Pairing : steve rogers x reader
Summary : Steve is on the run. Who knew he would find you in a ghost town?
Warnings : smut/violence/18+
A/n - been a while. trying to get back into the swing of things. hope you all enjoy!! feedback is greatly appreciated.
It was a hundred degrees and the pick up truck had broke down, hood breathing smoke along asphalt; sun beating unforgiving against his back. It was bad - and Steve had seen war.
He’d been on the run a few months now. Got separated from Sam after the government got intel and they were close to catching them. Not close enough.
Bodie was a ghost town. Dilapidated wooden buildings - breathe near them and they’ll collapse - plotted along ashen ground burning orange under constant sunlight. It was trapped in time, as he was. The world around it moving forward and it was forever in a period long forgotten.
He found himself relating to it.
The wood tombstones groaned under a shift of hot wind, knocked Steve in the lungs with gravel in his throat. The sun was setting, hues from a flame blazing across the horizon, licking the blue of the sky with a sharp tongue.
He couldn’t fix the truck in darkness.
When he first saw you, he thought you were a ghost - nearly shat his pants.
The barrel of a gun pointed towards his head, dangerous look in your eye because you didn’t get many visitors around these parts - that was clear.
Especially not visitors that were superhuman.
You were dressed modern. Denim cut offs, white spaghetti strap and a beat up pair of pink converse. Your skin was slicked, glowing and healthy. You must have been young, Steve guessed early twenties because you had that spark in your eye.
The one that gets snuffed out after time. Erodes away in your hands like dust and bone.
You study him, eyes a picture of nature; green flecked with amber. Wars stopped over those eyes. World at peace in vast green forests in golden light.
“Can I help you Captain?” So you do know who he is.
You make him nervous. He scratches the nape of his neck with a hum, “trucks busted. I could use somewhere to lay low.”
Everyone I know wants me dead.
He sees the clogs turning, the fight in your conscience before your eyes seem to shift and you saunter past him, waving a hand.
“Follow me,” you say. He does.
You don’t give much away, keep your cards close to your chest and Steve has a hard time reading you. There’s so many questions on the tip of his tongue - why are you alone? What’s your name? What’s your favourite colour?
You’ve built a home for yourself. Done up one of the old buildings and painted it blue, a calming blue. You’d built furniture, added your own touch and he wondered if you painted the pictures on the wall.
Your home was immaculate. Cabin in the woods type shit. A neutral colour palette - sepia toned photograph; burnt copper in his mouth. Spotless and well kept.
You’re cooking in the kitchen when he finds himself asking, “do you like to paint?”
He notices the small flicker of a smile as you toss onions in a pan, the soft sizzle becoming all too loud because he felt he overstepped a mark.
“Used to,” you say, adding garlic to the pan and Steve’s stomach growls. “Not been feeling inspired as of late.”
“You’re good,” Steve admires an abstract piece. A meld of red and gold swirling around negative space, a cool stream of blue twisting like veins. It sits above the fireplace in your living room, caught his eye the minute he walked in.
“Thanks,” and he thinks he sees a blush tint your cheeks, a crack in your tough exterior; an inner beauty bursting through for a fleeting moment before you’re serious again.
You place a plate in front of him, sliding a fork across the counter. Tomato pasta. “I can help you with the truck,” you don’t look at him again as you leave the room.
He doesn’t see you again that night.
He sees you smile for the first time a week later.
A grin, brighter than the golden gates and it’s at something he said - he can’t remember what because your smile clears his brain of any thought. For a moment he thinks he’s forgotten his name because fuck - that smile.
It lit up your whole face. White gleaming teeth, sparkling eyes - you were breathtaking.
Turns out the truck was beyond repair. Broken engine melting in the heat because it had been running for five years past its sell by date. You offered to let him stay.
“Whatever’s chasing you won’t find you here.”
So he accepted. What’s he got to lose? The Avengers was over. He had no idea where Sam was, and even if he did he had no way of getting to him.
