Can you believe it's been a year since switching from writing Loki to Steve Rogers?? I LOVE writing him, and you'll find a few different versions of Steve here.
In our masterlist, there's lots of smut, a bit of fluff and the odd crack fic or two. Kinky Steve is canon - right??
Our new masterlist is sorted by character. The vast majority of stories are reader insert, YN often reading like an original character.
Like the MCU (looking at you, CA:TWS), a solo 'Steve' fic will also feature Natasha as well as other characters.
Have a poke around to find what you fancy.
And remember, comments and reblogs make Steve hard. Science.
LCM xx
PS: For my old Loki-focused masterlist, click here. It also features Tom characters like Jonathan Pine.
Foundations (10-part series and 2-part epilogue) - In a post-Endgame world, Steve Rogers is haunted by memories of missing his chance at a new beginning with Peggy after returning the stones. Fresh off also losing his second love Natasha Romanoff, life is far from enjoyable for Steve. But it's simple. His heart is closed. But his mind is clear. The last thing he needs is to meet someone who reminds him of the two women he's loved and lost. Someone just like you.
The Horny Misadventures of Nomad Steve - A collection of one-shots documenting Steve Rogers and his descent into sexual deviance between the events of Civil War and Infinity War. đâïžđ„° đŠđ€
A God Can Hold His Liquor (ongoing) - Loki featuring Thor, Odin, Frigga, Heimdall and the Warriors Four. Asgard. *not complete* đŠđ«đȘđâïžđȘ¶đ„°đ€
Natasha (4-part series) - Loki and Natasha featuring Thor and Director Fury. AU Midgard and Asgard. đŠđȘ¶đ„°đ
HEATED RIVALRY (banner coming soon)
Russian Rival - Steve Rogers, Americaâs golden boy, is captain of the Washington Capitols hockey team. Heâs focused. Heâs wholesome. Nothing distracts him from his routine of dedication to the beautiful gameâŠ.. apart from his brash, irritating rival. Ilya Rozanov. đâïž
Smut:
Softly Railing Romanoff - You walk in on Steve and Natasha mid-coital. They invite you to join them. đâïž đđȘ¶đ„° (6,600 words)
Softly Sucking Off Steve - Heâs forced to confront his past while recreating a kink heâs kept hidden since the 1940s, and does so while wearing his old army uniform. Fortunately you and Natasha provide reassurance. đâïžđ«đ„°đȘ¶đ€ (5,300 words)
Captainâs Orders - You ask Steve Rogers to overpower you. He does, in his old-fashioned way. Featuring degrading dom Steve. đâïžđ„° (2,200 words)
Fugitive - In a barely-disguised ploy to keep warm while on the run, Nomad Steve pleasures you wearing his slutty fingerless gloves. đ (1,300 words)
Resident Expert - While giving a presentation to Stark Industries, youâre heckled by Tony Stark and handle it like a boss. Steve likes that shit, and you let him show you how much it turns him on. đđ„° (3,700 words)
Interrogate Me - Steve Rogers is tasked with interrogating you - his ex and former Avenger - for information on the Mind Stone. He resorts to unconventional methods when you donât comply. đâïžđ„°đ (1,100 words)
Tactical Suit - After dating Steve Rogers for three months, you see him in his tactical suit for the first time and it sends you feral. How far will your sweet, down-to-earth boyfriend go in bringing both of your fantasies to life? đâïžđȘ¶ (2,600 words)
Break Them In - Tony Stark and Steve Rogers run a training camp for women in need of a second chance. You soon realise all is not as it seems. After discovering their depraved âtrainingâ methods, Stark hauls you in front of him and Rogers for a little one-to-one. đâïžđŠđ«đ€ (6,300 words) â ïž VERY DARKâ ïž
Whispers - Thereâs one phrase you want Steve Rogers to say to you while he rails you. Up until now, heâs not gone through with it. As he lays you on the floor of a grounded Quinjet, will tonight be the moment when he finally says those words?? đâïž (can be read as đđŠ) (600 words)
Leader of the Avengers - Steve Rogers is tired of giving orders and being fawned over. He wants to be degraded and told what to do. Youâre a willing purveyor of his desires. đâïžđ€(1,000 words)
Hero - As the Chitauri descend on Manhattan, youâre taken hostage by alien invaders. Steve Rogers saves your life and isnât quite ready to return to fighting. You have the feminine urge to take care of him and softly blow him in the middle of The Battle of New York. đȘ¶đ„°đ (1,400 words)
Welcome Party - Steve is late back from a mission. He joins you at the party, still in his dirty tactical suit, and knows exactly how to make it up to you. đâïžđȘ¶ (2,700 words)
Night Flight - A desperately horny Steve Rogers flies from New York to England in the middle of the night with the sole purpose of fucking you. You donât give him the reception he expected. đđȘ¶ (1,700 words)
Romantic Dinner - You decide to indulge Steve in his fantasy of having his way with you in a public setting. (Steve fingers you under the table in an expensive restaurant, thatâs the plot) đâïžđ€đ (2,200 words)
After Hours - The distance between the UK and Avengers Tower is too much, causing you and Steve to share a mutual wank during a transatlantic phone call. Thereâs just one catch â Steve isnât where you think he is while heâs stroking himself. đâïž (1,400 words)
Blow - Steve is far too horny to focus on flying the jet so you blow him midflight in the name of team safety. Thatâs it. Blowing Steve while he pilots the QuinJet. Thatâs the plot. đđđŠ (1,500 words)
Classic Conditioning - You talk back to Steve during a team discussion on how best to track down Thanos. Given you're a former UK Special Forces operative, Steve knows you can do better. He decides to teach you a lesson while you address him as 'Staff' during your punishment. đâïž (1,300 words)
Desperate Measures (Part 1) - Youâre dangerously turned on during a mission and itâs distracting you. Steve decides to prioritise your âwellbeingâ while balancing the needs of the team. He needs you back on form asap so he finds a secluded location to take care of you quickly and efficientlyâŠ. all without compromising the mission. đ (1,400 words)
Desperate Measures (Part 2) - After prioritizing your wellbeing and relieving your extreme horn during a mission, Steve is forced to make it through the takedown of an IED facility with a hard-on. The flight home is mercifully short and he has to recruit all his willpower to make it to his room where he can finally have you and find his release. He can make itâŠâŠ right?? đ (1,200 words)
Yes Ma'am - After a hard day, all Steve wants is to follow simple orders and be told heâs doing a good job. You take care of him and give him everything he needs. đđȘ¶đ„° (850 words)
Vocal - Steve has a reputation for giving orders and commands as well as his unfiltered opinion. Little does the team know, the only place heâs silent is the bedroom. You decide to change all that and encourage him to become moreâŠ. vocal. đ (1,600 words)
Worked Up - (very horny Steve Rogers) Youâve noticed Steve acting odd after missions and after a year of observing him, you still canât figure it out. Until one night when he confesses the truth â hopped up on the adrenaline, his body craving release, he feels âworked up.â You offer to help him find release, but heâs wracked with shame and psychologically wrestling with doing the right thing or giving into his primal desires. Will Steveâs infamous integrity pocket another victory, or will he allow himself to go feral? đâïž (4,200 words)
Trapped - You are mid-mission with Steve Rogers performing scheduled reconnaissance in an old warehouse. The building suddenly collapses, leaving you both pressed against one another in a confined space. With your life on the line and time of the essence, thereâs only one thing for it â you have to rail each other. (itâs the only way) đđ„° (3,500 words)
Fluff & Comfort:
Battle Scars - You give Steve some well-deserved tender loving care by cleaning the wound he acquired during his mission đȘ¶đ„° (1,100 words)
Core Conditions - Steve overhears you and Natasha singing his praises and is coaxed into an uncomfortable situation that stretches how he views himself. đȘ¶ (800 words)
Protector - Youâre taking forever to leave the house (again), resulting in Steveâs growing frustration. He loses his patience and you confess the real reason you take your time before you leave â you feel anxious. He becomes your protector for the evening, ensuring you feel safe at all times. đȘ¶đ„° (1,900 words)
Hurt - An injury leaves you in indescribable agony. The leader of the team Steve Rogers is there to help, but not for the reasons you think. đȘ¶đ„° (4,800 words)
Only Human - You take care of an extremely exhausted Steve after he returns from a mission. So tired he can barely speak, you learn to support him with your presence and actions rather than your words, and he learns to receive support. đȘ¶đ„° (1,900 words)
Bad Publicity - Paparazzi photos of you and Steve trigger global criticism, threatening to derail your relationship and threaten his squeaky-clean image. After an angry outburst in front of the crisis communications team, you confront him. Your hunch proves correct - he isn't upset for the reason everyone assumes. đ«đȘ¶đ„° (3,400 words)
All Too Well (Swiftie!Steve Rogers) - Steve goes to see his favourite artist in concert, and he doesnât want the team to know. Luckilly, being an Avenger has taught him to be stealth. Or has it? đŠđđ„°đȘ¶(2,000 words)
Gentle (contains smut) - What better way to spend a warm June afternoon in Brooklyn, but underneath Steve Rogers as he softly rails you while a hand-picked playlist plays in the background and the scent of New York street food wafts through an open window. đđȘ¶đ„° (1,400 words)
Sleep - You fall asleep at Tonyâs party after Steve warning you that it isnât safe. You wake up after he carries you to bed. Fluff ensues. (1,600 words) đȘ¶đ„°
Baby - You and Steve live in a bubble of happiness and joy with your new baby. (600 words) đȘ¶đ„°
Crack:
Secret Diaries of a Captain and His Lonely Butt Cheeks - In an alternate satirical universe, YN loves playfully smacking everyone on the ass. The only person she doesnât smack is the Captain. Steve has a strong emotional reaction to this, and takes to his journal to work out his feelings. đŠđ (1,100 words)
Real person shit:
Sexiest Man Alive - Chris Evans is stressed out about being named sexiest man alive. To help him relax after his magazine photoshoot, you generously suck him off. đđ„°đȘ¶(1,100 words)
The Professor - You decide to go back to university and finally get your degree. (Un)fortunately for you, your Professor is smoking hot and rails you on site. đđ€ (words TBD)
Our most well-loved Loki fics are listed below. The full list is here.
Asgardian Hero - After fighting to save your people, Loki awakens a deep desire within you and you reignite your centuries-old love affair post-battle in the cabin of the Sakaarian ship. đ (1,400 words)
Neck Kisses - You explore Loki's love of having his neck sucked and bitten whilst you pleasure him. Featuring subby Loki. đâïž (1,800 words)
Close Combat II - You and Loki sexually tease each other to the brink of insanity from morning until night, daring one another not to fold before your planned evening of passion. Who will cave first? Story in partnership with @lokisgoodgirl đ (5,700 words)
Secret Tradition - Ordinarily one to enjoy watching him squirm, this time the tables turn. As an Asgardian maid, you're caught in an uncompromising position with the mischievous Prince of Asgard. (omorashi) đâïžđ«đŠ (5,400 words)
Intimate Services - Working in the admin department for Stark Industries, you're forced to examine a questionable business expense. A transaction with the label âIntimate Servicesâ by one Loki Laufeyson. đȘ¶đ« (5,000 words)
Winter Warmers: Snowball Fight - A day in the forests of Asgard turns into a snowball fight at dusk with the God of Mischief who loves to remind you he has frost giant blood. đȘ¶đ«đ„° (1,000 words)
Winter Warmers: Soup - You become sick after spending too much time in the wild Asgardian winters night, and Loki makes you soup by an open fire in a cabin. đȘ¶đ„° (900 words)
BDSM Tombola - A collection of drabbles viewing Loki through the lens of oddly specific kinks. Is he into it? How does he like it? You'll find it all here. đâïž
Summary: You are mid-mission with Steve Rogers performing scheduled reconnaissance in an old warehouse. The building suddenly collapses, leaving you both pressed against one another in a confined space. With your life on the line and time of the essence, thereâs only one thing for it â you have to rail each other. (itâs the only way)
Contains: Quick and dirty action with plenty of unnecessary exposition. Nobody cares why theyâre doing stuff, but I do. đ
Words: 3,500
âEnglish! Look out!â
A tsunami of sound crashed over you, concrete over rock, rubble on top of rubble, taking you a millisecond to realise the overwhelming sound was solid rock raining down on you. The sheets of concrete surrounded you and previously open space was now a wall of rock at your back. Somewhere in the melee the sound transformed from large rocks tumbling over concrete rubble to small stones pinging off metal. The small space was peppered with strained grunting. You blinked through the dust to see a figure in front of you, an arm reaching overhead holding his shield above you both. His free arm snaked around your back and pulled you forward into something solid. Something warm. The only thing you saw when the dust cleared was navy blue.
âYou okay, English? Are you hurt?â His first responder muscle memory kicked in, barely giving you time to respond. âEnglish, can you hear me? Do you feel pain anywhere?â His hand pressed against the back of your neck for injuries, hands in your dusty hair to check for blood on the back of your head. God he hoped he didnât find blood....
