Erika, old enough to be your mother, most likely. Pro-choice, feminist. There is no hate or discrimination of any kind here. I don't ship anything, but if you do, have at it. I love too many fandoms: Supernatural, Ripper Street, Game of Thrones,...
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader x Jake Jensen
Word Count: 4,665
Summary: Your first night in your new forever home with your alpha and beta is like a dream come true.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. A/B/O. MFM trio. A fucked up verse where omegas are generally treated more like pets than people, but don't worry, our babes will fix that. Pet play elements. Praise kink. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (f & m receiving). Lots of praise. Unprotected sex. Biting aka a/b/o bonding.
A/N: Lookit!!! I finally have a new installment to the Pound Town verse for you. YAY! 🥳 I hope you enjoy it and I really hope you take a moment to drop me a reblog, comment, or ask once you finish. Reading or cumming, I’m not picky 😏
P.S. If you're new to this verse, be sure to read Curtis, Jake, and Reader's first part here.
VERSE MASTERLIST
As Curtis and Jake ushered you into your new home, you were torn between curiosity–eager to drink in every detail of your forever home–and a deep, desperate ache that was throbbing throughout you and had been since the duo started lavishing you with attention and praise in the playroom back at the pound.
Your eyes glimpsed a large, cozy looking living room with a stone fireplace before Jake was herding you toward the wooden staircase off the entryway.
“Come on, gorgeous, we can save the tour for tomorrow,” he grinned.
“Jake.”
The stern tone of Curtis’ voice had both you and the beta freezing at the foot of the stairs, and you glanced over your shoulder to find your new alpha looming a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched the two of you.
Despite his serious countenance, there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes, and it had that ache within you blooming with a new wave of want as you squirmed under Curtis’ intent gaze.
“We had her welcome home planned, beta,” Curtis tsked. “Tour first, then some food, then play time.”
“But I need her,” Jake whined, sticking out his lower lip as he tugged your back against his chest and rested his chin on your shoulder. “And she needs us, too. I know you can smell her, and she smells unsatisfied.”
Your face bloomed with the heat of embarrassment, your gaze dropping to the floor as you realized that your musky omega scent was hanging heavy in the air.
A beat later, Curtis was before you, his body heat mingling with yours and Jake’s as he touched a finger beneath your chin and tipped your shy gaze up to meet his.
“We’ll let her decide,” he murmured, “Since it’s her first day home. What should we prioritize, sweetheart? What do you want to do first?”
The happy chirp was bubbling up and spilling past your lips before you could even formulate a real response, because an alpha–your alpha–was giving you a choice, letting you decide.
Because he cared what you wanted, and no one had ever cared about that before, not ever.
Your jumbled thoughts and surprise must have been easy to read, because Curtis’ face softened as his hand slid along your warm cheek, until you could nuzzle into his touch as you blinked up at him, a little dazed already.
“What do you want, omega?” he asked again.
“I want you,” you answered honestly. “And Jake,” your hand rested over your beta’s hand that was planted on your belly. “I want you to bond me, please, so I can be yours for real and forever.”
“I love her so much,” Jake breathed, his eyes shimmering as he met Curtis’ gaze as he snuffled along your neck.
“Alright then, what our omega wants, she gets,” Curtis hummed. He pressed a kiss to your forehead before doing the same to Jake, and then he was herding the both of you up the stairs amongst some quiet giggles and wandering hands.
Soon the three of you were stumbling into the bedroom, and you had a moment to smile at the once again cozy, inviting decor before Jake was basically propelling you toward the neatly made California king-size bed.
“Patience, beta,” Curtis reminded, but there was a curl to his lips as Jake sent him an abashed look.
“Sorry, ‘mega,” Jake whispered against your ear, pressing a kiss to the plane of skin just behind it as he gave your hips a greedy grope.
As his lips began to touch and taste along the skin of your neck, Curtis drew near, pressing flush to your front–until you were sandwiched between both men–and dipping his head low to catch your lips with his own.
It was instant, the way Curtis’ kiss short circuited your brain. You had never felt so desired and adored–and never at the same time–as his soft, plush lips pressed against your own, his tongue sneaking along the seam of your mouth until you were happily opening up to him as he deepened the kiss.
Curtis swallowed your throaty moan as Jake’s hand snuck into your panties, just a bit of cute, lacy fabric that went along with the fluttery dress they had brought to the pound to dress you in for the drive home. Your cat ears and plug were still tucked away in a bag in the back of their car, but that’s as far as your brain got before Jake’s fingers were circling your clit and making you whine.
“Wait,” you panted once Curtis retreated from your mouth. “Please.”
“What do you need, pretty girl?” he asked, his big hand resting at the base of your throat as you blinked at him, dazed and struggling to think straight.
You felt a new wave of shyness wash over you as you finally zeroed in on what you really wanted in that moment.
“Will you scent me, please? Both of you, together?”
“God, she’s so sweet,” Jake groaned, giving your sopping wet pussy a gentle pat before pulling his hand from your underwear and sucking your arousal from his fingers.
“Come here,” Curtis directed, taking your hand and leading you toward the bed.
He settled you on the edge of it and sat at your side, waiting for Jake to mirror him on your other side before you were glancing between them, something ecstatic bursting to life in your belly and fluttering up through your chest as your eyes bounced from one warm, wanting look to the other.
When your gaze locked on Curtis’, he gave you a look so intent and focused that you whined softly, pressing your thighs together as a gush of arousal seeped from your pussy and made you squirm.
Nostrils flaring, your alpha leaned close, pressing a gentle kiss to your unmarked mating gland and purring at your sharp gasp before he was slowly dragging his nose along your neck as his musky scent rose up around you.
Your eyes fluttered when Jake descended on the other side of your throat, nosing along your warm skin and moaning at your scent as he scented you with a bit more eagerness and less finesse and patience than your alpha.
You swore you could taste the cocktail of their desire on your tongue as Curtis and Jake worked together to cover you in their scents, until you had a death grip on each of their hands in one of yours as you sank between them, already a floaty, pliant mess of carnal delight.
Before you knew what was happening, the duo worked together to undress you and scoot you further up the bed, until you were sinking back against Jake, positioned between his legs as Curtis sank to his knees and tugged you to the very edge of the bed.
Curtis’ eyes were so dark with desire they were nearly black as he tugged your ruined panties off and tossed them aside. His palms were warm and rough as they glided up your calves, spreading your legs wide open as he commanded Jake to, “Hold her open for me, beta.”
The directive alone had you moaning as your pussy clenched, your heart hammering in your chest as Curtis’ gaze fell to your glistening folds.
“You’re so pretty, sweetheart,” he murmured, thumbs tugging the petals of your sex apart until he could see your twitching hole.
Your breath caught as his thumb ghosted over your drippy entrance, but then it was gliding up along the cut of you until he was rubbing barely there circles along your clit. Your hips bucked as need consumed you and you started babbling for you weren’t even sure what.
All you knew was that you wanted, so so much, and Curtis and Jake could give it to you.
They could give you everything.
Mesmerized, you watched with wide eyes as Curtis’ head dipped low, his warm breath washing over your pussy and making you whine as Jake cooed at your pretty noises and caressed along your naked breasts.
The first swipe of your alpha’s tongue along your cunt had you nearly catapulting off the bed, and you squealed as Jake chuckled and gripped your thighs tighter, spreading your legs open just a little bit wider as Curtis shot you a wink and then went to town.
He groaned at the taste of you, lapping along your glistening folds before his tongue was teasing along your clit and driving you wild.
You had never felt such intense pleasure in your entire life. And if this is what pleasure felt like, you were pretty sure you’d never felt it at all.
The overwhelming feeling continued to mount, so many sensations running rampant through your body, the most prevalent being the strange build up that throbbed in the core of you.
With each swipe of Curtis’ tongue, with every tease of his fingers along your weeping, clenching hole, it felt like you were inching along, closer and closer to something you so desperately needed despite not really knowing what your body was seeking to begin with.
And then it hit you out of nowhere.
It felt like your body was erupting, your back bowing as you keened at the warm, tingly rush of ecstasy that flooded through you. Distantly you were aware of the way Jake was still holding you in place, cooing against your ear as Curtis purred from between your trembling thighs and rumbled a litany of praise as your body writhed and bucked.
You were panting when you finally sagged back against the sheets, so beyond dazed as you gasped for breath and shivered as stray aftershocks sparked their way along your body.
“You’re such a good girl,” Curtis husked as he rose up from between your legs and stretched out over you. “Such a good omega.”
The happy chirp sounded as faint and dazed as you still looked, and Jake and Curtis shared a grin as the beta shimmied out from behind you, nearly vibrating in anticipation as Curtis dropped a quick kiss to your lips before moving away.
Before your pout could even fully form at his departure, Jake was taking Curtis’ place atop you, his big, boyish grin softening as he got a good look at your fucked-out-without-even-being-fucked-yet state.
“You’re so pretty,” Jake breathed, his big hand cradling the side of your face as he ducked low and kissed you.
Really kissed you.
Distantly, you hoped you were keeping up with the urgent, sinful press of his lips half as good as he was working his mouth against yours, but when his tongue snuck between your lips as he deepened the kiss, all your thoughts went quiet as you mewled and twined your arms around Jake’s neck and tugged him even closer.
It was the most heady feeling you had ever experienced, having the breath stolen right from your lungs by Jake’s eager lips as you felt the heavy, warm gaze of Curtis just beside you both, enjoying the show.
The longer you and Jake drank from each other’s lips, the stronger his scent got. There was a spicy tang to it now–his arousal–that made your head spin in the best way as you also felt the evidence of his desire for you pressed hard and hot against your belly.
At last, when your little sips of air in between kisses became more and more desperate, Jake finally retreated from your mouth, gasping just as harshly as you were, but that still didn’t stop him or his perfect, pink lips from kissing a trail down the side of your throat.
His mouth tasted and teased along your shoulders before he was finally licking at one of your hard, achy nipples, groaning against your chest as he took a moment to just face plant between your tits as his big hands groped them and pressed them around his face.
“Love boobs so much!” his muffled exclamation made you giggle.
He popped his head up at the sweet sound, giving you an abashed smile before his features went determined and he was once again kissing all along your chest, worshiping every inch of you he could reach as he continued his descent down your body.
You started to squirm when his mouth reached your belly, whining softly as your hand shot out and your fingers gripped Jake’s short, soft hair.
His eyes flickered up to meet yours as he pressed the gentlest kiss against your lower belly before skimming his lips even lower, until he was warming your mound with his hot breath.
“Please,” you begged softly, spreading your legs in offering and so needy for that rush of bliss that Curtis had so masterfully bestowed upon you just a short while ago.
Jake glanced sideways at Curtis, who was starting to shift restlessly now, his alpha scent overtaking the cocktail of yours and Jake’s own scents. Winking at the other man, Jake took a moment to press one final kiss to your swollen clit, giving it a firm lick for good measure before he was moving away and you were pouting in earnest.
“Think what you really need is our alpha’s knot, pretty omega,” Jake winked at you.
Before you could even think of a reply, Curtis was once again settling over you, his big, warm body taking up residence between your sprawled legs and making your eyes go wide with just how intently–how hungrily–he was eyeing you up.
You didn’t think you’d ever been looked at like that before, so all you could do was blink owlishly as Curtis’ handsome face hovered over your own. Then your eyes were fluttering shut as he dipped low to kiss you. Your alpha kissed you just as expertly as he had worked the warm, wet place between your legs, and he didn’t pull away until you were desperately gasping for breath against his lips.
