooth jazz that invited intimacy. Steve had returned with the drinks and stayed by her side, subtly turning down several heiresses who tried to ask him to dance. He preferred to stay right there, talking with her about recent movies he was still trying to understand.

However, she wasn't about to let the conversation stay in safe territory, and you were ready for the next step.

"This music is perfect," she commented, setting her empty glass down on a nearby table. "Let's dance, Steve."

He smiled timidly, looking toward the floor where a few couples were already moving.

"I don't know. I'm a bit old-fashioned for these modern rhythms, and my 1940s steps don't really fit in here. I wouldn't want to step on your dress. It would be a shame to ruin something so beautiful."

"Take a risk," she insisted, taking him by the hand.

Steve's palm was large, warm, and calloused from training. Feeling her grip, the supersoldier's eyes locked onto hers. Without giving him time to protest, she guided him toward the dim shadows of the dance floor, far from the bright center where Tony was monopolizing the cameras.

When they stopped, Steve placed a hand with extreme shyness on her waist. As he made contact, his fingers directly touched the bare skin of her lower back, due to the deep plunge of the dress you had chosen with such intent.

Steve gave an imperceptible jolt. His eyes went wide as he felt the softness and warmth of her skin beneath his hand. He tried to readjust his posture, moving his hand up toward her shoulder blade to be more gentlemanly, but she didn't let him. She took a step forward, pressing her body against his. Her breasts brushed against Steve's firm chest, and with deliberate slowness, she tangled her arms around the Captain's neck.

"You're very close," Steve murmured, his breathing altering slightly.

"Does it bother you?" she asked, looking up at him with parted lips, challenging him with her gaze.

"No, it's not that. It's just… people are watching, and I don't want anyone to think something that disrespects you."

She let out a soft laugh, a sound that vibrated directly against Steve's chest. She leaned in a bit closer, resting her chin near his ear. The brush of her lips against Steve's jawline made him catch his breath. I assure you, you had him cornered.

"Steve, you're a brilliant soldier, but a terrible detective," she whispered, letting her hand stroke the hairs at the nape of his neck. "I didn't buy this dress to impress Tony's guests. I don't care what people think."

Steve tensed, stopping his dance steps entirely. The music kept playing around them, but for the two of you, the world had shrunk to this exact space. His hands on her back tightened with a bit more firmness, a purely instinctive reaction.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice turning suspiciously husky. Steve's pupils were dilated, devouring the features of her face.

"I mean I'm tired of being just your friend, Steve. Of being the good girl who helps you with technology. I bought this dress with only one purpose." She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, with an intensity that made him falter. "I wanted you to look at me the way you are right now. And I wanted you to want to take it off."

A heavy, electrically charged silence exploded between them. Steve looked at her, processing the words. Captain America, the man who led armies, seemed completely disarmed by her and her silk dress. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for the first time, there was no shyness in his eyes, but a flash of an old, hungry fire. You had won the first battle.

"Don't play with me," his voice was a low growl, a warning. "I'm not the kind of man who takes these things lightly."

"Neither am I, Steve. That's why I waited so long."

Steve glanced around quickly. The party was still going, but the air between you was no longer fit for a public place. Without another word, he took her firmly by the wrist—not to hurt her, but to secure her—and guided her off the dance floor, straight toward the tower's private elevators.

----

The ride up in the elevator was an agony of sexual tension. Neither spoke. Steve stood with his back straight, but his eyes never left her. His breathing was heavy, and the veins in his forearms stood out beneath his rolled-up tuxedo sleeves. She, for her part, leaned against the glass wall, holding his gaze, deliberately licking her lips to tempt him even more.

When the elevator reached the floor of Steve's private quarters, the doors had barely slid open before he took her by the hand, pulling her down the hallway to his bedroom. They walked in, and Steve slammed the door shut, turning the lock.

The dimness of the room was illuminated only by the city lights filtering through the large window. You had made it to his territory.

Steve turned to face her. The boy scout was gone. The tuxedo was still on, but his posture was that of a man who had finally decided to claim what he wanted. He stepped toward her with slow, predatory strides.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, stopping inches from her. His voice was pure gravel. "Because if I take one more step, there's no turning back. I won't be able to go back to just being your friend."

"God, Steve, shut up and kiss me already," she pleaded, closing the final distance.

Steve didn't make her repeat it.

His large hands flew to her cheeks, cupping her face with a mixture of desperation and possessiveness, and his lips crashed against hers. It was a hungry, deep kiss that made her legs go weak. Steve held her by the waist, pressing her against his body with a strength that reminded her of a supersoldier's power.

She groaned into his mouth, tangling her hands in Steve's blonde hair, pulling slightly to deepen the kiss. Steve's mouth moved with urgency, devouring her, exploring her with his tongue with an intensity that would have left you breathless.

The Captain broke the kiss only to slide down her jawline, leaving a trail of wet kisses and soft bites that made her arch her back. His large hands traveled down the exposed skin of her back again, caressing every vertebra, making her shiver under his control.

"This damn dress," Steve growled against her neck, his hot breath sending goosebumps over her skin. "I've been holding back all night. Watching you move in it… seeing how everyone looked at you. I almost went crazy."

"I told you," she gasped, as Steve's hands slipped down to her thighs, finding the slit of the dress to caress the bare skin of her legs. "I only bought it for you."

Steve lifted her up in the air without the slightest effort. She let out a small gasp of surprise that dissolved into a sigh as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. I assure you, at that moment, you were completely in control of the situation. Steve carried her to the large bed, depositing her onto the dark sheets with a gentleness that contrasted with the fire in his eyes.

He hovered over her, supporting his weight on his forearms, looking down at her. He shed his tuxedo jacket with a swift motion, tossing it to the floor, followed by his tie. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his white shirt, revealing the base of his muscular chest and collarbone.

She stretched her hands out, tracing the muscles of his arms, feeling the heat radiating from his body toward yours.

"Take it off," she requested in a whisper, looking at the dress.

Steve smirked, a dark, sensual smile she had never seen on him before.

"With pleasure."

His large hands moved toward the thin straps crossing her back. With deft fingers that trembled slightly with desire, he slid the first strap off her shoulder, then the other. The liquid silk began to give way, sliding down her chest.

Steve took his time, savoring the moment you had envisioned. He slid the fabric down slowly, letting his eyes appreciate every inch of skin left bare. When the dress pooled around her hips, Steve let out a ragged breath.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice heavy with reverence.

He leaned down to kiss her breasts, his lips moving with a devotion that made her bury her nails into his broad shoulders. Every touch from Steve was firm, confident, commanding. The contrast between his usual gentlemanly nature and the fierce passion with which he claimed her in bed was driving her wild. You were living exactly what you had wanted.

"Steve… please…" she moaned, moving her hips against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire through his trousers.

Steve came back up, catching her lips in a scorching kiss as his hands moved to rid her of what remained of the dress and strip out of his own clothes. Moving with an urgency that could no longer be repressed, he discarded the barriers separating them.

When their skin joined completely, the heat in the room became suffocating. Steve looked into her eyes, lacing his fingers with hers against the mattress, pinning her beneath his body so you could feel all his strength.

"Look at me," he requested, his breath hitching, his blue eyes burning in the dim light.

She looked at him, completely surrendered, her heart beating wildly.

Steve drove forward, sinking into her with a firm, fluid motion. She let out a loud gasp, hiding her face in Steve's neck as he began to move. The rhythm was slow at first, torturously delicious, each thrust filling her completely and making her lose all sense of time and space.

Steve's hands traveled to her hips, guiding her movements, raising the pace as both of their control slipped away. The sounds in the room dissolved into choked sighs, the friction of slick skin, and her whimpers, which Steve certained to quiet with deep kisses.

The tension began to build rapidly. She felt herself on the precipice of pure pleasure, her muscles tightening around him. Steve noticed; his movements grew faster, deeper, his breathing turning into throaty growls near her ear.

"Steve… you have me…" she managed to articulate, tears of ecstasy pricking her eyes.

"With you. Always with you," he promised, delivering a few final, powerful thrusts that pushed her straight over the edge of satisfaction.

She arched, feeling the wave of the orgasm wash over her, spasms of pure bliss rippling through her body. Seconds later, with a low, muffled roar against her shoulder, Steve followed her, spilling inside her as his entire body went taut, holding her against his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

----

Minutes later, their breathing began to normalize. Steve let himself fall to her side, but he didn't pull away by even an inch. He looped an arm under her shoulders, pulling her into his side. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the still-racing heartbeat beneath, feeling an absolute peace.

Steve used his free hand to smooth her tangled hair, kissing the crown of her head.

"I guess this means we're not just friends anymore," Steve said, a touch of gentle humor in his voice.

She let out a soft laugh, tracing invisible circles on the Captain's chest.

"I hope not. It would be very awkward to help you with your tablet after this."

Steve smiled, turning slightly to look at her. His eyes reflected immense tenderness, but also absolute satisfaction. You knew that everything had changed between you.

"I have to admit I was an idiot for not realizing sooner," he confessed, kissing her forehead. "But I'm glad you were so… persistent. And about that dress…"

She looked up, amused.

"What about the dress?"

Steve glanced sideways at the wine-colored silk garment lying forgotten and crumpled on the floor, the physical proof of your success that night.

"I think it served its purpose perfectly," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "But honestly… I much prefer how you look without it."

....

[witchywithwhiskey]

Steve + 10. outdoor hot tub

prove it, golden boy

pairing: brother's best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: when your brother's best friend interrupts your quiet moment in the hot tub, the tension between you two reaches a boiling point.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, possessive sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, choking, biting, bit of dacryphilia, brief chase kink, bdsm undertones, bratting/brat taming, check-ins, sir kink, dirty talk, very possessive dirty talk, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (sunshine, baby), teasing, begging, referenced marathon sex, aftercare, emotions, sort of enemies to lovers, happy ending. Steve is a fucking menace in this—you've been warned.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: ahhh Eva, thank you for sending in this prompt!!! it sparked an idea that got away from me a little bit and i ended up writing a much longer fic than i was planning for this event 😅 but i had so so so much fun writing these two, especially reader's bratty antagonism and how Steve meets her challenging provocations. i hope you enjoy what i came up with, thanks for playing my blizzard bacchanal game ♡

The midnight mountain air was chilly, serving as a delightful contrast to the deliciously heated water of the hot tub you were submerged in up to your shoulders. Leaning your head back on the edge, you reveled in feeling snowflakes alight on your face before quickly melting into your warm skin.

It was peaceful, and a rare moment alone, everyone else having gone to bed while you’d decided to soak in the chalet’s outdoor hot tub. It was so nice, in fact, that you should've known your brother's best friend, Steve Rogers, would ruin it.

"Mind if I join you?"

His voice was made all the more irritating by how pleasing you found it—so deep and steady in the silence of the wintry night. It had only gotten under your skin more and more as each day passed while you were at the mountain chalet with your brother and both your friends for a week-long ski trip. After almost the full week, you were over it.

You lifted your head briefly, intent on giving Steve a disinterested look that would hopefully be cold enough to send him packing back to his room. But then you got a look at your brother’s best friend wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks and the sight of so much bare, golden skin on display had your belly clenching and your mind short-circuiting.

As quick as you could, you let your head fall back to the lip of the hot tub, arranging your face in an expressionless mask as you stared up into the dark night sky. Your mind raced with only one thought—it was indecent how good Steve looked in a pair of simple black swim trunks.

"If you must," you said, barely paying attention to the words as you offered him a careless wave of your hand.

You tried not to notice the way the water swished and swirled as Steve climbed gracefully into the hot tub. And you refused to acknowledge the way your body warmed further with his presence. The water was simply hotter because there was another person in the hot tub. That was all.

But in the deepest corners of your own mind, even you had to admit it was growing increasingly difficult to ignore the crush you had on Steve Rogers. Especially after so many days in such close proximity to the man.

Your crush had taken such deep root in your heart so long ago that it felt like a part of you. And no matter how many years you’d spent denying it, acting out against Steve to make sure no one—especially not him—knew your true feelings, you couldn’t hide the truth from yourself. 

All you could do was bury it deep in your heart and hope no one ever discovered the truth of how you really felt about your brother’s best friend.

"Fuck, that feels good," Steve groaned as he relaxed into the opposite corner of the hot tub from where you sat.

The sound of his pleasure did obscene things to your body. Your skin tingled with sparks of lust as heat gathered low in your belly, while a thrumming ache bloomed in your core that had you pressing your thighs together. It was all you could do to bite back a needy whimper and stop yourself from squirming beneath the water.

To distract yourself, you lifted your head again and glanced at Steve. For the briefest of moments, you were both relieved and disappointed to find so much of his glorious chest obscured by water, the surface of which bubbled and foamed from the jets in the hot tub.

"I don't think I've ever heard the golden boy swear before," you taunted, using the mocking nickname you’d given him a long time ago. You were trying to needle him, to get under his skin in the way that his mere presence did to you, so you shot him your most infuriating smirk.

But Steve didn't rise to the bait. He only chuckled good-naturedly, though there was a slight edge to it that had you holding your breath and waiting for what he'd say next.

"Y'know, I'm not as much of a goody two-shoes as you might think." 

It was damn near traitorous the way your body reacted to Steve's declaration, every part of you sitting up at attention—your nipples perking up so much, you were thankful they were hidden beneath the water. Even your pussy gave a dull throb like she thought she might be getting some prime dick that night, and you had squeeze your thighs to stave off the ache.

While your body rioted in response, outwardly you did your best to give Steve the coolest look you could muster, making a show of rolling your eyes.

"Sure you're not, golden boy," you drawled, sarcasm dripping from your voice like icicles melting in the bright sun. 

You were rewarded by a flash of emotion in Steve's eyes—something like glee, but darker—but you were quickly distracted when he stood up, water sluicing obscenely down his chiseled chest. You tracked its descent like it was the most riveting thing you'd ever seen, and you only realized your mistake when Steve gave an amused snort. 

"Have you had sex in a hot tub, sunshine?" Steve asked, prowling slowly toward you, an evil, knowing smirk on his stupid, handsome face.

You hated the way your body lit up at the way the mocking pet name rolled off his tongue—the one he'd given you because you had such a sunny disposition around him. You hated how much you loved that Steve had a special nickname for you, but you stuffed those feelings down deep and tilted your chin at him in a challenge.

"Because I have."

Your brain short-circuited at that declaration, not noticing that Steve had gotten close enough to plant his hands on the edge of the hot tub on either side of your body. He leaned over you, caging you in with his body, but his closeness barely registered. 

You were too consumed by the jealousy blooming hot and bright, lodging deep in your ribcage like a burning knife, to notice his proximity. Your mind raced as you thought through all the other girls on the trip who Steve could've had sex with in the hot tub, and you saw red.

"Who did you fuck in a hot tub, Steve?" you demanded, glaring up at the man who occupied so much of your heart and mind, your voice little more than a possessive snarl.

He had the audacity to chuckle, looming over you with a smirk twisting his perfect mouth. "Are you jealous, sunshine?" he asked lightly, the tone of his voice daring you to deny it even though you both knew you were.

His question finally slapped some sense into you and you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to regain some of your emotional distance by sniffing haughtily and looking away. Steve’s eyes were too sharp, they saw too much, and you were suddenly terrified that not only did they see right through you, he’d been seeing right through you for years. 

"Of course not," you snapped, refusing to look at him as you scrambled for some other explanation for your question. "I'm just curious,” you said, giving a one-shouldered shrug like you couldn’t care less. “Whoever they are, they must lead a pretty boring life if they think fucking a golden boy like you in a hot tub is a good time."

At that, Steve growled, sounding furious as he leaned down, making the cage of his body smaller as he crowded you into the corner of the hot tub. Inexplicably, you weren’t scared of him. No matter how much you riled him up, you knew Steve would never hurt you. You…trusted him.

So you weren’t worried by his posturing. In fact, you were practically tickled by it, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning triumphantly at getting a rise out of him. 

"I assure you, sunshine,” Steve bit out through gritted teeth. “Fucking me would be anything but boring, no matter where we do it."

Steve was trying to provoke you, and you knew you shouldn’t rise to the bait, but you couldn’t pretend you were unaffected by his words, by the way he made it sound like fucking him wasn’t just a possibility, but an inevitability. And, for a brief moment, you wanted it so badly, you could practically taste your desire in the cold, wintry night.

“Prove it, golden boy,” you snarled, trying to keep up the front that you didn’t want him, but it was a losing battle.

Despite your best efforts to remain calm, a shiver skated down your spine as you imagined Steve fucking you right there in that hot tub. You knew it would be good—if you knew nothing else, you knew that—and you couldn’t help but tremble at the thought, your body weak under the weight of your lust.

A rough, pleased sound came from Steve's throat, startling you out of your thoughts. Before you could figure out what it meant, he was grabbing your chin and turning you to face him, your head craned back while he loomed over you, still caging you in with his broad form and delicious heat.

Suddenly, his nearness wasn’t enough. You wanted him closer, you wanted every inch of his hard body pressed against your softer one. You wanted your paltry swimsuits to dissolve so you could feel his bare skin against yours, so there’d be nothing hindering him from lining himself up with your body and sinking inside until you begged for relief.

In that charged moment, your need was so exquisite, you nearly whined, but you bit it back at the last second, refusing to give Steve the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d gotten to you. Still, his blue eyes flashed like he knew exactly what he was doing to you—that your challenge for him to prove he could fuck you good was more than a furious rejoinder.

But before he could get to that, his expression softened, and his grip on your face became more affectionate. There was something he wanted to clear up before you continued your conversation, and it derailed you entirely.

“Don't worry, baby, I haven't fucked anyone else on this trip," Steve said, stroking his thumb along your lower lip. His voice was gentler than it had been, and you hated how his words soothed the jagged edges of your jealousy. "I was talking about a trip I took with Sharon back when we were together."

A snarl gathered at the base of your throat. You hated being reminded of Steve's ex-girlfriend, the one he’d been dating when you first met him and was a big reason why you didn’t want him knowing how you truly felt. 

But it was only you and Steve in that hot tub, and you felt laid bare beneath the intensity of his gaze. Before you could think better of it, a question fell from your lips.

"Was she good?" you asked, hating how small your voice sounded. 

It became immediately clear that you weren’t fooling Steve with your question—he knew what you were really asking: Was she better than you? It was a ridiculous question, since you and Steve had never fucked, but it revealed too much of your insecurity when it came to him. 

You tried to pull away from Steve's grip and turn your cheek to him as tears threatened to fall, but he gathered your face in both hands, his thumbs stroking softly over your cheeks. He held you reverently, grounding you back in the moment, and you found the strength to roll your eyes in an attempt to save face. 

"The hot tub sex, I mean,” you clarified, your voice only wavering a little. “Was it fun?"

Steve closed more of the meager space between your bodies, until his stomach was nearly brushing your chest, and tipped your head all the way back. He leaned down over you so there was no possible escape from the way his shoulders were bunched like a predator ready to pounce, his eyes darkened with desire. 

"If you promise to be a good girl, sunshine, I could show you just how good it can be to fuck in a hot tub."

It was on the tip of your tongue to say yes, your answer spurred by the way your pulse was throbbing insistently between your thighs. But at the last second, you remembered yourself, and you remembered you couldn't give in so easily to your brother's best friend. 

Somewhere deep inside your heart, you wanted Steve to earn you—and he could only do that if you continued pushing him. So that’s what you did.

"Why don't you show me what ya got, golden boy, and then I'll be the judge of how good it is," you taunted, hoping you weren’t pushing Steve too far.

You got a brief glimpse of bright delight and deeply buried affection flashing in Steve's eyes before he was moving. His mouth crashed down on yours in a kiss that was blisteringly hot from the moment it began, stealing all the air from your lungs and making you gasp from the sheer heat of it.

Steve kissed you like a feral beast that had finally been unleashed on the prey he'd been stalking for years, and you met his fervor with all the pent-up lust you'd been hiding since you'd first started crushing on your brother's best friend. 

The kiss was brutal, all clashing lips and nipping teeth, your desire finally unbound and untethered. Steve’s teeth sank deep into your lower lip, biting you hard enough to nearly draw blood, and in retaliation, you grabbed his face, pulling him closer and licking into his mouth like you were daring him to consume you.

With a bitten off growl, Steve crouched down and hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you around with him as he turned and sat down heavily on the bench of the hot tub. He manhandled your body so easily into the position he wanted, with you straddling his lap, it made you dizzy with desire. 

Once you were settled on his lap, you kept right on kissing him, your hands braced on his shoulders. Steve let out a muffled moan, his hand cupping the back of your head and kissing you deeper until you went wild. 

When he plunged his tongue into your mouth, seeking to claim the air straight from your lungs, you wrapped your lips around it and sucked on him obscenely, pulling him deeper into your hot mouth. You were rewarded by Steve’s low, tortured groan, and his hips kicking up between your thighs like he was overcome.

In answer, you spread your knees wide on the bench seat, grinding your pussy down on the hard ridge of his cock through your thin bathing suits. It felt so good—the hot, hard length of him pressing between your folds and rubbing so perfectly against your clit—that you finally pulled away from his kiss with a reckless moan.

"Oh, does that feel good, sunshine?" Steve asked, his voice teasing and mocking even through the huskiness of his own lust. While you gasped for air, he pressed heated kisses to the underside of your jaw and down the line of your neck. "Do you think my cock will feel even better when it's inside you?"

A needy, ravenous shiver skated down your spine and you let out an impatient snarl as you carded your fingers in the hair at the back of Steve's head, pulling him back from your neck so you could glare directly into his infuriating, gorgeous eyes.

"Shut up and fuck me already, golden boy," you bit out through snapping teeth, refusing to acknowledge just how desperate you were for him already, your pussy slippery and throbbing with need. "Or are you gonna make me do all the work myself?"

Something dangerous and hot flashed in Steve's eyes, his mouth twisting into a feral smirk, but he didn't move right away like you expected him to after your vicious provocation. Instead, he let you languish in the breathless moment, waiting to see what he would do.

"Oh sunshine, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he rumbled, but didn't stop to let you answer before continuing, his eyes growing impossibly dark as his pupils blew wide, eclipsing the blue of his irises. "If you did, you wouldn't keep pushing me the way you do."

You didn’t know what he was talking about, so you resorted to taunting him. Rolling your eyes, you only had enough time to scoff out an "Oh please," before, suddenly, Steve was moving. 

You let out a startled little yelp as he stood, maneuvering your body deftly as he pried you away from his chest and spun you around beneath the churning water of the hot tub.

In a matter of seconds, Steve had you bent over, your knees planted on the bench, upper body hanging over the edge. It felt like you were about to topple out of the warm water entirely, and you were so off-balance that you might’ve, if not for the tight way Steve held onto your hips. 

You pushed yourself up, not fighting against Steve’s hold but wanting to sink further into him. Your shoulders collided with Steve’s chest, and he held you tightly against him, one arm banding around your waist. His other hand trailed up the center of your body, tugging the top of your bathing suit down until your tits popped free. 

You gasped as the cold air and icy snowflakes brushed over your heated skin. It was such a contrast from the warm water swirling around your thighs that your nipples peaked immediately. Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you arched your spine, offering yourself up to Steve’s touch—and he happily took everything you had to give.

He groped you brazenly on the deck of the chalet, and you were thankful that there wasn't any chance of the two of you being caught. You both faced the mountains, only the snow and darkness a witness to the obscene way your body shuddered beneath Steve’s rough handling of your tits.

His big hands kneaded your soft flesh, deft fingers pinching and plucking your nipples until you were moaning wantonly and grinding your ass back against his cock. As much as you enjoyed feeling him play with your tits, you hoped to urge him along until he was sliding himself inside you.

"God, I've dreamed of these tits for years, sunshine," Steve groaned in your ear, hanging his head over your shoulder so he could watch himself play with your nipples. "Knew I shouldn’t…You're my best friend's little sister, you should be off limits, but I couldn't fucking help myself."

"Steve," you cried, as much from his confession as the zings of pleasure tingling down your spine at the way he teased your tightened peaks so ruthlessly. 

The possibility that Steve had yearned for you just as long as you’d ached for him was too much to comprehend in that moment. It hurt just as much as it made you happy, and you didn’t have the capacity for the conflicting emotions. You just wanted more sensation—you wanted more of him. 

"Please, Steve,” you whimpered, squirming more insistently against his cock. You tried to reach between your bodies, to skate your palm down the firm line of his cock, but he batted your hand away and laughed as he redoubled his efforts on torturing your tits.

"Do you need something, baby?" he cooed mockingly against your cheek, his laugh ghosting over your skin and making you shudder hard in his arms. "Do you need my cock, huh? Need me to pound your tight, hot pussy like you’re my own personal fuck toy and make you cum all over my dick?"

Something in your brain broke hearing your brother’s best friend murmur such filthy things in your ear, and you let out a low, helpless moan as you melted into his strong arms and hard body. It was too fucking hot hearing Steve talk to you like that, and you finally gave in to him, unable to make it difficult for him any longer.

"Yes!" you cried, driven to desperation by your need for him. Your pussy was throbbing insistently between your thighs, and your nipples ached from his attention—and you still needed more. You needed him inside you so badly, you couldn’t think, could only beg. "Please, Steve,” you sobbed. “Please fuck me." 

Gentler than you expected, Steve kissed the tears spilling onto your cheeks, one hand collaring your throat just beneath your jaw so he could keep your face turned to the side for him. With the other, he shoved his swim trunks down and pulled the gusset of your bathing suit to the side. 

Before he could slide inside and put you out of your misery, though, Steve paused. Staring deep into your eyes, his voice turned serious as he spoke.

"I've been tested, I'm all good—are you on birth control, baby?" 

Steve's question swam in your mind for a moment before you could make sense of the words. When you did, a glimmer of gratefulness took root in your ribs, but you were too far gone to appreciate his thoughtfulness. Not when you were so close to getting what you most desperately wanted. So all you did was nod frantically.

"I'm on birth control, I got tested, I’m clear. I want to feel you bare, Steve, please," you babbled, your words tripping over each other in your haste to get them out, making you sound almost incoherent. "Fuck me raw, please, please, please, please.”

“That’s my good girl,” Steve groaned, his praise washing over you and warming you from the inside out. “Such a good fuck toy, telling me what you want and that you’re safe.” He pressed a kiss to your ravaged lips and you took it as the reward it was.

A pleased smile bloomed on your face even as your pussy clenched at the degrading name he called you. You never would’ve expected Steve to have such a filthy mouth, but you fucking loved it. And you were about to tease him for it, but then he was notching the head of his cock at your entrance and starting to push inside. 

"Oh fuck, baby,” he swore when your tight heat enveloped the tip of his cock. Burying his face against your neck, his hot mouth pressed to your thrumming pulse so you could feel his words burrow beneath your skin and fizzle through your bloodstream. “You feel better than I ever imagined. So tight you’re choking my dick, and so fucking warm—”

Steve cut himself off on a strangled grunt as he pushed deeper, your slick cunt clasping his hard shaft, enticing him further into your body. You sucked in a sharp breath, reveling in the way his hot, hard length was stretching you open, making room for himself in the most intimate part of your body.

“Ya like that, sunshine?” Steve rumbled against your ear, pausing long enough to bite the corner of your jaw and drag another pleasured cry from your lips. “You like the feel of my dick splitting you open, huh? Claiming this cunt like I fucking own it?” 

