💥Ryleigh🔥

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni, blurb based on this request!! busy weekend for me so trying to feed y'all <3

hayden christensen x reader

you weren't exactly sure how you ended up in this position. double entendre, because you your legs were by your head, in the backseat of hayden christensens car, but also because all you had simply done is asked for a photo. but you saw the way he seemed to glance a little longer, continue talking instead of waving you on and going about his day. it made your ego burst, obviously. a man as attractive as him, finding you desirable.

he, on the other hand, thought desirable was an understatement. the way he could almost visualize how you looked under your thin tank, one he assumed was so thin because of the current heat. your mini shorts bared your thighs, ones he couldn't help but stare at when your eyes weren't watching. he didn't exactly mean to drag you into his car, take you like this. but the way you fluttered your eyelashes at him once he assumed you did notice, the way you used his name in your sentences that could pose innuendos, he couldn't help it.

you were like putty underneath him, all he needed was your confirmation that you wanted this, that it was okay, and he was all over you. his tongue, his mouth, his fingers, him.

“that feel good baby?” your body fits tight on his backseat, despite this, he pushes your legs up, gripping behind your knees. you let out a whine, the pressure from him driving relentlessly into you sharp, something deep, but a new sense of pleasure you’ve never felt.

he groans. “fucking dirty girl, letting someone you’ve probably gotten off to fuck you in his car.”

your stomach flutters at his words, your cunt squeezing around him. he’s right, you absolutely have but that’s why it was an irresistible opportunity.

he pauses, buried to the hilt in you. “gonna take this condom off and paint your pretty face with me. you like that?”

“yes. yes please.” you sound pathetic but you’ve never been so turned on, your heart thrumming in your chest.

deeper, faster, until he pulls out, his breathing strangled.

“fuck.” he aims his cock at your face, stroking it to his climax. “stick your tongue out pretty girl. take it in your mouth.”

you squeeze your eyes shut as he finishes with a moan, his hot spill painting you, salty on your outstretched tongue. you open, meeting his eyes, watching him admire you.

“stunning.”

[blowingbarnes]

Mr. and Mrs.... Rogers?!

Pairing: Spy!Steve x Spy!Reader WC: 10.5k Warnings: enemies to lovers, loosely inspired by mr. and mrs. smith, the avengers are not super mainstream in this, sexual tension, shower scene, makeout, jealousy, mean!steve at times, brat!reader, eventual smut (dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, edging, creampie, steve eating you out within an inch of your life (munch steve come homeeeeeeee), doggy style, tonguefucking), mentions of voyeurism, surveillance, size kink, miscommunication, angst-ish with comfort. Summary: You and Steve are voluntold you're married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other. +fran: this is the opening showing of the Captain Americana Film Festival and my humble contribution to Steve's birthday!!! I cannot tell you how much it filled me with joy that I sat down to write this on the 4th and actually spat out 10k words. WE ARE SO BACK!!! Happy 108th to the man who will always have my heart, has been the gold standard against which I measure every man, (this is blond man propaganda) and also my astrological twin <3 no one gets me like he does fr. ⤷ you should go listen to the incredible playlist named "mr and mrs smith [john and jane]" by marybatz on spotify

"Absolutely not!"

Fury had the timing of a tax audit to a billionaire CEO. Of course, of course, you'd be stuck playing this mission with fucking Steve. 

One second you were minding your business, enjoying what was left of your coffee and your relatively peaceful morning, and the next Nick Fury was informing you that you would be spending the foreseeable future pretending to be happily married to Steve Rogers.

"You're going." Fury didn't even break stride. He rolled his eye and kept walking down the hallway toward the conference room, clearly done entertaining your complaints before you'd even finished making them, with you hot on his heel. 

Your footsteps echoed in the wide hallway as you walked backwards, facing Fury. "Can't I marry someone else for this?" You pondered. "What about Barnes?"

Fury stopped so suddenly you nearly tripped. "You want to pretend to be married to Barnes?"

You opened your mouth, immediately closed it, thought for a second and shrugged, squeezing your eyes shut. "That's not the point."

"That's what I thought."

The polished floors reflected the overhead lights as the two of you moved through the hallway. “Nat, maybe? Some of those married dudes would eat up girl-on-girl and spill the beans right away. Mission would be so quick!”

Fury walked with the patience of a man who'd dealt with far worse than you. The fact that he hadn't strangled you after years of working together was honestly kind of impressive, a little endearing almost.

Both of you quickly arrived at the conference room door, Fury stopping with his hand on the handle, turning his face to you and letting our a frustrated sigh. "Do you like working here?"

You rolled your eyes, "Yes, sir." What kind of question was that?

"And what's your title?" His brow quirked up.

A confused look plastered all over your face. "Agent."

He leaned down to talk to you closer, almost like explaining rules to a petulant child, "Then be an agent." and proceeded to push the door open and hold it for you, giving you full view of Steve Rogers sitting at the head of the table with a sour expression on his face, just as displeased to have to pretend to love you for the mission. 

The training room should've been empty half an hour ago, and technically, everyone was done for the day. 

It should’ve been quiet—mats wiped down, lights dimmed, everyone gone for the night.

Instead, the air was thick.

Heavy with sweat, heat, and something sharp enough to make the back of your neck prickle. The entire team and a couple recruits were watching you.

Well, you and Steve. 

At first not openly—no one was stupid enough to make it obvious—but they lingered. Leaned against walls, sat on benches, hovered just close enough to pretend they had somewhere else to be.

It started as any other training session did, you rotated partners, almost like shark bait: in and out, partner after partner cycling through you while you stayed planted on the mat, pushing your stamina, your endurance, your patience.

Until you ended up on the other side of the mat from Steve. 

Barefoot, sleeves rolled, skin already lightly sheened with the littlest bit of sweat that somehow made him look betterinstead of worse—which was deeply, personally offensive.

Here's the thing: he was a super soldier. He had endless stamina, super strength, reflexes that outmatched 99% of the population, and he had it all with perfect blond hair and barely breaking a sweat on his sculpted body.

It infuriated the hell out of you. 

He blocked every kick, every punch, and when he didn't he wasn't even phased. 

It made you go harder, to the point where you found yourselves now: almost trying to hurt each other. 

By then, no one was even preteding to be occupied by anything else, shamelessly staring at the two of you at the center of the mat like Oppenheimer waiting for a bomb to go off. 

Steve had stopped treating you with the same careful restraint he used with newer recruits. He'd throw you harder into the mats, knock the wind from your lungs, shove you back with enough force to remind you exactly how much stronger he was, and you'd borderline play dirty.

Every hit had a little more weight behind it. Neither willing to back down. Neither willing to lose.

Sam was sitting backwards in a chair, chin propped on his arms, watching like he had front row seats to the best show of his life; Natasha looked delighted; Bucky looked concerned, brows drawn, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was trying to decide whether to step in or let you both learn your lesson the hard way.

Steve stood opposite of you, his feet staggered and his arms up, making a "come at me" motion with his fingers. His hair was slightly mussed, a damp strand falling forward over his forehead.

"Come to daddy."

The entire room held their breaths, and you saw red. 

In hindsight, you should've planned a better move than to just charge at him, the strength in your muscles and bones not being able to match his. You should've thought of something tactical, something smart. 

But also… you fucking hated his guts. 

Which is exactly how you ended up with your cheek and stomach pressed to the sweaty mat, with Steve's whole weight on your back, your wrists pinned between the two of you and his right arm laced under yours and up your back, hand holding your neck down. 

His hands caught you mid-motion, grip iron-tight as he twisted, using your momentum against you with terrifying ease, his grip locking your body in place, the angle just shy of painful.

"You need to work on your psyche. Mind over matter." His stupid voice right in your ear made goosebumps bloom up your spine, so you did what any reasonable person would do.

You flexed the knee that was between his spread legs hard enough that you hit him square in the balls, giving you the out you needed. 

You straightened on your feet, pushing damp hair back from your face, a breathless, borderline feral grin breaking across your lips as he winced on the mat in pain. 

"Who's your daddy now?" 

Your breathless laughter was cut short, Fury's booming voice breaking through any pain or enjoyment present in the room. "You do know domestic violence is not part of your cover story, no?"

Both of your heads whipped in the direction of his voice. 

He continued to walk in your direction, dropping two folders in front of your feet, and Steve, who was still kneeling down on the mat. "Shower this off. You leave in the morning, lovebirds."

The neighborhood looked like the kind of place where people complained to the HOA because their neighbor's hydrangeas were the wrong shade of blue.

Every lawn was trimmed within an inch of its life, sharp lines cutting through impossibly green grass like someone came out with a ruler every morning. 

The mailboxes all matched—sleek, black, expensive-looking—and every driveway held something polished and obscene:luxury SUV or a car that definitely cost more than your first apartment.

The houses themselves were enormous. White trim, brick facades, wraparound porches, massive windows that left little room for privacy on a street that looked like it loved to mind every business but its own. 

You sat in the passenger seat while Steve drove to your home, the undercover file open across your lap like a book while your bare feet rested on the dash. 

Because annyong Steve was free, and your favorite past time. "No feet on the dash."

You turned a page, ignoring him. "They're staying." You read more of the file. "It's more comfortable that way." Your light blue summer dress was bunched up higher across your thighs, and he did a double take before taking a right turn to your house block.

He sighed. "If we crash—"

"Just look at the road instead of me and we'll be fine." That made him shift in the driver's seat, straightening his posture and looking ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing in annoyance.

What irritated Steve about you was the fact that these comebacks never even seemed to make sense or be thought of, it just rolled off your tongue, almost just for the plot. And you didn't even care. 

He didn't even know why you hated him so much in the first place, but he reciprocated the feeling as soon as he saw how insubordinate and bratty you were. 

Steve sighed the long suffering sigh of a man questioning every life decision that had brought him to this moment. "You're impossible." Muttered under his breath. 

"You're a Senior Project Manager at your own company, honey!" Fake admiration and praise filled your voice. "Oh, you proposed quick! Only a year after our first date." You turned to him, your first real smile plastered on your face. "You're so down bad."

The car came to a stop in your driveway, and Steve turned it off, unclipping his seatbelt. "Put your shoes on, we're here and I feel eyes already." 

"Bossy." You muttered, doing exactly as he said. As you got out of the car, your voice went up an octave, carrying through the humid summer weather. 

“Ready, honey?” you asked, slipping the word out effortlessly, like you’d been saying it for years.

He opened the front door for you, making sure whoever was watching heard him just as well, possessive in a way that made your breath hitch before you could stop it.

“After you, sweetheart.”

You'd barely had enough time to figure out which bedroom closet was yours before the doorbell rang.

ding-dong. ding-dong.

You froze in the middle of the bedroom, one hand still gripping a hanger, Steve somewhere down the hall filling a modified cabinet with all sorts of concealed weapons.

You dropped the hanger onto the bed without another thought, smoothing your hands down your dress as you moved. Steve stepped out of the kitchen at the same time, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he’d been doing something domestic instead of checking sightlines and exits.

Ben and Julie Poindexter stood in your porch like they had been plucked straight out of a catalog. They were ones you hoped to make the acquaintance of quickly, as he was the right hand of the big druglord you and Steve were tasked with making an airtight case on.

Years of field work had taught you that monsters were rarely obvious, still, some primitive part of your brain always expected criminals to look like criminals.

Instead, Ben Poindexter looked like somebody who coached Little League and had multiple PTA moms undoing extra buttons in their cardigans to get his attention. Beside him, Julie beamed, already leaning slightly forward like she couldn’t wait to know everything about you.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathed, eyes lighting up. “You must be the Adlers!” You felt Steve shift beside you, his hand coming to rest warm on your back with an ease that shouldn't be there in the best of actors. 

He smiled, and it was a good one. The kind that made people relax immediately. The kind that five years ago made you—

“Guilty,” he said easily. “Frank.” Right. Frank Adler. 

He extended his hand and Ben took it immediately, introducing you then. “I’m Dex,” the shorter blond said in return, just as easy. “This is my wife, Julie.”

“Hi,” you said, stepping forward like you hadn’t been mentally preparing to dismantle her entire social circle for intel. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She lit up.

“Oh, you are just adorable,” she gushed, reaching out to squeeze your arm like you were already best friends. “We saw the moving truck this morning and I told Ben, I said, ‘We have to go introduce ourselves before everyone else gets to them first.’”

You faked confusion. "Ben…?"

He chuckled lightly in response. "That's me, I… uh… Ben's really only for her and my parents. Friends call me Dex."

You smiled back in understanding. “We appreciate that,” he said smoothly. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind getting settled.”

“So,” Dex cut in, tone casual but eyes observant, “what brings you two here?” There it was. The first test.

You felt Steve’s thumb twitch slightly against your back. A cue , or maybe just instinct. “Work, mostly,” he said, not missing a beat. “I just transferred to oversee a new branch out here.”

Julie gasped softly. “Oh! That’s right, you’re the project manager, right? We heard something about that—”

Of course they did.