You were fine. At least you thought so. Dazed, sure. But otherwise unscathed. One minute you were scanning a warehouse for intel, the next rubble was falling all around you, and now you were pressed against Steve Rogers who was treating you like the walking wounded. You glanced around the confined space. Your bodies had created a cocoon of concrete at your backs. Steveâs shield caused the rock to form a makeshift roof. You were in a cave of your own creation. Your protector continued to check you for injuries, his breathing rate slowing down when he found none. You regained your faculties when a strong hand rested gently on the side of your face.
âHey.â His voice was deeper now. Softer.
âIâm okay, Steve. Really.â
âYou sure?â
âYeah...â You observed your surroundings and suddenly became aware of your palm pressed against his chest, your small, delicate hands a contrast to the dusty Kevlar fabric of his uniform. âOh... sorry.â You jerked your hand away from him as though his stealth suit were a hot pan.
âSâokay.... not exactly much room in here.â
âCap this is Sam.... come in, do you read me?â The crackle of the CommsLink stirred you both. Steve responded, updating the Falcon on your status. It was a rogue missile, Sam informed you both. But he knew exactly where you were. Rescue was coming.
âHow long?â Steve asked, noticing the grimace on your face.
âThirty minutes at least. An hour, tops.â
Steve nodded and verbally affirmed he understood. But he remained frowning, his eyes on your contorted face.
âItâs gonna be okay, English.â
âI know, I just.... confined spaces and all that.â
âI know. I know....â
The last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was his sympathetic expression. Behind your eyelids your mind conjured images of training. Tactical drills, physical challenges, gathering intel, resistance to interrogation, you name it, you had nailed it all. Crawling through pipes and claustrophobic concrete was the only chink in your armour. Steve remembered it as well as you did.
All you could do was wait and try to stay calm. If you didnât, Steveâs sage words of wisdom would cut through the air, vague reassurances with obvious yet essential commands. âWe gotta stay calm. Just breathe. Youâre doing great.â
You wanted to avoid that if possible. Only a year out of training and a solid reputation behind you with the UKâs Ministry of Defence. You werenât about to throw it all away for a panic attack in a cave.
You allowed your mind to wander to pass the time. It started with your senses, touch being the most obvious one. Your body was pressed up hard against Cap. There were women with less integrity than you who would kill to be in your position. Not that there was an ugly member of the Avengers. Being hot was an extra superpower, it seemed. Dazzle the enemy with your gorgeousity before striking them with lightning. But as far as handsome goes, the man pressed against you had clearly fell out of the genetic jackpot tree and hit every branch on the way down. The serum was obviously sorcery.
You clocked him immediately on your first day of training, muscular forearms crossed over a white t-shirt causing huge biceps to bulge. He was impossibly gorgeous. One of those men who looked almost cheesy in photographs, easy to mock and laugh about with your friends, but in person he knocked the air from your lungs. Angled jaw, perfect blond hair, broad shoulders set above a strong chest and a seriously slim waist. And he was tall. So tall. He also smelled great literally all the time, which didnât help things. A simple, strong, expensive yet inoffensive cologne was incredibly on-brand and maddeningly distracting.
You hated how he affected you and you worked harder than everyone else to prove you werenât just another airhead wanting a place on the team and a place next to the gorgeous living legend. That wasnât you. But, you had eyes.
Bloodied hands, sweaty stealth suits and many nights crying over the stress of it all, and eventually it paid off. You were on the team. Barely a fortnight went by before a realisation hit you in the face â Steve Rogers was as good on the inside as he was on the outside. Sure, he was patient during training, encouraging yet fair, and he was driven by duty and purpose. That was obvious. It was the smaller moments you noticed most. Dropping to one knee and tying Natashaâs runners for her when she pulled her calf muscle and had to leave training early. Hugging Thor when he missed his brother. Brewing coffee for the team on a Sunday â cooking wasnât his thing, he admitted, so it was the least he could do.
And the night he came back in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin from a run, verbal jabs already flying from you all as he squelched through the common area with jogging bottoms and a t-shirt that looked as though it had been painted onto his muscular body. Until you all noticed he was holding something in his arms. A black labrador puppy, just as wet as he was, Steveâs large arm having attempted and failed at shielding the stray from the rain.
âHe was shaking by the dumpster out back, poor little guy!â His trademark compassion married with a boyish giddiness at finding a tiny new friend. He flinched slightly when he looked up and noticed your presence. You were new. You werenât a trusted colleague yet. He felt as though you had just seen him naked.
You jumped up and fetched a towel to dry him and a blanket to lay on. The dog, that is, not the super soldier. Clint jogged to the fridge and fished out some fresh roasted chicken. And Thor slowly approached the little dog, the Godâs eyes teary, as he declared, âWe shall call him Loki.â It took the blond a week or two to accept the pup was in fact a dog and not his brother in animal form.
Yeah. Steve Rogers was an angel. And the more you saw the soft heart underneath his red, white and blue suit, the more lightheaded you felt in his presence. Gorgeous, compassionate and genuine with ironclad integrity. How were you supposed to resist that?
Allowing your mind to bathe in blissful memories killed a little time, though you were catapulted into the present by a sensation you simply could not ignore. It pressed into your hipbone. You cleared your throat.
âSteve?â
âYeah.â
âYouâre, erm... youâre hard.â
âI know.â He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. âSorry.â
He inhaled slowly through his nose, paused for four seconds, then let out a breath through taught lips. Box breathing. You learned it from him in training. After two minutes of breathing exercises, he regained his physical composure. Your hipbone wouldnât bruise, it seemed.
âYou know, itâs really okay... for what itâs worth, I felt a little worked up too. Any woman would be, pressed up against you.â You hoped your awkward chuckle and statement of truth would generalise your arousal. You were right â any woman would feel a certain way.
His pause was longer this time. âI know, English.â
A weight seemed to drop out of your stomach. You summoned all your courage and looked up at him. âWhat do you mean, you know?â
âWell, my err.....â he gestured vaguely to his mouth and nose. âMy senses are dialled up to a hundred. You know, after the serum.â He looked down and met your eyes. âSo I, err.... I can tell.â
âYou can.... tell?â
âYeah. I can, err...â He looked down, a light blush dusting his cheekbones. âI can, you know, smell you.â
Smell me??
Mercifully it was dark enough in that cave to disguise your own blushing. You feared the entire cavern would light up with the red beacon on your face. You swallowed. âYou mean, because weâre so close right now. Right?â
He knew, didnât he. Every time. Every damn time you had been turned on by his mere presence, thinking you were embodying nonchalance and a stellar work ethic, he fucking knew. Your mind flashed like a slideshow with memories of thirsting over Steve, from initial training to nights in the tower to missions together. You couldn't stop yourself from making a sound of mortification. The groan didnât stand a chance.
The cave fell silent. Then the chuckling started.
âAre you fucking laughing at me, Rogers??â
âNo, no...â He covered his mouth and grinned, still chortling to himself.
âOh, my God, youâre an asshole.....â You elbowed him, then mustered a Russian accent to quote your favourite hockey show. âEveryone must know this. Everybody, Steve Rogers is an asshole!â
âYou and that goddamn show!â
âWhat? Itâs hot!â
Steve shook his head, recalling the nights you and Natasha watched Heated Rivalry together. âNo it isnât. Youâre hot.â
âWhat, no itâs - â You stopped defending your show and looked him dead in the eyes. âHang on, what did you say?â
His eyes roamed to your lips and back up again. âYou heard me, English.â You werenât imagining it, his voice had dropped a level. You swallowed hard.
Your hand found its way back to his chest. Your breathing quickened and you felt the seat of your underwear dampen. His lips parted. Your gazes were held together by invisible strings of honey, never leaving each other. Slowly, he tilted his head to one side, assessing the situation like a military operation, with one distinct difference. You felt his cock press into your hip once more.
âSteve....â
âWe canât.â He shook his head sadly, pressing his forehead against yours. âIâm sorry.â
âI know, weâre colleagues. I get it, I â â
âNo, we physically canât - there isnât enough room to swing a cat in here!â
You laughed and as your chuckles subsided he took your hand, which had been resting on his chest and he slid it up behind his neck, massaging at the tense muscles.
âSo youâre saying itâs a challenge then.â You cocked your head and smirked. âWhat, you think Iâm not up to it?â
He looked down at you, nostrils flared, and it was the last thing you saw before he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you, hard and desperate. His body pressed into yours and he groaned into your mouth as he snaked a hand around your lower back to pull you even tighter against him. His body was firm and strong, that damn cologne invading your senses as he kissed the last scraps of sense from you.
Without warning Steve jerked his mouth from you and pressed his back into the wall. Satisfied, he pushed the wall behind you with his palms. âIt wonât budge. Weâre good.â As he talked, he reached his hand behind your ear and switched your CommsLink to âreceive onlyâ mode. He clicked his own earpiece a milisecond later.
It was as close to an invitation as he would give, and it was enough to prompt you to scramble up the tangles of toppled concrete and find a foothold. You rested a hand on his shoulder and another on the rock as you got into position, bringing your hips level with his. He assisted by grabbing your ass and holding you in place. âYouâre so fuckinâ good, baby.â He was horny and impressed by your ingenuity. Didn't get much better than that.
âCan you unzip your suit from here?â
You pressed both hands into his shoulders, needing to steady yourself. You look down at your black suit, covered in grey dust. âI dunno, I.... I need help...â
âGot it.â His fingers found your zipper and before he pulled down, he waited and whispered to you. âYou sure this is okay?â
âIâm sure that if we donât do this Iâll be salty about it forever.â
âAlright.... alright....â
His voice trailed off and his eyes smouldered, any scrap of the dutiful soldier gone. In its place, a man driven by pure need. He maintained eye contact as he unzipped your black tactical suit and slid it from your shoulders, leaving you exposed in your black underwear. He pulled the zip all the way down past your pubis. The backs of his hands brushed past the damp seat of your underwear. He felt shivers of pleasure roll over his shoulders and down his back.
You bit your lip as you eyed him hungrily. He was covered in dust and concrete, face filthy with evidence of his heroics. You scraped dramatically at the chest of his stealth suit, desperate for access to his skin. He smiled and shook his head. âSorry baby. It wonât come off easy. I can unzip, though.â He stroked your cheek with a softness unfitting of fucking you senseless in a dusty cave. âWould that be okay? Hmm?â Your last braincell left your skull as he inserted a grimy thumb into your mouth and you sucked on it. âOhh, baby. Such a good fuckinâ girl.â
You began fumbling with his leather tactical belt, muttering, âI canât wait, Steve. Iâm sorry, I canât.â The hardening of his cock told you he didnât object to his belt hastily falling to the ground. As you unbuttoned his tactical pants and moved the stiff fabric to one side to access his zipper, he hoisted you up, both hands under your ass cheeks. You groaned as curtains of kevlar fabric parted to reveal a hard dick encased in tight black Calvins. âFfffuck, Steve.....â You palmed his cock through the cotton.
âMove âem down.â When you tried and failed over the course of the next two seconds, he tore at the fabric to give you better access. You pulled the flap of cotton to one side and placed your hand around his perfect, long hard cock, stroking him from the base to the head. He squirmed under your touch as you teased the head with your thumb.
His eyes were blown wide, already out of it. He rested the weight of you on one palm and his bicep bulged under the pressure, as one strong hand moved your panties to the side. âThis okay?â he asked breathlessly as he returned his hand underneath your arse and positioned you above his cock. Crumbled concrete crunched under your knees as you pushed them into the rock to steady yourself. You reached up and cupped the back of his head, his hair gritty with dust. âPlease Steve, I need you....â
âI know, baby. I know....â He whispered so gently as he carefully lowered you down onto his hard shaft, coaxing a gasp from your throat. He cursed. It was too much, the combination of feeling your warmth around him and the sight of your mouth wide open, veins pulsing in your neck as you tilted your head back. His first thrust faltered as he felt you become even more wet. Two leather straps in front of your sightline stared at you and you grabbed them, using his shield holster as handles. The feeling of you tugging at him made him curse again. He took control, moving you up and down, hands under your ass, guiding you, thrusting you up and down as you held onto his leather straps, face buried into dusty navy blue.
He was big. Not offensively so. But he filled you so perfectly with each deliberate, firm, careful lower onto his shaft. You hung onto those two straps of leather as he controlled your movements.
âSteve, can you hear me? Itâs Sam.â
âYouâve gotta be fuckinâ shitting me.â Steveâs voice was gruff, genuinely irritated by the interruption. You laughed and told him to ignore it. Instead he instructed you to be quiet and, when you struggled, advised you to clamp your mouth around his leather shield straps. You shot him an incredulous look as a dusty leather glove elevated to his ear. Click.
âSam. Iâm here.â
âWeâre twenty minutes out from your location. Hang in there.â
âGot it.â
âAny injuries?â
âNo. No, weâre err... weâre fine. Both of us.â
There was a pause from Sam. â...You sure?â
Steve faltered. âY-yeah. Sure.â
His bicep began to twitch. Holding you up with one hand wasnât easy, even with his enhanced strength. You helped him by getting a foothold near his hip, changing your position so you had one knee and one boot steading your slutty form straddled either side him. The new angle caused you to move further up his dick and slide past the head, making him hiss.