Steve’s voice was so rough and furious, you barely recognized it, but it was so hot—what he was saying and the tenor of his lust reverberating through your chest—that you never wanted him to stop. You didn’t have the breath to tell him to keep going, but somehow he knew, and he even upped the ante of the filthy things he was saying.

“Tell me how good it feels, sunshine,” Steve growled in your ear. “Tell me my cock feels better than anything you’ve ever had—tell me this pussy is all mine because no one’ll ever feel as good as I do inside you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that your brain was broken from how good Steve’s dick felt inside you, pushing deeper and deeper into your tight heat, until your entire being was focused on the feel of him, you might’ve bitten out some scathing reply about his possessiveness. But instead, it just ratcheted your need higher than you’d ever felt.

"Yuh huh, yuh huh," you babbled, your lips forming words before you could think them through—because Steve had already fucked you dumb on his cock and he hadn’t even started fucking you yet. “Feels sooo good, Steve. Feels like I was made for you—I was made to be fucked by you.”

“That’s fucking right,” Steve seethed, surging forward until he was almost entirely buried in your body. “You were made to be mine. My good girl, my fuck toy, mine—all fucking mine. Fuck, oh god, fuck." 

A litany of curses and obscene sounds of pleasure poured from Steve's mouth unbidden, and it was all you could do to join him, even as the air was knocked from your lungs by the exquisite feeling of his cock shoving into your cunt. He was almost there…just a little more.

When Steve finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against your ass, you felt overcome with relief, like you’d been waiting for years and finally—finally—you were right where you were supposed to be. You sucked in a deep breath of air and melted into Steve’s embrace as you exhaled. 

Your body sagged forward until you were hanging over the lip of the hot tub, and Steve followed you down. His hand stayed collared around your throat and his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as his chest heaved and heavy breaths puffed against your spine. 

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, basking in the feeling of being joined together so intimately and wrapped up in each other. Then Steve’s hand gripped your neck firmly, his other palm skimming down your side to anchor in the curve of your waist. 

"You ready, baby?" he asked in a voice so rough, it sounded like the growl of a snow plow on an icy road. 

"Just fuck me already, Steve," you whined weakly, putting up a fight with words even as your body fully submitted to Steve’s domination. But you weren’t paying as close attention to what you were saying as you should’ve, letting your true feelings for him slip through. "How many times do I have to beg—I want this, I've wanted you for years. Please!”

Steve’s reaction to your confession was instantaneous, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat, holding you tight enough to cut off any other provoking words you might utter. He growled a wordless, desperate vibration in your ear, sounding like he was unraveling—and yet he still held you like you were something precious.

Then, Steve's strong arms and powerful body shoved you forward, so your hips were pinned against the lip of the hot tub. The movement pushed your ass up out of the water and Steve lifted one of his feet onto the bench, giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. 

"You've done it now, sunshine," Steve rumbled in your ear, pulling back until only the tip of him remained inside your grasping channel before surging forward and pounding into you hard.

All you could do was sit there and take it, a sound of pleasure bursting from your lips as your hot breath puffed into the midnight mountain air. You were pinned completely by Steve, unable to move—and you’d never been happier. You clung to the arm wedged between your tits, holding him tight while he lightly choked you and thrust into you again.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard and so deep, you'll be feeling me in your cunt for fucking days, sunshine,” Steve seethed, his bared teeth pressed to your cheek so you could feel his feverish lust and desire on your skin. “And you're gonna take everything I give you with a smile and a 'thank you, sir.' Do you hear me?"

He punctuated his question with another rough slam of his hips, the sharp smacking sound of his skin against yours sounding loud in the quiet night. Thankfully, the snow blanketing the chalet muffled the obscene sounds of your fucking, swallowing them up in the darkness.

So you didn’t worry about staying quiet when your mouth fell open, intending to respond, only to discover you couldn't. Your breath was stolen by the delicious ruination Steve was delivering unto your body, and all the words you might've said fled from your lips.

"I said, ‘Do you fucking hear me,’ baby?” Steve demanded, slowing his thrusts and loosening the tight grip he held on your throat enough for you to answer. You’d never been more eager to give him what he wanted.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir—thank you so much, sir," you babbled, unable to say anything else.

Steve huffed an all-too-self-satisfied chuckle, murmuring a patronizing, "Good girl," before his fingers tightened around your throat again and he resumed his brutal, punishing strokes. 

He choked you tenderly as he fucked you hard and fast, pounding into you until you were nothing but sensation—pleasure and pain riding you so hard you went cross-eyed staring out into the snowy mountain night. His cock was thick and hot, thrusting so deep it felt like he reached the very end of you, claiming your body as his territory. 

And your body was only too happy to be his, your pussy making the most indecent sounds as your inner walls gripped tight around his hardness. You could hear the obscene wet slaps of Steve’s cock hammering your cunt, and it only made you hotter, made you gush with more desire, until the sounds of your sopping pussy being fucked were loud in your ears.

Your pleasure ratcheted higher, until it was almost too much. Then, when you were teetering on the edge, Steve’s hand slipped from your hip to between your thighs. He rubbed your clit with a merciless determination you didn't know he possessed, shoving you right over the cliff of your pleasure. 

You let out a shattered, muffled scream as you came apart at the seams. Your entire vision went white and your throat went dry as all your muscles seized. All you knew, all you were, was blistering pleasure. And you came harder than you ever had in your entire life.

"That's it, baby, cum all over my cock,” Steve rumbled in your ear, tethering you back to earth as he fucked you through your release. “Be a good girl and give it to me, milk my dick with that tight cunt, suck my cock deeper into that greedy pussy.”

All you could do was exactly as he said, your body shaking, your pussy pulsing around his hard length. You were so far gone, it took you a moment to realize you were letting out desperate little gasps and whines, his hand having loosened on your throat so your sounds of pleasure could spill freely from your lips.

Steve pressed his feral grin against your cheek, thrusts falling out of rhythm as he chased his release in your body. “You want my cum, sunshine?” he muttered against your skin. “Want me to fill you up so deep that you'll be dripping my cum down your thighs for days, huh?"

"Yes, please, sir," you rasped, your voice ragged from pleasure. You didn’t think, just answered him honestly, baring your soul for him in a way you never would have before. "Mark me, claim me—my pussy is yours, Steve. I’m all yours.”

"Oh fuck—fuck, baby," Steve groaned like he was overcome by your admission. He thrust hard into your cunt and began grinding deep, enjoying the way your inner walls rippled and sucked his hard length like your body was trying to pull him deeper. "Who do you belong to—say it again, sunshine."

"You, sir," you gasped, and when he bit out an unhappy sound through clenched teeth, you went on, babbling, "My body, my heart, my soul belongs to Steven Grant Rogers."

"Fucking right—that’s my fucking girl,” Steve growled, the words so righteous and satisfied that your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re all mine, just like I’m all yours, sunshine,” he rumbled right before sinking his teeth into the skin of your shoulder and exploding inside you. 

Steve's big body shuddered and pinned you hard to the edge of the hot tub, his hand around your throat bracing you against his chest while he fucked you full of his cum, his hips grinding so deep in your cunt that it set off another, smaller release in your body. 

You moaned as you came right along with him, dizzy from his confession that had so quickly followed yours. You were his—a truth you’d known a long time—but he was yours too. It almost seemed too good to be true, but then Steve repeated it.

“You own me, body and soul, baby,” Steve murmured, pressing kisses to your cheek, your chin, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach. “You hold my heart in the palm of your hands, sunshine. Be gentle with me.”

The weight of his words settled deep in your heart and you smiled, a true, joyful smile before turning your head and capturing Steve’s mouth in a kiss. It was so much softer and sweeter than the first one you’d shared. 

The battle between you was over. You’d laid yourselves bare and been accepted, flaws and all, and all that was left was to rejoice. So you reveled in Steve’s kiss, in the simple pleasure of being open and honest together.

For long, languid moments, you hung suspended in time, your body so disgustingly sated that all you could do was let out a contented sigh and keep kissing Steve, the corners of your mouth curling up with a smile. He huffed a soft laugh against your lips, winding down the kiss until he pulled away.

Steve looked so deliciously wrecked, his blond hair mussed, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink and his mouth looking so plump from your kisses that it made you want to ruin him more. At that thought, your pussy throbbed with renewed lust around Steve’s softening cock, and you had to hide a smile in your shoulder when his dick gave an answering twitch.

"You gonna take me back to your room so we can do that again, golden boy?" you tried to snark at Steve, but your voice was too breathless for the comment to have much of heat. Instead, you came off sounding desperate, though it was worth it from the way his eyes sharpened on your face.

Steve captured your mouth in a searing, conquering kiss, only pulling away when you’d melted back into submission—though you both knew it wouldn't last for long. Even if you were done hiding your feelings from Steve, that didn’t mean you were going to stop provoking him, especially when it led to such delicious consequences.

"First, tell me one thing, sunshine—admit it was good."

Steve looked so serious, like your answer really meant something to him, that you knew you couldn’t lie. But you could still play with him, just a little bit, right?

So you heaved a beleaguered sigh, making a show of thinking about it, drawing out the moment to annoy him. But when you caught Steve's eye over your shoulder and found a little furrow of unease forming between his brows, you knocked it off and gave him a shy smile. 

"It was better than good," you confessed in a whisper, so only Steve and the cold, mountain night were witness to your admission.

The uncertainty cleared from Steve’s face immediately, and his mouth broke out in a broad, self-satisfied grin. You couldn't help yourself, your smile turning impish, the only warning of what was to come out of your mouth. 

"It was a spectacular performance, golden boy,” you teased, delight sparking in your belly when Steve’s eyes darkened with lust at the nickname. “But I think I need a repeat before I can determine whether it was a one-off or not."

Steve's laugh was loud and incredulous, bouncing off the mountains and filling your heart with joy. He shook his head at you as he helped you up off the lip of the hot tub.

“You’re a menace, sunshine,” he growled, but there was no heat to his words, only the warmth of affection. 

With his arms wrapped around your waist to keep your bodies connected, his cock staying nice and warm in the heat of your cunt, Steve sat down on the bench of the hot tub, gathering you up in his lap and holding you close. 

Before he could kiss you, you giggled, your hands cupping his handsome face. “But I’m your menace.” 

“Damn, right,” Steve muttered moments before kissing you. 

It was slower and sweeter than ever before and you let a soft moan slip from your lips as you melted into Steve’s arms, savoring his kiss and the warmth of the hot tub.

When he finally pulled away, Steve stared deep into your eyes, all his affection for you etched into every line of his face. You stared at him with your own expression open, so he could see how much you adored him right back. 

"Don't you worry, sunshine,” Steve murmured, his thumb stroking reverently over the curves of your face, like he was committing it to memory. “I’ll give you as many repeat performances as it'll take for you to understand just how good I am for you.”

Although his words sounded like a dare, Steve said them so sweetly, they sounded like a promise—one that had your heart thudding harder in your chest. Unable to stop yourself, you beamed at him.

"Prove it, golden boy," you challenged, your voice husky with need, as you began grinding your ass on his lap and clenching your cunt around his cock. 

Steve went a little cross-eyed and he let out a tortured groan. You used his distraction to give him one more kiss, then slipped off his cock—feeling more than a little bereft without the hot, hard length of him inside you—and clamored out of the hot tub. 

On trembling legs, you darted toward the chalet, intent on your next time with Steve being in a bed. Just as you were flinging open the sliding door of the deck, you heard water sloshing as Steve launched himself into pursuit.

In seconds, Steve was hot on your heels, chasing you through the chalet and up to his room, where the two of you fell into bed. You were still slick with his cum and your renewed desire, and he buried his dick deep in your cunt with one stroke, setting a brutal pace as he murmured sweet words in your ear about how good you felt on his cock.

For the rest of the night, he proved to you just how perfect he was and by the time dawn broke over the mountains, you were utterly and irrevocably gone for him. You fell asleep entwined together, Steve’s cock still buried in your pussy, right where he was always meant to be.

From that night on, your heart belonged to the golden boy you’d antagonized for so many years, and he went to great lengths to keep it safe and prove he was deserving of your devotion. As if that wasn’t enough, he gave you his heart in return.

Steve Rogers was all yours—and you cherished him for the rest of your life.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡

[mewnbuns]

a shy, unassuming guy who doesn’t even realise how good he fucks until he’s got you folded in half and crying beneath him

[blowingbarnes]

steve rogers core

[octavio-world]

reblog to survive

[unificsation]

lullaby

steve rogers x reader, 4.7k

a fic about that thing when you get sleepy around the person you love. WARNINGS/TAGS: reader is a shield agent, reader's gender is unspecified, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff/soft, the space between friends and something more

Turns out insomnia can be cured, only with very specific ingredients.

One: have Sam Wilson insist on watching Top Gun—again—when it comes his turn for a movie night pick.

This happens every two months or so. You love the man, but he needs to stop trolling at this point. After this rewatch, you’ll probably regurgitate Val Kilmer’s lines while you brush your teeth in the morning.

Wanda rolls her eyes so hard you think they might get stuck like that forever.

“This is the last time, Sam!”

But Sam smiles through the crowd’s boos. Even while the team complains, they take their positions on and around the couch anyway. Yourself included.

Because everyone loves him, and it’s just your fucking luck he loves Top Gun.

Two: find a comfortable surface.

The common room couch? Real nice surface. Of course a government-funded cohabitation facility for their top operatives can afford Egyptian cotton-upholstered furniture.

Three: be extremely tired.

The most recent mission you completed just finished debriefing in the afternoon—a few hours before movie night. It was a track-and-extract of a trafficking ring, except you got assigned the track part, and that was a lot less fun. The stakeouts were long, and the car you sat in had aged leather seats that dampened the already stale air. No air conditioning—can’t risk turning on the engine. No activity around the building you watched, either.

Stretch that out for some days, and naturally, all you wanted upon touchdown was a hot shower and a bed with springs.

Top Gun, a soft couch, and fatigue. Those three variables are enough to force you asleep, but just to be as empirical as possible, you have to list down another.

Four:

Get Steve Rogers to sit next to you.

Technically you didn’t get him to. He sauntered in late, saw the only open spot, and helped himself.

Suspicious, come to think of it. Why did nobody sit next to you? Nat and you would whisper quipped commentaries at each other. Wanda and you are close enough friends to cuddle. Sam would take the opportunity to further grind your gears by manspreading—his hobby is grinding people’s gears.

“Comfy?”

Steve is dressed in gray sweats and a simple t-shirt, its deep blue bringing out his eyes.

He’s the one who looks comfortable, if anything. You’re tempted to thumb at his shirt sleeve and ask about the thread count, but like a normal human being, you nod your yes and watch the opening credits roll.

You can feel his blue eyes on the side of your cheek before he looks at the screen, too.

The moment the movie begins proper, you find yourself muttering the opening line.

“Ghost Rider, this is Strike. We have unknown contact. Inbound Mustang. Your vector zero nine zero for bogey.”

Steve chuckles next to you and the warm sound coaxes your eyes to meet.

What happens next is automatic: seeing him smile makes you do the same.

The movie continues on, but its familiarity begs your attentions to wander. They instead pay dues to the gravity of his forearm, which nearly brushes yours. In the dim, you catch a glimpse of a vein that runs down one side like a river, and file the image away as inappropriate.

That’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. Your boss, good friend, and the entire nation’s moral compass, who keeps a list of the best places to get apple pie. You will direct your gaze with the respect he deserves.

And you do. Except in schooling your vision, your other senses betray you.

He smells good.

That thought feels way more inappropriate than looking at his forearm—which, for the record, you have seen and touched, all in a professional capacity. So you chose to stare at his hand again and hold your brain back from cataloging the scent of his soap, shampoo, or whatever combination of product that has your heart kicking like it wants out of your chest.

Steve Rogers doesn’t cure insomnia. He worsens it—or so you think.

Sleepy is the last thing you are, until the minutes tick by and sleep claims you anyway. You remember yawning while watching the nightclub scene. Iceman wore a pair of aviators indoors.

By the time the flying part of Top Gun rolls around, you don’t get to watch it: you’re knocked out cold.

─ ·✶· ─

When you wake up, cold is the last thing you are. Partly because the common room is designed to bleed with sunlight.

It’s morning, just the top of—yellow rays cut through the windows, no cloud in the sky to block its path.

Your skin feels warm.

It’s really no surprise. Steve Rogers is lying next to you.

How he is lying next to you is a surprise. The man’s broad frame looks cramped on the inside part of the couch, but nothing on his face betrays discomfort. He’s sound asleep, one arm folded under his head, the other slung loosely on your waist—not quite encircling it, just resting. His chest rises and falls slow. You realize this because you have both hands on that exact part of him.

Oh, shit. You’re touching his chest.

It turns out you shifted your palms a little too quickly, because Steve begins to stir. His tendency for alertness quickly revealed blue eyes that blinked once, twice, thrice—before his gaze eventually focuses on you. He doesn’t yawn, perhaps as confused as you are.

“Morning,” you whisper, almost sheepish.

He hums back. “Morning.”

“Uh… What happened?”

It’s quiet for a bit. You’re not sure if his brain has caught up. He’s staring—not the kind of stare you see on the field. Softer. Blue eyes study your face, then the position you’re in, piecing together the scene.

“You fell asleep last night,” he finally says, running his fingers through his hair. They fall across his forehead like the most good-looking bad news you’ve ever laid your eyes on. “Guess I must’ve fallen asleep, too.”

The untangling happens slowly. He lifts his arm away from your waist, props himself up on one elbow. You take the chance to sit and stretch, pretending that a tight neck is your number one concern and not the growing warmth on your cheeks.

“Can’t believe none of them woke us up,” you murmur. “Sam should be banned from picking Top Gun ever again.”

He chuckles. The sound still hits you like it did last night, amplified now by the lack of distance between you. But Steve finally stands up, folds his arms behind his head, then extends them. He repeats the motion a few times. You feel bad—his circulation must be damn near cut off after sleeping weird the entire night on a couch far too small for two.

“Well… at least we’re well-rested.”

You blink, taken aback.

“You slept well?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he nods, “you?”

Now that the question ricocheted back, you realize you don’t feel shitty where you should. Your limbs aren’t particularly sore. Your head feels clear after the initial fog.

Well-rested. Is this what it feels like?

“I think so,” you reply. There’s a smile on his face when you look back at him: small and slightly lopsided. He looks handsome.

Then he extends a hand, as if he knew that smile would make your knees buckle.

“C’mon, I’ll make you coffee.”

The second time happens two weeks later.

The Quinjet’s hum was almost an alien silence after the fight.

It was tough. Only three operatives were deployed: you, Nat, and Steve—top operatives, yes, but still only three. You went up against a swarm of mercenaries, their guns blazing, while the team’s equipment was mostly stealth gear not even half the enemy’s firepower.

You managed by the skin of the edge of your teeth. The word barely doesn’t quite cover it.

After putting the jet on autopilot and complaining about rancid intel with adrenaline-flooded veins, the three of you fall quiet.

Fatigue creeps in.

Last part of the mission: get through a five-hour flight back to New York.

Natasha sits in front of you, rebuilding her usual mask of nonchalance—you can see it in her sigh as she buckles up. The earlier combat chipped at her cool, and reasonably so: being in this line of work for most of her life doesn’t change the fact that it only takes one bullet to end it.

And boy, were there quite the number of bullets.

Steve chose the spot next to you, despite all the empty space in the cabin. You thought maybe he wanted to huddle, talk about the mission, see how you held up. You were the only non-Avenger in this assignment—it was reasonable to assume you wouldn’t be as used to this as they are.

But it’s been a good ten minutes and he hasn’t said a word.

A moment of uncertainty grips you. Post-mission, he’s usually corralling the team, checking morale, doing a small debrief of his own. Granted, there’s only you and Nat, so maybe there’s no need for that, but…

…is he alright?

Just as you look over to your side, concerned, you feel warmth, weight, and a brush of something soft.

You can no longer move.

Because Steve is asleep, and his head was on your shoulder.

His seat isn’t exactly glued next to yours, but close enough for him to bridge the gap. You watch the blonde strands of his hair press against the black of your tac suit and think about all the times you felt his weight on you—the most recent being his back glued to your chest while he shielded you from a bullet hail, just before you managed a rocky takeoff.

Aside from that? Fingers around your wrist during training. “Nice try,” he said once, as if your uppercut wasn’t the most predictable move ever. A friendly hand patting your shoulder after.

But never like this.

It takes a lot of effort for you to stare at something else that isn’t him.

Your gaze unfortunately lands on Nat, less than five feet in front of you.

She’s already smirking.

You look down on your lap, slightly embarrassed and left with nothing you can do. A little less than five hours to go on this flight.

Might as well get some shut-eye.

─ ·✶· ─

“Hey.”

You blink awake, nearly jumping upright. Natasha chuckles, patting her hand on your shoulder.

“Easy, there,” she nods towards the cockpit. You see a familiar sight.

“We arrived. Get some real rest after the debrief.”

You rub the sleep away from your eyes. “Thanks.”

You glance at Steve. He’s already in the middle of getting out of his seat.

You wonder if his head on your shoulder was part of a dream.

At least the third time happens somewhere with a bed, which of course you argue over.

Steve starts it.

“I’ll take the couch.”

You thumb the hem of your tank top. “You know, I was going to say that.”

“That’s kind of you,” he smiles, “but please.”

He gestures to the bed the both of you are ever-so-politely “no, you”-ing over: it’s rickety and is clothed in the thinnest sheets ever, sure, but there’s only one of it, so naturally this battle of politeness has to be fought.

You raise a brow challengingly. “If you take the couch, I’ll take the floor.”

Steve’s expression hardens like he took that personally. “No way am I gonna let you.”

“Then take the bed.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“The couch.”

“But it’ll be uncomfortable.”

“Aha,” your lips curl into a smile, “so you admit that the couch is uncomfortable.”

He looks away. You can tell he’s holding back his face from breaking out into a disbelieving grin.

Eventually, like an overly-used television trope, the inevitable consensus is that you are going to share instead.

Funny how—even during the back-and-forth—it felt like it was always going to come to this. Like you’d surrendered sharing the bed as an eventuality rather than a possibility.

Funny how you could feel him thinking the same.

Which leads you to this point in time:

Two hours past midnight, T-minus five hours before your mission starts. Nothing high stakes—it’s just the two of you—but still, at this rate, you’ll be running on fumes tomorrow.

The night coats the safehouse in darkness, bedroom included: the curtains are drawn and the night light is off to hide you better.

Even in the dim, you can glimpse the outline of him. He’s in a t-shirt and sweats again.

His weight on the bed next to you is unmistakable. You try to recall the last time you didn’t sleep alone—except for the times you fell asleep with him.

You can’t remember.

He breaks the silence thirty minutes after you said your good nights.

You’re counting.

“Can’t sleep?”

You shift from your side to your back.

“You caught me. You?”

He’s seated instead of lying down, spine pressed against the brittle headboard.

“Same.”

You pause. Look at him from your spot on the pillow. His profile is sharp where the dark should dull it, or maybe you’ve just memorized it so well. Still, there’s something unreadable about him.

“Does it happen often?” you ask.

He looks down at you, blue eyes soft. “Sometimes. Often enough.”

You let the answer sink in—Steve Rogers, super soldier, can’t sleep—and shoot him a wry smile.

“Maybe you ought to lie down, if you want to try and sleep?”

He let out a quiet, humorous huff. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Then he makes himself comfortable next to you, head finally touching the pillow. You feel the cotton of his shirt brush against your bare shoulder. His weight is more prominent now, and there’s a faint smell that reminds you of a forest after the rain. The blonde of his hair brings you back to the Quinjet—weeks ago at this point, but your eyes remember.

He’s so close. If your fingers even so much as twitch, they’ll probably kiss his.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asks, voice low.

You stare at him. The last time you saw him sideways like this was after movie night.

Why can’t you sleep? It’s been such a big part of your life, you forget why.

“It’s just difficult for me,” you start, “but these days… I’m not sure.”

He lets you find the thread, shifting so he’s facing you. You begin to face him, too—like your shoulder blades and his are long lost twins.

You finally tell him.

“I get a feeling that something is going to happen, and I need to be ready for it.”

Something in his eyes shines just then: a mosaic mix of regret and recognition.

Thirty-three minutes since ‘good night’, and in this nocturnal darkness, you see a kind of light.

On the surface, Steve couldn’t be more unlike you. Yet you find that the two of you are more similar than you initially thought.

You’re both soldiers who are good at your job, partly because of this: the alertness in your souls that demands one eye ever-watchful. The spirit of a sentinel that doesn’t know what peace is because it’s never learned.

They say there’s no rest for the wicked. Here he is, the truest heart of them all, not even sleepy.

In his wordless glance is an understanding. You have no need to explain.

But then his eyes start to wander and you wish he would say more, because the trace of his gaze feels too intimate for teammates.

Yet it tastes familiar.

Has he looked at you like this before? Ocean blues drag a path down your face, brushing past your lips in a swoop so secret you’d miss it if you blinked. His gaze veers off the side, but not away from you. Is he studying your cheek? The shell of your ear?

What on earth does he see in you?

You speak because the space between your ribcage hurts.

“We’re gonna be so fucked tomorrow morning.”

His laugh is quiet, more apparent in his face instead of the volume of his voice. There it is, the distraction you needed—except the sensation in your chest tugs stronger. Just once, but enough for you to notice.

Of course you’d fallen for him. There’s no way you wouldn’t.

But you’re a soldier, and so is he, and there’s work to do tomorrow.

To your mild surprise—and his, in the small shine in his eyes—you yawn.

It’s strange. It should keep you up, this proximity with him. Though your relationship with Steve is comfortable, the context around this situation should make you feel more uptight rather than relax.

You think about the man in the meeting room and the man you spar with. He advocates for calm decision-making, but eggs you on with a cheeky “that all you got, agent?” on the training mat. Both versions of him are here with you. In bed. A decision he made calmly.

How is it possible to be nervous and unwind at the same time?

A few seconds pass, and you yawn again.

“That’s your cue,” he smiles wryly. It shoots an arrow through you.

“Yeah. Try to get some sleep,” you smile back, turning to face away from him before he sees the crack in it. “Good night, Steve.”

“Good night.” He says your name, and that’s the last thing you hear.

Your lullaby.

You don’t know he falls asleep right after.

─ ·✶· ─

Steve wakes up first—he has a tendency of doing that. It means he’s the first witness to a softness that wrecks him.

Somewhere in the night, your bodies turned to face each other.

It reminds him of sunflowers.

Unlike that time after movie night, there’s more space between you. A part of him mourns the distance, though sharing a bed already signals a lack of.

Another part of him is happy he gets to see your face.

You look peaceful like this. Not that you look troubled when you’re awake. Just… something about your eyes closed, the space between your brows completely relaxed, your lips ever-so-slightly parted—it’s not a sight he gets to see often, especially not in this sort of terrain.

You might be in a safehouse, and the bed springs might be rusted by age, but the thin line between consciousness and sleep encourages the mind to wander—and for a man of discipline, wandering is dangerous. It tempts him with thoughts that taste more like dreams.

What if you weren’t in a safehouse? What if this was your bed—yours and his—and sharing it wasn’t birthed out of politeness?

What if this is just something he gets to see every morning?

You stir gently. A stray strand of hair falls on your face. He lifts his hand up to tuck it back.

Stubbornly, it slips back to where it landed before. He smiles.

This dream will soon end, he realizes. In a matter of minutes, he feels the sun rising behind his back, a treacherous thing that beckons another fight for someone else’s future.

