$ log - steve rogers wanted to be as amicable and open to his new transfer, you, as possible. it seems that your eager agreement in this routine was on par with something else.
$ warn --nsfw --dubcon(mild) --gn!reader --dom!vers!reader --sub!vers!steve --free-use --mentions-of-various-kinks/positions --praise --condescending --titles(Agent)
$ wc -w 1.4k
$ cd masterlist / steve-rogers
# authors-note = I need this soooo bad.
# note = scenarios are described as gender ambiguously as possible, take it how you’d like to envision it.
Steve had been talking a lot lately about "team bonding."
Ever since you arrived as the new transfer, he’d been determined to implement new methods of orientation — wanting to move away from the rigid, old school military structures of his previous runs.
During your personal briefing, the subtext was clear: he wanted to be a different kind of leader — more open, more amicable, and far more tactile.
He spoke of being "touchy" and "all accepting" to ensure the new recruits felt a sense of belonging. He thought he was opening the door to camaraderie, but he didn't realise he was actually opening the door to a new kind of "orientation" one where his body was no longer his own, but a resource to be used at your whim.
0001 — one
The morning protocol (tower commonroom kitchen).
Steve’s standing by the kitchen island, looking every bit the wholesome Captain as he prepares his morning coffee. He greets you with a bright, earnest smile, clearly trying to put you at ease as the new transfer and showing off that "open and amicable" side he's been working on.
You don't bother with the small talk, instead walking straight into his personal space to firmly palm his hardening length through his tactical trousers. The sudden, intimate contact catches him off guard, causing his breath to hitch and a deep, embarrassed crimson to flood his cheeks, though he tries to play it off with a shaky, awkward chuckle.
You guide him into a quiet corner of the kitchen, unzipping him with a casual, bored efficiency that makes his large hands tremble near the counter. You drop to your knees, taking him into your mouth with a hungry, unceremonious greed that leaves him moaning softly.
He whimpers prettily, his head lolling back as he tries to maintain some semblance of "Captain" dignity, but his hips instinctively twitch toward you, desperate for the friction.
You finish him off quickly, swallowing every drop before standing up and leaving him dazed and leaking in the corner.
"Good morning, Captain," you murmur, looking up at him patronisingly, smirking up at him, wiping a stray drop from your lip with a casual indifference that makes his heart hammer against his ribs. "You're such a responsive soldier, Steve. It's important to be open to new... orientation methods, isn't it?"
He swallows hard, his gaze flickering toward the doorway to ensure no one else walks in on his disheveled state. "Yes," he manages to stammer out, his voice uncharacteristically breathless, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the ruin you've just made of him. "Anything to help the team bond."
0010 — two
The evening report (steve’s office).
Steve’s sitting behind his desk, looking every bit the stoic, professional leader as he reviews mission files. He looks up as you enter, his blue eyes warm and welcoming, clearly ready to offer you his full attention for your end of day briefing.
You ignore the stack of reports in your hands, instead walking around the desk and straddling his lap with a predatory grace. The sudden weight of you makes him gasp, his hands hovering uncertainly over your hips as he tries to process the sudden shift in "orientation."
You begin to ride him with a slow rhythm, forcing him to abandon his paperwork as his eyes glaze over. He tries to maintain his composure, but as you drive yourself down onto him, his hands instinctively grip the edges of his chair so hard the material groans under his super soldier strength.
You lean down, whispering degrading praise into his ear about how much of a "good boy" he is for taking all of you, watching as his jaw trembles and he lets out a low, helpless whine.
He completely surrenders to the sensation, his stoic Captain persona melting into a mess of breathless whimpers and desperate hip thrusts as you drain every ounce of strength from him.
"There we go, Captain," you purr, leaning back to admire the way his chest heaves and his eyes struggle to focus on you. "You're doing such a wonderful job with this hands-on training. You're much more useful — a tool for the team when you're this compliant. Just keep taking it like a good soldier, and we'll get along just fine."
He lets out a shaky, broken breath, his eyes rolling back as he tries to find his voice through the haze of pleasure.
"Yes, yes, Agent," he whimpers, his large hands finally settling on your waist, pulling you closer as if he's terrified you'll stop the 'training' before he's completely undone. "Whatever you — need, mmph — for the team."