âYour breathing, Cap. The air....â Sam shouted instructions at Romanoff to âstep on it.â âBe there in 15. Hang in there. Over.â
âReceived. Over.â Steve clicked his earpiece back to receive only. You removed your face from his chest, teeth long since parted with his holster, and cocked your head.
âGreat, now they think weâre dying from lack of oxygen.â
He quirked his lips. âIâm dyinâ of somethinâ.â
You spurted a laugh. âCome on, we only have 15 minutes.â
âThanks for thinkinâ thereâs a chance Iâll last that long....â He kissed you urgently, grabbing you by the arse again and sliding you back onto his dick. It forced a moan from you and he chuckled, but it felt every bit as divine to him too.
You maintained your position, your foothold giving you leverage and control as you grabbed his holster straps again and swung off them, grateful his suit came with a built-in sex swing. He growled, the sensation overwhelming him. You were climbing him like a tree in the limited space you had. And you were so tight around him, so hot, so wet....
âI always fuckinâ knew youâd feel this good honey, fuck....â
Your mouth covered his neck in wet kisses lacking finesse as the reality of the situation hit you. You were getting railed by Steve Rogers in a cave in a life-or-death situation which straddled your deepest phobia. He was covered in dust and grime and wearing his stealth suit, open just enough to give his cock enough room to fuck you. He smelled of sex, sweat and that damn collogne. Heat rose through your body and your climax raced through you, coming with a loud moan as you tilted your head back in ecstasy.
âFffffffuck, Steve....â
âYeah, yeah honey... oh fuckkkkkkk.....â
He spurted his release inside you, gripping your hips and holding you still as he came with an animalistic groan, his climax lasting longer than you expected, longer than was typical or normal. Of course. Even his orgasms were stronger than the average man.
His head flopped back against the wall, eyes closed, forehead sticky with sweat. You rested against his chest and he held you against him as your heartrates settled back into rhythm. Once he was sure you were okay â after asking several times and checking you over, he helped lower you back to the ground and zip you back up. He glanced down at his own state of undress and found a shred of fabric where his underwear used to be. His sigh melted into a light laugh and he ripped the remainder of the garment off and put the scraps of material in a pocket in his tactical pants. You found this hilarious. âHoney, just donât,â he warned, though he smiled and his tone held no malice.
When he had zipped his dick up behind its Kevlar prison, he smoothed down your hair, thick with grit, and offered a soft smile. âYou know, we should get trapped in a collapsed building more often.â
âIt was hot, Iâm not gonna lie.â
âIt was so fuckinâ hot.â He kissed your forehead. You turned and noticed leather on the dusty ground. Neither of you could reach it.
âWe might have to explain why your tactical belt is on the floor.â
âIt got blown off during the blast.â His tone, suddenly serious and professional, made you laugh.
âCourse it did.â You sighed. âAnd hey. At least I havenât had a panic attack.â It was too late to take the words back. But the two of you were way past formalities.
You had less than ten minutes resting against Steveâs chest, with his hand on the back of your head and his soothing voice in your ear. Your earpieces buzzed with Samâs voice announcing their arrival. You smiled at each other as you registered the sound of your teammates hard at work above you, freeing you from several meters of concrete.
Desperate Measures (Part 1) - Steve Rogers x Established Relationship / Fellow Avengers Reader đ
Summary: Youâre dangerously turned on during a mission and itâs distracting you. Steve decides to prioritise your âwellbeingâ while balancing the needs of the team. He needs you back on form asap so he finds a secluded location to take care of you quickly and efficientlyâŠ. all without compromising the mission.
Warnings / Contains: Extremely horny YN, semi-public fingering, mild dirty talk. Soft!Dom energy. Steve Captain-ing all over the damn place.
Words: 1,400
A/N: Collective headcannons are in this post. Special thanks to @bigtreefest who coined the term, "Plus, he can smell it, and itâs gonna distract him, too." Heâs a super sensual super soldier with super senses - CANON.
âWeâre in this together, okay? I got you.â
Steve inserted his earpiece and gave a nod and a smile so brief you almost missed it. You inserted your handgun into your thigh holster and looked around the jet at the team similarly readying themselves for the task ahead. A takedown of hostiles running an IED factory on the outskirts of a remote European town. Standard.
He wasnât bullshitting, either. It wasnât a hollow platitude about teamwork. On a mission, he kept a keen eye on every one of you. You had seen him swoop in and place his hand on the back of Natasha, crouched down and lightheaded. You had hiked for hours. She hadnât eaten. She could continue, she insisted. She swatted his concern away with a wave of her black leather glove. Steve didnât yield. He instructed the team to rest for ten minutes while he hand-fed the assassin emergency rations until she was back to her old self.
On another assignment, a male team member was missing cues on comms. He appeared distracted. Steve discretely approached him and the man confessed his urgent need of a bathroom break. Without embarrassing his colleague, Steve instructed the team to provide cover while the man had a quick break behind a bush, before he was able to re-join the team and concentrate fully on the task ahead. You all continued with the mission and had no idea of the reason why he asked you all to step in. He was stealth like that.
Steve Rogers was a new style of leader. Far from solely focusing on completing the mission at any cost, he ensured the health, safety and wellbeing of the individuals who collectively made up the team. When you were well, when you were taken care of, you could physically give your all. Moreover, you wanted to. Steve had your backs. And you had his.
It was hot. Really hot. It turned you on to see him leading with skill, precision and genuine care for his teammates. Every press of his fingers to his earpiece, every military command, every frown showing his intense concentration was catnip to your loins. None of this helped your current, slippery predicament.
Trailing through dense undergrowth on your way to the IED factory, your delayed reaction almost got you shot, the Captainâs rapid deployment of his shield the only thing between you and a bullet. Steve pulled you to one side.
âTalk to me, honey. What do you need?â
âItâs nothing, Steve. Really.â
You pressed on, marching forwards through the undergrowth, still one mile out from the rogue factory. You felt a firm hand squeeze your bicep and turn your body to face him.
âIâm not accepting that answer. Not as your partner. Or as your Captain.â
You sighed. âFine. IâmâŠ. Iâm distracted.â
He looked you up and down. Your flushed cheeks were the only possible tell. âWhat is it, honey?â You shook your head and looked down at your boots, shame filling every fibre of your being. He pulled you towards him and brushed your cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. âYouâre my girl. You can tell me anything.â
You didnât notice the second rogue shell fired in your direction. Steve reacted rapidly, turning and protecting you with his shield, manoeuvring you both to the forest floor, crouched behind vibranium.
Pressed against his chest, you could smell him. Inoffensive designer cologne mixed with the fresh sweat of battle. He breathed heavily in your ear from the exertion. Deft fingers touched his earpiece, commanding the team to advance forward in a defensive formation.
He held you, pulling you close. You shifted your knee onto the soil to get comfortable. It forced the crease of your tactical suit across your groin. You groaned.
Steve thought back to his phone buzzing mid-coital this morning. The moan of frustration from you both. The desperate need filling your body like the contents of a wine poured into a glass until it overflows. The metaphorical wine was seeping into the mission now.
âYouâre worked up,â he stated simply.
âYeah. But it shouldnât distract me like this.â You closed your eyes as his forehead rested against yours. âI should be able to control myself.â
He pressed his CommsLink into his ear and requested cover for the next five minutes. The team took his instructions without question. Steve removed his earpiece and took your hand. He ignored your protests and assurances that you were fine and within moments you were in a secluded section of the forest. Strong hands on your hips guided you into the solid trunk of an oak tree, the light force coaxing a puff of air from your lips. Deep undergrowth and overgrown shrubs provided a privacy screen, the team advancing ahead and out of earshot. One look over his shoulder and the Captain made his move.
âGod, baby.â He pressed his hips into you, groaning as he unzipped your tactical suit and shrugged it off your shoulders. âI gotta have you.â He wasted no time in placing his lips all over the bare skin of your collarbone. Your hands were in his hair, pushing him deeper against your flesh. He grazed his fingers against your jawline before cradling your face between his hands. He kissed you with a masterful blend of urgency and care.
In one swift pull, he removed your tactical suit from the top half of your body and allowed it to hang at your waist. He nibbled at the warm, soft skin of your shoulders and traced his fingertips down your arms. You were a mess of moans and gasps, pleading for more, his lips leaving love notes all over your skin. The slickness between your legs was undeniable. You could feel it. Youâre pretty sure he could smell it.
His hands slid down the front of your suit and into your heat, emitting a gravelled groan when he felt how slick you were for him. He moved his fingers with precision, watching your face contort with pleasure under his ministrations. The caring partner who wanted you to feel satisfied married with the captain who needed you back on form as quickly and efficiently as possible. He wasnât wasting any time.
âGod, Steve⊠babyâŠ.â
You writhed under his touch, wriggling against the hard tree trunk against your back and the solid mass of man in front of you. You were sure you would burst into flames.
Your little whines of desperation drove him insane but he remained focused on his task. He used his memory of your body and every bit of intimate knowledge and experience to work you right to the edge.
âDonât hold back, baby.â He groaned into your ear, feeling his fingers soaked to the knuckles in your arousal. âCome for me. Come hard, honey.â He gasped, his breath desperate and ragged in your ear. âCâmonâŠ.â
The rapid movement of his middle finger over your clit, moving expertly as though trying to keep a marble just under the meniscus of the water, was too much. He pressed his chest into yours, the sight of you coming undone mid-mission too much for him. He let out a primal growl, steam from a kettle, an outlet for his desire. Your climax rushed through you with the power of a freight train. You forced yourself to moan silently in the face of the most powerful orgasm he had administered to date. You gripped the dirty shoulder of his tactical suit, shuddering in pleasure and panting as every cell of your body exploded like fireworks.
You leaned your head back against the tree, legs weak, vaguely aware of Steve guiding your arms back into your suit. When you opened your eyes you were fully zipped up. Earnest blue eyes stared into your soul.
âAre you okay, honey? You good to go?â
You nodded. âYeah. Thank you.â You looked down to see a painfully hard cock straining against the thick Kevlar fabric of his pants. âBut what about you?â
He shrugged and wiped his fingers against the thigh of his pants. âIâll be fine. Iâm a professional.â
He grabbed your hand and led you back into the pathway to rejoin the team. You were going to need to run to catch them up.
âHow long were we out?â
He glanced at his watch. âFour minutes.â
âFuck. Thatâs embarrassing.â
He ran ahead and looked back at you, smirking and shouting back his response as he inserted his earpiece back into place. âNo, honey. Itâs impressive!â
Tom Hiddleston Characters - What Theyâre Like During Your First Pregnancy
(Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or images. This is just a fun listicle, not designed to offend anyone. As always, please feel free to leave comments and/or constructive criticism below. Thank you, and without any further ado, please enjoy!)
Characters in this list: Will Ransome, King Henry V, Prince Loki Odinson, Loki of Asgard and Jotunheim, Bill Hazeldine, Coriolanus, Jonathan Pine, Robert Laing, James Conrad, Magnus Martinsson, Oakley, Thomas Sharpe, Jaguar Villain! Tom Hiddleston, Charles Krantz, Â Signor Benedick, and Matthew Ellis
During your pregnancy, Will would be firm in ensuring that you strain yourself as little as possible, hiring a maid from a town next to Aldwinter to help you with household chores. She would also be tasked with accompanying you everywhere you went - the shops, friendsâ houses, and the doctorâs.
As for Will, he would make a daily routine of reading stories from the Bible to you after supper every night, keeping one hand on your stomach while he used the other to turn pages. Heâd start with the book of Genesis while you were in your second month of pregnancy, and have finished at least a third of Deuteronomy by the time you went into labor.
Your little one(s)
A baby girl with your hair and your eyes who would basically let anyone hold her except her father. The first time she met Will, she screamed so loudly the midwifeâs ears were ringing afterward. Heâd never be able to put her to sleep unless he used one of your shawls or shirts that smelled like you. But a few months before her second birthday, something changed - maybe it was the fact that she was able to understand human speech and interact with others - but she finally held her fatherâs finger without crying. So her father cried tears of joy instead.
During your pregnancy, the king of England would take every measure to be by your side as often as possible, besotted with the way you glowed. Heâd read a tale or two after you told him the baby is capable of hearing from within the womb, and rub your back if it was aching. It would take him forever to get ready for court because of how long heâd spend admiring you, tracing his fingers all over you, especially your growing belly. It was the only reason that no one even dared to suggest a mistress for the king while the queen was with child.Â
And when he had to be away from you, the king would have his own circle of hand-picked guardians responsible for protecting you, tasting your food before you ate, and examining everything given to you before you could touch it. There was even a lady trained in swordfighting who was to remain by your side while you bathed and dressed, if the king was unable to be present.