You didn’t resist as Curtis sat back and gently turned you onto your belly. “Present for me, sweetheart,” he directed, and your body was following his instructions despite the way your mind was still foggy and sluggish and playing catch up from all of their attention.
“Yeah, there you go, omega,” Curtis purred, as you perched on all fours, albeit a little wobbly. He took a moment to completely undress, before his big hand circled the back of your neck and guided your head down so your warm cheek pressed against the soft, rumpled blanket.
“Relax for me, pretty girl,” he murmured against your ear, big hand gliding down the length of your spine as he settled behind you. He gripped his hard cock in his hand, giving himself a few, slow pumps as Jake scrambled up beside him and shed his own clothes before resuming his spot and gazing at his alpha’s cock with a hungry look in his eye.
Smirking, Curtis kept his free hand on the curve of your ass, warming your skin and letting you feel he was close as he turned to Jake. He released his cock in lieu of collaring the back of Jake’s neck and reeling him closer. Humming, he kissed his beta breathless, until he was swallowing Jake’s whine and pulling away with a grin.
“Get me wet and ready for her, beta,” Curtis murmured.
Moaning, Jake dipped low, eagerly taking Curtis’ cock in his mouth. His head bobbed a few times, hand gripping the base of Curtis’ cock and squeezing as the obscene sound of Curtis fucking Jake’s throat rose up around you all.
Curtis groaned, tipping his head back and allowing himself a final hard rut into his beta’s throat before gently pulling away from Jake. “So good to me, bub,” he husked, caressing Jake’s ruddy cheek before he was once again settling behind you.
“Ready for me, sweetheart?” Curtis asked you, both hands smoothing over your ass cheeks and tugging them apart to reveal the glistening folds of your cunt.
“Yes, alpha,” you murmured, still sounding floaty as fuck.
And then you were nearly choking on a sharp gasp as you felt the rounded tip of Curtis’ cock line up with your entrance before he slowly started to push inside of you.
You moaned at the pressure, fisting the blankets on either side of you as Curtis patiently worked himself inside of your warm, tight pussy.
“Fuck, omega, this cunt’s so tight,” he grunted as his hips retreated ever so slightly before he was surging back in again, just a little bit further than before.
You whined when it started to feel like too much, but then Jake was curling close to you, his big hand petting over your head as his lips pressed to your temple and he started to whisper an endless string of praise and adoration against your ear.
“You’re so pretty, omega,” he murmured. “So perfect for us. We’ve been waiting for you for so long, and now we finally have you, and you’re all ours. We’re gonna take such good care of you, pretty girl, just like you deserve. We’re gonna cherish you so much, forever.”
Feeling tears well, you reached for Jake’s hand, twining your fingers with his and giving a soft cry when Curtis finally bottomed out inside of you and went still, his big hands smoothing along your back as he purred behind you.
The first full retreat and thrust of his cock inside of you had you moaning, and then your eyes squeezed shut and your mouth hung open as your alpha really started to fuck you.
It felt amazing, feeling him so deep inside of you, where he belonged. This was what you were made for–taking your alpha’s cock, bringing him pleasure–and it was like every new rut of his hard length within the deepest depths of your body was another small act of validation that you were right where you were meant to be.
That familiar, desperate throbbing from before started to pulse in your core, and soon every thrust of Curtis’ had you moaning or whining or keening so pretty for them.
When Jake’s hand worked its way beneath you and his fingers started rubbing your clit, you nearly screamed, distantly aware of the way you clenched so hard around Curtis’ cock that you made him grunt and snarl from the pleasure of it.
And then all the distant thoughts in your mind seemed to evaporate at once as you came. Pleasure rippled through every inch of your body as you tensed and clamped around your alpha’s cock.
Curtis continued to fuck you through it, feeling your cunt flutter around him for a second time before you were nearly boneless before him. He pulled out and turned you over, sharing another amused grin with Jake at how pliant and floaty you were.
Sitting back in the middle of the bed, Curtis pulled you into his lap and back on his hard, aching cock, his strong arms circling you and holding you safe and secure against him as he pounded up into your sweet body from below.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he panted, his dark eyes meeting Jake’s as he nodded.
Jake joined the fray, plastering himself against your back as his hands snuck around your body so he could grope your tits.
“Ready to become ours forever, omega?” Curtis breathed as he gave another hard, deep rut inside you.
You blinked at him, uncomprehending at first, but then it was like your inner omega perked up instantly, and she knew what came next, her giddiness and elation making it click in your brain, too.
“Yes, alpha,” you breathed, your vision blurring with happy tears.
Curtis’ intense look softened ever so slightly, and he took the time to kiss you again, gently despite the frantic, relentless thrusting of his cock inside you. Just as he pulled away, he groaned against your lips, shoving into you hard and lingering.
You felt his cock throb and twitch inside of you, and then his seed warming your insides as your pussy fluttered wildly. A beat later, you gasped as Curtis tucked his face against the crook of your neck and sank his teeth into your mating gland.
Jake did the same on the other side of your neck, and it was like a jolt of electricity sparked in your core and zipped through the rest of you.
You shuddered between your alpha and beta, another orgasm tearing through you as your body writhed and trembled and you felt Curtis’ knot expand and stretch your cunt to capacity.
Whining, you sank against his sweaty chest, chirping softly at the way both men began to coo and rain kisses on every inch of you they could reach.
You were barely functioning but so very, very happy by the time Curtis’ knot went down and he pulled out of you. Your half-lidded gaze followed him as he sank onto his side next to you, and then Jake was stretching out on top of you and earning your full attention.
Your beta’s grin was big and boyish as he pet your head and kissed you thoroughly enough that he stole your breath away.
“You look sleepy, sweet omega, so I’ll make it quick,” he murmured against your lips. “Just wanna feel you and fill you up, okay?”
“Okay,” you whispered, gasping softly as Jake lined himself up and slid into you with ease. “Jake.”
“Ohhhh, fuck,” Jake groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he sank against you. “Youfeelsogood,” he breathed in a rush, dropping his forehead to yours as his hips started to move.
His cock wasn’t as long as Curtis’ but it was thicker, and you felt your body absolutely light up every time he eagerly shoved into you. Jake was frantic in his fucking of you, cradling you with his big, muscular arms as he rutted into you without pause, groaning and moaning against your lips as his hand snuck down between your bodies.
It just took a bit of pressure from his fingers on your clit and the way Curtis teased, “Just wait until you take both our cocks at once,” to have you cumming again.
Jake hissed as your pussy spasmed around him, his hips going harder and faster until he was following you over the edge and “Hnnnngh”ing against your sweaty cheek as he pumped you full of his cum.
You felt the bed shift as you laid beneath Jake, happy as a clam and half-asleep as he snuffled along your neck. Soon he was moving off of you and flopping beside you on the bed, his grin big and lazy as Curtis emerged from the connected bathroom with a couple of wet washcloths to clean you both up.
“You did so well, omega,” he murmured as he gently cleaned the mess between your legs. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”
“Happy,” you answered before your brain caught up to his question.
Curtis’ smile was warm and tender as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, chuckling at the way Jake rolled closer to you and nuzzled along your temple. He took a moment to gently inspect the bondmarks on your neck before smoothing a hand over your head.
“Tomorrow we’ll have you bond us, but for now, I think we all need a good night’s sleep, how’s that sound?”
You nodded as your eyes grew heavier and heavier, pouting a little when both Curtis and Jake retreated from the bed to put on some pajamas. They worked together to dress you in a clean pair of panties and a thin sleep dress, and then you were thanking them both and watching them longingly as you slipped from the bed and sank to the floor beside it.
“What are you doing?” Jake asked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as Curtis gave you a puzzled look.
You blinked at both of them, just as confused. “Going to sleep?”
“Not on the floor you’re not,” Curtis told you firmly, gently gripping your arm and tugging you back to your feet. “Our bed is your bed now, too, omega.”
You felt a lump form in your throat, overwhelmed with emotion because you’d never had a real bed before, just a thin mattress to sleep on the pound floor where you had lived your whole life until now.
“It is?” you asked, not resisting at all as Curtis urged you back into bed and toward the center of the mattress. You felt shy all of the sudden as your hand smoothed over the rumpled sheets and you asked, “It’s all of ours?”
“Everything we have is yours now, too,” Curtis said. “The bed, this house, everything. All of us.”
Your lower lip wobbled as Jake ducked into the closet before bounding back out again, his arms overflowing with brightly colored gifts for you.
“We have stuff just for you, too!” he told you excitedly as he sat beside you. “Like these! I picked them out, do you like them?”
You hesitantly accepted the pillow and small throw blanket, hugging them to your chest as you breathed in their soft, clean scent that was also mixed with the familiar scents of your alpha and beta. “You got these for me?”
“Yeah,” Jake laughed, his blue eyes shimmering with warmth from behind his thin-rimmed glasses.
“I love them,” you smiled, blinking back more happy tears as Curtis slid into bed on your other side. “Thank you so much!”
You watched as they each arranged their own pillows on the outsides of the bed before watching you carefully place your own pillow between theirs as you hugged your new blanket to your chest.
Curtis turned out the bedside lamp, and they both shifted closer, until you were happily snuggled between them, exhaustion finally winning out as the quiet murmurs of your new alpha and beta lulled you to sleep in no time at all, a small smile curling your lips and your heart so very, very content.
“Not that I’m complaining about how we spent our first night together,” Curtis whispered to Jake as he watched you sleep between them, “but we need to make sure we make her feel loved, not just desired.”
“Why not both?” Jake grinned, waggling his eyebrows.
Curtis shot him a look, but it was more softly amused than anything before he was going serious again. “She has a sweet heart, Jake, like you. I just want to make sure we protect it at all costs. She’s had a hard life, and now she has us.”
“Yeah she does,” a dopey grin curled Jake’s lips as he shifted even closer to you. He watched you for a beat before his gaze lifted to Curtis’. “I’ll make sure to tone down the wanting to jump her bones 24/7.”
Curtis cracked a grin. “I don’t think she’d complain, but I just want to make sure that’s not all we’re communicating. I don’t want her to feel used or like that’s all we want from her.”
Jake’s grin went soft, his eyes warm as he watched Curtis before murmuring, “You’re a good alpha.”
Carefully leaning over you, Curtis pressed a soft kiss to Jake’s lips before fondly ruffling his hair. “Goodnight, bub,” he whispered before settling on your other side.
“Night,” Jake whispered back. Then he placed the gentlest kiss ever to your head, unable to resist shooting Curtis one last ecstatic smile before finally settling down beside you and falling asleep nearly as quickly as you did.
For a few moments, Curtis laid awake, listening to your slow, even breaths, and Jake’s too. Just beneath the surface, he could feel the proud, satisfied content of his inner alpha, so pleased at last now that his pack was complete.
Curtis leaned into his alpha’s content–his content–allowing the soft, peaceful sound of you and Jake breathing beside him to pull him under into the deepest depths of sleep, as a small, happy smile curled his lips.
I’d like to give a big shout out and lots of love to my sweet Bee for sharing that idea of Omega being so 🥺 at the idea of their bed being her bed now + Jake so happily presenting her with her sleepy girl things!! You’re the best, my cherished friend ❤️
If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to drop me a reblog, comment, or ask. It really helps to keep my muse inspired when y’all screech at me!!
NEXT PART
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I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or my personal author website. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Summary - When you applied for your new role, you never expected your life to change so drastically.
