#Steve Rogers Reader Insert

[dameronology]

we can't be friends (steve rogers)

summary: based on we can't be friends by ariana grande

warnings: angst, swearing

sorry for being absent for six months. even more sorry that this is what i came back with. enjoy!

Being loved by Steve Rogers was like sunlight on a stormy day. Peaking through the clouds, encouraging you to come out of whatever shelter you'd chosen; letting you smell the fresh rain on the pavement as the light finally came through, taking back the water until next time. It was warm on your skin, right through to your bones and your heart and to your very soul. You could have basked in it forever.

The mornings were your favourite, waking up to golden alabaster skin, carved into his muscles. They were slightly scarred, with jagged pink marks of stab wounds and bullet skims and far too many near misses for you to be comfortable. Of course, he healed faster than most but when you were as trigger happy as Steve Rogers was, barely a mission went by when he didn't come home with some minor wound or another. Still, him being there was the most important part. He'd let out a sleepy little yawn and subconsciously roll over to hold you, taking him in his arms and pulling you to his chest. That was where you felt safest.

No matter how busy he was or how demanding work became, Steve always showed up. Flowers waiting for you on the counter after a bad day; ordering take out when you were ill and always making sure your favourite show was recorded on the DVR. You never even had to ask. He'd buy you new roses before your old ones had even began to wilt; had your busiest work days recorded in your phone calendar so that he could step up, even when his own job was pulling him across the country. That was the thing about Steve Rogers: he always showed up.

Until he didn't.

Being loved by Steve Rogers was like sunlight on a rainy day, but waiting for him to love you back was a never-ending storm. Rain pelting down, hammering onto your clothes and seeping through to your skin and your bones and eventually drowning your heart. There was no dry escape. No shelter to hide from the rain. You always felt it - the wet, the cold, the shivering - no matter how hard you tried to escape. There was no getaway from the realisation that he no longer loved you back, or from the 19 miscalled waiting on his phone, or from the dead roses wilted on your kitchen windowsill.

Long conversations about your future had turned into silent, screaming pauses. The arguments felt pointless. You could only beat a dead horse so many times before you realised it wasn't coming back to life.

You sat on opposite ends of the sofa now. Slept on different sides of the bed. Watched your favourite show in silence whilst he tapped away at his laptop, barely even bothered by your presence. He'd sat too a high standard for himself. It was one he couldn't keep, but even the bare minimum was a golden standard compared to what he was giving you these days.

"I'm done."

You'd surprised yourself more than anyone with the words. Steve had come home from work late again. The fourth time that week, twelfth time that month and countless times overall. You'd made dinner. It was cold now, like the stony expression on his face and the watery one on yours.

"What?"

Steve glanced up from his phone, brow furrowed.

"I'm done," you said.

"With what?"

You sighed deeply, regathering yourself for a moment. Pushed down the lump in your throat, shoulders raised to try and show whatever tatters of your pride you had left.

"I'm leaving you," you said. "I can't...I don't want to sit around and wait for you to love me again."

Steve put his phone down, pausing for a moment. It looked like he was going to say something...maybe anything. Even though your mind was made up, part of you wanted him to beg. To get on his knees, take your hands and plead for your heart back. God knows that this time a year ago, he would have pleaded with you in person and with writing in the sky.

Instead, he just sniffed.

He sniffed, and you left. Keys to your shared apartment thrown into the dish on the side, never to be taken again. At least the Lego heart keys chain you had together would be together again - you know, when he was actually home.

Whatever time you had previously put into your relationship, you now put into yourself. Found a nice little loft on the other side of the river - it felt like the wrong side, but everything felt wrong without him - and decorated it with everything but photos of you together. There was a nice rug, and a beautiful sofa, and your marble counters were a nice welcome home.

Still, the bed felt cold. Not as cold as it had when he'd lovelessly laid beside you, but still. Cold. It felt strange only having one tooth brush in the holder, and only one bottle of shower gel on the edge of your bath. The toilet seat was always down now (Steve had had only one flaw, and that was it) and you always tripped over the shoes that you left by the door because he no longer tidied them away.

It felt like half your heart was missing, but eventually it grew back.

You forgot about Steve, and the Avengers, and that entire world until Natasha Romanoff texted you. It had been six months since your break-up by that point, and even though you missed them all dearly, it had been natural for Steve to get them in the break-up. You had your friends. He had his. But, it was nice that Natasha still thought of you.

Hey, hope you're doing well. I'm having my birthday party next week at my apartment. 7pm, same building as always. It would be nice if you came. Steve may or may not be but he's been annoying lately so I'd rather have you. Let me know <3

At first, it had been an immediate no. Then you thought about it some more, and it was a definitive no. Then, you found yourself calling Nat and talking for three hours straight.

Apparently Morgan was in her One Direction era, and had thrown an hour long tantrum when she found out they weren't together anymore. Pepper and Tony had tried to pay for a reunion, but they weren't interested. Bruce was doing an assignment in France and Clint and his family had moved a little closer to the city. Sam and Bucky were still working for the government and naturally, that had brought Natasha onto the subject of Steve.

Doing better. That's what she said. Apparently he wasn't working as late anymore and he'd cut down his hours. He was going to therapy, drinking less and working out more. She'd lingered on the last sentence, but ended it with he's more like your Steve again.

That made you want to go to the party even less, and yet the following weekend you found yourself stood outside Natasha's high-rise apartment building at 7:35PM. You'd put more effort into your appearance than usual; a more expensive fragrance, spent a little longer on your hair and worn the outfit Steve had always thought you looked best in. Maybe it was a calculated move, but you'd never been all that good at maths.

Your entrance was met with four or five hugs. Natasha looked amazing as ever, and Bucky was brighter now. Tony was elated to see you and you didn't ask about Pepper's little baby bump, but you could see it was there. Your mind was kept too occupied by all them to even think about Steve.

That - naturally - all came crashing down when you saw him across the room. He was leant against a pillar, hair longer now but fluffed up and a 5 o'clock shadow gathered on his chin. Not like the man with long hair and a beard that you'd left, but not quite the squeaky clean looking Steve you'd fallen in love with either. Still though, it was closer. He was showing through the cracks.

The question of whether or not you would approach him answered itself, because you blinked and suddenly he was stood in front of you.

"I owe you an apology."

Straight to the fucking chase.

You faltered slightly, but didn't let it show. "Yeah, I think you do."

Steve glanced around you at all your friends - naturally, they were all staring at you. They might have been superheroes but that didn't stop them being nosey fuckers.

"Let's go to the roof," he said. "I mean...if you want. You don't owe me anything."

You nodded your head. "Let's go to the roof."

The climb up the stairs to Natasha's terrace was awkward, but not as bad as the silence that quickly filled the cold air as soon as you got up there. Steve might have been one of the bravest men you'd ever met, but vulnerability scared the shit out of him. You suspected that was the case now.

"So?" you asked. "What could you possibly have to say?"

"I'll only say that I'm sorry once," Steve began. "So: I'm sorry. For pushing you out, for not trying, for letting work consume me. Even more for the fact I didn't even try to stop you leaving, because as soon as you shut the door, all I wanted to do was run after you, but I'm not stupid. I knew your mind was made up."

"Where are you going with this?"

"You leaving was like a bucket of cold water," he continued. "It made me realise a lot of things - about how much I'd left myself go, mostly. I've stopped drinking and started going to therapy, and I have my work hours capped."

You smiled. "Well done, Steve. That's really great."

"I'm better now. Not fully, but...I'm getting there," Steve replied. "I asked Natasha to invite you tonight. She wanted to anyways but it was sort of my idea."

"Why?"

"So I could apologise, but mostly because I want you back in my life," he explained. "As friends, as something more. Hell, I'll take you as my enemy if it means I get to see you again."

You sighed, eyes falling to the ground. What could you even say to that? Enemies sounded pretty good - and definitely well deserved - but you didn't hate Steve. You'd moved on, but that didn't mean you'd lost all capability to love him.

"How do I know you won't do it again?" you asked.

"You don't," he replied. "I don't know that either, but what if it doesn't happen again? What if...what if things were really good?"

You glanced away, eyes staring at the distant Manhattan skyline for a moment. It glittered and glimmered, mostly rebuilt after the 2012 incident. You could see Stark Tower as well. Steve had told you he loved you for the first time on that roof top. Now, here he was, begging for you back on another.

"Friends," you muttered. "We can be friends. I don't know after that. I've waited six fucking months for you to decide that you love me again-"

" - I never stopped -"

" - not the point, Steve!" you cut him off. "We'll start with friends, then go from there."

"I'll wait ten years if I have to," he said. His smile suggested he was joking, but you knew he wasn't.

With that, Steve pulled you into a hug. In your soul, you knew you couldn't be friends. Enemies was worst but strangers was horrible too. The answer was inevitable, but you just had to make him wait a little while.

maybe a part 2?

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers #avengers x reader #avengers imagines #avengers fluff #avengers #marvel

[downbadf0rficppl]

sweater weather

Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: While caught out in a snowstorm while on a mission, you resort to desperate measures to keep warm.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Canon violence, slightly injured reader, smut, manhandling, soft sex, facefucking

Repost

The mission was long. And hard. And all you wanted now was a nice, long nap.

Steve had brought up this particular mission while you two were hiding in Manila. You always preferred the warmer destinations, even when you worked for SHIELD.

It was a simple mission - too simple in hindsight - the grab-the-file-and-get-out type.

"It's Austria," you sighed, again with the cold. "I know, sweets, but it's an ex-Hydra base. We gotta check it out, make sure they don't have anything they shouldn't."

You nodded, "When do we leave?"

"Wheels up in an hour."

When you landed in Austria, your mood soured quickly. There was a foot of snow surrounding the town, and you trudged through the snow to get to the safehouse - a mile away from the nearest town. You were staking out the safe house when the entire town lost power. No lights, no heating, no appliances. It was going to be a rough couple of days.

You bundled yourself in a coat and blankets while you and Steve went over what you knew. The old Hydra base had been abandoned for a while, but it was one of the few that hadn't been on SHIELD's radar due to the lack of activity in the area. It seemed that they had missed something. It seemed very active now.

You spent the first few days making sure no one suspected you were doing anything suspicious. You stocked up on firewood - making sure you would have enough, even if you ended up snowed in for a couple of days. You tried to get out to some shops, but with the three inches of snow in the local town, no shops were open. You hoped that there was some long-life food still left in the safe house.

When you set out, you silently prayed that the power would come back on by the time you had finished dealing with the agents in the bunker. You also thanked Tony for putting a heater in your suit as part of one of his routine upgrades. You weren't freezing your ass off as you broke into the base.

The bunker itself was powered by some self-generating form of energy - no doubt developed as a result of Loki's scepter in the hands of Baron Von Strucker. The bunker was still working at peak capacity when you and Steve waltzed in the building, guns a-blazing, looking for any signs they were planning something big.

The bunker clearly had been expecting you, launching a full assault on you as soon as you guys walked in. Agents flew left, right, and centre, throwing kicks and punches. The odd bullet was fired at your heads. They were good. But you were much better. You dodged each blow, retaliating with one much harder. They may have had power but it was amateur. You were a battle-hardened professional.

One guy was lucky. He took a baton to your ribcage while you were preoccupied with two other guys. Clearly, he hadn't learned to play fair. You threw the other two guys off you, kicking your assailant into the wall. A nasty crack was the end of him.

You left the bunker exhausted, gripping a nasty bruise that was forming over your ribs. Steve wrapped an arm around you, carrying your weight as you hobbled from the bunker. He abandoned the idea quickly, your height difference making the maneuver awkward. Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, scooping you up bridal style.

You nuzzled into his chest, seeking out his warmth as the snow beat down upon you both. Steve was like a human furnace, his heat radiating through you, keeping you warm even in the hostile temperatures you found yourself in. He smiled down at you, gripping you tighter into his body as you retreated into the trees.

It was about 12 miles from the bunker to the safe house and Steve knew he had to get you both there before the blizzard really hit. There he could check your ribs for the extent of the damage. He prayed that the damage wasn't bad, guilt overtaking his mind. A few seconds of preoccupation on his part led to you being injured. Steve felt terrible.

He was also on high alert. There was no exfil team. They weren't Avengers anymore. They were on their own out here - even Nat wouldn't be able to get here in time if they were attacked.

The trudge through the snow was terrible. Frost covered your hair and his beard, and the chills were racking through your body with more frequency. The snow was seeping through your tactical gear, and given that night was fast falling around them, Steve picked up the pace.

More than once, you offered to walk alongside him, saying that you'd both be faster if you could run, but then an odd step would jolt your body and the pained gasp that would leave your lips was an answer enough.

By the time you reached the house, you had fallen asleep in Steve's arms. He kicked the door open with his toe - the key being a biometric scan of his eye.

You woke up as he sat you down gently on the edge of the sofa.

"Welcome back to the land of the living sleeping beauty." He chuckled as you threw your boot at his head. He caught it easily.

You almost swooned. Sometimes, you thought Steve showed off just to get a reaction out of you. You didn't mind - it was hot.

Steve shut the door with a click, kicking off his shoes by the door. You shivered. Somehow it was colder inside the house than outside. Steve grabbed your bag, throwing a pair of soft clean clothes in your direction, before grabbing some firewood and getting a fire started.

You limped into the bathroom, the coldness making your bones ache. You made quick work of your suit - throwing it into the bathtub, before toweling yourself dry. The wetness of the suit had chaffed at your skin, and the threadbare towel was doing nothing to help the soreness of your skin, but a little itchiness was nothing compared to the hell that would be a cold. Especially since you had no idea when you were getting out of here.

"The power's still out!" Steve called from outside the bathroom. You could tell he was leaning on the door frame, ever the gentleman, even in sub-freezing temperatures.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You mumble under your breath as you open the door.

Steve smirked, "I caught that." You gave him a sarcastic smile back. He passed you to go dry off, "No hot water, so I dumped my suit in the tub to dry." You said, leaning on the door frame to take in the picture in front of you.

Steve's usually prim and proper appearance was dishevelled, hair run through multiple times. His suit was half-unzipped, toned chest visible under the confines of the tight fabric. A spattering of hair grew on his chest - the result of multiple back-to-back missions. And, of course, being an internationally-wanted fugitive.

He gave you a nod of confirmation, before shutting the door. You turned around to be hit by a wave of warmth. In the time it took you to pull the skin-tight tac suit off your body - which, let's be honest, took quite a while seeing as it was soaked - Steve had managed to get a fire going.

You huddled close to the fire, pulling your legs into your chest and tucking your face into your knees. You stayed there while Steve stirred in the bathroom - the occasional grunt as he bumped into the things making you giggle.

You shuffled closer to the fire, trying to steal every ounce of warmth to warm your frigid body.

"Careful, doll, you might burn yourself." You looked up at him and smiled, reaching for him as he walked towards you. He sat behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You relaxed into his arms. This was nice. You needed to do this more.

He ran his fingers over your ribs, goosebumps following in his path. You winced slightly as he applied pressure. "Not broken." He whispered, hot breath ghosting over your ear. You shivered lightly.

Steve pulled you into a chair, before retrieving the first aid kit. He sat you down, before sinking to his knees in front of you. You clenched your thighs slightly, the action pushing your mind to filth. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. He rolled up your sleeves and your trousers, revealing a plethora of small cuts and bruises that littered your body. Steve made quick work of treating your superficial wounds, smiling sympathetically when you winced at the sting of antiseptic against the cuts.

He snuck a hand under your shirt, locking eyes with you in a silent request for permission. You pulled up your shirt, revealing the large bruise over your ribs. There was a red mark in the centre of the bruise where the pole had hit you. Steve gently wiped it with an alcohol wipe, before applying Arnica cream to the bruise. You watched him tenderly patch you up.

"I'm sorry." His words surprise you.

"What?"

"I should have been there. To protect you."

You scoffed, "In case it slipped your memory, you were preoccupied. It's not your fault."

He nodded silently, rolling your shirt back down. He started to pack up the kit, but you grabbed his arm, dragging him back to sit where you had been sat moments before.

"You're hurt too, Captain," you said, sinking to your knees in front of him in the same way he had. The effect you had on him was far more visible. His face blushed a bright red, and you smiled coyly.

You bandaged up the graze on his leg, hands lingering longer than they needed to. You pushed yourself off the floor and occupied yourself with the knots in his shoulders. The adrenaline made both your bodies tense, but while you had had the time to relax in Steve's arms, he hadn't had that same luxury.

You ran your fingertips over his shoulders, kneading the particularly tight parts. Steve let out a low groan in appreciation, resting his forehead on your stomach. The sound sent electricity through your body, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Steve's hands came around to rest on your thighs, pulling you closer into his body like he couldn't bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

You leaned to whisper into his hair, "It's not your fault, Steve." His hold on you only became tighter.

You stood like that for a while, your arms running up and down Steve's back while he convinced himself that you were fine.

He walked out back to grab more firewood, promising he'd be back in a few seconds. You smiled to yourself, fingers ghosting over your lips. The thought of kissing Steve was overwhelming, but you didn't want to push him when you weren't sure of exactly how he felt.

You had a pretty good idea though.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, you had been close. But with the multiple near-end-of-the-world experiences, it never seemed like the right time to explore those feelings. Steve had always been affectionate, keeping close to you, both in public and private. He had bought you flowers regularly when you lived in New York, always remembered your birthday, protected you when Hydra agents and internet trolls attacked you. In return, you had stood by him in every fight that you could - you always had his back. He could count on that. When the dispute over the Sokovia accords had happened, you agreed with Steve - even if that meant you lost some close friends. In the years that followed, you had fought countless enemies side-by-side. Bucky sometimes joined you, Sam too. But for the most part, you two had become almost intimately acquainted.

You crept towards the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for any long-life food that might have been kept there. You pulled a can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. You pulled another can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. And another. And another. And another. All beans.

Buried at the back of the cupboard was a single tin of Chicken Noodle Soup that was so out of date, the mold in it had probably bred a new organism. Baked beans it was then.

You heated the beans up in a pan, placing them over the roaring fire to warm them up. You huddled up to the fire again, chills wracking through your body, keeping the pan over the fire all the while. After a while, with the tomato sauce bubbling slightly, you pulled the pan away from the heat and stood up to serve it into the two cracked bowls that were left in the safe house. Tony had done a good job at emptying the safe houses after the end of the Avengers.

Your hands shook as you evenly distributed the beans. You could hardly bear to be this far away from the fire. You needed more layers, but your coat and your tac suit were soaked through, meaning you had nothing else to wear.

Your hands shook violently again as another shiver ripped through you. You tucked your hands under your armpits and raised your shoulders to cover your ears.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted something fuzzy draped on the edge of the sofa. Steve's jumper. He's been wearing it when he arrived in Austria but claimed that it was far too thick for him - immediately discarding it when you had entered the safe house. You didn't know how it had slipped your mind earlier.

You slipped it on - Steve hadn't lied. It was incredibly thick and cozy. And also quite large, dwarfing your figure, making you feel safe and warmed. You pushed up the sleeves and carried the bowls to the floor in front of the fire.

You noticed an extra pair of Steve's socks tucked into the front of his backpack. You quickly stole them, slipping them onto your feet. You were grateful that Steve was an over-packer.

You crouched back in front of the fire, pulling the jumper over your knees, balancing your bowl on your kneecaps.

You heard Steve before you saw him. He was carrying a pile of firewood in his arms and grumbling about how 'the stupid snow got in his boots and now his socks are wet'. You giggled.

"Glad you find my torment funny, sweets." He said, his eyes still trained on the wood in his eyes, "How would you feel if I got trench foot, and was benched for-" He stopped abruptly.

You looked up at him. His gaze was trained on your body, eyes darkening by the second.

"You shouldn't have done that, sweets."

Your face breaks into uncertainty. Maybe you had completely misread the situation. Maybe Steve only wanted to be friends.

The way he grabbed your face, though, told you differently.

He stooped low to cradle your face in his hands. He placed small kisses all over your face, pecking you like a bird would its food.

"You're mine." He whispered between each one. The declaration made heat pool in your stomach and you couldn't help but laugh. You grabbed his face with your hands, and pressed your lips to his, gently at first. Steve ran his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in.

You moaned as his tongue explored each and every part of your mouth. You could feel him getting harder every second that passed and that only spurred you on.

"Steve," his name fell from your lips like a prayer, "please."

He picked you up and you let out a soft gasp.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

You nodded, words cast from your mind. He chuckled, lust colouring his tone as he shuffled you in his arms.

"Makes me feel safe." You whispered, nestling your head into his shoulder. "Like it when you carry me."

He smiled and laid you on the sofa gently. He pressed deep and sensual kisses on your lips, large and warm hands caressing your body.