You had also made it an easy decision to stay.
You intrigued him. Lit this fire he hadn’t felt since Peggy and he couldn’t ignore it because what if he missed out on something wonderful. He wanted to know about you, but so far he’d only gotten a name.
“I heard you jumped out of plane without a parachute,” there’s this playful glint in your eye.
“Is it impressive if I say I did?” He smiles.
“Are you trying to impress me Captain?” It’s sultry, match sparking in his loin.
Your hair is wild around your head, swollen with the humidity in the air. A mane of brunette framing a god-like face and how the fuck can you look like that. A forest nymph he’s only read about in story books.
“Yes,” he replies and you laugh. It’s a beautiful sound, sparks life deep into his soul; makes the air catch in his lungs at the sweet melody pouring honey over his ears.
“I don’t think I’m your type Rogers,” you say.
You lift a man into the air with your fucking mind.
Steve thinks he’s gone mad at first, but it was very much real. Hand outstretched, concentration unshaken and he squirms as he levitates - chest heaving in fear before he’s knocked out - falls to the ground and Steve’s mouth is open.
It was a flurry up until that point. He was ambushed, men in black - probably sent from the government. He managed to get most, but the one that was sneaking up behind him. The one you stopped. With your mind?
You turn towards him, “are you okay?”
What the fuck was that? - was what he wanted to say. Instead, he stuttered, shaking his head clear of fog before thanking you. You smile at his confusion.
“I suppose I should probably explain.”
Turns out you were born that way, didn’t start showing until you were nine and your parents couldn’t cope. It wasn’t long before you were taken into an institution - used as a Guinea pig. You escaped at 17, a kid with the world on her shoulders, her beating heart in her hand.
The secrecy made sense. Months of avoiding personal questions, a guarded wall he was prepared to climb. There was just something there. He could see it with you - life. A way other than war. Maybe that was naive of him.
You sit on the sofa, legs propped up on the table in front of you; a joint hanging from your fingers. The smell is strong, singes at the hairs in his nose and you laugh at the look on his face.
“Man, you’re really stuck in the 40’s,” you joke, eyes bloodshot; smile slightly off balance but you’re still a dream.
“Take a draw then,” you hold the burning stick in front of his mouth. If you’d asked him two months ago, he would’ve said no. It was different now. He didn’t feel like Captain America anymore - he felt like Steve Rogers. The kid from Brooklyn, living one hundred years in the future with you.
Living the life he never had in a fucking ghost town - who would’ve thought.
He surprises you when he takes a draw, tipping ash into a glass tray. After a couple his vision hazes, a calming numbness crosses his mind and his gaze slides over you.
“Wait til’ America hears about this one,” you joke, and Steve laughs. He could see the headlines now - Beloved Captain America says yes to Drugs.
Something changed in your eyes that night, like a barrier peeling from the outermost layer of your skin. He’s staring at you - he knows that - but you’re not looking away either.
He wasn’t good at reading the signs, and something deep in his stomach told him to move.
When he kissed you it felt right.
Soft pillowed lips sliding together he felt like he was tasting paradise on his tongue. You kissed him back - passionate, gentle compared to your icy exterior but that was all it was. Deep inside you were a flowering beauty, filled with secrets and he wanted to know them all.
“You’re a good kisser for ninety-seven,” you smirk.
You have nightmares - the blood curdling kind.
He bursts into your room to find you screaming into a void - eyes closed, unconscious. He gets beside you, whispers sweet nothings in your ear - you’re okay. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
You awake with a start, panting for breath, holding your chest with a flat palm. Cradling your head you lean forward and he lets you catch your breath. Your back was hot to the touch, as though a furnace had been lit under the surface of your skin.
“Sorry I woke you,” you say.
Steve shakes his head, “don’t be, you alright?”
You nod with a broken smile. The forest in your eyes was dark, glazed over with clouds of exhaustion. What was it like waking up when you were alone? Steve imagined you coped, you were made of tough stuff. Yet, the idea of anyone having to deal with that made his heart twist in his ribcage - especially you.