Warnings - 18+ Only! Mature themes including SMUT. My warnings are not extensive so enter at your own risk.
Series Masterlist
You didn't see Steve again for the remainder of the evening. Instead you were left feeling alone in this huge strange house, unsure of what to do to occupy yourself. You felt incredibly awkward, almost like a child again, unsure if you were allowed to move even though you knew you were.
After a few minutes of still silence, you managed to push yourself from the stool and quietly poured yourself another glass of whiskey, throwing it down your throat in one quick move. The buzz allowed you the confidence to move about more freely. You proceeded to make yourself a sandwich with ingredients you found in the fridge and after eating you made your way into the safety of your new room.
You spent the remainder of your time scrolling aimlessly through your phone whilst attempting to keep the anticipation of the following day at bay, until you eventually gave in and fell into a blissful sleep.
You were awoken the next day by a low knocking on your bedroom door and a soft voice speaking from behind it.
"Y/N, It's Nat, can I come in?"
"Yeah." You replied sleepily, rubbing your eyes with your fists as you pulled yourself up to a sit.
"Oh sorry, I thought you'd be awake already " Nat said as she entered the room.
"What time is it?" You replied curiously.
"9.30" She replied promptly.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." You quickly responded, swinging my legs out of the bed.
"It's okay." Nat responded reassuringly. "Steve asked me to let you know to just pack a few essentials for the trip and we'll go shopping in the next day or so for some new clothes and anything else you need."
"Wow. That's really kind but I honestly don't mind packing what I have." You responded.
"Steve insisted. He said he didn't want you having to repack after just unpacking." She smiled.
You were honestly shocked, firstly because of the gesture, secondly because it was coming from a man who seemed to be a little rude and stand offish and thirdly because you hadn't bought anything new in so long. You would be lying if you said you weren't a little bit excited.
"Okay, thank you." You replied with a small smile.
"A car is arriving at 11 to take us to the airport and Steve has requested you to be upstairs in 15 minutes." Nat instructed whilst turning her attention to her phone.
You nodded in response and with that she left the room. Nerves began to set in immediately. It was time. Your first session together. The anticipation was causing your stomach to tie itself in knots while your heart was beating intensely.
You quickly began preparing myself, slipping into a black lace babydoll and thong lingerie set you'd brought with you and tidied your hair up into a ponytail. You made your way to the bathroom with your toiletry bag and splashed some cold water on your face before brushing your teeth. Repulsing him with morning breath wouldn't have been the best start.
After making the short walk up the second staircase, you were met with a dark wooden door. You knocked three times loudly and took a few deep breaths while you waited.
"Come in." Came Steve's deep voice from within the rooms depths.
Upon entering you barely had time to take in the surroundings before taking your position. He had been very clear within the contract. 'Enter the room, turn to the left and sit on your knees facing the corner until told otherwise.' All you managed to catch a glimpse of was a large four poster bed in the centre and a large oak chest of drawers to the left of the room.
As you sat staring at your knees, you could hear Steve moving around behind you. There were lots of footsteps in varying directions, drawers opening and closing and what sounded like a door open and close although it was too far away to have been the bedroom door next to you.
After what felt like an eternity. Steve finally broke the silence.
"Come here." He demanded seductively.
Rising from your knees, you turned to see him stood a mere metre away from you wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweat pants, that did nothing to conceal the bulge beneath causing you to gulp in anticipation.
Steve stepped towards you, looking down at you dominantly, sending a flush of heat through your body instantly.
"We should be preparing for our trip, but after showing me just how bratty your little mouth is yesterday," He began, raising one hand to lightly grasp your chin, pulling your gaze to meet his, "I've decided to show you just what will happen when you behave for me."
The heat was rising in your core with every word.
"Are you going to be a good girl?" He asked, bridging the gap between your faces so his lips were ghosting over yours, causing you to let out a small hum.
"Yes Sir." You practically whimpered.
His lip curled ever so slightly before he stepped back and released your chin from his grasp. He extended his arm signalling for you to move towards the large four poster bed that lay before you.
At the foot of the bed was a large leather ottoman and as you reached it you felt a large hand settle on the base of your back, sending another flutter to your core.
"Bend over." Steve demanded.
"Yes sir." You replied, getting back on to your knees and placing your torso down onto the ottoman, your head resting on the soft mattress behind it.
His hand left your back and was replaced by a grip to your wrist, pulling your hand closer to the post in the corner of the bed. A rattle of a chain was heard and then you watched as Steve placed a leather cuff around your wrist, securing you to the metal chain that appeared to be attached to the wooden post. He then proceeded to move around to the opposite corner and attach your other wrist using an identical cuff and chain to its neighbouring post.
He then stepped back behind you, although you couldn't see him, you heard an audible low growl make its way from his mouth.
"You have a beautiful body." He announced.
"Thank you." You replied hastily, eager to get started.
A hand suddenly connected with your ass cheek, causing a sting to your skin and a flush of heat to your pussy.
"Thank you what?" Steve grunted.
"Thank you Sir." You replied quickly, realising your mistake and not wanting to ruin your chance of seeing what being a good girl would get you.
His hand connected with your ass once more, only this time his touch was softer. His other hand settled on the other side and he slowly began to caress your ass, taking his time to explore and massage every inch. You let out a low moan, enjoying the sensation immensely.
You felt the vibration on the floor as he settled on his knees behind you and one hand began to move slowly away from your ass, his finger tips teasing your skin as they passed. It found its way to your centre, slowly moving forward until his fingers made contact with your pussy, making you wet instantly.
"Mmmm." Steve hummed from behind you. "Good girl, wet for me already."
He grazed his finger tips over your clit teasingly, eliciting a whimper from your lips and you heard a small chuckle from behind you.
"Do you like that princess?" He asked, connecting his fingertips to your clit more firmly and circling them over it.
"Mmmm, yes sir." You breathed through the hums.
Your breath hitched as he quickly tore your underwear off before continuing his slow teasing of your nub.
His fingertips were dragged backwards until he reached your opening, suddenly and ferociously inserting two fingers directly into your heat.
"Fuck." You whimpered at the sudden, forced intrusion as it created a knot within your stomach.
He began working his fingers within you at speed, dragging them along your walls and hitting them back into you, all the while his other hand still grasping at your ass.
An orgasm was building at speed, your stomach tightening with each fateful thrust. He began rocking his fingers back and forth, hitting your walls, causing a wave of slick juices to escape and coat his hand as your orgasm reached its peak, ready to tip over.
"Remember your manners princess." Steve growled from behind you.
"Please." You breathed, "Please can I cum sir?"
"Yes, cum for me."
With one more motion, you came undone completely, writhing around on his fingers and tugging at your shackles as you moaned and whimpered beneath him.
As you were catching your breath you felt Steve's fingers leave you, along with his hand on your ass. There were a few shuffles and steps behind you before Steve's hand reconnected with you once more, this time gripping at your hip. You were still riding out your intense high when you felt a cold, ball shaped object being pushed into your heat, reigniting the already flickering fire in your stomach. It was quickly followed by a second cold ball. They clattered and jiggled inside you, forcing another orgasm to build at speed.
All of a sudden you heard a dull buzz from behind you and before you had time to register, another item was pushed against your clit.
"Fuucckkk" You groaned once more as the vibrations from the object waved through your entire body, pushing you close to the edge once more. The balls were jiggling even more through the vibrations, bouncing lightly against your walls, sending you into such a frenzy that your eyes where practically rolling.
"Sir...please..." You begged.
"Please what?" Steve sniggered.
"Please can I cum?" You begged once more, trying hard not to fall over the edge before you were allowed.
"Yes." He replied.
Before he had a chance to say anything else your body released, every muscle began shaking and quivering, your whole body was at Steve's mercy.
He released your clit from the vibrator, giving you a moment to catch your breath. You felt the balls begin to slowly be pulled from your depths. Each one escaping with an audible pop.
"Are you ready for me princess?" Steve asked.
You didn't know how much more you could take, your body was overwhelmed, your pussy sensitive from the two orgasms you'd already received, yet somehow, you still wanted more. You needed to feel him.
"Yes sir." You panted. "I need you sir."
Steve settled behind you and two large hands took hold of your hips firmly as you felt his tip graze your entrance, awarding him another moan. He pushed it through your folds slowly, just an inch to begin with before pulling out and pushing back again, giving you a little more each time until you felt him bottom out inside you, reaching the depths of your abdomen. You were practically cumming already.
"Ahhh fuckkk." Steve groaned. "Such a good girl."
All of a sudden he pulled out and slammed back into you with force making you yelp and the coil began tightening once more. One hand snaked up your back and gripped onto your ponytail before he tugged it backwards, forcing your head up as he began slamming into you, again and again.
Both of you were grunting and moaning as your orgasms began building, your sensitivity levels were through the roof and as he continued his work, a single tear slipped from your eyes.
A few slams later and you were on the edge. You needed to release again.
"Sir...please..." You began to whimper, "please can I cum?"
"Not yet princess." He groaned, slamming into me more furiously.
"Fuck!" You screamed as he landed blow after blow to my throbbing pussy. You did everything you could to hold yourself together, to keep going until he would allow you your release, but it was becoming more and more difficult with every thrust.
"Please sir." You begged once more. "I can't... please let me cum....please."
"Fuckkk....cum princess.." Steve grunted, "Cum."
You needed no further persuading, you allowed your body to relax and your coil snapped. The orgasm ripped through you at speed and you let out a whimpering scream.
Steve began grunting more heavily behind you as he rode you through the orgasm, until finally you heard him grunt more loudly than before and your pussy was filled with his warm seed. He slowed his movements to a stop, releasing your hair as you both attempted to catch our breath.
"Good girl." Steve panted before pulling out, allowing you to finally return to earth.
Everything Tag - @late-to-the-party-81 @the-wandering-wonder
Synopsis: The man with a plan, the golden boy of America down at your feet. The plan in his mind—to be owned by you.
Warnings: MDNI // sub!steve. smut [oral(f recieving), fingering] its just smut. No plot.
Word Count: 0.9k
A/N: this is filth. night one of Eleven Nights Worth Remembering.
Enjoy 💋
"C'mon Steve.... gimme it."
Steve Rogers was not the man someone gave orders to. But you were you and Steve was just a man.
Your man.
The satin slip enticed him, your pebbled peeking though the top — begging to be taken in his mouth. Your eyes half lidded, your lips curved in a wicked smirk, you knew exactly how to get him to fold.
The man with a plan now only had one in his mind, to be used by you.
To be played by you.
To be owned by you.
“Don't you trust me baby?”
He took a breath, looking at the surroundings—the candle flickering on the nightstand, the faint smell of something floral, maybe roses, lingering in the air. The bite of cold making his hair stand on his arms— he trusts you, more than anyone else.
In what world would he not obey you?
He falls down to his knees, hands taking their place in his lap. The captain taking orders from his wife.
The mightiest of the men, the savior of the planet— now reduced to a mess, existing only and only for your pleasure.
You smile devilishly, leaning forward from where you were seated on the bed to be face to perfect face with him. His eyes run all over your face— not knowing where to look first— ultimately falling to your exposed chest.
“Such a bad boy….” Running your fingers through his dirty blond locks, you tug at the roots, neck straining as his gaze returns back onto your face , “Just can't help yourself, huh? Keep your pretty eyes on mine Captain.”
“Tell me Stevie, did you touch yourself? Out there. All alone. Was your cock weeping for me when you played with it?”