You arched your back as he ran a knuckle over your nipple. You were hopelessly horny, begging for friction.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"You. Only you." You whimpered.

"Where do you want me?"

"Everywhere. Please, Steve." You were begging. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Want me to love you, pretty baby?" Steve said, dragging his fingers up your sides.

"Steve, please!" You were close to tears.

He pulled your panties down, fingers slipping in between your wet folds.

"Fuck, darling, you're making a mess." You shuddered, moans spilling out from your lips. He pulls his trousers down, dick curling into his stomach.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You nodded in response.

"Good." He slid into you gently, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, head tossed back in pleasure.

He was bigger than you had thought - you grabbed his bicep as he brushed your g-spot.

“S’big Stevie." You whimpered, "M’all full.”

"Yeah baby? You like that?" His hands came to rest on the bulge in your stomach.

The pleasure exploded like a million fireworks in your stomach. He started moving, setting a brutal pace, pushing in and out of you. His cock brushed your g-spot with every thrust, and soon enough you were seeing stars.

"Love it, Stevie! Please don't stop!" He drilled into you, muttering sweet praises.

The coil in your stomach tightened with each thrust. “M’not gonna last.” you whimpered softly.

“S’okay baby." He praised, "Come for me, pretty girl."

You came with a silent cry, shuddering as a wave of arousal washed over you. Steve rode out your orgasm with you, before pulling out. He stood up to head to the bathroom, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the sofa. You sank to your knees in front of him, again, and licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

You placed a kiss on the tip of his cock before taking it in your mouth and sucking on it. You wrapped your right hand around the base of his cock and used the other to massage his balls. Steve drew a sharp breath in above you. You wrapped his hand around your hair, giving him permission to fuck your face. He grabbed your hair tightly and fucked up into your face, choking you with the brutal pace that he set.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," Steve said, slightly relaxing his pace as he moved to pull out. You pushed your face further onto his cock.

Ropes of his cum coated the back of your throat as he came with moans of your name. Your eyes welled up as your throat filled with his seed. You swallowed it, much to Steve's surprise. He pulls you into his lap, before carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

You settle on the sofa in his lap, kissing lightly over and over again.

You turn your head to the fire. "Shit."

"What?" Steve looked at you in concern.

"The food. S'gone cold."

He burst into laughter, resting his forehead on your shoulder. He placed a small kiss on your shoulder. You could get used to this.

fin.

buy me a coffee

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #no y/n

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Resolutions

Title: Resolutions

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing

Summary: Steve and Y/N recover from their night out for New Year’s Eve.

A/N: Happy New Year! Here’s some short fluff to kick off 2024, just in case you already need it. Thank you for supporting me all of 2023. I’m excited to see what this year brings!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The soreness and stiffness of your muscles is the first thing you notice as you blink awake. The second is that Steve is no longer in bed. Slowly, you sit up and groan as you do. You grab the blankets from the inside and pull them with you, doing your best to stay covered by their warmth as you peer around the room and search for him.

You clear your throat, then call, “Steve?”

A moment later, he appears in your doorway, already dressed in his running gear. Steve smiles once he sees you staring blearily at him from under the covers.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

You sigh and snuggle back down in bed now that you know he’s okay. “Good. What time is it? Are you really going to run? We were up all night.” Yawning, you pull the blankets as far up to your chin as you can, and Steve laughs in response.

He closes the distance between himself and the bed, then sits beside your legs. You turn on your side and shift slightly towards the center of the bed to make more room for him. From under the covers, you reach out a hand, and he takes it. Steve’s fingers are warm, which more than makes up for the blankets you almost immediately miss once you stick your hand out. The room is far too cold for your liking.

“I promised Tony that I’d run with him,” he replies. “New Year’s resolutions and all that.”

You hum and close your eyes, enjoying the heat that radiates from Steve’s body and warms up your legs.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You peek open an eye.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

Grinning, you let go of his hand and stretch underneath the blankets, reveling in the way your muscles lengthen, then relax. After the long night of standing, walking, and dancing that you’d had the night before, it feels sublime. You let out a groan as you relax back against the mattress.

“No,” you reply. You flip onto your back, watching Steve as he bends over to adjust the laces on his shoes. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” 

He sits back up. “Maybe an hour or so. I’m not sure how long Tony’s going to want to run.”

“Has he ever been running with you before?” you ask, tsking when Steve shakes his head. “That’ll be fun, I’m sure. He’s probably just gonna end up mad at you.”

Steve laughs and shifts so he’s facing you more than before. “That’s what I told him. You gonna be up by the time I get back?”

You grin and he laughs again, knowing that you’re likely to stay in bed as long as you can. It’s not often that you have the day off work and have no appointments or errands to run.

Leaning down, Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to the side and close your eyes when he does, reveling in the sweet gesture. As he pulls away, you open your eyes again and watch as he gets up to go.

“Run fast! Faster than Tony!” you call after him, and Steve shouts something you can’t quite make out in response. It makes you smile nonetheless, and you snuggle back under the covers once more, ready to doze until he returns.

When you finally do get out of bed an hour and a half later, Steve still isn’t back from his run. You don’t worry, but you do shoot him a text that you’ll know he’ll see on his watch, no matter how fast he’s running. He’s set up a special vibration pattern for the alerts when you text or call so that he always knows when it’s you.

FRIDAY picks out an upbeat, motivation-boosting playlist when you ask, and you get ready as you sing along to some of the high-tempo songs she’s gathered from your music library. You stretch, pop a pain pill to help with your sore muscles, and pull on your comfiest house clothes before you brush your teeth and wash your face. You’re just starting to make breakfast when the front door opens and FRIDAY alerts you to Steve’s arrival.

“Hey!” you call out, leaning back from the stove so you can peer at him past the fridge.

Steve’s kicking off his shoes at the front door. He’s drenched in sweat and is moving stiffly, and you have to suppress a wince. You know that whatever effects he’s feeling from the long run, Tony’s probably feeling them tenfold.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

He looks up and meets your eyes, and this time you let yourself wince so that he can see you’ve noticed the weary look on his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Steve finally answers, panting slightly. He tilts his head back, then lifts his water bottle and shakes the last few drops into his open mouth. “Just long. I didn’t stretch as much as I should’ve, either.”

“Well, you haven’t run since before Christmas. Most people probably feel the same way you do today, too,” you say.

You flip the last protein pancake you’ve made for him, then go back to chopping up the fruit. Steve pads across the living room and into the kitchen. He immediately discards his water bottle into the sink and pulls a glass from the cabinet.

“There’s juice in the fridge,” you tell him, not glancing up from your work. “Or I can make coffee, if you want.”

“I just need water,” he replies. 

Steve fills up his glass three times from the water dispenser built into the Stark Industries mega fridge. You’re thankful that Tony had it built into your apartment. Otherwise, you’d have to go grocery shopping three or four times a week just to make sure that both you and Steve are well-fed. Between his high metabolism, the extra food he needs after his long workouts, and your own meals, you’re certain that the two of you go through several hundred dollars worth of groceries a week.

“Breakfast should be done once you’re out of the shower,” you say.

You look over at Steve then, and he nods as he finishes swallowing the water and sets the empty glass down on the counter. He leaves you to go shower then, and you finish cooking as you listen to the shower start.

Steve sings while he showers. It makes you smile, just like it always does, as you set the table and open the blinds, peering out at the city. The snow from Christmas Day has almost melted, and the cleanup from last night’s festivities is almost over. You’ve lived in the city for years and it still amazes you how quickly Times Square gets cleaned up, then the streets that surround it.

“What are you looking at?”

You turn to find Steve standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel. You hadn’t heard him stop singing, nor had you heard him finish up in the shower. He must’ve been quick today.

“Just amazed at how quickly everything got cleaned up, is all,” you say, moving away from the window. “The street was a mess when we got home.”

Steve chuckles and drapes the towel over the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Well, Tony did host his own party last night, in addition to the one in the Square,” he replies.

You grin, remembering how you’d snuck out of Tony’s over-the-top party to take Steve to see the ball drop. Given that it was your first New Year’s Eve together, you’d wanted it to be special, and he’d confided just before Christmas that he’d never seen the ball drop. He’d never managed to see it in person before he went into the ice, and once he was back, he’d been too overwhelmed to bother watching it on TV. You’d held his hand the whole time, and once you’d gotten to the VIP spot you’d managed to reserve after some serious name-dropping, you’d stood in front of him so he could wrap his arms around you to keep you warm.

Steve had been amazed by all the technology involved in the performances and the actual ball drop itself. He’d asked a billion questions during the show, enough that you’d spent more time explaining who Miley Cyrus was than you did actually watching her set. You didn’t mind, though. You’d answer Steve’s questions for a thousand years if it meant spending time together.

“Which one was your favorite?” you ask as you pull out your chair to sit at the table. Steve does the same.

“As much as I liked the one here, I liked the one in the Square.”

You heap pancakes onto both of your plates. Once you do, Steve starts dishing out toppings.

“Yeah?”

“I got to be closer to you.”

Heat flames in your cheeks and you mutter something about liking the same thing as you dig into your food. You know that Steve is smiling to himself as he starts to eat too—he always grins like a little boy who’s just kissed a girl for the first time whenever he successfully flusters you. It’s endearing.

The two of you eat, talking about the parties and his morning run in between bites, and Steve cleans up while you queue up the most recent episode of your show. Once the last dish is on the drying rack, he takes up his normal spot beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm behind your shoulders and stretches his legs out in front of him as you press play and set aside the remote. You pull a blanket over your laps, the massive fluffy one that Clint had bought you for Christmas.

Halfway through the episode, Steve looks over at you and asks, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You glance in his direction, then scoot closer so you can cuddle against him. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really have one this year. After everything that’s happened, I guess my goal is to have a calm year, but that’s not really something I can control, you know?”

He hums in acknowledgement and shifts his arm so his hand is resting on your shoulder. His thumb rubs a steady back and forth movement as you continue to watch the show, but after a few minutes you tilt your head back to look up at him.

“Do you have one? A resolution?”

“I do,” Steve says. He looks away from the screen to meet your eyes, and he smiles a little. “Maybe it’s a little old-fashioned, though. Tony said it was, at least.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I want to spend more time with you. And when I’m with you,” he adds, “I want to be fully focused on you, not thinking about whatever mission they might send us on next or whatever’s happening halfway across the world.”

Smiling wide, you reach up with one hand to touch your fingertips over Steve’s cheek, turning his face more towards you, and then you pull him down for a kiss. His free hand moves to cradle your face as his lips move against yours. 

“That has to be the sweetest, most romantic New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard,” you murmur.

Steve chuckles. His breath is warm as it fans across your face. “Yeah?”

“Did you practice that this morning with Tony?”

He bursts into laughter and pulls away. You’re grinning and watching him as he tries not to seem flustered by your seemingly innocuous question, and you have to force yourself to hold in your own laughter so you can pretend to be serious about it.

“I’m just saying, he’s more of a ladies man than you,” you continue, “so it only makes logical sense that you’d try to convince him to teach you some moves!”

“Teach me some moves?” Steve repeats, smiling wide. He shifts from his spot on the couch, easily moving until he’s stretched out across it and you’re on your back underneath him. The blanket falls to the floor and one of his legs is braced on top of it, because you haven’t been able to order a couch that’s wide enough for him to lay on comfortably. 

“Yeah, you know. Flirting! Did you forget what that is?”

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you, but it’s sweet and cut short because you’re both smiling too much. You give in to the laughter. He rolls his eyes, though he still smiles even as you throw your head back, your whole body shaking.

Steve presses another chaste kiss to your lips when you calm down enough to breathe properly. “Do you really think I need help flirting with you?” he teases.

You shake your head and pull him down to lay on top of you, then wrap your arms around him. One hand goes to play with the hair on the back of his head while the other rubs up and down his spine, and you feel him practically melt against you a few moments later.

Smiling to yourself, you answer, “You know I don’t, lover boy.”

He falls asleep sometime during the next episode, but you don’t mind. You turn your head to watch the show as you continue to rub Steve’s back, and every once and a while you close your eyes just to soak in the moment. It’s the perfect, most peaceful start to the new year. You want to relish every second of it.

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Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

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[pagesoflauren]

Calamitous Love Collection: Delicate Beginning Rush (1/4

ex veteran!Steve Rogers x reader

Premise: Steve Rogers blows into town in search of some estranged family. As he settles into civilian life, he realizes leaving work is hard and perhaps the world will never stop needing him.

Warnings: depictions of PTSD, mentions of abandonment by a romantic partner, complex familial dynamics, sexual content.

Thank you as always to @eightcevanscentral. And thank you to you all, for not forgetting me. I'm happy to write again.

Main Masterlist

Ari blinks mutely at the stranger-who’s-not-actually-a-stranger sitting in his armchair, where he made himself comfortable without permission. With the information that was just revealed to him, he’s a little more possessive of every molecule in the cabin. 

His mother had opened the door, then stole everyone’s attention with her shocked gasp and the shrill sound of glass hitting the floor. Ari had rushed in and his wife, asleep on the couch, woke up and surveyed the surroundings. 

Soon enough, everyone was baffled by the appearance of a man named Steve Rogers claiming to be Albert Levinson’s half-brother.

As Ari continues to stew over everything he just learned, his wife pipes up, “Give him a moment.” 

“I’m going to need several moments,” he adds quickly, his voice dripping with his confusion. “You’re going to waltz in here and tell me that my dad’s father,” Ari begins, using hand gestures to help him keep track of all the people he’s about to mention, “My grandpa Alexander–whose last name is actually Rogers–left my grandmother Andrea Levinson and ran off with some other woman and had you?”

“That’s correct,” Steve says bluntly.

“And that makes you,” Ari points an incredulous finger at him, “My dad’s half-brother, and my half-uncle.”

“Correct again. Except, ‘half-uncle’ is a little odd to say because I’m about twenty years younger than your father. I’m probably only a few years older than you.”

“No,” Ari denies immediately, getting up from his spot next to his wife. “Nope, this is a dream. This is some crazy, twisted reality that I’ve been trapped in–”

“Ari, dear,” Bunny sighs, “This isn’t a dream, I promise. And…that’s kind of how family trees work.”

“And he’s not wrong,” Marcella adds plainly.

All eyes shift to her.

“You knew?!” Ari shouts, earning a stern look from him mother, which he quickly counters with an apology. “But…mom, why didn’t you tell me?” he whines. 

The women in the room roll their eyes and Bunny turns to Steve as Marcella begins to explain the matter to her son. “I apologize for my husband’s behavior. As you can tell, this news is quite a shock to him.” 

“I can’t say I blame him,” Steve shrugs. 

She mirrors his gesture, then offers him something to drink. 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you to get some water, I’d appreciate it.” 

“Not a bother at all,” she waves him off before getting up, walking past the other two in the room and drawing Steve’s attention to them. 

“...Your father and I just didn’t think it was so important. They lived such separate lives, anyway. And think about it, what does this change, after all? You still have this house, you have your wife, you have me.” 

“I just can’t imagine leaving,” he sighs, eyes drifting to his wife in the kitchen, standing on her toes to grab a glass all the way in the back of the cupboard. 

He’s told her many times to stop that out of worry she’d overextend the delicate tendons of her ankles. Went as far as building a step stool she doesn’t even use; he huffs a laugh to himself as he watches her move to the fridge and take out the water pitcher. The liquid sloshes with the movement and swaying of the various fruits she had put to make it just a little bit more refreshing. 

Strawberries, mint, and watermelon in his water; her hands in his; holes in his shirts with constantly fresh stitches; the prospect of filling frames with pictures of a growing family; she was home to him. How could he ever think about abandoning it? 

The idea that his grandfather did something he can’t begin to understand, that’s what sits in his stomach and tangles up his insides. 

Steve didn’t do that. He was just the product of it. 

His eyes follow his wife as she walks back into the living area, handing him a glass of water.

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking a sip before his eyes meet Ari’s. 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Ari asks.

“I was going to shack up at the inn after this.” 

“No need,” Ari shakes his head. “We have plenty of room here.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve chuckles slightly, “I think I broke your brain when I walked in and told my story. Seems like staying over would rock the boat even more.” 

The air in the cabin suddenly lightens, tension fading away as everyone laughs.

“On the contrary, what better way to get to know your family than by staying with us?” 

Steve shrugs and smiles, “Well, I guess I better get my things then.” 

Ari offers his help and the two men begin to bring Steve’s bags into the cabin. There isn’t much, about three pieces of baggage to bring in.

When they shut the door and appear to get settled, Marcella pipes up, “Oh good, you’re done.”

“Mama, what are you doing?” he asks, watching as she settles the strap of her purse on her shoulder. 

“I’m ready to go to town to get my nails done.” 

“Ma, I told you this morning–”

“Right, you have some silly little project to work on and my lovely daughter-in-law is cooking for the week.”

“I don’t think fixing a leak in the sink is–”

“Yeah, that one,” she waves him off, “Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn’t asking you to bring me. Steve has a car.” 

“Ma, he’s a guest–”

She scoffs, “Oh, please, he’s family, and it would give him a chance to explore the town a bit. Doesn’t that sound great, Steve?”

Mute from being put on the spot, Steve takes a moment to process before agreeing to do it. 

“See? Everyone’s happy!” Marcella chastises Ari.

She makes her way out the front door and the men hear a snort from the kitchen. 

Bunny pauses and looks up from the vegetables she’s chopping, “Welcome to the family, Steve.”

- - - 

After dropping Marcella off at the salon, Steve found a spot under a tree to park in. 

Stepping out of the car, the main avenue of the town looked familiar and foreign at the same time. 

It was a typical American small town busy road: cars parked along the sidewalk, wide streets and walkways, stores directly next door to one another, hustle and bustle. Every American knows it, and it’s likely non-Americans know it too. 

But when was the last time Steve saw one for himself? 

It wasn’t that long ago, but it feels like it was. 

Before the jet rides to quickly get from place to place. Before the case files and research. Before commlinks and codes. Before sleepless nights planning missions and long days carrying them out. Days would turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. 

He’s given so much of his life and focus into it that he doesn’t remember life where he wasn’t doing it. He knows there was something before it because every adult has memories of growing up, being a child, and going to high school. 

In Steve’s brain, those recollections are locked away in a corner of his brain he locked away to be able to do his job. 

The things he was afraid of as a kid, the insecurities that held him back as a teenager, the innocence everyone has before becoming an adult; he lost touch with all of it, lost touch with himself.  

It had gone too far on the last mission. His friend sent him home with the promise the team would be okay without him. 

The voice of a conversing family draws him out of his dazed state, catching a glimpse of two kids skipping while their parents gently caution them. 

Sighing, Steve moves onto the sidewalk and begins to walk down the street. When a door swings open, he sees the brief image of his walk: stiff, arms swinging in tight control and calculated steps as if he’s back at boot camp. 

Slowing his pace, he thinks about how to appear more casual; he is, after all, a civilian now. 

Relax, Rogers, he can hear Natasha say. No, seriously. We’re supposed to be walking through the mall, not running to the drill sergeant’s back and call.

He lets his shoulders deflate, shoves his hands in his pockets, and tries to find a comfortable pattern of steps. 

While he can’t be certain, Steve has that nagging feeling that he looks like an idiot. 

Pursing his lips, he decides to distract himself by looking at the various window displays along the sidewalk. There’s a certain small town comfort that comes from the bright colors and fun arrangements that are meant to attract customers. Different phrases like “fun in the sun” emulate the summer air, while silly props like turtle-shaped inner tubes evoke a type of nostalgia that most people are lucky to have when thinking of their long breaks from school.

Steve knows in the dark annals of his mind, those memories are there. 

Before he can deep dive into retrieving them while staring at a flamingo pool floatie, he’s interrupted by a parent pulling his son out from a nearby store. 

“Why can’t I have him now?!”

“If you can do your chores consistently for a month, we’ll talk about it. Puppies aren’t toys. They’re a responsibility, like your chores. And you keep putting those off.”

The conversation fades as Steve draws closer to the door the pair just exited, peering into the window. 

A handful of dogs of all ages yip and bark, some playing by themselves while others tumble around and bite each other softly. Their kennels line one wall, while the other wall is filled with two housings; one for a molly cat and a litter of kittens and another empty one, the door slightly ajar. 

Intrigued, Steve pushes the door open. 

The dogs all perk up at his entrance, some standing and wagging their tails, ears high with attention, while others bark at him. 

A woman rushes in from the back, a slightly resigned look on her face. 

“C’mon you all,” you sigh, “You know that’s not the right way to greet somebody, especially if you wanna get adopted.” 

Standing in front of some of the kennels, you stick your hands through the bars to nudge some chewing toys towards the more excited canines before turning to the other wall to attend to the kittens. 