You tilted your head toward Steve, letting your smile soften just a touch as you looked at him. Pride, affection… Just enough to sell it.

“He won’t say it, but he’s very good at what he does.” You interjected, turning your sweet smile to your nosy neighbors again. 

His hand pressed a little more firmly into your back before easing again. “Someone has to pay the bills,” he joked lightly, glancing down at you.

"It's a 50/50 relationship," you shot back, nudging his side with your elbow just enough to look playful. "You earn money, and I look pretty in the things it buys." Your hand reached up to scratch the freshly shaven skin of his chin.

“Wow,” Julie breathed, practically vibrating with delight. “You two are so cute.”

You laughed, soft, a little embarassed… and completely fake. Dex watched that exchange carefully. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes sharpened just a fraction.

“New couples usually take a while to settle in around here,” he said, tone still easy. “But I think you two will fit right in.”

“Well,” you said lightly, leaning just a little closer into Steve without thinking about it, “we’re counting on our neighbors to help with that.”

Julie clasped her hands together. “Oh, you have to come to dinner this weekend! Everyone’s going to be there—it’s kind of our thing.”

“We’d love to,” Steve said, lightly nodding.

Both of them smiled in satisfaction, briefly saying their goodbyes and we'll let you get settled. As they started to step back, Julie waved enthusiastically. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

Integration happened faster and easier than either of you expected. Almost like… bait. 

It started with waves.

Small, polite acknowledgments from across driveways—neighbors watering already-perfect lawns, women in linen sets pausing mid-walk with their equally curated dogs. At first it was just smiles, quick introductions repeated twice because no one actually listened the first time, or maybe they expected you to slip up. 

Names, occupations, how long you planned to stay.

Somehow, without either of you saying much at all, your lives had already been filled in for you. Steve—Frank—was “the project manager from the city.” You were “so sweet” and “adjusting beautifully.”

It was unsettling.

Steve got pulled in first.

Dex made it look casual—leaning over the fence one late afternoon while Steve pretended to struggle with a hose attachment he absolutely knew how to fix.

“Couple of us head out to the club on Saturdays,” Dex had said, like it wasn’t a test. Like it wasn’t an invitation into something much bigger. “You golf?”

Steve had shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel like the answer didn’t matter. “Enough not to embarrass myself.”

Dex chuckled. “Good. Fisk hates losing.”

That was how Steve Rogers found himself in pressed polos and quiet greens, standing under the sun with a man who ran half the city from behind clean hands and cleaner money.

Wilson Fisk didn’t look like a monster either. They never did.

From the sidelines, it would’ve looked normal—three men talking shop, trading easy laughs, the soft crack of a golf ball slicing through the air.

But Steve came home with tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before, and eyes that thought too much.

You were integrated differently. Faster, deeper in a sense. If you wanna know a man, you need to know the woman in his life first. Julie took one look at you and decided you were hers.

Brunch turned into wine nights, which turned into yoga classes and impromptu shopping trips where you learned which women talked too much, which ones listened too closely, and which ones pretended not to notice everything while noticing everything.

You laughed when you were supposed to, touched arms at the right moments, let yourself be pulled into conversations about renovations and charity events and who was “having trouble in their marriage” this week.

You played the part. Perfectly.

But you also listened. And Julie talked, about Dex, about their marriage, about his schedule, the men he worked with, his "job".

About Fisk in a careful, vague way that told you she knew just enough to be useful and not enough to be dangerous.

Inside the house, however, nothing really changed. You were in bliss whenever Steve was anywhere outside of the five thousand square feet of the house. And in hell when you could hear his footsteps through the hallways. 

“Why are your shoes in the middle of the hallway?” “Because I took them off.”

“You put a gun in the cereal cabinet.” “It was concealed.”

And yet, somewhere in between the arguing and the slammed cabinets and the pointed silences, you moved around each other.

Steve adjusted the cuff of his polo as he stepped out onto the green, the sun warm against the back of his neck, the grass trimmed so perfectly it almost didn’t look real. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly—controlled, decorative, intentional.

Everything here was curated, including the people. Dex stood a few feet ahead, already mid-conversation with a Fisk, Steve immediately recognizing his big frame.

“Frank,” Dex called easily, turning just enough to wave him over. “Glad you made it.” 

Steve walked up at an even pace, shoulders loose, posture relaxed, every movement deliberate in its lack of tension. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Dex clapped his hands lightly. “Let’s see if you actually know how to swing that thing.”

The game itself was uneventful on the surface, small talk, a couple of drinks over a few holes, business talk, the kind of conversation that never said anything directly but still managed to reveal everything if you knew how to listen.

Steve pretending to be worse than Fisk at golf remembering what Dex said about him not liking losing. 

Well, who does? He thought.

He missed a shot he could’ve made here and there, fake grimace on his face to help sell the lie, burrow himself deeper in the web.

Dex talked the most—easy laughter, casual stories, the kind of man who filled silence before it could become uncomfortable.

Fisk didn’t, he was quieter, more measured. Almost amused. 

By the ninth hole, Steve could feel the shift, the attention settling more fully onto him. He was past the evaluation phase and onto something else. 

Fisk set his club aside after a clean shot, stepping back as one of the attendants moved to retrieve it. He didn’t look at Steve immediately, instead adjusting his cufflinks with slow, precise movements.

“Beautiful house you’ve got,” Fisk said finally.

Steve shrugged lightly, taking a swing of his beer. “Got lucky to swoop in right when it went on the market.”

Fisk hummed. “I find luck tends to favor the well-prepared.” Steve didn’t respond, Fisk’s gaze lifted then. “You and your wife settling in well?”

For some reason, hearing such a dangerous man mention you made him uneasy. And it shouldn't, because he hated you. Steve forced his expression to remain easy. “Yeah. She likes it here.” He paused for a second. “She’s… adjusting.”

Fisk’s lips curved slightly. “Is she?” Steve’s grip on the club in his hand tightened just a fraction.

Dex shifted beside them, glancing between the two, something quieter settling over his usual ease.

“You know,” Fisk continued, tone almost conversational, “I take a great interest in the people who choose to live in the neighborhood.”

Steve tilted his head slightly. “Seems like a lot of effort.”

Fisk chuckled softly. “It is if you don't have the… resources.”

Steve didn’t like the way he said that, didn’t like the weight behind it.

The back nine loosened things.

Or at least, that’s what it looked like.

Dex got louder, a little more relaxed with each hole, his posture easing into something casual as the game stretched on. Drinks appeared somewhere around the seventh—cold, expensive, handed off by staff who moved like ghosts—and by the tenth, the conversation had shifted.

Way less about business. 

Dex snorted at something one of the other men—some hedge fund name Steve hadn’t bothered to remember—had said, shaking his head as he lined up his shot.

“I’m telling you,” the man continued, grinning like he thought he was hilarious, “if you’re doing it right, she’s not walking straight the next morning.”

One of the others chimed in with something worse, cruder. The kind of joke that got easy agreement and knowing looks passed around like currency.

Steve didn’t react, just stood there, one hand resting loosely on his club, gaze fixed somewhere out over the green like he wasn’t listening.

“C’mon, Adler,” Dex called, nudging him lightly with his elbow. “You’ve been real quiet over there.”

Steve glanced over, trying to seem unbothered. Like he didn't want to roll his eyes at everything coming out of that prick's mouth. “Just listening.”

“That’s not how this works,” the hedge fund guy said with a smirk. “You gotta contribute. You’re married, right?”

“Familiarity,” Fisk continued, almost thoughtfully, like he was discussing market trends instead of people, “breeds a certain ease.”

“Guess some guys are just more private.” Steve chimed, moving as to redirect the conversation, walking a couple steps to the next hole. "I don’t feel the need to talk about my wife like that."

Silence fell upon the group for a second, Dex interjected to change the subject quickly, but the way Fisk looked at Steve the rest of the time made he hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Steve unlocked the kitchen door, toeing his shoes off as soon as he stepped inside. The house was clean, marble countertops reflecting the golden light coming through the curtains.

A candle burned on the center island that made the house smell like a bouquet of fresh flowers, blooming in deepest winter.

The door clocked shit behind him with a soft, controlled click, as he called out "Babe?" while letting his keys rattle against the marble.

He stepped further into the kitchen, eyes sweeping automatically—back door locked, blinds angled just enough, nothing out of place. The cabinet he’d modified earlier sat closed, unassuming, hiding everything it needed to.

He called out for you again, "Sweetheart?", feet padding into the house and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the shower running on. 

Steve's mind kept replaying the interactions he'd had that day, how Fisk seemed to have too much knowledge of his dynamic with you to not have—

Of course.

A man like Fisk wouldn't just intentionally have a blind side. 

The motherfucker had surveillance on your house. 

In your house. 

The sound got clearer and clearer as he moved up the stairs. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and sun-dimmed, and then right outside of the bathroom door, steam curling underneath it. Steve paused just outside it, his hand hovering near the frame, his head tilting slightly as he listened.

You were humming, soft and absentminded.

Like you weren’t in the middle of a mission that had just taken a very sharp turn.

He exhaled softly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching briefly on the tension sitting heavy there.

He should wait, he knew he should. Whatever he had to say could wait ten minutes.

Five.

Hell, two.

But the words Fisk had said—had implied—sat in his chest like a weight that refused to settle. So if Fisk had creepily put surveillance in your home like Steve was 98% sure he had, you were gonna have to roll with the punches.

Steam hit him immediately, warm and thick, fogging the edges of his vision for half a second before it cleared. 

Stripping his shirt, kicking off the rest of his clothes in a blur of motion that would’ve felt ridiculous under any other circumstance.

He walked into the shower, watching you let the water trickle over you, over your face, your neck, your chest, and he thanked every God he could think of that his body was cooperating and he did not have more than a half-hard on right then and there.

Which meant that you finished rinsing your shampoo off and opened your eyes to find a very, very naked Steve Rogers encapsulated by the shower stall glass around you. 

With you.

All naked, and very wet, and very naked, and—

"Ahh!" You shrieked in surprise, stumbling back half a step, water splashing over him as your hands came up instinctively. "What the f—" Steve put his index finger on his lips with one hand, the other motioning to his ear and out.

We're being listened to.

"Honey," You immediately switched into your undercover tone, "you scared the crap out of me!"

Steve stepped closer, couldn't risk his voice being any louder than absolutely necessary to get you the information right then and there. 

His frame in comparison to yours felt even bigger now, steam curling around him like vines. You'd blame the way your nipples hardened at the sight on the water. 

“Fisk,” he whispered, barely audible over the spray. “He knows something’s off. Pretty sure we’re wired. The house is.”

Your breath hitched.

Absolutely having nothing to do with the fact that you were trying very hard not to stare at his— "Where?"

"Everywhere." He confirmed. 

Water ran down both of you in steady streams, heat curling between your bodies, steam thickening the air until everything felt too close.

“Well,” you murmured, louder now, just enough for anyone listening to catch it, your tone dipping into something softer, more playful, “next time, maybe knock?”

Steve huffed out a quiet breath that could almost pass for a laugh, his forehead dipping closer to yours, but not touching, droplets of water falling from his hair onto you.

“Didn’t think you’d mind.” One of your hands braced lightly against his chest, the other gripping his arm as if for balance.

Your hand slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling the hair there enough to make him hiss. “Oh, I mind,” you said lightly, your fingers threading just a little deeper into the short hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You were pretty good at… faking it. 

Night settled over the house smoothly, the sun bleeding into deep indigo slowly and surely until stars littered the sky and you all you could hear was the fair sound of nature beyond the glass.

The neighborhood dimmed in stages—porch lights flicking on one by one, warm squares of yellow glowing through wide, uncovered windows. Somewhere down the street, laughter carried faintly. A dog barked once, then twice, then went quiet again.

As your brain processed the information Steve had given you, you moved through the motions anyway. 

Teeth brushed. Face washed. Lights turned off and on in the right order. The kind of routine that would look normal from the outside, mundane and unremarkable to anyone paying attention.

The thought sat in the back of your mind, somewhat panicked and loud, but also a constant, steady pressure. 

You dried your hands slowly on a towel, eyes flicking briefly to the mirror. Your reflection stared back—hair dried and silky, skin still warm from the shower, expression carefully neutral.

Steve stood near the dresser, back half-turned to you, pulling a t-shirt over his head. The fabric stretched sinf— normallyacross his shoulders before falling into place, softening the sharp lines of him into something more… domestic.

You watched him through the mirror without meaning to, picking up a book, turning on his bedside lamp, and crawling under the covers of your bed, letting the light comforter rest on his legs and hips while he flipped through the pages with his back resting against his pillows and the headboard.

You bit your lip, thoughts blooming fast and messy under your skull, and flicked the lights in the bathroom off, walking towards your side of the bed. 

Your short camisole shifted through the air as you moved, light and soft, brushing against your thighs. Steve's eyes immediately clocking your bare legs before he forced them onto the words in front of him. 

You laid onto your side and closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, your body fitting against his side like that's where it was always supposed to be. 