His bottom lip wobbled as he tried to muster up a reply. Your fingers caressed his stubbled cheek, thumb brushing over his lip, coaxing out the truth you knew so well.
“No... no, I didn't.”
Satisfied with his answer, you push your legs over the edge—over his shoulders. Your feet lock themselves around his neck as you pull him in closer to where you need him the most.
“I must reward you then, hmm? Go ahead… take your fill, baby.”
He couldn't see anything other than your bare pussy, glistening with desire, for him. He couldn't smell anything other than your sweet arousal, sweeter than anything he's ever had.
A soft sound escapes his mouth as he realizes he's drooling, spit pooling near his knee as he basks in the sight of your naked cunt in front of him.
He brings his hands up, smoothing over your thighs before parting them wider to accommodate the broad expanse of him.
He drags his thumb across your wetness, reaching up to your clit to draw gentle, featherlight circles around it. Tapping on your sensitive bud a few times, taking his time to tease you.
Sure you were in control right now, but who says he can't have his fun?
You huffed out a breath, hands slapping his away from your folds. He looks up at you— eyes wide and needy and guilty, pupils blown away with lust.
“Make me feel good, Steve. Show me what that mouth can do.”
“Yes ma'am.”
And with that he dived straight down into your heat. Licking long stripes across your slit, lingering at your weeping hole, making out with your drenched lips.
You moan, your hands finding their place in his hair as pleasure shoots up your core.
He drinks in your juices with a groan, hands tightening their hold on your hips—pulling you even closer, as if it was even possible.
His lips find your swollen clit, sucking and nipping it slightly, soothing the burn with quick little flicks of his tongue.
“Aah— fuck!— Steve…”
Two fingers prod at your entrance, pushing in slowly, making you feel every single thick inch in excruciating details.
Your nerve endings were on fire, your chest panting and your mind swimming god knows where. You were close.
“Am I doing good?” He asks—voice husky, drunk on your pussy. “Tell me. Am I making you feel good?”
“God… yes, Steve, you're so good. Don't you dare stop now.”
He didn't need to hear another word. He pressed his lips to your swollen pearl once again, pecking it over and over.
You were writhing in his hold now. How you were still upright, you didn't know. Something to do with his huge arms gripping you like his life depends on it.
His fingers pick up pace, the wet sloshing noises too loud in the quiet room, too loud over your breathy moans and his ragged breaths, too loud for the thin walls in the little apartment Fury calls a safe house.
“Oh god I’m close…”
Flattening his tongue, he licked from your entrance to your clit—fingers never ceasing their ruthless rhythm.
“You taste so good…” he groans against your pussy, the vibrations traveling deep down into your core. “Give it to me, princess. Show me I’m your good boy.”
His words, oh so pathetic, tipped you over the edge. You come with a broken cry, your vision blurring in and out as you try to keep your breathing in check.
Soft little kisses on your inner thighs coax you back to earth, hands stroking the soft skin of your stomach.
“You did so good… so good for me.”
well... this was something.
Tagging my cutie patooties: @willowhaylund @alpinebarnesworld @ornateglass @epiphanyrogers @sassandscribbles @buckybunni @eterna1reverie @juniebjonesin @pinksplace @sheriff-bodecker @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @blobfishlol
If you'd like to be added to my taglist, do let me know 🤭💖
Characters/Pairings: war lord Andy Barber x curvy!Millennial female!reader
Word Count: 4.5k
Summary: Your week to decide comes to an end, and you're ready to take your future firmly into your own hands.
Author Notes: Our war lord took second in this poll, so of course I had to bring him to the valensmut party. And take a look at those warnings! After seeing how far I could push the yearn, we're resolving that r i d i c u l o u s sexual tension. You're welcome.
Previous: 4: Dinner | Series
↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
It hadn’t been difficult for you to fall asleep. You know some of that is to do with how comfortable the mattress is, how soft the sheets are, the room a reasonable temperature, all things that were not the norm back in your old town. Things that have been a combination of fought and worked for as well as preserved here.
After spending time seeing the ins and outs, you don’t think this iteration of Boston does it better or worse than your old town, they’ve merely worked hard for and with what they had. It’s all anyone can do in the world now, everyone simply utilizing the resources and people they can, and the pieces they had to work with here were different than anywhere else. Even if you went to any of the other old great cities with deep roots from the colonization of America, there would be similar pieces, but you’re sure they wouldn’t be assembled the same as this Boston.
No, it hadn’t been hard to fall asleep. You’d drawn yourself a bath, gotten ready for bed, and read a book before falling asleep.
The abundance of books still available here was another marvel and luxury.
You had, however, woken up at what you discovered was just past three in the morning, your mind racing with thought, slotting thoughts, feelings, observations, reactions, questions, potentials, unknowns, and realities into place to put together as much of the picture of this possibility as you could, it being the final morning before you decide what to do with your future.
And after almost an hour, you feel settled in your decision.
But you’re wide awake. Not anxious, not jittery, but energized with a clarity that will make sleep impossible, and the longer you stare at the ceiling, the more urgent it feels to close the loop on this—on him. There’s a sense that if you don’t, tomorrow will be nothing but unanswerable questions, and you’re done with ambiguity now.
And if you can’t sleep, maybe neither should Andy.
So you slip out of bed, toes cold against the hardwood, and throw the cashmere sweater on over your nightshirt. You pad down the hall—no need for a light, you’ve mapped the route already, every creak in the boards catalogued—and only hesitate briefly outside Andy’s door before entering without knocking.
It’s dark inside, but not enough that you can’t see. The windows are heavy-paned and unshuttered, and the sky outside is a bruise of blue black. Andy is asleep, at first; you know the rhythm of a sleeping body well enough, the way a deep breath will catch on the exhale when a new presence enters the room. You hear it as you close the door behind you, the pulse of waking, the body’s quick inventory of threat. When you reach the foot of his bed, he’s upright, settling himself in a seated position back against the headboard, sheets pooling at his waist, the most casual you’ve seen him in a soft white t-shirt.
You expect him to meet your intrusion with one of his studied lines—another clever observation, a lawyer’s opening argument—but Andy only blinks at you, eyes slightly clouded with sleep, his soft hair a mess. For a beat he just stares, as if you’re a dream intruding on his real life, and you feel the skin around your mouth tense into a smile, because this, here, is the most disarmed you’ve ever seen him.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Didn’t want to.”
Andy’s eyes cut away from the window to your face—still bleared, maybe a little dazzled, but attentive. He gathers the sheet closer in a move that is both lazy and self-aware. A single curl of his mouth. “Is this a formal visit or are you here to assassinate me?”
You cross the room. “If I was here to kill you, I’d wait until you left the sheets. It’s easier, that way. Less mess.”
He grins, the full wolf, but then slouches down a little, inviting you to the edge of the bed with a tilt of his head. You perch there, settling near but not close, the heat of his body radiating up through the blanket.
“You have your answer, then,” Andy says. “You want to talk, I’m all ears.”
“I don’t want to talk,” you say, voice hoarse but quiet. “Not unless you do.”
He regards you for a long moment, then says, simply, “No.” His eyes track down your frame, to the way your fingers are fisted in the hem of your own sweater, to your bare feet against the wood, the lower part of your legs naked in the pale pre-dawn.
For another moment, you just sit there in the hush, the two of you swaddled in the private air of the room. Your pulse hammers at your wrist, but your voice is even and unsentimental. “I’m going to marry you,” you say.
He smiles, the slow, dangerous kind that precedes a kill or a truce, then tilts his head. “You could have told me over breakfast,” he says, and the words slip past his lips with a lazy drawl. His eyes lnger on your fact, not sharp now, but soft—still calculating, always, but careful, like a hunter waiting for a predator to emerge. “That’s not why you’re here right now, so early.”
You shake your head, then crawl forward and up, moving with deliberate slowness, climbing the mattress and mapping this new territory. He welcomes you into his lap with an arm hooked around your lower back, pulling you in until your knees are bracketed on either side of his hips and your nightshirt, short as it is, rides up so the cold of the morning flashes over the tops of your thighs.
You study Andy in the half-light, the way his face is still sleep-creased, his eyes narrowed as if his entire focus is you, not the world or the choices or the absolute chaos that has to be charted for survival outside this room. He looks tired, beautiful, dangerous. You register the strange comfort of sitting like this: not in negotiation, not on opposing sides of a chessboard or desk, but folded together in the dark, as if this is the only way two people can ever be equals in this world.
After a long moment, he says, “Are you sure?” and the words are the simplest he’s given you. His breathing is so steady, but the hand at the small of your back strokes in rigid, measured sweeps, betraying a tremor that your body, clamoring for confirmation, magnifies into a full-body thrum. You take a moment to inventory the feeling: your knees trembling, your brain whiting out and rebooting at intervals, but inside it, a strange lucidity, a peace that’s alarming in its totality. Andy’s hands move to cover your hips but do not claim, not immediately. He waits for you to answer, not with words but with the slow, deliberate shift of your thighs locking around his own.
“I’m sure,” you say, and feel the absolute resolve of it settle in totality inside of you the moment you actually say it—a simple declaration, click of a switch.
Your fingers quest for the hem of his shirt, and then you push your hands up under the tee, anchoring yourself in the warm, hard reality of his body. He lets you, lets you dictate everything—a surprise, a relief. Your palms slide up from his belly over his rib cage, learning the map of him, feeling the stubble of hair, the tension under the skin, the steady echo of his breath. He doesn't reach for you, not yet. He just waits, arms braced as if he's afraid that sudden movement could startle the moment or split it open.
The intimacy of it is more overwhelming than you want to admit. Even in the limited encounters with partners up until now, you have never crawled into a man's lap before, and certainly not like this, not to take or be taken, not in the full certainty that you would not be thrown off or found wanting. There is still an undercurrent of your own uncertainty. You study his face, the sharpness is gone, the usual mockery nowhere. Andy looks hungry, but not in the way you recognize from your world, from the stories about him, or even from your movie-montage assumptions about what this moment should be. It is a new kind of hunger. He is intent, patient, and very, very awake now.
You push his shirt up, inch by inch, until it bunches under his armpits. He lifts his arms to help, and in the motion, his chest brushes yours through the thin fabric of your nightshirt. You pause, the friction of his bare skin transmitting electricity up your arms and through all the wiring of your nervous system. In the ruined light you see the freckles across his shoulders, scattered like seed. You run your fingers over them, and he shivers, not with cold, but with the animal awareness that two bodies generate in a closed space when the rest of the world is, for a moment, absolutely irrelevant.
He releases the breath he’s been holding, and the hands at your waist finally move—slow, still, but definite—curling inward and down, knotting in a fistful of sweater at the base of your spine. He draws you in, closing even the final inches between your hips and his, and you’re reminded of how his will operates: sometimes a wolf, sometimes a wall, always unrelenting.
The kiss is not a collision, but a slow joining, deliberate and solemn. A slower, curious thing. The taste of him is fresh, the mint of toothpaste with the faintest ghost of sleep beneath it. He opens to you, lets you set the pace, the pressure, the escalation. Even when his hands spread and flatten across your shoulder blades, he only presses, drawing you closer, a series of incremental permissions, a boundary you realize is yours and yours alone to set, if only for tonight.
You tilt your hips into him, rolling forward in a way that makes both of you groan. Andy’s hands tighten, finally, submitting to the logic of want, and his mouth finds yours again, urgent this time with a bite that pulls at the corner of your mouth, then softens, then bites again. You forget how cold the room is, how odd-yet-normal it felt to climb into his bed unannounced, the bed that you’ll share after this.