“Sorry, Mocha, let me put this down and your kitties can keep feeding.”

As you pull down a makeshift shade to block the front of the kennel, Steve realizes the missing feline from the other cubby is perched on your shoulder, tail swinging in satisfaction as it maintains perfect balance as you walk around.

“Hi, I’m so sorry,” you greet him, “Some of the puppies are still in training. And Major over there is a rescue; he’s been through it, so he’s still warming up.” 

He follows your gesture towards a large German Shepherd standing on his hind legs. 

Reaching up, you remove the cat from your shoulder and laugh when it hooks its claws into your shirt.

“Shadow, we have a guest,” you giggle, and Steve feels a lump in his throat. Negotiating the claws out of the fabric, you rest Shadow onto your arm. “This cat’s been here for a while. He’s followed me since he was a kitten, and he’s got this beautiful black coat, so I figured ‘Shadow’ was a great name. Isn’t he lovely?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oops, leave it to me to introduce the cat before myself,” you joke, tapping your forehead to point out your forgetfulness. You offer your hand as you give him your name. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have,” he waves you off, “I just got here today.” 

“Well, welcome to Barber. What brings you to town?”

“Some long lost family.”

“Which one?” you ask, interest piqued. Then, your eyes widen bashfully, “Sorry, that was so invasive.”

“No, it’s alright,” Steve smiles, “I, um…do you know the Levinsons?”

“Oh Ari and Marcella! And Ari’s wife, of course. Yes, I love them. Marcella came in once and nearly snuck one of the kittens out in her jacket. Not that she was stealing from me, but she wanted to try to get it past her son. He wasn’t having it; though I think he would benefit from a kitten. He’s so gruff–oh my God, I talked way too much.”

The blond laughs and you think you might swoon. Setting Shadow down to wander around the shelter, you try to keep things professional. “So, what brings you in? Just here for some puppy therapy, looking around?”

“Well, if Ari doesn’t want a kitten in the cabin, I imagine he wouldn’t want a puppy,” Steve begins, looking at the dogs. “But I hear they’re good for…um…”

He pauses and you keep your posture, looking at him attentively as he tries to find his words.

“I’ve heard that adopting an animal could be good for a returning veteran.”

“Oh,” you comment, “Yes! I mean, that’s easy for me to say because I run the shelter; but really it’s easy to recommend a pet to anyone who is considering it. A father and son were just in here and the only thing that stopped me was the fact that the father was saying his son doesn’t tend to his chores. But I think with the right guidance, his son could be a good dog companion.

“In your case, though, I would say it could help you feel more adjusted. You’ll have something to do and a friend who will love you unconditionally. But, seeing that you just got to Barber…”

“It’s probably best to wait before I make a decision,” Steve finishes for you.

“Exactly,” you smile, “We’re on the same page.”

A few beats of silence pass over the two of you before you break it. “Would you like to still look around? You’re welcome to. I’m sure the dogs would be happy to interact with someone other than me.” 

Taking you up on your offer, Steve accepts the bowl of treats you hand him and listens attentively as you specify that each puppy only gets one treat. “And don’t fall for the puppy eyes. You laugh now and think I’m joking but these guys are good at what they do.” 

Approaching the first kennel, the chubby puppy with round ears perks up and yips, excited for an interaction. A rush of happiness fills Steve’s chest, helping him relax as he wedges two fingers between the bar to give the little guy a couple head scratches. Then, he reaches down into the bowl, holding the treat for the puppy to bite.

The puppy chews and Steve catches a glance at his description: suspected to be a mix of a Bernese Mountain Dog and a Boxer, the puppy is a boy with a lot of energy. He’s only a few months old and was found wandering in the grocery store and begging for scraps at the deli. 

“Well, your name makes sense, Salami,” Steve mutters, making eye contact and, sure enough, as you predicted, he’s begging for more treats. “Damn, she wasn’t kidding. I bet those guys at the deli gave you every scrap they could find before bringing you here.”

“Oh they did,” you respond from behind the counter. Looking up from your paperwork, your gaze switches between Steve and Salami. “You should’ve seen him. You think he has a soft tummy now, he was a complete pot belly when he was done over there.” 

The two of you share a laugh as Steve tries to conjure the image in his head. 

Every puppy has an anecdote to go with it, he finds out as he continues through the shelter. Some are happier than others, and it shows in your face as you tell the stories. Some even make your voice clog with emotion and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Sorry,” you sigh, “That’s what, the fifth time? Gosh, I have got to get it together.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, then quickly changes the conversation to focus on the last puppy. “What about Willow? Anything about her?”

“She’s the sweetest little thing. She’s got to be some golden retriever mix, I just can’t put my finger on the other breed. But, anyway, she found by Ari, your…?”

“Nephew.”

“Your nephew–” You start to go with it, until it registers that Ari and Steve appear to be the same age. Your voice catches as the gears turn in your head.

“Long story, I’ll tell you after this one.”

“Got it,” you agree. “Anyway, Ari brought her in. She was hiding under a pile of lumber that he was about to deliver. Apparently she led him on a wild chase around the lumber yard. When he brought her in, he was all sweaty and grumpy.”

“I think he’s always grumpy.”

“Seems like it. I don’t know how his wife and mother deal with it. But, yeah, that’s Willow’s story. I figured since she was found in the lumber yard, I should name her after a type of tree. I also thought about just naming her ‘Timber’ or something but I liked Willow.”

“I like it, too,” Steve says, looking back at the puppy. When his eyes meet hers, he realizes she never stopped looking at him while he was speaking to you. 

She gives him a dopey smile, tongue hanging out as she pants in excitement at the sight of him. 

“Looks like you two are having a moment,” you remark.

It all falls away at the sound of his phone ringing, causing a cacophony of barks and howls to arise.

You try to calm the dogs down as Steve clumsily finds a surface to put the snack bowl down while answering the phone.

“Hi Steve!” Marcella trills on the other line. “I’m all ready to go!”

“Oh, okay, Marcella, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay see you soon!”

The call ends there and you’re still trying to get the dogs to settle. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think my ringer was on.”

“That’s okay, it happens,” you brush him off. “I’m glad to have met you! Hope to see you around. Or hope you come back for Willow.”

“Yeah, it was great to meet you too.” He lingers for a moment, wanting to say more but no words seem to be right. “Actually, before I go, could I take a picture of Willow?”

“Sure, do you want to hold her?”

His face shows his nerves before he can express them, so you quickly retract your statement and turn to bring her out of her kennel.

Propping her up in your arms, you do your best to get her to look towards Steve’s phone.

“Oh, you can smile, too. You’re in it.”

“Oh, okay!”

Your smile is bright, radiating a warmth that Steve doesn’t think he’s ever felt before. 

When the picture is taken and it’s truly time for him to go, the memory of that grin makes it difficult to leave. 

As Steve walks down the avenue, he types a message to Bucky.

Life in Barber is off to an interesting start. Met the sister-in-law, the nephew, and the niece-in-law. But I think my favorite is Willow (picture coming)

After sending the picture of you and the puppy, he sees Bucky immediately start typing, his response brief but effective.

Who’s the girl? 👀

She runs the shelter.

Anyone of interest?

Steve takes a moment to come up with a reply, triggering Bucky’s impatience.

Or maybe not yet.

But she seems like your type, so I think it would be a person of interest. 

Rolling his eyes, Steve types a message simple enough to end the conversation there:

Maybe. 

------------------

Tags: @crazyunsexycool @blackwidownat2814 @brandycranby

#ficsofpagesoflauren #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert

[justkending]

On my nerves. (Steve Rogers One-shot)

Summary: Y/N and Steve have a complex relationship. On a busted mission, some conversation pieces come up that need to be solved.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Avenger)

Word Count: 3100+

A/N: I did a small poll on who I should write for next, and I got an even amount of votes, so I decided on Steve! I haven't written for him for a long time and thought it was deserved this long in. So enjoy these fluffy enemies to semi-lovers one-shot :)

______________

Steve watched, as if in slow-mo, as a knife passed his face and embedded itself into the chest cavity of a man close to getting the jump on him.

"So much for having this mission in the bag, huh?" Y/N's sly comment followed as she jumped from a banister down to the level Steve was on in the attic of an old church.

"The rule was no killing," Steve grunted in frustration as the man he had grasped by the neck fainted, and he tossed him to the side.

"Yeah, well, someone was going to die, and it was either him or the person who's supposed to be running this mission. You should be grateful I didn't choose the second option," she smirked, straightening her tactical vest as she scanned their surroundings. "What's the update?"

Steve could have reprimanded her more, as he was used to doing, but they were on a time crunch, and the men they were sent to take in under SHIELD's order hadn't gotten the memo of no killing.

"Masgood isn't here," he sighed, swiftly anchoring his shield to his back. "He must have gotten word we were coming and staged the place to look like he'd be here."

"Yeah, it seems to be his MO," Y/N sighed, bending as she dug through the pockets of the unconscious assailant.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the body for clues, duh," she replied with a tone of disinterest. She paused, looking up at Steve. "I know this isn't your first rodeo, so why are you acting like it?" One of her forearms rested on her knee as she squatted over the body and dug through his pockets unbothered.

Steve rolled his eyes and shifted on his feet as look at the space. "Something feels off about all this."

"When does it not? We chase bad guys with evil and sadistic intentions as our career. I'd be worried if it felt right," she grunted softly as she stood up and moved to another body.

Steve moved to a window off to the side and looked at the street and environment below for any more clues.

Their target was a man in charge of a large human trafficking ring. Ivan Masgood. An infamous drug lord who started poking around in a new field of illegal activities. Like most felons, he had personal goons and connections that kept him close to untouchable, but SHIELD had plans to shut that down now that he was tapping into the stealing of innocent adolescents from the streets.

"I say we tie these idiots up for the agents that'll come clean up this mess and make our way to the restaurant down a few blocks. Looks like a good Mediterranean place," she sighed, walking over and leaning against a pillar behind the window where Steve was monitoring pedestrians.

Steve turned to her with an annoyed face, one that was a staple for their duo and eyed her.

"We're on a job. A job that involves a man who is taking advantage of innocent children."

"Yes, and we can't solve it on an empty stomach," she shrugged, pushing on the wood. "And this place is empty. We've handled the few goons here, and now we move on."

"Is it really that simple to you?" Steve huffed, crossing his arms as he turned to her.

"If by simple you mean the practiced next step, then yes. It is," she nodded with no hesitance, even with his stern glare fixed on her.

"You're impossible to-"

"Shhh," she hushed, raising her hand and slightly turning her head.

Steve knew better to question her when she did that. Her hearing was better than his most of the time. Her enhancements weren't far from his own, but sometimes they proved to be even more sensitive than his.

He mouthed a "What?" and she shook her head as a hint to hold on. A few moments passed before she shook her head and returned to reality.

"False alarm," she turned, looking at the only door in and out of the attic. "Help me tie these assholes up, and then we're getting dinner."

"Y/N," Steve started, but she ignored him and searched for rope or anything of length to keep them secure.

Three men tied up with both electric chords and Christmas lights were still unconscious as Steve called in the clean-up crew that was there minutes after Y/N and Steve were in the front of the church, giving a quick rundown of their mission.

"It was a 50/50 shot, Cap. Can't get too hung up on it," Rodney, one of the agents who had been working on the case with them, assured.

"Doesn't make it any less frustrating," Steve sighed before grunting at the pressure hitting his chest. He looked down to see Y/N holding a pile of clothes on his sternum.

"Change. We have a date," She grinned, already in street clothes herself.

He gave her a once over and noticed the small grin on Rodney's lips before he quickly walked away.

"Y/L/N!" Steve yelled after her as she turned and was already moving on to her next task. He groaned and slumped as he looked at the jeans and baseball Henley picked out for him. A hat and sunglasses paired on top.

__________

"Why are we here?" Steve grumbled under his breath as they sat in a booth at the Mediterranian restaurant that looked family-owned but had the ambiance of a well-off family—the two fit in a way that raised a few questions.

He wasn't sure how she had managed to drag him there, but either way, he was there, and something about Y/N orchestrating this entire meal left him confused.

"I haven't had a full meal since last night," she answered, staring at the menu before grabbing the waitress's attention as she balanced two plates in hand. "Can we get the drink menu, please?"

"I'll grab it on my way back," she smiled kindly, her voice accented with a Grecian tongue.

"Thank you," Y/N smiled back kindly and went back to the menu. "I heard their Sangria is amazing. And it's homemade."

"Y/N," Steve ground through his teeth. He was fed up with this side quest that served no purpose. "What are we doing here?" he articulated each word.

"Jeez, Cap. Get the popsicle stick out of your ass and relax some. We're just having dinner and waiting for the show," she responded, putting the plastic-covered menu down and throwing her arm over her side of the booth.

"What show-"

"Drinks?" a teenage boy who looked to be one of the owners' kids begrudgingly asked for their orders.

"I'll take water for now, and this one will have a double scotch neat to help ease his never-leaving glower," she smiled up at the kid, who just blinked at her, and Steve burned holes in her head from the side. "Water. We'll both do water."

"Right…" the kid grumbled, not bothering to write the order as he stalked off.

"You said this had to do with the case. That's the only reason I'm here," Steve intertwined his hands on the table and took a breath as he watched her. In truth, she had vaguely mentioned something about the case, and he ran with that one bullet point, which put him in this position.

"Tell me. How does one sign up to gain your trust? Do I have to jump in the line of fire a second time to get it, or is it like whoever gets your coffee order right without asking? Maybe something in between there?" she leaned forward on the table.

Six months ago, Y/N had jumped in front of a blast from a mutant's powers for Steve, and it had benched her for over a week with the aftereffects.

He hadn't expected her to make that kind of sacrifice, and he had been more than grateful and did his best to show it during her healing time and afterward. But at the end of the day, her snarky comments, struggle to stay professional, and blatant disregard for orders made it hard for him not to be aggravated when she did things.

"It's not trust as much as it's being out of the know for what the real reason for us being here is," he softly said when she looked at him with eyes that seemed to genuinely want to know why he treated her with little patience where he normally gave it freely. "I like to be informed."

She watched his eyes closely as if waiting for the but, but then she tensed ever so slightly, and her eyes flicked behind his shoulder casually.

"That's also known as trust. Not knowing the reasons but counting on the person putting you in the position that they wouldn't do it with ill intent. But if you want your answer, it's behind you. Careful how you turn," she said with a straight face as she looked out the window next to them.

Steve furrowed his eyebrow but discreetly twisted enough to see what she was alluding to.

There he was. Ivan Masgood. With four bodyguards around him and a few associates coming through the back entrance, one of the employees ushered him to a secluded corner for him and his posse.

When Steve turned back around, Y/N was on her phone as if just another customer waiting for their meal.

"How'd you-?"

"I'm good at my job despite what some think." Her comment wasn't missed by Steve, and he could hear the slightest bit of pain in her words. "I overheard some of his goons talking not so confidentially at the church. He stupidly gave away their Randevu point and mentioned a meeting with a potential contact while they waited for us to fall for the trap."

"Was it the two at the front door?" Steve questioned, thinking back to their infiltration of the church/ hideout.

"Yeah, dumb and dumber. I think they just got promoted cause the one who leaked this info bragged about being moved to guard his private residence." She put her phone away and fiddled with the paper wrapper from the straw as she explained. "I can promise if they figure out how we got the intel to come here, he will not be guarding any residence in the near future."

Steve was a little surprised. Y/N had always been good at her job. Hell, there was a reason she ran with The Avengers themselves. Super enhancements helped, but she'd always been more than resourceful in her spying, too.

But sometimes, he didn't see her as taking her job seriously, so when she got the jump on things before him, he felt bad for undermining her.

He monitored the place now that it was a possible environment for a fight. Taking note of the details like exits, number of people, tables, resources, and make-shift weapons if needed.

"Have you contacted Rodney?" he asked as he casually surveyed the place.

"Just messaged. They'll have a team a block away to go if needed," she nodded. "For now, we eat," she smiled overly brightly as the waiter came back over with their drinks.

They ordered, but Steve got the smallest appetizer only to make it less conspicuous as customers.

"Eagle's leaving the nest," Y/N hummed as she ate the last bite of her meal, and the group they had been monitoring walked toward the back alley.

Steve shifted in his seat just enough to see the exit, and they both nodded in confirmation of their next move. Y/N slapped down a wad of cash and shuffled out of the booth where Steve offered his hand, and they left out the front.

For the second time that day, Steve watched as a blade whirled past him, but this time, it implanted itself into the tire of an SUV in the back alley, followed by a loud pop.

The assailants hoping to make a getaway were out of a car now, and Steve had taken the advantage to knee the driver's side door where the man halfway in it, ricocheted his head off the frame and collapsed on the ground.

"On your left!" Y/N shouted as she rangled her own opponent, and Steve noticed another one of Masgood's men escaping.

Not wanting to lose his position since Masgood himself was still in the car he had cornered, he angled and calculated the right throw for his shield to take him down. And with the right aim…

"Fuck!" the man shouted before falling down to the concrete seconds after getting smacked in the temple with the vibranuim disc.

Steve turned after hearing Y/N grunt and saw that two of her attackers had cornered her and were getting a jump on her.

"Y/L/N!" he shouted, stepping her way, but she used another man's body as if a wall and walked her feet up his torso until she was backflipping and rendering them both helpless instantly.

"Rogers, Masgood!" she panted once back on her feet and pointed behind him.

Masgood had pulled out the other side of the car and was positioning a gun right at Steve. Everything happened so fast that Steve didn't know where the gunshot had landed after he ducked from the barrel.

A scream followed, and thinking his aim hit someone else, Steve looked around for the injured only to see Masgood holding his shoulder where the butt of a blade was jutting out.

"You fucking bitch!" Masgood turned his attention to Y/N, who had been smiling at her shot. He dropped quickly to grab the gun that fell out of his grip, but before he could get to it, Steve slid over the hood and tackled him.

"That's no way to speak to a lady," Steve gritted out as he pinned him to the ground and brought his hands around his back.

Any of Masgood's men that may have escaped the narrow alley had been caught by the backup team Y/N had set up a block away. By the time the fight was over, eight men were already in custody, and Masgood was locked in a contained SHIELD van.

After going through a briefing with Rodney, who had been instructing the team outside the alley, Steve and Y/N finally took a minute to breathe.

"Thanks for packing my shield," Steve said kindly as they moved to their SUV.

"Didn't want to have you fighting without your comfort item," she smiled but winced as she rolled her shoulder.

"You ok?" he stopped in his tracks, moving in front of her to keep her from going any further.

"I'm fine," she mumbled, moving her shirt sleeve and looking at her arm for the wound. "Just a scratch."

Steve didn't hesitate to shift the long sleeve to see the cut in the fabric and the blood that had soaked through it.

"You were supposed to get checked by the medics," he studied the injury, and she hissed at the pressure of his gentle touch, which was enough to sting.

"It's nothing a bandaid can't fix. Besides, it'll be a scar come morning," she tried to brush his hand off, but he gave her a stern look at the action. "Why are you so worried? I figured you could care less if I walked out with a katana protruding from my gut."

Her eyes refused to meet his, and he hated the feeling that overcame him at the idea that she thought he wouldn't be phased by something like that.

"That's not true," he said gently, his hand loosened its grip but didn't leave her arm.

"You sure as hell don't act any other way," she mumbled, looking at his hand and placing her own on his to try and remove it. "Seriously. You don't have to act like you care just cause you feel bad-"

"Y/N, I'm not acting," he turned her face to his, gripping her chin between his thumb and index finger. "I would never wish to see you hurt."

She didn't fight the hold he had her in, but she gave him weary eyes at his comment.

"Your words tell me otherwise, Steve." Her words were said with a form of hurt that he never pictured her holding.

"I'm sorry," he lowered his head every so slightly to catch her eye line better. "I'm sorry that I'm a hardass around you and make you feel like I'd rather see you hurt or injured than alive and well."

"I don't understand what I've done to-" she started and pulled her head back before he, without thought, pulled her arm he had a grip on into him, making her body crash into his.

She froze initially, but when his arms wrapped around her back, he rested his head on her. She sighed and fell into it. She needed that hug more than he realized.

"You get on my nerves, Y/L/N, but it's not in a way that I'd wish never to experience it again. I act like I can't stand it, but truthfully, I need someone to keep me in check the way you do," he muttered as he rested his chin on her head. "I'm sorry I don't give you the benefit of the doubt where you deserve it most."

"Why?" she mumbled into his chest.

"Honestly?" he hummed, pulling her back and looking at her still in his embrace. "I think it scares me how much I actually care when you drive me as crazy as you do."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and she turned her head at him.