When it came time for you to go into labor, the king would be pacing relentlessly outside the labor room. One scream from you, and he would be clutching the door, calling out to you, and praying aloud for God to protect you. Heâd be so intently focused on you that heâd abstain from all food or drink until the baby was born and you were declared healthy, collapsing with a smile at your bedside the moment he had a glimpse of you both.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with your hair and Henryâs eyes whose first words were âMamaâ, âOuiâ, and âsackâ. That last word was spoken in a room full of nobles, embarrassing the life out of his parents.
During your pregnancy, the prince of Asgard would look after you in a manner well-deserving of a future queen. Every morning after breakfast and every night after supper, heâd ensure that the two of you went on a walk through the palace gardens for fresh air - no guards, no servants, just a moment for the two parents and their soon-to-be-born child.Â
Heâd keep an eagle on every meal brought to your room and everyone who entered your room, even shapeshifting into one of your servants just to see if the guards were being careful enough. Then heâd bamboozle them, turn into his original form, and shout their ears off about them being terribly incompetent.Â
Towards the latter half of your pregnancy, Loki would share with you his plans to gathering an army leading a potential conquest beyond Asgard. Why? Because to Loki, one of the best things he could provide to your child would be a throne for them to inherit.Â
Which is exactly how Loki ended up in the middle of a battle, knee-deep in Jotunn or Midgardian blood while you were in labor. And just as you were crying out for mercy, begging that you needed your husband by your side, you would turn your head to somehow find Loki in the next bed with battle injuries, smiling. âWeâll be victorious, my queen.âÂ
Your little one(s)
A little boy with your smile and Lokiâs eyes and hair, who can conjure flowers from his fingertips when he laughs and waves his hands around. And can summon either torrential blizzards or sandstorms when he screams.
During your pregnancy, Loki would turn into a walking encyclopedia about gynecology. If you told him how far along you are in months, he would be able to tell you the exact size of the fetus. âThat is, if it were completely mortal and not the child of a god,â he would add with a smirk. Truly though, heâd be saying things that made the obstetrician examining you go into shock, like how he knew about your increased blood volume and the exact hormones that were likely elevated from your pregnancy. And of course, Loki would be always trying to make you laugh, even publicly pranking other Avengers when itâs possible, because a happy mother means a happy baby.
While youâre in labor, Loki would be busy trying to plan an elaborate welcome party for you as a surprise. Which could lead to something as tame as Loki being stuck with a helium-induced voice for hours from playing with balloons, to accidentally putting the Avengers tower into lockdown because he brought an actual stork as a party favor and let it loose in the building. But donât worry, heâd appear right by your side just as soon as youâre about to give up on him ever showing up.Â
Your little one(s)
Triplets - two girls and one boy - with Lokiâs black hair and eyes that alternate between green and blue, depending on the lighting. They canât sleep unless there are daggers in their cradle, and laugh for some reason at all forms of fire. They also quickly learned how to butter you with kisses, so youâd never be able to stay mad at them.Â
During your pregnancy, Bill would be the type of partner who would call the gynecologist every time he had a question about your pregnancy. âIs my wife allowed to have soft drinks?â âCan she have hot showers or is that bad for the baby?â âIs my wife supposed to sleep on her side or on her back?â âCan my wife listen to loud music? Itâs by The Rolling Stones.â âMy wife had vodka sauce in her pasta, will she be alright?âÂ
He would be asking every mom he knew, including his own mother and his motherâs friends, for advice and trying every thing he read would be good for pregnancy: playing Mozartâs music in the house, trying to predict the gender based on the types of food you were craving, and covering anything that looked remotely scary - including that one DVD of âChuckyâ and anything featuring the Hulk - so the baby wouldnât resemble it.Â
Despite his anxieties, however, Bill would be a very supportive partner throughout the entirety of your pregnancy, getting you anything you craved. Heâd plan a surprise baby shower for you at the end of your first trimester, inviting your friends and family to celebrate you. And Billâs parents - especially his mother - would be over frequently when he was busy with studies or teaching theology, helping you with anything you needed and eventually getting you to the hospital when your water broke.Â
Your little one(s)
A little boy with a full head of curls like his father. His favorite toy would be his fatherâs old teddy bear, which likely played a role in his first words being âPooh bearâ
While his mother might be the more constant companion during your pregnancy, Caius would send letters and money home as often as possible to you. Each of his letters would end with a piece of advice for your child to be taught to them as they grow older, in case the worst should happen. The first letter read at the end, âHonor and duty are the most important things in this lifetime. Live by those rules,â and the second read, âWe all receive what we deserve in this life. Do not sympathize with those less fortunate than you, and do not look with jealousy upon those with greater fortune than you.âÂ
Heâd return soon before your child was born, presenting his bloodied sword to you as the childâs first present from their father. The gift of pride, he would call it, for your child could proudly declare that they were of true Roman blood and the descendant of a true solider. And as soon as he could carry your child, he would show them each and every one of his scars and the paintings depicting his battles in hopes they would strive to live a similar life one day.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with your eyes, a few light hairs on his head, and a red birthmark on his heel that a soothsayer called âa branding from Mars himselfâ. His grandmother was over the moon.
During your pregnancy, Jonathan would keep an eye on everything about you and look after every need of yours right away. If he saw you eating warm baguette slices with salted butter twice a day, the next day, the kitchen counter would have enough homemade baguettes and butter to last two weeks. Complaining about back/shoulder/neck pains? Jonathan would have the medicine cabinet stocked with every kind of pain reliever known to mankind - crocin/paracetamol, ibuprofen, aspirin, heat packs, cooling packs.
Heâd always rub your feet at night until you fell asleep, and religiously take you to every single doctorsâs appointment himself, impressing the doctors with his detailed reports about you. And with his dedication to remaining awake and by your side during your delivery without a break.Â
Your little one(s)
A quiet baby boy with Jonathanâs eyes whoâd be very well-behaved for his age (almost to the point where itâs concerning), and lights up when watching raindrops trickle down the windows. Heâd fall asleep at the sounds of thunder crashing and rain falling.
During your pregnancy, Robert would insist on doing your check-ups, being a doctor himself. Heâd consider it even a little romantic, making it fun by stealing kisses while he examines you, making jokes about how he could hear your heart racing through the stethoscope. Heâd also take a secret pleasure in planning out all of your meals, even cooking most of them himself, that would ensure you were getting all of your vitamins and other nutrients for a healthy pregnancy.Â
Heâd still continue to visit the gym in the high-rise often after work at the medical school, but heâd either leave early to look after you, or switch his usual intense workout into a walk that he could share with you.Â
And during your delivery, Robert would be calm in the most disciplined sense, ordering the nurses around while keeping his voice steady. It would almost make you think that he would be perfectly good at managing two rambunctious little ones instead of one, until the next round of contractions which made you never, ever want to get pregnant again. Robert would continue to tell you to push, and order one nurse to have the forceps ready in case the baby needed aid, while the other nurse gave constant updates until the baby was fully out. Heâd even put on a pair of gloves and insist on cutting the umbilical cord himself, telling the nurses to focus more on making sure you were in stable condition.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with Robertâs eyes, your hair, and your smile. His favorite thing to do would be cling to you and snuggle. He tends to get possessive, babbling over anyone who tries to talk to you, and even sometimes putting his hand over your mouth when you try to give Robert a kiss.
During your pregnancy, James would be in the process of starting his job at Defense Intelligence in London - a desk job he took in order to be home every evening with you and the baby. This led to James turning the rest of his day into a routine. Heâd start with waking up with you, making you breakfast, and then commuting to work via the train. Then after working from eight to five, James would commute homewards, stopping to pick up two ice creams that heâd share with you before dinner. Finally, heâd end the day with talking to you about your days while he cleaned up the kitchen and helped you get ready for bed.
The only days that routine was ever adjusted was every other Wednesday when James would use his lunch break to visit his government-mandated therapist. Heâd talk to them about how often he still thought of Skull Island and his army days during passing moments, and whether his son or daughter would want to follow in his footsteps the way that he followed his fatherâs. Moreover, what else could he possibly do to be a better husband and father aside from abandoning his decades-old habit of drinking. His therapist asked for more about that, to which James revealed that his habit of bringing ice creams home to you was a tactic he made up to avoid wasting time in a bar or pub when he had a pregnant wife at home who needed him.
Usually on the days James had his therapistâs appointments, heâd go home after work with his ice creams and before even saying hello, just wrap you in a tight hug and kiss your hair, eyes, nose, and lips. He wouldnât know how else to say, âIâve a lot to learn, Iâm a stupid man.â , âYou donât deserve a man who still has nightmares,â, âI canât believe youâre having my baby,â and âI love you,â all at the same time.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby girl with Jamesâs blond hair and your eyes. She winds up sucking her fingers whenever sheâs sleeping, and likes to make attempts at grabbing the phone whenever she hears one of her parentsâ voices. Her first word was âbyeâ, which she said while you were seeing James off for the day.
During your pregnancy, Magnus would be subtly using your pregnancy to take as much of his paid time off as much as possible. And of course, heâd follow through, spending time with you doing whatever it is you wanted to do, even if it meant laying on the couch with you and watching crap television over potato crisps dipped in ice cream. At least once a week, Magnus would rub your belly and just gaze at it with awe. âI canât believe youâre growing an entire person in there. How is that possible?âÂ
And all of that time off eventually led to Magnusâs team, including Kurt, showing up one day at your home with gifts - diapers, bottles and bottle cleaners, old baby clothes some of the team members used with their own children - as a surprise baby shower. While they congratulated you and asked you questions about how you were feeling, Kurt would take Magnus aside and give a bit of fatherly advice, even though Magnus insisted he wouldnât need any. âSays the man who showed up to his own wedding hungover,â Kurt grumbled. Little did either of them know that when you did go into labor five months later, Kurt would be the one to keep Magnusâs head from hitting the floor when Magnus passed out in the hospital seeing your baby crown.Â
Magnus would profusely apologize for his work colleagues showing up unannounced, and insist on making it up to you by rubbing your feet - which was more than acceptable to you.Â
Your little one(s)
Twins - a boy and a girl with your smile and Magnusâs eyes - who have a perfectly timed system of crying when the other one cries, and filling their diaper when the other one fills their diaper. But they both love their dad to bits, playing with his curls and laughing when he sneezes. Actually, they laugh at any sound their dad makes - coughing, sneezing, laughing, humming.
(warning: allusions to smut ahead)
The most chill soon-to-be father in the goddamn world, letâs just get that out there. If you ever felt like having an espresso or a sip of dessert wine, Oakley would just assume that you know your body best and ask if you wanted some ladyfinger cookies with your drink. His overall philosophy would be that pregnant or not, you were a lady with needs, and heâd never forget that.
Heâd still ask the usual âdo you need something from the shopsâ and âany morning sickness yet?â But heâd make the effort to organize fun outings for the two of you: slow Vespa rides in the city, watching football games at pubs, and arthouse film nights with your friends. There was even one time when Oakley selected an erotic Italian film for everyone to watch, and he asked you in a whisper which of the positions shown on-screen looked most like the ones you and him did - and which one mightâve been the most likely to cause your pregnancy.Â
Heâd also love making you feel like a woman in every way possible: telling you that you looked more âMadonna than virginâ, wolf-whistling/cat-calling whenever you walked into a room wearing something either highlighted or exposed your baby bump, and occasionally making your head disappear between your legs until you screamed with pleasure. Although, that last time he did that before you had the baby, it led to you screaming from pleasure as well as your first contractions, which only made Oakleyâs ego skyrocket.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby girl with Oakleyâs golden curls and your eyes - her dad likes to call her Goldilocks as a nickname. Her first word was âRomeâ (it sounded like âomeâ but Oakley chose to believe it was Rome rather than âhomeâ) She has her own miniature Vespa to play with, along with a wooden Pinocchio from a store in Italy
During your pregnancy, Thomas would devote himself to rebuilding the estate, taking the child to be a sign of a new life for Allerdale Hall. He would finally get the roof repaired, and work extensively to sell red clay from the mines to sculptors and builders all over England.
And at night, heâd regale you with his hopes and dreams for your child, how everything he does in business is to ensure a good life for you and your child. Heâd talk about your child learning the violin at three, arithmetic at four, French and Latin at five. Then, heâd ask you about having a governess to look after your child, and if you wanted a tutor for your childâs first years before boarding school. âI want them to have the world, darling,â he would say, âAny life they can dream of. Whether they want to study history at Oxford, or learn music at the Sorbonne, or perhaps science in New York City - I want them to live well and live proudly in the world.â
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with Thomasâs hair and your eyes; usually a content but cries for some reason to piano music. He stopped wailing as he learned to talk, but piano music continues to frighten him and tear up.