Your hands don’t know where to go—his hair, his shoulders, the line of his jaw where beard gives way to the smooth skin of his neck. You want all of him at once. His chest rises and falls with each pass of your palm, and when you finally pop the band of his shorts and slide your fingers beneath, he hisses between his teeth, hips bucking up involuntarily. There’s nothing performative in the way his body answers yours, none of the dominance you feared would become unbearable. He’s clearly choosing to let you drive this, for at least a stint, though you’re sure it won’t be the norm.
He feels like a man who’s been waiting for this—for permission, or maybe just equal footing, maybe for years for someone not to fear him but reach for him. He’s hard already, and it sends a dizzying thrill through you, a bright, ugly pride that you did this, with no stakes but your own desire.
The way he looks at you now—no negotiation, no distance, just hunger and awe—makes you burn everywhere.
“Fuck,” Andy whispers, and you love the sound of it, the way it’s reverent, a prayer and a curse at once.
When you kiss again it’s not neat or polite at all. It’s wet and a little desperate. You drag his shorts down his hips. He lifts to help you, smooth and decisive, and then he’s bare, limbs lean but solid and wholly unguarded. You curl your hand around him—instinct, curiosity, the memory of all the ways you’ve pictured being with him since the first night when he didn’t take what you’re giving now—and he exhales a ragged sound against your mouth, the kind that makes your belief in this decision deepen with every pulse.
He palms your thigh, then runs his hand up, thumb tracing the hem of your nightshirt, higher and higher. Each brush is electric. You shudder, and he gathers it, knits the tremble into his hands as if to keep it. You keep your hand on him even though your nerves leap, your body exposed and raw, your full and round curves an offering. He says your name—half growl, half whisper—and the sound steals whatever breath is left in you.
The next movements are fast: you shrugging out of your sweater, him pushing the nightshirt up and over your head, you shucking out of your panties. Now you’re naked in his lap, straddling him, heat spreading from your chest out in all directions. Andy takes your face in both hands like you’re fragile, then kisses you so deeply you lose the plot for a second, all your careful self-possession dissolving in the taste of him, the heat, the edge of his teeth.
Your nerves are frantic, awareness of your own body so acute it’s almost panic—how slick you are already, how your thighs quiver where they bracket his hips, how your nipples brush his skin, tight and already hurting for more.
You expect Andy to flip the script here, to seize control. He doesn’t—not immediately. He lets you settle, lets you process, lets you see him as more than just an adversary or a cautionary tale. Instead of violence, there is reverence, instead of arrangements, there is the absolute assurance of being chosen, not a random hand dealt by fate.
You want it, all at once. You want him inside you, now, before the sun can rise and change any of this. You are not sure how to voice it, so you show it, rolling your hips forward and arching upwards, your hand and his together angling him until the head of his cock hitches inside, and you sink down. Your body adjusts to the unfamiliar but not unwelcome pressure, the burning fullness that eclipses all the rest of your nerves. You gasp, the sound guttural, a hitch in your throat, and for a second you flinch with the sharpness of the pain—you’re not so naïve as to think your first time would glide by unnoticed, but you startle at how profound the tear is, how it shears through you with a honesty you didn’t expect.
Andy holds you steady, both hands capturing the shudder that ripples through you, his body a strong, ferocious anchor beneath the tremor. He doesn’t call it out, doesn’t try to break it with encouragement or soothe it away with empty words. Instead, he lets you have it, lets you clutch at his shoulders and bow your head into the crook of his neck, lets you whimper into his skin. His arms slide up and down your back, mapping each vertebra, a catalog of your spine and all the places you might one day break for him.
“Okay?” he asks, voice so low it’s nearly lost against the night’s early morning.
For a second you’re not sure you can muster a response, but then you nod, cheek pressed to the curve where his shoulder and neck fuse, breathing the warm scent of him. Andy’s hands don’t move, don’t squeeze, just brace you. The heat in your lower belly is bright, a hard gemstone of need, and you rock your hips again, just barely, feeling the angle and stretch shift. The pain spikes high, but there’s a pleasure braided inside it, an undercurrent of victory.
Andy’s face is buried in your hair, his breath hot against your scalp. He waits, and you feel the tension in his body—the effort it costs him to remain still, to let you take what you want on your terms. You rock up, circling your hips, finding the angle that lets the pain dissolve into something else, and you gasp again, but this time it’s the bright, shocked intake of being opened in more than one way. You feel tight, impossibly so, but you also feel the tremor of need—yours and his, the way he shudders as you slide down, the way his hands grip your waist.
You feel so full you want to cry, but not with sadness or injury, it’s the delicate straining of your body reaching for its own limits, a kind of ecstasy in the stretching, the opening. You realize, as you move, that you are so wet you can barely contain the slick pulsing slide of him. You arch your back and reach for the headboard, bracing, eyes squeezed shut until the ache becomes a blur, a backdrop to the sharp focus of his hands, the pulse of his cock stretching you, splitting you clean and new. The first time is not what you expected, not even knowing the pain was coming—the pain is not the story. The story is the awful, magnificent, unstoppable electricity inside your own skin.
You set your hands on his chest for leverage, and when you open your eyes you see him watching you, how much he wants, how much he is holding back for you.
Andy’s hand, careful but unyielding, slides down your belly. His thumb finds your clit and presses, not in a tentative way, but with the confidence of a man who has spent a lifetime learning how to get what he wants and now wants to give that expertise to you. You yelp—an animal sound, a revelation, the bright pain eclipsed and subsumed by the sudden, white-hot pleasure that detonates through your pelvis.
He circles, slow at first, then faster as you bear down, riding him with a new, greedy rhythm. Every stroke inside you sends a shiver up your spine, every buff of his thumb flares your vision with stars. You think you hear him groan your name, a coarse, shredded sound, but the roar in your blood is so loud you might be inventing it. You’re close—closer than you’ve ever been, closer even than when you’ve taken yourself apart in the cold and lonely nights of your life, but this is a higher high. You sense how devastating it will be, how far from this pinnacle you’ve been on your own.
You grind down, chasing it, the nerves in your clit wild and urgent under his thumb, the pressure mounting, so much bigger than you thought it could be—so big you panic for a split second, afraid you’re going to come right away and lose all control. But Andy sees it, feels it in the knotting tension of your thighs and the broken fugue of your breath. He says your name again, a syllable that lands like a gunshot under your skin, and now he’s moving with you, meeting every drive of your hips, the wet, filthy sound of it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
He thrusts upward at the same time you bear down, and the shock of the sensation sends you over, all at once. It is not the delicate, trembling thing you’ve read about or even coaxed from your own hands, it is brutal, a total wipe of all senses and sensations within you, and you throw your head back, silent at first, then crying out—raw, wild, the ugly, beautiful voice of your need. Andy’s hands clamp at your hips, holding you still while you’re convulsing, and you realize with a shudder how fiercely you wanted to lose control, to be seen and known completely while you flew apart.
He lets you come, lets you wring every tremor out of your body. His lips press hot, searing, slow kisses at the base of your throat, up your neck. As you start to come down—limbs shaking, forehead beaded with sweat, lungs aching with the effort of being alive in this moment—Andy wraps an arm around your back and in one motion shifts his weight, rolling you down and beneath him. You barely register the movement until the cold of the sheets meets your shoulder blades, and Andy is hovering above, arms caging you in, his body still joined with yours, deeper now in this angle, full in a way that makes your toes curl and your mouth open on a soundless plea.
He doesn’t give you time to readjust. He holds your hips, pinning you to the mattress, and begins to move with a deliberate, punishing rhythm. Andy’s knees nudge your thighs wider, and his hands, one bracing beside your head, the other hooked under your knee, map the new arrangement of you, the geometry of surrender and welcome. He sinks in deeper this way, and you arch up, the edge of pain now melting, atomizing, into something more liquid and kinetic.
He leans down and kisses you, again and again, an onslaught of fierce, consuming contact. You think he might bruise your mouth, but you want it, you want the proof that this is not theater, that this is real and happening and that you are wanted, even as your body trembles and shakes with aftershocks. His mouth doesn’t leave yours for more than a second—a gasp of air or a groan—before it finds yours again. The taste of him is everywhere, the desperate heat of his body a furnace pressing you down into the mattress until you ache in places you never knew could ache.
His thrusts grow deeper, harder, the rhythm designed to finish you off, to render you a bright, gasping pulse of sensation. Every time he slides in, you open farther, want more, find that your body is not only adapting but learning to crave the sharp and the sweet in equal measure. When you moan, he catches the sound in his mouth, swallows it, then gives it back.
Your arms wrap around his neck, clawing him closer, the need to be held and fucked and seen so total that you can’t even think or breathe without him. Andy’s kisses grow rougher the closer he gets, each one an escalation, a wrestling match of teeth and tongue and mouth. He rocks you back on the mattress until your body is nothing but live wire, tuned only to the frequency of him, of this, of the slick heat and the friction that is burning you down to bedrock.
You don’t realize you’re close again until your hips leap off the bed, your nails biting crescent moons into his shoulders. For a second you think you might faint, the intensity so molten it blanks out thought and sensation alike, and then Andy’s hand finds your jaw, palm bracing your face with a careful, almost reverent strength as he pounds into you. The moment breaks not with a scream but with a long, keening moan, a sound you recognize in the air as yours—untamed, unmade, alive.
He follows, not long after—the rhythm falters, shatters, his body tensing above you like an animal surprised by its own extinction. The way he comes is raw, not an act but a seismic surrender, and you feel it all, every pulse, every shudder, every echo of your own pleasure amplified by his. For a moment you both just hang there, trembling, suspended, two bodies strung together on the taut thread of what just happened and what comes next.
When Andy finally collapses beside you, the mattress dips, swallowing both your bodies into the same crater. He doesn't let go. His arms—absurdly strong, bruising but not cruel—curl you in like a secret, as if the two of you have to keep this moment hidden from the rest of the world or it will lose its power. Your heart beats wild against your ribs, panic and ecstasy mixed in a chemical you can't name, not even with all the words you still have, the words you’ve built your whole survival on.
Andy’s breathing is heavy, but he doesn’t speak, and for a while neither do you. You want to roll away, but can’t. Not because his arm is locked around you, but because the world is different now. You’ve crossed a border not just in your mind, not just in your body, but in the implacable logic of this city, this house, this bed. The person you were a week ago—hardened by survival, done with old fairytale romantic hope—would never have believed this possible: the soft, sated ache between your thighs; the weight of another person’s pulse echoing in your own; the crumpled warmth of bodies tangled amongst soft covers.
Andy is the first to move, his hand running up and down your arm, almost apologetic. The gesture is so at odds with the myth of him, with every story that called him a monster, that you find yourself laughing—a stifled, helpless giggle that shakes through your bones and up into your own hand, splayed on his chest.
He looks down at you, a quizzical crinkle at the bridge of his nose. "Did I do something funny?" he whispers, but you shake your head, nuzzling your face into the hollow just above his collarbone, where sweat has pooled and cooled.
“No,” you whisper, “just—”
But there’s no word for what you are, and maybe no need, because Andy’s hand curls up to the back of your head, strong and gentle, and he says, “Me too,” as if he’s read the answer right off your skin.
The room quiets, the winter air gathering at the corners of the old window. You shift a little, adjusting your leg over his, and find that you want this closeness more than you’ve ever wanted anything, even if it feels like a borrowed luxury in a world where nothing is guaranteed, this man fulfilling wants you didn’t know you still had or would want again.