"What do you mean, Rogers?" she said in almost a whisper.

"I mean, I can't wrap my head around how you constantly get on my nerves, but I like it."

There was a pause as they stared at each other, and her lips slowly curved.

"Steve. Are you confessing that you may actually like me?" she grinned.

He chuckled under his breath, making his chest vibrate.

"I'm confessing that we may have some things to figure out, I guess," he nodded, not feeling hesitant at surprisingly admitting that.

"Well, isn't that a 180 from how we started the day," she laughed, pulling back. "How about we stop for a sweet treat for this discussion that I'm definitely pulling you into when we get to the compound?"

"Am I going to regret confessing this?" he scrunched his nose but couldn't help the smile that followed.

"It's me. What do you think?" she shrugged, moving toward the SUV passenger side.

"Good to know our ways aren't changing much," he sighed, following behind her to open her door.

Marvel Tags:

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#steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x avenger reader #reader insert #mcu reader insert #justkending #marvel insert #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers

[vilentia]

Unshielded Affection

Steve Rogers x reader

In the heart of Stark Tower, amidst the hum of technology and the occasional clank of Iron Man suits, there you were, a new assistant to Tony Stark. Your presence was a breath of fresh air, a contrast to the rigid mechanics and cold steel that surrounded you. And there he was, Steve Rogers – Captain America himself – with eyes that lingered on you a moment too long, a heart ensnared by your grace.

Steve watched you from afar, his admiration a silent sentinel. In his mind, he had already built a world where you were his and his alone – his girlfriend, his wife, the mother of his children. But for now, he was just a man, albeit a superhuman one, hopelessly entangled in the web of his yearning.

"Good morning, Steve," you greeted him one day, your voice a melody that danced through the air. Polite, ever so kind, yet oblivious to the storm you stirred in him.

"Morning," he replied, his voice a rumble, like distant thunder. "You look... nice today."

You offered a smile, unaware of the depth of his obsession, how he craved to claim you as his own. In his eyes, you were perfection – someone who deserved the world, and he wanted to be the one to give it to you.

But Steve's longing was a shadow that followed him, a whisper in the dark corners of Stark Tower. He imagined conversations, moments where he could confess his feelings, but fear held him back. What if you didn't feel the same? What if he was just another face in the crowd to you?

One evening, as the city lights flickered like distant stars, Steve found you alone in the common area, lost in a book. He approached, heart pounding, a battle raging within him.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, indicating the seat beside you.

"Of course," you replied, your eyes meeting his, a galaxy of kindness within them.

They talked, about everything and nothing – about art, about the world, about dreams. And in those moments, Steve saw glimpses of a future he yearned for, a life where you were his.

But as the clock ticked, reality crept in. Steve knew he couldn't keep you in his world of fantasies. He had to act, to speak his truth.

"(Y/N), I need to tell you something," Steve began, his voice laced with a vulnerability rarely shown. "I... I've been thinking about you a lot. More than I should, perhaps."

You looked at him, a hint of surprise in your eyes, but you didn't speak.

"I want you in my life, more than just as a friend. I want you to be mine, in every way that matters," he confessed, his blue eyes burning with a fervor that matched the intensity of his words.

The air hung heavy between them, a moment stretched into eternity. And in that silence, Steve's heart raced, waiting for your response, for the verdict that would either make or break him.

In the stillness of the room, your eyes remained fixed on Steve, absorbing the raw honesty that lay bare before you. The confession echoed in your heart, a turbulent sea stirred by his words.

"Steve, I..." you began, your voice a hesitant whisper, caught between the realms of surprise and an unspoken desire. "I never thought someone like you could... could feel that way about me."

His gaze never wavered, a testament to the sincerity of his feelings. "You're not just someone, (Y/N). You're everything I never knew I was missing. I see a future with you, a hope for something more than just battles and missions. With you, I see a life."

Your heart fluttered, a bird trapped within a ribcage, yearning for the freedom his words promised. A part of you had always harbored feelings for the heroic Captain, feelings you dared not acknowledge until this moment.

Steve reached out, his hand hesitantly finding yours. The contact was electric, a connection that seemed to transcend the physical realm, bridging two hearts with a silent understanding.

"I want to be there for you, to protect you, to love you," Steve continued, his voice a fervent plea. "But I need to know... do you feel the same?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge to the walls you had built around your heart. The thought of being with Steve, of being the center of his world, was both exhilarating and terrifying. To be loved by him meant stepping into a life far removed from the ordinary – a life filled with dangers, uncertainties, but also unparalleled passion.

In his eyes, you saw the reflection of your own fears and hopes, a mirror to your soul. "Steve, I... I do have feelings for you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it's all so overwhelming. You're not just a man; you're a symbol, a hero."

Steve's grip on your hand tightened, a silent reassurance. "I'm just a man when I'm with you, (Y/N). A man who wants nothing more than to make you happy, to be the reason you smile. I don't want to rush you into anything. I just want you to know how I feel."

The room faded around you, the world outside ceasing to exist. It was just you and Steve, two souls laid bare in the vulnerability of the moment. The decision loomed ahead, a crossroads that would define the path of your heart.

In Steve's eyes, you saw a future filled with love, challenges, and the promise of a life less ordinary. And in that moment, you realized that perhaps the greatest adventure was not in the battles fought outside, but in the journey of the heart.

"Steve, I want to be with you," you said, the words a leap of faith into the unknown. "Let's take this one step at a time, together."

And with those words, a new chapter began – a story of love between a hero and the one who had captured his heart, a tale of two souls navigating the unpredictable waters of life, together.

#steve rogers #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers angst #steve rogers au #steve rogers and reader #steve rogers and you #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fandom #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers captain america #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers my beloved

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Sweater Weather

Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: While caught out in a snowstorm while on a mission, you resort to desperate measures to keep warm.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Canon violence, slightly injured reader, smut, manhandling, soft sex, facefucking

AN: kinda rushed but i thought it was cute! have a good day lovely people

The mission was long. And hard. And all you wanted now was a nice, long nap.

Steve had brought up this particular mission while you two were hiding in Manila. You always preferred the warmer destinations, even when you worked for SHIELD.

It was a simple mission - too simple in hindsight - the grab-the-file-and-get-out type.

"It's Austria," you sighed, again with the cold. "I know, sweets, but it's an ex-Hydra base. We gotta check it out, make sure they don't have anything they shouldn't."

You nodded, "When do we leave?"

"Wheels up in an hour."

When you landed in Austria, your mood soured quickly. There was a foot of snow surrounding the town, and you trudged through the snow to get to the safehouse - a mile away from the nearest town. You were staking out the safe house when the entire town lost power. No lights, no heating, no appliances. It was going to be a rough couple of days.

You bundled yourself in a coat and blankets while you and Steve went over what you knew. The old Hydra base had been abandoned for a while, but it was one of the few that hadn't been on SHIELD's radar due to the lack of activity in the area. It seemed that they had missed something. It seemed very active now.

You spent the first few days making sure no one suspected you were doing anything suspicious. You stocked up on firewood - making sure you would have enough, even if you ended up snowed in for a couple of days. You tried to get out to some shops, but with the three inches of snow in the local town, no shops were open. You hoped that there was some long-life food still left in the safe house.

When you set out, you silently prayed that the power would come back on by the time you had finished dealing with the agents in the bunker. You also thanked Tony for putting a heater in your suit as part of one of his routine upgrades. You weren't freezing your ass off as you broke into the base.

The bunker itself was powered by some self-generating form of energy - no doubt developed as a result of Loki's scepter in the hands of Baron Von Strucker. The bunker was still working at peak capacity when you and Steve waltzed in the building, guns a-blazing, looking for any signs they were planning something big.

The bunker clearly had been expecting you, launching a full assault on you as soon as you guys walked in. Agents flew left, right, and centre, throwing kicks and punches. The odd bullet was fired at your heads. They were good. But you were much better. You dodged each blow, retaliating with one much harder. They may have had power but it was amateur. You were a battle-hardened professional.

One guy was lucky. He took a baton to your ribcage while you were preoccupied with two other guys. Clearly, he hadn't learned to play fair. You threw the other two guys off you, kicking your assailant into the wall. A nasty crack was the end of him.

You left the bunker exhausted, gripping a nasty bruise that was forming over your ribs. Steve wrapped an arm around you, carrying your weight as you hobbled from the bunker. He abandoned the idea quickly, your height difference making the maneuver awkward. Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, scooping you up bridal style.

You nuzzled into his chest, seeking out his warmth as the snow beat down upon you both. Steve was like a human furnace, his heat radiating through you, keeping you warm even in the hostile temperatures you found yourself in. He smiled down at you, gripping you tighter into his body as you retreated into the trees.

It was about 12 miles from the bunker to the safe house and Steve knew he had to get you both there before the blizzard really hit. There he could check your ribs for the extent of the damage. He prayed that the damage wasn't bad, guilt overtaking his mind. A few seconds of preoccupation on his part led to you being injured. Steve felt terrible.

He was also on high alert. There was no exfil team. They weren't Avengers anymore. They were on their own out here - even Nat wouldn't be able to get here in time if they were attacked.

The trudge through the snow was terrible. Frost covered your hair and his beard, and the chills were racking through your body with more frequency. The snow was seeping through your tactical gear, and given that night was fast falling around them, Steve picked up the pace.

More than once, you offered to walk alongside him, saying that you'd both be faster if you could run, but then an odd step would jolt your body and the pained gasp that would leave your lips was an answer enough.

By the time you reached the house, you had fallen asleep in Steve's arms. He kicked the door open with his toe - the key being a biometric scan of his eye.

You woke up as he sat you down gently on the edge of the sofa.

"Welcome back to the land of the living sleeping beauty." He chuckled as you threw your boot at his head. He caught it easily.

You almost swooned. Sometimes, you thought Steve showed off just to get a reaction out of you. You didn't mind - it was hot.

Steve shut the door with a click, kicking off his shoes by the door. You shivered. Somehow it was colder inside the house than outside. Steve grabbed your bag, throwing a pair of soft clean clothes in your direction, before grabbing some firewood and getting a fire started.

You limped into the bathroom, the coldness making your bones ache. You made quick work of your suit - throwing it into the bathtub, before toweling yourself dry. The wetness of the suit had chaffed at your skin, and the threadbare towel was doing nothing to help the soreness of your skin, but a little itchiness was nothing compared to the hell that would be a cold. Especially since you had no idea when you were getting out of here.

"The power's still out!" Steve called from outside the bathroom. You could tell he was leaning on the door frame, ever the gentleman, even in sub-freezing temperatures.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You mumble under your breath as you open the door.

Steve smirked, "I caught that." You gave him a sarcastic smile back. He passed you to go dry off, "No hot water, so I dumped my suit in the tub to dry." You said, leaning on the door frame to take in the picture in front of you.

Steve's usually prim and proper appearance was dishevelled, hair run through multiple times. His suit was half-unzipped, toned chest visible under the confines of the tight fabric. A spattering of hair grew on his chest - the result of multiple back-to-back missions. And, of course, being an internationally-wanted fugitive.

He gave you a nod of confirmation, before shutting the door. You turned around to be hit by a wave of warmth. In the time it took you to pull the skin-tight tac suit off your body - which, let's be honest, took quite a while seeing as it was soaked - Steve had managed to get a fire going.

You huddled close to the fire, pulling your legs into your chest and tucking your face into your knees. You stayed there while Steve stirred in the bathroom - the occasional grunt as he bumped into the things making you giggle.

You shuffled closer to the fire, trying to steal every ounce of warmth to warm your frigid body.

"Careful, doll, you might burn yourself." You looked up at him and smiled, reaching for him as he walked towards you. He sat behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You relaxed into his arms. This was nice. You needed to do this more.

He ran his fingers over your ribs, goosebumps following in his path. You winced slightly as he applied pressure. "Not broken." He whispered, hot breath ghosting over your ear. You shivered lightly.

Steve pulled you into a chair, before retrieving the first aid kit. He sat you down, before sinking to his knees in front of you. You clenched your thighs slightly, the action pushing your mind to filth. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. He rolled up your sleeves and your trousers, revealing a plethora of small cuts and bruises that littered your body. Steve made quick work of treating your superficial wounds, smiling sympathetically when you winced at the sting of antiseptic against the cuts.

He snuck a hand under your shirt, locking eyes with you in a silent request for permission. You pulled up your shirt, revealing the large bruise over your ribs. There was a red mark in the centre of the bruise where the pole had hit you. Steve gently wiped it with an alcohol wipe, before applying Arnica cream to the bruise. You watched him tenderly patch you up.

"I'm sorry." His words surprise you.

"What?"

"I should have been there. To protect you."

You scoffed, "In case it slipped your memory, you were preoccupied. It's not your fault."

He nodded silently, rolling your shirt back down. He started to pack up the kit, but you grabbed his arm, dragging him back to sit where you had been sat moments before.

"You're hurt too, Captain," you said, sinking to your knees in front of him in the same way he had. The effect you had on him was far more visible. His face blushed a bright red, and you smiled coyly.

You bandaged up the graze on his leg, hands lingering longer than they needed to. You pushed yourself off the floor and occupied yourself with the knots in his shoulders. The adrenaline made both your bodies tense, but while you had had the time to relax in Steve's arms, he hadn't had that same luxury.

You ran your fingertips over his shoulders, kneading the particularly tight parts. Steve let out a low groan in appreciation, resting his forehead on your stomach. The sound sent electricity through your body, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Steve's hands came around to rest on your thighs, pulling you closer into his body like he couldn't bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

You leaned to whisper into his hair, "It's not your fault, Steve." His hold on you only became tighter.

You stood like that for a while, your arms running up and down Steve's back while he convinced himself that you were fine.

He walked out back to grab more firewood, promising he'd be back in a few seconds. You smiled to yourself, fingers ghosting over your lips. The thought of kissing Steve was overwhelming, but you didn't want to push him when you weren't sure of exactly how he felt.

You had a pretty good idea though.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, you had been close. But with the multiple near-end-of-the-world experiences, it never seemed like the right time to explore those feelings. Steve had always been affectionate, keeping close to you, both in public and private. He had bought you flowers regularly when you lived in New York, always remembered your birthday, protected you when Hydra agents and internet trolls attacked you. In return, you had stood by him in every fight that you could - you always had his back. He could count on that. When the dispute over the Sokovia accords had happened, you agreed with Steve - even if that meant you lost some close friends. In the years that followed, you had fought countless enemies side-by-side. Bucky sometimes joined you, Sam too. But for the most part, you two had become almost intimately acquainted.

You crept towards the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for any long-life food that might have been kept there. You pulled a can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. You pulled another can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. And another. And another. And another. All beans.

Buried at the back of the cupboard was a single tin of Chicken Noodle Soup that was so out of date, the mold in it had probably bred a new organism. Baked beans it was then.

You heated the beans up in a pan, placing them over the roaring fire to warm them up. You huddled up to the fire again, chills wracking through your body, keeping the pan over the fire all the while. After a while, with the tomato sauce bubbling slightly, you pulled the pan away from the heat and stood up to serve it into the two cracked bowls that were left in the safe house. Tony had done a good job at emptying the safe houses after the end of the Avengers.

Your hands shook as you evenly distributed the beans. You could hardly bear to be this far away from the fire. You needed more layers, but your coat and your tac suit were soaked through, meaning you had nothing else to wear.

Your hands shook violently again as another shiver ripped through you. You tucked your hands under your armpits and raised your shoulders to cover your ears.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted something fuzzy draped on the edge of the sofa. Steve's jumper. He's been wearing it when he arrived in Austria but claimed that it was far too thick for him - immediately discarding it when you had entered the safe house. You didn't know how it had slipped your mind earlier.

You slipped it on - Steve hadn't lied. It was incredibly thick and cozy. And also quite large, dwarfing your figure, making you feel safe and warmed. You pushed up the sleeves and carried the bowls to the floor in front of the fire.

You noticed an extra pair of Steve's socks tucked into the front of his backpack. You quickly stole them, slipping them onto your feet. You were grateful that Steve was an over-packer.

You crouched back in front of the fire, pulling the jumper over your knees, balancing your bowl on your kneecaps.

You heard Steve before you saw him. He was carrying a pile of firewood in his arms and grumbling about how 'the stupid snow got in his boots and now his socks are wet'. You giggled.

"Glad you find my torment funny, sweets." He said, his eyes still trained on the wood in his eyes, "How would you feel if I got trench foot, and was benched for-" He stopped abruptly.

You looked up at him. His gaze was trained on your body, eyes darkening by the second.

"You shouldn't have done that, sweets."

Your face breaks into uncertainty. Maybe you had completely misread the situation. Maybe Steve only wanted to be friends.

The way he grabbed your face, though, told you differently.

He stooped low to cradle your face in his hands. He placed small kisses all over your face, pecking you like a bird would its food.

"You're mine." He whispered between each one. The declaration made heat pool in your stomach and you couldn't help but laugh. You grabbed his face with your hands, and pressed your lips to his, gently at first. Steve ran his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in.

You moaned as his tongue explored each and every part of your mouth. You could feel him getting harder every second that passed and that only spurred you on.

"Steve," his name fell from your lips like a prayer, "please."

He picked you up and you let out a soft gasp.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

You nodded, words cast from your mind. He chuckled, lust colouring his tone as he shuffled you in his arms.

"Makes me feel safe." You whispered, nestling your head into his shoulder. "Like it when you carry me."

He smiled and laid you on the sofa gently. He pressed deep and sensual kisses on your lips, large and warm hands caressing your body.

You arched your back as he ran a knuckle over your nipple. You were hopelessly horny, begging for friction.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"You. Only you." You whimpered.

"Where do you want me?"

"Everywhere. Please, Steve." You were begging. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Want me to love you, pretty baby?" Steve said, dragging his fingers up your sides.

"Steve, please!" You were close to tears.

He pulled your panties down, fingers slipping in between your wet folds.

"Fuck, darling, you're making a mess." You shuddered, moans spilling out from your lips. He pulls his trousers down, dick curling into his stomach.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You nodded in response.

"Good." He slid into you gently, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, head tossed back in pleasure.

He was bigger than you had thought - you grabbed his bicep as he brushed your g-spot.

“S’big Stevie." You whimpered, "M’all full.”

"Yeah baby? You like that?" His hands came to rest on the bulge in your stomach.

The pleasure exploded like a million fireworks in your stomach. He started moving, setting a brutal pace, pushing in and out of you. His cock brushed your g-spot with every thrust, and soon enough you were seeing stars.

"Love it, Stevie! Please don't stop!" He drilled into you, muttering sweet praises.

The coil in your stomach tightened with each thrust. “M’not gonna last.” you whimpered softly.

“S’okay baby." He praised, "Come for me, pretty girl."

You came with a silent cry, shuddering as a wave of arousal washed over you. Steve rode out your orgasm with you, before pulling out. He stood up to head to the bathroom, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the sofa. You sank to your knees in front of him, again, and licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

You placed a kiss on the tip of his cock before taking it in your mouth and sucking on it. You wrapped your right hand around the base of his cock and used the other to massage his balls. Steve drew a sharp breath in above you. You wrapped his hand around your hair, giving him permission to fuck your face. He grabbed your hair tightly and fucked up into your face, choking you with the brutal pace that he set.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," Steve said, slightly relaxing his pace as he moved to pull out. You pushed your face further onto his cock.

Ropes of his cum coated the back of your throat as he came with moans of your name. Your eyes welled up as your throat filled with his seed. You swallowed it, much to Steve's surprise. He pulls you into his lap, before carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

You settle on the sofa in his lap, kissing lightly over and over again.

You turn your head to the fire. "Shit."

"What?" Steve looked at you in concern.

"The food. S'gone cold."

He burst into laughter, resting his forehead on your shoulder. He placed a small kiss on your shoulder. You could get used to this.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #no y/n

[cherryrogers]

➸ golden

pairing: steve rogers x reader

warnings: smut (no plot), oral (both receiving), fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, steve taking Good Care of his girl !!

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: America’s golden boy isn’t so righteous behind closed doors.

a/n: first time posting smut !!! sorry if its cringe and bad LMAO i tried tho <3

“What would the world say,” You ask, sinking to your knees. “If they found out Captain America gets off on being called daddy?”

You’d only said it once that night, when he’d entered his bedroom with tired eyes and a heavy sigh, and of course you were there waiting for him in only one of his shirts and some not-so-modest underwear. ‘Hard day at the office, daddy?’ You’d said, with genuine sincerity, actually, but there was that familiar smirk playing on your lips when it came out of your mouth, one Steve never fails to miss when you feel like being a tease.

‘Something like that’, he’d replied, laying next to you on the bed and pretending to join you in watching whatever you’d put on the TV, but really, he was trying to control the tent forming in his pants. You’d think he was a fucking teenager, nevermind a man who’d been born during the first world war.