0011 — three
Tactical briefing (briefing room table).
The briefing room is tense and professional, with the rest of the team gathered around the holographic table to discuss the upcoming mission. Steve is standing at the head of the table, looking authoritative and focused as he points out strategic points on the map, his voice steady and commanding.
You nod along to his words, playing the part of the dutiful subordinate, nodding along to his strategic analysis as if you're actually absorbing the mission data. In reality, you're just waiting for the perfect moment to strike, and as soon as he turns to point at a specific coordinate, you move.
You grab him by the waist and force him down, bending him over the tactical table right in front of the holographic displays. The sudden, jarring movement forces a startled grunt from him, but before he can even question the audacity of the act, you've already unfastened him and are fucking him with a relentless, commanding pace.
He tries to keep his voice steady for the benefit of the team, but as you fuck into him, his composure shatters into a series of muffled, desperate whimpers. He grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turn white, his eyes glazing over as he tries to balance the weight of his command with the overwhelming sensation of being used like a common piece of equipment
"Keep your eyes on the map, Captain," you whisper sharply, leaning close to his ear so the others don't hear the filth you're spouting. "Try to focus on the mission while you're being used like a good little toy. You're doing so well, staying so quiet for me."
Steve lets out a strangled, muffled groan, his forehead pressing hard against the cool metal of the table as his hips shudder uncontrollably. "I — the target is — at the north sector — " he gasps out, his voice trembling and thick with a feverish lust.
0100 — four
The jet ride (quinjet in quiet transit).
The interior of the Quinjet is humming with a low, steady vibration as the team settles in for a long flight, the atmosphere heavy with post mission exhaustion. Steve’s sitting in one of the jump seats, staring out the window with a contemplative expression.
You slide into the seat beside him, appearing to just be settling in for the ride, but as soon as the lights dim slightly, you reach down and find him already semi hard from the adrenaline of the mission. You wrap your hand around his cock — your grip firm and demanding, immediately pulling him out of his reverie.
He lets out a sharp, stifled gasp, his eyes widening as they snap toward you in the dim light, his first instinct being to check if anyone else is watching.
He tries to maintain a soldierly dignity, his jaw clenching as he stares blankly at the clouds passing by — but the moment your fingers wrap around him and start a rhythmic, punishing friction — he’s done for.
He lets out a muffled, shaky groan, his large hands trembling against his thighs as his eyes roll back into his head, losing all sense of command. The vibration of the jet seems to sync with your hand, driving him toward a messy, breathless orgasm that leaves him completely undone in the dim light.
"Don't worry about the others, Captain," you whisper, your voice low and teasing as you watch his pupils dilate with pure, unadulterated lust. "Just focus on being a good, quiet soldier for me while we fly. You're doing such a great job staying still."
Steve lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his head thumping back against the seat as his body jolts under your hand. He's a total mess, his breathing ragged and heavy, but he doesn't even try to pull away.
Instead, he leans his head back against the vibrating hull of the jet, a dazed smile ghosting his lips as he lets you finish what you started.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus @hisokamywaifu @lj-to-lz @rosemint-tea @axtira
heyo! could u write a semi long oneshot abt dominate reader and steve? like really really bottom bitch steve 😭 like moans n pet names and stuff THANK UUUU 😚
i love dominate steve don't get me wrong... but submissive steve? he's my guilty pleasure
SMUT BELOW 18+ MDNI
Steve always had a hard time… letting go of control.
You see, he had grown up in sports. He was usually the offense, and he was usually the captain. After all, people didn’t call him King Steve for no reason. He enjoyed the control he felt when he would bark orders at those around him. He assimilated into the role pretty quickly.
Then, enter The Upside Down. After his first run-in at the Byers’ property, he sort of felt an obligation to be there for the kids. Those young, dumb kids who were just as likely to jump into the line of fire in order to save someone else. He took his role as the babysitter very seriously. Whether it was instructions during a battle, or even just trying to get the kids to school on time, he always felt responsible for everybody. He liked being reliable. And you hated reliable Steve.
So, after you and Steve’s most recent war with Vecna, you wanted to take advantage of the peace and quiet. The younger kids were getting older, almost old enough to drive. Definitely old enough to take care of themselves with everyday stuff. You felt run-down, weak; if you felt this way, you couldn’t imagine how Steve felt.