When you open your eyes, you’ll go back to being soldiers. You’ll call him Cap on the field.

Last night’s memory surfaces. He holds on to the shape of his name in your voice.

The bright morning erases long shadows. For once, he wishes it didn’t.

He allows himself one final thing.

Fingers cradle your cheek, thumb brushing the soft of it. In your sleep, you lean into his touch. His breath snags, and so does his heartbeat.

Then, after the pang’s echoes die down, Steve rests a hand on your shoulder to wake you.

The fourth time happens because you ask for it.

He’s been up reading by the lamplight, only one chapter in when he started, now halfway through—a sign that the hour is later than he thinks it is. The book isn’t a particularly riveting one, either: time passed in a crawling pace with each page. Where he thought his ambivalence towards the subject matter would put him to sleep, here he is.

Wide awake on page 257.

Awake to hear the knock on his door. Three times. Soft, almost imperceptible.

Steve stares like he knows who it is already. The book is placed on the nightstand.

He opens the door to see you.

The sight tears him two ways.

You’re in short shorts and an oversized tee that has seen better days. He would see the print on the front if you weren’t hugging a folded-up blanket against your chest. There’s a sting on his sternum—from how you trust him enough to appear at his doorstep halfway through dawn, and from the look on your face.

It’s the look of someone who’s trying their best to sleep, but can’t.

“I didn’t think you’d be up, I’m so sorry,” you breathe, surprised.

He’s aware of the concern bleeding through his every gesture. You haven’t told him what you needed and he’s already holding the door wide open.

“Hey, no, don’t be. What’s wrong?”

You part your lips, deliberating.

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s as simple as that, but he knows exactly how difficult the battle is.

He nods, feeling his jaw clench. He hides his hands in his pockets—if they had their way, you’d be in his arms by now, but that’d be selfish of him.

Because clearly there’s something you want to tell him. Something more. He watches as you seem to debate for and against yourself: the toll of sleeplessness on you renders your expressions crystalline.

He waits patiently in the doorway. A quiet encouragement that yearns to surround you in louder ways.

You finally find the words.

“The last time I had a good night’s sleep was at that safehouse.”

He remembers. It was the night he wished you weren’t just agents on a mission. It was the night he got to stare at your back, wishing for a world where pulling you against his chest won’t make things complicated.

He swallows. “Me, too.”

In time’s desert, it’s these little memories he shares with you that dot the landscape like oases. You discovered these sacred places together, where you may fix what the journey broke.

But they’re still few and far between. The rest of life is a white noise: all those mission briefs and debriefs used to mean something, now they just chip away at the memory of what sanctuary feels like.

And yet he recalls the details perfectly. Enough to conjure a balm that is his own imagination. He pretends you’re next to him, weight sinking on the bed, hair splayed on his pillow. He pretends some nights. Most nights.

Every night.

“Can I please sleep with you?”

You ask before he can offer, then cut in before he responds.

“Not like that,” you stammer, distraught, “I mean—”

“No, I know what you mean, it’s okay.”

You laugh weakly, gesturing at your blanket. “I don’t want to seem presumptuous, it’s just that my room is—”

“Four floors down, yeah,” he knows the way there because he’s considered it more than a few times.

Steve’s hand lands gently on your shoulder, guiding you inside.

“Don’t worry about it. Come on.”

You cross that hallowed threshold into his room. Steve clicks the door closed before leading you towards the bed. It’s much too dark—and too late—for a room tour, anyway.

He unfurls his comforter, and in doing so notices the way you watch him. In another time and place, he’d be more amused at the way you looked: like you were standing at attention.

You don’t climb into the bed until he does.

“So you brought your own blankie?” There was a hint of a tease in his question, though not at all unkind.

You pout, sitting on the bed. Said blanket is still in your arms.

“It’s not a blankie.”

“Then why’d you bring it?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “didn’t want to steal yours from you.”

He smiles, lifting his comforter as if telling you to make yourself at home in it.

“I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. We’ve slept in worse conditions, haven’t we?”

That pulls a smile out of you, and it scares him how pleased he is with himself.

But you settling underneath his blanket and onto the bed pleases him more. He watches on a propped elbow as you adjust your head on his pillow, and he’s grateful that you’re here—in more ways than one.

That you’re here is something he’s always thankful for. That you’re here in his room instead of the other way around is a special occasion to be grateful. Being in your bedroom—in your bed—would mean enveloping himself in you, and there was no way he’d survive that.

The thought alone already makes him want. He’s not accustomed to it.

Soon, the two of you are lying face to face. He catalogs the way you fit into his space: perfectly.

“You okay?” he asks.

You answer with a nod and a quiet “yeah, better now.”

There’s a moment where all you do is look at each other. It suspends the very thing you came looking for, eyes open, expectant.

“Steve?”

“Mm?”

Then you do that thing again when you hesitate with your words, before finally stringing them together.

Like earlier, it’s a request. As if he’d ever refuse you anything.

“Can I hold you?”

He breathes through a sudden wave of emotion, like a dislodged splinter in a dam.

You’re asking him for permission, but in doing so, he feels like he’s been given it—you want the very thing he’s longed to give you since that night on the couch.

So he doesn’t answer with words.

His arm circles around your waist while the other cradles your nape, both pulling you closer. Your legs brush. You let out a sigh of capitulation.

There’s a thrum in his spine as you move, too—you nestle your face in the crook of his neck, both hands resting against his chest. He wonders if you can feel his heartbeat.

How many lines have he crossed by doing this? The list of his transgressions runs long.

For once, he doesn’t give a damn.

He holds you tight. You bury yourself in him. The warmth that has soothed him many times seems to bleed like an open wound—there was no need to hide behind stations or the guise of propriety.

Together, the two of you are broken pieces of different things, laid in a perfect fit. Breathing. Craving the rest only the other can bring.

A hard life melting into a soft place, where he doesn’t have to choose between love and rest.

You bring him both.

“Steve?”

“Mm?”

He likes this refrain: you calling his name, him answering.

You look up at him from the hug. He dips his chin down to meet your gaze.

“Thank you.”

I should be the one saying that, he thinks to himself, but this is no time for emotional revelations. Not yet—you’re too tired for it.

So he pulls you in closer like closer was ever possible. You find shelter in the hollow of his neck again, nose kissing his throat. He strokes a gentle hand down your hair, feeling you sigh warm air against his skin. Your t-shirt is soft against his. His other palm presses steady on your back.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

Soon enough, your breathing evens. You’re asleep.

He remembers the safehouse this time, the peaceful look on your face. He remembers clinging onto those last few minutes of closeness before the call of duty snuffs out peace. The light of day always makes the lines between you that much clearer.

Like tide, you’re further away from him when the sun is up.

For now, he allows himself one small thing.

He leans down and kisses your crown, breathing in your shampoo. His lips press one, two, three more times, wandering further down: your temple, your eyelid, your cheek—each breaching a boundary.

Each bearing a promise.

There’s no assignment come morning. No more reason to run.

Tomorrow, he’ll tell you how he feels.

A thumb brushes your lower lip, careful not to wake you.

That one will have to wait until tomorrow, if you’ll let him. The only thing he can do now is dream of it.

He hopes this is the last night he’ll dream of it.

taglist: @pinksplace @thceseus @theworstwolvie

my first time writing steve...... and i broke my self-imposed ban of no writing in april for him with this idea....... if it's balls, lie to my face

[mickimoo1409]

The Secret Masterlist

When you applied for your new role, you never expected your life to change so drastically.

The role was simple, be submissive, be at his beck and call and most importantly, keep it secret. So how did it go so wrong?

Chapter 1 - The Role

Chapter 2 - Introductions

Chapter 3 - Getting Settled

Chapter 4 - Just The Beginning

Chapter 5 - In Flight Entertainment

Chapter 6 - Coming Soon

[marvelimagines]

Fluffuary 2026: Day 15

Day 15: Caught in the Rain

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader

Prompt: You and Steve take time to appreciate the simple things on a rainy day.

A/N: Day 15, halfway through these prompts! It's crazy to think that its halfway through January already. Reader is a former Red Room assassin, no use of y/n.

Masterlist

In the early morning, the Avengers Compound was quiet. Everyone is either asleep or in the training room. The only noise heard was the sound of the raindrops on the roof. 

You decided to go outside with your cup of coffee, drinking the hot liquid in the covered area. You could feel a light mist hit your skin from where the breeze had carried it towards you. You took a breath, soaking in the peaceful environment. A drastic contrast from the place you were raised, the Red Room. All of the hair on the back of your neck stood up as you thought about it. You hadn’t even noticed the door opening until a familiar voice was heard. “You’re up early.” 

It wasn’t unusual for Steve to be up at this time. The man was normally up earlier than everyone, besides maybe Bucky. The super soldier serum made them not have to sleep as much as those without it. You nodded in greeting, “I’m surprised that you aren’t in the training room, beating up defenseless punching bags.” 

That comment made a small smirk go over his face, “Already did that.” Of course he did. He leaned closer and lowered his voice like he was telling you a secret, “And I only beat up the ones that deserve it.” 

You chuckled, making Steve softly smile. It made him happy to hear you laugh, even if it was at something small. The silence that lingered afterwards was a comfortable one as you listened to the rain coming down. You took another breath, “It’s nice, the rain.” Steve made a small noise in agreement, “Yeah. Reminds me of when I was younger. There was a couple that lived across the street from where I grew up in Brooklyn. The man had her slow dance with him, no music, just out there in the rain. Simpler times.” 

“Sounds sweet.” You looked over at him, “Have you ever done it? Danced in the rain with a girl, I mean.” The blonde super soldier shook his head, “Never had the chance to, always running from mission to mission.” You had danced before, they used ballet as a training method in the Red Room, a way to teach discipline and control. You had never danced with a man in the rain though.

He took your now empty coffee mug and sat it down on the metal bench outside the doors of the compound. When he returned by your side, he offered his hand. You looked from his hand to his face, “You want me to dance in the rain with you?” He nodded, “If you would do me the honor.” You contemplated it before finally putting your hand in his, following as he led you out into the cool rain. As the gentleman he was, he kept his hand in a respectful place on your waist as the other hand held your smaller one. Your left hand was in the bend of his neck, your fingers able to feel the ends of the hair there. 

You watched as his gaze tracked a droplet as it ran down your cheek. It was almost overwhelming. The way his blue eyes looked into yours, the way he held you. It could almost make you forget the terrors that you have seen. His soft smile as he gently led you in a slow dance even when the rain was soaking through your clothes. This was different, but the good kind.

[anika-ann]

Letters to the Sun - S.R.

Type: standalone mostly fluffy one-shot, (mutual) pining with a side of idiots in love

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader  Word count: 8500

Summary: You’re in love with Steve. You’re in love with your closest friend.

Sometimes, you think he knows, or at least has some idea of the profoundness of your affections. Sometimes, despite your doubts and insecurities, you think he might like you more than a friend too.

And so, for this Valentine’s Day, you decide to act. Knowing your voice might fail you, you revert to penwomanship.

You did not expect it to fail you too.

A/N: There is it, my submission to @mercurial-chuckles 's lovely event of Vivifying Valentine's Atelier. I slightly modified the prompt, but it's there towards the end 🥰 I hope our lovey host will enjoy and so will you all! Cute divider by @firefly-graphics 💕

Warnings: mention of a gunshot wound (Steve) and a concussion (reader), allusions to Steve's PTSD, some self-deprecation and sprinkles of humour, mentions of alcohol, Steve being Steve, like one f-bomb, PINING

Dear Steve,

You must be wondering – what could I possibly want to send you a letter for, besides a formal resignation from my position. Do not fret – this is not it. Do not freak out. Or do.

Maybe, though, this is a resignation of sorts.

I’m resigning. I am giving up.

I am resigning from working so hard on trying to resist you – it’s been far too futile. A Sisyphus pushing the stone uphill; all in vain because there is no winning. The only win is to give in and hope you feel the same. 

I am giving up the fight. I’m giving up my heart, to you, and I trust you with it, like I trusted you with secrets I trusted no one else with. Like I trust you with my life.

I might not be an Avenger or much of a fighter at all – there is a notion in you possibly trusting me with your life, an utterly ridiculous one and for a good reason. I am not strong. Not even half as you. But I promise: if you trust me with your heart, I will protect it with all I am.

With love and hope,

Yours

You reread the letter and gulp. Then reread it again. The more your gaze passes over each word, the stupider, heavier, sappier and over-the-top it seems. Completely ridiculous. Entirely foolish.

You huff and crumble the poor paper – an expensive one, a nice one, cream-coloured and thick, suited for meaningful words and matters of heart – and throw it to the trashcan at the opposite side of the room.

You miss.

The sad caricature of a love letter and the perfect parody of a ball of paper rolls for dramatic effect.

Just like the stupid stone in the Sisyphus myth which you thought, for some reason, should be mentioned in a confession of love and months of fruitless pining after the man who had become your closest friend. As if loving Steve was a never-ending chore meant to torture you.

Maybe it does, just a little bit; but the pain is not for Steve to know.

All the more for the fact that despite the torture, you keep doing it, your heart stubborn like the man who owns it is in matters of justice for all, the little man first and foremost.

You missed the trashcan just like you missed when trying to pour your feelings into a letter you hoped to give to Steve on Valentine’s Day, at last.

Ah well. The night is growing shorter, but is still young.

You will try again after taking a shower.

It’s not like this was your first failed attempt; the pile of unfinished and scraped letters is ever-growing, it seems.

That’s alright, you try to coax yourself, rising from your desk, neck cracking after the tens and tens of minutes crouched over every single word you tried to write in a writing better than your usual chicken scribble. Or maybe it’s the frustration making your head weigh a ton, straining your muscles, one failure after another.

That’s alright, you sooth yourself as you shed your clothes and wish you could shed your skin and insecurities all the same, the traitorous thoughts and anxieties perhaps being the true hinders that keep your penwomanship back.

You’ll get there. It’s alright. You have time.

It’s still a week till Valentine’s.

Just before you step into the shower, you decide to reroute – to learn from your mistakes this time, you go back and collect the letter from where it didn’t reach the trash and st it on your desk next to the clean sheet of paper, ready to be filled with all that fills your heart.

Dearest Steve,

I know this must feel silly – putting words onto a paper – but it is what I feel I should do. Writing a true love letter. A lovely, old-fashioned thing – a bit like you-

You crumble the paper fast, grinding the word silly between your teeth.

There is a piece of old-fashion in your man, in your beloved. An old-fashioned gentleman with ideals he knows are as good as unattainable, but will keep trying to reach for them anyway and make the world a better place. He’s old-fashioned in his love life too, you gathered, taking his time when dating – but that is just another thing to swoon at, more so since your experience with men is usually the opposite.

To jump into bed as soon as possible.

To touch to grope and fuck before the two to-be lovers could touch each other’s hearts.

Stupid. Shallow. Empty.

Not Steve though.

He’s slow in his approach, you think, a man to pine as much as a man to pine after. It’s one of the many things that drew you in, luring you into the sweet trap of his proximity and sincerity, the cage door snapping shut as soon as you began to fall for him, steps back impossible, stumbling forward the only and the most alluring option.

Yes, Steve can be old-fashioned, a true gentleman to open doors and ease your strains – but to call him that without context, the written word robbed of the affection you’d pour into your voice if you were able, would be a mistake.

You begin your letter anew.

Dearest Steve,

I feel a little silly, putting words onto a paper instead of speaking them face to face, but I often find my voice failing me in your presence when I want to say something of meaning.

As someone, whose soul might be old in the best sense of the word, and with the kindest heart I know, with mischief without malice, I thought that perhaps, despite how silly it might be, you would not laugh at me.

I am writing you with a secret. A secret only very few people know, but is very dear to my heart. And it’s you.

You, my sweet secret, are what’s hidden in my heart. You are my heart. With your every step my heart beats fierce, with every word and touch, my heart hums in a quiet, gentle song.

My secret is my love. I am in love with you and I love you. Do with this secret as you please – it’s yours to keep now or to speak out loud and act upon. I merely hope it will build a bridge between us, rather than a wall.

Sincerely,

Yours   

Your frown at the letter, not quite satisfied. There’s so much more you want to say, so little you managed to fit onto the page and while it for once lacks the terrible number of metaphors, the words feel empty.

Unworthy.

Steve, on the other hand, is worthy of everything.

You know this in your heart, in your very soul – and if one could ever doubt it, you remember that one party when all of the company got drunk and tried to lift Thor’s hammer.

You saw Steve tilt it a fraction, the briefest shock on his face that the ‘only the one who is worthy shall possess the power’ could include him; and that is what has only proved the point of the very universe whispering to him and you and all.

And if that wasn’t enough, the fact he moved it no further, wished not to rob his friend of the feeling of uniqueness, would alone make him worthy.

You crumble another expensive, silky-smooth paper, smudging the ink, angry at your inability to put into words the magnitude of your feelings.

Before your next attempt, you close your eyes and breathe; you breathe what you wish was Steve, holding you in his arms, close to his chest, his vigorous heart beating calmly against your cheek, his lips tender on top of your head, his embrace warm and gentle, not minding that the bliss and secure feeling he elicits in your chest makes a few tears gather in your eyes and seep into his t-shirt. You breathe in and smell the echo of his aftershave, musk and him, the ghost of his fingers, rough but oh so careful, threading through your hair.

You breathe and you let the feeling consume you inside out, crawl through your veins straight into your heart where its home is, pushing it into every cell and tissue of you with every slow beat of the most important and most vulnerable muscle in your body.

You lick the non-existent taste of his lips on yours, breathe once more, and open your eyes.

Where the other balls of paper flew straight towards the trash, this one is clean for now; tabula rasa literal, a new opportunity.

You began writing, letters flowing over the page, a little rivulets of your affection frantic and imperfect, but your own to share, and with a feeling so acute your eyes almost burn with tears.

Dearest Steve,

my Sun and my Moon. I feel like to all, you are a man spangled by stars; pardon the pun, you know my affinity to them. But to me, you are so much more. You are everything. A cosmic wonder, the most beautiful glitch in the universe full of celestial bodies.

You are the Sun. You are the warmth I wish to great each morning with, burn in it at noon and be reborn in the golden hour of the afternoon.

You are the Moon. You are the serenity and quiet of the night I welcome, for like your arms, they feel safe.

You are the Earth. You are where I wish to put roots and tangle and bloom together, to become something new and full of life together, a careful care to each branch and leaf and blossom, supporting what looks like it might break and letting go of what’s better left behind so we could grow further, closer to the sun and the moon in beautiful, unperfect harmony-

You whimper, setting – no, throwing – the pen aside, covering your face with your hands and screaming into the silence of your palms.

What is even this one? Attempts at metaphors of times and space, referring to Steve’s designation, comparing him to celestial bodies as if you just wanted him for his body, speaking of creating new life as if you couldn’t wait to be bedded and bred, comparing him to a glitch in the universe and spacetime, as if you wanted to rub in his face all the times when he has opened his heart to you about what he missed about the past?

Unacceptable.

To have him think, even if for a moment, that you are mocking him, insulting him, that you think him less for nostalgia and missing what was and perhaps still is his home? You’d break your hand before writing it and meaning it.

Which is a rather dramatic thought, you suppose – way too dramatic and that of poets and romantic heroes in the true sense of the late 18th century, ready to throw themselves off the cliff to drown in the eternal love for the one they could not have. To consider breaking your hand, as little as the action might seem in comparison to drowning, is dramatic, an aftershock of having started two letters, finishing none, missing the trash can once and just failing the third letter of the night.

The Valentine’s Day is in two days.

You have nothing to show. Nothing usable. Nothing but a pile of bad metaphors as well as bluntness, purple prose and confessions that lack the magnitude of your sentiment that’s been gathering for over a whirlwind of two years, filling your chest so richly that your ribcage might burst at its seams.

You grab after the poor cream-smooth stationery and attack it with fervour with the hands that failed you, another sad ball flying towards the trash can. It lands inside for once.

The satisfaction of scoring a point but missing the mark completely where it matters has your heavy head fall on the top of your desk.

It falls hard enough that the pain echoes in your skull and you whip your head back with a curse on your lips, rubbing the spot on your forehead gently as you lean backwards as if it could make up for the hit.

You end up tipping the chair backwards – and this time, the impact vibrates through your whole body.

You don’t remember how you got to the hospital, but you do remember waking up with one hand stiff and cold even under the covers and the other endlessly warm even though it’s on top on the comforter.

You do remember waking up to Steve sharing the warmth of his skin with the very hand.

He explains how he literally broke down your door when you hadn’t answered his calls, the tips of his ears as red as his lips, turned downwards in worry, but tempting all the more. He asks if you remember what happened.

He’s watching you earnestly, eyes the softest blue with a speckle of green you do want to plunge into and drown in, awaiting your answer, so genuinely clueless.

He looks like he could be in love with you too.

For just a moment, for a few delirious beats of your heart, you let yourself believe it.

You don’t mention the letters.

You do admit – for a big part simply because you want to show him you’re feeling better, that you do remember, that it’s not so serious, and because you wish to erase the crease on his forehead and if your lips cannot kiss it away, you let them form words so they could do the job at least – how it happened, physically speaking.

He’s staring at you for a beat, silent, awed and stunned with horror and doubt at once.

You do not waver, because you know you speak the truth.

You reciprocate his stare, hoping your possible heart eyes showing when being able to look at his face for a prolonged period of time, could be blamed on your concussion.

And then he laughs.

It’s sun and it’s a rainbow after the most electrifying of storms and you realize you were so so wrong to think his frown was more kissable than his laugh.

He carefully wraps his arms around you when you sit up enough for him to do so, holds you tight, and laugh-whispers:

Only you.

The two words sound so fond you wish he’d say it over and over, with the same affection that burns in your stomach, in your brain, in your lungs and in your stupid heart; or that you’d turn deaf so you’d never hear him speak it again if he doesn’t mean it the way you crave.

The gentle, protective, but unrelenting squeeze of your body in his arms feels just like his gaze appeared and his words sounded, even if for a fleeting moment – like he could love you too.

You allow yourself to melt into his embrace and into him, and believe.

Must be the concussion taking its toll.

He’s full of contradictions, your Steve.

He is not yours in ownership, not yours in terms of a relationship either – but your heart has already claimed him, so you suppose you can be forgiven for thinking of him such. He’s a keeper; one you wish you’d belong to and one you wish to keep.

He’s full of contradictions, but instead of crashing in harsh contrasts, they blend together like paint on artist’s pallet to create the whole, mesmerizing image of who he is.

All hard muscle and the softest of hearts.

Brutal fists and the softest of hands; you’d know.

Fierce spirit and the gentlest of souls.

A man who had been frozen for seventy damn years yet whose touch is the warmest you’ve ever felt, its tendrils reaching all the way to your heart, through skin and tissue and bone. His smile is the sun itself, sweet hesitance of the morning, brightness and humour of the midday, the secret and softness of the golden hour; you want to trace its shape with your fingertips and wish to taste his ‘I love you’ with your mouth. He’s the Moon and you’re the sea, inevitable gravity pulling you close whenever you try to wash away your feeling, affections rising away like a tide instead.

There’s a reason why you’ve tried to liken him to the celestial bodies on the Milky Way and beyond.

But the fact is that no matter hard how you had been trying, failure was the only thing you did with success.

There is no letter to give, no courage to speak up what the pen in your hand could not put into words, leaving no hope for your mouth to form instead.

The Valentine’s Day passes, the evening bringing Galentine’s Day, accepting the men of the Avengers as well.

Perhaps it’s the sympathy of those of the friend group that are coupled up, to have moved their romantic plans for another time, spending the 14th in the company of friends and games and chatter and food and alcohol.

You know Natasha knows; she knows almost all.

You also think she knows you know she’s been trying to get you drunk, probably to make you profess your undying love for Steve, preferably to Steve.

The joke is on her. You don’t drink much ever, but have made up a simple lame excuse of having decided to stick strictly to alcohol-free February, something you read people in central Europe did. Stark googles it. Finds out it’s real and they actually call it a Dry February.

You’re sure it’s Bucky who mutters something about a Dry-spell February, while Sam, inebriated from his drinking game against the Black Widow herself, straightens on the sofa and asks about who started talking about dry humping and whether you’re playing Never Have I Ever.

Never have I ever confessed my love for the most loveable man on Earth.

You confess none.

You go to bed before they do start playing.

You stay the night at the Tower, not driving home nor letting anyone to drive you.

And it doesn’t click until the next day when you meet Steve in the communal kitchen, his lips twitching gently when he sees you wearing the most ridiculous Avengers merch pyjamas Natasha could find in the late evening; you guess that for a night, you just wanted to sleep home.

And spending the night in the Tower, where Steve decided to sleep for the night too, was sleeping much closer to home than your empty apartment could ever offer.

Steve, my beloved,

Roses are all colours. But your eyes are deep blue with the prettiest drop of green that makes you unique and you.

I wish I could jump and drown in your colours to make my world yours to make the world ours.

Sincerely, and entirely

Yours.

You’re at loss. Prose has failed you and so you’ve reverted to poetry.

The result is… tragicomically disastrous. The words that are supposed to feel light and lyrical sound heavy like reciting a thesaurus, the ones you work with for simplicity result in but a nursery rhyme.

You’ve tried to reread some of the books Steve has borrowed or even gifted you, for inspiration. You happen to love poetry, in fact, and so you have naively thought with how well-read you are, words will come easy. After all, one of the keys to good writing is reading.

What no one told you was just how hard it was to rhyme in a less than predictable ways, how to resign on rhymes in certain times so it seems like artistic intent and cleverness rather than giving up, and how to set together verses when even full sentences fail to capture how much you feel.

You decide after the first few tries – those on normal paper rather than on the expensive letter one, you know better by now – that poetry is not the way. You decide to come back to the welcoming arms of prose.

You do not get to start another letter than night, however.

You get a phone call instead.

One of the dreaded ones.

You take a cab almost half-dressed, and three halves scared to death.

You get to the medical at the Tower before they roll him out of the surgery, running straight into Natasha with tears in your eyes.

There are tears in her eyes too; you’d crashed into her before she had the chance to tell you she has several bruised and two cracked ribs.

Most people get to think Steve Rogers an embodiment of red and white and blue and see him in these very colours; you have the privilege to get to see him like a human being and see him in colours that make your stomach twist in tight knots and tears spring anew.

Red. There had to be so much red when they rolled him in the surgery, abdomen hit with the nastiest of weapons. A wound disguised as clean and simple, if one could ever call a gunshot wound that. A single bullet that splintered into quarter smaller ones upon embedding in the flesh, an explosion of mass tearing what would have killed a non-enhanced human on the spot.

Steve is an extraordinary human being in many ways, but today, you’re thanking any higher power there is for the serum coursing his veins and remind yourself to lay flowers on Doctor Erskine’s grave.

Serum or not, it’s still been a touch and go for a while, adding two little heart attacks to your name when the alarms blared, inviting extra hands to the operating theatre during complications.

The red is all gone but inside where it’s supposed to be.

You only see red in a rather shallow cut over Steve’s brow.

There’s blue and black all over though – bruises changing colour in front of your eyes, blending into greens and yellows if you blink for too long, eyelids growing heavy as you guard Steve’s bedside, the colours all too sharp against his skin so pale in might as well be white to complete the trinity of patriotism most people associate with him.    

It’s been days.