And you knew how he’d react, obviously. How his body would react to such a simple thing. And you liked getting on your knees for him, especially after he’d had a long, stressful day, when you were the only one who could provide him any relief.

Your shirt was gone before you even climbed off the bed. 

He doesn’t respond to your teasing, but he smirks, ever so slightly, and it drives you crazy.

He knows what he does to you. He knows, and he loves it. He's addicted to it. To you. To the way your lips wrap around him, the way you look up at him through your lashes, eyes teary as he fucks into your mouth.

You’ve done this a few times now, taken his cock into your mouth and pulled Steve Rogers apart at the seams. But you still like to take your time when doing it, not even to tease him, but because you like going at your own pace. And Steve never stops you from doing so. He watches as you wrap a tentative hand around his shaft, as you let your thumb ghost over his tip a few times before slowly beginning to move your hand back and forth, and he feels like he’s melting to the ground before you even have your mouth on him.

When you’re ready, you bring his cock to rest on your tongue, feeling it twitch impatiently there for a moment before letting your lips encircle the tip. Steve moans lowly, always as if it’s the first time he’s had it like this. Placing your free hand on his hip, you slowly pull him closer, so that your mouth eventually obscures almost his whole length.

It’s a heavenly sight, ironically. Having you on your knees for the wrong reasons, yet it just feels so right. It’s like you were made for him, carefully crafted so that you knew just how to send him over the edge, how to coax heavy breaths from his lips and make his heart ache with only a simple smile from where you were perched on the ground.

“You’re so pretty like this.” He tells you, his voice barely above a whisper but his words clear as day. “So pretty with your mouth on me.”

God. He’d have you weak at the knees if you weren’t already on them.

He pulls out of your mouth after short while, and you blink away the tears in your eyes, staring past his aching cock, right at him. God, he’s beautiful. Steve Rogers is a beautiful man. Well, obviously. Anyone with eyes could tell you that. But they don’t get to see what you see. They don’t get to see him come apart right before their eyes, the beads of sweat that form at his hairline as he grabs your waist and hips you like it’s the last time he’ll get to touch you, The curl of his lips when you call him ‘sir’, call him ‘daddy’. He’s all yours. every inch of him, every spec of his soul. America's golden boy — you know him more than the world knows him, more than he knows himself.

“Get on the bed, sweetheart.”

And so, you get on the bed.

Steve climbs over you, cock tucked back into his boxers but still evidently hard. He kisses you with everything he has, one arm holding himself up, the other next to your chest, his large hand wrapped lightly around your throat.

You whimper into his mouth, unable to stop yourself from bucking your hips against him, coaxing a heavy exhale from him.

“Is this what you want?” He asks you, entrancing blue eyes looking into your dazed ones. You nod lightly, he shakes his head. “Say it clearly, I want you to be sure.”

This, you haven’t done before. Not with Steve, or anyone. But you know this is what you want, body, mind and soul. It’s what you've always wanted, to have your first time be with someone you completely adore. Who you trust with everything you have, who you know will only take good care of you.

And Steve, well, he's besotted with you. He’d jump on top of another grenade for you, just to touch your skin once more, to feel your lips on his for only a second. But that’s only if someone could ever pry you away from him, and Steve prays every night that you’ll only ever wake up in his arms for the rest of your life. To love and lose you would be to love and lose everything.

Your thighs around his waist ground him, pull him back to the present. If you say no, of course, he would let you take the lead. But Steve has never been a follower. It’s just not in his nature. Little does he know there isn’t a single universe where, in this moment, you would ever deny him.

“I want,” You breathe, bringing a hand to his jaw so you can look right at him. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

He lets out a chuckle, letting his index finger run across your bottom lip. God. “Got such a foul mouth, haven’t you?”

You squirm as the hand on your neck tightens slightly. “You like it, though. You like my foul mouth, don’t you, daddy?”

He takes his hand away entirely without replying, and you’re about to complain when he moves it down, down—

“Steve,” You clasp at his shoulder, feeling a slow rubbing on your clit through your underwear.

His cock is pushing painfully against his boxers. you’re so perfect, so soft and warm, and he’s so fucking hard.

He pulls at the fabric above your core, and you lift your hips, allowing him to pull the underwear down your legs and toss them elsewhere. wet kisses are pressed against your ribcage, your abdomen, your lower stomach—

“Steeeve,” You whine, impossibly aroused by now. “I want—”

“I know,” He speaks against your skin, before looking up at you with darkened eyes. “You gotta be patient, pretty girl.”

You’re about to start whining again, patience not being one of your many qualities, when suddenly you feel a soft pressure against your slit. Lips suck at your clit, and your eyes shut at the sheer pleasure erupting below your stomach. One of your hands goes to Steve's blond locks, your thighs enveloping his head.

You taste as sweet as you look.

Soft moans seep like honey from your lips as his tongue laps at your pussy, and Steve has to stop himself from shoving a hand in his boxers and relieving how hard he is. One of his large arms presses over your stomach, keeping you from squirming. With the other, he brings his hand to your entrance and slowly inserts a long finger, pumping it in and out.

You whimper at the intrusion. Such sweet noises from such a sweet girl,

“S’that alright?” Steve asks, looking up at you. “That feel good?”

You want to laugh at how obvious the answer to his question is. Lazily, you nod. “So good. It always feels good.”

Secretly, Steve marvels at your words. That’s all he wants, to make his girl feel good. “Good.” He mumbles against your clit, before latching his mouth back onto it, his beard tickling your lips.

Part of you wonders where Captain America learned to eat pussy. You can’t imagine it was something he dabbled in during the forties, and you don’t necessarily want to think about any experience he might’ve gained since coming out of the ice. But if there was a woman who taught him how to do this, then you hope she’s doing well. The idea that perhaps Steve is just a natural at the art also seems incredibly plausible, because what isn’t Steve Rogers good at?

“Fuck, Steve,” You cry, feeling a pit form at your core. There were two fingers inside of you now, curling to hit the perfect spot and shooting pleasure throughout your entire body. 

“You can take one more, can’t you, sweetheart?” Steve soothes, prodding a third finger at your entrance, and slowly inserting it after you nod surely at him. Your breaths become heavier as he begins curling three fingers inside of you. “Fuck, that's it. You’re doing so well.”

You whimper at the praise, feeling more and more weak as he hits the right spot over and over. He moves his lips back up, kissing up your stomach and the valley of your breasts until his mouth finds yours again, drinking in your breathy moans.

He could do this all day (really, he could). Listening to you sing songs of pleasure in his ear, feel your bare body underneath his rocking onto his fingers, so slick and warm. And unlike fighting, there’s no negatives to pleasuring you, to taking care of you the way you deserve. In these moments, Steve feels like he's found the reason he woke up decades into the future for. To make love to you. To dedicate every part of himself to making you come apart right under him.

God. What would the world think if they knew this is their Captain America? A man who believes his duty is not to fight for the country, but to fuck his girl so good that she’s in a constant state of euphoria?

Your legs tremble around his waist, and you feel an orgasm beginning to build up in your core. And you know he could make you come again easily, but you’re so desperate for Steve to actually be inside you that you place a hand on his wrist, pausing his movements,

“I want you inside,” You breathe, mildly uncomfortable from the sudden loss of stimulation. “Now.”

Steve stifles a chuckle. “You got somewhere to be, doll?”

“I’m already so wet,” You insist, deciding to put your foul mouth to use some more. You’re not wrong at all; you can feel your slick where it’s dripped from his fingers to his wrist. “I just want your cock. Want you to fuck me proper.”

The playful glint in his eyes fades as you press your body down onto his hand, his fingers still snug inside of you. Usually, he likes to take his time with you. Even if it’s never the full deed, he likes to fuck you slow with his fingers, deny your orgasm until you’re teary and clenching around them. Eat you out until you can’t keep your legs open any longer. But he’d be lying if he said he isn’t dying to feel you around him, really feel you.

“Filthy fuckin’ girl.” He murmurs, making you grin smugly, but your amusement soon goes away when you see Steve pull down his boxers until they’re on the floor, his hard, curved cock coming back into sight, It’s one thing having it in your mouth; it’s another thing when it’s about to be shoved deep inside of you.

He lands kisses on your neck as he strokes himself, pre-cum already trickling down his length. He’s surprised he hasn’t already came just at the thought of having your pussy wrapped around him, but he’s pretty sure he won’t last that long anyway. How could he, when he has you splayed out underneath him? His own angel, all for him.

You moan involuntarily when you feel the head of his cock push against your folds, pressing slightly on your clit.

“I’ll go slow, alright?” Steve assures, and you can’t even protest as he pushes his tip inside of you, knowing already the full length of him is going to split you open easily.

With a tight grip on his broad shoulders, you watch him disappear inside of you until your hips are pressed together. You feel so full. Stuffed with Steve’s cock which just fits so perfectly, like it was made just for you.

You whimper when he carefully begins to drag out of you again, before he pumps himself back in, and you gasp at the pleasure it fires through your body. This. This is what heaven is.

“Oh, Steve.” You keen as he gains a rhythm of rocking in and out of you. Every thrust feels like it could knock you out, as you’re completely overwhelmed with how fucking good it feels. 

The sounds are utterly obscene; the squelching of his cock pushing into you with how aroused you are, the submissive moans and whines falling from your lips, the grunts leaving his own as he reaches a hand down to thumb at your clit again.

“Look at you. You're doing so well,” Steve coos, eyes flickering between where the two of you are joined and your face. Your brows are knitted, your swollen lips forming an O shape as he repeatedly nudges the head of his cock against your sweet spot, so deep. “Takin’ me so well, sweet girl.”

The pressure on your clit certainly doesn’t go unnoticed, and you really hope that the walls of the compound are soundproof (you can’t believe you’ve never asked), because at this point, you’ve lost any ability to keep yourself quiet when you have Steve Rogers’ cock buried deep inside of you. You cry and whimper into his ear, whispering expletives over and over in an attempt to delay the orgasm that’s building up again so very quickly.

“I’m close. Fuck, daddy, I’m gonna come.” You hiss, squeezing your thighs around his waist. He’s going slow like he said he would, but it’s clear his pace has picked up a bit, not being able to help himself with how tight and warm and wet you are. 

“Hold on a bit for me.” Steve replies lowly, though he lifts your left thigh slightly, allowing him to fuck you impossibly deeper than before, and you wonder how the fuck you’re meant to hold on any longer now. 

“But I— oh!” Any attempt at forming a sentence fails as he fastens the circling of his thumb on your clit. He slows down his thrusts again, but they’re much more powerful than before, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

But he’s getting close as well, with every drag of his cock inside your walls, every clench around his thick shaft, he feels himself about to come undone.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You gonna let go for me?” He breathes hotly, continuing to land slow, forceful ruts into your pussy. You nod, weakly but enthusiastically.

It only takes a few moments, a few prods against your sweet spot and swipes across your throbbing clit before you let out the most beautiful sound Steve thinks he’s ever heard, a breathy string of moans and curses as you reach your high and tighten around him. 

“There you go, good girl.” He soothes, letting his thumb move over your clit as you ride through your climax, legs quivering uncontrollably, your bare chest glistening with sweat.

Though you’re completely and utterly fucked out, you notice that he‘s still rock hard inside of you, and you move a hand to his waist, encouraging him to keep moving.

“Keep going, Steve,” You sigh. “Want you to come inside of me,” Your teary eyes flit to his. “Fill me right up, won’t you?”

“Fuck me,” Steve scoffs, but it turns into a grunt of pleasure when he slowly pushes himself in and out of you again, your own juices lathering his cock and making it easier to reach his own high. “That what you want, huh? You wanna be drippin’ with daddy’s cum?”

“Shit. Yeah, yes.” You reply, your cheeks burning at the obscenities you never thought you’d hear from Steve’s mouth. He’s always praised you in bed, but never like this. Never so filthily that it makes you want to get back on your knees and let him finish right in your mouth.

But now, with a final slam into your pussy, he’s coming inside of you, thick strings of hot seed spurting deeply over and over. You think you’d like to get used to the feeling.

A kiss is pressed to the sweaty crown of your head, and Steve waits a moment before he gently pulls himself out of you, a mixture of his and your own spend coating your slit. It should feel filthy, admiring such a scene, but it makes his head dizzy and his heart race proudly, knowing it's the mess that he’d made. A show of how much you love one another, how you need one another. 

You notice he hasn’t fully softened yet, and with an innocent smile, you lift a hand to come to his shaft. He watches you do it without interruption, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck. Pumping him gently, it’s not long before more white strings leave his cock, spurting onto your lower stomach. Steve can’t help but lift his head and moan quietly at the sight of you, marked with his cum. He never knew he could have thoughts like this, but somehow, you have a way of making such foul obscenities seem so endearing, so lovely. 

His softened cock twitches when he’s fully spent, and that’s when you pull your hand back and finally let yourself melt into the bedsheets under you. There’s still a wetness between your legs and Steve’s load on your stomach, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s just fucked you like it’s his last day on Earth.

Steve watches your shutting eyes, the slight wetness under your lower lashes, your swollen lips, the post-fuck glow on your skin. God, how did he get so lucky?

Then, he hears sleepily: “Did I do okay?” 

Granted, you know it was him that did all the work. But you lay there ever so prettily, taking his huge cock like a champ. And Steve didn’t seem to have any problem finishing, so…

With a soft smile, feeling rather fucked out himself, Steve runs his thumb across your jaw. “You were perfect.”

You sigh and lean into his touch, very satisfied with his answer. “I love you. Love when you get so worked up that you have a dirtier mouth than me.”

Steve scoffs. “That’s impossible.” Though he doesn’t quite believe himself.

Then, you speak up again, and he rests his case. “Call me a cockslut next time,” You mumble, turning to press your face into his pillow. “I bet you’d like that.”

You don’t know where that came from; perhaps you’re just drunk on pleasure, on the orgasm that still has your legs tingling and your entire body feeling like jelly. But you’re glad you said it anyway, and glad when Steve doesn’t berate you for being crude (meaning he isn’t opposed to the idea).

He leaves another kiss on your head before getting up to retrieve some towels, though you’ll probably already be asleep by the time he’s back. On the way to the bathroom, he has to laugh to himself.

America’s golden boy wants to call his girl a cockslut in bed. Christ. The list only goes on.

If there’s one thing that’s really golden, so rich and warm, so rare and glistening and pure at heart, it’s you.

His golden girl.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader

[barnesafterglow]

no other shade of blue

summary: your life is nothing but pure cold, until the day they pull steve rogers out of the ice

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: soulmate au, fluff, not-quite angst??, shield still can't handle their shit but maria hill sure can, maria x natasha till i die, the overwhelming potential for a part 2

a/n: so i ironically started this on the fourth of july, and decided roughly 24 hours ago that i was going to finish it so. here it is.

masterlist ─ i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary to stay updated on when i post 🤍

The first memory you had was of a bitter cold. Before happy memories in a sprawling backyard and cartoon band aids on a scraped knee, there was the brutal chill that seeped into your bones, into every inch of your being.

Though your own memory didn’t serve you, the first moment your mother had with you was much the same - a baby girl laid on her bare chest, only to flinch at the feeling of ice on her skin.

You spent countless years being poked and prodded, every medical test at the disposal of your doctors, and then specialists, and then scientific journals, and an answer was never found. In every other sense of your wellbeing, you were fine. Your organs worked, and there was never any danger of losing your extremities, so they stopped looking for answers and told you to move on.

Eventually, you were resigned to sweaters even at the height of summer, and whispered prayers that your soulmate didn’t have to endure the same icy existence.

You learned to live with it, and your friends learned to keep their distance at sleepovers and movie nights, and boyfriends and girlfriends alike never stuck around for long. It was hard to love someone who only offered cold hands instead of a warm heart.

For all it deterred your love life, the cold had no effect on your studies, and you excelled in the sciences, graduating with honors and securing a job at SHIELD just weeks after you got your degree.

You were puttering around your corner of the lab, pulling your sweater tighter around you despite the warmth of summer in Manhattan outside the floor to ceiling windows, when Maria Hill entered through the sliding glass doors, as frazzled as you had ever seen her.

“You’re going to want to see this,” is all she said before she turned on her heel and headed for the elevator. You managed to slide in just as the doors closed, more than a little bewildered at her behavior. You knew SHIELD and their plethora of secrets, but there were few things that were wrapped up so tight that they couldn’t even be spoken about in the safety of your lab.

“Male, approximately 27 years old, possibility of severe hypothermia but… we really don’t know.” Her voice was hushed, like she couldn’t bear to admit that they didn’t know.

“I’m not a medical doctor, Maria. A PhD doesn’t mean I can see patients, no matter who or what they are.” You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as the elevator descended far below street level. It was going to be one of those days. “Why are you coming to me about this?”

“We don’t need you as a doctor, we need you as a scientist. He’s been frozen in ice for almost 60 years. We have no idea what to expect when he wakes up. If he wakes up.” She reached over to squeeze your arm, your best friend shining through the facade of your Deputy Director, for just a moment. “It’s Steve Rogers.”

Your jaw dropped, but you weren’t able to formulate a response before the elevator doors slid open, and the immediate bustle of SHIELD agents stole any comment you may have had. She released her grip on you and straightened up, leading you through the winding maze of SHIELD’s underground headquarters, before stopping at a steel door with more security than you had ever seen.

Maria nodded at the two junior agents, putting her hand to the biometric scanner as soon as they stepped aside, and you followed her inside, proud of yourself for barely flinching as the heavy metal slid to a close behind you.

The first thing you noticed was the fact that you could see your breath in the air, which was odd considering the room felt no different in temperature than the one you had just come from, then you followed her gaze to the center of the room.

It was, without any other way to describe it, a huge block of ice. It didn’t necessarily look out of the ordinary, but even from across the room, you could see the lines of distorted red, white, and blue peaking through. And there, as you finally got the courage to step closer, was the unmistakable face of Captain America.

You got the strangest urge, then, to reach out and touch his partially covered face, to see if his frozen temperature rivaled your own, when someone cleared their throat, and you looked up to see a handful of people watching you curiously.

Embarrassed, you stepped back into place beside Maria and waited for further instruction.

After that it’s… a bit of a blur. There were a flurry of more senior scientists than you, and you wondered again Maria needed you there when her team was more than capable. You more or less stood in the corner and watched with your best friend as they took what looked like glorified hair dryers and began melting away Captain America’s icy tomb.

Once the block had melted away and he laid there in his battered stars and stripes, he was hooked up to more machines than you knew their purpose. The only one you could focus on was the heart monitor directly in front of you.

It was a daunting flat line, a slow, steady beep, no indicator of any sign of life. It was a long shot, you all knew that - even you, so out of the loop but kept in the room anyways. He had been at the bottom of the Atlantic for 66 years, and only the grace of god or Abraham Erskine could save him now.

Maria, who always knew more than she ever let on, motioned you towards his side, and you almost gave into your earlier impulse to brush your fingertips against the stark blue of his lips when the monitor changed. A small blip, but enough for a flurry of activity to cascade through the room, and you were pushed right back into the corner where you had been for what felt like hours.

It wasn’t until the monitor was beating in a steady rhythm and Maria finally ushered you back to the upper levels that you realized you weren’t quite so cold anymore.

–

It had been two days since Steve Rogers came out of the ice, and you had steadily felt your body temperature rising. It was odd, feeling warm - like an actual human, because that typically only came with copious amounts of alcohol and a heated blanket.

You hadn’t heard any more news about him, besides the hope they had to slowly acclimate him to the 21st century. Maria had been very tight lipped about the entire situation, and you had a feeling it was more than just the fact that it was a highly top secret SHIELD project, as they usually were.

But you couldn’t help the undeniable pull you had towards him, the sneaking suspicion that it was more than a scientific draw that had you almost desperate to see him, to know how he was progressing.

It was on the fourth day that you reach the average body temperature - something you had never before achieved in your life - which also happened to be the day SHIELD fucked up irreparably on their exposure of Steve to the new world.

Roughly an hour after they managed to draw him away from the streets of Manhattan and back to SHIELD, Maria appeared at your apartment door.

“You need to see him.”

“Why?” you asked, but you were already grabbing your shoes, following her out to the car still running at the curb.

She said nothing until she was behind the wheel, giving you a look somewhere between sympathy and excitement.

“I found out Natasha was my soulmate when we were sparring. She broke my nose - by accident, she swears - and felt it on her own. She kissed me right there, in front of junior agents and with blood streaming down my face.”

You remembered when she burst into your lab minutes later, blood still on her face and gripping Natasha’s hand; she was so excited to tell you.