Your arm slid across his waist, your cheek pressed lightly against the plane of his pecs, and you felt the very warm, solid, real muscle of him under your face go completely still. 

Not in any subtle way, you could feel the exact moment his brain short-circuited.

He turned his face just enough to look down and meet your gaze. His expression screamed an unfiltered "what the hell?"while yours softly said "we have to sell it."

He shifted, turning just enough so he wasn’t facing away from you anymore, his arm coming up—hesitant for half a second—before settling around you, his hand resting on your forearm, thumb tracing soothing patterns on the soft, moisturized skin. 

As you laid there, the cogs in your brain turned. You bit the inside of your cheek lightly, the more he believes it, the quicker we get out. 

You moved forward, your hand pressed against his chest, using him for leverage as you pushed yourself up, swinging one leg over his hips in a smooth, deliberate motion until you were straddling him.

The poor book slid uselessly to rest on the mattress on the other side of his body. You nuzzled your face into his neck, pretending to pepper kisses on the skin there, and Steve stiffened up.

His hands instinctively came up, not grabbing or even stopping you, just hovering at your waist like he didn’t know where they were allowed to go.

Your mouth lingered by his pulse point just long enough to make it convincing before you spoke, your breath hot against his skin. "Play along." You whispered.

You felt the tension in him—every muscle coiled, controlled, restrained in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the position you’d just put him in.

“Sweetheart,” he said, louder now, his tone shifting seamlessly, to something warmer, rougher, like it belonged to someone else. “You trying to kill me?”

From the outside, it sounded like a joke. A husband amused by his wife.

You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost just below his ear. “You just been working so much lately,” you murmured, just loud enough to carry.

His grip on you flexed, and he leaned into it. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he said, voice dropping, threading something you hadn’t heard from him since he had your face pressed into a sparring mat through it as his hands settled more firmly at your hips, anchoring you there. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped, shameful heat pooling low in your core even though you tried to ignore it and call it by a different name. 

His fingers pressed just slightly, grounding, guiding, selling the illusion with an ease that made your pulse stutter.

Steve moved, fast as always, one second you were on top of him, the next your back hit the mattress, making it dip hard beneath you as he flipped you with practiced ease, your breath catching as his weight settled above you, caging you in without quite touching.

His face dipped toward yours, close enough that your noses almost brushed.

“What you’re doing,” he murmured against your ear, his breath warm, controlled, “is reckless.”

Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, heart beating too fast, and you tilted your head just enough to whisper back, your tone soft and teasing, so low he almost didn't hear it. “So is getting caught.”

You tilted your neck up, and your lips connected with his.

It had been weeks of little pecks, prim and proper kisses in front of your neighbors, just enough to sell it on the outside. 

Holding his face in your hands and actually kissing Steve Rogers felt like a completely different experience. 

His tongue licked into your mouth with an intention you never really expected from Steve. Specially a Steve that was faking it. Your hands roamed the plane of his shoulders, trying to make it seem like the actual rustling of sheets one would expect of a couple who was going to—

He should really take this shirt off. 

And so your hands went to the hem of his white cotton shirt, pulling it up. Steve reluctantly let you take it off of him, leaving him only in the grey boxers that let you see he wasn't faking that much. 

"Oh my God," You whispered. "Are you serious?" That was more of a hiss. Was he seriously getting hard right now?

"I know," He whispered back, annoyed, frustrated, "I know. Just shut up about it."

Oh.

He wanted you to shut up about it. He wanted you to—

The petty part of your brain took over, and before you couldn't think of a less reckless thing to do, you squeezed your legs tighter around him, bringing his bulge flush against your clothed pussy. 

"O-oh—" Steve was surprised, not about the pettiness, but at the action itself. You bit your lip, almost proud of yourself, and tilted your hips up.

That earned you a scolding look. 

"Mmm," you breathed, just loud enough to carry, your voice shifting instantly to a soft, breathy, higher pitched version of yourself. "Fuck, baby, right there."

Steve's ears were ringing. Mostly because he didn't know what to do with his hard cock rubbing up and down against you. “Relax,” you murmured against his jaw, barely moving your lips. “You sound like you’re filing paperwork.”

He huffed softly, turning it into something that passed. “Maybe I like paperwork,” he muttered.

You scoffed. “You do not.”

“You don’t know that.” He whined softly against you. 

"You need to actually move your hips, Steve. Video needs to look like you're fucking your wife." You whispered in his ear. 

It's not like he couldn't feel how wet you were, slick pressing through the cotton of your panties and onto his underwear, darkening a spot there. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he breathed low, close to your ear.

“Say it louder,” you shot back quietly.

“You’re unbelievable,” he repeated, louder, tone shifting, like it meant something entirely different now.

Your heels dug into his ass cheeks, pulling him closer and closer to you, and closer and closer to the edge. 

You could feel the length of him twitch with each pass of his hips, and you pictured the leaking head of him making a mess out of the inside of his boxers, precum slicking him all over. 

“Okay—” he muttered quickly under his breath, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far. “We need a time frame. We can’t just—keep going forever.”

“Two minutes,” you whispered. “Make it believable.”

“Two minutes?” he echoed, actually offended. “That’s insulting.”

The thought of it sent heat down your core. His face was buried in your neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands threaded through his hair. "Talk about me." Another perfectly placed thrust that nudged your clit. "'bout how I feel."

Steve grinded his teeth like he was fighting a mental battle between letting himself be consumed by this moment, and being proper. 

You nudged him again with your heel. 

"Nice and tight, sweetheart." He let his voice carry, surprisingly unwavering for how close he was. "Never get enough of your pussy."

What in the fuckity fuck?

Steve?

He almost said your name, your very real name, too lost in himself, letting his rhythm build up much too realistically, his thrusts deeper, the bulge now rubbing and nudging your clothed entrance as well. 

Your could hear the sound of wet fabric shifting, your panties getting caught and letting one lip slip out of safety and closer to Steve's leaking cock. 

"Frank," You said loudly, trying to catch his attention without success. "Frank." You tried again, more stern, being met with the same squeezed-shut eyes you tried to get an answer from. You dropped your voice low, hushed like a secret. "Steve."

That made him open his eyes, powder blue irises staring at you as his thursts hit a spot that had him moaning, stuttering over his own breath.

And spilling all inside his boxers, looking right into your eyes. 

His hips stuttered, almost as if his body wanted to milk itself dry, and his breathing slowed. 

You were speechless, big wide eyes looking up at him, genuinely not knowing what to say.

Both of you stared at each other in shock, horror, confusion as to why it felt so good to do that without someone who managed to get under your skin without even trying. 

You stayed like that until you felt the warm trickle of his seed seep through the cotton of his boxers and onto the front of your panties.

Steve dropped back to his side of the bed, and both of you avoided each other's gaze, just staring at the ceiling. 

"Are we—"

“…go to sleep,” you muttered.

Whatever Fisk needed proof of, seemingly he got it, since both you and Steve got invited the the biggest 4th of July bash of the neighborhood. 

Right at the belly of the beast. 

The whole backyard looked like something out of a magazine. 

String lights draped across the perimeter, glowing warm against the deep navy of the night sky, fireworks already starting to crackle faintly in the distance. 

The lawn stretched wide and immaculate, dotted with clusters of people holding drinks in delicate glasses, laughter spilling easily between them like nothing in the world could touch this place.

It was loud, busy, perfect, and underneath it all— wrong.

Steve had light wash jeans and a light blue polo on, you had a strapless summer dress and one of his linen shirts on, the shirt unbuttoned to give the air of a casual outing. 

You stood near one of the long tables, fingers loosely wrapped around a Moscow Mule you hadn’t touched, your eyes scanning without looking like you were scanning. Steve was across the yard, pulled into a circle of men near the grill, one of them mid-story, the others laughing at something you couldn’t quite hear from this distance.

And there she was.

Blonde, tall, and much too interested in your— Steve.

Her hand landed on his arm like she’d been waiting for an excuse, your eyes narrowed at her as you shoved a piece of salami and cheese into your mouth.

“That's Sharon.” Julie’s voice chimed in beside you, far too cheerful for how observant she actually was. “She's new. Came to stay with her aunt a bit, they live a few strees back. Divorced. Which means she’s—”

“—looking,” you finished lightly, before finally taking a sip of your drink like you hadn’t already clocked every detail.

Julie laughed. “Exactly.”

Your eyes flicked back to Steve. He hadn’t moved away, hadn’t stepped back, hadn’t even noticed.

Of course he hadn’t.

He was listening—really listening—to whatever the man next to him was saying, nodding slightly, relaxed in that effortless way that made people lean in closer without thinking about it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. “If he's anything like Dex, he's clueless. They don’t even realize when they’re being flirted with.”

You hummed softly. "He is clueless, alright."

“He’s very charming,” Julie added, watching you now instead of them. “Frank, I mean.”

Your lips curved. “He has his moments.”

Julie giggled, and you finished downing your drink, making your way to him, wrapping a hand around his perfectly sculped bicep and turning on your smile to the sweetest setting possible. 

His body reacted immediately, adjusting to your touch like it always belonged there. His gaze dropped to you, surprise flickering for half a second before smoothing into something softer.

“Hey,” he said, one hand coming up to rest at your hip without thinking about it.

“Hi,” you replied, tilting your head up toward him, your smile warm in a way that felt almost too real. “Sorry,” you said sweetly, not sounding sorry at all. “Am I interrupting?”

She blinked, then smiled tightly back at you. “Not at all.” Steve’s hand pressed slightly into your hip, a silent question that you answered it by leaning just a fraction closer into him.

“We were just talking about the neighborhood,” she continued.

“Were you?” you asked, your tone light, but your grip on Steve tightening just enough to be felt.

“Oh—yes,” she said, glancing briefly at him. “Frank was just telling us about his work.”

“Mm,” you hummed, eyes flicking up to his. “He works too much.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly. “Oh, I do?”

“You do,” you said simply, sighing longingly, your fingers sliding absently against his side like it was second nature. “I barely see you anymore.”

Sharon laughed softly. “That’s a shame.” Steve lifted the beer up to his lips and took a swing.

“It is,” you agreed, smiling again. “But I make sure he makes up for it.”

Steve choked on his drink. Actually choked. Coughed once, quickly covering it with a laugh that didn’t quite hide the surprise.

His hand flexed at your hip. “Yeah,” he said, voice dropping just slightly as he looked down at you, something new threading through it. “I do.”

For a moment it didn't feel like pretending, but it also didn't feel real. It felt like a limbo much too similar to five years ago, when he first recruited you into SHIELD by accident. 

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

Colombia had been too hot. The humid, muggy weather made your skin sticky, a sheen coat of sweat all over your arms and legs, even though you were only wearing a white tanktop and a flowy, maxi floral skirt. 

Music was bleeding from open windows, people crowding narrow streets, making it the kind of place where mistakes didn’t just cost you the mission.

They cost you everything.

You’d been handling it just fine, up until you weren’t. The intel had been wrong. Or incomplete. Or leaked.

You didn’t know which yet—only that the second you stepped into that dim, crowded cantina, something in your gut twisted. Too many eyes, too many men pretending to drink, too many sharp ears and even sharper looks. 

You were planning an exit strategy, a way to get out of here with as few scratches and as many of these men killed. Mid counting how many thing you could use as a weapon, in walked a picture perfect specimen. 

Muscles everywhere, blond hair lightened even more by the sun, the faintest sunburn across his nose and cheeks making his blue eyes stand out more. 

You turned slightly, lifting your drink to your lips like you were just another woman trying to cool off, not someone seconds away from deciding how many people she might have to kill.

He clocked the men immediately. 

And then he clocked you. His broad frame faked a smile at you and stepped quickly to stand beside you at the bar, hand resting on your hip.

“Don’t,” he muttered under his breath, pretending to try to get the bartender's attention.

“Don’t what?” you shot back just as quietly, adjusting your sunglasses on your head like you were annoyed at them and happy to see him, not seconds away from being cornered.

“They’re looking for someone,” he said.

“I know.” A beat where he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“They’re closing exits.”

And you responded through gritted teeth and a smile. “I noticed.” You let your body rest closer to his, feeling the heat radiating off of him.

Outside, thunder and lightning started, and a summer storm came pouring down. 

“Babe,” you said, loud enough to carry, tilting your head up at him like you were teasing. “You said one drink.”

He leaned into you, his hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer in a way that felt practiced.

“Yeah?” he shot back easily. “Thought you wanted to see more of the place.”

“Oh, I do,” you laughed lightly, fingers curling into his shirt. “Just… from inside a bedroom window right now." You leaned in closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it look intimate, like you were sharing something private instead of tracking his every movement.

“Relax your shoulders,” you murmured.

He huffed softly—almost a laugh, almost something else—and adjusted just slightly, his grip tightening at your lower back like he was settling into the role instead of fighting it.

A beat passed between you—quick, sharp, charged—and then he leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting just along your temple.

“Storm’s our out,” he whispered. “We gotta go.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging gently at his shirt, turning your body into his as thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows. “I am not ruining my hair for this.”