The sofa that’s been present in every Avengers level hospital room is a lifesaver and not a coincidence; there’s always someone dutifully watching over their friend or partner, losing appetite as well as sleep, the latter making for inevitable unvoluntary naps one falls for when in a place as comfortable as this.

People come and go, switching worrying about Steve still not waking up, reassuring you and themselves that it is normal given the extent of his injuries, reproaching him for being an idiot and taking a bullet meant for someone else – and scolding you for staying in the room at all times, safe for bathroom breaks.

It’s the Avengers’ fault really though, that you are able to stay, something you are grateful for.

They’re the boss. If they truly wanted you to leave, they could just order you to go back to work rather than giving you a personal time off, bringing food and drinks and books to read to Steve until your voice grows hoarse, and your laptop to deal with matters that need tending without too much delay.

You type a letter into a word document and end up deleting it, because it’s stupid and impersonal and despite Steve’s condition slowly improving, there is no telling if he’ll ever be able to read it.

You write another to a folded piece of paper you’ve been using as a bookmark anyway, when you reach the end of the story and cry, not over the plot, but over managing to recite a whole damn book without Steve’s condition improving enough to show off his lovely blues, even if the white of his eyes would probably be bloodshot, to once again complete the trinity of colours that makes him Captain America and are really just colours that brought him to the hospital bed in the first place.

Coincidentally, you cannot really be mad, however – those colours also happen to be what tied his fate with yours, bringing him to you to love him and weep for him.

He wakes up on April’s Fools.

You cry rivers and nearly punch him when he learns the date and one of his first words after what happened, are the others okay and are you okay, are him trying to make a joke.

You’re not sure you catch the punchline.

You’re sure his tired grin is the most beautiful thing in the whole damn world.

And you’re just as sure that your heart is far too gone loving him, all the more just for being alive.

Dearest Steve,

Please. Let me bleed my blood. Let Tony, Nat, Bucky bleed theirs when it comes to it, instead of catching the brunt of impact. I know you well enough to know it is not quite in your nature, but I still wish you read my plea and take it to heart. It’s a precious thing, your heart. You are precious.

Please, let us bleed our blood and let us bleed it for you. How funny a thing that would be – it would work wonders. If my blood was what was coursing through your veins, you’d be much more careful with it, wouldn’t you? That is the thing that’s in your nature, isn’t it? Being so careful with others. But you yourself must be careful too.

For you are cared about.

For you are loved.

You are loved all the same, whether you are selfless or get selfish, whether you are good or not feeling good enough. Whether you are laughing or crying, whether you stand tall and carry the weight of the world on your shoulders or you feel yourself breaking under it.

You are cared about. You are loved. You are ours and we are yours. Sometimes, you must let us feel the pain of it for a change and carry the weight with you – for I know you’d never give it up completely.

Let us bleed for you, for a change. And heal.

Pleading, aching and praying, sincerely and entirely

Yours.

Steve’s puppy eyes are a weapon with a lasting effect. That expression of his is so etched into your mind – pleading, oftentimes guilty and sometimes doing the guilting at the same time – that when he asks you, even if only over a text, you simply cannot say no.

If you had the defences built out of a sound mind, you would have refused – but you don’t.

No, Steve Rogers, the beautiful bastard, always leaves you defenceless, already having made it through the cavalries and infantries guarding your heart.

That’s how you find yourself in his arms again, heartstrings pulled at achingly, gaze locked almost as close as your bodies.

He’s still not hundred perfect fit – even as he is very fine, like always – so while he cannot go lead the troops and fight for a better world with his fists, it has been decided he can make himself useful by representing and chitchatting with important people. And do so on one of the fancy galas he prefers to avoid like a plague and would normally rather jump out of a plane for than attended.

There will be dancing, he said when he had been – as you realized later – slowly softening you around the edges the whole evening you had been texting. I need to practise. Help? 🥺

You curse whoever has taught him to use that emoji which evokes the exact expressions you know he makes writing that text; you are fairly certain it was you and it’s come to bite you in the ass.

Now your heart is racing as Steve’s hand rests gently but firmly on your back, maddeningly respectful and full of warmth and friendship, even as his eyes are the softest blue with an unspoken promise of deeper affections.

“Are you sure you should be even doing this?” you question quietly as he twirls you around in rhythm of a waltz that has no right being so romantic. You wonder if he’d chosen it, or if Natasha had, having confirmed to you that no, she could not be the one to help Steve since she was just heading to another assignment. “Should you even be up and running?”

His smile is as sweet as honey and for a moment, you forget yourself and stare, wondering if that’s what his lips taste like too.

“I’m not running. We’re dancing.”

You try to set a firmly unimpressed deadpan expression. You’re sure it has zero effect. Steve’s blues crinkling at the edges confirm your suspicion.

“I mean it, Steve. I know you’d like us to all remember it as if it were just a flesh wound, but the flesh that was hit was really damn deep.”

The cold shudder rushing through your body is soothed by Steve’s arm embracing you closer, his thigh pressing firmly against yours as if he knew his touch usually distracts you enough to make you forget things.

Your heart does stumble and your feet nearly do too, but it does not work. Not this time. The pale face looking damn near lifeless resting on the pillow for days and days with no end haunts you, day and night; and Steve’s voice is quieter, more intimate, after you whisper that he really scared you.

“I know I did… I’m sorry,” he says sincerely and you know, undeniably, that you’d let him get away with murder, with anything really. Anything but his actual death. That, you’d never forgive him. “And thank you for being there. That meant a lot. I… it was a little cold.”

Your breath hitches, your eyes burning just a bit, hearing the unspoken words written in his confession.

When it’s cold, when he says it was like that, you know what it means: nightmares. Nightmares and flashbacks to the icy cold of the ocean, limbs immobile, crushed under tons of water, and loneliness that runs deeper than the marrow of his bones.

Steve rarely says things he doesn’t mean; but when he says this, you understand then just how profoundly he feels grateful for not having woken up alone.

The simple ‘always’ slips from your lips, easy and natural. As if it’s not a declaration of love on its own.

As if the brief haunted shadow in Steve’s eyes doesn’t dissolve into something warmer and full of wonder upon hearing it.

As if his fingers don’t twitch on your back and you are not acutely aware that the music is still playing but you barely hear it anymore, your feet having stilled, your chests brushing with every breath, gaze flickering dangerously from his eyes to the inviting pinkish red of his parted lips.

Your breath hitches when you catch yourself and force your gaze back to meet his, only to find him distracted from looking into your eyes by the quick dart of your tongue over your suddenly dry lips.

Your name spoken softly is no louder than a breath, yet feels louder than the music that seems to have faded into nothingness far away outside your bubble, air thick and headily sweet, pulsing with every frantic beat of your heart.

His StarkWatch vibrates.

It’s the reality calling.

It must want its two favourite idiots back; one lost to the dream already, the other on the verge of a promise they probably don’t even mean.

Steve ignores the incoming message, but you’ve already flinched, the bubble having burst, and so you answer the call.

For both of you.

You clear your throat and slowly, feeling all of you ache sharply, you untangle from his hold, first having grown tighter then falling completely limp.

You smile reassuringly, not showing teeth because you feel their bite in your chest where your heart is supposed to beat for you and not him.

What a farce of a concept.

“You should probably check that out, Cap. They need you,” you say, choosing not to see the way his expression seems to fall for it’s all but your mind playing tricks on you to sooth the sharpened heartstrings cutting into your veins. “And we both know you’re plenty prepared to dance with whomever you deem worthy tomorrow.”

Steve opens his mouth, no sound coming out, the regret and something akin to pain flashing in his eyes so distinctly you’re sure that you can’t have imagined.

And like a sucker, you rush to brush your fingers over the invisible wound, because if you only could, you’d make sure Steve Rogers does not know a single day of pain.

“We’re still on for our Takeout Tuesday?”

His smile is small but warm like a cosy winter evening by a fireplace you never got to experience.

“You got it. Always.”

You’ve got me, the last word whispers, the unfair promise spoken out loud now.

“Good.”

You hug him briefly before you can change your mind, before you can make it awkward with your best friend who knows you better than anyone in the whole damn world, and you pretend your eyes and the bridge of your nose don’t burn when his embrace lingers, his cheek brushing your head where he gently leans in, an almost deliberate stroke of his fingers where he holds you.

You’re already stepping back when the words stumble out, slow and sure and yet somehow frantic.

“Hey, uhm, I was wondering… with the AI celebrating Labour Day by giving everyone a day off and a long weekend… still don’t have any plans?”

You blink, surprised by the question – mostly because you know Steve knows you barely make any plans. At least he has enough courtesy not to make you feel lame when you truthfully answer that you don’t.

“Yeah, me neither… and it’s been a while since we had a movie night? I could cook too – or we could, together. If you’d like.”

He sounds unsure, looking a little small despite his huge frame and you gulp, goosebumps rising all over, because you feel sorry. You’re so sorry it’s become awkward already, leaving him uncertain about something as sweetly innocent as asking for an evening between friends; all because of one silly moment of what could have been a lead-up to a kiss.

Though is it all what he’s asking for?

His fingers fix his hair almost nervously and so yours itch to do it for him, his feet shuffle a bit and he truly does look like he’s feeling too small for his large body – or maybe too large to be contained even the great mass of flesh holding the most beautiful soul you’ve ever known. There’s a hint of pink in his cheeks that could easily be just the exertion of the waltz and all the dances you’ve dance before that, only now catching up to him.

It still does sound quite like a date night without saying so.

Well. If it turns out it’s not, you can lick your wounds later. You’d already decided your answer months and months before he asked.

“Sounds great, Steve. I’d like that.”

The joyful crinkle in his eye somehow fails to light up his face more than the shy, barely there smile he gives in response.

You reciprocate the smile, glad he simply bid you goodbye instead of saying ‘it’s a date then’.

Though are you?

Dear Steve,

Please, you must forgive me – I can no longer keep silent for I have been so for far too long. I must speak my accusations even as it hurts me.

You, my beloved, are a criminal. And a smooth one at that.

The list of your crimes, your rap sheet if you will, is an extensive one.

I speak not of your signature disobedience of authority or falsifying your records to earn your place in the army to begin with, I mean not to blame you for choosing to take down an entire intelligence organisation at the first sign of corruption in its ranks, nor rising to fight the whole damn governments over an farce of an international agreement. None of these crimes I would ever hold against you – they came from a good place and of noble intentions, from following your personal true north which I admire and harmonize with.

No.

Your crime, my dear Sir, is that you are a thief. An incredibly sneaky one, a true criminal strategic mastermind, relying on the fact no jury would ever convict you. For if you coax me into giving willingly, do you truly thieve, little by little, over and over?

You walk into a room and you steal all my attention, you smile and you take my breath away. You touch me, a mere squeeze of a hand in support and you rob me of my heart, and in your gentleness, you carefully steal away my soul.

All of this loot lies at your feet, you cradle it with your hands without your knowledge, and yet I know you will never give it back. I cannot tell if that is what I’d wish for anyway.

Instead, I suppose, I merely ask of you to take care of it and should I ever be so bold, I ask if you could give some of yours in return. So we could be thick as thieves together, you possessing all I am and me cherishing anything of you that you are willing to let me take. Two little thieves, stealing each other’s breath and returning it, lips to lips, locked away for life in a kiss.

Perhaps, if you are a criminal, I am a criminal too. I surely do plead guilty of loving you.

What of you, my darling? How do you plead?

Most sincerely, and entirely

Yours.

P.S., for I must add to the ever-growing list: Your eyes are, truly, criminally blue, the hint of green in them the royal jewels you’ve heisted so recklessly. I wish to see the beauty every day in the sharp light of the rising sun and in the soothing reflection of the rising moon.

In your endless search through poetry, having been trying to find words to express your affections for Steve, you came over a peculiar case of a poem whose author could not have assumed the power it would hold over an entire nation almost two centuries later.

Having died young, Mácha wrote a true love letter to romantic way of life. Of love short and fierce and wild, of a wanderer coming to a place of a love whose story did not die with its lovers. That poem is called Máj.

May had perhaps always been, as spring is, a time of all love blooming; but two little nations in the heart of Europe, you have learned, carry on a tradition born out of associating May with love in particular. For them, the first of May is the time to kiss your lover under a blooming cherry tree, to strengthen and maintain your love.

Late evening, on the first of May— / The twilit May—the time of love, reads the first verses of the best-known part of the poem; and how fitting it feels seal the envelope at last at the very evening, hands shaky, your steps and every move unsure when Steve rings the bell.

An evening in his company is familiar.

The evening is one of the strangest you have ever lived.

There’s a gentle hug and laughs and smiles, but the embrace puts you on the edge instead of soothing you.

The laugh is short and quiet, smile forced and unsure. For your part anyway.

The food smells delicious, Steve’s touch is certain but delicate to still you when you stir the sauce too frantically, your anxiety not rubbing off on him but noticed.

You know he’s noticed, because he watches you. He watches and he sees and despite his best efforts, he seems clueless as how to help you relax.

You do not hold it against him; but every second he watches, every second he sees, you fall further down the spiral of overthinking your life choices.

It feels like every word you have poured into your failed letters is written on your skin for him to read.

It feels like the one you wrote tonight might as well be scripted over your forehead and yet you display it for him more than your eyes, your gaze lowered to the food for you cannot bare his own.

When he leads you to the couch after you’re done eating, the desert still cooling, he politely doesn’t ask about the box on the coffee table.

He does not ask you what movie you’d like to put on either.

He holds your hand like it’s a precious artifact that could break under his touch; he cradles it in both of his, as if it was a baby bird who’s not learned how to fly yet and must be protected at all costs.

“I… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you respond, voice thick and emptier than a void, earning a curious tilt of his head and a squeeze to your hand.

It’s not a lie though; because it’s you, not him.

What a perfect line to lead with as you are about to break up with your friend.

What a perfect line to lead with to ruin this friendship.

You do not say it out loud, for you cannot find your voice; that is why you have chosen to write a letter instead.

Two dozens of them and then some.

You counted them all.

Because you kept them all too, sad little balls of paper, creamy, silky smooth and the most ordinary, cheapest one you could find, straightened and carrying the scars of having been crumbled.

“Not to call you out, but you’ve been on the edge all night, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment so soft you can’t but forgive him for denying that calling you out is exactly what he’s doing. But you’d let him get away with murder, this smooth criminal – you’ve already established as much. “Talk to me. You can tell me anything… you know that, right? I… I just want to be here for you.”

The words are gentle like a caress and as sharp as a knife to your throat – so close you cannot breathe in without cutting your skin on the blade.

And so you don’t.

You raise your eyes from the midnight blue of his button-up where a dust of flour has lingered and meet the infinite kindness written in his eyes like constellation on a clear day’s skies.

I just want to be here for you.

As a friend.

As anything you wish.

Always.

You gulp, gaze falling to your joined hands, the warmth seeping through to your very bones; you slip your hand away.

Your heart is a thunderstorm in the silence of your living room; if fills your throat and your head sharply, mind misted over with pouring rain and nearly blinding you as you watch your hands reach for the box and pull out two envelopes with a sigh of a resigned and carefully hopeful okay.

Two envelopes.

One, cream-smooth and almost golden, precious and thin. One short letter.

Another one, ordinary white smudged with ink, heavy and thick, unclosed for there are too many sheets of paper, once having been crumbled. Almost too many letters to count; and yet you remember writing every single one.

You feel Steve’s gaze boring into every feature of your face, watching closely, grasping at straws to help him understand.

Late evening, on the first of May— The twilit May—the time of love - ---

You don’t think you’d come across the poem before you started writing. You have not thus shared it with him and yet it echoes in your head like cacophony along with his always.

It is now or never; it is now for it’s too late to go back already.

You hand him the thin envelope, fingers cold and trembling brushing over his warmth.

The other envelope you lay into his lap when he doesn’t say a word to question your actions or strange behaviour anymore.

He opens the letter with delicacy his large hands have no right being capable of; he opens the letter with the artist’s touch, even as the words awaiting him are all but art.

And he reads.

Dear Steve,

I love you.

I love you so much words seem to fail me whenever I try to express it in other than these three simple words.

But I do, love you – enough to never stop trying.

Sincerely, and entirely

Yours.

The silence that follows as he reads over and over is so loud the empty sound must be reaching three floors up; your heart is thundering so heavily they must hear it all across the city at the Tower.

Steve is still, completely.

With your gaze lowered to his chest, you realise he has stopped breathing too, a beautiful statue of a titan frozen in time.

When does move, it’s the tinniest motion of his head and you feel his gaze shift, a burning brand, from the words you have scribbled to your face, his hand carefully landing on the thicker envelope.

“Are… are those-“

“Yup,” you choke out, the tip of the blade having been to your throat seemingly cutting closer to your windpipe.

Then again, Steve, ever the gentleman, rasps as well. How kind of him to not leave you suffering alone without a proper voice.

“And you--- are you-”

Are in love with me?

Yes. Yes, you are. 

You’re not sure that is exactly what he was about to ask but you respond anyway.

“Yes.”

He releases you from the scrutiny of his gaze with a deep sigh that cuts deep; but at least you are free to look up at his face, just in time to see his eyelids slip shut, having finished reading the lame completely uncalled-for letter for what must have been the twentieth time.

Yes.

What a perfect word to ruin this friendship.

You can hear the foundations it stood upon cracking.

And you cannot stand it. You scramble frantically to salvage what you can, because you cannot, you cannot lose him.

You’d let him get away with murder, but not his death.

Not him leaving.

Tears burn in your eyes and pour like acid down your throat, but you speak anyway, because if you cannot find your voice now, you might as well remain silent forever.

“Uhm, yeah, okay, I’m--- this…. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry-”

Steve winces, eyes snapping open so fast you’re reminded that for all the humanity of his that you love, he is a superhuman too.

His blues shine bright, the letter dropping to his lap to join the other witnesses to your failure and before you can process that the emotion in Steve’s eyes is on the edge of panic, the blue is all you can see and you’re drowning.

He’s always been a hero; he’s not letting you drown.

His hands are gripping yours, as urgent as his voice.

“No! Don’t you---- No,”he softens his words and his grasp alike, thumb brushing over your wrist carefully and--- yes. He is a thief.

He is stealing your breath again and the emotion in his gaze diluting the panic with sweetness is… nothing short of dream come true. It’s also something you have seen him look at you with countless times and you cannot comprehend how you have not seen before.

“No, this… all this is perfect. You are perfect.”

You’re waiting for the ‘but’ even as the understanding that it’s not coming slowly trickles into your ribcage and fills your chest, heart beating despite and for it.

For you.

For him.

He watches you with the softest intent.

He’s the sun at the golden hour, gentle and warm and instead of saying goodbye with grandeur, he’s opening the gates to something even tenderer walking it, the soothing secrets of the night.

When you whisper his name, a question, one syllable pleading for reassurance, one of his hands releases yours and slides under your chin, tipping your face just a bit higher to make you look directly into the sun and feel the warmth caressing your skin, cradling your cheek.

He looks at you as if you are the Sun and he’s the Earth in your orbit and the gravity pulling you to each other is everything but a glitch in the universe. It’s everything right.

“I wasn’t sure,” he whispers, distance erased inch by inch, still light years away and almost touching, “I thought… I thought maybe… that I was just seeing what I wished so much to see and if I told you, it would…”

Your heart is threatening to jump out of your ribcage, but all that escapes your chest is a choked laugh, gaze falling, a little self-conscious, as it feels like instead of speaking his truth, he’s reading your mind.

“Yeah… I know how that feels.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a little smile on his face, a shy little thing, the first sunbeam breaking through the morning fog that’s gathered in your eyes, and it’s the most beautiful sight.

You can’t speak anymore and so you nod; he might not see it, but still holding your face so gently, he certainly feels it. You know he does.

His thumb strokes your cheek, so tender, his lips hovering an inch too far, brushing over the corner of your mouth.

As if he’s asking permission; yet no question falls from his lips.

Instead:

“I love you too. And I’m sincerely, entirely yours.”

And then he’s kissing you.

By god and all the universe, Steve is kissing you and you understand that the foundations of your friendships were never meant to crumble entirely.

Instead, they are being repaired with golden threads of love pouring into the cracks to create something new and breathtaking and precious.

He’s kissing you. He’s pulling you in to hold you close as if nothing is close enough.

And you know that every word you’ve written – no matter how corny, how simple, how wrong it has felt – was true. And yet could never be enough.

No wonder the words have been failing you.

Kissing Steve, at last, is a joyful explosion of bright colours and the serenity of coming home after the longest journey, sweet like honey and tart with the meal you have prepared together, his touch is a touch of celestial bodies poured into your veins instead of blood; he holds you in the tenderest embrace, respectful and old-fashioned and protective, the way his fingers brush over the column of your neck tickling and raising the most pleasant goosebumps and there’s about as much of oxygen left as in the vacuum of space and it’s silly to say you do not care, but you truly don’t; not when his lips detach for just a moment and then they are back because you are not alone in this, you’re not; he’s stolen your heart but you have stolen his, two little thieves locked away for life in an eternal kiss, sharing the most sacred secret that might have not been so to anyone but yourselves:

That you do love one another and indeed belong to each other.

Entirely and sincerely, indeed.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Complete masterlist

Hello lovely readers! Thank you for reaching this part. If you did so and have something nice to say, if you have the time and energy to share and send this fic further to the maze of tumblr, I'll be grateful 🥰interaction is life and love.

I hope April has been gentle with you so far 💕

And if you haven't already, go check out @mercurial-chuckles 🩷 (As you can see, I took the maximum word count to the heart's content seriously 🤭 bless)

[epiphanyrogers]

a fever he can't sweat out

steve rogers x roommate!fem!reader

summary: the HYDRA mission was successful. steve's a little off, sure, but medical cleared him forty minutes ago. it's just exhaustion. except his heart won't stop pounding, heat's crawling under his skin, and his jeans suddenly feel far too tight. and every cell in his body is screaming that the only cure is you. warnings/tags: SMUT, sex pollen (dubcon-ish elements), masturbation (m), oral sex (f receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms, creampies, overstimulation, hyperspermia, mating press, standing sex, aftercare, manhandling, size kink/size difference (reader is smaller than steve, but it's steve he's massive), praise kink, dacryphilia if you squint, sweat kink if you squint, roommates to lovers, guilty!pervy!steve who apologizes but can't stop, PWP but lowkey with plot?, sprinkle of yearning, no use of y/n, 18+ MDNI word count: 14.4k (wtf) from maddie: official, diagnosed, terminal case of the yapperitis for this one. i got stressed writing pt. 2 of ocayf, and so decided to take a "little break" from it, and accidentally wrote this instead. it's sort of inspired by this post by @blobfishlol (hope you don't mind the tag!) and it was meant to be a quick, filthy little pwp but apparently my brain said no 🤍 it’s been a hot minute since i’ve posted anything this long and i feel like i forgot how to write halfway through, so pls be gentle with me!! (pls don’t be mad this isn’t ocayf pt2, it’s coming 🥹) dt: my bb @love-stucky for letting me yap her ear off about this fic, and also for the edit of the steve pic <33

masterlist

Steve's still running through the debrief in his head when he pulls up outside his apartment block. 

The bike's engine cuts out with a rumble, but Steve still feels a deep thrumming vibration in his chest that won't quit. His heart's pounding - has been pounding since he left the compound, he realises - and that doesn't make sense for someone whose resting heart rate is forty-five. Frowning, Steve rolls his shoulders like he can physically shake off whatever this is. Adrenaline, probably. Leftover cortisol. 

Plus, the mission ran long, the debrief even longer, and he's been running on fumes for the better part of eighteen hours. Maybe this is his body reminding him that he's not actually invincible even if the serum makes it feel that way sometimes. He's tired. That's all this is.

Medical cleared him forty minutes ago. Routine checkup, vitals normal, no injuries to note. Mission success. Another HYDRA facility taken out, mostly inactive but still operational enough to need clearing. A handful of guards, computers full of encrypted files for Nat to sort through, and more dust than seemed reasonable for a place that was supposedly still in use. 

It was a weird amount of dust, actually. Steve keeps snagging on that. Active facilities don't accumulate dust like that, yet the lab was covered with the thick powdery kind that coats every surface and blooms up in pale clouds when you move through it wrong.

And move through it wrong Steve had. 

When he'd taken down three guards in the main lab, the force of the fight had sent up a particularly thick puff of it. Enough that his throat constricted and his chest went tight. A too familiar tightness, low and stubborn, like he was twelve again when every breath was a negotiation. The kind that used to plant itself behind his sternum on cold Brooklyn mornings and refuse to shift.

He'd actually coughed. Hard enough that he had to step out of the room, hand braced against the doorframe while he caught his breath like some rookie who couldn't handle a little particulate in the air. But medical had checked his oxygen levels, listened to his lungs, found nothing wrong. Probably just particulate irritation, they'd said. The serum would clear it. And they'd been right - his breathing's fine now. Everything's fine.

Steve shakes his head, swinging a leg over his bike, and heads into the building. He's overthinking. Natasha told him he looked like shit and should go home and sleep for once. He'd laughed, told her she was projecting.

But now Steve's starting to think she might've been onto something.

The building's stairwell is mercifully cool and quiet, and Steve takes the stairs two at a time like always. Five flights is nothing. He's done it a thousand times, usually without thinking, but tonight by the second floor he's warm - too warm for the mild evening. The leather jacket that felt fine on the ride home now feels stifling, clinging to his shoulders and back.

By the third floor, he starts pulling at his collar. By the fourth, he's unzipped the jacket entirely. And when he hits the fifth floor, there's a thin sheen of sweat on his neck and his breath is coming harder than it should.

Steve pauses, hand on the door to your shared apartment, and for a second he considers turning around. Going back to the compound, making medical run more comprehensive tests.

But the thought of another hour in that sterile medical bay instead of being home - instead of seeing you, sinking into that easy warmth you always seem to carry with you - stirs something wrong in his chest. Makes something tighten uncomfortably. He needs to be home. Needs the particular brand of domesticity that only exists in your shared space, where he gets to be Steve and not Captain America.

Yes. He just needs to get inside, see you, shower, and maybe eat something if you've made dinner. Then sleep for ten hours. Simple.

He pushes through the door before he can second-guess it, and the apartment wraps around him immediately - warmth, music drifting from the kitchen, the smell of garlic and pancetta that means you’re making his favorite pasta. Dropping his duffle by the door, Steve heads to the kitchen, drawn by the sounds of you humming off-key, moving around, the comfortable domestic soundtrack that usually settles something in his chest.

Some of the tension in his shoulders starts to ease. This is good. Normal. Exactly what he needs.

Until he rounds the corner and his brain stutters to a halt.

You're wearing his hoodie. Stood at the stove with your back to him, intently focused on cooking, and you're wearing his hoodie. It practically swamps your frame. The sleeves are pushed up past your elbows because otherwise they'd swallow your hands, shoulders so broad they slip off one of yours, exposing a lacy bralette strap and the curve of bare skin that Steve wants his mouth on.

And shorts. Tiny black shorts that barely qualify as clothing, just peeking out from under the hem of his hoodie, leaving your legs completely bare from where the hoodie ends. 

You're swimming in the hoodie. In something of his. The size difference so obvious it makes his hands itch at this sudden, visceral urge to grab you and see how you’d disappear under him. To see how easy it would be to cage you in, crowd you back against the counter. To get his hands under his hoodie and find out if you're wearing his scent on your skin the way you're wearing his clothes, if you smell like him now, if you thought about him when you put it on, if—

"Oh my god, Steve, you startled me!" 