“I know the story, Maria. Why are you telling me?”

“I’m just saying, meeting your soulmate isn’t always,” she paused, searching for the word, “conventional.”

It rarely was, when so many found their soulmate in the form of pain - spilling searing hot coffee on them and feeling the sting of the burn or a papercut when there was no way for you to get one, but your soulmate had.

There were, of course, cute meetings, like feeling the squeeze of a hug too tight or the pinch of a cheek from a grandmother, but it didn’t happen often. Soulmates didn’t happen very often.

You weren’t even sure if you believed in them; there was no science behind it. Nothing besides the words of love struck couples.

Which is why you were confused by Maria bringing it up. She knew your stance, even after seeing her relationship with Nat.

“I want you to meet Steve,” she said as you pulled into the garage at SHIELD.

You just looked at her, trying to keep your face blank, waiting for further explanation.

“I think he might be yours. Your soulmate, I mean. It makes sense, him being in the ice and you…” she gestured in your direction, “being cold.”

It sounded stupid, it sounded insane, but you trusted Maria’s judgement, and, if nothing else, you could at least say you tried.

-

When you met Steve, it was in a model SHIELD apartment - sleek and modern and nothing even close to a home - with Maria hovering by the door, waiting to save you if you said the word.

“Hi.” You weren’t sure if he knew why you were even here, so you just started with introducing yourself, telling him you worked for SHIELD.

“I know who you are.” He flushed a pretty pink across his face. “Well, I think I do, anyways.”

You felt your own face heat up and, praying he couldn’t tell, you stuck your arm out to shake his hand.

He must not have known his own strength; his grip on your hand was so tight you flinched a little, and he looked at his own hand in wonder.

“I… I felt that,” he said, sounding just as amazed as he looked. “So, it’s true?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t feel anything. Can I…?” He nodded and you deliberated for a moment before pinching him in the side. Well, you tried at least. The skin there was taunt, and your mouth watered a little at the thought of it.

Snapping yourself out of it, you realized you hadn’t felt anything, and your heart dropped. You knew you shouldn’t have gotten your hopes, should never have gotten in the car with Maria, shouldn’t-

“That didn’t hurt.”

“What?”

“It didn’t hurt. That was a baby pinch, you’ll have to do better.” The corner of his mouth turned up into something akin to a smirk, and you felt like you were being made fun of. “I’m not making fun of you, I swear.” Did you say that out loud? “It just takes more than that to hurt me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Steve.”

“That’s kind of the whole point of this, sweetheart.” His face flushed red again - even more than before - at his slip of the tongue, but Maria saved you both.

By making her way over and punching Steve in the stomach. He curled over just a bit, and you felt a pressure - something like a punch - in your abdomen. When you looked back up at him, there were tears in your eyes. But not from the pain. No, this was pure joy at finding your soulmate.

It was then that you noticed the calm presence of him, it was as if he soothed every pain you had ever felt, like he was taking it all away. It was as if he were a balm to your very soul.

You were so entranced with each other that you didn’t notice Maria slowly making her way out of the room. All you could see was a deep sea of blue, staring at you with the same intensity you felt burrow into your chest.

You took a step closer to him, then two, three, until you were so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Your eyes flitted down to his lips, and you knew he was doing the same to you.

Maybe it was too soon, but no one knew the magic of soulmates, the insatiable need to touch them, unless you were the one experiencing it. So when Steve dipped his head to kiss you, it just felt right.

There were no fireworks or sparks, no fanfare or an immediate need to act on any desires. There was only one word you could use to describe Steve Rogers.

Home.

#steve rogers #steve fic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x you #soulmate!steve rogers #soulmate au #mcu #marvel #tiff writes #no other shade of blue

[hertzwritings]

She calls me daddy

A/N: I COMPLETELY forgot about this masterpiece of an idea from @staysluttymyfriends97​, and it would be an absolute crime to not post it. I don’t make the rules. Anyway, Frat-boy!Steve Rogers makes me feel all the good, and I enjoy a cocky Steve, soooooo….

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized something – the sky is the limit with whatever and whoever you want in there!

I love y’all, and hopefully, you’ll like this. Remember, feedback feeds the soul (mine) and my askbox and requests are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and I have none.

MASTERLIST

CHRIS EVANS MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Frat-Boy!Steve Rogers x female reader, Nerd!Bucky (mentioned)

Contains: Language, Steve Rogers being a cocky dick, mentions of purity rings, smut (MDNI), fingering, oral (m recieving), p in v, unprotected sex, cum-shot, praise-kink, slight daddy-kink, slight dumbification, slight degradation-kink

W.C.: 4.638

 She calls me daddy

“Seriously, do you need me there, or are you just acting like you do? You know I have finals next week, and I’ve been prepp…” Bucky glared at you, and you closed your mouth with a snap. “Listen to me. You’ve been prepping for one exam for a full month, now. You’re stressed as hell, you’re jumpy like a cat, who’s been strapped to fireworks, and I miss you.” He pouted and you groaned. “Stop that! You know I can’t handle your puppy-face.” “Please, Y/N, please? I promise, it’s going to be fun as hell, you enjoyed yourself the last time you were there!”

Bucky wasn’t wrong. You had enjoyed yourself, maybe even a little too much. Actually, you had enjoyed yourself way too much the last time you went to his frat house. And you did not want to face the consequences of your own actions.

Your actions being Steve.

Who had quite the rumor of “virgin-collecting”, which fell just in line with what you were when you entered the frat house the first time and left behind as well. Fucking Steve. “I don’t know, Buck…” You glanced at your feet. “Doll, listen to me, you need to actually enjoy your college-life. Don’t stay in here all the time. You’re getting musty.” Your eyes snapped to him, and you glared. “I am not getting musty.” He raised an eyebrow and you looked around in your one-bedroom apartment, realizing just how much you had been focused on exams. You sighed. “One drink. And if Steve gets close to me, I’m literally whacking his stupid, blonde head off his shoulders.” “Don’t you think it’s…” “I don’t, actually.” Bucky sighed. “I don’t know what happened last time, and if you would just talk to me…” “Funnily enough, I don’t. Wait here, give me like… Thirty minutes to get ready. Max.” You didn’t wait for an answer, twirling on your heel to grab a black, strappy dress and your makeup, before slamming the bathroom-door behind you, trying to calm yourself and get ready at the same time. One drink. One.

  The frat house was packed when you arrived with Bucky next to you – he grinned toothily at you and led you inside, grabbing the first drink he could and handed it to you. “I’m going to try and find Sam!” He yelled over the bass. “I think Wanda and Nat is around here somewhere.” You nodded. “I’ll find them!” You yelled back. The music was full of heavy bass – which meant that either Vis or Tony had gotten a hold of the music, because it was currently playing Such a Whore, which you found extremely fitting, when you spotted Steve grinding against a sweating blonde, gyrating his hips. You scoffed and scanned the room, drinking your drink – it tasted vaguely of tequila – and finally spotted the two red-heads huddled in a corner.

“Nat! Wanda!” You yelled at them, and they looked up with wide smiles. “Oh my god, Y/N! I didn’t think I’d ever see you here, especially during exam-prep!” You shrugged and hugged Wanda, who beamed at you. Natasha tipped her red solo-cup at you. “Looking good, babes.” You smiled. “You shouldn’t be talking, look at you!” Nat shrugged with a pleased smile on her lips. She did look fucking fantastic, wearing black leather-pants and a tight tank-top in a blood-red color. “I have to tell you about this thing Vis did the other day!” Wanda pulled you to a chair, and began talking your ear off. You didn’t really pay attention to her, because Steve’s eyes were trained on you, while the blonde girl grinded against him, his face resting in a confused expression. You looked away from his blue eyes and re-entered the conversation. “…. I know, but it’s true! I haven’t seen Steve without somebody in his room in forever, and he’s been like… Almost…” Nat frowned and downed the rest of her drink. Of course, you would join back into the conversation with Steve headlining. “I don’t know, he's been demure, almost. It’s weird.” She pointed to your drink, which you swallowed quickly. “Yes, please.” She grabbed both you and Wanda’s cups before walking back to the kitchen, her hips swaying. It was like watching the red sea parting for her. “What’s up with Steve?” You asked, trying to sound overwhelmingly uninterested. Wanda lifted her eyebrows. “Did Bucky not tell you?” You shook your head. “He’s been very busy with Joaquin.” You nodded to where Bucky was currently tongue-deep into his boyfriend’s throat. “Holy… Wow, I did not need to see that.” Wanda laughed. “Well, it’s a little bit of a mystery, really. So, a few months ago, at the Halloween-party, remember that?” Vividly. You even lost your purity-ring somewhere in Steve’s room – not that it should matter, because the promise behind it didn’t anymore, but it was sentimental. You had gotten used to wearing it and felt naked without it. “Anyway, Steve went to his room at some point with a girl wearing this awesome Christine, you know from the phantom of the opera?” You nodded. Thank God, you had worn a mask. “Well, she wore that costume and a mask, and they went to his room, right? Well, she had disappeared in the morning, and Steve has been stone-cold girl-sober ever since. It’s been almost three months, but he keeps saying that it’s not that interesting anymore or something like that.” She glanced at him, and you followed her eyes; Steve was still on the dancefloor, but looked wholly annoyed at the blonde, who was currently dry humping his leg. “Want to know the weirdest part, other than the fact that nobody knows who the mystery heartbreaker is?” You scoffed.   “He can’t be brokenhearted over a one-night stand.” She lifted her perfect eyebrow. “I beg to differ. He came down the next morning asking about her, and he was wearing this ring, and I think she might’ve left it behind. Like, Steve doesn’t do jewelry, right, but now? He wears that ring on his pinky at all times. It doesn’t fit him at all, so it’s like almost at the tip of his finger, but still. Never takes it off.” You were seething. Asshole. One thing was being another notch in his virginity-belt, but it was something else entirely to flaunt it to everyone.

Maybe nobody knew who you were right now, but it wouldn’t take much to figure out. “I’ll be right back, Wanda.” You said through gritted teeth and caught Steve’s eyes when you stood from your seat, nodding towards the back of the house, where you knew his room was. He cocked an eyebrow at you and nodded once, nearly indiscernible, and began whispering something to the blonde. You didn’t wait to see her reaction, but walked with fast feet to his room, and went inside.

The memories flooded you, as soon as his scent hit your nose; your moans echoed in your head, his tongue had imprinted itself on your body, and it made you shiver. You shouldn’t think about that right now, because you were angry and just wanted your damn ring back. You were pacing the room, when he came in.

“Hiya, sweets.” You glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t sweets me. I want my ring back.” He glanced down at his hand and held it out in front of him with a smirk on his lips. “This ring?” You caught the silver shine of your ring on his pinky. He twisted it around and you huffed. “My ring, asshole. Do you really need proof that you fucked a virgin?” His eyebrows shot up. “That’s some hell of a mouth for a virgin.” You rolled your eyes and damned yourself to hell for your body’s reaction to his voice. You ignored the growing dampness in your underwear. “I was a virgin, not a fucking nun.” He chuckled darkly and you sucked in a sharp breath at the sound. “I didn’t want to be another notch, Steve, and I definitely don’t want to be a prized passion to remind yourself of your feat.” He twirled the ring again. “Who said you were a notch?” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. The music was loud but muted slightly through the door and you could feel the bass in your entire body. “Literally half the campus.” “And that’s believable?” “Yes.” You cocked a brow at him and extended your hand. “My ring, please.” “At least you know how to ask nicely.” He hummed for a moment. “What’s in it for me, Y/N?” “Oh, my God, are you fucking kidding me?” You threw your arms out in frustration. “You need something in return for something you stole?” He chuckled again and leaned against the door. “Sweetheart, I didn’t steal anything. You left it here, and finders keepers and all that.” You laughed mirthlessly. “You’re actually a real piece of shit, you know that captain?” You knew it would get a rise out of him to call him that. He hated it. “Stop that, you know I hate it.” “Give me my ring.” “I don’t think I will.” He twirled it again. “It’s a nice reminder of the girl, who seemingly had the best time of her life with me.” You scoffed. “You really think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” He tilted his head. “Do enlighten me.” He grinned again and you wanted to remove his dick and make him choke on it. “You…” You glowered. “I don’t want to talk to you for longer than necessary, so can I please, just have my fucking ring back?” “No.” “What the fuck, Steve?” “No, what the fuck, Y/N?” He pushed off the door and stalked to you, towering over you. Your breath hitched. “You left in the middle of the night…” “It was six in the morning, but okay…” He ignored you. “Didn’t leave a number, not even a fucking thank you Steven for the most mindblowing night of my life, and you come back here and act all pissy with me, because I wear a ring, I found in my bedroom? You’ve got some nerve, you brat.” “I’m not a fucking brat. You’re an asshole, and I really am not in the mood be here, much less entertain this conversation with you.” He smiled predatorily at you and bent his head a little. “What? You got scared, little girl? After I fucked you stupid, you got scared that I’d what, brag about it to everyone? Let everyone know what a good, little whore you were?” You gaped at him. The fucking nerve. “And you come back here, act like a spoiled brat, can’t even look at me, and think I’m just, what, going to hand the fucking ring back over?” He yanked it free from his finger, and you saw the faint outline of it on his thick finger. “Here, take it. It wasn’t something I kept to show off, just FYI.” He looked slightly pained now. “I kept it, because it was the only thing, I had to remind me of you.” You scoffed and took the ring from him, ignoring your heart thudding wildly against your ribs. “Fuck you, Steve. You knew you could ask Bucky, Joaquin, Sam, Wanda or Nat and they’d probably give you my number. You could’ve asked around. You didn’t care, and you still don’t, because you never do. That’s at least what your previous conquests have said. Loudly, I might add.” You said, pushing the ring back on your finger.

It was funny, it felt almost foreign on you now.

“Oh, shut the hell up. You’d rather listen to girls, who spent a night in here than stay behind to get to know me? You’re stupider than I thought I made you.” He laughed angrily, his eyes burning holes into you. “I wanted to get to know you, Y/N, and you disappeared because you were scared and confused, and instead of handling it like a big girl, you ran off.” He frowned. “And here I thought you were a smart girl, Y/N.” He stood to his full height and gestured to the door. Tears were burning in your eyes as you strode to the door. “I didn’t tell anyone, you know. Just for the record, I easily could’ve, but I didn’t.” “Oh, so because you had opportunity to tell and didn’t, you’re commendable?” You asked, your back turned to him. You hated to admit it, but it did make you feel a little more at ease. He groaned. “Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t say anything to you? You’re so damn defensive, it’s honestly heartbreaking.” “You’re a dick, Steve.” You turned to look at him and smiled at him with as much venom as you could. “Go find another hole to fill, you seem to do that very well.”

It was the wrong thing to say, because his eyes flared up and in a single stride, he was in front of you, pushing the door closed again and caged you with his arms. “Don’t you fucking try me, Y/N.” You glared at him. “I already did, thanks.” He growled and got close enough for you to feel the tip of his nose brush against yours. “You’re skating on thin ice, right now.” He glared at you, and you tried your best to not squirm, because his damn body this close to yours made you feel tingly. “Fuck you. I got what I wanted, so did you, clearly, so let’s leave it at that.” He didn’t like this. “Oh my God, Y/N!” he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, coming into my room and acting like I did you a disservice or some shit, because you decided to believe rumors.” His lips turned up in a dangerous smile and his eyes glinted. “You sure as hell didn’t have a problem with it at Halloween. My… Reputation.” You bit your lip. “Actually, you seemed pretty happy about the fucking reputation, because, and Ill quote you: That just means experience, which I need.” “Well…” “No, don’t try to get out of this one. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if I just slid my fingers down…” His fingers slid from the door to your waist, slowly sliding down to your absolute asshole of a pussy, who was – indeed – soaking through your underwear. He hissed when he felt it, and your hips bucked. “Hm. What do you have to say to that, Y/N?” you couldn’t say anything, not really, because his stupid fingers were rubbing circles on your clit through the damp fabric, and your brain was malfunctioning. “So quiet… Did I already make you so fucking dumb, huh? All you needed was my fingers?” You moaned when he pushed against your entrance through the fabric. “Tell me. You want this?” He asked, his lips grazing your neck. Fucking hell.

“Yes.” You mumbled. He snapped to face you again, pressing harder against you. “No, I need clear words, baby. Do you want this?” He asked again, now moving his fingers to the elastic of your panties, his fingers dipping inside. “Yes! Fuck, yes!” you said quickly, when his fingers found your clit. It was all he needed.

He growled and removed his fingers, lifted you from the ground and threw you back on his bed, before he descended hungrily on you. The kiss was angry and full of teeth and tongue, but fuck, it felt good. He groaned against you, pulling the elastic on your panties and letting it fall back with a snap. “Get these off.” You rolled your eyes but did it as soon as he stood up from the bed to remove his own clothing. You quickly removed your panties along with your dress, chest heaving, and your entire body shuddered at the look, he sent you. Steve climbed on the bed and kissed you again, his fingers finding their previous spot on your clit and dipping inside of you. You gasped at the intrusion, and your back arched, allowing him to catch your nipple with his lips. “Fuck, it feels good to have my fingers in you again, baby…” He moaned around your nipple and sped up. How on earth, he managed to coax you to near an orgasm already, you didn’t understand, but you were barely breathing, and your legs shook. “Come on, baby, tell me…” His teeth tugged on your nipple, and you mewled. “Am I who you think about when you’re alone in bed… Touching yourself, huh?” He sped up and curled his fingers. “Y-yes… shit, yes…” You moaned. All pretense of being unaffected by him or not thinking about him was long gone. “Good girl… You want to cum?” He asked, licking wet trails on your breast. “Please…” You breathed it out, and in the same moment, he stilled. “Earn it.” Fuck him. “Wh-what?” you gasped, his fingers still in you and a shit-eating grin on his lips. “Earn it, baby. Apologize.” He kissed you again. “Tell me what you’ve thought of me doing to you, when you’re all alone, touching yourself like this…” He moved his fingers slowly and stopped in the same second as a stuttering moan fell from your lips. “Fuck you.” You mumbled. “Later.” He grinned. “Come now, kitten, speak up.” You groaned and caught his eyes; he was enjoying it. “I’m… Oh…” He twitched his fingers. “I’m s-sorry!” You cried. He moved slowly now, steadily drawing you nearer the edge again. “I’ve… Fuck… I-I’ve thought of you fucking me…” You said, and despite your haze of lust, you still felt your cheeks heat up. “I’ve imagined you fucking me so hard, I couldn’t walk…” “Oh, atta girl.” He mumbled, fingers moving faster now. “But… I-I couldn’t make myself, fucking shit, m-make myself cu-um…” You moaned loudly again. “Because my fingers weren’t enough… Please, S-Steve, I just want to…” “You can cum, pretty girl.” He sped up and attacked your nipple again, and you came undone; his fingers moved so fast and perfectly against every spot, that made you see stars, you wouldn’t have been able to hold back, even if you tried. You screamed as you came, grabbing his bare shoulders roughly, crescent moons indented in his skin form your nails, as he fucked you through your orgasm. “Good girl, look at you… making a mess of me, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Remember last time, baby?” You nodded and couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “Eager, huh? Come and get it, then.” He moved away from you and flopped down on his back, his large, veiny cock protruding from his body. You nearly drooled at the sight. “Make it nice and wet for me, baby…” He whispered. Yes, sir.