You fell into a habit of taking care of him in every way possible. It started with the simple, necessary things; you took to cleaning and stitching his wounds, as you knew he would let time pass before getting himself checked out, if at all. You dressed the wounds, kissing them gently after they were covered in bandages. “There you go, Baby, good as new,” you whispered into his skin. Steve would grumble under his breath, something about him not being a child, but he never made you stop.
Then, came the thoughtful things; cooking him dinner each night, so he had a piping hot meal as soon as his butt hit a seat. He would always nag for a couple of minutes, mumbling about him only rewinding tapes for ten hours with Rob, before silencing into quiet grumbles with a few thank you’s littered in it.
Finally, you realized you still weren’t satisfied. You wanted to take care of him in the most broken down sense of the word.
Sex between you guys was normally wordless. Steve mainly just liked to hear the sweet, soft sounds you would let out as he pumped into you. He was a gently lover. A giving lover.
Not this whimpering mess that you were sat on top of.
Here, you took purchase on Steve’s neck, digits wrapped tightly around his throat. You had started out worried, lightly pressing, not wanting to seriously harm him. It only took a minute before he was pushing your hand’s further into him, telling you that he can handle it, Honey. You rested the weight of your upper body onto your arms, which were locked tight as you used his neck as purchase. You could feel his pulse thrumming rapidly on your fingers. You were bouncing at a rapid pace, lifting yourself almost the entire way off of his cock only to slam yourself back down. Steve was absolutely fucked out underneath you. His hands were clutching at your forearms, his face flushed red and his head was tilted back, his eyes squeezed shut.
Oh, and when you called him a good boy? Steve would break down just a bit further, ready to relinquish everything for you.
You had been at this for who knows how long. Each time Steve would say he was close, you would lift off of him completely, simply hovering over his twitching cock. Dripping down onto his tummy. Each time he would let out a loud whine, bucking his hips upwards to try and find his way back inside you. A mocking tut would leave your lips, as you stayed hovering until Steve calmed down until little whines, small pleases leaving his mouth hurriedly.
And he just looked so precious underneath you, how were you meant to say no?
Last part! This was so fun to write, thanks everybody who’s been following along. I’ll put it up on ao3 one of these days.
🔞 Seven Christmases pt. 8
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Home pt. ii (951 words; total fic length 11,913)
rated: T | tags: chubby eddie, established relationship, weight gain, belly kink, stuffing, fluff, they’re in love, little bit of soft d/s dynamic, subby steve
He comes back to himself still lying on his back, but blissfully naked and cleaned up because his boyfriend is a literal angel. Steve is already plastered against his side, naked except for a pair of Hanes, and rubbing his belly with trembling hands. One thumb brushes around the soft rim of Eddie’s deep belly button, making him shiver in spite of how sated and boneless he feels. Petting soothingly over ribs that haven’t made an appearance since just after the last gate was sealed, across his lower belly with just the faintest scratch of fingernails that would make Eddie arch if he could still move.
“‘Tevie,” Eddie mumbled, still panting to catch his breath. He might never catch it again, and that’s okay; right now there are too many feel-good body chemicals swirling around in his system to feel as though anything bad ever has or ever could happen to either of them.
The sensation is so complete, backed up by his heaviness and how cozy he feels and how expertly his boyfriend is taking care of him. This is what it feels like to truly hit his limit and come out the other side; now he knows.
“That was,” Eddie sighs dreamily.
“Incredible,” Steve finishes for him in a rough voice, sounding like he’s barely holding himself together. He kneads gently at Eddie’s belly again, brushing down over the tattoo of a dagger on his hip that’s grown broader along with him. “Six meals in here. You ate all day, baby. You just didn’t stop, everything in front of you, it’s, you’re so…”
Eddie shushes and draws him in for a kiss. It’s delicate, like Steve is worried that even his tongue would be too much to force inside Eddie’s body right now but also shuddering at the very thought with a muffled moan. “You’re good, Stevie,” Eddie sighs back, eyes closing again. “Been so good today. Take what you need now.”
“C-can I…?”
“Yeah baby, anything you want.”