The sound of your voice catches him mid thought, and his brain slams back to room. You've spun around, wooden spoon in hand, and despite the startled words your whole face lights up. There’s genuine relief there, happiness that seems disproportionate to him just walking through the door. "How was the mission? You look exhausted, are you—"

"Is that my hoodie?"

The words come out rough, almost accusatory, cutting across your concern. Steve doesn't even know why that's the first thing out of his mouth, why out of everything he could say - something normal like hello, mission was fine, dinner smells good - that's what his brain latched onto.

You blink, clearly surprised by the abruptness, then glance down at yourself like you'd forgotten. 

"Oh. Yeah." When you look back up there's mischief in your eyes. "It's way comfier than all of mine. You don't mind, do you?"

Mind. Right. 

Does he mind that you're standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes, drowning in fabric that smells like him, looking so at home and domestic and pretty that something in his chest is pulling tight enough to hurt? Does he mind that this is somehow more intimate than it has any right to be? That the sight of you in his hoodie is doing things to him that he absolutely cannot examine right now?

"No, it's fine." His mouth is dry. When did his mouth get dry? "Keep it."

"Good," you reply, grin widening. "'Cause I wasn't giving it back anyway."

There’s a teasing lilt to it that Steve feels low in his gut. Or lower than his gut. Somewhere he’s definitely not supposed to be feeling things about his roommate, his friend, the person who should feel safe and comfortable in her own home without him losing his mind over a fucking hoodie.

But God, you turn back to the stove and Steve can’t stop watching. Even as you start chattering to him about dinner, about your day, something that would normally have him leaning against the counter asking questions, he's not hearing your words anymore. Instead, Steve's gaze drops without permission, returning to the way the hoodie shifts when you move, how it rides up when you reach for the spice cabinet and shows more of how those shorts cling to your ass.

He takes a step closer without meaning to. Then another. Close enough now that your scent hits him properly and floods his senses - that particular sweetness he associates with you, but underneath it, woven through, is him. His scent. 

You smell like you've wrapped yourself in him, like you're marked with it, and the possessive bolt of heat that shoots through Steve nearly buckles his knees. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, jaw clenching as his body responds with alarming intensity to something as simple as you wearing his clothes.

The kitchen feels too small suddenly - too hot, the air too thick, and Steve can't seem to get enough oxygen to his brain. No prizes for guessing where else it's heading.

And the heat under his skin, that constant low simmer since he left the compound, suddenly cranks up to something that makes him lightheaded. His jeans are getting tight, his cock beginning to harden. And there's this clawing need building in his chest that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know how to control.

Of course, it's not new, the attraction.

He's been attracted to you since you moved in six months ago. Since Sam had shoved your number at him and told him his apartment was depressing and lonely and that he needed a roommate. Since you'd shown up with boxes stacked in your arms and made some joke about not being a serial killer that surprised a laugh out of him. 

Living with you has been comfortable in a way he hadn't expected, all casual dinners and movie nights and inside jokes. And yes, maybe he's spent more time than he'd like to admit thinking about what it might be like to close that distance, to make this more than friendly, to kiss you. 

But Steve's not stupid. Asking you out could ruin everything. Could make you uncomfortable in your own home, make you feel like you had to say yes because of who he is, or worse, make you feel like you had to leave if you said no. The risk of destroying this easy, comfortable thing you've built together isn't worth it, no matter how many times Sam and Bucky tell him he's being an idiot and should just ask you to dinner already.

And yet, now his body doesn't seem to care. It's like every nerve ending in his body has suddenly rewired itself to point at you like a compass finding north. Something that's making his hands shake and his brain offer up increasingly detailed images of what he could do if he just closed the distance between you, if he just reached out and—

"Steve? Are you even listening to me?"

Your voice cuts through the spiral once again and he realizes you've been talking. You've turned back to look at him, and your eyebrows are doing that thing where they draw together with worry. 

"You look really flushed." You're studying him now, concern sharpening in your eyes, and then you're moving toward him. "And you're kind of just... standing there like something's wrong."

Your hand comes up, and the second your fingers make contact with his forearm, Steve jerks back like you've burned him. Nearly trips over his own feet putting distance between you. The brief touch sends electricity straight through him, and his cock responds immediately, twitching and thickening in his jeans until they feel obscenely tight. He shifts his stance, angles his body slightly away, desperately trying to hide what's becoming impossible to conceal.

This is insane. He's going insane.

Your eyes are darting over his face now, head tilted in that way you do when you're trying to figure him out, and there's genuine worry written across your features. Everything about it - you being this close, smelling like him, looking up at him with those big, concerned eyes - is making everything exponentially worse. The ache low in his gut intensifies, spreading outward until his whole body feels like a live wire.

"Steve, are you okay?" you ask, and he makes the mistake of watching your lips form the words. "You're really worrying me."

"Yeah." His voice comes out wrecked, barely recognizable. He clears his throat, trying again. "Fine. Just tired."

"Are you sure?" You take another step closer and Steve's back hits the doorframe. "You're sweating. Like, a lot. And you're breathing hard."

He is. He can feel it now, a bead of it running down his temple. And his t-shirt is sticking to his spine despite the fact that the apartment isn't remotely warm. What the fuck was happening to him? His skin feels wrong. Too tight. Prickling with something that's not quite pain but certainly is more than uncomfortable. Every nerve ending feels raw and oversensitive.

His jacket is still on and it's unbearable, too tight across his shoulders and trapping heat against his skin. He needs it off. 

"I'm fine," he lies, and even he can hear how strained it sounds. "Just—I need a shower."

"A shower?" Your frown deepens. "Steve, maybe we should call Bruce or someone, you're clearly not—"

"I'm fine." It comes out harsher than he meant it to, and he watches you flinch. Fuck. Fuck, he's making this so much worse. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just—it's just muscle tension. From the mission. My muscles are sore and the serum makes me run hot sometimes, you know that, and I just need—a cold shower will help, it'll help cool me down and—"

He's babbling. He knows he's babbling, throwing out excuse after excuse while you stared at him like you'd never seen him before, like he's a stranger wearing Steve Rogers' face, but he can't seem to stop.

"The mission was intense," he continues frantically, needing you to believe him, needing you to stop looking so worried. "Lots of close combat and I'm just—I'm tense. All my muscles are tense. A shower will help. Just need to cool down and relax."

He turns and practically flees down the hallway, before he can say what he really needs - you, spread out beneath him, wrapped around him, making sounds he's only let himself imagine in his weakest, most shameful moments when his hand is on his cock in the dark and he pretends it's you touching him instead.

Steve stumbles into his bedroom and straight through to the en-suite, shutting the door and leaning against it like something's chasing him. His reflection in the mirror looks frantic. Face flushed dark, pupils blown so wide, chest heaving. His lips look fuller somehow, plumper and pinker, like he's been biting them without realizing.

Guilt churns in his gut alongside the relentless heat. He'd scared you. Snapped at you when all you'd done was try to help. Made you worry. Been completely fucking weird and now you probably think he's losing his mind.

Maybe he is.

Because he's so hard it actually hurts. His cock is straining against his jeans, thick and aching, pressing against the zipper unbearably. He can feel his pulse in it, each throb sending a jolt of sensation through him that was equal parts pleasure and agony. When he shifts his weight, the friction of denim against sensitive skin makes him bite back a groan.

He's never felt like this. This desperate, all-consuming need that won't quit no matter how much he tries to think it away, logic it away, force it down with sheer willpower.

Sweat runs down his temple, his neck. The leather jacket is still on and Steve tears it off with shaking hands, letting it drop to the floor. It doesn't help. Everything still feels too hot, too tight, like his skin has shrunk two sizes and doesn't fit his body anymore.

Steve's fingers fumble with his belt, clumsy in a way they never are. They're shaking now, struggling with the simple mechanics of a belt buckle while his cock throbs insistently behind the zipper.

He gets it open finally, pops the button on his jeans, and the relief of pressure is so immediate and intense that he has to brace one hand against the sink. But it's not enough. Not even close. He shoves the jeans down his hips and they catch on his thighs - still damp with sweat, fabric clinging - and Steve has to peel them off with more force than should be necessary.

His boxer briefs are tented obscenely, a wet patch of precum already visible at the tip, and Steve can't even meet his own reflection in the mirror.

The shirt comes off next, pulled over his head and discarded without ceremony. His dog tags clink against his chest, metal warm from his overheated skin. Every piece of clothing that comes off should make him feel better, cooler, but it doesn't. If anything, being bare makes him more aware of how wrong everything feels. The hypersensitivity of his skin, the way even air movement feels like too much stimulus.

Steve hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs, and just the brush of fabric as he moves pulls a sound from his throat he doesn't recognize. When he shoves them down, his cock springs free, completely erect and already leaking.

This isn't normal. Even for him, even with the serum's effect on his libido, this is excessive. Steve looks down at himself and feels something close to shame. 

Turning away from the mirror, Steve reaches into the shower, cranking the cold tap as far as it will go. He steps in the moment the water starts flowing and the cold hits him like a physical shock. For a blessed moment, it cuts through everything else. His overheated skin welcomes the icy spray like a mercy, the temperature difference sharp enough to make him gasp in relief. Steve braces his hands against the tile, head hanging under the stream, and tries to breathe through it. 

Tries to think about anything other than you. Anything other than your scent and your touch and the sight of you in those shorts and his hoodie.

The water runs over his shoulders, down his spine, plastering his hair to his forehead. It should help. But his cock is still hard. Still throbbing. And as the initial shock of cold fades, the heat comes creeping back. That insistent burning under his skin that the water isn't touching.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and immediately regrets it.

Because his mind is flooded with images of you leaning over the counter in those tight little shorts, making dinner. And his traitorous brain doesn't stop there, it keeps going, imagining you in that same position but for different reasons, imagining him behind you, imagining his hands shoving that fabric out of the way to find you wet and needy for him.

"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth.

His cock throbs in response, another bead of precum forming at the tip despite the freezing water, despite the fact that he's actively trying not to think about you. He looks down at himself - still achingly hard, heavy between his legs - and feels another wave of confused arousal crash through him that makes his knees weak.

Maybe it's just because it's been so long?

Steve tries to think back to the last time he actually took care of himself. Weeks? No, longer than that. A month at least, maybe two. He's been so focused on missions, on taking down HYDRA bases, on being Captain America, that he hasn't exactly had time for anything "extracurricular."

This is probably the longest he's gone without any kind of release since waking up from the ice.

The serum amplified everything about him, including ramping up his sex drive to levels that had taken some getting used to. Back in the forties, right after the transformation, he'd been blindsided by it. Suddenly he'd gone from Steve Rogers who could barely keep a girl's attention to someone who had urges that were damn near overwhelming.

He'd had to learn to manage it, to deal with needs that were sharper and more insistent than anything a normal man experienced. So he'd figured out his body's rhythms, what it needed, how often. Learned to take care of himself efficiently and move on. 

Except now he's apparently pushed too far, gone too long, and his enhanced biology is making its displeasure violently known.

That has to be it. Has to be why he's reacting like this. Not because something's wrong, but because he's pent up and his body is responding to deprivation the way the serum makes it respond to everything: excessively.

And you. God, you in those shorts, in his hoodie, being so sweet and domestic, had just been the trigger. The match to kindling that had been building for weeks.

It's not pervy. It's just biology. Enhanced biology, biology nonetheless. So if he just takes care of it, he'll be fine. The need will ease, his head will clear, and he can go back out there and have dinner like a normal person instead of someone who can barely look at his roommate without getting hard.

Steve's hand drifts down his stomach almost without conscious thought, and when his fingers wrap around his cock he can't stop the groan that rumbles from his chest. The touch sends electricity up his spine, pleasure so intense it's almost painful after being hard and neglected for so long. 

He strokes slowly at first, testing, and his head falls back against the tile with a dull thunk. The cold water streams over his chest but he doesn't feel it anymore. All his focus narrows to the heat building in his core, the slick slide of his fist over sensitized skin, the way his cock throbs with every stroke like it's been waiting for this. 

And in his thoughts, you're there. 

Steve's grip tightens involuntarily and he strokes faster, chasing friction, telling himself to think about something else, anything else. But his mind won't cooperate. It just keeps offering up increasingly vivid fantasies: what you'd look like without his hoodie, whether you were wearing anything under those shorts, if you'd be wet if he checked, if you ever touched yourself in your room late at night thinking about— 

"Shit—," he curses, the sound echoing off the shower tiles. 

God, what would you sound like? The question burrows into his brain and won't let go. Would you whimper? Moan his name? Would you be loud or would you try to stay quiet, biting your lip the way you do when you're concentrating? Would you beg? He thinks you might. Thinks you might say his name all breathy and desperate while he slowly thrusts into you, feeling you stretch around his cock inch by inch. 

A low groan builds in his chest and Steve has to bite down on his lip so hard that he tastes copper. You're just in the kitchen. The walls aren't that thick. And the thought of you hearing him like this should horrify him but instead it sends another bolt of heat straight through his gut.

Steve's free hand slaps against the tile, bracing himself as his knees threaten to give out.

His cock is leaking steadily now, precum making the slide slick and easy, as his hand speeds up, rhythm getting rougher, chasing the sensation. And Steve can't stop imagining it's your hand instead of his. Your smaller fingers wrapped around him, struggling to fit around his girth, looking up at him with those eyes while you learn exactly how he likes to be touched.

Or better yet, your mouth. Fuck, your mouth. Those pretty lips he'd caught himself staring at stretched around his cock, your tongue sliding along the underside, taking him deeper while he threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you, feeling your moans vibrate around him.

A strangled sound escapes his throat before he can stop it, and Steve has to sink his teeth into his shoulder to muffle it. He's so wound up, weeks of neglect and pent-up need making him hair-trigger sensitive. His hips thrust forward into his fist, searching for more friction, more pressure, chasing the orgasm building at the base of his spine with alarming speed. 

This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. You're his friend, his roommate, someone who trusts him enough to live with him and wear his clothes and worry when he seems off. And here he is jerking off to fantasies of fucking your face. While you wait for him to come back for dinner.

But he can't stop. Can't make his mind go blank or think of anything else.

"Fuck—" His forearm isn't enough to muffle it and Steve bites down on his own arm as his orgasm slams through him. "Oh god, fuck—"

His cock pulses in his grip, and your name tears from his throat. Thick ropes of cum paint the shower wall, more than seems possible. The serum already makes him produce more than normal, but this is excessive even for him. It's almost painful in its intensity, pleasure so sharp it makes his legs shake, and he has to brace both hands against the wall to stay upright while it works through him.

For a few blissful seconds, pleasure drowns out every other sensation in his body

Then reality crashes back in, and with it comes the guilt.

Steve stares at the evidence of his release being washed away by the spray, chest heaving, and feels the shame burn through him hotter than the need had been.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, scrubbing both hands over his face. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

But even as guilt churns heavy in his gut, even as he tells himself he's disgusting and inappropriate and a terrible friend, he looks down and his stomach drops. He's still hard. Not just half-hard, not softening. Fully, achingly erect like he hadn't just had one of the most intense orgasms of his life. The relief he'd expected, the clarity that should have come, was nowhere to be found.

Steve stares in disbelief. The serum gives him a faster refractory period than normal, sure, but this? This isn't normal. Even for him.

He wraps a hand around himself experimentally and has to bite back a groan. The touch sends sparks through his overloaded nerves, pleasure bordering on unbearable, but underneath it the need is still there. Still clawing at his insides, unsatisfied and demanding more.

If anything, the ache in his gut feels worse now. More insistent. Like his body is genuinely angry that he came and it wasn't inside you, that it was his hand and not your body taking it, not your pussy clenching around him and milking him dry.

"No," Steve says out loud, voice hard like he's ordering a subordinate. Like he can command his own body back into line through sheer force of will. "Stop it."

This can't be just pent-up sexual frustration. Something else is happening. Something must've happened at that Hydra base. It has to that - the dust. The way it had hung in the air, gotten in his lungs, made him cough like his body was rejecting it. What if it wasn't just particulate irritation? What if HYDRA had something in that lab, some kind of bioweapon that got into his system?

Steve's jaw clenches. He should call Bruce. Should've called him an hour ago instead of convincing himself this was normal. Bruce would run tests, figure out what he'd been exposed to, synthesize a counter-agent if needed. Or Tony. Tony has access to SHIELD's entire database on HYDRA weapons, might recognize the symptoms.

But the thought of making that call, of trying to explain, "Hey, I can't stop thinking about fucking my roommate, I'm hard enough to cut diamond, and I just jerked off in the shower while moaning her name," makes him want to die. Tony would never let him live it down, would make jokes about it for the rest of Steve's natural life. 

He'd probably tell Natasha, who would tell Clint, and then the entire team would know that Captain America got dosed with some kind of HYDRA sex drug and spent the evening jerking off to thoughts of his roomate. 

Maybe it'll pass on its own. The serum processes toxins faster than a normal metabolism; whatever this is might just need time to work through his system. He can get through dinner, make some excuse about not feeling well, go to bed early. Wake up tomorrow back to normal.

Turning off the water with more force than necessary, Steve reaches for a towel. Even the act of drying off feels like too much. The terry cloth dragging across his oversensitized skin makes him grit his teeth. He manages his chest and arms with rough, perfunctory swipes, but when the towel brushes his cock he actually hisses, the sensation sharp enough to make his vision blur.

He abandons the towel halfway through, still damp, and pulls his boxers back on, hissing at the friction of fabric against sensitive skin. The compression just makes him more aware of his situation. He's tenting the boxers obscenely, the outline of his erection impossible to miss, a damp spot already forming again where he's leaking. There's no hiding this. No way to pretend everything's fine when his body is advertising exactly how not-fine he is.

And the thought of putting anything else on makes his overheated skin crawl. Maybe he could manage sweatpants. Loose ones that won't cling. And then he'll return to the kitchen, try and act normal for dinner.

Steve takes a breath that doesn't quite fill his lungs, braces himself, and opens the bathroom door.

You're in his bedroom.

Standing there with frozen peas in one hand, and a pill bottle and bottle of water in the other. The shock of it - you, here, in his space when he's barely holding himself together, when he's standing here in nothing but his boxers with his cock still straining obscenely against the fabric - roots him to the spot. Your head snaps up at the sound of the door, eyes going wide.

"Oh! Sorry, you'd been a while and you were so weird earlier and I got worried..."

The words trail off. Steve watches it happen, the way your gaze catches on his bare, dripping chest. You're trying to be subtle, he thinks, trying to make it look clinical, concerned, but there's nothing clinical about the way your focus catches on the water beaded across his chest.

Your lips part slightly as you track a single droplet running down his sternum, over the defined ridges of his abs, following its path like you're memorizing it until it disappears into the waistband of his boxers.

And then your gaze drops lower.

Steve watches your pupils dilate the moment you see what’s impossible to miss, impossible to misinterpret. Time stretches. Your breath hitches just loud enough for him to hear, and neither of you moves.

"I thought—" Your voice comes out different. Breathier. You swallow so hard he can see your throat work. "I thought these might help. For your muscles."

You hold up the peas and pills like they explain why you're in his bedroom, but your gaze hasn't moved back to his face. It's still tracking over him - shoulders, chest, the V of muscle at his hips - and Steve can see the flush creeping up your neck in real time. 

He should grab something to cover himself, should apologize, should do literally anything other than just stand there letting you look at him like that.

You start rambling now, that nervous spillover of words you do when you're flustered. "Frozen peas for the soreness, and Bruce made these painkillers specifically for your metabolism, remember? For when—"

"You didn't have to do that." His voice sounds like gravel.

"Sorry," you say quietly, and your eyes finally drag back up to his face. "I'm just… you really scared me earlier. I've never seen you like that."

The concern in your voice is palpable. But then you shift your weight and he catches the way your gaze dips again, just for a second. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips - unconscious, he's sure, but it doesn't matter because the sight of it sends heat straight through him so fast it makes his head spin.

Did you hear him? In the shower? Is that why you came to his room? Because you heard your name, heard what he was doing? The thought should mortify him. Should make him want to disappear through the floor. Instead, his cock gives an interested twitch that he knows you can see.

"Steve?" 

Your voice pulls him back. You've moved closer. When did that happen? The peas and water are on his nightstand now and you're right there, close enough that when Steve pulls in his next breath, your scent floods his senses again. But there's something else now. Something sweeter, headier, that makes his enhanced senses lock onto you like a target.

Arousal.

You're aroused. The realization slams into him with physical force. He can smell it on you, subtle but unmistakable, and every instinct in his body that's been screaming at him all evening suddenly focuses with laser precision on that single fact.

"You're still really flushed," you say, and your voice has gone soft. Worried. "And you're breathing so hard. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

Everything's wrong. You're too close and you smell too good and he can see your pulse fluttering in your throat and all he can think about is closing that last foot of distance and finding out if you taste as good as you smell.

"I'm fine," Steve lies, and it might be the most blatant one yet.

You turn to face him fully, and the genuine worry etched in your features makes his chest tight for different reasons.

"You do so much, Stevie," you probe, and the nickname lands like a caress. "You hold so much in. You've been working so hard lately, mission after mission." You step closer and Steve's breath catches, every muscle in his body going rigid with the effort of staying still. "I'm worried about you. If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all, please tell me. I'll do it."

Anything at all.

Steve's mind immediately offers up about a dozen graphic answers to that - vivid, explicit images of exactly what you could do to help, each one more detailed than the last. He has to close his eyes against the onslaught, has to physically fight back the thoughts of your mouth on him, your body under his, the sounds you'd make if he just gave in and took what his body is screaming for. 

You don't mean it like that. You're just being kind, being a good friend, offering comfort the way you always do. You have no idea what's running through his head right now, how close he is to snapping.

"You don't—" His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat, has to force the words out. "You don't need to worry about me."

But you're not listening, or maybe you're just too concerned to care about his protests, because your hand comes up toward his face and Steve's reflexes take over before his brain can catch up. His hand shoots out and catches your wrist mid-air, and the second skin touches skin everything goes white-hot.

The touch sears through him like lightning. He can feel your pulse under his fingertips, quick and fluttering, can feel the softness of your skin, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to yank you against him right then and there.

"Let me see," you protest, and before Steve can process the words you're pulling your wrist free of his grip. A determined tug that his lust-addled brain doesn't think to resist. Both of your palms come up to cup his face, cool against his burning skin.

Steve's lungs stop working. Your hands on his jaw, your thumbs at his temples, the way you're studying him with those worried eyes while standing close enough that he can see the individual flecks of colour in your iris is obliterating what's left of his control. "Oh my god, you're burning up. Steve, you're literally…"

He can't hear the rest. Can't process words when your hands are on his face and your arousal is flooding his senses and the coil of need in his gut has pulled so tight he thinks it might actually snap him in half. All he can think about is grabbing your wrists, pulling you flush against him, finding out if your mouth tastes as good as he's imagined when he finally stops being careful and takes what he wants.

Your fingers move to his neck - checking his pulse - and Steve stops breathing entirely. His cock throbs so hard it's painful and he can feel his control dissolving like sugar in water, going from solid to nothing in seconds.

He needs. God, he needs. Needs to touch you, taste you, needs to rip those tiny shorts off and find out if you're as wet as you smell, needs to bury himself inside you until this relentless burning finally stops, needs to pin you to his bed and fuck you until you're screaming his name and all of a sudden he can't remember why he was fighting this in the first place.

"I'm calling Bruce—"

"No!"

The word comes out too loud, too violent, and Steve watches you jump. He's scaring you again and he hates it but he can't stop, can't make himself be gentle when his whole body is screaming.

"You need to leave." The words sound strangled, barely human. His control is hanging by a thread and that thread is unravelling fast. "Please. You need to go. Right now."

"What? No, Stevie, I'm not leaving when you're clearly—"

"Please." It comes out like a whine, and some distant part of Steve registers that he's begging but he's too far gone to care about pride or dignity anymore.

He takes a step back, needing distance before he does something unforgivable. "You don't—you don't understand. You need to go back to your room. Lock the door. Don't come near me."

Your expression shifts to hurt and confusion, brow furrowing in that way that makes his chest ache even through the haze of need. "Why? Steve, I just want to help!"

"You can't help with this!" Too sharp, too harsh, and he watches you flinch like he's struck you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just—please just go. Please."

"You're scaring me." Your voice comes out small and it kills him, absolutely kills him. "Just tell me what's wrong. Whatever it is, we can figure it out togeth—"

"I can't stop thinking about you." The confession tears out of him before he can stop it, raw and desperate and too honest. "I can't—fuck, I've been trying, I've been trying so hard to hold it together but I can't think straight and all I want—all I can think about is—"

He cuts himself off with a harsh breath but it's too late. The truth is out there now, hanging in the air between you like something physical.

You stare at him with your eyes wide, and Steve can see your chest rising and falling rapidly. Can see the exact moment his words register. The shock flickering across your face, then understanding, then something that looks dangerously close to want. Your scent spikes so sharply it makes his knees weak, that sweet arousal flooding his senses until he can barely think through it.

"Steve," you breathe, and there's something in your voice he's never heard before. Something breathless and urgent.

You take a step closer. Then another. Your hand comes up to rest against his chest, right over his hammering heart, and Steve's breath stops entirely. He can feel the tremble in your fingers, can see the way your eyes flick to his lips, and he knows with sudden, devastating certainty what you're about to do.

You push up on your toes, tilting your face toward his, close enough that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips, and Steve's last thread of control frays to nothing.

Lunging that last inch, he captures your mouth in a kiss that tries, briefly, to be gentle - some buried instinct trying for something tender, wanting to do this right. But the moment your lips part under his, a deep rumbling growl tears up from his throat and his hands are suddenly everywhere. One hand fists in your hair, gripping tight to angle your head exactly where he needs it, while the other clamps onto your waist. Tight enough that you know you'll feel the imprint of his fingers tomorrow.

God, you want to feel it tomorrow.

He yanks you flush to his body and you stumble into him with a gasp that's his undoing. Your mouth opens for him and Steve takes immediate advantage, greedy for it, greedy for every breath you'll give him, tilting his head to seal his mouth over yours properly.

His tongue sweeps past your lips to finally taste you properly, and you're even sweeter than every fantasy promised. Better than anything he imagined in that shower with his hand on his cock and your name in his throat.

When he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and releases it slowly, you make this small wounded sound that goes straight to his cock. You feel it twitch against your stomach through the thin cotton of his boxers, and he's so big, so overwhelming, radiating heat and the salt musk smell of his sweat that makes your head spin and your thighs clench.

Heat floods his system at the knowledge that you can feel how hard he is, how much he wants you. And he knows he can't satisfy the clawing need in his gut through your mouth alone.

Steve tears himself away from your mouth and every cell in his body revolts violently like he's ripping off his own skin. A needy little protest escapes you as you chase after him without thought, lips wet and swollen and so devastatingly pretty he almost stops caring. 

"You don't," The words come out between ragged pants, his voice wrecked, barely recognizable as his own. "You don't understand." His chest heaves against yours, breath coming hard and fast as he presses his forehead to yours, hand still fisted tight in your hair because letting go simply isn't something his body knows how to do anymore. "I'm not in control right now. I don't know if I can be gentle. Don't know if I can stop once I start—"

"Then don't stop," you whisper against his lips, and your hand slides up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. "Take what you need, Steve."

And there’s no universe, no timeline where Steve Rogers could survive hearing that from your mouth, not even if he were perfectly himself. 