You slowly licked a long stripe along the underside of him, flattening your tongue as you reached a sensitive spot right under the head, and slowly sucked him into your mouth. He tensed up and hissed as you took more and more into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and allowed him deeper. When he hit the back of your throat, you bobbed your head slightly, getting a feel of him, your jaw already aching – he was big, but you were determined to impress. You knew you had some skill. You gagged around his length as you forced him deeper, spit drippling from your mouth to the bed, and he moaned, and his cock twitched in your throat. “Such a good fucking whore, huh, Y/N? Taking me so deeply… Shit…” He moaned again and your lips stretched into a smile around him, before you began moving for real this time – you picked up speed, now feeling pretty confident in the fact, that you weren’t going to throw up all over him, and he met your movements with small thrusts. “Baby… Fuck, you need to… ah… Baby girl, you n-need to stop, sweetheart… I don’t want to… Fuck…” his hand went to your hair and pulled you gently from his cock, and you let it go with a loud pop, his cock bouncing back against his stomach. “Did I do good, daddy?” you asked with wide eyes. “Oh, fuck, you’re dangerous, baby.” He grinned, and pulled you to his side, turning your back to him. “You think it’s wet enough for you?” You moaned as a response. “Do you think you’ve earned it, baby?” He whispered, his lips ghosting against your shoulder. I swear to everything that’s real, Steve, if you don’t…” You didn’t get to finish your sentence, because he pushed slowly inside of you. You gasped and hissed at the stretch, although it wasn’t unwelcome. When he bottomed out, you both sighed. “It’s like you were fucking made for me…” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. You moaned. “Move, Steve…” You gasped. “Baby, I gotta let you adjust, or…” “Don’t. Just… Fucking take me.” You moaned, grabbing the hand that rested on your hip and dragged it to your chest, letting his fingers tug on your nipple. He moved and began dragging his cock against your walls – spooning you, he managed to get even deeper than you could’ve imagined him being and you rolled your hips to meet him. It was intimate, and way more than you thought him to be, but he buried his face in the crook of your neck and sped up, fingers intertwining with yours over your breast. “You feel fucking amazing… Fuck, I’ve dreamt of being inside of you since Halloween…” He groaned and slammed his cock inside of you, working faster and faster. You were shaking around him, your walls pulsing and dragging him further in. “You’re taking me so well, baby…” That did you in. you came with a shout, your body tensing up and your legs shaking, while he fucked you deeply; it felt as if you had been lit on fire, but you didn’t mind it at all. It almost hurt, but you wanted more from him – it was addictive. “Fuck, Steve!” You shouted his name, and he moved his hand from your chest to your mouth, holding you tightly as he fucked you with ferocity. “Shh, baby, you don’t want anyone to hear you get fucked like… ah… Fuck, by me, do you?” Honestly? You couldn’t give a rat’s ass right now. You’d let your pastor hear you, for all you cared, because you wanted everyone to know that he did this to you. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? You want people to hear you get fucked…” He pushed further inside of you, and you saw stars, mewling at the pressure. His speed was stuttering, his grip over your mouth tightening. “Fucked by me, huh? That nice, little, pretty… fucking hell… Girl, getting fucking split open by my cock?” He moaned in your ear, and you were barely hanging on by your fingernails at this point. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to…” He groaned and sped up. “one more, baby, one more for me… I need you to cum for me… I need to feel it, baby, please…” His fingers left your mouth and traveled to your clit, where he began rubbing determined circles on it, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “Ste-eve… Oh my god…” You whined and when he bit down on the sensitive skin at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, you lost control completely. You came with a shriek, your body tensing and toes curling, wetness gushing from you; your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, and the orgasm felt like it had shattered you, put you back together and tied you up with Steve.

“Fuck!” He grunted and pulled out of you, shooting hot spurts of cum on your hip and ass, painting you with white. You moaned at the feeling and his sweaty forehead fell back against your shoulder, as you both caught your breaths. “I’ll get you a towel, hang on.” “Mhm…” You didn’t have the capacity to answer, simply too blissed out. He left for what felt like a second with a damp towel and began cleaning you up. You turned to your back, when he threw the towel on the ground and settled next to you, drawing lazy circles on your stomach, goosebumps appearing, where his fingers traveled.

“You know, I, uh… I really didn’t want you to leave the last time.” He said slowly. You turned to face him and was surprised at the softness and shyness that graced his features. “I thought that was just your… M.O.” You replied, equally as soft. He shook his head and kissed your shoulder. “Maybe it used to be. I, uh, yeah… I’ve had a thing for you for a while.” He confessed. “What?” “Yeah. Ask Bucky, he’s about to explode with my Y/N this and Y/N that.” He chuckled. “I felt ridiculously lucky to have you in my bed that night, especially since it was a first for you… And when I woke up alone the next morning, I just… Yeah.” You could feel the disappointment seep from him and instantly felt guilty. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a thing for you, too, you know.” You smiled. “I… I was scared. Your reputation does exceed you, Steve. I was sure I was going to be another virgin, you’d added to the collection, and when I saw you wear my ring…” “It’s a purity ring, right?” He asked. You nodded and slowly removed it from your finger. The music from the party had changed to a slow How can you mend a broken heart by Al Green, which seemed fitting for the moment, and you slid the ring back on Steve’s pinky. “We can make it a promise ring instead.” “Oh?” He looked down at it with the softest eyes, you had ever seen. It was like you had given him the most precious thing on earth. “Mhm. A promise that I won’t run out on you again, and that I wasn’t just another piece to your collection.” “I’ve never even been with a virgin before you.” Your eyes widened. “But… Julia said…” “Julia Becker?” He laughed and cupped your face, kissing your nose. “She’s just angry I didn’t want her. I promise you, my reputation is literally just rumors. I don’t want or need anyone else.” You sighed – an invisible weight had been lifted from your shoulders, a weight, you didn’t even know you carried around. “So… You want to stay here?” He asked, kissing you again. “What about the party?” “Fuck the party. I honestly don’t give a shit about it. I’ve got you, right?” He asked earnestly. “Yeah, you got me.”

 When you came into the kitchen the next morning, wearing Steve’s t-shirt (that fit you sort of like a dress, that giant man) and your hand secured in his, both of you smiling like idiots, Bucky and Sam both gaped at you, before Bucky hit Sam on the arm.

“I told you it was Y/N!” “But… She has taste, Buck. Steve is not taste, Steve is… Unsalted peanuts.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Fuck you too, Sam. Anybody making coffee, or does my girl have to go without her morning dose of brain-juice?” You grinned. “Y/N, have you been brainwashed?” Bucky asked with a sly grin. “Shut the fuck up, Barnes.” Steve grunted, but you could feel the pride rolling off of Steve as he pulled you tightly. “Seriously, does he have something on you to force you into this? Is he calling you something that you don’t want to get out?” Bucky scrunched up his nose. “Because I literally can’t understand what you are doing with that jerk.” Steve shrugged and winked at you. “Well, she calls me daddy, so…”

You both laughed at the boys gagging.

 -------------------

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#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans characters #chris evans x you #steve rogers #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #College AU!Steve rogers #frat!boy steve #steve rogers x you smut #steve rogers x y/n smut #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x female reader smut #steve rogers reader insert smut #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x y/N #steven grant rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x oc #captain america smut

[ace-of-gay]

Theyre all so perfect

Steve rogers x little reader

1,263 words

Warnings: age regression, paci, crayons, self doubt but fluff comfort aswell.

Little names like lovebug, little one, baby etc. The title daddy for steve as the caregiver.

Dont like it dont read it.

No pronouns weight or skin color mentioned reader is able bodied enough to walk even just a little bit (i will work on making fics for readers who need mobility aids and such aswell, i understand yall cause i need em aswell)

Edited to the best of my ability

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

It had been a stressful week, you had fought your brain to stay up as late as possible waiting for Stevie to come home last night.

After making dinner cleaning yourself up and waiting so very patiently, when he finally came in the front door kicking his shoes off and tossing his keys onto the table he found you half awake on the couch.

You greeted him with a big drowsy smile, "hello my love" he calls crossing the room when your stomach grumbled, "well i guess that answers the question i was going to ask, lets go eat dinner and cuddle up for bed"

And so you did, saving the dishes for tomorrow you had fallen asleep quickly.

The night had gone quickly filled with cozy warm dreams wrapped up in Steve’s arms held close to his chest, eventually you were woken up by the small cast of sunlight making itself known through the stormy clouds and closed curtains, wrapping yourself up in one of the throw blankets you wander through the hall to find Stevie, your little headspace taking its place.

Walking into the kitchen to find him making breakfast, "good morning cuddle bug, were having French toast this morning" he mentions as you hug him, he turns to you picking you up and placing you sitting on the cold marble counter making you squeal as he goes back to cooking, "daddyyy its coold" you giggle out realy letting yourself slip into your headspace, "I’m sorry love bug i didn't realize" he chuckles as he puts the breakfast treat on two plates adding your favorite type of syrup on top and fruit on the side.

He decided that today could be a calm day, going easy on the routine he lets you sit at the coffee table and eat your French toast and fresh fruit while watching cartoons.

Once done he takes both of your plates and goes to finally do the dishes. You run off to go get changed for the day, picking out a soft pair of dungarees and a matching sweater, picking out a paci for the day, grabbing your stuffy, and your crayons you go off to the kitchen, dropping your crayons off at the table.

Unable to find your drawing book you go off to the kitchen "daddy can i have paper?"

You request as he’s finishing up.

"Of course love bug" he returns going and getting some blank printer paper from the office and bringing it to you at the table.

"Fank you daddy" you chirp behind your paci

Getting to work on your ideas.

It was great being in a house with another artist, there was always projects going on and you could always ask for their perspective and get feedback on where something needs extra attention, all the walls practically covered in canvas paintings and graphite pieces that took weeks if not months, but never your little drawings, those always got put in a binder and put in the office, a few on the fridge and some in your little room but nothing more than that.

The drawing you were trying so very hard to get right just wasn’t coming out and you’ve used both sides of each page you had trying to get it right but to no avail.

You were determined to make such a special piece for your daddy, one that would go on the wall.

A couple tears slip your eyes and hit the table buy you quickly wipe your eyes before anymore come falling, you get up going over to where your daddy sits on the couch reading to ask for more paper which he agrees to.

Once again seated at the table drawing in an absolute trance, you’ve gone through three more pages front and back, it just wouldn't come out right, crumpling it and moving on to a new piece, it had to be perfect.

You had no idea your face was scrunched in anger so when Stevie came over to see you and ask what was wrong you huffed, not in anger but frustration, covering your paper.

" 's not done yet, im tryin daddy" you mutter out glancing at him.

He’s never seen you so upset over a drawing but you wouldn't let him see until its done, "alrighty love, i wont look yet but i promise all your drawings are amazing so i know you’re doin a very good job"

Giving you a kiss on the forehead he goes off to read or draw in the next room to give you space.

This was the best one yet, it finally looked good enough, you even put in an attempt at shading and highlights but crayons aren’t the best at layering but you finally finished it, signing it and putting away your crayons, you go to show Stevie your drawing.

You walk into the room a little hesitant but very hopeful, he sees you and pipes up, "hey bug did you finish your drawing?" Nodding you give it to him and all he does is stare at it, face unchanging, your eyes begin to well "n-never min' i don like it anymore, i-im sorry" you go to take it back when he pulls it back, "baby this is the best drawing ive ever seen"

He takes your hand pulling you to his side.

"But you not gonna put it on- on the wall like the other drawins, yous always put em in a binder an hide em" you sniffle.

He frowns, setting the drawing down and pulling you into his lap, "lovebug im not hiding them, i love those ones so much im keeping them safe, in a place where i can look at them while working and remind myself that you made them for me while little, those ones like all your big headspace drawing are so very special"

Giving you a hug to help embed his words deeper into your mind, he helps you up, grabbing the drawing he leads you to the office where he keeps the binder.

He opens the binder flipping through all of your drawings he had put in clear paper-liners with sticky notes onto the clear plastic of each one describing the days they were all made.

He flips to an empty liner and puts the new one away, grabbing his wallet off the desk and handing it to you, "open it up and look in the cash pocket" you look at him confused but do what he said, pulling out a piece of paper folded into sixths, it had been folded and unfolded so many times that the paper was wearing thin on the creases, opening it up its one of your drawings.

Still confused you look at him tilting your head to the side.

"Its the first drawing you gave to me with you regressed, i keep it in my wallet because it makes me so proud of you, so happy, it makes me feel so special and trusted"

You lurch forward hugging him, he reciprocates your hug and emphasizes it with scattered kisses on your cheeks nose and forehead.

"Ill let you in on a secret of mine, all the drawings on our walls are photo copies, it would hurt me too much to frame the original and something happen to it, i have a separate binder for all your big you drawings in a safe at work" now that is special, its magical its so very comforting, he thinks you, both big and little are an amazing artist beyond what you thought of yourself, because you are.

《~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~》

Its the last day of October, i find the day of Halloween itself traumatizing from something that happend several several years ago do it affects my bpd quite strangely, hence no proper Halloween fic today although i thought this was cute to finally post as its been sitting in my drafts for about two weeks.

#steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x little!reader #steve rogers x reader imagine #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x ftm reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x m! reader #little reader #age regressor insert fic #steve rogers reader insert #sfw agere #agere reader #age regression

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Protect & Respect

Title: Protect & Respect

Pairing: Mafia!Steve x Former FBI Agent!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Language, kidnapping, non-consensual drug use, weapons, kissing

Summary: After Steve goes missing, Y/N meets up with a rival mob boss to organize his safe return.

A/N: This is the first time I’ve written Mafia!Steve! It was fun to write, so please let me know if you enjoyed it. As always, thank you for reading this story and supporting me in all the ways you do!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The drive to their specified location is only a short distance from your Brooklyn apartment, but you get there in half the time. As you turn the corner, you realize you’re only half a block from your old apartment, the moldy one in Queens that Steve moved you out of as soon as you’d gotten together.

Once parked, you grab the bag Bucky had put together while you’d paced back and forth in Steve’s office, then climb out of the black SUV. You slam the driver’s side door shut and stalk across the empty street, ignoring the old man who watches you from the edge of the shadows with a greedy look in his eye. You have bigger fish to fry.

You toss the zipped duffel at Javier’s feet as soon as you’re close enough. A few feet behind him, his two buddies stand with Steve smack dab between them. He’s on his side in the gravel, his eyes closed. There are no visible wounds, but you don’t trust that he’s unharmed, like they’d said on the phone.

Slowly, casually, and taking great pleasure in your anger, Javier reaches down to pick up the bag. His rings glint in the yellowed security light on the nearby workshop. You’ve always thought he dressed too ostentatiously, but now you wish you could shove his rings down his throat, one by one, just so he could suffer.

“It’s all there,” you snap when he starts to unzip the bag, and you push past him to crouch near Steve’s head. “Steve, can you hear me?”

His hands are tied tightly behind his back with a thick black zip tie and you almost gag at the stench coming off of him. He’s been missing for several days now, and it’s clear that he’s been in their hands for just as long. You don’t need to search his clothing for humiliating stains to know that. Javier has never treated his prisoners well. As soon as you’re done exacting your revenge on his kidnapper, you’re going to make sure your husband gets a bath, a good meal, and a thorough examination from Dr. Banner.

Carefully, you place your hand on Steve’s head, stroking his hair with your thumb, but he doesn’t even stir under your attendance. Something clicks inside your brain and you slowly lift your eyes to glare at Javier, the anger inside of you rising to a head.

“What did you give him?” you grind out.

Javier clicks his tongue. “One would think the boss would be a little more careful. All I had to do was mention you, and he was ready to be at my beck and call. It was quite amusing, actually.” He shoves the bag towards the man to your right.

“What did you give him?” you repeat, your voice rising in pitch as your anger and desperation grows. Steve was strong, and thanks to the secret government programs he’d been subjected to during his time in the military, he was practically immune to every kind of drug. To render him unconscious, they would’ve had to either pump his system full of enough drugs to kill any mere mortal or give him something strong, something you couldn’t access on the street. If they had access to something like that, it means that they’d made a deal with HYDRA, and that would mean Steve’s kidnapping went deeper than just Javier’s meager show of power.

The man on the left steps closer, leaning down to grab your arm. You jerk away, slapping him across the face. Your voice has reached an unholy screech as you repeat the question, but Javier is unfazed. His fingers twitch and suddenly your arms are behind your back. You struggle against his lackey’s grip, but your anger does you no good. You suddenly wish you’d taken Steve’s offer of training more seriously. It’s been over a year and a half since you’d had to do any kind of fighting, and though your former FBI training is still ingrained deep into your bones, you’re rusty, and it’s too late by the time you’re ready to fight back. Why hadn’t you just told Bucky where you were going? Why hadn’t you let Clint or Natasha come with you, even though you’d vowed to come alone?

“You really believed that you could save him?” Javier mocks. The man holding you hostage chuckles in your ear and you shudder, attempting once again to wrench yourself away from him. The other man brusquely pats you down, but you’d stayed true to every term of the agreement. You’d come unarmed, even though you now severely regretted it.

“Let us both go and maybe you’ll live to see the end of the week,” you spit.

“You’re nothing but a whore to warm the Captain’s bed.”

A cold sense of dread fills you as you’re yanked to your feet. The man pushes you back towards the street and you stumble, craning your neck to see Steve’s still form on the ground.

“Let me go!”

Nobody answers you as you’re dragged to a black sedan tucked into the shadows of the warehouse. You catch a glimpse of the old man across the street as you struggle, and his eyes follow you as the lackey pushes you into the trunk, but he does nothing to help. The trunk is slammed shut and you narrowly avoid getting clipped as you fight to get out.

“Load him up into the backseat, and give him another dose,” Javier orders, his voice muffled by the metal around you. “We don’t need him waking up before we get there.” He pounds on the top of the trunk and you flinch at the banging. “Comfortable? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, sweetheart.”

You shout at him and struggle, making the car rock beneath you, but it’s no use. The trunk is locked shut, and when you scramble for the emergency release, you realize that it’s gone. They’ve somehow removed it, leaving you well and truly fucked. All you can do is sit tight and keep calm. The drive to wherever you’re headed will be an opportune time to think of a plan to fight back and get both you and Steve home where you belong.

The car starts with a grumble and a whine, and it lurches beneath you when the driver accelerates. It takes you twenty-five minutes of listening to the muffled crap radio they’re playing in the car before you remember the device Natasha had sewn into your bra.

You have to wiggle a little to get the right angle, but after several long moments, you press the button in the tracking device. A soft beep is the only response you get, but you let out a sigh of relief. Natasha would get the signal. You’d be rescued soon enough.

By the time the car slows to a stop and the trunk opens, the sun is rising. The inky black sky is starting to grow lighter, changing to dark blue, then to a paler shade the closer it gets to the ground. You’ve dozed off several times, and you open your eyes just as one of Javier’s henchmen opens the trunk. You glare up at him.

“Bring her inside,” Javier orders, somewhere on the driver’s side of the car. “Stick her in the guest room.”

You don’t have any time to wonder what he means by “the guest room” before the man is grabbing you and pulling you from the trunk. You stumble as he shoves you towards an imposing manor surrounded by nothing but tall, dark pine trees. They block the sunrise, though the lightness creeps up towards their tops with every passing minute.

Javier is climbing the wide marble steps to the front door. It’s braced with Grecian columns, and a black lantern hangs above the white marble entryway. 

“Your vacation home looks a little worse for wear,” you bite.

He only turns around and gives you a sickening grin before the front door is opened by a short woman in a traditional gray maid’s uniform. She gives him a small curtsy, and you hold back a groan of disgust. Of course Javier wanted to be curtised to.

Steve is nowhere in sight, and when you turn around to see if he’s still in the backseat of the sedan, the man leading you inside shoves his gun between your shoulder blades.

“Keep walking, whore,” he hisses, and you shudder at his hot breath in your ear.

You’re led inside the house, then down into the basement. After carefully descending the stairs, you enter a long hallway. The man shoves you through the first metal door you come to, and you fall onto your hands and knees. He slams the door behind you, and a light flickers on above as the lock engages.

Slowly, you sit back on your heels to inspect your hands. You’re not bleeding, but you flex them and wince at the sting from your fall. Once you’re sure that you’re not seriously injured, you take in your surroundings.

The room has four walls of gray concrete, with a steel door behind you. The ceiling and floor are also concrete, and there’s a prison-like toilet and sink combination in the corner next to the door. There are two cameras: one pointed at the door and the other pointed at the bed, which is just a twin-size metal bed frame with a chintzy mattress laid on top. There’s no pillow, but the blanket looks thin and scratchy. Clearly, Javier and whatever HYDRA operative he’s working with care very little for their assets.

Climbing to your feet, you take inventory of yourself. Your muscles are tense from the cramped drive from Queens. You quickly do the math in your head. If the sun is just rising and you’d gone to meet Javier at midnight, then you’d driven for at least six hours, which could put you in a number of states. You’d activated the tracking device less than an hour into the drive, so if you were lucky, Nat and the rest of the team would be here soon enough. You just had to hope that Steve was somewhere else in the manor, rather than the two of you being separated.

The blanket sends up a cloud of dust when you flip it over on the mattress, making you cough. When there’s no sign of bugs or suspicious stains, you settle yourself in the corner of the mattress. You can fully watch the door from your spot, so you sit back against the cool concrete and wait.

Finally, after what feels like hours, the door opens and you’re greeted by the muzzle of a silenced gun, then Bucky’s grim expression. Upon seeing you, however, he relaxes and smiles just a little.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, and he lets out an indignant huff.

“You’re the one who waited so long to turn on the tracker. Are you hurt, mo bhanríon?” he asks, and with the lilt of the familiar name comes the first hint of comfort you’ve had in a few days.

You shake your head and slide off the bed, then take the extra gun he pulls from his thigh holster. After looking it over, you also take the knife he pulls out from his boot. You slip it in your own. 