As food-drunk and fucked out as he is, Eddie already knows what Steve wants. They’d talked it through in the days leading up to this, Steve making the request almost shyly at first but building confidence when he saw how much Eddie liked the idea. (As long as he can tap out if it makes him too queasy to keep going, which was also part of the conversation.)
Now, Steve scrambles out of his underwear and straddles him. The stance he has to take to kneel to either side of Eddie is wide and wanton, his bare cock rubbing and grinding into the stretched but still jiggling underside of Eddie’s belly and fuck. Yes.
The top of his belly is still packed mind-meltingly tight and every thrust that jostles it lights his whole body up like a goddamn Christmas tree in a decadent twist of pain and pleasure. He’s warm all over, almost too warm despite being completely exposed, so tired and stuffed to the brim that he’s just letting it happen, wheezing as the overwhelming everything of it all nudges him towards a second peak.
It doesn’t take long for Steve to finish, spilling and shuddering and smearing his come over Eddie’s belly. He shifts down immediately to lick it clean with a moan, pausing only to spit in his palm and stroke Eddie’s cock while he does. Mouthing, biting, kissing, nibbling, fucking his tongue through every fold and into his navel, wet and slurping—and Eddie tips over that blissful edge again with a broken cry.
Steve devotedly licks his softening cock and underbelly clean while Eddie wobbles his way back to exhausted stillness. Just lays there trying to catch his breath, so ready for a really long sleep that he can barely keep his eyes open.
“Good?” Steve asks after a moment, crawling back up at his side and dipping in for a soft kiss that tastes of both of them.
“Good,” Eddie moans. “I gotta—ha, help me roll over, would you sweetheart?”
When he does, Eddie can breathe easier, melting into the mattress like a butter pat on warm bread with a deep and sated sigh. Feels Steve snuggle up against him from behind, not caring that he’s all sweaty or that his stomach is still grumbling as it settles down to digest for the night. He wonders distantly if he’ll be hungry again by morning, a curious tickle at the back of his head that would make him twitch if he weren’t so spent.
Because yeah, he doesn’t do this every day, isn’t actively trying to put on weight… but it’s definitely happening, and he definitely likes it. So maybe that will change at some point, but for now he’s content to coast along purely on impulse, no goals or thinking of it as progress, just amazement (for both of them) at how much he can put away and still be insatiable.
For now, he’s exhausted. All he wants to do is be cuddled into oblivion and Steve, fitted snugly against his curves like a matching puzzle piece with one arm draped over his side and fingers tracing whisper-light over the red indents from his pants across his engorged belly, is already doing a wonderful job of that.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, sinking deeper and deeper towards sleep.
“Mm. Best Christmas ever,” Steve mumbles.
Eddie drifts off with a smile on his lips, because it really, really was.
(And Eddie doesn’t know it yet, but Steve still has that pants button. He’d stowed it somewhere safe while Eddie wasn’t looking and intends to bring it back out on some special occasion. He has a plan.)
Eddie’s favorite thing to do is to ask Steve about his glory days as a jock. Ask him about running laps up and down the basketball court. Ask him about doing push-ups and sit ups, or climbing that rope for the fucking Presidential Fitness Test that, once upon a time, he had aced with flying colors.
Ask him if his coach or teammates would recognize him now, stuffed to the brim and still going, his jaw working mechanically as Eddie feeds him out of his pants and a formerly nice button-down shirt. (It’s drizzled with food stains and gaping at the buttons, truly not long for this world.)
Ask him if he can get in the pool without making a splash anymore. Sit without his gut forcing his legs to loll apart like a hungry slut.
Steve pretends to protest. Says he hasn’t truly let himself go, that he could stop whenever he wants.
“But you haven’t,” Eddie points out. “You, my greedy, needy sweetheart, take everything I give you.” Indulgently, and meeting no resistance just as predicted, he lays a single potato chip on Steve’s tongue and chucks him gently under the chin to close Steve’s mouth for him. “Did you know that you jiggle with every step, Stevie?”
“No…” He is perfectly aware of it. He relishes in it, and the way it keeps his boyfriend’s eyes glued to him with every motion. There’s power in that, same as the way he could say a single word now and Eddie would stop teasing immediately.
Not that Steve wants it to stop, not right now. He still has buttons, for one thing.