His last thread of restraint frays to nothing.

Steve's mouth crashes back into yours with bruising intensity, all desperate hunger and zero control. You open for him instantly, no hesitation, just pure wanting, and the primal satisfaction that rolls through his chest is almost violent in its intensity.

Then his arms slide down to grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh as he hauls you up against him like you weigh nothing. You're so light in his grip, so easy to position exactly where he wants you, and the rush of it - the physical proof of how easily he can manhandle you - sends a dark thrill surging through him. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and your body moulds to his perfectly, soft curves yielding to hard muscle, and he can feel everything.

The frantic beat of your heart hammering against his chest. The clench of your thighs around his hips. The damp heat between your legs settling right against his cock through the layers separating you, and it makes him throb so hard he groans into your mouth.

But still, it's not enough. He needs you impossibly closer, needs to consume every inch of space between you. One hand shifts to palm your ass with a possessive squeeze that makes you whimper and roll your hips against him. It's an instinctive, needy grind that drags your core along the length of his still covered cock. 

"Steve, please," you whine against his mouth. "I need—"

Your desperation makes Steve's pupils blow completely black, swallowing the blue entirely. He turns and presses you against the wall, pinning you there with the weight of his hips, using the solid surface to hold you exactly where he wants you.

"God, I know, sweetheart. I know you do," he rasps against your neck, teeth scraping your pulse point. "Tried to be good. Tried not to think about this. But so damn sweet I can’t think straight." His hands tighten on you possessively, fingers digging into flesh. "'m gonna take care of you now, I promise. Gonna make you feel perfect. Gonna stretch you open on my cock and fill you up until you can't take anymore. Fill you up so good you'll feel me for days."

Heat curls low and tight in your belly at his filthy promise, and your body reacts instinctively, clenching around nothing so sharply that a needy little moan slips out before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his bare shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself against the overwhelming reality of finally having him like this. 

All that heated muscles under your palms, slick with sweat. He’s so much bigger like this, crowding every inch of space you have, caging you in, and your head swims with the sheer physicality of him.

But it’s the heavy, hard length of his cock grinding against you through thin cotton that nearly undoes you. Thick and insistent, pressed exactly where you’re throbbing for him, dragging against you with every subtle shift of his hips. The friction makes your breath stutter, your thighs tightening helplessly around him, trying to draw him even closer, to get more of that impossible, intoxicating pressure.

Steve moves with urgency that borders on frantic, carrying you the few steps to his bed and laying you down with slightly more care than the desperation vibrating through his body would suggest. But the second you're on the mattress, that restraint evaporates. He follows you down like he's magnetised, covering your body with his.

Heat radiates off him in waves, overwhelming, consuming. His breath fans over your cheek, uneven and ragged, and when his hips slot between yours, you feel just how hard he is. Thick, straining against the thin cotton of his boxers like he’s seconds from losing his mind entirely.

"Jesus," he groans, almost a choke, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the contact alone might save him. "I need—sweetheart, I need you, I need you so bad."

He kisses you again, harder this time, nothing gentle left in him. His mouth is hot, frantic, stealing your breath as his hands slide over you in frantic sweeps, already pulling at your clothes. It's rougher than he intends - though he’s trying, god he’s trying - but whatever is burning through him is stronger than his control.

His hoodie is the first causality, tugged over your head and tossed aside without care for where it lands. Immediately his mouth is on your bare skin, lips and teeth working down your throat to your collarbone while his hands slide up to cup your breasts through the thin bralet. 

The delicate fabric does nothing to hide your peaked nipples straining against it, and the sight combined with the feel of them hard beneath his palms makes him groan low and desperate against your skin. His fingers hook under the elastic, pulling it up with greedy, impatient hands before it can register that he should probably slow down, be more careful with you. 

But he can't. His mouth trails lower, hot and demanding as he sucks one nipple between his lips, tongue circling the sensitive peak before his teeth graze it lightly, teasing. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging. He groans at the sting of it and sucks harder, alternating between your breasts with ravenous attention. Licking, sucking, nipping until both nipples are peaked and glistening with his spit, until you're squirming beneath him and making those breathy little sounds that drive him insane.

His hand palms and kneads the soft flesh while his mouth works, and every arch of your back, every tug on his hair, every whining plea that falls from your lips just winds him tighter. Normally could spend hours here, mapping every response, learning exactly what makes you fall apart.

But it's not enough right now. None of it is enough.

The need burning through Steve's veins is almost painful now, an ache so deep and consuming he can barely think past it. He needs more. Needs all of you. Needs to be inside you with an urgency that's rapidly shredding what little control he has left. 

His mouth trails down your stomach, open-mouthed kisses that quickly become bites, small sucks that leave wet heat on your skin. He’s losing the thread of gentleness entirely, hands already at your shorts, fumbling with the waistband for half a second before impatience overrides coordination entirely.

He doesn't mean to - or maybe he does, he can't think straight enough to know - but his enhanced strength rips through the fabric like tissue paper, taking your panties with it. The startled sound you make is half protest, half arousal, because the ease of it, the sheer strength, makes heat pulse between your legs.

"Steve—!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he rasps into your skin as he chucks the ruined scraps aside. "I'm sorry, I'll replace them, I promise, I just—" His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider for him. "I need—I can't—"

But the words die in his throat completely because the sight of your pussy, slick and glistening for him, combined with your scent flooding his heightened senses, makes something in Steve's brain simply stop working. Every coherent thought evaporates, consumed by primal need. He's gone. Completely lost to whatever's burning through his veins. 

All that exists is the need to taste you, claim you, bury himself so deep inside you that he forgets where he ends and you begin.

"Look at you," Steve breathes, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip absently, like he can already taste you. "So fucking pretty and wet for me." 

His biceps flex as he drags you down the bed effortlessly, hauling you closer with enough strength that a startled gasp tears from your throat. Your thighs end up over those broad shoulders and he settles between your legs like he's exactly where he's meant to be. His breath ghosts hot over where you're aching for him and you arch involuntarily, seeking and retreating all at once.

He's staring at your exposed pussy with an intensity that borders on feral, like you're something he wants to devour. Like's he's been starving for you longer than he'll admit.

Your cheeks burn. Heat pools low in your stomach as you try to squirm away under the intensity of his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are despite how desperately you want this.

"Don't," he growls against your folds, the word a dark, commanding rasp in a tone you've never heard from him before but makes heat flash down your spine.

His arms clamp tighter around your thighs, spreading you wider, pinning you in place easily. Utterly at his mercy. The possessive dominance of his grip steals what little breath you have left.

Then his mouth seals over you and any coherent thought you have dissolves into nothing. There's no teasing; whatever's burning through Steve's veins has burned away every shred of patience. He buries his face between your thighs and devours you like a man who'll die without his mouth on every inch of you. 

His tongue drags through your folds in one long, devastating stroke that punches a broken cry from your chest that you barely recognize as your own voice. Steve's answering moan is one of pure relief, rumbling from deep in his chest and vibrating against your cunt. Your hips buck helplessly in his arms as he licks and sucks with focused, consuming desperation, and within seconds you're gasping his name. 

Broad strokes of his tongue work through your slick folds, greedy in his pursuit of your pleasure and you're writhing against him, biceps flexing to keep you where he wants you. He finds your clit and sucks it between his lips with perfect pressure, circling the swollen bud with his tongue, and you grind against him shamelessly, fingers twisted so tight in his hair it has to hurt.

But Steve just groans his encouragement and you feel it everywhere, feel the way he's grinding against the mattress below seeking his own friction, aching for a bit of relief from the pressure, while he loses himself completely in the taste of you.

God, the sight of him. All flushed skin and flexing muscle, sweat making his broad shoulders gleam, chin glistening obscenely with your arousal. And those perfect plush lips are pink and swollen now, parted around another appreciative moan that makes you clench around nothing. His eyes are closed like he's savouring you, and when they flutter open to meet yours they're so dark and blown wide with need it sends another pulse of heat straight through you.

The flat of his tongue drags up again, licking up through your folds before spearing inside, and the obscene wet sounds of it mix with your gasping moans and his rough growls. One of his hands shifts from your thigh to spread you wider with his thumb, opening you up so he can fuck you with his tongue properly while his nose grinds against your clit.

The combination makes your back arch violently, pleasure spiking so sharp and quickly it's overwhelming.

"Steve—fuck—Steve, oh my god—" The words tumble out incoherent, your brain shorting out under the onslaught.

But he doesn't slow down. If anything, your babbling spurs him on. Two thick fingers slide into you, curling immediately to stroke that devastating spot while his tongue works in tight, merciless circles.You're shaking now, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his bruising grip, that coil winding tighter and tighter until you think you'll actually break apart from it.

"Need you to come," he rasps against you, and there's desperation in his voice that matches the frantic grinding of his hips against the bed, like making you come is the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. "Please, sweet girl, need to have it."

The raw pleading in his voice is what does it. That broken desperation, the way he's begging you like he needs this more than air, sends you over the edge so hard and fast you don't even have time to warn him.

Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming. Your back arches clean off the bed, thighs clamping around Steve's head as you cry out his name - or try to, the sound coming out more like a broken sob. White-hot pleasure explodes through your nerve endings, radiating out from where his mouth is still working you relentlessly, and you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except shake apart in his grip.

But Steve doesn't let up. He keeps his mouth sealed over you, licking and sucking like he wants to devour every aftershock, like he's trying to pull more from you even as you're already flying apart. It's too much, bordering on overwhelming, but when you try to squirm away his arms lock you down harder.

"Stevie—'s too much—I can't—"

He finally pulls back just enough to press open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hipbones, working his way up your body as you try to remember how to breathe. His hands roam restlessly over your skin and when he reaches your face his lips are glistening, hair dishevelled from your grip, face flushed and chest heaving.

"Perfect, you're so fucking perfect," he rasps against your mouth, kissing you deeply enough that you taste yourself on his tongue. "But I need to be in you, need it more than I've ever needed anything." His hips grind against you unconsciously, the hard length of him pressing insistently through his boxers, now soaked through. "Need it so bad I can't think, can't breathe. Please, pretty girl, need you so bad I'm losing my mind—"

He's already moving, pushing himself up just enough to shove his boxers down with shaking hands. The elastic catches on his cock and he makes a frustrated sound, yanking the fabric down his thighs and kicking them off entirely. When he springs free, your breath catches.

He's big. Thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach with prominent veins running along the length. The head is already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and he's so hard it looks almost painful. Your eyes widen involuntarily as your brain tries to process how that's supposed to fit inside you.

Steve notices your stare, follows your gaze down, and a sound rumbles from his chest that's pure male satisfaction. The visual does something to him, you can see it in the way his pupils dilate even further, the way his jaw clenches, the way the muscle ticks. How much bigger he is than you, how easily he could manhandle you, how small and vulnerable you look pinned beneath all that muscle and raw strength.

"It'll fit," he promises, voice rough and absolutely certain despite the tremor in his hands. He settles between your thighs, caging you in completely with his body, surrounding you with heat and want. "I know I'm big, sweetheart, but you can take me, 'm gonna make sure you do."

One hand drops between your bodies and the thick head of his cock drags through your folds, gathering your slick, and the sensation punches a desperate sound from both of you. Each time he rocks forward your hips chase the friction instinctively.

His mouth finds your neck, lips and tongue working over your pulse before he sucks with an impatience that you know will bruise. You gasp and tilt your head without thinking, offering more, and Steve groans his approval against your skin. Teeth scrape over the sensitive tendon before biting down hard enough to make you whimper, and he soothes the sting with his tongue only to move lower and do it again. Marking you deliberately. Claiming you.

He keeps talking in between - words tumbling out of him like he’s not even talking to you anymore, just spilling whatever delirious need is consuming him.

“Fuck…'m gonna stretch this pretty little pussy open on my cock,” he babbles, almost dazed, eyes locked on where he’s lining himself up with you. “Fill you up so good… so fucking full. You'll feel me for days, sweetheart. Days. Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to have me inside you."

He's so hot and hard against you, and when he notches himself at your entrance - just the tip of him pressing in - and even that has you whimpering at the stretch. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation.

Oh god—Steve—" It comes out high and shaky, almost a whine. "Please—"

The plea tears from your throat but you don't even know what you're begging for. For him to go slower? For more? For relief from the burning stretch that's somehow perfect and too much all at once?

"I know, baby, I know," Steve coos against your throat, pressing kisses between words, and there's that desperation threading through his voice again. "Shh, I've got you, pretty girl. Just breathe for me."

But even as he's soothing you his hips press forward incrementally, working himself deeper, and you can feel every thick inch as he pushes in and your body struggles to accommodate him. The stretch burns and you bury your face against his neck with a sound that's embarrassingly close to a sob.

"Wait—Steve, you're too big, I can't—"

"You can," he pants, his voice is strained, shaking with the monumental effort of going slow when everything in him is screaming to just thrust home, to bury himself completely in your wet heat. "You're doing so good f'me. So fucking good. Just a little more—fuck—just need you to take a little more."

His hands grip your hips tight enough to bruise, holding you still while he rocks forward another inch. You're so full already and he's not even halfway in yet, your body struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him, and the whine that tears from your throat makes him groan and press his forehead to yours.

"That's it, that's it," Steve breathes, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your temple - anywhere he can reach. "I know it's a lot, baby. But you're taking me so perfect. Look how good you're opening up for me." Another shallow thrust and you whimper against his mouth, nails raking down his back. "You're doing so perfect. Gonna make you feel so good, I promise. Just let me in, baby. Let me fill this tight little pussy up like you need."

The combination of his words and the relentless stretch is overwhelming in a way that makes your head spin and your nerve endings spark. Your body reacts instinctively, walls clenching tight around the thick length of him already inside you.

Feeling your wet cunt constrict around hi breaks whatever fragile restraint Steve had left. With a low, guttural sound he slams the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

The cry that rips from you is sharp and broken - pain and pleasure so intense they're indistinguishable, blurring together into something that has you arching violently against him. You're so full you can barely breathe, stretched impossibly wide around him, and the sensation is so overwhelming you almost come from that alone. 

Your walls flutter and clench around his length, desperately trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. Tears spring to your eyes, spilling over to track down your cheeks.

"Fuck—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" Steve's voice cracks as he kisses frantically at your tears, lips pressing to your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. "I'm so sorry, pretty girl, I didn't mean to—you just felt so good, I couldn't—"

But even as he's apologizing his hips are already moving, pulling back and rocking into you with needy thrusts. He's not giving you time to adjust, can't seem to stop himself, his body operating on pure need now.

"So tight," he gasps against your skin. "So fucking perfect around me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need—" Another thrust, deeper this time, and you sob against his shoulder. "Need you so bad. Can't stop. Please tell me you're okay, please."

You try to speak. Try to form words through the overwhelming sensation of being so impossibly full but your brain can't form coherent words. All that escapes is a pathetic, whimpering "Stevie." 

It's all you can manage before he shifts his hips slightly, angling deeper, and on the very next thrust the blunt head of his cock grinds right against your g-spot.

Pleasure detonates through you so suddenly you can't even cry out, mouth falling open on a silent gasp as he thrusts into you again. Your eyes fly wide, a shocked gasp tearing from your throat as white-hot sensation explodes through every nerve ending.

You're coming before your brain can even register it's happening. Two thrusts, maybe three, and your orgasm rips through you like lightning.

Your whole body seizes, cunt clamping down violently around his cock as you gush around him, soaking his length and making the slide obscenely wet. The sounds falling from your lips are helpless and incoherent, your back arching clean off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure shorts out your brain completely.

"Fuck—oh fuck, that's it, that's it—" Steve's voice breaks on a groan as your walls spasm around him. "Good girl, such a good fucking girl, coming all over my cock—"

You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except convulse in his arms while your pussy milks his cock with desperate, rhythmic pulses that has Steve following you over the edge. With a guttural snarl he buries himself as deep as he can go as his cock throbs inside you, pulsing violently as the first rope of cum floods your pussy. Then another. And another. And it doesn't stop.

"Fuck—oh fuck!" Steve's voice breaks on a groan, hips grinding into you as he empties himself, and there's so much. Too much. Your walls are coated, flooded, completely painted white with his release, and he just keeps coming. Spurt after thick spurt filling you beyond capacity until you can actually feel it. Hot and excessive and so overwhelming your body can't contain it all.

"Steve—Steve—oh god." You try to squirm away instinctively, whimpering at the overwhelming sensation of being pumped so full. "I can't—there's too much, I can't—"

But Steve's hands lock onto your hips like a vice, fingers digging in bruisingly as he holds you in place and grinds you down harder onto his cock, forcing you to take more.

"Shh, shh, you can," he hushes against your neck, pushes you down harder onto him, forcing himself impossibly deeper even as his cock continues pulsing, and more cum floods into you. "You can take it, sweetheart. Take all of it. Every fucking drop, just a little more."

Cum starts leaking out around the thick base of him, even though he's still buried deep, still pulsing, still pumping more into you. It spills out of you despite how tightly your pussy is stretched around his length, dripping down your ass and pooling on the sheets beneath you.

"Please," You're babbling now, tears flowing freely as you shake your head helplessly. "Steve, please, 's so much, I'm so full." 

"Fuck, you're dripping with it," Steve pants against your neck, hips still rocking through the aftershocks, trying to fuck his cum further into your already overflowing pussy. "Taking all of it. Every drop. Knew you could. Knew this sweet pussy was made for me, pretty girl." 

His cock gives another violent pulse and you whimper helplessly, completely stuffed, cum sloshing inside you with every tiny shift of his hips.

Your limbs feel boneless, trembling with aftershocks, and you expect him to soften now, to give you both a moment to recover. But Steve doesn't slow down. Doesn't even pause. His cock is still rock-hard inside you and his hips keep moving - pulling back and thrusting in with the same urgent intensity, maybe even more now that you're slick with both your release and his excessive cum.

A broken whimper falls from your lips as oversensitized nerves spark with each thrust. You're so full, so overwhelmed, you can barely process that he's still going, still hard, still needing.

"I know, baby, I know—I'm sorry," He sounds almost pained, teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down. "I'm sorry, I can't—fuck, just need one more from you—just one more, yeah? Need to feel this perfect pussy clench around me again. Can you do that for me? Please, baby, just one more."

His rhythm picks up, hips snapping forward with primal desperation. You can barely nod, can barely do anything except take it as he pounds into you, the wet obscene sounds of his cum squelching with every thrust filling the room alongside your breathless whimpers and his desperate groans.

But it's still not enough for him. With a frustrated snarl Steve pulls back, and before you can even whine at the loss of him, he's grabbing your legs, pushing them up and back. Your knees press to your chest as he folds you completely in half, and when he sinks back in this new angle has you seeing stars.

"Oh god—" The broken cry tears from your throat as he sinks back in, and he's so much deeper like this. Impossibly deeper.

"That's it—yes," Steve's voice is guttural as he starts moving again. "Need to get deeper, need to—fuck, you feel that? Feel how deep I am?"

You're completely pinned beneath him, folded in half and utterly helpless, unable to do anything but take the brutal pace he sets. The new position has gravity working against you too, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and you're babbling - words tumbling out that don't even make sense.

"Can't—oh god, Stevie, you're—'s too deep, I can't—fuck—s'good—please."

Your hands scrabble frantically at his back, nails digging in and dragging down, leaving angry red crescents that make him hiss and thrust harder.

Sweat drips from his temples onto your chest, your neck, and he leans down to lick it off with a groan, tongue dragging over your heated skin. His hips never stop that relentless grinding, working himself as deep as physics will allow. Driven by something beyond his control to keep fucking into your used, dripping pussy like his life depends on it.

"Taking me so well," he pants into your neck between messy kisses. "Look at you, so good for me. Letting me use this perfect cunt."

One of Steve's hands snakes down between your bodies, finding your clit, and the second his thumb makes contact you cry out - sharp and broken - because you're so oversensitive, swollen and puffy from two orgasms already

"Steve—no, I can't—can't again, 's too much."

"You can," he insists, and his fingers start circling that abused bundle of nerves with just enough pressure. "Can feel you getting tighter already. You're gonna come for me again, pretty girl. Need to feel you squeeze my cock one more time, please."

The stimulation is so intense you need to escape it. Every muscle in your body wants to flee the overwhelming sensation, but pinned beneath him like this there's nowhere to go, no way to twist away. You're utterly trapped, unable to do anything but take it. Take his cock pounding into you and his thumb working mercilessly over your puffy clit until pleasure starts building again despite your body's protests.

"Oh god, oh my god—Steve please." You're sobbing now, tears streaming as sensation builds too fast, too intense.

But your body betrays you. The combination of his fingers and his cock and being trapped beneath him with nowhere to go builds faster than should be possible when you're this wrung out. Your pussy flutters around him, clenching weakly, and Steve groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt.

"That's it, come on, give it to me."

And you do. Your third orgasm rips through you with less intensity than the others but somehow more devastating because you're so oversensitive every nerve ending feels raw. You clench around him with a broken sob, thighs shaking violently where they're pressed to your chest.

But this time when you come down, gasping and trembling, Steve doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. If anything he gets more frantic, more desperate, like your orgasm just made the need worse instead of better. 

His rhythm gets more erratic, more brutal, like he's chasing something just out of reach and it's driving him insane.

"Not deep enough," he mutters, almost to himself, and there's genuine frustration in his voice. "Still not—fuck—need more, need—"

Without warning he pulls out completely, ignoring your confused whimper, and his hands are on you - gripping, lifting. You barely process what's happening before you're airborne, completely off the bed, and Steve is standing with you in his arms like you weigh nothing.

"Wrap your legs around me," he orders, voice rough, and you obey on complete instinct, the words not even processing in your brain. The moment you do he's lining himself up and pulling back you down onto his cock with brutal force.

The angle is devastating. Gravity works against you, impaling you on his full length, and the depth has you choking on a scream. You can feel him everywhere, so deep and stretching you in ways that shouldn't be possible.

"There—fuck yes, there." Steve's head falls back on a guttural moan as he starts using you, biceps bulging as he fucks you on his cock like you're a toy made for his pleasure. Lifting you up and pulling you back down with ease that should be terrifying but instead has you clenching around him.

You're completely helpless, just a ragdoll as he manhandles you exactly how he needs. Your hands scrabble desperately at his shoulders for any kind of stability. Every time he pulls you down gravity does half the work, driving him impossibly deeper, and all you can do is take it. You can't form words anymore, just needy little sounds as he uses your body. 

Your brain is completely gone, drunk on the feeling of him, on being so full, on the obscene wet sounds of his cum leaking out with every brutal thrust and dripping down both of you to splatter on the floor.

"Look at you," Steve rasps, eyes wild as they lock onto where you're joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. "Fucking look at you taking my cock. So small I can just—" He emphasizes with a particularly brutal drop that has you wailing. "Use you however I want."

Your thighs are shaking violently, muscles screaming, but it doesn't matter because Steve's holding you up effortlessly. Using his strength to fuck you on him at whatever pace he wants, and right now he wants it hard and fast and deep.

"Steve—fuck—oh god, oh god." You're babbling, tears streaming, completely cock-drunk and overwhelmed.

"Shh, I know, I know," he coos even as he doesn't slow down at all. "But you're doing so good f'me. My perfect girl, letting me use this tight little cunt. Can feel myself in your stomach, can you feel it? Feel how deep I am?"

You can only whine in response, completely overwhelmed, pleasure bordering on too much but your body keeps responding, keeps clenching around him like it can't help itself.

The last of your strength gives out entirely. Your head lolls against his shoulder, too heavy to hold up anymore, and you're just gone. Completely boneless in his grip, every muscle turned to liquid, unable to do anything except let him use you exactly how he needs. Arms hanging limply around his neck, your legs barely maintain their grip around his waist; if it weren't for Steve's hands on you, you'd slide right off him.

"Can't—can't—Stevie I can't." The words slur together, muffled against the sweat-slick skin of his neck, your brain too fried to form anything coherent.

"I know, baby, I know, almost there." Steve assures, his rhythm getting choppier as he gets closer. "Just a little more, need—fuck—need to fill you up one more time."

His muscles flex and strain as he bounces you faster, using you like you're weightless, like you're nothing but a warm sleeve for his cock. The wet sounds are obscene - cum and slick squelching with every brutal thrust.

You're not even moaning anymore, just making these small broken sounds with every impact, completely and utterly spent. But your body still responds, still clenches weakly around him when he hits that spot deep inside.

"That's it, that's—fuck—" Steve's breath hitches and his grip on you turns almost painful. "Gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"

His hips slam up one final time, burying himself as deep as gravity and anatomy allow, and then he's coming with a snarl, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. His cock pulses violently inside you and somehow - somehow - there's still more. 

Hot thick ropes of cum flooding into your already overfull pussy, and you can actually feel this time, the way it has nowhere left to go, just gushing back out around his length to run down your thighs, down his, pooling on the floor. It's insane. He's already filled you once and yet he's still pumping more into you, his body shuddering with the force of it, and you can only mewl meakly against his throat as he empties himself completely.

His hips slow gradually, the frantic rhythm finally easing as his cock gives one last weak pulse inside you. Steve's breathing is ragged against your hair, chest heaving, but something shifts - you can feel it in the way his grip on you gentles, the way the manic edge bleeds out of his muscles.

The burning under his skin that's been driving him insane for hours finally starts to fade. His temperature drops, the desperate clawing need loosening its grip on his chest, and for the first time since he walked through that door he can actually think.

His cock softens inside you, and the relief that floods through him is so intense it's almost dizzying.

"Shit," he breathes, and his voice sounds like his own again. Clearer. "Oh god, sweetheart, I—"

You make a weak, mewling sound against his neck and Steve's heart clenches with immediate guilt. You're completely limp in his arms, trembling, and guilt crashes through him so hard it nearly takes him to his knees.

"Hey, hey, I've got you," he murmurs, voice going soft and gentle as he carefully lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed with you still in his lap. His hands, which had been bruising just minutes ago, turn tender as they stroke up and down your back. "You're okay. I've got you now, baby."

He's still buried inside you and he knows pulling out is going to be uncomfortable, so he takes his time. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your sweat-damp hair, while the other supports your back.

"Gonna pull out now, okay?" He waits for some sign you've heard him - a tiny nod against his shoulder - before carefully lifting you just enough to slip free. You mewl at the loss, at the feeling of his cum immediately starting to leak out of you, and Steve makes a soothing sound. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, baby. Just let me take care of you now."

He shifts you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like you're something precious, and presses a kiss to your temple. His heart is still racing but it's slowing now, the frantic edge gone, replaced with bone-deep exhaustion and worry.

"You still with me?" he asks softly, pulling back just enough to look at your face.

With gentle fingers, Steve brushes the strands of hair plastered to your sweat-damp forehead, tucking them behind your ear with a tenderness that's almost painful after the brutality of moments before. Your head lolls without the support, too heavy for your exhausted muscles, so his hand slides down to cup your chin, thumb stroking your jaw as he carefully tilts your face up to meet his gaze.

"Look at me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "Need to see those pretty eyes."

Your lashes flutter, and when you finally manage to focus on him, Steve's chest constricts painfully. Your eyes are glassy, still wet with tears that cling to your lashes, pupils blown wide and unfocused in a way that speaks to exactly how far gone you are. The cloudiness there, the fucked-out haze, it's beautiful and devastating all at once.

Another wave of guilt crashes through him so hard he has to close his eyes briefly against it.