“Tragic,” he murmured, letting you pull him toward the back hallway.

The rain hit hard the second you stepped out of the main room—heavy, sudden, loud enough to drown out most of the noise behind you. The narrow corridor smelled like damp wood and cheap liquor, dimly lit and barely used.

Perfect.

Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt as you stumbled slightly—just enough to sell it—as he caught you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist.

“Careful, sweetheart.” he said, louder now, for anyone who might still be listening. “You’re gonna slip.”

The back door burst open under his hand.

Rain poured down in sheets, warm and relentless, soaking the edges of your skirt instantly as you both stepped out into the alley behind the cantina.

Steve looked around to make sure no one followed, he kept you closer than necessary as you moved, your bodies angled into each other like you were shielding yourselves from the storm instead of disappearing into it.

One block, then another, until you were far away and safe in the back alley of the Sofitel. Your clothes were soaked, as were his, your shirt basically see through, you kept moving, pulling him down the short hallway and into the first unlocked door you found—some storage room or unused guest space, it didn’t matter.

The door shut behind you with a soft click. Steve walked in last, and you didn't put distance between you two, though right now looking at him through wet lashes you wish you did.

His eyes reflected the gloomy sky outside, his lips were pink and plump, and you felt yourself being drawn closer and closer to him, as did he. 

The storm outside cracked again, lightning flashing briefly through the thin curtains, illuminating the space in stark white for half a second, loud thunder taking you out of your trance, Steve jerking away like he was burned. 

"I, uh… I think we lost them." Your voice was shaky and unsure. 

“Not bad,” he added, quieter now, his eyes flicking over your face like he was reassessing something.

You scoffed lightly. “High praise.”

PRESENT

“Fireworks are about to start,” someone called from across the yard.

And just like that, the moment broke, and your attentions turned to the mission at hand: while everyone is distracted, get into Fisk's office and copy all of his intel. 

Steve leaned down slightly as people shifted away in the direction of the fireworks, his lips brushing near your ear, voice low. “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I?” you murmured back, sly smirk playing on your lips.

“A little.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "You should go for the office. I'll keep watch."

Steve looked at you like he wanted to say something, but nodded and snuck away, your eyes immediately making sure all persons of interest were accounted for and not in the office. 

The party swelled around you.

Fireworks cracked overhead in bursts of red and gold, laughter spilling across Fisk’s perfectly manicured lawn, glasses clinking, music humming low beneath it all.

Steve had been gone for about five minutes when you noticed Dex was gone mid conversation with Claire and her husband Matthew. You saw the little flop of blonde hair make its way into the house and your blood ran cold. 

Steve.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said lightly, lifting your empty glass as proof, bee-lining up the stairs on the porch and to the kitchen. 

You moved like you weren’t tracking footsteps that weren’t yours, counting seconds, mapping distance in your head.

You slipped inside through the side door, heels soft against polished floors, your breath steady even as your pulse kicked harder.

You moved faster, turning the corner just in time to see the office door slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the hallway, and footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.

You pushed the door open and slipped inside, Steve standing by the big mahogany table with a thumbdrive pluggesd into the desktop, downloading everything.

“What—”

“Dex,” you cut him off, already crossing the room. “Coming.” His expression shifted instantly, worry, anxiety, combat. 

A shadow passed the crack of the door and you closed the distance between you, pushing yourself to sit on top of the table and pulled Steve to stand between your legs. Your hands grabbed his shirt, yanking him down toward you hard enough to make him stumble.

He exhaled harshly the second your lips touched, tasting the vanilla macadamia flavor of your lipgloss. Your tongue licked into his mouth and one of his hands found the plane of your back, the other bracing against the desk behind you as he backed you further into it, the impact soft but enough to sell it.

“Mm—” you exhaled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.

Your fingers thread through his hair as you sighed against him, losing yourself in the cedarwood of his cologne, the taste of beer on his tongue, and— 

The door creaked open lgithly with someone's breathy "oh." coming through at the sight.

You didn't pull away, didn't even flinch. If anything, you leaned in more, your body pressing fully into his, your mouth lingering just long enough to make the moment undeniable.

You heard a the sound of someone clearing their throat, and that made both of you break apart. Your lips brushed his once more before you turned your head, like you’d just noticed her. “Oh—” you said, a little breathless, but smiling.

“Sharon,” your eyes widened slightly when you looked behind you, a flush creeping into your expression like you’d been caught.

Her gaze drifted from his hands on you to the hem of your summer dress, pulled up and draped high on your thighs, then up to your hands in his hair and Steve's face — his expression a mix of very confused, flustered, and fucked out. 

Steve cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly, like he was trying to recover something that had already slipped.

“We were just—”

“—busy,” you finished easily, sliding off the desk but not moving far from him.

“…right,” she said after a second, her lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Well, enjoy the, uh… the party."

You stifled a laugh, biting your lip, as she walked away leaving the door open behind her. You hopped off the desk as Steve got his brain working again. 

“What the hell was that?” His voice cut through it, low and sharp.

You shrugged. "Saved your ass, you're welcome." You smoothed the hem of your dress against your thighs and walked around the desk, making your way out the door as Steve hushedly called out for you, swiming the thumb drive into his pocket before following you out of the house. 

Your heels hit the pavement in sharp, even beats, your jaw locked, your eyes fixed straight ahead like if you didn’t look back, he wouldn’t follow.

Fuck him and his long legs that caught up to you as soon as you reached your lawn. 

You stormed into your kitchen, pushing the door closed quicky to slam it behind you, but making it hit Steve on the shoulder as he crowded the space behind you. “Hey—” he pushed still, stepping closer. “No, seriously. What was that?”

You still gave him nothing, your jaw tightened. You stood with your back to the kitchen island, fingers gripping the marble, biting your own cheek. Your gaze stayed anywhere but him.

“That wasn’t about getting caught,” he said. “You knew she—” Then it seemed to dawn on him.  “You kissed me to make her jealous.” His voice was incredulous, almost like he solved a decade long mystery right then and there. "You were jealous."

You scoffed, still not meeting his eye. "Jealous? Over you? Plea—"

He crowded you even more now, bending down to look for your gaze and force you to meet his, sly smile playing on his lips. "You were jealous."

You huffed, finally looking into his eyes, sunlight playing on his face making the blue just a tad lighter. Steve had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, almost waiting for a response from you. 

For what it felt like a second and a day all at once, your brain went numb. 

And then your hands were on each side of his face, bringing his lips to crash into yours. 

Steve's lips were warm against your mouth in the same way they were minutes ago. He stepped forward, towering over you making you tilt your head up to keep the kiss going, his hands grabbing your hips as he pressed you against the counter. 

He licked into your mouth and your hands fell to the nape of his neck, his shoulders, and finally his arms.

Steve leaned over, pushing you back further, until you had no more oxygen to burn in your lungs and you broke the kiss, making him kiss your jaw, below your ear, and down your neck. "You had no reason to be jealous, you know."

He grinded his hips against yours, letting you feel the length of him hardening by the minute. "'M not jealous." You felt underwater, dizzy, borderline having fuzzies in your vision. 

Steve chuckled against your neck, the warm breath making shivers run down your spine, his hands dropping to graze outside of your thighs. "Mmhmm." His right hand brushed over your thigh and made it way to your core, tickling the skin of your inner thigh. 

His fingers quickly found the wet spot on the front of your underwear, kissing his way back towards your lips. When he pressed deep circled into it, he felt you sigh into his mouth.

"Steve… People might see…"

"Don't care" he pressed his fingers harder, until your hips were bucking to get more friction, and you were whining against him. Words came muffled against your mouth. "Not jealous, huh? Didn't want me a single bit, right?"

You scoffed despite youself, "You're the one that came into your pants the other day." 

That did it. 

Skin to skin. His rough fingers sliding through your soaked slit, dragging your arousal across your folds, teasing you right at the entrance. You broke off mid-sentence, a soft whimper catching in your throat.

His thumb easily found your clit, and one of your hands squeezed around his bicep while the other pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, your moans getting breathier and breathier by the minute.

His fingers thrusted in and out of you bringing you to an edge so close you could taste it, letting out little pants by the crook of his neck, inflating Steve's ego, making more blood rush south. "Wanna try that again?"

He curled them just right, your slick coating his knuckles as your hips twitched against his hand.

Your head fell back, lips parting on a desperate moan. "N-not jealous…" through gritted teeth, making him click his tongue. 

"Suit yourself." And just like that, his fingers were gone, slick mess on your thighs and an unsatisfied beast inside of you.

"Steve, what the—"

He pulled away the slightest bit and bent down, lacing his arm around your legs and throwing you over his shoulder, walking away in the direction of the stairs.

Steve nudged your bedroom door open once you got upstairs and flopped you down on the bed, making you bounce on the mattress.

He hovered over you, settling between your legs and rubbing the heat of him against you, while one if his hands snuck to the back of your dress and pulled the zipper down. He pulled the clothing item down your body as he kissed the same path, and soon you were only in his shirt and a thong.

Your legs opened to accommodate him further, thighs falling to your sides, and he slotted himself chest to mattress, lips barely an inch away from your pussy. Steve kissed your inner thigh once, then again, and your fingers threaded through his hair. 

"She's wetter than that night," He spoke softly, but his voice had a dark tone to it, blue eyes staring up at you. "Can't blame me from coming in my boxers when," and a bite to your flesh. "you were grinding a wet spot onto me, honey."

Fuck him and that nickname. 

His middle finger came to curl beyond the hem, pulling the sticky wet fabric down your thighs, and both of his thumbs spread your lips, watching your hole clench around nothing. 

His gaze once again reached yours, almost asking for permission. 

You didn't seem to be able to find it in you to say anything, not a single word but a quiet "Please." leaving your lips. 

The second his tongue touched your slit, you were all the way back in that mission in Colombia. Wet, horny, and almost begging him.

At the first taste of you, one would think Steve got possessed, quickly settling further into the mattress and wrapping his arms around your thighs, holding them open. "F-fuck, Steve—"

He groaned against you, the vibration going through you like electricity through water. His tongue traced your entrance, nose nudging your clit, and your back arched off the bed slightly, pushing your hips closer to his face.

Steve's fingers pressed against the tops of your thighs with bruising strength, not that you minded. 

Not at all. 

He licked zigzag patterens up and down your slit, and then would circle your clit with his tongue, sucking the nerves into his mouth and flicking it. "O-oh my God."

He chuckled into you, "Stop squirming." 

Like you could help it. Like it was your damn fault he let Sharon touch him and flirt with him and all but forced you to make sure everyone bought this sham of a marriage. 

"Easier— fuck me, easier said than done, Rogers." Your nails scratched deeper into his scalp.

Steve angled his head differently so he could tense his tongue and fuck you while his thumb moved from your thigh to rub quick circles onto your clit. 

Your thighs closed around his head, eyes squeezing shut as you heard him breathe heavy against you. Steve's other hand landed on your breast, kneading the skin there, pinching and pulling a nipple drawing a mewl out of you. 

"Steve, Steve, I'm— fuck, I'm gonna—"

You really shouldn't have told him, though he'd know you were close judging by the little flutters of your walls around his tongue. 

He pulled away harshly, chin slick and lips swollen, his hair a mess from you running your fingers through it. 

He stood by the foot of the bed, stripping down to nothing watching your dumbfounded fucked out expression. Your hair was matted, your nipples were hard, and there was a wet spot on the white comforter under you. 

In front of you, though, stood 230lbs of pure, unadultered, perfectly sculped by God, blond 100% American Prime Steve Rogers. 

Standing naked, tall, thick and proud.

And hard.

Your mouth salivated at the sight, looking at the leaking head of him appear and disappear inside his fist with each slick stroke he gave himself. Steve caught your ankle with his other hand, and pulled you to the edge of the bed, your toes touching the soft carpet of the bedroom.

He turned you around, fingers gripping the linen of his shirt you had on, dragging it down your arms but not over your wrists, twisting the fabric around his own fist. 

And just like that, you were face and shoulders down on the mattress with your wrists tied behind you, feeling him rub the head of his cock up and down your puffy slit, coating himself in your wetness. 

Steve heard a muffled whine from you, any words being impacted by the fabric of the bedding, "What was that, sweetheart?" He leaned over you, the tip of him notching just a smidge further. 

You turned your head to the side. "Steve, please…"

He clicked his tongue again. "No, you didn't want me, remember? Think I shouldn't even be doing this to you."

He motioned to pull out and you whined louder. "She— she was all o-over you…" Tears pricked your eyes from the pressure in your chest, from the ache between your legs, from the desperation of being kept at the edge. 

“Steve, please put it in…”

"Yeah?" He gave you the cue to keep going, pushing in unbearably slow and barely any. 

You nodded against the mattress. "Pissed me off." You gulped. "Please, please don't leave me like this…"

"All you had to do was stop being such a brat about it."

And then he thrust in enough to knock the air out of your lungs. The squelch of his cock pushing into you was obscene. And in your mind every inch he pushed after that thrust had one though going through your head:

There's more?!