He doesn’t ask, not in words, whether you want to stay, he just pulls the blanket up and over, cocooning you closer. It is luxurious, unexpected, but you’re not in a world where the future is even conceptually fair or predictable. You drift, finally, toward sleep, lulled by the even, impossible calm of Andy’s breath and the slow, metronomic beat of his heart. You realize you’re smiling as you slide under, and the last thing you think is the rumors are never the full story.
!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🥵🥵🥵🫠
You may have clocked the 5/5 at the top of this post. This won't be the last we see of you and war lord!Andy, but it's the end of their multi-part-unresolved-narrative story.
But we haven't left this Boston altogether... there are some other men and stories we need to explore. 👀
Please screech at me and let me know what you thought about this!
↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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pairings: steve rogers x f!stark reader mans best friend masterlist | part one series synopsis: Your coworkers notice you’re flushed. Distracted. Smiling at nothing. They don’t know that a man who looks like he could bench press a tank is absolutely wrecking you with basic human decency. warnings: mdni! steve being the perfect man, reader is horny for her man, smut (sex on the couch…. and the kitchen island….. and the shower, reader wants to be in control but submits to steve, soft!dom steve, spit kink, oral fem receiving, unprotected piv, reader bites steve, spanking/slapping, choking, maybe breath play, cumplay, spit kink, definitely missing some lol), pet names (angel, baby), reader wears lingerie, astrophysics talk, reader is lowkey a cute horny nerd, nat and wanda mention, fluff, no angst in this one, just them both being in love, not proofread. total word count: 7k mia’s love note: gif made by me, do not reuse. this is the second part to manchild, a fic that is apart of the mbf series. I encourage you to read that prior to this.
You groaned lightly as you shifted in Steve’s arms, turning until your back was pressed flush against his front. His body was solid and warm behind you, an anchor you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until you woke up wrapped in it. One of his arms was slung lazily around your waist, heavy and protective even in sleep, his other tucked beneath the pillow.
A light smile grazed your hazy features as the memories from the night before came rushing back, vivid and dangerous and entirely too tempting for early morning thoughts. The way Steve kissed. Slow at first, hesitant, like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast. And then the way that hesitation vanished, replaced by something darker, more confident. The way his hands had held you like he already knew exactly where you belonged.
God.
You were getting warm just thinking about it.
Your thighs pressed together instinctively, your breath catching as the sensation lingered longer than it had any right to. There was something almost dizzying about knowing that Captain America, the man the world worshipped for his restraint and honor, had kissed you like he wanted to forget everything else existed.
A part of you felt relieved.
Relieved that you had finally said it out loud. That you both had. That the tension that had been poisoning every shared space for weeks had finally snapped instead of suffocating you slowly. You had spent so long wondering if you were imagining it, if you were projecting something that wasn’t really there.
You weren’t.
Turning around fully in his arms, you didn’t care if you woke the super soldier next to you. If anything, you wanted him awake. Wanted him aware. Wanted him to feel the same certainty thrumming through your chest.
You pressed soft kisses over his bare, muscular chest, your lips lingering against warm skin, your hands braced on either side of him. His heartbeat was steady beneath your mouth, strong and grounding. You kissed along the faint trail of hair there, letting yourself enjoy the way his body reacted even before his mind fully caught up.
Steve let out a low, husky groan, his abs tensing beneath every kiss. His arm tightened reflexively around you, his fingers flexing against your back. “what are you doing?” he teased you.
This time it came way easier. His teasing sounded natural, unguarded, like he wasn’t afraid of the words landing wrong anymore.
“oh nothing,” you said with a cheeky grin as you shifted, kneeling between his bare thighs. You continued to lick and kiss along his chest, slowly, deliberately, tracing your way down until you reached the very prominent v line that disappeared beneath the waistband of his sweatpants.
Steve sucked in a sharp breath, his head falling back against the pillow. For a moment, he let himself get lost in it. His hands slid into your hair, not pulling, just holding, his thumbs brushing along your scalp like he was grounding himself there. His breathing grew uneven, his chest rising and falling faster as his hips shifted almost unconsciously toward you.
For a few seconds, the good soldier vanished.
There was only the man, heat and want and the intoxicating realization that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.
Then he caught himself.
Steve let out a steady breath, controlled but strained, before his hands moved up under your arms and he pulled you up his body suddenly. You let out a surprised squeal when he flipped the two of you around like it was nothing, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he braced himself over you.
He was over you now, eyes dark, jaw tight, breathing still a little rough. “none of that.”
You pouted up at him, deliberately exaggerated, your hands resting on his shoulders. “why not?” you whined.
His expression softened immediately, like your voice had flipped some internal switch. “because i want to take you out on a real date before i get you back in my bed like that again,” Steve said.
There it was.
The good boy was back.
You smiled despite yourself, something warm and fond blooming in your chest. “wasn’t good of me to do that last night shoulda waited,” he added, guilt creeping into his tone like he thought he’d crossed some invisible line.
“Well captain I personally had a great time, morals aside,” you teased, leaning up just enough to kiss the tip of his nose.
He let out a low groan at the nickname, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. “not making this easy for me doll,” he said softly. “just so beautiful.”
Your heart stuttered at the sincerity in his voice.
“well guess what?” you said.
“hm,” he hummed, his nose brushing yours.
“I love you.”
You needed to say it again. Needed him to hear it when you were fully awake, when there was no doubt or haze to blame it on. You needed him to know that you meant it just as much in the quiet morning light as you had the night before.
His eyes softened instantly.
“I love you too baby,” he said, leaning down to kiss you.
The kiss was slow, unhurried, his lips moving against yours like he had all the time in the world. For a second, he forgot himself again, deepening it just a little, his hand sliding to your waist, his thumb brushing bare skin beneath your shirt.
Then he pulled back, breath uneven, resting his forehead against yours like he was physically stopping himself from going further.
The next week was torture.
Not because Steve pulled away.
But because he didn’t.
The torture starts quietly.
That’s the worst part.
It’s not dramatic or obvious or explosive. It’s subtle. Domestic. Soft in ways that get under your skin and stay there, burrowing deeper every single day until you feel like you might actually lose your fucking mind.
It begins the morning after.
You are standing in the kitchen, hair still messy, wearing one of Steve’s shirts that he insists is too thin to be appropriate but does not say anything about because he likes the way it hangs off your shoulder. You are halfway through making breakfast when you hear movement behind you.
Steve steps up without a word.
He does not grab you. Does not crowd you. He simply reaches past you to grab a mug, his chest brushing your back for half a second too long. His hand steadies the counter near your hip instead of touching you.
That restraint makes your stomach flip.
“I’ll get it,” you say automatically, reaching for the pan when it started to sizzle.
“I’ve got it,” he replies easily, already taking over, already flipping the eggs like this is his kitchen and his place and his life you are standing in.
You watch him for a second, confused by the calm competence of it.
Then he says it.
“Hey,” Steve adds casually. “Why don’t you sit. I’ll finish up.”
You blink. “You’re… cooking?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah.”
“And you’re not doing the whole ‘I can’t relax unless I’m useful’ thing.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I am being useful.”
You laugh, but it sounds breathless. “I live here. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” he says gently. “I want to.”
That should not do what it does to you.
But it does.
Later that night, after dinner, you are rinsing plates when Steve steps in behind you again.
“I’ll wash,” he says.
You turn slowly. “What.”
He reaches for the sponge. “You cooked.”
“So?”
“So I’ll wash the dishes.”
You stare at him like he has just spoken an alien language.
“Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“No man has ever offered to wash dishes in my presence without being asked.”
He pauses, genuinely surprised. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Something crosses his face then. Not pride. Not smugness. Something quieter. Something like sadness.
“Well,” he says, rolling his sleeves up, “that’s bullshit.”
You stand there watching him scrub plates like it is the most natural thing in the world, forearms flexing, jaw relaxed, humming faintly under his breath.
Your brain short circuits.
Why are my clothes still on.
You don’t say it out loud.
But it sits there. Loud. Persistent. Pulsing.
The next day, you’re at work when your phone buzzes.
Steve.
Just a text.
“Hope your day’s going okay. Don’t forget to eat, you skip lunch when you get busy.”
You stare at the screen.
Heat curls low in your belly.
He didn’t need anything. He did not ask a question. He just thought of you and reached out.
You text back.
“You checking up on me, Captain?”
His response comes almost immediately.
“Always.”
You have to put your phone down.
Your coworkers notice you’re flushed. Distracted. Smiling at nothing.
They don’t know that a man who looks like he could bench press a tank is absolutely wrecking you with basic human decency.
That night, you try to fuck him.
You plan it.
You are sitting on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching something you are not actually paying attention to. Steve is beside you, close but not touching, like he is constantly aware of boundaries in a way no one ever has been.
You shift closer.
Then closer again.
Then you climb into his lap without a word.
Steve freezes.
Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “Steve.”
His hands come up instantly. Not grabbing. Holding. Firm but controlled. “Hey.”
You kiss him.
It’s not slow.
It’s hungry and messy and desperate. You kiss him like you have been thinking about it all day, because you have. His mouth opens instinctively, responding before his brain catches up.
For a moment, he is lost.
You feel it. The way his grip tightens. The way his breath stutters. The way he kisses you back like he might forget every promise he made himself.
Then he pulls back.
Not abruptly. Reluctantly.
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.
“I want you,” he says quietly.
Your stomach flips. “Then why are we stopping.”
“Because,” he says, voice rough, “I meant what I said. I’m taking you out.”
You groan softly, frustrated. “Steve, this is torture.”
He smiles faintly. “You have no idea.”
You lean back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Why are my clothes still on.”
That makes him laugh. Low. Warm. Dangerous.
The next day, he comes over with a box.
“Ikea,” he says.
You squint. “What.”
“You mentioned your nightstand wobbles.”
You didn’t remember mentioning that.
He did.
He spends the afternoon on your floor, cross legged, screwdriver in hand, focused and patient and irritatingly good at following instructions. He asks you to hand him things. Says thank you every time.
You sit on the bed watching him, absolutely feral.
His hair falls into his eyes. His shirt rides up when he leans forward. His hands are steady and capable and gentle even with cheap particle board furniture.
You imagine those hands on you.
You shift.
Steve looks up. “You okay?”
“Fantastic,” you lie.
He smiles and goes back to work.
When he finishes, he stands, wipes his hands on his jeans, and looks at you like he just built a house.
“There,” he says. “Sturdy.”
You swallow. “You’re trying to kill me.”
He tilts his head. “What.”
You shake your head, laughing under your breath. “Nothing.”
He kisses your forehead instead of your mouth.
And somehow that is worse.
The torture escalates. It’s no longer subtle. It’s intentional. It’s devastating. And the worst part is that Steve still has no idea what he is doing to you.
It starts with communication.
Actual communication. Not vague. Not inconsistent. Not hot and cold.
Consistent.
He calls you when he says he will. If he’s running late, he tells you. If a mission changes, he explains. If he’s tired, he says so. If he misses you, he doesn’t dress it up or hide it behind humor.
You are sitting on your couch one evening, scrolling aimlessly, when your phone rings.
Steve.
You answer immediately.
“Hey,” you say, trying not to sound breathless even though your heart jumps every time.
“Hey,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
You close your eyes.
“That’s it?” you ask.
“That’s it,” he says. “Didn’t want anything. Just thought about you.”
Your thighs tense.
You have never had a man call you without an agenda. Without wanting something from you. Without trying to steer the conversation somewhere physical.