Keeping one hand cupped under your jaw to support your head, he reaches blindly for the nightstand with the other, fingers finding the water bottle you'd brought for him earlier - back when you'd been worried about him, before he'd lost complete control. The thoughtfulness of that gesture, the care you'd shown him, makes his throat tight.

"Gonna get you some water, okay?" He uncaps the bottle one handed, bringing it carefully to your lips. "Small sips, sweetheart. Just a little."

You make a small sound of protest, like even that is too much effort, but he persists gently.

"I know you're tired. But you need it, pretty girl." He tips the bottle carefully, supporting your head with his other hand, and relief floods through him when you part your lips and take a small sip.

The cool water touches your lips and you drink instinctively, slow and uncoordinated, and Steve watches with laser focus to make sure you don't choke. Some of it spills down your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb, murmuring praise the entire time.

"That's it. Good girl. Just a little more."

He coaxes a few more sips into you, before setting the bottle aside. And then his hands start hovering over you like he's not quite sure where to touch, if he should touch. The contrast between how he'd been manhandling you minutes ago and this careful hesitation would be almost funny if the guilt wasn't eating him alive.

"What do you need?" he asks quietly, and there's an edge of desperation to it. "I can—do you want food? A bath? I should probably get you cleaned up." His thumb strokes almost absently along your jaw, the only point of contact he seems to allow himself. "Just tell me what you need, sweetheart. Anything. I'll give you anything."

There's an edge of desperation in the offer, like he's trying to make up for everything, trying to fix what he broke.

With what little strength you have left, you burrow closer into his chest, nose finding the warm curve of his neck, and the small movement seems to surprise him. Your breath ghosts over his skin as you mumble, words slurred with exhaustion but unmistakable. 

"Jus' want you," you mumble against his throat, words slurring together. "Don' go."

Steve goes very still. Then something in him seems to unlock, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, the frantic worry in his eyes softening into something almost reverent. His arms finally wrap around you properly. Securely. Like he's allowed to hold you now.

"Okay," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. "Okay, baby, I've got you."

Carefully, like you're something infinitely precious, he shifts you both down onto the bed. He rolls onto his side and gathers you against him, pulling you flush to his chest with one arm wrapped securely around your waist and the other sliding up to cradle your head. You immediately melt into him with a soft, appreciative sound that's almost a purr, and Steve feels some of the horrible tension finally start to ease.

"That's it," Steve whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I've got you, pretty girl. Not going anywhere."

His hand trails down from your hair to stroke along your thigh with soothing, repetitive motions. Soft and steady, like he's trying to ground you both. Another kiss to your forehead, then your closed eyelids, his lips lingering there as you start to drift.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Promise."

You make another small sound, already halfway gone, and Steve tightens his arms around you. As your breathing evens out and your body goes completely slack against him, Steve presses his face into your hair and tries not to think too hard about what happens when you wake up. Tries not to wonder if you'll regret this, regret him. 

He should probably be planning how to explain what happened. How to apologize for losing control. How to convince you this wasn't just whatever got into his system, that he's wanted you for months, that this meant something.

But exhaustion is pulling at him too, and you're so warm in his arms, and he's too tired to fight the way his body wants to curl around yours like he can keep the world out if he just holds on tight enough.

He'll figure it out in the morning.

For now, he just holds you closer and lets himself have this - your warmth, your weight, your trust - even if it's the only time he gets it.

more mads: thank you so much for reading this absolute filth fest (like… 7k of it is smut. i’m unwell.). i hope you loved it!! if you did, please hit like or, even better, please consider leaving a comment/reblog bc it would genuinely make me grin like an idiot. my leo moon means i will literally perish without external validation. i’m tinkerbell coded. love u <33 p.s. i hope someone got the panic! at the disco reference in the title 🙂‍↕️

taglist: @juniebjonesin @heldbybarnes @/love-stucky @badbitchsincebirth05 @phoenix-in-writing @tw1sters @blowingbarnes @sassandscribbles @alpinebarnesworld @sheriff-bodecker @buckybsdoll - if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please leave comment here!

[crowleysgirl67]

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥Sex pollen is definitely one of my favorite tropes. Poor Steve not understanding what it was.

[epiphanyrogers]

eee so glad you enjoyed!! thank you pookie 🥹🥹

no literally poor guy was STRESSING lmfao 😭

[laufeydottirs-writings]

"Still with me, Soldier?"

pairing: Steve Rogers x Female S.H.I.E.L.D. Receptionist warnings: 18+ | MINORS DNI | oral (m!receiving), loss of virginity, car sex, public location, size kink, small dom big sub- sub!steve!!. reader is experienced and small and mouthy, masturbation kind of also...jacking off...defacing company property (lmao) praise kink if you squint. awkward first date maybe? facial...lots of cum bc it's steve. word count: 9.8k summary: The newest S.H.I.E.L.D. asset has been flirting with you at your desk every morning on his way to his daily meetings, and when he eventually asks you out on your first date- you can't possibly say no- but the thoughts you've been having about him are anything but wholesome. a/n: I try to be as vague as possible for reader characters when doing these, but reader being small is important to the story for this one, I hope it's not too distracting!! Steve is big though, everyone is smaller than him lmao this one is also a little fluffy imo!! lots of flirting and banter and steve being a gentleman before the adult activities start up...I tried to add more of Steve's perspective into this one which made it a lot longer, but sub!steve is too cute to not have his thoughts constantly on display...Flora🌸🧡 wrote Steve and the roommate, Verdi🌻💜 wrote “you”, edited the story and reformatted it for tumblr

You stood in the kitchen of your studio apartment- the one you'd been feverishly cleaning the past two days with your roommate, so it wouldn't look like the disgusting bachelorette pad it was when Steve came to pick you up for your date. Fuck. You still couldn't believe he'd asked you on a date. Your first date...and it was with Captain Fucking America. You could feel the heat blooming on your cheeks, reaching all the way to the tips of your ears. When you heard him knock on the door, you jumped- causing your roommate to laugh at you. So loud you were sure Steve heard it through the door.

"Fuck!" You hiss quietly through gritted teeth. "Is it too late to ghost him?"

"You're not ghosting Captain America. Don't piss me off." Your roommate grabbed your shoulders, spinning you around and pushing you towards the door. You stumbled a little, quickly catching your balance as your hand gripped the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes for a moment before opening up the door- no turning back now. You needed to compose yourself- you didn't want to scare him off.

Steve was standing there, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a small bouquet of multicolored flowers. He wasn't sure what flowers you liked, but he liked these ones because they were pretty like you. He thought about roses, but that was probably too romantic for a first date. He was afraid he'd scare you off.

Your eyes stare first at his chest, then his eyes, then the flowers, and then back up to his eyes. A soft smile and a gentle flush paint your face. "Rogers..." You look at the flowers again. "Pretty." When you looked back up to his face, you noticed his cheeks were flushed too. Your smile grew as you took the flowers from him, turning around to set them on the kitchen island that was too close to the door.

Steve moved his hand to run through his hair, pushing back any loose strands. He swore he felt his heart flutter- seeing you all dressed up for him, not just in your too uptight work uniform...wow. He was wearing jeans and a blue plaid button-up; it was domestic, almost. Really different from how you normally saw him at work. "Ready to go..?" You ask shyly, stepping towards him.

"Ready as I'll ever be." He smiled, offering his elbow out for you. "Are you ready to hold my hand during all the scary scenes in Dracula?" He gave a small smile as he asked. He picked the date- a drive-in because it was familiar to him, and Dracula because you liked horror movies and...he'd seen it before with Bucky when it had come out. He didn't tell you that part, though.

You nod, a soft giggle coming out as you try to speak. "Yeah, for sure." Your heart skips a beat when your hands finally reach his arm. Holy shit. His muscles were huge. Like, you knew that already, you could see how big they were...but feeling them was a whole other thing.

Steve's cheeks only got redder, feeling how your soft, small hands wrapped around his arm. You were so small already, but next to him..? Gosh. You must look...tiny. It made his heart skip a beat. You two had schemed at work about which company car to borrow, seeing as neither of you actually had a car, and that wouldn't work for the drive-in.

As you approached the car, you felt your mouth moving before your mind could keep up and stop you from saying something stupid. "Is this your first date since you got outta that ice?" ...was that rude to ask? You weren't sure, but you were curious enough that you didn't care too much if it was or not. He pulled the keys from his pocket to unlock the car as you approached, a shy smile crossing his face as he heard your words. "...Yeah," Steve admitted, feeling a bit shy. There was no point in lying; it was probably obvious from his shaky hands and uncertain movements. "Sorry if I'm a bit rusty," Steve said with a small grin, moving to open the passenger door for you.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine, Rogers.” You answer, nervous as you take the passenger seat. You thought about whether you'd tell him how this was your first date or not...but you decided that would be absolutely mortifying. Your hands fidget in your lap. Normally, you'd pull your phone out, but you didn't want to be rude to him.

"I'll let you be the judge of that," Steve said with a little chuckle as he closed the door behind you. He sighed to himself, hearing how you were still referring to him as 'Rogers'...he wanted you to call him Steve or Cap or even Stevie like Bucky used to. Rogers was so...impersonal. You must be interested at least a little bit though...You wouldn't have agreed to the date otherwise, he thought to himself.

The ride to the theater wasn’t too bad; it was a lot of awkward small talk, but you both seemed to be enjoying yourselves. The drive-in was a little far, but neither of you minded it. You kept stealing glances at him- watching how his hands gripped the steering wheel, how his biceps flexed a little whenever he moved his arms...God. You were gonna be in trouble if you kept letting your mind wander around the edge of these dirty thoughts. He parked the car near the middle of the lot, a safe choice, you thought.

"Do you want snacks?" He asked, turning to you with one hand still on the wheel and the other over the gearstick. His head nodded towards the concession stand on the edge of the lot. It didn't look too busy today, which was nice.

"Are you gonna get swarmed by fans if we go to get them, Cap?" You ask shyly, your eyes trailing up to meet his. You'd heard Natasha call him that before, and you thought it was cute. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind you being a little...affectionate. "You looked really cool fighting those aliens last month..." You teased a little. Of course, the Battle of New York was still a sore spot for just about everyone, yourself included, but those feelings weren't the ones at the front of your mind right now.

Steve nearly looked like a deer in the headlights. His heart swelled hearing the nickname come from your lips- but he tried to play it off. After a moment, he realised he didn't actually answer you- he must look so dumb, just staring like that. "Oh!" He started, clearing his throat a little as his fist reached up to cover his mouth. "I uh, I have my gear in the trunk. Do you want to be swarmed?" He joked, a little smirk pulling at the corner of his lip.

You laugh, covering your mouth as you do. "No, no. I'm good without the paparazzi for our first date." Your own words made your cheeks light up. Saying out loud made it more real, as if you hadn't already been alone in the car with him for the past half an hour...It was just still a little hard to believe he asked you out.

He got out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you once again. He didn't know if that was actually something people still did for their dates, but it was all he'd ever known. He held out his hand for you, his cheeks just as red as yours. Of course, you didn't need the help, but who would you be to deny the big, strong, hot man who wanted to dote on you? Who wouldn't want this kind of attention from him? Placing your hand into his palm, your cheeks flushed harder, seeing just how much bigger his hand was than yours. Jesus. It kinda made you wonder about...other size discrepancies. Only for a moment, you let your mind wander.

You snap your thoughts away from that, shaking your head a little as if it'll throw the naughty ideas out of your brain for you. Taking a deep breath, you smile towards him, gripping onto his hand as he helped you out of the car. He felt his heart flutter again when he saw the soft smile you wore. It looked so genuine, so real, it felt so different from the half grins you'd give to people in the office, it felt...like a secret. Like something only a few people got to see. He felt lucky that he could. His hand wrapped around yours, holding it as if he were protecting a precious jewel, and led you to the concessions stand. Your hand was just so soft and small in his, he was certain he'd be able to lift you with ease if he wanted to...and he sort of did. No. No, Steve. This is hardly the time or place to think those kinds of things. He rid the thought quickly from his mind. It's your first date, he shouldn't be thinking of touching you anywhere except your hands.

At the food stand, you picked out a candy and an icee, and you got a huge bucket of popcorn to share. Steve paid, which was really nice of him. But also, you had a sneaking suspicion that S.H.I.E.L.D. was paying him way better than they paid you, so you didn’t feel too bad about letting him do it. The movie wasn’t anything too extraordinary; you’d seen it before and liked it when you were younger. You made sure to keep your promise of holding his hand during the “scary” parts, every time smiling to yourself as your fingers interlocked with his. Steve really seemed to be enjoying himself, and that only made you that much more shy. He was really cute, you thought. It made your heart pound to think of him that way. Whenever you'd seen that picture Peggy had of him in her office, you thought he looked lame, but...he was such a flirt in real life. It made your stomach twist.

Steve tried to pay attention to the film, but it was hard with the way you were so close to him, playfully squeezing his hand during the scarier parts of the film. He hoped his hand wasn't too sweaty. He rubbed his thumb gently in circles on your hand. He wasn't sure if you'd like it or if he was supposed to be doing that, but your skin was too soft, and he'd seen that move in many romance films, so he wanted to try it.

By the time the movie ended, you were reclined in the seat, your arm draped across your forehead as your hand held Steve's tightly against your stomach. You'd done it absent-mindedly and hadn't even really noticed until the movie was already over...hopefully Steve didn't mind too much. You turn your head to look up towards him, a soft smile on your lips again. "Was it as good as you remembered it being?"

"It was...better, actually," Steve said with a smile as he turned his head to look at you. He knew the only reason it was better was because he was with you...but that was besides the point. He kept his hand locked with yours, blushing when he realized his hand was resting against your stomach.

"I'm glad..." Your eyes scanned him up and down- making it impossible for you to keep any of your dirty thoughts out of your mind. The only time you were ever really in a car with a guy was for a hookup...and this was anything but. It definitely wouldn't happen. So you should stop thinking about it. There was only one thing that could distract you...even if it would be embarrassing to share. "You know, Cap..." You start, voice wavering slightly. Shit. Were you really going to admit this? You turn your gaze back towards the screen, watching the credits roll as other patrons drive out of the lot. "I've uh...." You feel your words catch in your throat, begging you not to finish what you've started. "I've never been on a date before."

“What?” He was taken aback by the words. He almost wondered if you were joking, teasing him in a way, but…you seemed genuine. “A gal as hip and pretty as you hasn't ever been on a date?” He hoped that didn’t come off the wrong way; he just couldn’t believe someone as cool and good-looking as you had never been on a date before.

You laugh, leaning your head back against the headrest as you looked up to meet his eyes again. "It's just...not my style." You admit, gripping at his hand a little tighter to try and comfort yourself. "It's so...traditional. It's cute when you do it, though. You're just...such a product of your time." You laugh again. Was that rude to say? Oh well. You already said it.

Steve chuckled a little. If he thought about it...he really was what was considered traditional these days, but...it was all he'd ever known. "It's just something I saw back then. My ma always tried to tell me things to do to court women, and then Bucky was constantly going on dates. Sometimes multiple in one day. They all ignored me, though." Steve laughed a little, thinking about it. It was still strange that...women didn't ignore him anymore. "You...deserve to be treated nicely. I...feel lucky to be your first date." His eyes roamed over your face, the soft red on your cheeks...the way your hands felt, still tangled together and resting on your stomach. Everything was making him feel...tingly. "Besides, it's my first in about 100 years, so we're pretty even."

You bite at your bottom lip just a little, smiling still as your eyes wander over his body before snapping back up to his eyes. "Well, don't worry. You didn't do half bad, Rogers."

"You weren’t so bad yourself,” Steve joked. Really, it was the best date he’d ever been on.

He was traditional; he definitely wouldn’t be down for a car hook-up on the first date. But that didn’t mean you would stop thinking about it. Every time you did, it caused your flush to grow a little deeper. You looked away again, out the window. You’d been talking for so long that all the other cars were gone. It would be the perfect opportunity…but you didn’t want to scare him off…the things you did want, though, were outweighing what you didn’t.

As soon as you looked away from him, he realised how hard he must've been staring at your face. This was bad. He shouldn’t be having such inappropriate thoughts on your first date. He quickly averted his gaze, shifting slightly as he cleared his throat and began to look out the window instead. It was so late now, you were the only car left. Even the concession employees had gone home.

"Uhm..." You start softly, looking back up to him. Maybe you could soft-launch the idea. "Are we gonna sit here all night...or do you wanna do...something else..?" Your voice caught in your throat again, as if your body was pleading with you not to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, as your mouth kept running. "We're the only ones here now...everyone else is gone." You worried you were being too forward, but maybe he wouldn't get the hint anyway.

The tips of Steve’s ears were red as he turned to face you once again, his eyes falling to your lips. He swallowed hard, listening to you speak, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “What…would we do…?” Steve leaned in closer, just the slightest. He didn’t want to scare you off, but…your lips looked so plump and inviting. And…had you been suggesting it…with your words? Even if you were, it would be far too inappropriate, especially here. Kisses were meant to be private, romantic, not shared on the first date in the car. The idea was certainly appealing, though…

Watching how his eyes lingered on you made your smirk reappear. Oh good. He was getting the hint. “I mean…we could just keep sitting here…talking…if that’s what you want to do.” You could think of several things you wanted to do. You couldn't help but notice how he was beating around the bush just as badly as you were, though. Leaning towards him more, putting your elbow on the center console as you placed your chin in your palm, you continued teasing him. "What do you...want to do..?" The words came out low, slow, dripping in a nearly tangible lust.

“Um…” Steve was feeling incredibly shy, but…the urge to kiss you was stronger than his shyness. Steve shifted, turning his body to face you completely. His eyes landed on the smirk on your lips for a moment before flicking back to your eyes. It was almost as if you knew what he was thinking, and you were…teasing him about it. “Can I…kiss you…?” His face was bright red, his hands trembling slightly. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you away…but he was worried he might be being too forward.

You laugh. He's adorable. So polite, too. Your smirk softened into a smile instead as you leaned closer, giving a little nod as you kept your voice quiet still. "Yes, Steven. You can kiss me." No one had ever asked your permission before a kiss. It was...charming. He was charming. Steve looked really nervous, so you decided to let him go at his own pace, not wanting to rush him into anything.

Steve let out a breathy chuckle, feeling a tingle run down his spine from the top of his head all the way to his toes. His heart only raced more when he heard 'Steven' fall from your lips. No one called him Steven. It almost made him have a...very inappropriate reaction. "...Holy smokes..." Steve said under his breath before moving his shaky hand to gently cup your face. The kiss was gentle, soft, but that was the complete opposite of what Steve felt inside. He was feeling fireworks, like he was exploding. He'd never had a kiss like this. His mind felt fuzzy. Your lips were so warm and soft and plump. Just the way he thought they'd be. After a moment, feeling one of your hands trail up to hold his against your face, Steve finally let himself relax, fully enjoying the kiss. It was so…nice. It made him realize just how much he’d missed romantic touch like this…and how grateful he was to be sharing it with you now. He thought he should probably pull back to be respectful and not be inappropriate, but…not just yet. He kissed a little harder, his mouth opening just the slightest. A small, quiet moan slipped out of his mouth as he did so. Steve immediately pulled back, his eyes wide and his face the reddest it had ever been. Had he really just made such a sound?? Cripes. That was not gentlemanly. “S-sorry,” he squeaked out, moving his hand to scratch at the back of his head. But as his eyes lingered on you…all he wanted to do was kiss you some more.

Your face was burning hot and bright red when he finally pulled away. How could someone so strong be so gentle? It made your stomach flutter. Fuck. You really didn't want to stop at just kissing...Fuck it. He was 10x your size; if he wanted to stop you, he would. "Steve..." You whined out, a little bit breathlessly, as you were still recovering from the kiss. He nearly exploded, hearing his name sound like that coming from your mouth. Jeez. His heart was racing so fast, he wasn't even entirely sure his super soldier body could handle it.

You shifted onto your knees, leaning close to him and grabbing his cheeks with both hands as you pulled him into another kiss. It was a bit rougher, hungrier, needier, greedier. Steve didn't hesitate at all, happy that you'd enjoyed the first kiss enough to go in for another. His kiss was shy at first, but once he felt the intensity of the way you were kissing him, he did his best to match it. He still wanted to be respectful, but…kissing felt too good. He opened his mouth again, shyly gliding his tongue against your bottom lip, another soft moan coming out. Maybe he shouldn’t be so shy. You were clearly enjoying it…right? His little moan made you smirk again, your hands balling into fists against the collar of his shirt as you pulled him closer to you. There was no way you could pull him into the passenger seat with you; he was way too big for that. God. You didn't want to waste time thinking about logistics right now- but you needed to make sure you could both stay comfortable.

You kind of wondered how much you could get away with before he would stop you...If he would stop you. "Steve..." You mumble against his lips, giggling again before pulling away. Your hands lose the grip they had on his shirt, sliding down to press your palms flat to his chest instead. The touch made him shiver, his face more red than yours was now. He couldn't help it...you felt so warm and soft and small under his touch. It was driving him crazy. His super soldier body was built to withstand the toughest blows, but when it came to tender touches, they felt even more sensitive and intimate.

"If you keep making noises like that...you're really gonna get me going." Your voice was so low, barely a whisper, as your eyes sparkled, locked into his gaze. Too forward..? Maybe. But Steve liked how bold you were.

"Gosh..." Was all he said after a moment. His voice was quiet, almost as if he was worried you'd be caught. "You're...you're really something...you know that?" He felt a little guilty for kissing you like that on the first date, especially so intensely, but...you weren't complaining.

"Yeah?" You laugh a little. "You think so, Cap?" The smirk came back, tugging at the corner of your lips. "I think...you don't even know the half of it." You tease. Steve chuckled again, his heart leaping when he heard you refer to him as 'Cap' again. It was so cute to hear from you...Well, anything was cute to hear from you, he thought.

You were...very experienced, to say the least. And he clearly... wasn't. It only got you more antsy. The idea of ruining him...truly obscene thoughts flooded your mind for a split second before you went back to focusing on the task at hand. Leaning back into your seat, you sat on your feet, still looking up to him. Your hands dragged off his chest slowly as you pulled yourself away, instead returning them to your lap as they'd been at the beginning of the date. He probably wasn't ready for car sex...or like, any sex at all...but that wouldn't stop you trying. How could you get this information from him without sounding like a complete and total slut? You thought about it for a minute and then realised exactly how you could.

"Steven." You start, voice low. "How many dates have you been on?" You ask, cocking your head to the side as your eyes stared at him with unrelenting curiosity. That seemed like the safest place to start the conversation.

"Uhh..." Steve's face flushed again. Steven?! That was his full name; it felt so...intimate. Gosh, he was going to lose his mind over this. But...he didn't really mind going crazy for you. "Not...many, if I'm being honest," Steve said sheepishly, moving his hand to rub at the back of his neck. He already missed the feeling of your lips. "The women in the 40s didn't like me. They never looked at me when Buck was around." It didn't bother him anymore -- it hadn't in years -- but now that he had your attention, he wouldn't mind if another woman never paid him any mind again.

Fuck. The way he was so easy to fluster got you obsessed. Carefully, your hands reach out to find his, holding gently as your thumbs began to stroke at the skin on the back of his hands. "Back when you were my size?" You tease. It was hard to imagine him so small, but...it wasn't wrong. He let out another chuckle at your words. Steve had never thought of himself as someone who liked being teased -- he was bullied all his life -- but from you...it was fun, enjoyable. He liked it. "I was smaller than you." He said with a grin. He wasn't, but he thought if you could tease him, then he could tease you too.

You smile, pulling him towards you just a little as you sat one of his hands on your thigh and the other on your knee. You could feel how he tensed just a little, but he didn't move away...didn't pull back at all... He would never dream of touching a lady like this on the first date...but since you had directed him to, he followed along without complaint. He was sure he'd do just about anything you asked him to right now. Not breaking eye contact, you started to speak again. "Out of the...not many, how many of those 'pretty gals' did you take home for the night?" Your smirk grew into something truly mischievous as you teased him. But in your defense, he was incredibly easy to tease.

"Oh, um..." Steve cleared his throat, feeling as though he might burst. Were you really asking him if he was...experienced or not?? He felt embarrassed when he thought about the answer. Captain America was popular and strong and sexy, and girls had crushes on him, but he wasn't Captain America. He was Steve. And Steve...was a virgin. "N-none...of them..." He figured it was fine to admit. If he really wanted to start dating, it was best to be honest from the start. Steve tried to turn his head to look away from you, an attempt to hide his face that was surely entirely cherry red, but there wasn't really a lot of room for him to turn away when he was in this position.

You shifted up onto your knees again, one hand stayed on his, and you moved it to your hip as you got up. With your other hand, you grabbed his face again and made him look at you. “Hey, no need to be shy. It’s okay. I already assumed that was the answer, if that makes you feel any better.” Your voice was so soft as you spoke, making sure only he could hear. You giggled again. He was just too fucking cute. Leaning a little closer to him again, your eyes were half lidded and your cheeks flushed as you looked into his eyes. You were very certain about what you wanted, and you’d be damned if you didn’t try and get it. He was feeling so flustered, like his body was burning all over, when you turned his head to face you again. He...didn't mind it, though. In fact, he found your confident personality extremely attractive.

“Is this okay, Steven?” Your voice was a whisper now. Before even giving him a chance to respond, you closed the gap between you, kissing him softer than before. There was something almost…intoxicating about this whole situation. "Ah..." He let out a little gasp as you came even closer, and another small moan escaped his lips when you kissed him again. Gosh. He really needed to stop making those embarrassing noises. The kiss was gentle, and he matched it, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Anyone with eyes could see that the chemistry between you was completely undeniable. Steve knew there was something about not getting with your coworkers -- but he didn't care. He just wanted you.

“I…” You pulled away from him only a little, just enough to look into his eyes again. “I know you’re old-fashioned…if you want me to stop, I can…I don’t want to, though.” You looked flustered. Probably because you were.

You'd never...taken someone's virginity before...you weren't exactly sure how delicately you'd need to treat the situation. If he was going to get scared away from you, what you’d just told him would certainly do it, you thought.

He stared with a flushed face, his eyes half lidded as he shyly bit at his lip and nodded. Steve couldn't deny how much he wanted you, not now. He'd felt his pants growing tighter since the moment their lips first met, even though he knew he was inappropriate for a first date. You certainly didn't seem to think so, though. "You...don't have to stop..." His voice was low and shy and breathy as he reached up a hand to cup your face. You were so small and pretty. Steve wondered how you didn't already have a boyfriend...

“Let me know…if I’m too much for you…okay, Steve..?” God. You were nervous, your skin felt too tight, and your stomach was hot and twisting, your heart pounding beneath your ribcage. And in your core...you could feel pressure building. You didn't think he'd actually give in...let alone so quickly. The perks of being a pretty girl, you suppose. You decide the best way to approach is as if he's a feral cat- you don't want to scare him. No sudden movements.

Pushing your palms into his shoulders to help you balance yourself, you crawled into his lap carefully. "Is...Is this okay...Steve..?" You ask, voice nearly breaking under your nerves. You'd kill yourself if you'd made him uncomfortable at all...But Steve nodded, staring into your eyes as you got into his lap. "Yeah..." His voice was breathy and low, almost a whisper as he moved his hands to rest on your waist. He felt a little shy; he was already a little bit...aroused. And he certainly didn't want you to notice that. Your face was red now too, and your legs straddled around his thighs. You sat down, back on his knees. You didn't want to go right for the dick...that wouldn't be classy.