"Oh God…"

That made Steve chuckle. "Just me, baby."

"Is— is it all in?" Your voice trembled, and if you had a mirror you'd see Steve's evil smirk as he dragged your wrists down to where your bodies connected, arching your back and hurting you with the stretch, only to wrap your delicate hands around what was left of him.

"Barely half." He grunted.

You whimpered, both in fear and anticipation, and Steve took the queue to push the rest of the way through, until your hand was flat on his pelvis, and then he let you rest against the mattress again. 

"So fucking good." He gave a couple tentative thrusts. "Can feel you gripping me like you don't wanna let me go."

You moaned at the feel of him hitting that sweet spot inside of you, making your eyes roll. "So— hah! Good, Steve…"

After he felt your pussy get used to the size of him, that when he really stopped playing nice. 

You could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the length of him pulsing and pulsing inside of you, throbbing against the spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Steve, please, please let me—“

Another harsh thrust interrupted you. “Tell me the truth then.”

You whimpered. The bastard was really going to make you admit it.

As you tried to think through it, brainless as you were, he slowed down, and down, until you could feel the pulse of his cock inside of you just as he could feel your walls flutter around him.

You whimpered, cheeks blushing at the thought. “I was jealous! I was jealous, okay?!” You pushed your hips into him, chasing friction harder, deeper.

“She thought she could have you and— and—“ He picked up the pace, your brain mush as your neck strained to keep your voice from being muffled. “And you’re my— Oh— oh my God!”

“Yeah?” Steve leaned over you, fingers finding your clit with ease. “I’m your what?”

You could cry. You could cry right no— oh you had tears streaming from your eyes onto the bedding. “Steve…”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“That’s right, I’m your Steve.” His fingers picked up speed as did his hips, lips kissing your shoulder blade. “Come for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock.”

“Mmmmngghhh—“ your vision went white, your body clenching tight around him and pulsing, as your moans got drowned out outside by the fireworks still going.

Steve slammed his hips deeper into you, to the point of almost painful, muttering curse words in sequence of “fuck, fuck, fuck.” until you felt him spill thick ropes of cum inside of you, filling you up until it dripped onto the floor.

As you both caught your breaths, you heard the wet schlick of him pulling out, dropping himself on the bed with a bounce.

After a minute, you spoke. "There's gonna be so much paperwork to explain all this..."

He looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, turning to you with that boyish smile of his, sheen coat of sweat on his chest and hairline. “Got time for a couple more rounds before all that. You tapped out?”

You smirked at him, using your arms to push yourself up, hands on his chest for leverage as you straddled him, slick pussy on top of his hardening cock.

“I could do this all day, Cap.”

final thoughts: this started as me and Maddie just thirsting over the shower scene, and then... yeah... heh

🥯 glazed donut taglist: @earthsmightiestbenders @love-stucky @epiphanyrogers @pinksplace @chateaubarnes @tw1sters @avgdestitute @allthingswickedpodcast @supercoolswagicornxd

[faepoetry]

A BETTER BREAKFAST

❀ summary: you wanted to take care of your husband for once since he was always taking care of you so you decided to make him breakfast. except... he has other plans.

❀ warnings: 18+ mdni nsfw, cursing, smut, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, kind of rough sex.

❀ pairings: husband!steve rogers x female reader.

❀ wc: 1.9k words.

❀ author's note: my boyfriend actually gave me the idea to write for steve rogers so... thank you boyfriend for the request 😂

©faepoetry please do not steal, copy, repost, reuse, or translate my work.

You had woken up bright and early today, determined to do something nice for your husband. Steve always took care of everyone else so you decided that today, you were going to take care of him. He was always waking up early every morning to make sure you got to have breakfast in bed and today you decided that you'd do the same for him.

You were standing in front of the stove with your hair tossed on top of your head messily, clipped in place with a hair claw, wearing only one of his worn t-shirts. You hummed along to the music playing from your phone as you poured the pancake batter into the pan.

You were completely focused on the pan in front of you, determined to make Steve feel seen and herd and loved. Just then two massive arms curled around your waist.

A gasp fell from your parted lips as he pulled you against him, your back pressed against his front. The only thing he had on were sweatpants which hung low on his hips, his top half completely naked.

"Steve." You giggled softly as you reached forward to get the spatula, causing you to push your ass into his growing erection. "Go back to bed. I want to take care of you today."

"Don't want to." He murmured, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. His arms wrapped around you tighter as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, planting hot kisses on the skin there. You shivered when he gently bit the spot between your neck and your shoulder, causing you to grip the edge of the counter.

"Seriously Steve, the pancakes are going to burn." You gasped although your head instinctually tilted to the side, granting him more access to you.

"Let 'em burn." He muttered against your skin. "I have something more important to take care of right now than pancakes."

He really didn't give a shit about breakfast. He was touched that you decided to wake up and make it for him to take care of him, he did love that. Although he had his eyes set on something else for breakfast. His lips kissed along your shoulder as he took the spatula out of your hand.

Before you could protest, Steve whirled you around so you were facing him and used his forefinger and middle finger to tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. He immediately caught your lips in a heated, passionate kiss. He kissed you with an urgent hunger, his tongue sliding past your lips, making your knees feel weak.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark and full of lust. "Now," Steve growled softly, his fingers still pressed under your chin. "Are you going to be a good girl and turn the stove off, or am I going to have to do it for you?"

You licked your lips as you looked up at his lustful gaze. The commanding tone in his voice made arousal pool between your thighs. Without a word, you reached behind yourself blindly, your fingers fumbling before you twisted the knob, turning the stove off.

"Good girl." He said as a dark, satisfied smirk tipped his lips. He didn't waste another second. Before you could even draw a full breath, his hands clamped around your waist as he hoisted you up, setting you onto the edge of the kitchen counter. You let out a soft gasp as the coolness of the countertop hit your thighs. Steve crowded into your space, parting your thighs and settling between them.

He reached down and fisted the hem of your shirt, tugging it upward and over your head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. You now sat on the countertop in nothing but a pair of black lace panties, the cool air making your nipples harden.

Steve swallowed hard as his eyes tracked over your frame. "You have no idea what you do to me." He murmured, his voice rough. "Getting to wake up and see you wearing my clothes, trying to take care of me while all I want to do is worship you like the goddess you are."

He didn't wait for you to respond. He sank down to his knees, dropping down onto the kitchen floor right between your parted thighs.

Your fingers immediately flew to his hair, gripping the blond strands as he leaned forward. He pressed a warm kiss to your inner thigh, kissing along the soft skin, making you squirm in anticipation. He tugged your lace panties down your legs slowly, never breaking eye contact with you as he tossed them to the side with his shirt. His hands slid up to grip the undersides of your thighs, pulling them up so your feet were pressed against the counter.

"Steve.." You whimpered as your head rested against the cabinets.

"I know baby, I know." He murmured softly. "Let me take care of you. I've got you." He leaned in, his tongue making contact with your core, licking a slow strip up your folds. You let out a soft moan, your fingers tangling in his hair tighter.

He didn't just taste you, he devoured you. His tongue was relentless, flicking your clit a couple of times before locking his lips around the sensitive bud, drawing it into his mouth. You let out a breathy gasp as you hips bucked off the counter. Steve's hands locked on your hips, pressing you back down into the counter as he devoured you like a man starved.

He held you steady as you squirmed against his mouth, your fingers tugging on his hair harder as his tongue licked another long strip up your center before sliding inside of you. He hummed against you as he tongue fucked you, his blue eyes flicking up to your face.

Steve removed one of his hands from your hip as he drew his tongue out of your pussy. You didn't even have time to whine out a protest before he slid two thick fingers inside of your dripping cunt. "Oh my god," you cried out, letting out a filthy moan. "Oh Steve!" Your back arched as he set a relentless pace, plowing his fingers into your tight pussy as his lips sealed over your clit again.

You couldn't think about anything, couldn't focus on anything except for the pleasure he was giving you. You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as your climax quickly approached. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum baby," you cried out, your thighs starting to shake.

He pulled away from your wet heat to look up at you with hooded eyes. "C'mon, baby. Cum for me. I want to taste you." He growled as he attached his mouth to your clit again, his fingers picking up their pace inside of you, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

You let out a broken moan, thighs trembling as your eyes rolled. You tugged on his hair roughly which caused him to groan against your pussy. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou-" you cried out as you squirted on his fingers and tongue as you kept moaning incoherently.

Steve swallowed every last drop of your release before pulling away, your arousal glistening on his lips and chin. He lifted his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean as he groaned around them. "Fuck, you taste so good."

You whimpered as you watched him, your pussy twitching around nothing. He didn't let you rest for long though. He tugged you off of the counter and spun you around, bending you over the counter. You arched your back a little and spread your trembling legs wider, displaying yourself for him.

He gripped the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging them down his thighs. His cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach, the tip glistening with pre-cum as he crowded between your parted legs. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself a few times before nudging your pussy with the head of his dick.

You whined when Steve instead of thrusting into you, decided to slide his cock between your folds, smearing your arousal all over his shaft. A needy whimper escaped your lips as you gripped the edge of the counter.

"Fuck, this pussy is so perfect." He murmured as he slapped the head of his cock against your clit. You yelped softly, jolting slightly. Finally, he thrusted into you, bottoming out of you. "Fucking hell." He growled as he pulled all the way out before thrusting into you again.

The sudden fullness of him bottoming out inside of you made your eyes roll back, a loud cry tearing from your throat. His cock stretched you out fully, the feeling almost overwhelming. He didn't give you time to adjust as his hands clamped over your hips as he began to hammer into you with urgent thrusts. "I'm sorry, baby. I can't be gentle. I need you too fucking badly. I need to fucking claim you."

Slap. Slap. Slap.

The only sounds filling the kitchen were the sounds of your cries mixed with Steve's growls and the echoing sound of his hips slapping against your ass, the music playing from your phone forgotten.

"Steve! Oh my god, Steve!" You sobbed out, your fingers scraping against the counter uselessly. Your body shook with every thrust, your forehead pressing against the cool counter as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

"You're so damn tight." He groaned, his breath ragged against your neck as he leaned down, his massive chest pressing flat against your spine, pinning you to the counter as he continued to plow into you from behind. He buried his face in your neck, letting out a low, animalistic growl as your pussy clenched around his length. "Fucking wrapping around me so good... so perfect."

He reached one hand around your waist, his fingers finding your swollen clit, rubbing it in sync with his thrusts. The double stimulation was too much. The heat in your stomach flared right back to life, pulling you straight toward a second climax.

"S- Steve! I'm gonna cum again!" You cried out as your hips involuntarily tried to roll against him, desperately chasing your high.

"Do it, sweetheart." He commanded against your ear, his pace turning fast and rough. "Cum around my dick. Let me feel it."

You didn’t need to be told twice. With his fingers mercilessly working your clit and his thick length pounding into you, the tension inside of you snapped. You let out a loud, shaky moan as your second orgasm crashed over you, your walls violently clamping down on his dick.

Steve threw his head back, a loud, guttural groan tearing from his throat as your pussy milked him. His entire body went rigid. He delivered three more deep thrusts before his hips flush against your ass, stalling as you felt him cum inside of you, filling you up.

Slowly and gently he pulled out of you, making you whimper at the sudden loss of contact. He immediately scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the counter and cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing. He walked into the living room and sitting down on the couch, holding you tightly in his lap.

"Wait," you murmured softly as you lifted your head from his shoulder. "I didn't finish making you breakfast yet."

"Don't need it." Steve chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your nose. "You just gave me the best morning ever. Although I am making you breakfast. I promise to make you the best breakfast ever. Just stay here and relax and let me take care of everything."

❀ end note: thank you for reading!

❀ if you liked this fic then i would really appreciate it if you liked, or commented, or reblog it! thanks for reading! ❀

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni, blurb based on this request!! busy weekend for me so trying to feed y'all <3

hayden christensen x reader

you weren't exactly sure how you ended up in this position. double entendre, because you your legs were by your head, in the backseat of hayden christensens car, but also because all you had simply done is asked for a photo. but you saw the way he seemed to glance a little longer, continue talking instead of waving you on and going about his day. it made your ego burst, obviously. a man as attractive as him, finding you desirable.

he, on the other hand, thought desirable was an understatement. the way he could almost visualize how you looked under your thin tank, one he assumed was so thin because of the current heat. your mini shorts bared your thighs, ones he couldn't help but stare at when your eyes weren't watching. he didn't exactly mean to drag you into his car, take you like this. but the way you fluttered your eyelashes at him once he assumed you did notice, the way you used his name in your sentences that could pose innuendos, he couldn't help it.

you were like putty underneath him, all he needed was your confirmation that you wanted this, that it was okay, and he was all over you. his tongue, his mouth, his fingers, him.

“that feel good baby?” your body fits tight on his backseat, despite this, he pushes your legs up, gripping behind your knees. you let out a whine, the pressure from him driving relentlessly into you sharp, something deep, but a new sense of pleasure you’ve never felt.

he groans. “fucking dirty girl, letting someone you’ve probably gotten off to fuck you in his car.”

your stomach flutters at his words, your cunt squeezing around him. he’s right, you absolutely have but that’s why it was an irresistible opportunity.

he pauses, buried to the hilt in you. “gonna take this condom off and paint your pretty face with me. you like that?”