Eddie gives him a slow, predatory smile. “Maybe the reason you never put the breaks on is because you don’t want to. You love this, don’t you Big Boy?”
And Steve, his body wider and softer than the first time Eddie had called him that, whines. “I…”
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Eddie coos, crouching down before him with a hand on each of Steve’s knees. The next thing he places in Steve’s mouth is a cookie, perfectly alternating between salty and sweet, crispy and soft. “I know what you need.” And then, while Steve chews, his hands gliding up from knees to broad thighs straining against dress pants that Steve really outgrew a few weeks ago, he adds, “There’s a good boy.”
The words make Steve shudder and gasp, a sharp intake of breath, and—
Ping!
“Eds,” Steve moans. His shirt is gapping even wider now, pulled tightly as it is across the widest point of his belly. The dip of his navel had been evident enough before, but now it’s laid completely bare. “I’m close—”
Another bite, this time savory. A meat lover’s pizza ordered by anyone else would have been an inconsequential choice; with Eddie, just hearing him place the order for delivery over the phone a mere few hours ago had felt like foreplay. Having it shoved in his mouth now, when he hadn’t even registered Eddie reaching for it, is heavenly. One bite with toppings and one bite of crust, just like Steve likes it, and even though it’s a big slice he makes quick work of it.
His pants button goes next, relieving so much pressure all at once that Steve moans through a second slice. A single drop of sauce slides from his chin and onto his straining shirt, joining the dribbles of marinara sauce from the mozzarella sticks and grease from the first pizza.
“So much for that jock metabolism,” Eddie says faux-lightly, striking a chord that makes Steve squirm in his chair. “I guess you got a little too used to eating whatever you wanted without any consequences, huh sweetheart?” He sighs and shakes his head, then uses his thumb to wipe the sauce from Steve’s chin and in past his wet lips.
The way Steve latches onto the digit, sucking and rolling his tongue around it, makes Eddie’s already dark gaze pulse with heat.
“Greedy,” he murmurs, sliding his hand free.
“Eddie,” Steve whines. He pouts, and when that only gets him another smirk his own eyes narrow. Shifting impatiently, he takes a deep breath, really fills that diaphragm, and—
Pop, pop, pa-pop!
The rest of the buttons except a few closer to the collar vanish, leaving his bloated gut exposed. For Eddie, always for Eddie—to see the expanse of chest hair and thick treasure trail following the equally thick roll of his heavy belly, the old bite scars, the newer stretch marks standing out in a mix of silver and red.
“Oh, Steve.” The rumble of Eddie’s voice is approaching reverence as his calloused musician’s fingers slide up to Steve’s ruined waistband, even as his other hand reaches for the nearest can of pop and cracks it open. “Stevie, baby, you’re killing me.” He brings the can to Steve’s lips and tips it slowly to let him drink. “What would your teammates say, honey? You’ll never be able to make the winning shot like this.”
Steve finishes the can and lets out a burp from all the carbonation as he sits back. “I, I still could.” And he’s not lying, he thinks he could still manage, like… a free throw shot. As long as he’s not encumbered by defense and doesn’t have to do much dribbling. His aim is still fairly good, though god knows it’s been a while since he’s been on a court.
“Hmm, you think so?” Eddie pretends to consider, then gives Steve’s stomach a condescending pat. “Next time we’ll do this in your old uniform, really put that theory to the test. You think you could still make the shot after a halftime snack this size?”
Another slice of pizza is offered, and Steve immediately takes a bite with another moan.
“You like that idea, baby? Wanna put how insatiable you can be on display, for everyone to see? What if you fumble the ball—”
Fumbling is football, Steve wants to say, but his mouth is full and his eyes are half rolled back in his head and he’s mindlessly rocking his hips just a little bit, just to get whatever friction he can against his aching dick. Gravity and the press of his own underbelly is doing wonders.
“—And bend over to get it, and those little green shorts just can’t take it anymore, Stevie? What if everyone sees your greedy hole, begging to be fucked?”
Rocking more than just a little bit, now. The chair gives a creak but that only spurs both of them on.