As soon as you were settled, he leaned forward to kiss you again. You giggled, happily returning his kiss, moving one hand up to cup his cheek again. His lips curled into a smile against yours- he could listen to you giggle all night, he'd decided. Your thumb stroked the skin gently, your other hand still firmly gripping his shoulder. The feelings fluttering around your stomach were nearly unbearable; you'd never felt like this before with a sexual partner. Maybe it's because you actually liked this one...like...really, really liked. It felt like there were actual stakes for this encounter. Pulling away just a little, your hand on his cheek moved down to the skin beside his lips. You lean back in, kissing his cheek before pulling away. You didn't want to keep your lips off of him.

"Still with me, Soldier?" You tease, sliding your jacket off and tossing it into the passenger seat. As soon as you weren't restricted anymore, both hands planted themselves firmly on his chest again. God, he was so beefy. It was insane.

He nodded, letting out a shaky sigh as he watched your jacket hit the seat. He was nervous still, but...he was also completely enamoured. Too much so to care too much. He just wanted to touch you, to see if your skin felt as soft as it looked like it did. He moved his hands to your shoulders, sliding up and down your arms gently. He still couldn't believe you agreed to go out with him. It was hard for you not to notice how he was shaking, just a little. He swallowed hard as he nodded, moving his shaky hands to gently rest on your shoulders. He wanted to touch you, he really did, he was just...nervous. He'd never touched a woman like this; he'd never gone farther than kissing.

Getting back up on your knees, you lean your whole body against his chest, grabbing his chin with one hand and making him look up to you as you kiss him again. Your eyes closed, focusing on the fluttering of your heart. Pulling away just enough to speak, your lips brush his. "You...can touch me however you like, okay, Stevie?" Your voice was quiet again, just barely a whisper as your breath ghosted over his skin. "Or...if that's too much pressure...you can just watch. I don't mind." That devilish smirk came back to your lips. You wanted to touch him so, so badly. You weren't sure just how much longer you could wait. As soon as you gave him your permission, his hands were on your bottom. It made you giggle a little bit. He was so nervous...but so were you. He didn't grope at you or squeeze you at all...just rested his hands there.

Sliding your arms around his neck, you sat yourself down in his lap. You didn't break your kiss, but a gasp escaped your lips as you felt him under you. Fuck. He felt like he was a lot bigger than you thought he'd be. And you could feel yourself getting slick with arousal as you felt him press against you. He moaned out pathetically when he felt you up against that spot between his legs that was aching, begging to be let out of his pants that suddenly felt way too tight.

"S-Still okay...?" You ask, nearly out of breath as your lustful thoughts dizzied your mind.

"Y-yeah...Yeah. It's still okay." He said between heavy, shaking breaths. Christ. You hadn't even touched him properly yet, and he was already...like this.

Readjusting yourself again, you move back onto his knees- leaning down to the side as your head pushed against the window of the car. It took you a moment to find what you were looking for, but once you felt the buttons beneath your fingertips, you moved Steve's seat back away from the steering wheel. "Nifty, huh?" You teased. "Cars are all automated now. Not as impressive as Stark's stuff but...still." You laughed, sitting up straight and holding onto his shoulders again. It was pretty cool, actually. But his thoughts were quickly removed from the car when he felt you touching him again. You were...seriously...amazing. He swallowed again, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He kept his hands on your backside, still slightly trembling as he kept them there.

With every passing moment, your heartbeat got louder and louder- shaking your eardrums and swallowing all other noise of the night. You've never been so nervous to have sex before...but then again, you'd never had sex with Captain America. And if you fumbled this bag, you'd never forgive yourself. "Uhm..." Your eyes flicked down to his lap, then back to his eyes. God. You were really going to do this, huh? “Stop me if I’m too much for you, Rogers. I mean it.” If anything, he was such a nice guy. You’d hate to lose a friend because you were too busy thinking with your dick instead of your head.

"You're not too much..." Steve said, his voice low. You were...a lot, but not too much. You were perfect. So he said it. "You're...perfect..." He admitted, finally moving his hands to gently rub at your bottom, the sudden movement mixed with his words making your cheeks flush again. “You’re just saying that because you have no one else to compare me to.” You mumbled, cheeks red. "I think I'd say it either way..." His voice was low as he spoke, and even though you were right, he had nothing to compare it to; he knew he was also right.

You leaned in again, kissing him softly as you let your eyes close. You squeezed his shoulders a little before moving your hands, trailing down his torso until you finally reached his waist. He sighed into the kiss, kissing back with an almost embarrassing desperation. Every moment he wasn't kissing you just made him want to kiss you that much more. It was like his lifeline, like he needed it to live. He could feel himself shaking again as he realized where your hands were going, so he focused on kissing, on how your mouth felt against his, how your tongue was soft and warm on his lips, letting himself grip at your backside harder. If he focused too much on where you were about to touch...he thought he might have a heart attack. Good thing his body could handle it if he did. Carefully, with shaky hands, you undid his belt and then his pants. You went slowly, partially for his sake, but also for your own. It was embarrassing to be so nervous- hands trembling and breath faltering. You made him promise to stop you if you were too much, so you weren't going to stop to ask what was or wasn't okay anymore. If it wasn't, he'd stop you. That's what you'd asked for.

You didn’t want to stare, that would be rude- so instead you kept your eyes closed and kept kissing him over and over, each time a little more passionately than the last. As you distracted yourself with those, you pulled him out and began to run your thumb over his tip. Fuck. You were getting way too excited; you could tell you were dripping in your panties. Your breathing was getting heavy already. Your hand was too small to wrap around him all the way, but you began to stroke him slowly anyway. You hated moaning for men, but…you couldn’t help it. A soft moan slipped from your lips, pressing into his as you kept the kisses going. If it kept going this way, you were worried you’d cum too quickly.

"O-oh..." His hips bucked up a little, letting out another desperate moan as your small, soft hand touched him. You were barely even moving it, and he almost felt like he could climax already. Gosh...you already felt amazing. Your name slipped out of his lips as a pathetic moan, twitching violently in your hand as he did, only feeling himself get more aroused, his tip glistening already. He was embarrassed by how weak he was, but...he couldn't help it. He'd never been touched like this, and besides that...you felt amazing.

You smiled big against his lips, giving him a few more kisses before finally pulling yourself away from him. Even as you did, your hand kept going- gently, slowly, moving back up to his tip every few strokes. “You’re doing so good, Steven. Don’t be too nervous.” Your eyes were half lidded as you searched for his. Your face was still completely flushed, and before you began to speak again, you bit at your lip for just a moment. “Do you…have a lot of practice?” You kept your voice low and let out a soft laugh. Your words were almost shaky from the breaths you were taking. “Do you touch yourself a lot..?” Were you really teasing Captain America like this? And on your first date? Fury would definitely fire you if he found out, you thought.

Steve couldn't speak for a moment, just looking at you with half-lidded, lustful eyes. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it gently to stifle any sounds he might make. He couldn't believe the amount of pleasure he was feeling just from your hand. It made him wonder what...other parts of you...felt like. "O-oh..." Steve felt like his whole body was bright red. He almost couldn't believe you'd asked that -- it made sense, you wanted to gauge his experience, but...Gosh. It was embarrassing to admit. It made him wonder, also, if you...did that to yourself? Though you probably didn't need to. You could sleep with anyone you wanted. "Sometimes, yea..." He admitted, his breaths shaky as he spoke. He couldn't help it; his hips were still slowly rocking beneath you, pushing himself further into your hand.

“Sometimes yea..?” You repeated, the little smirk back on your lips as you cocked your head to the side. You were so obsessed with him- there was definitely no way around it. He made your heart flutter. He was so cute. The way you were handling him made him let out another little moan. He knew you were confident and self-assured, but this...he didn't realise you were so...dominant. Not that he was complaining. He didn't want to be in control for his first time. He had no idea what to even do.

“Let me do something new for you then.” Carefully, you slid your legs out from underneath yourself and down into the floor between Steve’s legs. When you'd moved his seat earlier, it was just so you could do this without hitting the steering wheel. If you accidentally honked the horn, you would’ve died of embarrassment. "Oh...?" Steve was curious about what you meant -- but when you started to lower yourself down between his knees, it became glaringly obvious. He let out a moan at just the sight of you on your knees like that.

Your hand hadn’t left him the whole time, and you were being very careful not to grip too tightly or accidentally pull as you shifted yourself around. Once you were on your knees, you looked up to him again for just a moment- face still impossibly flushed. It almost looked as if you were going to say something- but you didn’t. Instead, you finally let yourself gaze at him. Jesus fucking Christ. Could you even fit this whole thing in your mouth?? Your stomach dropped, tight and burning with need as you thought about putting him inside you...that would have to wait, though, not tonight.

You leaned close and began kitten-licking up his shaft, leaving soft kisses on his tip once you reached it. He was already leaking, already wet for you as pre-cum spurted from his tip. As you did, you looked up to him. You were so curious to see if he was the kind who’d watch or the kind that was too shy to. You were pleasantly surprised your eyes met his when you did.

Gosh, he'd never seen something so beautiful in his life. Your eyes were sparkling, your lips were red and swollen from kissing, and your face was flushed. You were always beautiful, but now...you were radiant. "D-damn..." Steve wasn't one for swearing, but...he couldn't help himself. The way your warm, soft tongue felt against him...it was a sensation he'd never felt before, and it was the best thing he'd ever felt. He already felt like he might finish, so he gripped the sides of his seat to try to control himself. He looked down as you licked at him, and the sight was so dirty, so obscene, he quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed. He couldn't even believe the position he was in right now. He was fully enjoying it, though.

You smirked against his skin, seeing his reaction. Fuck, he was adorable. “You’re so shy…” You mumbled into him. “It’s really turning me on, Steve…” You giggled, your lips still pressed against him as you did. He twitched against your mouth from your teasing words, a moan slipping from his lips as you kept going at it. You licked him up and down a few more times, leaving soft kisses along the way. With a smile, you cleaned up the mess on his tip with your tongue. “You’re going…to be the death of me…” Steve said, a shy smile on his face as he spoke between his heavy, panting breaths. He still wasn’t positive he wasn’t going to finish soon.

Fuck. You might just cum from that alone. For just a moment, you pulled back and looked up to him again. “L-let me know if I hurt you, and I’ll stop, okay?” And by that, you meant, he was so big that you weren't confident you wouldn’t accidentally scrape him with your teeth. You didn’t want to scare him, though, so you left that detail out. He nodded again, letting out another loud moan as he felt the way you licked up the little bit that had already leaked out of him. Holy moly…this was insane. He’d never felt pleasure like this in his life…he never wanted it to end.

“Uhm…y-you can pull my hair if you want.” Your cheeks flushed a bit harder. “People usually like…the grip.” Did that make you sound like a whore? Oh well. Too late now. He moved his head to look down at you again, his eyes half lidded as she stared. Shyly, he moved one of his hands to grab gently at your hair, soft and smooth between his fingers. “L-like this?” He panted out, looking for approval. You spent a moment swirling your tongue around him before taking him into your mouth, moaning loudly as you did. His voice was cut off by his loudest moan yet, deep and guttural, as he watched you take him into his mouth and moan. “Oh, my god…” Steve’s hips bucked again, the grip on your hair tightening just the slightest. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he was losing control.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Your eyes rolled back as she began to bob your head gently, your tongue still making contact with every inch of skin you could reach as you did. “Mm…mhmmmmhmm…” Your moans were muffled against him, vibrating him as you kept at it. He bucked his hips again, and you gagged. But you didn't stop pleasuring him. It was too good to stop now. “A-ah,” Steve couldn’t help the embarrassing little noises he kept letting out. He was glad that it seemed like you liked the fact that he was so…desperate…for you. He tried to control the movement of his hips when he heard the way you’d gagged on him. He definitely didn’t want to hurt you, so he did his best to control himself, as hard as it was. Your mouth was warm and wet, and your tongue was swirling around him so pleasurably, he wanted to chase the feeling…it was hard not to just thrust himself into your mouth.

The hand that had been on him was still there, still stroking beneath your mouth. He was big enough for you to do both at the same time, so you figured you would. His eyes were closing, though he wanted to keep them open, to look at you while you did this.

Fuck. The heat pooling in your core was too much; you couldn't ignore it anymore. You were so antsy, so needy, so fucking horny. With your free hand, you reached under the skirt of your dress and began touching yourself, moaning louder against his flesh as you did. You figured there was like an 80/20 chance he wouldn’t notice. His eyes were closed, but when they weren’t, he was focused on your face, not your body. Without any more forethought, you slid two fingers inside yourself and matched the pace with what you were giving him. This caused you to let out your loudest moan yet, but you still wouldn’t stop. Steve's eyes were closed when he felt you shifting a bit, so he opened them as he heard your loudest moan, the one that caused him to violently twitch in your mouth.

"D-Damn..." He stuttered out. He couldn't believe what he was seeing now...his heart racing in his chest as he watched you, half lidded and lustful. The way you were pleasuring yourself at the same time...it was almost overwhelming for him. The hand in your hair pulled tighter- causing you to moan out again. Your fingers were scrambling against your mess, trying desperately to quell the burning need in your gut. Trying to catch any kind of friction- any heat, any release. He caught you way too quickly, but you didn't dare to stop now.

Steve squirmed beneath your touch in the leather seat of the car...S.H.I.E.L.D.'s car, mind you. Fuck. Were there cameras in here..? Maybe you should've thought this through more.

You kept your head bobbing for a few minutes more before slowly pulling yourself off of him, leaving a trail of soft kisses all over him as you did. They were sloppy and wet and open-mouthed, but still soft. When you finally came off of him, there was so much drool left behind- you were almost embarrassed. Your hands kept going- on both of you. You were squirming beneath your own touch now. “St-Steve…” You whined out, breathy and desperate. Your attention moved back to him, lifting your eyes to look to his again- causing your head to push into his palm a little bit as you did. Your face was so impossibly flushed now. The grip you had on him tightened quite a bit- but you were sure you weren't strong enough to hurt him. If you were...he’d tell you. You kept your hand stroking him- picking up the pace ever so slightly. "Sw..Sweetheart..." He thought you might be God — he thought he oughta make a religion out of worshipping you. That’s how good you felt. He twitched aggressively in your hand again, uncontrollably, as you tightened the grip you had around him. Honestly, you could grip him even harder, and it would feel just fine. He wasn’t sure you’d be able to hurt him even if you squeezed as hard as you could. It’d probably just make him finish even quicker.

Your shoulders buckled forward as your fingers kept dancing about, hitting every sensitive spot in your insides as you so desperately chased the climax bubbling up in the pit of your stomach. “Steve…I-I want you…to cum…for me.” If you weren't touching yourself too, that would’ve been a much better-sounding command from your lips. You still smirked a bit, keeping your eyes on his. “If you…do good.. maybe I’ll let you touch me…next time.” You laughed a bit breathlessly. Leaning back down, you continued licking at him and leaving your little kisses. Every few moments sucking gently on him just to make him squirm beneath your mouth a little more.

“A-ah, Sw...Sweetheart, I…” Between the way your lustful, half-lidded eyes were looking at him, how your lips were slightly parted and wet, the words you were saying, and the way you were still touching yourself…Steve couldn’t help it. He lost control, climaxing with a loud, almost effeminate moan. It landed on your face, thick, hot ropes hitting your skin and dripping down your cheeks, your lips, everywhere. Watching him finish and hearing the noises he made and feeling him hit your face like that was more than enough for you to finish yourself off quickly. Keeping your hand on him, still squeezing as you let yourself cum- the jolt that went up your spine and made your breath hitch as the pleasure washed over you made you let out a whiny little moan.

He let himself have the moment, eyes rolled back, lips parted slightly as he let the ecstasy of orgasm wash over him. Once he realized what he’d done, though, he panicked. “O-oh…! I’m so sorry!” Steve scrambled, looking for something to wipe your face with. Gosh. How indecent of him. And on their first date, too. “At ease, soldier.” You laughed. “I…” your cheeks grew red, and the tips of your ears hot. “I like it best this way…” You mumbled, using your thumb to scrape some of his release off of your cheek before popping it into your mouth.

"My god...sweetheart..." Steve let himself relax, his face flushed, knowing that you liked that sort of thing. Gosh...you were truly something special. He was completely infatuated with you. "A-ah..." He let out a soft gasp as he watched you take some of his mess into your mouth, cheeks absolutely on fire now. Gosh. He just noticed how much he really let out...he wasn't sure the last time he'd...released that much, if ever.

“That was…that was really good, Stevie.” A grin came to your lips. “Some guys don’t even last that long on their 10th time, you know.” You teased. God damn. You probably should have figured, but…there was so much cum. Like. Jesus fucking Christ. You should’ve brought a towel or something. Carefully, you unwrapped your hand from him and crawled back up into his lap. You wanted to kiss him again- but decided not to. Not while your face was so messy like this. "I was good...?" He felt drunk with lust and infatuation, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes as you crawled back up onto him. He moved his hands to rest on your waist. He didn't care how pathetic he sounded asking that; he just wanted your praise. Another thing he didn't really realize he was into... “Yea, baby.” You grinned. “You were really good for me…I had a feeling you would be, Steven~.” It was still so easy to tease him. “Fuck…Stevie…you’re unbelievable…” You giggled a bit. You hadn’t ever let yourself get so worked up over a man before…or really for anyone. You were feeling quite shy about it, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. He seemed distracted, anyways.

"You're...incredible. You're so incredible, I almost said a bad language word..." He chuckled a little, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. He flushed as he tasted himself on you. Good lord...this gal was driving him nuts. The last thing that you expected was for him to willingly kiss you after that. It flustered you quite a bit, but you tried to play it off cool. That was what you got for teasing him too much. “Uhm…” You looked around the car for a moment. It had nothing to offer, damn business cars. “Rogers…give me your shirt.” Your cheeks were flushed as you stated your demands, but…you weren't going to walk back into your apartment looking like this. “And…I can drive the car back if you…need a moment.” You laughed a little.

Steve didn't hesitate, shifting forward just enough to lift his shirt off and offer it to you without a second thought. He didn't mind; he had plenty of clothes. He was already willing to give you the shirt off his back. Gosh. He was whipped. "No, no, it's okay. I can drive us," he smiled lazily. It was the least he could do: drive you home. He already wasn't behaving like a gentleman anymore; he'd better redeem himself.

You kept your grin, using his shirt to wipe away all the mess on your face and in your hair. "Don't worry...I'll wash it for you..." You mumbled into the fabric before throwing it onto the floor of the passenger seat. Steve chuckled a little. It was kinda cute, watching you clean yourself up with his shirt, as obscene and dirty as it was. His face flushed as he pictured you wearing it, hanging low on your body, past your knees. Gosh...the sight of that might kill him. As soon as the shirt was out of your hands, you wasted no time to slide your arms around his neck, pressing your body to his torso, kissing him again as you did. “Steve…” Your voice was soft and low once more. “I’m…I’m really glad you asked me out.” Your cheeks were so red still, but you were really happy. You also got an insane first date story out of this, that was for sure.

"I'm...really glad you said yes." Steve kissed back, murmuring into your lips. They were so soft. All of you was so soft. If he thought about it too much, it'd get him worked up again. He was still a little hard. "I...really like you." He said after he pulled away, looking into your pretty, sparkling eyes. His cheeks were flushed pink as he admitted it. “I…really like you too.” You grinned, the flush on your cheeks growing deeper. You moved your hands to rest on his- now bare- chest, your flush persisting.

"That's...keen," Steve was smiling widely as he spoke, and then immediately mentally kicked himself. 'Keen??' Gosh. He always sounded so lame when speaking, still using words from 5 decades ago. But...he didn't seem to mind you teasing about it, though. He flushed deeper when he realized how you were touching his bare chest now. Gosh. Golly, even. Your small, warm hands felt amazing against his broad, muscular chest. It made him twitch again, almost feeling like he could go for another round. It was inappropriate, though. This was already...the craziest first date he'd ever been on. "I can drop you home...But I can take the scenic route. Might as well get some use out of the car while we have it, right?" Steve said with a quirked brow and a little smirk.

“Sounds…keen.” You teased, giggling again as you did. You really didn’t want to get off his lap, but you figured you should. This had already blown far past a normal first date; you shouldn’t drag it out too much more. You pressed one more kiss to his cheek, and then one more to his lips, before getting back into the passenger seat. Steve laughed, his blue eyes shining as he kissed back happily. He was sad to see you climb off his lap, immediately missing the warmth you brought him, but he understood it was unfortunately time for the date to end. He didn't let that worry him, though. He planned on asking you out on another one as soon as possible.

As you got yourself situated and buckled back in, you grabbed his shirt off the floor and held it in your lap. You said you’d wash it for him, and you didn’t want to forget. Also, you kinda just wanted to steal it. “Sorry…” You looked up to him, leaning your head back against the seat. “For making you drive home shirtless.” Another laugh. He shifted a little as he buckled his seatbelt and moved his seat back up, still...a little hard between his legs. Oops. Hopefully you wouldn't notice. "I don't think you're that sorry," Steve said with a little smirk. Maybe it was okay for him to tease you a little, too, and with the way you kept glancing at his chest...he really thought you might not be that sorry.

[epiphanyrogers]

GIRL OMG THIS WAS TOO HOT. SUBBY STEVE WHEN I CATCH YOU

I NEED HIM SO SO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTAND. and the little detail you added about him wanting reader to call him anything but rogers bc that sounds too formal/professional???? nooo bc i have a fat head canon that coming out of the ice so many people called him rogers or captain that he was barely known as “steve” so this played into that headcanon soooo good and made my heart ache he deserves to be treated as steve!!!! not as captain america 😭

and don’t even get me started on the smut girl you fucking ate that up. reader saying if he’s good he can touch her next time… 🥵🥵

absolutely delicious read thank you so much for sharing it with us!! 😋😋😋

[societyfolklore]

Society Folklore January Jumble Scribbles Masterlist

Created with @soelstress, hosted over at @societynsoelsscribbles, and managed with the assistance of @buckybarnesfic.

January Jumble was exactly what it promised to be: a mixed bag.

As always words are ~ 300-word  this event leaned into variety .. the resulting scribbles span smut, softness, domestic moments, angst, humour, tension, and everything in between.

This masterlist is my personal collection as a host, containing 55 completed scribbles

All prompts were fulfilled (doubles on some days and swap outs done)  across a wide range of characters and dynamics. Some pieces stand alone, others connect to works (they are linked) or will be expanded on..

Many works are 18+ and intended for an adult audience. Individual warnings or triggers have not been listed per entry, so please consume at your own discretion.

Do not copy, translate, or cross-post these works to other platforms.

The jumble was the point. Different moods. Different characters. Different flavours. One month of writing exactly as messy and varied as we hoped. ENJOY!

Jan 01: “Oh what are you doing here? The sun is up!”

Morning Misunderstanding – Thor x Female Reader

Sun’s Up – Lance Tucker x Female Reader

Jan 02: Where worlds collide and days are dark

To Warm My Winters – Sergei Kravinoff/Kraven the Hunter x Female Reader

Take It Back – Adam (OLTA) x Female Reader

Jan 03: “You make it very hard to think.”

You Make It Very Hard to Think – Jonathan Pine x Female Reader

Sure It’s Me? – Destroyer!Chris x Female Reader

Jan 04: “Here’s another curse. May all your bacon burn.”

Hands Off – Thor x Female Reader

Jan 05: “I’ve had bigger thrills leaning up against my dryer.”

Spin Cycle – Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader

Bonus: “How could something so real be so quickly erased?”

So Quickly Erased – Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Jan 06: “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Full Attention – Dark! August Walker x Female Reader

Jan 07: Do you love me now that I can dance?

Only When She Danced – Mob!Loki x Stripper! Female Reader

Jan 08: “Where the fuck is the fucking tuna?”

Tuna Temper – Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader

Jan 09: You don’t see stars here, they’re just city lights

Not Stars, But Still Beautiful – Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Jan 10: “I never disrobe before a gunfight.”

Before the Sun Burns Us Down – Outlaw!Loki x Outlaw!Female Reader

Jan 11: “You let me do this every time.”

Every Time, Baby – Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Jan 12: Let them say we’re crazy, what do they know

Moments Like This – Thunderbolt!Bucky x Thunderbolt!Reader

What Do They Know – Jefferson (OUAT) x Female Reader

Jan 13: “Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.”

Red Is the Colour of Memory – Winter Soldier x Female Reader

Jan 14: Am I noble enough for you now

Worse Than Noble – Loki x Female Reader

Jan 15: “You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Can Hear You – Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Outside Thunderstorms – Dad!Thor x Female Reader

Jan 16: “But it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.”

Real Then, Real Now – Loki x Female Reader

Jan 17: “Captain, if I’m shooting I’m emptying the whole gat.”

Found You – James Conrad x Female Reader

Jan 18: “You started this.”

Stretch You Out – Ari Levinsonx Female Reader

Pointing Fingers – Dad!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Jan 19: “Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood.”

Incomprehensible Heart – Loki x Female Reader

Jan 20: “If anyone walks in, that’s on you.”

That’s All on You – Andy Barber x Female Reader

You Shouldn’t Be Here – Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Hush Now – Dad!Loki x Asgardian Mom!Female Reader

Jan 21: “They just said get up there and make some trouble.”

Think This Is Funny – Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Jan 22: “I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth.”

Got Something to Say – Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Jan 23: You don’t surrender when you still got one bullet left

Remind Them – Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Female Reader

Bonus: “Naked is the best disguise.”

Liar’s Skin – Loki x Female Reader

Jan 24: “Don’t move. I want to feel this.”

Little Squeeze – Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Saying Hi – Dad!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant! Female Reader

Bonus: “I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.”

The Righteous Ones – Knight!Steve Rogers x Succubus!Female Reader

Jan 25: “Some people call me the space cowboy.”

Make It a Double – Thunderbolts! Bucky Barnes x Bartender!Female Reader

Jan 26: “Every sound you make is making this worse.”

Supposed to Be a Gentleman – Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Please, Little Man – Dad! Curtis Everett x Mom! Female Reader (featuring Baby)

Jan 27: “I’m open to that in a safer environment.”

Not Here – Jake Jensen x Female Reader

Jan 28: “I actually watch her back and not her backside.”

Almost –  Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Thunderbolts!Female Reader      

Bonus: “I'll be stronger in your eyes than I could ever be in my own.”

In Your Eyes – Loki x Female Reader

Tell Me Something Sweet – Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

Ready, Sir – Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Jan 29: “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you… slowly.”

Two Firsts – Walter Marshall x Female Reader

Shackles, No Shoes – Western Sheriff! Lee Bodecker x Outlaw! Female Reader

Weapons Lessons – Dad!Loki x Asgardian Mom!Female Reader (Feat. Daughter)

Jan 30: “Do you believe in life after love?”

Warmth of Mourning – Thomas Sharpe x Female Reader

In His Storm – Thor  x Female Reader

Bonus: “You behave so much better when I have my hands on you.”

Please, It’s Salmon – Bucky Barnes x Female Reader (Feat. Alpine     

Just Behave – Lee Bodecker x Female Reader x Andy Barber

In His Arms – Dad!Loki x Asgardian Mom!Female Reader

Jan 31: “I said behave… not that I expected you to listen.”

Expected Behavior – Enforcer! Bucky Barnes x Mob boss!Female Reader

Precautions – Steve Kemp x Female Reader

No Manners – Loki x Female Reader