During your pregnancy, the most powerful man in London would be taking every measure to make sure your pregnancy is as comfortable as possible, keeping a tracker on your phone that also measured your heart rate so he knew exactly where you were at all times, and the moments you felt you were in danger.Â
Heâd keep the house stocked with everything to keep you entertained and comfortable, including books, snacks both sweet and savory (he would claim not to believe in hokey ideas, but he would still check how many savory snacks you ate versus sweets as a basis for what gender the baby might be), and streaming services. And instead of choosing a doctor to visit you, heâd have his personal physician - the same one who treats his menâs gunshot wounds - come home for your check-ups and treat you.Â
Also, Mr.H would take the opportunity to spoil his employeeâs kids even more, bringing them chocolates if they ever visited with their parents who did business with him. Heâd tell them about how he was excited to have a child of his own and that they could meet the baby someday if they were on their best behavior. Heâd also encourage you to mingle with his employees, especially those whom you met at your wedding to Mr.H., provided that you didnât go too far from his line of sight. The one rule for anyone who wanted to talk to you? No filthy talk - no talk of hookers, no profanity, nothing about blasting someoneâs brains against the wall - unless they wanted to be punched in the jaw by Mr. H. Under no circumstances would he want his babyâs first thoughts to be about homicide. That could wait until their sixteenth birthday.Â
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with Thomasâs hair and eyes who will only fall asleep to âThe Lion Sleeps Tonightâ. His favorite color to wear is cornflower blue. The first present his father gave him was a silver rattle with the words engraved on it, âFirst we had each other, then we had you. Now we have everything. Love, Mum and Dad.â
During your pregnancy, Chuck would be constantly checking in with you, texting you or calling you during every one of his coffee or lunch breaks. Itâd start with a, âhow are you feeling, honey? Are you okay?â, and around noon itâd be something like, âHi, honey, I know youâre probably busy right now, but I just want to say to you - and the baby - that I love you.â Around evening, it would be, âHi, honey, Iâm on my way home now. Let me get you something youâd like - what are you in the mood for?â And even if you told him that you didnât want anything, Chuck would still bring home with food or snacks that he knew you liked or that he saw you eating before.Â
Heâd accompany you to every doctorâs visit, and follow every set of instructions down to the last letter, adjusting his recipes accordingly on the nights he made dinner (which went from three or four times a week to almost six times a week as you moved further along in your pregnancy) and ensuring you had enough rest each night. But he certainly didnât let that get in the way of slow dancing with you in the kitchen while the dishwasher took care of the cleaning. Heâd even sing a lullaby or two to your stomach just before the two of you went to bed, his go-to being âSomewhereâ from âWest Side Storyâ.
He would continue to be obedient in the delivery room, telling you at one point that heâd take it if you broke his hand squeezing it, or if you wanted to call him the worst words ever known. It wouldnât change anything between you. And when it was all over and you were cradling your newborn, Chuck would hug you and declare that he was wrong earlier; he was actually more in love with you - and with your little one - than heâd ever been before.
Your little one(s)
A baby boy with Chuckâs inquisitive gaze and curls, along with your eyes (which Chuck always brags about). His first word is âmamaâ, and he has a habit of blowing bubbles when heâs staring into space. Also loves the song âSinging in the Rainâ; it always calms him and puts him in this state of quiet happiness where heâs just gazing at wherever the music is coming fromÂ
During your pregnancy, Benedick would be getting caught up in the excitement about being a dad. He would have absolutely no chill, splurging on a pink and glitter-themed nursery complete with pink rattles, a mini varsity jacket with diamond, and a mobile made of rhinestones. The dresser in the nursery would have bottles of hair gel and hairspray next to diaper cream and baby lotion.
Heâd be the one booking and making sure the both of you attend lamaze classes regularly, bringing you a green juice before each one so that the baby gets enough folic acid. And if youâre walking together and someone drives right past you, Benedick would jump into action and get in front of you, shouting, âYou almost hit a pregnant woman, you stupid cock!âÂ
And that chill does not appear anytime soon, even as heâd be holding your hand in the delivery room and sitting right by you. Heâd be making home movies about the entire experience with the intent of showing it to your child someday and completely embarrassing them with stories.
Your little one(s)
A baby boy whose favorite toy his dadâs glitter belt, and has a keen sense of music. He babbles along with any music that happens to be playing, which Benedick thinks is his attempt at singing.
During your pregnancy, Matthew would be doing as little as possible - partly because itâs a deviation from his usual pursuit of vices, but also because the times he does try to help out, itâs absolutely wrong. There was the time he tried to buy baby bottles and picked out ones that were made of glass. His idea at the time? âTheyâll match their dadâs drinking glasses!âÂ
Thank the stars that Teddy would always step in to either correct Matthewâs mistakes or bring you the right thing at the right time. Heâd be the one reminding Matthew that you couldnât have ceviche or champagne while pregnant, insisting that teddy bears are a better present than Barbie dolls for a baby, and packing you a home cooked lunch after every doctorâs appointment. The latter became a tradition until your delivery.Â
Which was very interesting. Even though both Matthew and Teddy were in the room telling you to push, at one point, Teddy handed you an empty gun to throw at Matthew. âItâs his fault, cariña. Yell at him anything you want, itâs his fault. He got you pregnant!â That did not totally send the hospital into a state of panic.
Your little one(s)
twin baby girls with your hair color and your eyes who like bubble baths and playing with rubber duckies. And when theyâre old enough to toddle and move, their favorite game is âspin around in your pretty dress until you fall down.â Teddy spoils them with dresses in every color, dolls imported from all over the world, and their very own ponies
Taglist:  @thatdummy-girl @icytrickster17  @mischievoushiddleston, @lokischambermaid,  @eleniblue , @lady-rose-moon , @lokisgoodgirl  ,  @eleniblue @lokisninerealms @jennyggggrrr  ,  @tom-hiddleston-imagines  , @lokiismineforever , @smolvenger  @winterfrostlovetriangle  , @the-haven-of-fiction , @turniptitaness   @cakesandtom  ,@sallymagnoliaposts  @leahs-reading-nook  @holdmytesseract  @muddyorbsblr @evelyn-kingsley @anukulee @acidcasualties @lotsoflokilove23 @caffiend-queen  @real-sharena-h @asgards-princess-of-mischief @alexakeyloveloki @sinceimetyou
You always absolutely nail these, @five-miles-over!
Loki conjuring flowers from his fingertips was the cutest. And The Night Manager ones were on point!! Andrew with his duty and his fresh baked breads, Matthew with his confusionâŠ.. and Teddy with the gun!! đ€Łđ€Ł
James Conrad being routine-focused fit so well, too đđ»
Summary: You fall asleep at Tonyâs party after Steve warning you that it isnât safe. You wake up after he carries you to bed. Fluff ensues.Â
Contains: Fluff, light teasing and banter.Â
Warning: There is no smut or flirting or hints of romance (this is rare LCM territory!). Pure platonic fluffiness only.Â
Words:Â 1,600Â
âYou canât fall asleep here.âÂ
You felt the light darken your eyelids as Steve stood in front of you. Even through closed eyes you sensed Steveâs folded arms, serious expression and clenched jaw. You curled up tighter on the cold leather sofa, groaning at his complaints mixed with the discomfort of the loud party. You hoped you were at least compos mentis enough to shoot a witty barb towards him before sleep lured you like a siren. It felt seductive, pulling you closer like waves dragging you out to sea. The last thing your ears registered was Clint talking to Nat about removing a wall to open up the kitchen at home, the full details of his home renovations blurred by the persistent beat of the loud music, before mama sleep pulled you into her embrace.
The sofa shifted and moved underneath you. It felt oddly warm. And it smelled like Steveâs cologne. Vaguely aware something had changed, you noticed a quiet stillness around you. The music had stopped. You could hear doors opening. The sound of dress shoes on concrete. You felt a soft sensation on your back as if your prayers had been answered and you had magically teleported to your bedroom. Perhaps an angel had carried you to bed.
You opened your eyelids and locked eyes with Steve. He was chest-to-chest with you, towering over you as he placed you on the bed. He stood up and you jostled, startled by his presence.Â
âItâs okay,â he assured you in his trademark gentle tone. âItâs just me.â You blinked at him as you found your bearings. You looked around your bedroom. âIâll get you a glass of water and Iâll be out of here.â He gave you a nod and a soft smile and walked towards the door.Â
âSteve?âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âWould you make me a cup of tea please? My milkâs in the fridge and the honeyâs in my cupboard.âÂ
âSure.â His fingers lingered on the doorframe before leaving your bedroom to fulfil your request.Â
You couldnât wait to tell Wanda about this. He was known for looking after his girls. But carrying you to bed was a new one, even by his own protective standards.
When you first joined the Avengers last year, you were afraid of him. You saw him as an icon. The living legend you saw on billboards. A celebrity.
Over time your starstruck amnesia melted into something more practical. More grounded. You began to see him as a person. But you viewed him as your boss, the strong authoritarian who tested your limits and pushed all your buttons during your 3-months of intensive training. âSoft Steve,â as you began to think of him, emerged as you were about to pass your training phase.Â
The final initiation after three months of training was a four-day intensely physical affair up in the wilds of upstate New York. The itinerary was packed. It started with a late arrival on Day 1 and dinner with the team. Day 2 kicked off the challenge and it was relentless until leaving your teammates soon after breakfast on Day 4, leaving with suitcases full of muddy clothes, plus heavy aching limbs and bonds strong enough to last a lifetime.Â
Bonds are forged through fire. The four day test was brutal. You wouldnât have minded if you broke down at the very end. But it happened on Day 2 during the very first task. You were running hill sprints â or attempting to. You were on the tail-end of a chest infection and on top of that, you had the shortest legs of anyone there. You started off slow and steady to pace yourself. Everyone else sprinted ahead. By the final hill sprint you were so out of breath you were sure your lungs would explode. You were working at your physical redline and still you were in last place. Your teammates clapped for you as you hauled your body up the slope. They meant well. But you felt humiliated. You finished the task and excused yourself to the lookout point as everyone else took advantage of the water break. Steve followed you. He was too late â you already had thick, hot, angry tears rolling down your cheeks.Â
âIâm trying so hard,â you sniffed, voice hushed so your teammates didnât overhear you.Â
âI know you are.â Strong hands rested on your shoulders. âThatâs why Iâve been pushinâ you so hard. Because I know how much you're capable of. And hey, donât worry about the hill sprints. Everyone hates them. And I know youâve been sick.âÂ
You sniffed. âI just want this opportunity so bad.âÂ
âAnd youâll get it. Just keep doinâ what youâre doinâ.â He smiled sympathetically then softly said, âCome hereâ and hugged you. In between leading the team through the tasks he spent the rest of the day handing you a water bottle during the breaks, unscrewing the cap and holding it in his hand as he watched you over furrowed brows.Â
It was a taste of life on campus. Since moving into the Avengers compound you had learned âSoft Steveâ appeared to be constantly patrolling the hallways, ready to pounce with a hug or a kind word if any of his girls were in distress. You all joked it was a real risk to sit around campus looking even a little miffed â in a heartbeat Steve would appear like a comforting apparition, leaning on the doorframe and asking, âHey, whatâs goingâ on?â in a soft compassionate tone.Â
Last month Wanda hid out in your room with you. She blustered through your door, sighing and clutching a huge bag of crinkled potato chips. âSteveâs on the prowl,â she quipped. âI know he means well, I just canât right now.â Her ailment? She had PMS. And she couldnât be dealing with him.Â
You smiled to yourself as present-day Steve placed down a cup of tea and a short tumbler of water on your nightstand. You had missed him appearing in your doorway with a soft âHey,â lost in your thoughts and memories.Â
âYou know I donât wanna judge...â Steve stood beside your bed looking serious. âBut you gotta watch how much you drink at Tonyâs parties. It doesnât matter if itâs just us. But there were people there even I hadnât seen before. You canât let your guard down when there are outsiders.âÂ
âBut I had the best soldier in the world there to protect me.â You grinned, appearing unfairly cute.Â
He smiled. âYeah. But you gotta be careful.âÂ
âI know. But I only had two glasses of wine.âÂ
He frowned. You were telling the truth.
