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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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So glad to see the porn bot girlies have hobbies now. Aerobics, Handball, sky diving. #Growth

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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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Date night with biker!steve

Photo credit

Pairing: Biker!Steve x Shy!Reader

CW: They're coming 👀

AN: Teaser since yall guessed correctly. Their full fic is finally on its way.

Twisting the hem of your dress between your fingers, you stare at the door. Mind racing, anticipation crackling like kindling under your skin, you shift to one foot, balancing precariously, and breathe through your nose, trying to calm your nerves. It doesn't work.

This is crazy. Girls like you don't date guys like him. Right? You're not so sure anymore. A year ago, heck even a week ago you never imagined a tall biker with the bluest eyes you've ever seen would saunter into your restaurant and turn your world upside down.

Yet here you are. Off-balance and dizzy. And the one person making you spiral out of control is the only one who makes you feel grounded. Safe. Wanted.

Steve wants you. It's a tangible thing, you can almost feel it when he is near you. He wants you. And you don't know what to do with that. Or what to think of it. You only know that it's a strange combination of terrifying and exhilarating. Your fragile, foolish little heart beats faster every time he smiles in your direction. It's not going to be able to handle being in his proximity. Alone.

You don't if you should tell him that this is your first real date. Maybe he won't even notice.

A sharp knock echos through the door and you startle. Your hand hovers above the doorknob, eyes closing as you breathe in and out. In. Out. Normally you would have canceled, gave some lame excuse, and stayed home, content to think, dream, about how things would have gone. Because, well, that's safer. Your heart can't get broken if you never give it away.

He wants you. And it's that thought that breaks through the muddled chaos in your mind. And that's why you open the door.

Steve smiles down at you, helmet in his hand. Bike behind him. Leather jacket open, revealing the black shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. His voice, deep and smooth, like vanilla whiskey rolls over you.

"You're beautiful," he says, his eyes languidly sweeping across your face. "You know I didn't think you were going to open the door."

Your brain is still stuck on him calling you beautiful and once again you find yourself thanking this man. It might become a habit at this rate. "Thank you."

A flicker of warm amusement darkens his eyes. "Ready to go?"

You nod, fumbling with the key to the front door for a second before you finally get it to close. A few feet from his bike you realize, you were so caught up in him asking you out that you never asked for details.

"Where are we going?"

Steve takes the helmet and places it on your head, his long fingers brushing your face gently as he adjusts the straps. "Can't spoil the surprise, sweet Dove. But I promise you'll love it."

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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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Ahaha if I could then I would! Thank you for sharing xxx

It's Like That

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Steve is so ridiculous in this, and I'm not sorry. This is smut, about him looking after a very stressed reader <3

Warnings: smut (***18+ only***), praise kink, toy use, overstimulation

Masterlist

Hi! I guess this is a thank-you for 200 followers! It's so lovely to have you all here, and having something to write for is so precious to me. This image has been floating around my head for months, and now you can have it too ;)

“I have an idea,” Steve says, after your fifth melodramatic sigh of the evening. You’ve felt him glancing over at you each time, pretty eyes communicating concern even at the periphery of your vision. But you can’t seem to stop, even for his sake. Sighing, that is. It’s been a long day. The emails blaring on your computer screen are only getting blurrier; more frustrating.

“An idea for what?” you ask.

“Do you have a vibrator?” he asks, and your head whips round towards him.

“What?”

“A vibrator,” he repeats, completely sincere. “Do you own one?”

“Um,” you say, fiddling with your fingers. You shouldn’t be embarrassed, should you? Should you? “Yes. Yes, I have one.”

Steve nods, rubbing his chin for a moment. “Can I use it on you?”

“Um,” you say again. “What? Why?”

He laughs a little at your expression. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He looks down to his lap, and then back up to your eyes. Solemn, soft. “I just want to take care of you.”

That’s ridiculously hot, but you’re still confused. “Where is this coming from?” you ask.

Steve moves towards you, kneeling in front of where you sit on the sofa, picking up one of your hands and caressing it with his thumbs. “I know you’re stressed, sweetheart.” He bends his head to kiss each of the knuckles on your hand. “I also know you sometimes worry about taking too long, you know. When we make love.”

You think back to all the times you’ve apologised; all the times you’ve worried you aren’t enough; you’re being too much. “Sorry. Please keep going,” you’ve said, whilst his mouth was working earnestly between your thighs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to wait for me,” right before he came inside you. “Can you try – never mind,” in the back of a car, at the end of one scandalous journey.

“I think this way,” Steve continued, “you can really . . . relax.”

You’re speechless for a moment, just studying his face, flicking between his eyes. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“Honey,” he says, leaning forward to kiss you. “I love you.” Another kiss, on the corner of your mouth. And a tug on your earlobe. “Let me make you feel good.”