Steve just listens.
Asks about your day.
Remembers details.
“You said your meeting was today,” he says. “How did it go.”
You blink. “I forgot I even told you that.”
“I didn’t,” he replies easily.
After you hang up, you stare at the wall for a full minute.
Why am I this turned on.
It gets worse.
You come home one night exhausted, shoes kicked off by the door, bag dropped wherever it lands. Steve is already there, sitting at your table, reading something on his phone.
He looks up immediately.
“You look wiped,” he says.
“I am,” you admit.
He stands. “Sit.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That sounded like an order.”
He smiles. “Please.”
You sit.
He brings you water. Then food. Nothing fancy. Just something warm and filling.
He sits across from you but does not eat.
“You’re not hungry?” you ask.
“I am,” he says. “But you are more important.”
Your chest tightens.
This isn’t fair.
This is not fair at all.
Later that week, you try again.
Harder.
You corner him in the kitchen. You press him back against the counter. You kiss him until your lips are swollen and your head spins. Your hands slide under his shirt, mapping muscle you already know too well.
Steve groans. He kisses you back. Deep. Hungry. His control slips. You feel it in the way his hands grip your hips, in the way his breath stutters against your mouth.
For a moment, he is gone. Then he pulls away again.
His hands stay on you. Firm. Steady.
“God,” he murmurs. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Then stop fighting it,” you say softly.
He presses his forehead to yours. “I’m not fighting you.”
“Then what are you doing.”
“I’m choosing you,” he says. “All of you. Not just this.”
Your heart slams against your ribs.
No one has ever said that to you.
You want to scream.
You want to rip his clothes off.
Instead, you step back, frustrated and flustered.
“You’re a menace,” you tell him.
He smiles gently. “You knew that.”
The date looms closer.
And Steve gets worse.
He confirms plans. Actual plans. Time. Place. Details.
“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. “Wear something comfortable. We’ll walk a bit.”
You scoff. “That’s all I get.”
“That’s all you get,” he confirms.
You spend the next two days spiraling.
You can’t sleep. You replay every interaction. Every look. Every small touch he denies himself.
You vent to Natasha and Wanda.
“He washed my dishes,” you say like it’s a crime.
They stare at you.
“He built my furniture,” you continue. “From Ikea.”
Wanda crosses her arms over herself biting her cheek to hide a smile.
“He texts me to remind me to eat,” you add. “He asks before touching me. He calls just to talk.” you say rubbing your hands down your face. “And his dick is huge.”
Silence.
Then Natasha says, “Oh my God, you’re doomed.”
You are.
The night before the date, Steve comes over briefly. Just to drop something off. A jacket. Because he checked the weather and it might be cold.
He does not come in.
He stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
You look at him. Really look at him.
His hair is grown out just enough. His beard is trimmed but still rough. He is wearing dark colors again.
Everything you like.
Everything he knows you like.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” you accuse.
He smiles, slow and soft. “Doing what.”
“Being like this.”
“Like what.”
“Perfect.”
His expression changes then. Serious. Intent.
“I’m not perfect,” he says. “I’m just trying to be good to you.”
Your throat tightens.
You lean forward and kiss him. Soft. Brief. Controlled.
He doesn’t deepen it.
He just rests his forehead against yours for a second.
“Tomorrow,” he whispers.
You watch him walk away, heart pounding, body aching, mind screaming the same thought over and over.
And tomorrow is going to ruin you.
The date starts quietly. Which somehow makes it worse.
Steve shows up right on time, like he said he would. Seven sharp. No rushing. No knocking twice. Just a calm, steady presence at your door that already has your heart racing before you even open it.
When you do, he stops. Actually stops.
Not dramatically. Not like he’s trying to make a point. Just enough that you notice his breath hitch before he recovers.
“You look…” he trails off, visibly searching for the right word.
You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve faced aliens. Use your words.”
He smiles, soft and a little stunned. “Beautiful. Wonderful. Prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”
That should not hit the way it does.
You grab your jacket and step out, locking the door behind you. He waits. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t crowd you. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you like he has nowhere else he would rather be.
He opens the car door for you.
You pause. “You know I can do that myself.”
“I know,” he says easily. “I still want to.”
That familiar heat curls low in your stomach again.
The place he takes you is small. Intimate. Warm. Nothing flashy. No Stark level extravagance. Just good food and quiet music and lighting soft enough that you can actually see each other.
You relax into it faster than you expect.
Conversation flows easily at first. Safe topics. Funny stories. Shared memories from when you met six years ago and long nights and the strange limbo of living in a world that constantly feels like it might end.
Then he asks you about your work.
Not in passing. Not politely. Not as a filler conversation topic.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes intent. “Tell me what you’re working on now.”
Your face lights up instantly. Excited to be able to talk about your new project.
He notices. That alone nearly does him in.
“Well,” you start, already smiling, “okay. So you know how we’ve been mapping exoplanet atmospheres using spectral analysis.”
He nods. “I know the words you just said.”
You laugh. “That’s fair. Basically, we’re looking at light patterns to figure out what gases are present around planets we can’t physically see.”
“Which tells you what.”
You’re on the edge of your seat, his tone showing how deeply interested he is in what you’re saying.
“Whether they could support life,” you say quickly. “Or at least conditions similar to it. But what I’m excited about is that we’re starting to refine the noise reduction algorithms. Which means clearer data. Which means we can stop guessing so much.”
He watches you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room.
“You’re excited,” he says softly.
“Always,” you admit. “I get to wake up and think about things that are older than time itself. That’s insane.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he says fondly.
You grin. “Thank you.”
You launch back in without hesitation.
“And now they’re talking about bumping me up to lead on the next project. Bigger funding. Bigger team. More responsibility.”
His eyes widen. “That’s huge.”
“It is,” you say, practically vibrating. “And I’m terrified.”
“Why.”
“Because it means I have to fight harder to keep it mine.”
He tilts his head. “What do you mean.”
You take a breath. “Everyone keeps assuming I’ll fold into Stark Industries eventually. Or jump into Avengers research. Like that’s the obvious path.”
“And it’s not.”
“No,” you say firmly. “I love my dad. I respect what he built. What you all do. But I don’t want my work to exist in his shadow. I want my name attached to something because I earned it.”
Steve’s chest tightens.
You don’t notice.
“I want to discover something because I chased it,” you continue. “Not because someone handed me a lab and a budget and said ‘here, be brilliant.’”
“You’re already brilliant,” he says quietly.
You wave him off. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he says. “You want it to be yours.”
“Yes.”
You talk faster now. Freer. You ramble. You sketch diagrams in the air with your hands. You explain concepts he absolutely does not understand. You offer to take him to your office to show him some of your work.
He asks questions. Simple ones. Thoughtful ones.
“So when you say expansion,” he says, “that’s the universe literally stretching.”
“Yes,” you say eagerly. “Exactly. And we still don’t know why it’s accelerating. That’s the part that drives me insane.”
His mouth curves into a smile. “I like it when you get like this.”
“Like what.”
“Like you forget the rest of the world exists.”
Your cheeks warm. “I’ve never had someone actually want to hear this stuff.”
“That’s insane,” he says. “You light up.”
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t redirect. Doesn’t try to impress you. Not like other men would.
He just lets you be brilliant.
And it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy.
Because you’re not trying to be cute.
You just are.
Your eyes are bright. Your hands animated. Your passion raw and unfiltered. You talk about dark matter and probability and models and failures like they are personal challenges instead of abstract concepts.
You talk about mistakes you’ve made. Equations that didn’t work. Data that disappointed you.
“I love it,” you say softly. “Even the frustration. Especially the frustration, that’s when I work my hardest.”
Steve swallows. “You’re incredible,” he says.
You shrug, suddenly shy. “I just really love what I do.”
“I know,” he replies. “That’s what makes it incredible.”
When the night winds down, he walks you home.
Slowly.
Like he’s not in any rush to end this.
At your door, he hesitates.
“I had a really good time,” he says.
You smile. “Me too.”
He leans in.
Just enough. Then stops.
“Can I kiss you.”
Your breath catches.
“Yes,” you
The kiss is soft. Controlled. Bief.
He pulls back like it physically pains him.
“Good night,” he says.
You watch him walk away, heart pounding, mind racing, body aching.
And the only thought in your head is this.
How is a man who respects me this much also driving me completely insane.
You’re trying really hard not to let your sexual frustration take over your entire life.
You really are.
But the kiss Steve left you with last night wasn’t enough. Not even close. It lingered like a bruise you kept pressing on, a memory that replayed itself every time you tried to focus on literally anything else. His mouth. His restraint. The way he stopped himself like it physically hurt.
You can’t stop yourself from wondering why he didn’t just take you right then and there.
Why he let you stand there shaking and needy and aching while he walked away like the strongest man in the world wasn’t barely holding himself together.
So on your lunch break, you venture down to Soho.
You don’t tell yourself it is a bad idea.
You tell yourself it is just shopping. You love to shop.
You find the lingerie almost immediately. Deep blue. Rich. Dangerous. The kind of blue that looks expensive and intentional and sinful. Lace so delicate it feels like a secret against your skin.
You smirk when you realize the color matches Steve’s suit.
That feels important.
It’s late by the time you finally leave your office and get home. You shower quickly, heat steaming the bathroom, hands lingering just a little too long where you wish his had been. You slide into the lingerie slowly, deliberately, admiring the way it hugs you, the way it makes you feel powerful and reckless all at once.
Over it, you pull on a silky slip dress. Modest enough. Innocent enough. Something that passes easily to anyone who does not know what is underneath.
But up close.
Up close, it is something else entirely.
You step into your black Louboutins, the heels sharp and unapologetic, and head toward the elevator. Each click against the floor feels like a countdown. Your heart pounds harder the higher the elevator climbs.
When the doors finally open on Steve’s floor, you step out with an air of confidence you don’t entirely feel but refuse to surrender.
“Stevie?” you call softly as you walk inside his apartment. You move toward the couch and sit down, crossing your legs slowly, deliberately. You fix your hair like you aren’t vibrating under your skin. “Baby?” you call again.
Footsteps sound from down the hall.
Steve appears in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping down his chest, sliding along muscle and disappearing into the fabric. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends, his skin flushed from heat.
And fuck.
You couldn’t be happier you’re wearing that lingerie under your dress.
Because you came here with a plan.
He looks at you, concern crossing his face instantly. His eyes trail over you, slow and thorough, like he’s checking for injuries, like his body is already cataloging you out of instinct.
That concern turns you on more than anything else could have.
“You okay angel?” he asks, stepping closer, sitting down beside you on the couch.
His legs widen.
He must have forgotten he is only wearing a towel.
Or maybe he doesn’t care.
Your gaze drops anyway. Thick thighs. Solid. Powerful. Your mouth waters even though you can see almost nothing.
“So good Stevie.”
The words come out softer than you intend.
He exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. His hand rests on his knee. Close. Too close.
You lean in closer, your hand sliding up his damp thigh, fingers brushing the edge of the towel. The heat from his skin radiates through your palm, and you feel your core clench with need. "I missed you," you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you push him back against the couch cushions. Your lips crash into his, tongue demanding entry, tasting the faint mint from his shower. He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, but you take charge, straddling his lap in one fluid motion.