The 6am starts, the constant physical training, the sheer mental focus of learning the protocol, not to mention the paperwork and the various systems.... learning how to be an Avenger had taken a lot of energy from your reserves. Besides, it was midnight when Steve found you falling asleep at the party. It was way past your bedtime. Â
Steve observed you. He seemed to sense what was going on.Â
âHave you booked in your annual leave yet?âÂ
It was something-past-midnight and Captain Serious wanted to have a HR discussion right now? He had a point, though. You shook your head in resignation. âYou know I havenât. But superheroes donât take holidays.âÂ
âYou gotta take a break. We need you at your best. And you canât give your best if youâre burning out.âÂ
âWhenâs the last time you took a vacation?âÂ
âThatâs not the point.â He placed his hands in his black tailored trousers. He paired them with a white shirt and tan dress shoes. For an objectively handsome man, he somehow always missed the mark style-wise. âI donât wanna sound arrogent, but Iâm built different. But you gotta take a break.âÂ
Your resigned nod gave away your defeat. âOkay... okay. Youâre right. But riddle me this....âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âWill you stay here a bit?â You elaborated on your request when he tilted his head up and frowned. You reached for the tea he made you and took a sip. It was perfect. Of course it was. âI wanna wind down before I go to sleep.âÂ
His lips became a little pouty, just as they always did when he knew someone well, and he nodded his head. âSure.â He walked over to the tub chair in the corner of your room and sat down.Â
âNot all the way over there, Steve. Come on.âÂ
He tilted his head down, expression serious. âWhat, you want me to sit on the bed?âÂ
âIf you donât mind. Itâs not like Iâm gonna jump on top of you.âÂ
He shook his head and smiled. You were always teasing him about his âscreaming fansâ and âheartthrobâ status. Making him blush was easy and way too much fun. He sat on the edge of your bed and you chatted for ten minutes or so, sat crossed legged on your bed as you recalled who was at the party and mused about where you should go on holiday.Â
âIâm tired. Come and sleep with me.â You patted the space next to you in bed. Steve swallowed. âNot that kind of sleep with me, calm down. Sleep next to me. Itâll make me feel safe.âÂ
He looked back to the door. âTo be honest, Iâm kinda glad I donât have to go back to the party.â Steve Rogers was a raging introvert, a secret the team kept from the world. Â
You smiled at him and settled down on top of your duvet, Steve slipping off his shoes and curling up on the bed, facing away from you. Your last memory was teasing him about taking off his tight shirt to make himself more comfortable. You and Nat had joked earlier in the evening that he must have had someone paint it onto his body.Â
You woke in the morning, refreshed and rested, with a note on your nightstand.Â
@everything-you-feel-is-real I know by tumblr tradition that I'm to say "impossible, my posts never blow up like that," or "please don't do this to me."
But I feel in my bones that you are right. If this is to be my wife's moment of glory, I am willing to suffer notification overload, that the world may know she is funny. #MyFunnyWife
devastating getting to the end of a fic that fucking rules and thereâs no tumblr link in the notes. this isnât fair youve ensnared me body and soul. let me in to your house.
Life really is crazy and full of possibilities. Like do we want to get rescued by Steve Rogers in a heroic fashion or do we want to kidnap him and tie him up and edge the information out of him?
So this is actually difficult to come up with a situation where you basically put yourself in harm's way to get rescued.
I feel like you'd be taking a small risk in what you choose to do.
Because you want it to be a little bit believable, so that already makes you a little bit, you know, cuckoo in the head I guess lol
For the sake of this ask, I'm going to say that there's been a particular company that has been having a lot of issues with villains targeting them for whatever reason, they have lots of job openings because of this, she applies, they hire her almost immediately, because not a lot of people want to work at this company.
Whatever it is, she's basically gonna have to play a little bit of the long game just a little bit here.
But she has everything set up for when he's going to rescue her.
Now, there is a possibility that one of the other Avengers might get to her. That is a very strong possibility.
So her plan is not a 100% foolproof because maybe she doesn't fully know how to get him.
She just knows that she wants to but let's say the villain of the week targets that Company again, and maybe instead of escaping, she kind of purposely stays behind.
She gets captured.
She's one of the few hostages.
The Avengers come in, they rescue everyone.
Steve saves everybody, he takes her home to make sure she's okay and then that's when she pounces in whatever fashion she can, he is a super soldier after all.
Summary: You are mid-mission with Steve Rogers performing scheduled reconnaissance in an old warehouse. The building suddenly collapses, leaving you both pressed against one another in a confined space. With your life on the line and time of the essence, thereâs only one thing for it â you have to rail each other. (itâs the only way)
Contains: Quick and dirty action with plenty of unnecessary exposition. Nobody cares why theyâre doing stuff, but I do. đ
Words: 3,500
âEnglish! Look out!â
A tsunami of sound crashed over you, concrete over rock, rubble on top of rubble, taking you a millisecond to realise the overwhelming sound was solid rock raining down on you. The sheets of concrete surrounded you and previously open space was now a wall of rock at your back. Somewhere in the melee the sound transformed from large rocks tumbling over concrete rubble to small stones pinging off metal. The small space was peppered with strained grunting. You blinked through the dust to see a figure in front of you, an arm reaching overhead holding his shield above you both. His free arm snaked around your back and pulled you forward into something solid. Something warm. The only thing you saw when the dust cleared was navy blue.
âYou okay, English? Are you hurt?â His first responder muscle memory kicked in, barely giving you time to respond. âEnglish, can you hear me? Do you feel pain anywhere?â His hand pressed against the back of your neck for injuries, hands in your dusty hair to check for blood on the back of your head. God he hoped he didnât find blood....
You were fine. At least you thought so. Dazed, sure. But otherwise unscathed. One minute you were scanning a warehouse for intel, the next rubble was falling all around you, and now you were pressed against Steve Rogers who was treating you like the walking wounded. You glanced around the confined space. Your bodies had created a cocoon of concrete at your backs. Steveâs shield caused the rock to form a makeshift roof. You were in a cave of your own creation. Your protector continued to check you for injuries, his breathing rate slowing down when he found none. You regained your faculties when a strong hand rested gently on the side of your face.
âHey.â His voice was deeper now. Softer.
âIâm okay, Steve. Really.â
âYou sure?â
âYeah...â You observed your surroundings and suddenly became aware of your palm pressed against his chest, your small, delicate hands a contrast to the dusty Kevlar fabric of his uniform. âOh... sorry.â You jerked your hand away from him as though his stealth suit were a hot pan.
âSâokay.... not exactly much room in here.â
âCap this is Sam.... come in, do you read me?â The crackle of the CommsLink stirred you both. Steve responded, updating the Falcon on your status. It was a rogue missile, Sam informed you both. But he knew exactly where you were. Rescue was coming.
âHow long?â Steve asked, noticing the grimace on your face.
âThirty minutes at least. An hour, tops.â
Steve nodded and verbally affirmed he understood. But he remained frowning, his eyes on your contorted face.
âItâs gonna be okay, English.â
âI know, I just.... confined spaces and all that.â
âI know. I know....â
The last thing you saw before you closed your eyes was his sympathetic expression. Behind your eyelids your mind conjured images of training. Tactical drills, physical challenges, gathering intel, resistance to interrogation, you name it, you had nailed it all. Crawling through pipes and claustrophobic concrete was the only chink in your armour. Steve remembered it as well as you did.
All you could do was wait and try to stay calm. If you didnât, Steveâs sage words of wisdom would cut through the air, vague reassurances with obvious yet essential commands. âWe gotta stay calm. Just breathe. Youâre doing great.â
You wanted to avoid that if possible. Only a year out of training and a solid reputation behind you with the UKâs Ministry of Defence. You werenât about to throw it all away for a panic attack in a cave.
You allowed your mind to wander to pass the time. It started with your senses, touch being the most obvious one. Your body was pressed up hard against Cap. There were women with less integrity than you who would kill to be in your position. Not that there was an ugly member of the Avengers. Being hot was an extra superpower, it seemed. Dazzle the enemy with your gorgeousity before striking them with lightning. But as far as handsome goes, the man pressed against you had clearly fell out of the genetic jackpot tree and hit every branch on the way down. The serum was obviously sorcery.
You clocked him immediately on your first day of training, muscular forearms crossed over a white t-shirt causing huge biceps to bulge. He was impossibly gorgeous. One of those men who looked almost cheesy in photographs, easy to mock and laugh about with your friends, but in person he knocked the air from your lungs. Angled jaw, perfect blond hair, broad shoulders set above a strong chest and a seriously slim waist. And he was tall. So tall. He also smelled great literally all the time, which didnât help things. A simple, strong, expensive yet inoffensive cologne was incredibly on-brand and maddeningly distracting.
You hated how he affected you and you worked harder than everyone else to prove you werenât just another airhead wanting a place on the team and a place next to the gorgeous living legend. That wasnât you. But, you had eyes.
Bloodied hands, sweaty stealth suits and many nights crying over the stress of it all, and eventually it paid off. You were on the team. Barely a fortnight went by before a realisation hit you in the face â Steve Rogers was as good on the inside as he was on the outside. Sure, he was patient during training, encouraging yet fair, and he was driven by duty and purpose. That was obvious. It was the smaller moments you noticed most. Dropping to one knee and tying Natashaâs runners for her when she pulled her calf muscle and had to leave training early. Hugging Thor when he missed his brother. Brewing coffee for the team on a Sunday â cooking wasnât his thing, he admitted, so it was the least he could do.
And the night he came back in the pouring rain, soaked to the skin from a run, verbal jabs already flying from you all as he squelched through the common area with jogging bottoms and a t-shirt that looked as though it had been painted onto his muscular body. Until you all noticed he was holding something in his arms. A black labrador puppy, just as wet as he was, Steveâs large arm having attempted and failed at shielding the stray from the rain.
âHe was shaking by the dumpster out back, poor little guy!â His trademark compassion married with a boyish giddiness at finding a tiny new friend. He flinched slightly when he looked up and noticed your presence. You were new. You werenât a trusted colleague yet. He felt as though you had just seen him naked.
You jumped up and fetched a towel to dry him and a blanket to lay on. The dog, that is, not the super soldier. Clint jogged to the fridge and fished out some fresh roasted chicken. And Thor slowly approached the little dog, the Godâs eyes teary, as he declared, âWe shall call him Loki.â It took the blond a week or two to accept the pup was in fact a dog and not his brother in animal form.
Yeah. Steve Rogers was an angel. And the more you saw the soft heart underneath his red, white and blue suit, the more lightheaded you felt in his presence. Gorgeous, compassionate and genuine with ironclad integrity. How were you supposed to resist that?
Allowing your mind to bathe in blissful memories killed a little time, though you were catapulted into the present by a sensation you simply could not ignore. It pressed into your hipbone. You cleared your throat.
âSteve?â
âYeah.â
âYouâre, erm... youâre hard.â
âI know.â He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. âSorry.â
He inhaled slowly through his nose, paused for four seconds, then let out a breath through taught lips. Box breathing. You learned it from him in training. After two minutes of breathing exercises, he regained his physical composure. Your hipbone wouldnât bruise, it seemed.
âYou know, itâs really okay... for what itâs worth, I felt a little worked up too. Any woman would be, pressed up against you.â You hoped your awkward chuckle and statement of truth would generalise your arousal. You were right â any woman would feel a certain way.
His pause was longer this time. âI know, English.â
A weight seemed to drop out of your stomach. You summoned all your courage and looked up at him. âWhat do you mean, you know?â
âWell, my err.....â he gestured vaguely to his mouth and nose. âMy senses are dialled up to a hundred. You know, after the serum.â He looked down and met your eyes. âSo I, err.... I can tell.â
âYou can.... tell?â
âYeah. I can, err...â He looked down, a light blush dusting his cheekbones. âI can, you know, smell you.â
Smell me??
Mercifully it was dark enough in that cave to disguise your own blushing. You feared the entire cavern would light up with the red beacon on your face. You swallowed. âYou mean, because weâre so close right now. Right?â
He knew, didnât he. Every time. Every damn time you had been turned on by his mere presence, thinking you were embodying nonchalance and a stellar work ethic, he fucking knew. Your mind flashed like a slideshow with memories of thirsting over Steve, from initial training to nights in the tower to missions together. You couldn't stop yourself from making a sound of mortification. The groan didnât stand a chance.
The cave fell silent. Then the chuckling started.
âAre you fucking laughing at me, Rogers??â
âNo, no...â He covered his mouth and grinned, still chortling to himself.
âOh, my God, youâre an asshole.....â You elbowed him, then mustered a Russian accent to quote your favourite hockey show. âEveryone must know this. Everybody, Steve Rogers is an asshole!â
âYou and that goddamn show!â
âWhat? Itâs hot!â
Steve shook his head, recalling the nights you and Natasha watched Heated Rivalry together. âNo it isnât. Youâre hot.â
âWhat, no itâs - â You stopped defending your show and looked him dead in the eyes. âHang on, what did you say?â
His eyes roamed to your lips and back up again. âYou heard me, English.â You werenât imagining it, his voice had dropped a level. You swallowed hard.
Your hand found its way back to his chest. Your breathing quickened and you felt the seat of your underwear dampen. His lips parted. Your gazes were held together by invisible strings of honey, never leaving each other. Slowly, he tilted his head to one side, assessing the situation like a military operation, with one distinct difference. You felt his cock press into your hip once more.
âSteve....â
âWe canât.â He shook his head sadly, pressing his forehead against yours. âIâm sorry.â
âI know, weâre colleagues. I get it, I â â
âNo, we physically canât - there isnât enough room to swing a cat in here!â
You laughed and as your chuckles subsided he took your hand, which had been resting on his chest and he slid it up behind his neck, massaging at the tense muscles.
âSo youâre saying itâs a challenge then.â You cocked your head and smirked. âWhat, you think Iâm not up to it?â
He looked down at you, nostrils flared, and it was the last thing you saw before he grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you, hard and desperate. His body pressed into yours and he groaned into your mouth as he snaked a hand around your lower back to pull you even tighter against him. His body was firm and strong, that damn cologne invading your senses as he kissed the last scraps of sense from you.