“What do you want me to do?” He asks you. He doesn’t want to overstep. You’d made progress and he didn’t want you to shut him out now.
You surprise him when you say, “stay.”
Steve doesn’t hesitate, and you make room for him; pulling the sheet back to allow him to get in with you. When you rest your head on his chest it’s like home. White picket fences and green green grass and where he was meant to be.
“I get them too,” he admits to you, taking a hand through your thick hair. “About the war, about going in the ice.”
You don’t judge him. A slender finger slides over his chest, makes the hair at the nape of his neck stand to attention because you had that affect on him. Only you.
“I’m glad your truck broke down,” you said.
“Me too sweetheart,” he replied with a smile.
You doze off in his arms. It’s the best sleep he’s had since going in the ice.
He makes love to you that summer.
The fire crackles, mixing with the sound of lips on lips - the shedding of clothes. The room is too-hot, sweat slicking bare chests as he lays you down on the sofa.
You grip at each other like it’ll be the last time - he hopes it’s not.
Stripped before him you’re like a fever dream. Tits perfectly sat on your chest, the most beautiful he’d ever seen and how did he strike so lucky in a place like Bodie?
Steve kisses down your neck, chest - anywhere he can put his lips because he’d never tasted something as sweet as you, an addicting flavour on his tongue that he never wanted to give up - not now, not ever.
You groan under his worship, a gentle touch you would never expect from a super soldier but here he was; kneading your body as though he were making bread. Studying everything he wanted to remember, because his luck was running short these days and what if you were another carrot that the universe would dangle in front of him. Just to take it away in the end.
When he pushes into the hilt you moan - the most saccharine sound he’s ever heard. It’s like ice on his spine, trickling down each nerve with ease.
“Jesus doll,” he breaths, a blow of air as your pussy squeezes him in an unforgiving way. You whine in response and he begins to move, a slide of - in, out, in, out - and fuck he won’t last long when you look at him like that.
Your hands are on his chest, muscles shifting beneath your finger tips. You legs wrap around his waist as he makes the sweetest vanilla love - the holiday kind. Sunsetting over the horizon kind of bullshit and he wanted to stay here forever.
You call his name, drag your fingers through his hair and he reaches between you; teases your pebble until you’re arching into him. Steve kisses you again, chases the oxygen you breathe because he wants to steal it from you.
“Please Stevie,” you beg, panting and writhing beneath him. He’s pushed you further up the sofa in his relentless pounding, your neck crooked but you don’t care as you cry out - pushing him over the edge.
You can’t get pregnant. You’d told him they’d made sure of that early on. Babies are a distraction. Steve told you you would be a good mom - you were not so sure.
“Are you a virgin?” You ask him as he settles beside you, pulling you into his chest with a grumble.
“That bad huh?” He smirks.
Steve decided you were his soulmate after a year.
He stopped trying to contact Sam. What was the point? The world would need him again eventually but right now he wanted to be stuck in time with you. You never labelled what you had, kept it at an arms length but Steve knew how you felt about him.
He had a feeling he wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t feel the way he did.
He catches you making breakfast one morning. Frying eggs as you hum and tap your foot - hair a wild mess around your head, his shirt riding high enough for him to catch the smooth curve of your ass. A domesticated goddess, with the ability to rip him limb for limb and he likes that danger.
Steve wraps his arms around your middle, resting a hand on your flattened stomach and he notices the way you soften there. Each layer of you he peeled back was more beautiful than the last, it was hard not to just say -
You turn in surprise - maybe you didn’t expect it, or maybe you’ve never heard those words directed at you. For a moment he feels he’s overstepped, maybe you just enjoyed his company and he’s read this all wrong but then you kiss him. Passionate, it washes over him like a promise because you have this ability to make him feel like he did pre serum.
Small and weak, pining after a dame too good for him.
“I love you too,” you reply.
Who knew that the girl he met in Bodie, would be the love of his life.
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