He smiles in that irresistible way when he pulls away, and though you’re suddenly extremely nervous, you find that you can’t possibly refuse. Steve is large and soft and forgiving in front of you. He’s patient and attentive and everything you need. You imagine surrendering to his hands, letting your body relax until it melts through his fingers, pooling in the sheets that he’s washed with your favourite scent.

“Okay,” you concede.

His smile grows wider and he leans further forward, pressing his lips to yours, and then your neck, and then whispering low into your ear: “Show me where the toys are.”

You squeal at his voice and his hands grasping your hips, hoisting you up to carry you into the bedroom. “The bottom of my side of the wardrobe,” you gasp, limbs curling around his body, throwing your head back as he rakes his teeth from your ear to your collarbone.

Steve sets you down on the bed and turns to fling the wardrobe doors open, rooting around amongst the mess of your shoes. “Not the bedside table?” he asks.

“No. Used to be, when I lived alone,” you say. “But um . . . ”

He turns back to you, vibrator in hand. “We gotta change that, honey.”

You feel damp and warm, humidity curling in tendrils around you. “You’re not worried? That sometimes I can’t - ”

He shakes his head. “I wanna make you feel good. I don’t care much how I do it, okay?”

You swallow. “Okay.”

He puts the vibrator down on the sheets beside you and sets towards stripping you of your clothes. His movements are swift where they weren’t so much before. Your bottom half is bare and spread before him before you can even grasp the front of his shirt. Steve hugs you close and shifts to seat you in his lap, the zipper of his trousers jarring against your skin.

Your fingers at his shirt are incessant, poking, clawing, and he protests, saying, “That’s not the point.”

“Maybe I’d like some visual aids, Steve,” you insist.

He yanks it off after that and doesn’t say a word when you lean your hips back, searching for access to his trouser button and zipper; his boxer waistband. He grabs the vibrator in one hand and touches you with the other, rubbing you a few times to orient himself.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, and brings the vibrator towards you.

“Fuck,” you say, rocking on his lap as the toy makes contact.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah.”

He yanks your top down below your breasts and tugs on one of your nipples. “Is this good?”

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

“Okay,” he says, kissing you with his mouth completely open, his tongue overbearing but skilful and warm. “Good girl.”

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. “Shit shit shit.”

“You can be a little louder, honey. We’re alone,” he encourages. “Tell me all about it.”

“I love it when you call me that.” Your voice is high pitched and breathy.

“Good girl?”

“Yes. Keep saying it.”

He does, eyes intent on studying your reaction each time, and you come after a short while, Steve removing the vibrator when it becomes too much, your hips seizing up and your moans more like screams. He makes quick circles with his fingers, more and more gentle as the writhing of your hips slows. You wrap your arms further around his shoulders, grimacing a little at the nail marks indenting his skin there.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yes.” You kiss his temple. “Thank you. I feel – I feel better.” The emails are gone from your mind, certainly disintegrated into the void, where all the rest of your usual cognitive abilities appear to have ventured to as well. You bury your face against his chest, rubbing your nose into the divot at his sternum. Your lips are lazy and slow against him, swollen and tender.

Steve lets you kiss him for a little while, but then he touches you again, switching the vibrator back on. “Can we go again?” he says.

You scoff. “What?”

“Come on,” he teases, running the vibrator over the insides of your thighs, in a circle around your bellybutton. “You don’t want more?”

“Uh,” you say, shifting as your stomach spasms, gripping onto the sides of Steve’s face for a little stability. You don’t really answer until he’s making you moan again, breathing “yes, oh yes,” over and over and over.

And you’re sensitive and squirming after a few rounds, but he’s relentless, just telling you: “Shhh, shhh,” in a low voice that seems to echo through the soles of your feet. “Breathe through it.”

You do as he says, you want to do as he says, whining long and low with each exhale, trying not to shrink away from pleasure. “Good girl,” he says. “You’re being so good for me.”

“Fuck, shit. Fuck.” You lean back further into Steve’s arm which is curved around you, reaching your own hands back towards the bed.

“Are you okay?” He lifts the toy away for a moment.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting your hips further and leaning back onto your elbows. “I’m just gonna . . . lie down. You, um – you carry on.”

He helps you get comfy, supporting your thighs with his own so your hips aren’t over-stretched, slipping a pillow beneath your head. “I’m done,” you whisper, after coming once more. “I’m so done.”

Steve chuckles, crawling up the bed to kiss you on the cheek. “You feel good?”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel good.” You run a hand through his hair. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine, really.” He glances down fleetingly between your bodies and you follow his gaze, your own eyes falling on the damp underwear peeking out from his trousers. He smiles sheepishly. Unbelievable.

“Oh,” you say. “It’s like that?”

He smile turns cheeky now, less bashful, more pride. “Yeah, honey. It’s like that.”

Tags: @mayasreadingnook @writing-for-marvel @hallecarey1

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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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Em 😘 I’m so proud of you too 💗💗💗

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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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he moaning omfg

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demonpoxballad · 1 year

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Omg Em yours is so pretty! Thanks for the tag 💗

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