Without warning Steve jerked his mouth from you and pressed his back into the wall. Satisfied, he pushed the wall behind you with his palms. âIt wonât budge. Weâre good.â As he talked, he reached his hand behind your ear and switched your CommsLink to âreceive onlyâ mode. He clicked his own earpiece a milisecond later.
It was as close to an invitation as he would give, and it was enough to prompt you to scramble up the tangles of toppled concrete and find a foothold. You rested a hand on his shoulder and another on the rock as you got into position, bringing your hips level with his. He assisted by grabbing your ass and holding you in place. âYouâre so fuckinâ good, baby.â He was horny and impressed by your ingenuity. Didn't get much better than that.
âCan you unzip your suit from here?â
You pressed both hands into his shoulders, needing to steady yourself. You look down at your black suit, covered in grey dust. âI dunno, I.... I need help...â
âGot it.â His fingers found your zipper and before he pulled down, he waited and whispered to you. âYou sure this is okay?â
âIâm sure that if we donât do this Iâll be salty about it forever.â
âAlright.... alright....â
His voice trailed off and his eyes smouldered, any scrap of the dutiful soldier gone. In its place, a man driven by pure need. He maintained eye contact as he unzipped your black tactical suit and slid it from your shoulders, leaving you exposed in your black underwear. He pulled the zip all the way down past your pubis. The backs of his hands brushed past the damp seat of your underwear. He felt shivers of pleasure roll over his shoulders and down his back.
You bit your lip as you eyed him hungrily. He was covered in dust and concrete, face filthy with evidence of his heroics. You scraped dramatically at the chest of his stealth suit, desperate for access to his skin. He smiled and shook his head. âSorry baby. It wonât come off easy. I can unzip, though.â He stroked your cheek with a softness unfitting of fucking you senseless in a dusty cave. âWould that be okay? Hmm?â Your last braincell left your skull as he inserted a grimy thumb into your mouth and you sucked on it. âOhh, baby. Such a good fuckinâ girl.â
You began fumbling with his leather tactical belt, muttering, âI canât wait, Steve. Iâm sorry, I canât.â The hardening of his cock told you he didnât object to his tactical belt hastily falling to the ground. As you unbuttoned his tactical pants and moved the stiff fabric to one side to access his zipper, he hoisted you up, both hands under your ass cheeks. You groaned as curtains of kevlar fabric parted to reveal a hard dick encased in tight black Calvins. âFfffuck, Steve.....â You palmed his cock through the cotton.
âMove âem down.â When you tried and failed over the course of the next two seconds, he tore at the fabric to give you better access. You pulled the flap of cotton to one side and placed your hand around his perfect, long hard cock, stroking him from the base to the head. He squirmed under your touch as you teased the head with your thumb.
His eyes were blown wide, already out of it. He rested the weight of you on one palm and his bicep bulged under the pressure, as one strong hand moved your panties to the side. âThis okay?â he asked breathlessly as he returned his hand underneath your arse and positioned you above his cock. Crumbled concrete crunched under your knees as you pushed them into the rock to steady yourself. You reached up and cupped the back of his head, his hair gritty with dust. âPlease Steve, I need you....â
âI know, baby. I know....â He whispered so gently as he carefully lowered you down onto his hard shaft, coaxing a gasp from your throat. He cursed. It was too much, the combination of feeling your warmth around him and the sight of your mouth wide open, veins pulsing in your neck as you tilted your head back. His first thrust faltered as he felt you become even more wet. Two leather straps in front of your sightline stared at you and you grabbed them, using his shield holster as handles. The feeling of you tugging at him made him curse again. He took control, moving you up and down, hands under your ass, guiding you, thrusting you up and down as you held onto his leather straps, face buried into dusty navy blue.
He was big. Not offensively so. But he filled you so perfectly with each deliberate, firm, careful lower onto his shaft. You hung onto those two straps of leather as he controlled your movements.
âSteve, can you hear me? Itâs Sam.â
âYouâve gotta be fuckinâ shitting me.â Steveâs voice was gruff, genuinely irritated by the interruption. You laughed and told him to ignore it. Instead he instructed you to be quiet and, when you struggled, advised you to clamp your mouth around his leather shield straps. You shot him an incredulous look as a dusty leather glove elevated to his ear. Click.
âSam. Iâm here.â
âWeâre twenty minutes out from your location. Hang in there.â
âGot it.â
âAny injuries?â
âNo. No, weâre err... weâre fine. Both of us.â
There was a pause from Sam. â...You sure?â
Steve faltered. âY-yeah. Sure.â
His bicep began to twitch. Holding you up with one hand wasnât easy, even with his enhanced strength. You helped him by getting a foothold near his hip, changing your position so you had one knee and one boot steading your slutty form straddled either side him. The new angle caused you to move further up his dick and slide past the head, making him hiss.
âYour breathing, Cap. The air....â Sam shouted instructions at Romanoff to âstep on it.â âBe there in 15. Hang in there. Over.â
âReceived. Over.â Steve clicked his earpiece back to receive only. You removed your face from his chest, teeth long since parted with his holster, and cocked your head.
âGreat, now they think weâre dying from lack of oxygen.â
He quirked his lips. âIâm dyinâ of somethinâ.â
You spurted a laugh. âCome on, we only have 15 minutes.â
âThanks for thinkinâ thereâs a chance Iâll last that long....â He kissed you urgently, grabbing you by the arse again and sliding you back onto his dick. It forced a moan from you and he chuckled, but it felt every bit as divine to him too.
You maintained your position, your foothold giving you leverage and control as you grabbed his holster straps again and swung off them, grateful his suit came with a built-in sex swing. He growled, the sensation overwhelming him. You were climbing him like a tree in the limited space you had. And you were so tight around him, so hot, so wet....
âI always fuckinâ knew youâd feel this good honey, fuck....â
Your mouth covered his neck in wet kisses lacking finesse as the reality of the situation hit you. You were getting railed by Steve Rogers in a cave in a life-or-death situation which straddled your deepest phobia. He was covered in dust and grime and wearing his stealth suit, open just enough to give his cock enough room to fuck you. He smelled of sex, sweat and that damn collogne. Heat rose through your body and your climax raced through you, coming with a loud moan as you tilted your head back in ecstasy.
âFffffffuck, Steve....â
âYeah, yeah honey... oh fuckkkkkkk.....â
He spurted his release inside you, gripping your hips and holding you still as he came with an animalistic groan, his climax lasting longer than you expected, longer than was typical or normal. Of course. Even his orgasms were stronger than the average man.
His head flopped back against the wall, eyes closed, forehead sticky with sweat. You rested against his chest and he held you against him as your heartrates settled back into rhythm. Once he was sure you were okay â after asking several times and checking you over, he helped lower you back to the ground and zip you back up. He glanced down at his own state of undress and found a shred of fabric where his underwear used to be. His sigh melted into a light laugh and he ripped the remainder of the garment off and put the scraps of material in a pocket in his tactical pants. You found this hilarious. âHoney, just donât,â he warned, though he smiled and his tone held no malice.
When he had zipped his dick up behind its Kevlar prison, he smoothed down your hair, thick with grit, and offered a soft smile. âYou know, we should get trapped in a collapsed building more often.â
âIt was hot, Iâm not gonna lie.â
âIt was so fuckinâ hot.â He kissed your forehead. You turned and noticed leather on the dusty ground. Neither of you could reach it.
âWe might have to explain why your tactical belt is on the floor.â
âIt got blown off during the blast.â His tone, suddenly serious and professional, made you laugh.
âCourse it did.â You sighed. âAnd hey. At least I havenât had a panic attack.â It was too late to take the words back. But the two of you were way past formalities.
You had less than ten minutes resting against Steveâs chest, with his hand on the back of your head and his soothing voice in your ear. Your earpieces buzzed with Samâs voice announcing their arrival. You smiled at each other as you registers the sound of your teammates hard at work above you, freeing you from several meters of concrete.
Once again, this Steve is so on brand with the way that he is. But that sexy MFer just has to have you. And the fact that she made it work hell yeah, girl, you get that D.
All Too Well - Swiftie!Steve Rogers đŠđđ„°đȘ¶
Summary: Steve goes to see his favourite artist in concert, and he doesnât want the team to know. Luckilly, being an Avenger has taught him to be stealth. Or has it?
Contains: Pure fluff and crack. Some light teasing.
Words: 2,000
A/N: Thank you to @simplyholl for helping me launch this madness!
Steve swiped his hand through perfectly coiffed blond hair and adjusted his aviator sunglasses. He smiled at himself in the mirror. His grin faded and he slid them off, placing them in the pocket of his brown leather bomber jacket.
âPut âem on inside, Steve. Put âem on inside.â
He brushed nervous hands down his thighs, careful not to spoil his jeans, which were tucked into brown army combat boots, shined to perfection. He cocked his head at his reflection. In Steveâs eyes he had literally never looked cooler.
He poked his head out of his bedroom, hands clutching the doorframe, slipping out and closing the door behind him silently. His iPhone glowed in his hand, the small car icon showing his Uber approaching the tower. He creeped towards the elevator, slipping behind a wall when a lanky agent almost crossed his path. He breathed a sigh of relief. The hand he clutched to his chest caught on something poking out of his jacket. He slipped out his sunglasses. âAh! I can wear âem as a disguise.â
In his enthusiasm he bounded around the corner and smacked into a tiny, suspicious redhead.
âRogers?â Natasha looked him up and down, her brows furrowing as she absorbed the intel in front of her. âWhere are you going?â
âOh, errrâŠ.â He crossed his arms. He felt like that nervous soldier again, defending his heroics in Asano. He scratched his head. âOh, Iâm err⊠just headinâ out and getting some food â groceries! Yeah. Groceries. Iâm getting groceries.â He chuckled.
Nailed it.
Natasha smirked. She remained silent as she looked him up and down. âHave fun at the deli counter, Rogers.â
She sashayed off, swinging her hips and shaking her head. Counting to ten, she glanced back and drank in the sight of Steve leaning against the wall waiting for the elevator, his arms crossed as he looked from left to right.
He slipped into his Uber relatively unscathed. It was the waiting in the shadows of the lobby that did it, he was sure.
âTraffic is wild tonight, bud.â The driver made small-talk with his nervous passenger. âThat damn Taylor Swift show has been in town all week. And itâs the last night.â
Steve pulled his leather jacket tight around his tshirt, hoping the Captain America logo wasnât showing. At least the driver couldnât see what was on the back.
âSheâs pretty popular. Whole townâs out to see her! You picked a hell of a night to get groceries, pal.â
Steve cleared his throat and slid down in his seat.
âAt least nobodyâll recognise ya!â The driver chuckled to himself at his little joke, turning up to the radio which was, predictably, a Taylor Swift classic.
She wears high heels, I wear sneakers
Sheâs cheer captain and Iâm on the bleechers
Dreaminâ âbout the day when you wake up and find
That what youâre lookinâ for has been here the whole time
Steve tapped his finger on his knee and mouthed the words, ceasing immediately when he noticed his driverâs eyeballs staring at him through the rear view mirror. The driver pulled up at the store. âYou sure itâs this Whole Foods? The one right by Madison Square Gardens? Buddy you chose the busiest store in the whole of Manhattan!â
âYeah.â Steve suddenly had something in his throat. âYeah this is the one.â
The driver tilted his head âBuddy, Iâm not here to judge, I just didnât â â
Steve was out of the car at this point, leaning through the passenger side window and handing his driver a crisp twenty. âLetâs keep this between us.â He walked off towards the stadium with the driver calling after him, âHey you know it takes the money from your card, right!â Bribed by Cap? The driver shrugged. Wasnât the weirdest thing he would see tonight.
Steve practically skipped through security, barely noticing a gratuitous pat down by the guard, and within mere moments he was surrounded by a swirling storm of giddy Swifties. He remained anonymous, leaning against a food truck and chomping on a juicy burger, the sauce dripping onto his t-shirt. âShit.â
âLanguage!â
He frowned and looked in the direction of a brunette with an English accent. She was with a blonde who sounded like she was from the south. The other friend was clearly from Scotland. The Brit had clocked Rogers as he bent over and studied the menu on the side of the truck. She would recognise that arse anywhere.
âHeâs not really a Swiftie, surely,â she said to her friends.
Steve absolutely wasnât going to take that type of slander. He wiped the remaining burger juice from his lips with the back of his hand and walked over.
âYou wanna say that a little louder?â He challenged the women with a playful smirk.
âThere ainât no way you like Taylor,â the blonde southern belle quipped.
âOh yeah? What you wanna test that I know the words or what?â Steveâs arms were folded now. It made his biceps look enormous.
The Scot spoke up. An even bigger Swiftie than Steve, she had loved Taylor for almost two decades. She was hardcore. An OG. âFavourite song. Go.â
âAll Too Well. I think itâs beautiful, really heartfelt. And I like the upbeat ones too. You Belong With Me and, urr⊠Shake It Off, obviously.â
The Scot frowned, unconvinced.