The towel loosens under your weight, and you feel the hard length of his cock pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric. You grind down slowly, savoring the way he twitches beneath you. "Fuck, Steve," you whisper against his lips, nipping at his bottom one before sucking it into your mouth. Your hands roam his chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipples, making him hiss.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darkening as they drop to the silky slip dress clinging to your curves. "What are you wearing under there, angel?" His voice is rough, fingers toying with the hem, inching it up your thighs.
You smirk, grabbing his wrist to stop him for a moment, asserting your control. "Something for you to discover." But even as you say it, his free hand cups your ass, squeezing firmly, and a shiver runs through you. You rock your hips harder, feeling the dampness between your legs soak through the lace.
Steve's restraint snaps when you lift the dress just enough to reveal the deep blue lace peeking out, matching the suit he wore earlier that day. His eyes widen, pupils blowing with feral hunger. "Jesus Christ," he growls, flipping you onto your back in an instant, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. The shift is so quick, your breath catches, and that initial spark of dominance you held flickers out, replaced by a rush of submission that makes your pussy throb.
"You did this on purpose," he says, voice laced with possession as he yanks the slip dress up over your head, tossing it aside. The lingerie hugs your body perfectly, the deep blue lace sheer enough to show your hardened nipples and the outline of your slick folds. He stares, chest heaving, before leaning down to capture your mouth in a brutal kiss, tongue fucking into you without mercy.
You moan, arching up, but he holds you down, his towel finally slipping away to reveal his thick cock standing rigid against his abs, pre-cum beading at the tip. The sight makes you whimper, and you strain against his grip, wanting to touch him. Instead, you turn your head, sinking your teeth into his shoulder in the first bite, hard enough to leave a mark but not break skin. He grunts, the sound vibrating through you, and thrusts his hips forward, his cock sliding along your lace-covered pussy.
"Naughty girl," he murmurs, releasing your wrists to trail his hand down your body. His fingers hook into the lace panties, ripping them aside with a sharp tug. The cool air hits your exposed wetness, and you gasp as he presses two fingers inside you without warning, curling them to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. You buck against his hand, but he pins your hip with his other arm, controlling the pace.
The heavy makeout resumes, his lips bruising yours, teeth clashing as you kiss like you're starving. You bite his lower lip this time, the second mark of your teeth on him, drawing a low rumble from his throat. He retaliates by wrapping his hand around your neck, applying just enough pressure to make your head spin, the feeling sending sparks straight to your clit. "Breathe for me," he commands softly, loosening slightly before tightening again, his fingers still pumping in and out of your dripping pussy.
You nod frantically, your control fully surrendered now, body melting under his touch. "Please, Steve," you beg, voice hoarse. He smirks, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to your mouth, making you suck them clean while he lines up his cock at your entrance.
With one smooth thrust, he buries himself inside you, bare and deep, stretching your walls around his girth. You cry out, nails digging into his back as he starts a relentless rhythm, hips snapping forward. The lingerie top is still on, lace rubbing against your sensitive nipples with each movement, heightening everything.
He spanks your ass lightly once, then twice, the sting blooming into heat that makes you clench around him. "That's it, take my cock," he growls, hand returning to your throat cutting off your air just enough to make stars dance in your eyes before releasing. You bite his neck in response, teeth grazing his pulse point as he fucks you harder.
Sweat slicks your bodies, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts. He angles his hips to grind against your clit with every plunge, building that coil in your belly tighter and tighter. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. The room fills with the wet sounds of skin slapping skin, your moans mixing with his grunts.
"Gonna cum inside you," he warns, voice strained, his soft dom side shining through in the way he watches your face, ensuring you're with him. You nod, lost in the haze, and when he pinches your nipple through the lace while choking you lightly one last time, you shatter. Your pussy spasms around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure crash over you.
Steve follows seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and flooding your insides with hot cum, rope after rope painting your walls. He collapses onto you, both panting, his lips finding yours for a softer kiss now, the feral edge sated but the heat lingering.
"My perfect angel," he whispers, nuzzling your neck where your bites mark him, a satisfied smile on his face.
Steve lifts you off the couch effortlessly, his arms cradling you like you weigh nothing, cock still semi-hard and slick with your combined release as it slips from your pussy. A trickle of his cum leaks down your thigh, warm and sticky, and he notices, his eyes flashing with renewed hunger. "Not done with you yet, angel," he murmurs, voice husky from exertion, carrying you toward the kitchen. The cool tile floor contrasts with the heat of his body pressed against yours, the remnants of your lingerie bra the only thing left on you now, lace damp and clinging.
He sets you down on the edge of the kitchen island, the marble cold against your heated skin, making you gasp. Steve drops to his knees between your spread legs, hands gripping your thighs to pull you closer. "Look at that," he says, thumb brushing through the mess of cum seeping from your swollen folds. "My cum dripping out of your pretty pussy. Gonna clean you up first." His tone is gentle but commanding, that soft dom edge making your core flutter.
Before you can respond, his mouth descends, tongue flat and broad as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting the salty mix of his seed and your arousal. You moan, head falling back, fingers threading into his damp hair. He groans against you, the vibration shooting straight through your nerves, and laps deeper, sucking his own cum back into his mouth before swallowing with a satisfied hum. It's filthy, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet kitchen, his lips smacking as he devours you, tongue plunging inside to scoop out more.
Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the pressure, and he pins you down with one hand on your stomach, the other sliding up to fist your hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs sharply, forcing your head to tilt back, exposing your throat as he eats you out relentlessly. The pull sends a delicious sting across your scalp, and you love it, whining his name, legs trembling around his shoulders. "That's my girl," he praises between licks, his free hand kneading your ass, fingers digging in. "So responsive, taking everything I give you."
He works your clit with firm sucks and flicks, building that pressure again until you're grinding against his face, his chin glistening with the mess. Your release hits hard, pussy clenching as you flood his mouth, and he drinks it down, not stopping until you're shuddering, oversensitive and boneless.
Rising up, Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on yours, dark with desire. His cock is fully hard again, super soldier stamina kicking in, thick and veined, ready for more. He pulls you forward by the hair once more, gentler this time but still firm, guiding you to lie back on the island. The marble chills your spine, but his body heat warms you as he steps between your legs, rubbing the head of his cock through your slickness.
"Open up," he says softly, and when you part your lips, he spits into your mouth, the warm glob landing on your tongue. You swallow eagerly, the act making you feel claimed, dirty in the best way. He thrusts in then, bare and deep, filling you completely in one go. You cry out, walls stretching around him, still sensitive from before. He sets a steady pace, hips rolling to hit deep, the island rocking slightly under the force.
His hand moves to your face, thumb pressing against your tongue as he fucks you, pushing it down to make you drool. Saliva spills from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin onto your chest, mixing with the sweat beading on your skin. You suck on his thumb messily, eyes watering, loving the way he controls even this, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent.
"Fuck, angel, I love losing control with you," he growls, voice rough and sexy, laced with raw need as he pounds into you, the slap of his balls against your ass loud and obscene. "You make me want to ruin you, take you apart until you're begging. No holding back, just us." As Captain America, he’d spent so long being the perfect soldier, always in control. But here, with her, letting go like this... it's freeing. Finally free to just feel, to fuck without the weight of the world. The thought races through his mind, fueling his rhythm, making him drive deeper.
You clench around him, the words and his thumb pushing you toward the edge again, drool slicking your lips as you moan around it. He spanks your thigh lightly, the sting adding to the chaos, before pulling out just enough to flip you over, but he pauses, breath ragged, cock twitching against your entrance. "Not yet," he whispers, nuzzling your ear. "Think you can handle the shower next? I want to bend you over under the water, make you scream my name again." His hand strokes your side possessively, setting the stage for more, his stamina far from spent.
Steve scoops you up from the kitchen island, your body limp and buzzing from the aftershocks, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. “Love you Stevie.” You smile lazily.
His cock, still buried halfway inside you from the last thrust, slides out with a wet pop, more of his cum leaking down your inner thighs to mix with the slickness there. “Love you more Angel.” he kisses your forehead. He doesn't bother cleaning up, just carries you through the apartment, the trail of mess smearing against his abs as he walks. The shower in his bathroom is spacious, all sleek tiles and rain-head fixture, and he kicks the door open, turning he turns the shower on before setting you down gently under the spray.
Hot water cascades over both of you the moment he twists the knob, steam rising fast as it soaks his skin and yours. The lace bra clings transparently now, nipples pebbled and visible through the wet fabric, but Steve doesn't remove it yet, his hands roaming your curves instead. “Bend over for me, angel,” he commands softly, voice cutting through the rush of water, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to guide you forward. You brace your palms on the tiled wall, ass arching back toward him, the position exposing everything, your pussy still swollen and dripping his release.
He steps up behind you, broad chest flush against your back, the heat of him overwhelming even in the steam. Water streams down his face as he gathers your hair in a fist, pulling your head back just enough to expose your neck. The tug makes you gasp, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your legs. “Good girl,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before he nips at the lobe. His free hand slides down your side, over your hip, to spread your cheeks, thumb circling your entrance teasingly. “So full of me already, but I need to fuck you again. Can't get enough.”
Without warning, he spits down onto your pussy from above, the warm saliva mixing with the water and his lingering cum, making everything slicker. You moan, pushing back, and he lines up his cock, thick and throbbing, pressing the head against your hole. He thrusts in slow at first, letting you feel every inch stretching you open, the water making the slide obscene and easy. Once buried to the hilt, he groans low, hips snapping forward in a building rhythm, the slap of wet skin louder than the shower.
His grip tightens in your hair, pulling harder to arch your back further, forcing you to take him deeper. Each pull sends sparks of pleasure-pain down your spine, and you love it, crying out his name as he pounds into you. Water splashes everywhere, rivulets running down your body, over your breasts, dripping from your chin. Steve reaches around with his other hand, fingers finding your clit to rub firm circles, the pressure making your knees buckle. He holds you steady, body caging yours, dominating every movement.
“Open,” he says roughly, and when you turn your head as much as the hair pull allows, he leans in, spitting directly into your waiting mouth. You swallow it down, the filthy act combined with his cock hitting that spot inside you making your walls flutter. Drool escapes your lips from the intensity, mixing with the water streaming over your face, and he chuckles darkly, thumb pushing into your mouth now to hook against your cheek, stretching it as he fucks you harder. “Look at you, drooling for me like a needy little thing. My perfect angel.”
The words send you spiraling, and you bite down on his thumb lightly, not hard enough to hurt but enough to mark, drawing a hiss from him that turns into a growl of approval. He spanks your ass then, the wet smack echoing, skin blooming red under his palm before the water washes it away. Another spank follows, lighter but stinging just right, and you clench around him, so close. His hand leaves your hair to wrap around your throat from behind, applying that controlled pressure, making your vision spotty with pleasure as oxygen dips.
He chokes you gently while thrusting relentlessly, cock dragging against your G-spot with every plunge, the mess of cum and water squelching around him. “Cum for me again,” he demands, voice strained, his own release building. You do, shattering with a scream that bounces off the tiles, pussy milking him as waves crash over you. Steve follows seconds later, burying deep and flooding you with hot spurts, his groan muffled against your shoulder as he bites down there, marking you back.
He doesn't pull out right away, staying connected as the water rinses some of the evidence away, but not all, his cum starting to leak out around his softening length. Releasing your throat, he turns you slowly in his arms, kissing you deeply under the spray, tongues tangling in a softer but still hungry makeout. “You're incredible,” he whispers against your lips, hands cupping your face. “But I'm not done. Bedroom next? I want you on top, riding me until we both can't move.” His eyes gleam with that endless stamina, promising more rounds in the night ahead.
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