“yes. yes please.” you sound pathetic but you’ve never been so turned on, your heart thrumming in your chest.

deeper, faster, until he pulls out, his breathing strangled.

“fuck.” he aims his cock at your face, stroking it to his climax. “stick your tongue out pretty girl. take it in your mouth.”

you squeeze your eyes shut as he finishes with a moan, his hot spill painting you, salty on your outstretched tongue. you open, meeting his eyes, watching him admire you.

“stunning.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

No Dress Rehearsal 2

Warning: power imbalance, dark content, and all around sexiness.

Summary: your new job includes duties you don’t expect. (actor!Steve Rogers, actress reader)

I always see this gif and wanna write something so here we go.

Hi! Please please please reblog and leave some feedback if you read! I love you 💕

You poke at your plate of fruit, plucked from the tray at the food services table. It’s a brief break at the interlude of the script. You chew on a chunk of pineapple, taking the whole piece off the toothpick awkward as it refuses to split. As you gnash the mouthful, a figure approaches.

“Hm, you’re the first actress I’ve seen eat at one of these things.” Steve stops in front of you.

“Um,” you hum and swallow. “Well, it’s a long day.”

“Just be mindful of your costars, you know? No garlic, no onion.” He intones.

“Huh, yeah, I guess that makes sense,” you nod. “Think it’s going well.”

“You think,” he drawls.

“Um, well, so far, I like the script.” You shrug.

“Nick’s got a good eye for these things. Very selective,” Steve says. “It’s our third film together. Would’ve been my fourth with Sharon. Too bad she’s dipped out.”

You fidget. The mention of your predecessor is slightly edged. He isn’t saying so but you can’t help but feel he’s telling you you don’t belong. That imposter syndrome creeps up your neck.

“She’s a great actress.”

“She’s pretty.” His lips curve slightly. “She sells but she’s not winning a statue any time soon.”

“Oh, well… one can only dream,” you say.

“Yeah? Do you think you will?” He asks.

You stare at him, stabbing the toothpick into a bleeding strawberry. “I try not to fixate. I work hard and… I’m just starting out. I’ve mostly done independent, you know?”

“I know,” he assures you tersely. “I got my Oscar at 29. Six nominations since. It’s like the lottery except you have to actually be good.”

You nod. “That’s impressive.”

“It’s a good idea in this business to know your stuff.” He tuts. “So, can you guess which movie I won for? You might get lucky.”

You try not to let your face show your confusion. It’s like he’s testing you, but why?

“Can I get a hint? Year?” You ask.

He scoffs. He makes a face and says the year. He watches and waits, lifting his chin slightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I think I was like 11 when that came out.” You say. “But I’d love to go back and watch it.” You twist the toothpick in the flesh of the berry. “I saw your last release though. It was good.”

“Good?” He echoes darkly.

“Uh huh,” you force a smile.

His lips draw straight. “You have a seed in your teeth.”

He turns and struts away. You furrow your brow and swipe your tongue over your teeth. You stare at him as he saunters off.

Hopefully, he’s just having an off day.

📽️

You get your own trailer. That's nice. Sometimes the luxuries that can come with this job are overwhelming, even if you don't miss sharing a crowded space with two dozen other actors and stylists.

Xio, the woman who introduced herself as your stylist for the project, sits you down to start on your face. Today will be makeup tests and screen tests. The tedious little things that come before the big scenes are shot.

“Do you prefer cream or powder?” Xio asks.

“Huh, no one's ever asked before.” You respond.

She giggles. “Oh, well, I use a blend. You can't have things to shiny on camera but it helps to know your clients too. Then I know not to go too hard on one or the other.”

“Of course. Makes sense.” You nod.

“Some can be real picky. Not to mention names but they might even be your costar.” She smirks and searches her brushes.

You pick up on the hint easily. There is no shortage of opinions on set. The table read more than cemented that. It's nothing you haven't seen before. It's the nature of the city and the business. Egos always collide.

Xio starts on your face. The click and clack of brushes and lids fill the void between her chatter. She tells you that on the last set she worked, there was a big argument between artists over a hairbrush and who it belonged too.

“Label all my stuff.” She says as she leans in to brush your lashes with a wand. “Learned that early on. Worked with an older artist. Well known. Very Miranda from Devil Wears Prada. She has exhibitions and all. She claimed a particularly rare palette for herself.” She huffs. “It helps if you have a lock on your kit too.”

“Oh, wow, that's awful.” You try not to move too much. “I was on set once and we'll the hanger with my name on it was empty by the time I got down to my bra and panties. I put my clothes back on and went out. They kept it in the final cut but you know, I had two lines.”

“Really? I think Fowler would have an aneurysm if that happened on his project.” She snickers.

“You work with him a lot?”

“Sure do. I don't say a damn word to him and get the work done.” She stands up and considers you with a tilt of her head. “You have gorgeous eyes.”

There's a rattle behind you and the trailer door swings open. You lurch forward in surprise and crane to see the intruder. Steve struts in with sunglasses. Maybe he went to the wrong trailer.

“Oh, hey,” you say.

He doesn't say a word as his lips stay straight and tight. He approaches and swipes off his sunglasses. He steps around next to Xio and stares at you. You turn to look back, confused. He clucks and walks around you and peers at you in the mirror.

“Can you make her nose look smaller?”

“Excuse me?” You blurt out in surprise and a bit of offense.

“Someone's gonna point it out.” He says blithely.

Xio gives you a look then stares at Steve. You can't expect her to defend you. With all the makeup thieves, she has enough problems.

“Do you need help find your trailer?” You interject.

“Do you need help finding your manners?” He retorts. “A thank you would do you well. I'm giving you good advice.”

Your brows furrow.

“Oh, don't do that, sweetheart. The worst thing you can do is make yourself look older than you are.”

You blink. “Well, thank you for your helpful advice but I think maybe you need to get to your trailer and get your own makeup done.”

“Won't take long,” he pops his sunglasses back on. “My looks are built in.”

He slaps your shoulder and spins away. He saunters to the door and swings the door out. He stomps down the stairs as the door snaps behind him. You shake your head at Xio.

“You have a really pretty nose,” she says. “Really, it's very… Victorian.”

[callalillywrites]

His Little Clothes Thief - Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 1034

Summary: You come home to find Steve rummaging through your closet for his favorite shirt. He has plans for it and refuses to be deterred.

Warnings: none

A/N: Another one for last year's Steve Rogers Bingo.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Character Masterlist

"Steven, what do you think you're doing?" you demanded, hands crossed over your chest while you hip rested against the door frame of your closet.

Your boyfriend of nearly three years glanced over his shoulder. His hands stilled on the hoodies hanging in front of him. He had the nerve to give you a knowing looking before returning to what he'd been doing. This time though, he picked up his pace as he sifted through the large collection of hoodies you've amassed.

"I'm looking for my favorite shirt. I know you have it, sweetheart."

You scoffed at the mild accusation in his tone. Sure, you'd been known to 'borrow' some of his clothes from time to time, but you always returned them.

Steve had the nerve to mimic your scoff. "I saw it in your pile when we were doing laundry yesterday. Don't think I don't know you."

"What makes you think I still have it?" you asked, not about to let him win this match so easily. "How do you know it's not hanging up in your closet? You know the door on the other side of our garden tub? The last I checked you have a greater collection of clothes than I do. What makes you so sure I have it?"

"Because, sweetheart," he spared you another exasperated though loving glance, "I already checked my closet, and it's not there. While I do agree I have more clothes than you, I also know what I have and my shirt isn't among what's mine. Your closet is the next logical conclusion."

Realizing he had you there, you stubbornly clung to the idea that you didn't have his shirt. Your gaze swept over the walk-in that you'd claimed the day you two moved in. You were determined to prove him wrong and send him back to his own closet. Not one hanger or shelf was missed in your scrutiny, so certain you were in your knowledge.

It was only when your gaze landed on an out-of-place navy shirt that in fact looked familiar did you shift your weight. Studying it further, you could just make out the edges of the even more familiar shape and color of his shield emblazoned across the front.

Creeping forward, you kept an eye on Steve and his attention on the far wall of your closet.

"I'm telling you, my love, it's not in here."

And it wouldn't be in the next thirty seconds if you had your way.

Steve hummed, clearly still skeptical of your assertion.

It was just as well. As long as he kept his attention where it was, you could do this. You could be stealthy when you wanted to be, and right then, you really wanted to be.

You dared a glance in his direction when you neared the spot where his shirt hung. Your hands stretched the short distance towards it and even gripped the shirt. With his attention still diverted, you tugged gently at the shirt, pleased when it gave and dropped off the hanger.

Knowing you wouldn't have long, you turned to dash out of your closet.

You made it two steps and only two steps.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you back into a solid and warm chest.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"What's what?" you asked, deciding to play dumb even though you've been caught.

Steve's soft chuckle wasn't lost on you as it reverberated through you. "That shirt in your hands. It looks awfully familiar, ya know?"

"I don't know," you said, shrugging even as you held up the shirt to inspect it. "Looks like any other shirt you'd give out to your fans. Certainly doesn't look like anything that special."

"Oh, it's plenty special, sweetheart," Steve murmured close to your ear. His breath tickled across the exposed skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing as he continued, "I got that shirt from someone very special to me. It's my favorite because they gave it to me."

"You must really care about them if you notice when this shirt isn't among your others."

The softest of kisses pressed against the space where your shoulder and neck met.

"They are the most precious part of my life."

He said the words so softly but so assuredly that your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. Your belly swooped while happy tears rushed to your eyes. Darn him for doing this to you every time.

Swallowing past the lump forming, you twisted so your eyes could meet. You managed a decent though mocked glare in his direction while you pushed the shirt into his hand still holding you close.

"You never play fair," you accused him though your voice lacked any real conviction.

Steve, without an ounce of remorse for eliciting such an emotional response from you, simply leaned in and pressed another sweet kiss to your lips. His nose rubbed against yours when he pulled away to say, "I play for keeps, sweetheart, and I mean to keep you as long as you'll let me."

"Even if I steal your clothes from time to time?"

"Especially because you steal my clothes," he countered, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He released you then, shaking out his shirt.

When you figured he would slip it over the tank he was wearing, he surprised you by raising the shirt and tugging it over your head and down your body. While you hurriedly pushed your arms through the sleeves, you caught the speculative gleam in his expression.

"I thought…"

Steve shook his head. "Nah, it looks better on you, sweetheart. Plus, I know you like wearing it when you've had a long day. I just wanted to have it ready for you when you got home. Unfortunately, you got home before I could find it."

This time, you rose up on tiptoes and wrapped yourself around him. Your lips founds his and didn't let him go until you both needed to pull back for some air.

"Do you know how much I love you?" you asked between breathy inhales.

Steve grinned. "Almost as much as I love you, sweetheart."

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni, blurb based on this request xo

you feel the ache in your thighs before you fully wake. it's a dull throbbing, not in the way that it felt when anakin hasn't seen you in weeks (or days, at that), but the kind that you feel when he teases you over and over again. a tired whimper leaves your lips, trying to find the source of what's causing it. sleep still made you hazy, not fully coming to yet. then you start to feel. the blankets moved down from your body, exposing your chest and midriff to the cold air. and he's tasting you, slow and with a sort of desire that hasn't hit you yet, but was slowly crawling through your veins as you registered anakins' mouth on your pussy.

another moan, more audible this time, as you lifted your hips towards his mouth. his tongue was deep inside your cunt, mouth sucking on your clit. his hands placed on the inside of your thighs, his grip soft to not be the cause of what woke you, but he was so needy, that at that point, he didn't fully care what would do it.

you glanced down, your heavy lidded eyes finally opening, and his blue eyes met yours. another thrust of his tongue inside you, before he pops up, rubbing circles on your innermost thighs.

"hope i didn't wake you angel."

[mandolare]

Anakin v Dooku Early Test

[kentluv3r]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) thinking about him being so deep in your cunt that he rubs your sobbing clit to get you over the finish line…

he’s so deep inside of you that you’re full of him— walls completely stretched out and feeling pleasure seep deep into your veins.

his cock is kissing your g-spot at this point, every sense on overdrive as he thrusts into your sobbing pussy, each thrust you take him deeper and deeper, and he watches with pleasure as he brings his right hand up to his mouth, biting down on his thumb.

“so pretty baby.” he murmurs before sucking on him thumb lightly, to get it a lil wet. he stops sucking and murmurs again. “taking my cock so good, like a champ f’me…”

bringing his thumb down to your clit, he flicks his thumb on your clit, rubbing in up and down patterns which makes you arch off the bed, screaming his name— your moans were already loud enough, but his name cements itself in the walls as he brings you closer and closer, almost pushing you to your orgasm.

he continues to thrust as he flicks your clit, his left hand remaining on your waist. “c’mon baby, cum for me.” he encourages low. “lemme see this pretty pussy cum for me… oh you’re such a sweet girl… c’mon…”

masterlist is here! click here for more!

ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!

[ujipm]

They have this exact convo every time they’re sent to an ice planet

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

STEVE ROGERS never gets your references and takes you out for coffee dates too much, but what he can do is lay down some killer pipe. you weren’t sure about him at first, he seemed like the type to say he prefers friendship or he’s staying single to better himself - or whatever. you thought that he was too good to be true because of how reserved he was, but after you coaxed him out of his shell—and got him up to your room—you were pleasantly surprised. all that weight on you, every poised muscle dedicated to using those seven inches to their fullest, grunting out of his slack lips as he hovers his chest over yours n curls his hips in a way that rolls your eyes into the back of your head. he’s a little more quiet that you would’ve hoped, but you can learn to appreciate it, all your focus is on the way your core feels getting filled up. his brows furrow, a chuff escaping his nose as he raises himself up. big hands clamp onto your hips to bring you with him, sitting on his haunches while he lifts your tailbone, realigning, and returning to the pace he set. his biceps swell as he moves you, reminiscent of some toy, his abdomen n chest flex n the dull light catches on their curves. there’s sweat in his hair, hanging down into his eyes as they’re downcast - you’re not exactly sure what they’re looking at. you can’t even form a sentence, you just enjoy the ride.

[haydenssweetheart]

small town family ice cream shop rivals- scott barringer x reader

warnings: pure fluff, some vulgar banter and innuendos, mentions of sex, allusions to finding the other person sexually attractive

edit: accidentally put pwp on warnings, sorry if u saw that. it is not. it was me thinking thats what would happen and didn't end up writing it that way LMAO

"mint chocolate chip with sprinkles on a cone!" you hold your arm to hand out the final cone of the day to a tween with peculiar taste for her age, you thought. but working at your family ice cream shop has taught you people have strange preferences when it comes to flavors, no matter what the age.

like rum raisin.

it was no secret that your family had the best ice cream in your small town, even in the winter months, people would line up in jackets and parkas to get pints to take home to eat in the comfort of the heat or fireplace. you had fifty flavors consistently, and seasonal flavors that would rotate, which you especially liked the fall ones. pumpkin marshmallow had become a favorite for you and you made your father bring it back every year.

you worked there when you came home from college or when you arrived back for holidays, always eager to try the new creations your parents had whipped up in the back. this summer, they had a rotation of apricot watermelon sorbet, berry shortcake, and mango coconut.

throughout these years, there really had been no competition with your shop, sure a baskin robbins, or some chain would come in, but it never compared to the creativity and quality your family put out.

until the barringer family moved in and built theirs. your father wasn't concerned at first, said it would just be another try and fail. but as time went on, the conversations as you came home seemed a little more tense when it came to business. you heard it when you were working the stand last year, during a fall holiday, as you handed out a banana cream pie in a cup to a regular.

"you know, it seems like folks are really taking a liking to that barringer shop." you felt your eyes widen. he continued poking around his ice cream, paying no mind to you. "i don't think it's all that, they don't do fun flavors like y'all. i think it's just the appeal of the soft serve."

and that was that. your father was never a fan of putting a soft serve machine in the shop, you asked him why, specifically after that.

"they can't think we're stooping to their level, to try and compete. what we had always worked. i'm not investing more. soft serve will eventually lose it's touch." he said firmly, his eyes never leaving his newspaper that morning, dismissing you- or the conversation. you weren't sure which, but most likely both.

this summer, you were getting fed up. it's not as if you didn't have customers, but you could see the change in business. so what if you went there yourself, saw what all this shit was about? a hot saturday, soft serve didn't sound that bad, so you threw on a tank top and shorts, and biked down to their store.

your eyes scanned the building. it was cute, you had to give them that. pastels, cute calligraphy that spelled out "barringer ice cream", basic but your family wasn't more creative either. you threw your bike into a rack, walking to the sliding window.

a blonde boy leans his head out, to start to ask you, what you assume is what you wanted, before narrowing his eyes.

"aren't you the girl from the other shop?"

you fold your arms over your chest. "well, what a hello. i hope you don't greet all your customers like this, or i'd be real confused why you have such positive reviews."

"i can assume you would piece two and two together and figure out that's not the case, since we took half your customer base."

you bite your tongue, because this wasn't what you came here for. you can feel your cheeks getting red with irritation, he was truly spiking your blood levels.

"god forbid i wanted some soft serve on my day off. can you accomplish that before a line starts forming behind me and they need to be rerouted to my store? wouldn't want you to lose precious business."

he glares at you. "what flavor. chocolate, vanilla, or swirl?" he points to the machine, to what you can assume is the flavors.

"oh gee, can i get a taste of the chocolate?" you feel a smirk creeping on to your face.

"you know what fucking chocolate tastes like."

"but it's soft serve..." you trail off, realizing you don't know his name yet. "mr. barringer? i just realized i don't have your formal name. boy, how rude. i never introduced myself either." you offer a hand, throwing your name, watching as he clearly debated his options.

"scott." he snips at you.

"oh good. well, scott, i've never had chocolate soft serve. i would love to try." a lie. you had. plenty of times. you cast a look behind you, only a few people were lingering, so you weren't too concerned.

he huffs a breath, before handing you a wooden spoon with a dab of chocolate ice cream. you place it into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around the spoon, making a big show of sucking every last drop of it off.

"wow, that's incredible. let me get a taste of the vanilla scotty." you grin.

"don't call me that. i'm not giving you a sample of the vanilla."

"well shit, why not? i have to make sure it's better than the chocolate."

he reluctantly hands you a new spoon, as you lean over the counter, repeating the same motions as before. "wow, that's truly amazing. i can't imagine what that would be like... swirled." you hold back a laugh, seeing his face twist into an even deeper glare than you thought was humanly possible.

"get out of here before i call the cops."

"someone doesn't like having fun. i'll be sure to recommend you to my favorite customers. see you soon scotty!" you throw a spoon into the window at him, hopping onto your bike back home.

at the end of june, your father happily announced the stand was asked to have a setup at the towns fourth of july fair that year, thrilled about how much business it would bring. he was busy taking inventory and your mother began making a list of the most popular flavors the week before, to figure out what to bring while you worked the shop. you looked down, putting cash into the drawer, when you heard a strangely familiar voice.

"gee, i would love to try a seasonal flavor. what do you recommend?" your head snaps up, meeting the blue eyes of scott barringer. you cock your head at him.

"is that what truly brings you here? let me know if you're allergic to coconut. i definitely won't give you the mango coconut."

"partly. also wanted to spread the joy that both our families are working this fourth of july fair, and just how excited i am." it was his turn to give you that devilish grin.

"and what, you're gonna bring that huge ass soft serve machine?" you lean over the window, staring down at him.

"we just might. now, i'm not allergic to coconut, so get me two scoops of that on a cone. waffle."

you roll your eyes, moving towards the tin to scoop him the flavor. this was going to be a long fucking summer.

especially when you got a text the day before the fair, one you immediately identified as scott based on the tone of the text.

"hope you're ready to get your ass ate tomorrow."

you made a face, because he definitely could've worded that better. or added something to make it not sound the way it did. it was actually so bad, you couldn't even move past it to banter back.

"can you rephrase that please? i'm not into ass eating."

"and i might be."

you scrunch your nose, because of course he doesn't rephrase it, just makes a dirty comment. and of course it makes you think of him actually eating your ass, which has you shaking your head to get the thought out as soon as possible.

your parents are an organized mess the next morning, checking and double checking things that have already been confirmed to be there, because they're so stressed about this imaginary competition they've set up in their heads against the barringer family. you can't really imagine that scotts' family cares that much, but your father built his reputation on this store, so you shrug it off.

the heat is intense as you help them set up, sweat trickling down your forehead, soaking your white tank top, making your shorts stick to your legs. your parents mutter something to you about going to get more dry ice from the store, and to make sure everything in the stand sets up okay. you sigh, fixing the cart the ice cream is situated in. you dig around in the bag to find a spoon, before digging into double chocolate brownie and taking a scoop for yourself.

"can't even wait 'till business starts?"

scott appears in front of you, eyeing you eating the ice cream. he's wearing a light t shirt, one that has similarly been soaked from sweat, and athletic shorts. you don't miss how his eyes scan you, lingering on your breasts, making you aware your bra is visible.

"i'm hungry. it's probably not a good look that a barringer keeps showing up to the opposing business, gonna make everyone think you don't like your own product."

"don't think they would assume that if i walk away with nothing."

you inhale deeply, regulating your next string of words. "what do you want scott."

"oh nothing. just walking the setups, happened to see you. wanted to see how it was going. i'll be working today if you want to come by. you know, see how much better we're doing."

"you gonna give me samples this time, or you gonna be a dipshit about it?" you bite back, crossing your arms. his eyes flicker back down to your breasts, puffed up due to your posture. you open your mouth to acknowledge it, but shut it. you hated how much you actually liked seeing him look at you, a different kind of heat flushed your cheeks. you thanked the heat for already reddening your face so he couldn't tell.

"i might give you samples. if you're being good." he meets your eyes, you resisting the urge to ask him what that means, even though you know it's an innuendo.

"looks like you can forget it then." you look back down to your setup, avoiding his eyes.

"your loss ice princess."

as the day went on, you should have predicted that when it was this hot, people would try their luck and get ice cream twice in one day. once at your stand, another at scotts. or vice versa, since some would show up with soft serve, still running down their fingers, only some realizing what they were doing, and trying to finish it before you saw them. you begged your parents to be done by the time the fireworks were about to start, your back was sore, the sweat from the day had dried and soaked into every piece of clothing, every crevice. you felt disgusting.

you leaned back against a tall tree, staring at the sky, waiting for the first launch.

"you've had better days."

you don't even have to turn around. "scott, take your shit somewhere else. otherwise, i'll throw my sweat soaked shirt on you."

"and leave you in a bra? i'd take it. i can see it now," he holds his hands in an arc in front of his eyes. "rivals have heated, passionate sex despite how obnoxious he thinks she is." he smirks at you as you roll your eyes. "wow what a headline. i should work for the news instead, don't you think?"

"stop flirting with me." you grumble.

"why? too irresistible for you? please, tell me. mango coconut ice cream or me."

"you have an ego that doesn't match your looks."

"not what i've been told."

you push up from under the tree, to stand and face scott. you hardly meet his height. he peers down at you, his blue eyes glinting with the fair lights in the distance, his behavior making you feel like you just rode one of those poorly put together rides your mayor insists on having every year.

you don't know if you should speak, or let him, really. you're both awkwardly staring at each other, the irritation fading out of your features as he simply blinks at you, long and slow. his blonde hair is messy from the long day, his t shirt he'd had on earlier was still damp, pressed to his chest.

"i better get going." your voice comes out raw, strangled, like it was forced to leave your mouth, as if you didn't truly mean it. maybe you didn't, you hadn't seen the fireworks yet. but you felt weird, this felt weird. he doesn't stop watching you.

"guess so."

since the fourth of july fair, your run ins with scott had been limited. a passing at the grocery store, one time at the docks. it was approaching the end of july, your return to college nearing in august. it wasn't like you felt yourself dying to see him, but he did leave an agitating hole in your mind, one that screamed 'irritating moron' but something else along with it you didn't really want to name. you refused to put yourself in his line of fire though, to put yourself out there and make yourself seem what one could call, needy. so instead, you chose to recluse yourself in work or home.

"sprinkles please. the chocolate ones." an elderly woman squints at you as you mindlessly scoop her butter pecan ice cream, silently thinking about how disgusting that sounds, but you add the sprinkles nonetheless. you hand it to her, waving her off, and go back to drawing on a napkin with pen.

"you think the peanut butter fudge ice cream is good?"

you raise your head, meeting the blue eyes of scott barringer.

a soft smile graces your features, despite the confusion and lingering irritation he brings along with it. "i'd say it's one of my favorites."

"oh well in that case, two scoops for me. cup please." you oblige, scooping it into a cup and handing it to him. he nods at the benches outside your shop. "wanna join me? i think it would be time for your lunch break right about now, hm? our store needs some more business right now anyways."

running a tongue along your teeth, you hold back a remark and nod, flipping around a closed sign on the window, and heading out the side door. sitting across from him, you stare at him, waiting for him to say what he came here for. you had a feeling it wasn't to try a new flavor from your parents business.

"i've been thinking." he says, bringing a spoonful to his mouth, running his tongue along the sides. you watch, aware of what he's doing, but you can't help yourself. "this whole, rival thing, truly exhausting, isn't it?"

"i didn't know this was a formal rival relationship."

"oh, c'mon." he waves, "you act like we're the jets and the sharks."

you make a face. "you know west side story?"

he ignores you. "we could be romeo and juliet."

you roll your eyes. "this is cheesy."

"let me take you on a date." he folds his arms across the table, cocking his head at you.

"if i say no?"