Eddie leans in and all but purrs in his ear, “Or what if it already has? What if I fucked you while you finished your dessert, made you come as the cherry on top, and let you go out there still wet and leaking from—”
Steve shudders, and for the first time in a long while his mouth is completely empty as he cries out, painting the inside of his briefs with just how much Eddie knows how to press his buttons. Buttons he hadn’t even known he’d had until, relaxing into peacetime once the Upside Down had been sealed for good, he’d put on some pounds and Eddie had gone from not respecting his personal space to touching him at every possible opportunity.
And it’s snowballed into this, coming untouched and wanting to moan from that just as much as the satisfying ache of being filled.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie mutters, awed, and swoops in for a frantic kiss. His hands are already scrambling at his belt. “Christ, Stevie, you’re so good, I can’t believe you just—Fuck, baby, are you ready for your treat?”
Dazed, but still salivating as he fixes his eyes on the rapidly revealed prize, Steve nods. Eddie’s cock is rosy and weeping, and that’s the real cherry on top, one that he swallows down as urgently as though his own satisfaction still depended on it.
Well. It does, just not in an orgasm way, this time. He craves the taste and the feeling of his mouth being full, of being used. Eddie never disappoints and this is no exception, feeding his cock to Steve like the delicacy it is, letting him lick and suck and moan and swallow it down with the same single-minded devotion as he had everything else tonight, all while pretending he still has the physical prowess of an athletic teen when, really, his stamina now lies in things like this.
Being with Eddie has opened so many doors, even as some of them are gradually becoming harder to fit through. One thing Steve has learned is that he fucking loves giving head, just like he’d always loved going down on girls and wringing pleasure out of them with his lips and tongue.
When Eddie comes down his throat with a choked groan, pulling his hair just the way Steve likes, bending Steve over his own gut to press his nose hard into Eddie’s comparatively bony pelvis… When Eddie comes, Steve swallows and swallows, taking it all down even though he’s so full because he’s earned this. Just from the number of times he’s almost died, alone, but especially because of tonight, because he’d been good.
“Fuuuck, so good,” Eddie gasps, carding his fingers through Steve’s sweaty, disheveled hair. Fingertips drift down to Steve’s jaw, massaging gently on both sides when he finishes with Eddie’s spent cock and lets his mouth hang empty. After a moment he tips his head to nuzzle at Eddie’s hip and the touch returns to his hair, combing and scratching gently at his scalp while he comes back to himself.
It takes longer for Steve to catch his breath these days, but his inhales and exhales even out all the same.
“Was it good for you, sweetheart?”
“Mm,” Steve hums, mouthing at his skin where it’s visible within the V of Eddie’s open fly, commando beneath his skinny jeans. “Good… So good. Always good, Eds.”
There’s a smile in his voice when he replies, though Steve’s eyelids are too heavy to confirm if that matches his mouth right now. “Excellent. Ready to get up?”
“Down,” mumbles Steve, pouting, because he wants to lie down. Wants Eddie to get him out of what’s left of these clothes and hold him while he sleeps this off. Maybe get off one more time first, if he can stay awake long enough, but if not there’s always after a nap and time to digest.
Eddie chuckles. “What goes up must come down, Stevie. Here we go…”
And when they’re on the bed, naked and facing each other and Eddie jerking furiously at him with a spit-slicked palm, whispering such sweet things about how perfect and sexy and amazing he is, how Eddie ‘The Freak’ never thought he’d get to have something, someone so sweet and soft and all his…
After Steve comes, amid ah ah ah’s and groans of pleasure, Eddie cleans him up—and this is Steve’s favorite thing, or at least one of many. The care shown to every ridge of scar tissue, every crease and roll as Eddie works him over with a wet washcloth, wiping away sweat and crumbs just as much as come. The way every stretch mark gets a soft kiss and an almost proprietary murmur of affection. The reverence of his touch, bordering on worshipful, that fills a hole Steve’s absent parents and high school popularity had never even touched.
“I love you,” Steve mumbles, after.
“I know,” Eddie replies with a wink.
“Nerd,” Steve laughs. Or maybe he doesn’t; maybe he’s already drifted off into the warm arms of the inevitable food coma, and that last word is just the first note of his dream.
Either way, he will sleep, and Eddie will hold him, and they’ll do another scene like this again in a week or two… or whenever one of them feels that decadent itch.