âAnd if you must knowâŠ.â Steve looked down at his combat boots. âDown Bad has a special place in my heart.â
The Brit chewed on her lip, elbowed by her American friend. They were on the verge of laughter. âYouâre down bad crying at the gym??â She looked him up and down.
âYeah! How do you think my arms got so big??â
The women guffawed. He had them there.
âOkay okay okay. Would a fake fan do this?â He removed his sunglasses, then his bomber jacket. âHere, hold these.â He turned around and showed the back of his t-shirt, arms flexed and thumbs pointing down at his shoulders. The three of them were almost hysterical with mirth.
âSteve! YOUâRE JOKING!!!!â
âYouâre a real one!â
âI canât fucking believe it. I need a photo of this immediately.â
Emblazoned on the back of his blue Captain America t-shirt, the rhinestones shining in the New York sun, were the words:
MR. AMERICANA
An iPhone photoshoot ensued, each member of the group getting their shots. Steve included.
âHang the fuck on. Tell me that doesnât say what I think it doesâŠ.â The Brit pointed to the base of Steveâs shirt. In small letters, complete with an arrow, was the phrase THATâS AMERICAâS ASS. âHonestly I would ask to squeeze it but I donât want to objectify you.â
Steve blushed at her request. She reminded him of her. Bold. Brunette. British. âMaybe later, huh?â He winked.
They parted ways with the Scot pointing and calling over a crowd of fans, âYou better know the words to All Too Well! The ten-minute version. EVERY WORD, ROGERS!â
Steve saluted her and grinned and turned straight into a line of Swifties wanting a photo with him. In a blur of flashes and giggles, Steve found his forearms covered in friendship bracelets. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
He made his way to his seat and found himself next to his three new friends from earlier. The glow of the Manhattan sunset framed the stage and lit up the set pieces in ethereal light.
In a heartbeat the bassline dropped.
âARE YOU READY FOR IT?â
The crowd of 80,000 were ready. And so was Mr. Americana.
Three hours passed in a blur of nostalgic songs, costume changes and nods to each Era. A personal highlight for Steve was his favourite, All Too Well. He proudly sung every single word.
The three women were transfixed by their star. Every now and again, the brunette would turn to watch Steve singing a particularly poignant lyric, changing the words slightly to fit him.
Lights, camera, bitch, smile even when you wanna die
She said sheâd love me all my life
But that life was too short, breaking down, I hit the floor
All the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting âmoreâ
I was grininâ like Iâm winninâ, I was hittinâ my marks
âCause I can do it with a broken heart
She would smile softly and glance away, giving him the opportunity to enjoy this moment of fandom and anonymity. Until Miss Americana played and his face filled the jumbotron. The crowd, predictably, erupted.
Thor was the only one on the team who could truly fly. But Steve was sure he soared through the streets of New York to get home, swinging through the streets like that spider kid from Queens. He didnât remember a single second of it.
He didnât sleep a wink, lost in between his headphones and the songs he loved so much. He felt like he was a dorky teenager again. That part of him never really died.
Around 6am, he finally peeled off his embezzled t-shirt, stripped naked, and stepped into the shower. He dressed in a simple black sweater and a fresh pair of jeans. The pair from last night were covered in glitter.
He headed down to the meeting room, stopping by the shared kitchen and pouring a large mug of coffee. He sipped on the hot brew as Tony fiddled with his technology and the Avengers assembled in the boardroom.
âI have very important news.â
Steve rested a fist under his chin, seriousness enveloping him like a cloak.
âWe had a serious security breach.â He tilted his chin down. âKnow anything about this, Cap?â
âSecurity breach? No, Tony. Honestly. When was it?â
Tony began smirking. âLast night.â In a flourish of his hands, images appeared mid-air.
Images of Steve.
At the concert.
Every image of him had been shared on social media.
The photographs were everywhere.
Tony was fucking delighted.
âWhat, you didnât see these?â Tonyâs incredulous expression paired perfectly with his hand thumbing at the images on the wall. âYou have other plans keepinâ you busy last night or somethinâ. Huh? Mr. Americana?â
Steve covered his face with his hands. He was beet red. When he had a second to compose himself, he glanced at Natasha who sat beside him. âIâm guessing you put him onto this?â She shook her head.
âThey went viral, Cap.â Tony announced with glee. He popped a blueberry in his mouth. âEveryoneâs seen âem. Everyone.â Tony winked.
âIâm never gonna live this down, am I?â He leaned back in his chair and sighed.
âOh, by the way â that little group you were with? Tracked âem down. Amazing what Jarvis can do when youâre sweet to him. Theyâll be here tonight. Weâre having a party. No prizes for guessing whatâs on the playlist. Youâre welcome, by the way. The brunetteâs kinda cute.â
Steve groaned and closed his eyes.
When he left the meeting room he discovered Tonyâs love of old school tech â printing off photos and blowing them up to the largest size imaginable. They lined every hallway Steve walked through.
It would be months before Tony stopped singing, âThey whisper in the hallways sheâs a bad, bad girlâ every time he passed Steve in the hall. And he never really stopped muttering, âHey, donât worry about it Cap, just⊠shake it offâ anytime there was a mere hint of a problem.
During their next mission, Steve had an ace up his sleeve. The team boarded the jet, covered in dust and sweat and the blood of their enemies. As the Quinjet ascended, the speakers blasted a song full volume.
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the wood yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods?
Are we in the clear yet?
Are we in the clear yet?
Are we in the clear yet, in the clear yet?
GOOD.
It wasnât going away anytime soon. Steve would make sure of that.
Classic Conditioning - Steve Rogers x Former UK Special Forces Reader đâïž
Summary: You talk back to Steve during a team discussion on how best to track down Thanos. Given you're a former UK Special Forces operative, Steve knows you can do better. He decides to teach you a lesson while you address him as 'Staff' during your punishment.
Contains: Spanking, Mean!Dom Steve and Soft!Dom Steve, verbal degradation, Military Kink, UK Special Forces lingo.
Words: 1,300
A/N: This is basically SAS: Who Dares Wins fanfic. I wish I was kidding. I'm appalled with myself. đ
âThanos threatens half the universe,â Vision stated. âOne life cannot stand in the way of defeating him.â
The Captainâs gaze fixed on the table below him before looking up at the synthezoid with the saviour complex. âBut it should.â He shook his head. âWe donât trade lives, Vision.â
You scoffed and muttered to yourself. âSince uhh.... when.â
Capâs eyes shifted to you now. His expression remained fixed, his tone steady. âOne more word honey and youâre goinâ over my knee.â He looked back to Wanda and continued discussing the logistics of protecting the coveted stone from the intergalactic threat.
Your stomach flipped. Did he actually just�
Yeah. He fucking did.
It was widely known you had been on the run from the government for two years. Steve from his government. And you, from yours.
The team knew you as Steveâs partner in crime. His confident. His lover. That was no secret.
The sordid kinky details, however, had remained as classified as the formula for the serum that made your side piece the man he is today.
Now it was out in the open.
Wanda had cocked her head.
Thor raised an eyebrow.
Vision simply frowned.
The conversation about traveling to Wakanda continued as though secrets about your sex life hadnât been blown into the air like flour, covering every surface. You werenât having any of it.
âSteve, fucking hang on.â
He sighed and apologised to Vision and Wanda. âGive me a minute.â
Without another word he walked up to you, grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the room and around the corner, marching you down a brightly lit hallway on the other side of the bevelled glass wall.
âSteve what the fuck is wrong with you?â
He manoeuvred you into the wall. âWeâve talked about this, honey. No talkinâ back in front of the team.â
Your verbal protests were lost in the midst of Steve dragging you into a room at the end of the hallway. He closed the door with a thud.
âHands on the table.â
âAre you fucking joking?â
âHoney. You might have abandoned your country.â He looked up at you like a disappointed father. âBut that doesnât mean Iâll tolerate you abandoning your training.â
âWhat?â
âPalms on the desk. Thatâs an order.â
You sighed but obliged, knowing better than to go to battle with Stubborn Sargent Steve. He was impossible when he was in army mode.
âYouâre a highly regarded special forces operator, honey. The first woman in the UKSF.â You heard the click of his belt buckle as he unfastened it behind you. âOr did that slip your mind. Huh?â
Blisters. Bleeding feet. Carrying men twice your weight. Twisted ankles. A sprained lower back. More cuts and bruises than you could count.
Five months of pure hell to pass SAS selection.
No. You hadnât forgot. You told Steve as much.
âNoâŠ. what?â
âNo, Captain Rogers.â
You heard the whip of leather through Teflar as he pulled his tactical belt from his pants. You shivered as his breath kissed your ear and he whispered. âThatâs not what youâre gonna call me today.â He chuckled. âGive me a fuckinâ Yes Staff.â
All those nights hunkering down in shitty hostels in indistinct Welsh towns, eating Super Noodles and wanging on about your time as an SAS recruit. He had listened. Taken it all in. And now you were getting payback.
âY-yes, Staff,â you stuttered, your face flushed. Fucking hell. He was going to milk it. You knew it. You closed your eyes, palms flat on the desk and arse presented to him, as he worked his belt into a loop in his hands.
âYou were given a number during your training, right?â
âYes, Staff.â
âWhat was your number?â
âNumber seven, staff.â
âNumber seven. Give me the definition of classic conditioning.â
âYes, Staff. Itâs the process where a stimulus acquires the ability to trigger a response due to its repeated pairing with another stimulus. Like Pavlovâs bell.â
âGood, number seven.â He paused for dramatic effect. âThatâs exactly what weâre gonna do today.â
Thatâs basic reward and punishment, you dumb fuck. Positive reinforcement. Not classic conditioning. Whatever.
âIf you so much as think of somethinâ bratty, Iâm gonna make you pay for it.â
Either he heard a scoff you failed to stifle. Or he was fucking psychic.
âY-yes, Staff. Iâm sorry, Staff.â
âDonât let it happen again. Number seven, for talking back in front of the team, Iâm gonna strike you ten times with my belt. After each one, youâll say thank you staff. Understood.â
âYes, Staff.â
Steve Rogers was kinkier than the British army.
And that was saying something.
He whipped you with his belt, each strike accompanied by your thanks. The leather stung through your jeans. By the final strike, you were gasping.
âTh-thank you, StaffâŠâ
âGood work, number seven. Next. I wanna ensure you remember the core values of your regiment. Do you remember them, number seven?â
âYes, Staff.â
âPull down your jeans, number seven.â
You inhaled slowly. And exhaled. Even the feistiest thought must be buried. He would know. Silently, you unbuttoned your jeans and exposed your buttocks. You steadied your breath. Your training and obedience wouldnât permit you to turn back. If you did, you would see his hard cock straining against his tactical pants. The image flashed in front of your retina, so brief not even Steve could detect it.
âThe four tenants of the British Special Forces. Youâre gonna recite each one after I strike you with my palm. Understood.â
Fucking YES STAFF, you wanted to scream.
Instead you swallowed and answered demurely.
âGood, number seven. First tenant.â He struck you hard.
âProfessionalism, Staff.â
âGood. Second tenant.â He hit your arse cheek with his palm. You gasped.
âPeople, Staff.â
âThird.â He struck you again, palm resting on your cheek and circling softly, an echo of his tenderness.
âPreparation, S-Staff.â
âFourth and final tenant.â A pause hung in the air. So did his hand. It recoiled and slapped your harder than all three of the previous strikes combined. You bit down on your tongue so hard you almost drew blood.
âPride, S-Staff.â
You were boneless. Arms trembling.
Physically, you could take a lot. Your psychological pain threshold was even higher.
Steve chose not to push you. He asked you one final question.
âWhat is the most honourable value of the SAS, number seven.â
âThe relentless pursuit of excellence, Staff.â
You felt denim smooth over your tender cheeks. Strong hands at the front of you, buttoning them back up. You felt his chest against your back. And his voice in your ear, soft and gentle.
âYouâre the best, honey. Never forget that.â
He wrapped his arms around your chest and lifted you from the desk, large hands on your shoulders turning you to face him. He brushed the hair from your face, damp with sweat.
He cast a glance to the door. âWhen Iâm out there, talkinâ to the team, I donât want you to give quips like that. Youâre better than that. Give strategy. Show âem what you got. Okay?â
You nodded, words gone.
âYouâre so fuckinâ skilled, baby.â His voice cracked. âAnd Iâm so fuckinâ proud of you. First woman in the special forces? Youâre a force to be reckoned with. Letâs go out there and show âem who you are. Got it?â
You smiled, blushing at his praise. He kissed your forehead and held you in his arms, ensuring you were alright.
He opened the door for you and walked along the hallway, his fingers tracing over your freshly spanked arse.
He kept his volume low. âI know youâre tough, but you sure youâre okay honey?â
 You smiled, self-satisfied, and leaned over to whisper in his ear.
Life really is crazy and full of possibilities. Like do we want to get rescued by Steve Rogers in a heroic fashion or do we want to kidnap him and tie him up and edge the information out of him?