"then you're stupid."

you grit your teeth. asshole. "fine."

he claps his hands loudly, making you jump. scott leans in closer, to the point where you could smell his cologne, his breath that now smelled like peanut butter. "y'gonna let me kiss you?"

"i'm getting back to work."

he stands, matching your movements. "i'll take it as a yes. wear a sundress." he winks at you, the suggestion making you blush. "have a good rest of your day... sweetheart."

divider by @/chateaubarnes

tag list: @mythicalcowboyatheart @florsials @samanthaw16 @l0singctrl @onbevreesdofficial @velvetdahliaa @mark-renton-luvr @anakinssweetestgirl @padmesthoughts @qnakin

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni, blurb based on this request xo

you feel the ache in your thighs before you fully wake. it's a dull throbbing, not in the way that it felt when anakin hasn't seen you in weeks (or days, at that), but the kind that you feel when he teases you over and over again. a tired whimper leaves your lips, trying to find the source of what's causing it. sleep still made you hazy, not fully coming to yet. then you start to feel. the blankets moved down from your body, exposing your chest and midriff to the cold air. and he's tasting you, slow and with a sort of desire that hasn't hit you yet, but was slowly crawling through your veins as you registered anakins' mouth on your pussy.

another moan, more audible this time, as you lifted your hips towards his mouth. his tongue was deep inside your cunt, mouth sucking on your clit. his hands placed on the inside of your thighs, his grip soft to not be the cause of what woke you, but he was so needy, that at that point, he didn't fully care what would do it.

you glanced down, your heavy lidded eyes finally opening, and his blue eyes met yours. another thrust of his tongue inside you, before he pops up, rubbing circles on your innermost thighs.

"hope i didn't wake you angel."

[kentluv3r]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 (MINORS DNI) thinking about him being so deep in your cunt that he rubs your sobbing clit to get you over the finish line…

he’s so deep inside of you that you’re full of him— walls completely stretched out and feeling pleasure seep deep into your veins.

his cock is kissing your g-spot at this point, every sense on overdrive as he thrusts into your sobbing pussy, each thrust you take him deeper and deeper, and he watches with pleasure as he brings his right hand up to his mouth, biting down on his thumb.

“so pretty baby.” he murmurs before sucking on him thumb lightly, to get it a lil wet. he stops sucking and murmurs again. “taking my cock so good, like a champ f’me…”

bringing his thumb down to your clit, he flicks his thumb on your clit, rubbing in up and down patterns which makes you arch off the bed, screaming his name— your moans were already loud enough, but his name cements itself in the walls as he brings you closer and closer, almost pushing you to your orgasm.

he continues to thrust as he flicks your clit, his left hand remaining on your waist. “c’mon baby, cum for me.” he encourages low. “lemme see this pretty pussy cum for me… oh you’re such a sweet girl… c’mon…”

masterlist is here! click here for more!

ⓘ KENTLUV3R’S WORK. all my fanfics (not the characters) is my very own, coming from my own efforts and my time. do not copy my work, rewrite it, shove it through an ai machine and shit out slop, and don’t repost to wattpad/ao3/c.ai!

[lilacevans]

༊*·˚ main materlist | pete’s place’s opening night | the playlist ༊*·˚

''𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓. 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅.''

eep okay. fresh set. reblogs are reaaaaaally appreciated since i fucked up the last set. pls & thank u loveliesssss.

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni

modern!bestfriend!anakin skywalker x reader

warnings: cockwarming, teasing, clit slapping, choking, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, some fluff. not proofread and written on my phone so truly this might be typo central

after another failed date, you had called your best friend, anakin skywalker, to come over instead. truly, you felt hopeless, it had to have been the third date in the past few weeks and they just kept getting worse. and each time, anakin heard about it afterwards.

“what was it this time?” he leans back on your couch, popping the tab on an IPA he must’ve found in your fridge.

“he didn’t want to pay for dinner. which, okay. we split, right? no. he asks if i can pay for him, he doesn’t have the money right now.” you huff, sitting next to him, replaying the events in your head.

anakin snorts. “did you… pay?”

“ani, he was wearing a designer watch. he just didn’t feel like paying. so no, i didn’t. i told him i’ll dine and dash before i pay for him. clearly he must frequent this restaurant because he didn’t like the sound of that.” you roll your eyes.

“that’s my girl!” he squeezes your knee and you hold back from stiffening. his touches never get less foreign to you, but the more intimate they are, the more you feel it. you aren’t sure what it means, or if it should mean anything, but you choose to ignore it. last time he was over, you fell asleep in his lap. you woke up with his hand resting lazily on your hip, another touch that made you warm inside. not that it’s never happened before, you’ve been friends for years. but it’s felt different lately, which you’re blaming on how undeniably horny you’ve been.

“i’ll let you choose the movie.” you motion to the tv, handing him the remote. he scrolls through for a few minutes, pausing on titles, then resuming, before settling on back to the future.

you side eye him but say nothing, since you did let him choose; although you would’ve picked something else. the two of you don’t say much as it begins, he continues sipping his drink and you curled up against the side of the couch.

he casts a glance at you. “come here. so far away.” his tone is light, mocking, clearly, but it sets a jolt through you. you start to move over, until he grows irritated with your pace and drags you onto his lap. your heartbeat becomes irregular, your legs pressed together in between his.

“you’re tense.” he murmurs, his lips almost brushing your ear. you try to ignore the feeling shooting through your core, starting to wet your underwear, and wonder if you should mention how the mom is now trying to bang her son in the movie. maybe that would help this issue.

“just tired.” you mutter, not daring to move. your rigid spine contrasts with his relaxed pose against the couch.

pressing your thighs together like this isn’t doing you any favors, but you weren’t exactly looking to set up camp on his lap. you could feel a pulse starting in your core, unforgiving and relentless. you considered running to your room to take care of it as fast as possible, but if anything, it would make you needier, not satiate it. the last thing you needed was a heavy conscious that you got yourself off while anakin was in the room over. you almost let out a groan, the feeling starting to eat you alive. the movie was long forgotten to you, as your mind was hyper focused on not thinking about how intensely turned on you were.

“you’re breathing loud.” anakin whispers. you yelp, not expecting him to speak.

“just focused.”

“lie to me again and we’ll have to solve this another way.”

your pussy throbbed. how you wished he wouldn’t have said that.

“okay.” you croak. he didn’t say anything, but you felt it. underneath you, his cock twitched, growing hard against your clothed entrance. you stifled a moan, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. you’d barely been touched and you were about to turn into a mess. you can’t fathom your best friend getting aroused by you, or anything you’ve done, on top of that, mutually having an attraction to you. your brain was starting to fog over.

“tell me again,” his voice came thick from behind you. “why do you seem so tense.”

you considered your options. lie, find out what he means. truth, and find out your fate through honesty. truly could be a lose lose.

“i, uh, just was sad about the date not going well.”

he tsks. “i think that’s a lie.” his hand finds the hem of your lounge shorts you’d changed into when you’d arrived home. “why don’t i relax you. take these off.” you haven’t turned around to meet his eyes, even seen his face, through this whole process, and you’re scared to. his voice is deeper than you’ve heard it before, something that he’s never talked to you with.

“okay.” you slide them off, raising your hips off his lap to drag the shorts down your thighs, settling back down. left in your underwear- your now almost soaked underwear. you wondered if through his sweats he could feel the damp fabric pressing against him.

“lift those hips up again.” he grunts, hands on your hips helping you up as you hover above him as he slides down his sweats just below his cock. you suck in a breath. you lower again. everything was happening quickly, but you didn’t want it to stop. his hand reached around, slipping your panties to the side.

“just wanna,” slowly, he guided his cock inside you, a whimper leaving your lips. “help you relax.” but he didn’t move. didn’t touch you. just stayed, his cock buried inside you, the movie still playing in the background. you clenched around him, trying to find movement, friction, anything.

“be good baby. let me watch the movie.”

your jaw drops. “ani…how do you…”

“hm?” he spreads your legs wider, exposing you, your shirt your only safety. it made it harder for you to try and keep squeezing him for any pleasure, the way he kept you open. your breaths were uneven, the movie was dragging on. you hadn’t been properly fucked by anyone in months, close to a year at least. there were so many thoughts running through your mind, not one that would be able to ground you in this moment.

so you let him. you let him keep you in that position, while the rest of the movie played out. you could feel the pulse between you, it almost vibrated inside you, but neither one of you moved. he was still, a hand had found it’s way to gently grip your thigh, his fingers sprawling over and tickling your inner thigh. your best friend was teasing you and you could do nothing about it.

it got to a point, though. the two of you knew neither one wanted to crack first, especially since he had committed to a boundary until the movie was over. but every so often he’d shift, scooting his hips up and purposely rocking up, making you squeeze your eyes at the burst of pleasure. when the aftershocks would wear off, you would roll your hips trying to pretend to find something. it became a tiresome game, one he didn’t put up with very long.

placing a hand on your stomach, he presses against you and starts pushing his hips up into you, making you steady yourself on the pillows around you.

“anakin.” you don’t know what the point of talking to him is, you don’t want him to stop.

“faster?” he ignores you, a hand now finding its way to grip loosely around your throat as he works faster into you. you close your eyes, the pleasure hitting everywhere all at once.

“that’s it baby. feel it. needed you so bad. knew none of these men could please you like you deserved.” his voice is throaty in your ear, the confession alone almost making an orgasm rip through you. you whimper in response, feeling him tighten his hand around your throat. his free hand begins teasing your clit, a place only you’ve touched as of late. to have someone else do it, anakin at that, is a vastly different experience, and much more overstimulating. you’re shifting, trying to get away from the touch in some degree, but he won’t let up.

he delivers a slap to your clit, a sting that only turns into more pleasure.

“anakin, i need more.” your voice sounds desperate, hoarse, like the one time you lost it at a concert. you sound pathetic, but he clearly loves it.

he flips you onto the couch, hovering over you. his eyes bore into yours, filled with lust, pupils blown wide. his cock prods your entrance, almost slipping in with how wet you were from his teasing and slow fucking.

“tell me you want this.” his eyes don’t leave yours, as if he’s scared to blink and lose you when he opens his eyes.

“i want this.”

his lips meet yours, desperate and needy. you'd kissed him a few times before, when the two of you were younger, practicing for relationships, or college. or the one time you told him your boyfriend said you kissed bad, so anakin said he would correct you. you spent hours kissing that day, asking him over and over again if you were better yet, and each time anakin said you were only progressing a little bit.

you thought it was suspicious, but you didn't mind either.

now, the feeling hits you all at once, the way your lips mold together, as if they were part of a puzzle, the way he fucks you as he kisses you. he can't get enough.

"tell me you're done going on dates." he breathes, in between pulling away from you and his rhythmic thrusting, pausing to watch your reaction. you hesitate, which makes his brows knit together in frustration. "baby. i can't be a good person anymore if you do. i will make sure to ruin every single date you go on so i can feel your pussy around me and they can't."

you nod dumbly, his words sending shivers down to your cunt.

he grins, cheeks flushed. "now, best friends make each other cum, yeah?"

divider by @/condybunny

tag list: @mythicalcowboyatheart @florsials @samanthaw16 @l0singctrl @onbevreesdofficial @velvetdahliaa @mark-renton-luvr @anakinssweetestgirl @padmesthoughts @qnakin

[haydenssweetheart]

18+mdni, blurb based on this request <3

aotc anakin skywalker x reader

anakin watched your hands splay out on his thighs, spreading his legs open further. he was practically drooling at the sight of you, on your knees, your lips wrapped around his cock, your head bobbing down to try and take him in your mouth. it was unlike anything he's ever felt before, something he's only ever fantasized about. when he saw you in training, or sitting across from him in meetings, or-

your calloused hands, from holding the saber for so long in trainings, lightly squeezed his balls, while your tongue caressed his frenulum. his head tipped back involuntarily, a throaty groan escaping from him.

"fuck." he looks back down, to see you release him, a smile on your lips. a bead of spit connects his tip to your lip, which should make him turn up his lip, but instead he feels his cock twitch. "you're so good at this." he can't control what's coming out of his mouth, he's so entranced by you, his feelings caught up in lust and affection. you lightly suck the tip of his cock, moving your hand up and down the base of his cock, making anakin drag his hand through your hair.

"baby, i don't think i can last much longer. oh my god." his hips jerk into your mouth and in any other case, he would've apologized, but you seem to feed off it, so he keeps his hips lifted, despite the strain in his quads. he takes one more look at your bright eyes, watery from the way you've been taking his cock for so long to your throat and he feels himself come undone, faster than he thought was ever possible. you stand, wiping remnants of him off the side of your mouth, but the dimples never leave your cheeks as you look at him.

"can i try pleasing you next?" he's still sitting, the pleasure almost having numbed his body.

"i'll think about it ani." you wink and adjust your robes before skipping off.

tag list: @mythicalcowboyatheart @florsials @samanthaw16 @l0singctrl @onbevreesdofficial @velvetdahliaa @mark-renton-luvr @anakinssweetestgirl @padmesthoughts @qnakin @louisa8812