“Maybe I just wanted to test your skills. Have you found Steve yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’re still looking.” He leads you out into the corridor and the two of you begin searching behind the other metal doors. All of them open into cells identical to your own, but they’re empty of prisoners. 

When you reach the end of the hall, he taps the comms unit in his ear. “Basement’s clear. I found an bhanríon, she’s unharmed. Any sign of Steve?” 

You hold your breath, waiting as Bucky listens to the rest of Steve’s men as they report back. Finally, his shoulders slump and he closes his eyes, muttering Irish curses under his breath.

“What? What is it?” You step closer and grab Bucky’s prosthetic with your free hand. “Did they find him?”

Much to your relief, Bucky nods. He turns and begins to steer you toward the stairs leading up to the main floor of the manor.

“Is he okay?” you ask, glancing over at him as you walk. “They gave him something—I don’t know what. Whatever it was, though, it was strong. He was totally out of it, Bucky. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

He passes by you to climb the steps first, his gun drawn. “He’s okay. Be quiet, Y/N. Main floor isn’t clear,” he murmurs.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you try to refocus yourself on the task at hand. Being distracted in enemy territory is a stupid way to go, and you need to get back to Steve in one piece, just like you always promised you would.

You follow Bucky in silence, letting him clear the rooms first before you do your own sweep. The entire manor feels like it’s holding its breath. There isn’t a single noise as you move from room to endless room. It makes your stomach twist—where had Javier and his men gone? Where is the maid in the gray uniform who had met you at the door?

You’re on the last hallway when you finally hear a soft clatter from one of the rooms. Bucky tenses, and you give him a little more space as you trail behind. 

Slowly, he approaches the door. He waits for a moment, listening, and then he pushes his way in with his gun drawn. There’s a feminine scream and you grip your gun a little tighter.

“Where are they?” Bucky demands. His voice is as cold as ice and you shiver. You’d hate to be on the receiving end of “The Sergeant’s” questioning. He’s known across New York first for his prosthetic, and then for his ruthless interrogation skills.

“I don’t know!” a woman cries. “Mr. Smith told me to come wait here for him, but it’s been two hours! I heard noises, so I hid!”

There’s a pause as Bucky stares her down to determine if she’s telling the truth or not. You use that time to step forward into the doorway behind him and inspect the room. It’s a broom closet, more or less, with a square wooden card table and two matching chairs in the middle of the room. The walls are covered with hanging cleaning supplies, and there are several shelving units holding various boxes and bottles against the far wall. A small microwave sits on the back of the table, and a clock hangs in the only empty space on the wall a few feet above the microwave. From the looks of things, Javier has made the large closet into the poorest excuse for a break room that you’ve ever seen. You feel even worse for the woman. Not only did she have to work for and curtsy to one of the most ridiculous mob bosses you’ve ever met, but she didn’t even have a good place to eat her lunch in peace.

“She’s an employee here, Bucky,” you quietly tell him from behind. “She curtsied when Javier walked in. I don’t think she knows much of anything. None of his other men treated him the same way.”

Bucky grunts a little at that information, then lowers his gun. The woman lets out a sigh of relief, but she still trembles as she watches you from her spot on the floor beneath the table.

“Did they hurt you?” she asks, her voice wavering as she fixes her eyes on you.

You shake your head and offer her a brief, polite smile. “I’m fine. We need you to stay here until we figure out what to do with this place. Can you do that?”

The woman nods. “Yes, ma’am.” She pauses, looking between you and Bucky for a moment. “Your friend is being held in the conservatory.”

“Thank you,” Bucky replies, though you know they’ve already found Steve.

You turn and head back into the hallway as he gives the woman one last warning to stay put. Bucky follows you back the way you’d come after closing the door to the closet-turned-break room.

“The conservatory?” you ask, and Bucky hums behind you.

“Turn left,” he instructs when you reach the main hall again. 

He gives you directions as you walk, leading you down several long hallways till you reach the northeastern corner of the mansion. It’s bigger than it had looked from the front.

The sun is fully up now, and you’re greeted with the last remnants of the sunrise when you step through the French doors and into the conservatory. The room is massive, with windows braced with white trim making up the majority of the three outer walls. The ceiling stretches up almost fifty feet, and the floor beneath you is black and white checkerboard tile. Each square is at least four feet across.

All around you, plants of every size and shape grow together, creating the feel of a small, indoor forest. The majority of the plants are tropical. Some of them have leaves as big as the fancy dinner plates Steve’s employees pull out for galas, and there are hidden water spigots spraying a fine mist over them. There are palms dotted around the room, as well as hibiscus trees. A fountain sits in the center of the conservatory. Two large, potted palms sit in front of it, and between them there’s a red velvet settee. 

Your eyes find Steve’s immediately, and it feels like your legs give out for a second. Bucky’s still beside you, however, and he manages to keep you upright with an arm around your waist.

“Mo grá,” Steve says from where he’s seated on the center of the settee, and his deep baritone is like a balm to your soul. You close your eyes and let out a breath. It feels like you’re breathing for the first time in days. It’s definitely the first time you’ve been this relaxed.

When you meet his gaze again, Steve smiles wearily and holds out a hand. You close the distance between you and stand between his outstretched legs. He looks up at you, and the two men who’d been standing guard behind the couch move so they’re no longer in your line of sight. 

“Did they hurt you?” he asks. There’s a glint of anger in his eyes as he speaks, but you know better. The glint is just a hint of what’s hiding inside of him. Steve is furious that they’ve taken him, but he’s even more angry that they took you. You know he’s probably beating himself up over it, too.

You lift your hands and run them through Steve’s hair. Instinctively, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch, just like he always does.

“No, my love,” you gently answer. “I’m okay. How are you feeling? They gave you something… I don’t know what. Whatever it was, it was strong.”

You can hear the fear and uncertainty in your voice, and you wish that you could hide it better, but all the willpower in the world wouldn’t help you right now. You’ve never been able to hide anything from Steve. It’s how he’d discovered your true identity so quickly, even if he hadn’t revealed that to you until your investigation had been completely foiled.

“I’m fine,” he soothes. “A little tired, maybe.”

Nodding, you let Steve take your hand and kiss your palm, then close your fingers into a fist. He does the same to your other hand, and then he pulls you down to kiss him properly. He pulls you so close that you’re forced to straddle him with your knees firmly planted on the cushions on either side of him.

Behind you, Natasha clears her throat. Your cheeks grow hot when you remember that there are others present for your reunion, and you sit back so you can look at her from over your shoulder. Steve supports your weight with his knees underneath you and with both hands on your ass. Your own hands rest on your thighs.

“As touching as this reunion is, I have news,” she says. There’s a small smirk on her face, and you have to resist the urge to throw the nearest pillow at her.

“What is it, Natasha?” Steve asks. He’s all business again.

“We’ve found Javier, Captaen,” Natasha replies. She bows her head a little when she says his title, the same way every one of the mobsters does. It was strange to you when you first joined them, but you’ve grown used to it. The action is comforting, in a way. You know it means a show of respect for Steve, and with that comes respect and protection for you, too.

“And?”

“He’s finished.”

Steve nods once. “Good. We’ll be leaving soon. Round up any remaining men and take them to the office. Bring Jim and Frenchie with you.”

You’ve never been to Steve’s “office”. You’d tried, once, when you were still an agent assigned to uncover the syndicate, but Steve had prevented that from happening. Now, you have no desire to see the evidence of his work. You have no interest in the grizzly details of the Rogers Crime Family, even if you’re now a part of that family.

“One of Javier’s employees is in a room down the hall. She’s not one of his men, she just works in the house. What do you want us to do with her?” Bucky asks.

Steve stays quiet for a minute, and you feel his thumbs brush against the waistband of your jeans as he thinks. Finally, he looks up at you.

“What do you think, mo grá?” 

“Let her go. Pay her off,” you instantly tell him. You bring one hand up to cradle his cheek. “She’s innocent, I can tell.”

Steve nods once, then tilts his head to look past you at his oldest, most trusted friend. “You hear that, Buck?”

There’s no response, but Steve leans against the back of the settee and smiles softly, pulling you down to lay on top of him. He wraps his arms around you in a gentle embrace, so you can only assume that Bucky and Natasha have gone off to do Steve’s bidding, along with the two guards that had been here when you arrived, leaving the two of you alone in the conservatory.

“I was so worried,” you murmur, and Steve hums. 

“I wasn’t.”

You lean back a little so you can look at him. Steve has his head tilted back with his eyes closed, and there’s a soft smile on his face. The early morning light that streams in through the massive conservatory windows makes his hair and face seem glowing and almost ethereal. Somewhere in the room, a bird chirps its morning song, adding to the heavenly illusion.

“You weren’t?”

“No. I knew we’d be reunited again. We always are, mo rúnsearc,” Steve replies. He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat, just like it always does when he looks at you this intensely. You’ve been together for years now and yet somehow, Steve still takes your breath away.

You brush his cheekbone with your thumb before you drop your hand. His hands have moved to your hips, and you gently pull one of them off so you can intertwine your fingers.

“You haven’t called me that since we first started dating,” you tell him.

Steve chuckles. “You hated that nickname.”

“I didn’t know what it meant!” you protest, and he laughs again, this time more earnestly.

“You were such a confused little bird back then,” he says, affection clear in his tone. “You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into.”

Shaking your head, you lean down to give him a chaste kiss. “No, I definitely didn’t. Not even in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I’d fall in love with the mob boss.”

“Tell me then,” Steve replies.

His other hand finds your own and you shift your weight so you can sit more comfortably in his lap. He’s totally focused on you and your response. Your heart swoops a little at the attention. Steve always knows how to make you feel heard and important, even when it’s only the two of you in the room.

“What would have been your wildest dreams back then?”

“My wildest dreams?” you ask. He hums, his thumb rubbing over your hand as he waits for your answer. You tilt your head and consider him for a moment, then give him a slow, sly smile. “Probably falling in love with the mob boss’ second in command.”

Steve scoffs and pulls one hand from yours so he can smack your thigh, and you laugh loudly, tilting your head back.

“You’re a little shit, Y/N.”

“I learned from the best,” you tease.

“I’m never letting you sit next to Bucky at game night ever again,” Steve says. He’s holding back laughter—the corner of his lips twitches as he tries not to smile, and his chest heaves a little.

“Does this mean you and I can team up and win Monopoly together? I’m sick of losing against him and Nat, and it’s not fair that I have to be on my own team!”

“Is that what it’ll take to keep you in love with me?” he asks.

Grinning, you nod furiously, and Steve fakes a belabored sigh. “I suppose we can team up.”

You gather his hand again and lean forward until your forehead rests against his. You’re both smiling wide now, and you close your eyes as his nose bumps against yours. 

“I already love you, Steve Rogers,” you murmur. “I’d follow you anywhere. I’d go to war for you, you know.”

“I know you would, and if I have anything to do with it, you never will,” he replies. You smile a little when you feel his hand pull from yours, then slide up your neck to cradle the back of your head so he can guide you into another kiss. “I will always protect you.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #mafia au #marvel #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #avengers fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers fic #avengers reader insert #chris evans

[dameronology]

hi! this is me begging for some fluffy, protective steve rogers please 🥺🙏🙏

fluffy and protective are my 2 favourite words

steve is protective by nature; even before he was a super soldier, even before the war, even before everything. he lost his parents young & had no one to provide for him, so it's exceptionally important that he doesn't leave his loved ones in the same position.

he looks out for you in every way - making sure you've eaten, had enough sleep, drank enough water, etc - but his strongest instincts lie in protecting you from his job. whether it's an enemy that wants to get through you to him, or maybe you even work together in the field. whatever it is, you can bet your ass that his priority is ensuring your safety.

it's nothing overbearing, and if you tell him to back down, he will, but steve has you do little things so he knows you're safe. you both have life360 on your phones, you text each other when you're home safe and he runs you through code words that you can use to text or call him when you're in danger.

but, knowing his job, and yours too if you're on the team or at shield as well, something is bound to go wrong at some point. maybe you get kidnapped - and obviously he finds you quickly - or you get injured on a mission. hell, even if it's just a close call and steve thinks you're in danger??

he's raining hell on everyone and everything to get to you. there's no resource that he will not abuse. any other mission, task or meeting he had that day is canceled and he's unreachable until he knows you're safe.

although, it does take a gentle warning from sam & bucky that calling the president on his private mobile at 3am is a little too far (and also a reminder that calling the british prime minister would be useless)

when steve does find you, he's not gonna leave your side for a while. he's crossing the room in seconds, taking you in his arms and not saying anything for a moment. he just has to hold you, to breathe you in, to really it sink in that you're safe and you're home.

good luck if you need to pee that night, cos getting a super soldier off of you is a task in itself.

he's behind, one arm under you and the other across your torso, holding you tight with his neck buried in yours. his grip on you only tightens when you to wriggle away.

it'll be a few days before he strays away; mostly for fear of it happening again

but you remind him of how quickly he found you, and that you're safe if anything else happens

to which he asks "are you saying this because you're planning on getting kidnapped again?"

#asks #god i miss writing about steve #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers reader insert #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #steve rogers #captain america

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part One: Yield Strength (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

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[vilentia]

Unspoken Hearts

Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: Three near-misses and one momentous confession in the life of Steve Rogers .

****

The First Time

Steve had always been a man of action, not words. Yet, as he watched you from across the room, your laughter tinkling like wind chimes on a breezy summer day, he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. It was a quiet evening at the Avengers' compound, the team gathered for a rare moment of respite. Your smile was radiant, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you recounted a story. Steve's heart swelled, and for a fleeting moment, he almost said it, those three words that had taken root deep within him.

But he didn't. Instead, he smiled back, his eyes speaking volumes as he silently marveled at the incredible person you were.

The Second Time

The second time came during a mission, one fraught with danger and uncertainty. You and Steve were side by side, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you fought alongside one another. In the heat of the battle, as explosions erupted around you, he caught a glimpse of your determined expression, unwavering even in the face of chaos.

For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, and Steve almost whispered those words of love, words he had held back for so long. But the mission demanded his attention, and he couldn't afford any distractions. So he fought on, his feelings buried deep within, yet stronger than ever.

The Third Time

It was a quiet evening, much like the first, but this time the Avengers were scattered, and it was just the two of you. You sat together on the balcony, gazing up at the star-studded sky. The night air was cool, and a comfortable silence enveloped you. Steve glanced at you, his heart pounding as he realized just how much you meant to him.

The words nearly tumbled from his lips, but he hesitated. He feared that saying those words might change everything, that they might jeopardize the precious connection you shared. So, he simply reached for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours, and held you close, silently conveying what his words could not.

The Fourth Time

It was a rainy day, the sound of droplets against the windowpane providing a soothing backdrop to your quiet afternoon together. Steve sat beside you on the couch, his gaze fixed on the book you were reading. The room was filled with a sense of calm, a moment of serenity in a world often filled with chaos.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Steve turned to you, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that couldn't be contained any longer. With a gentle smile, he said those three words that had been on the verge of escape for so long, "I love you."

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, and in that moment, you knew that your love story was just beginning.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you smiled, your voice quivering with emotion as you replied, "I love you too, Steve."

As those words hung in the air, the rain outside seemed to pause, as if even the heavens were holding their breath, celebrating this moment of love and vulnerability. Steve pulled you into his arms, and together you embraced the truth that had been silently growing between you, filling the room with warmth and the promise of a future filled with love.

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[callmissrogers]

She Thinks I'm Handsome. Steve Rogers x Reader Short Story

Summary: Y/n is terribly tipsy. Having only had one margarita, Nat texted Steve to come take her home. Y/n's tipsiness makes her admit something to Steve. Something she didn't mean to say out loud.

Warnings: mentions alcohol, reader being tipsy, and lots of fluff. Wrote on my phone with little editing.

Word count: 1,034

Inspired by: pin and a scene in the movie New In Town with Rene Zellweger, but I couldn't find it on YouTube.

Y/n couldn't stop giggling at the dinner table. Everything was just hilarious.

"Y/n you only had one margarita.... Are you sure you're ok?" Nat asked, sitting back in her chair, eyes wide with concern.

"I'm mine. I mean time. I MEAN I'm fine." Y/n replied, giggling at her own inability to speak coherently.

"Yeah. Sure you are. I told you this was a terrible idea." Nat whispered to Wanda.

"She told me she wanted to come! Besides, how is it my fault that she's a lightweight?" Wanda argued as if Y/n wasn't sitting right there.

"I am not a lightweight! I'm good." Y/n protested like a child not getting the sweets it wanted.

"Of course you are. You definitely aren't talking like someone who's done 20 wisky shots." Nat answered sarcastically.

"What are we gonna do? My car only has two seats. Unless we tape you to the roof." Wanda asked in a whisper. "I've got an idea." Natasha said conspiratorially, taking her phone out. "Who are you texting?" Wanda asked, an eyebrow rasing. "You know who," Nat said in a sing-song way. "You can not text him!" "Why not? They need a push." "She's about to fall over. " "Good. Let him play knight in shiny armor." "You know this wasn't I meant when I said we should set them up." "Well, it's what we're doing. He already responded and said he's on his way. Way too much of a gentlemen to abandon a maid in distress." "You are having way too much fun with this." Wanda sighed, leaning on her hand.

A few minutes later, y/n was trying to explain something to the girls, grabbing random bits and pieces of information and giving it to them as of it should all make sense.

The door to the cozy little restaurant opened and he walked inside. Spotting them easily and coming over to collect Y/n. Her back was to him so she had no idea of his presence.

Nat and Wanda remained completely silent as he approached giving him knowing and teasing looks. Nat mouthed "get her out" to which he couldn't help but smile.

It wasn't till he placed a gentle hand on y/n's shoulder that she noticed him at all.

"Steve!" She gasped much too loudly and drawing the attention of some of the other guests. "I didn't think you'd be here!" She said wobbling to her feet and throwing her arms around his neck. She'd never done that before. They've never exchanged any sort of hug before. So he shot the other two a look of complet and utter shock as his face turned three shades of pink.

"How much did y'all let her drink?" He demanded. "Steve. She had one margarita." Wanda deadpanned. Steve looked at Y/N and back to them, his brows raised in amazement. "Just one?" He asked. "One. And it wasn't even that big." Nat replied, lips forming into a smirk. "Wanda only has two seats in her car, and I road with her. So I figured you'd be happy to get Y/n home safely." She continued.

Steve put an arm around Y/n's shoulder in an attempt to steady her, grabbing her coat off the back of the chair, he said "c'mon. Let's get you home." "But I don't wanna!" She complained. "Y/n, you should go with Steve. We're gonna head out too." Wanda assured her. "Fine." She whispered/mumbled letting him guide her out.

Once they were outside the resturant she looked around wildly. "Where's your car?" "It's down the block. I couldn't find a spot here." "Oh. Where's my coat?" "That's right here." He answered holding it up to help her get into it. "Watch your hands. Mr Handys Hands." She slurred. "I'm. I'm not doing anything." Steve said blushing again.

She took a few steps forward and then stumbled into the street some. "Wait, wait, wait. My car isn't over there, " He spoke, quickly pulling her back.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She assured him, walking along again, taking wobbly but somewhat straight steps.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously and followed after her.

"Ok," He said after they had walked just a little bit further. "My car is right there"

Then she dashed up to a car that somewhat resembled his and started rapidly pulling on the handle causing the car alarm to go off.

"That. That wasn't my car." Steve said sounding embarrassed.

He used his key for, unlocked his car, before softly grabbing her by the arm and getting her seated inside. Taking a deep breath before coming round to get himself. He was gonna get Natasha for this. She had been teasing him about his growing affection for Y/n for months. She was trying to push his hand.

The drive home wasn't as crazy as the walk to the car had been. Y/n sat starring out the window commenting on the pretty city lights, how she liked the outfits of some of the pedestrians they passed, and got very excited when they stopped next to a car which had a Scottish Terrier in it.

He couldn't help smiling he was actually enjoying the drive with her.

When they finally pulled up to her house, he got out and came around to help her out. Not trusting that she'd be able to get out of the car and onto the curb without tripping.

Arm around her shoulder, he helped her to the door. Where she struggled to get the key into the lock. "Here," He said trying to take the key from her. "I got it. I got it." She said trying again to get the key go in. "Let me help." He said gentily taking it from her.

She finally looked up at up him and whispered "Gosh. You're handsome," pausing, her lips forming an O shape. "I just said that out loud, didn't I?"

Steve smiled broadly, "Yes. Yes, you did."

So he helped her inside and made sure she was settled with a glass of water and aspirin for the morning and then went home himself.

Whispering to himself, "She thinks I'm handsome."

(I know I haven't posted the next part in That's My Girl. Got a bit of writers block as to how to finish the chapter. I'll try to have it done by Wednesday. )

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