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#captain america one shots
graceloveswolves · 1 year
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“ok great! i was wondering if you could do a Steve Rogers type of one w it would be like to date him type that’s more male partner aimed?” Requested by @ddspam
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Dating Steve Rogers Would Include…. (Steve Rogers x Male partner)
- Steve not caring what anyone thought about his sexuality
- He was bullied a lot regardless growing up, and he was always true to his character
- so naturally he wouldn’t shy from hiding his preference even in the 40s when it wasn’t widely accepted
- and you can bet that he would stand up for anyone else that was gay if he saw them being mistreated
- he does not like bullies
- however he still gets nervous when approaching you for the first time
- he makes sure you were also into guys before even trying to make a move on you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable
- holding doors open for you
- definitely see him as more of a dom/top he gives off that energy
- man lives for cuddling, especially spooning
- he is usually the big spoon
- not being shy of PDA at all usually having his hand on you majority of the time if not holding hands
- he’s a very compromising person, if there was ever a disagreement/argument he’d want to hear you out and then find a way to meet in the middle
- he would NOT let any mission get in between his relationship with you
- he’s very respectful of your beliefs and feelings
- loves to talk to you about each other
- or just to talk in general he loves connecting with you
- probably a lot of star spangled man with a plan jokes
- watching old clips of him beating up “Hitler”
- Steve letting you throw his shield
- Steve giving you tips and tricks on how to throw his shield
- he’d plan cute little dates with a nice cooked meal and roses
- with music playing the the background and slow dancing in the kitchen
- leaving little love notes by the bathroom/bedroom mirror for you to wake up to if he leaves before you
- or casual “how did I end up with the most handsome guy in th world” note posted on the mirror just so you don’t doubt yourself
- when you guys are home he has an old radio from his days that plays soft music around the house when you guys are just relaxing
- he will help you with anything that you need or even don’t need help with
- handyman type boyfriend, door creaking? Fixed. Want an extended bathroom? On it. He’s very helpful making your home just the way you two want it.
- he is also very proactive, making sure the house is clean and in decent shape if he’s not out avenging
- most definitely has a few wonderful art pieces representing of LGBTQ+ hung up in his house
- he is very much your defender and will defend you from something as little as a spider to as big as the hulk
- king of consent
- even after you say yes he asks just to make sure and never wants you to feel pressured
- taking you out to eat anywhere you want/to do anything you want when he’s not avenging
- “That’s americas ass” turned into “that’s your ass”
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jupitercomet · 2 years
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A Perfectly Placed Iron Man Band-Aid
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summary - Steve never really understood your love of Avengers themed band-aids. And then one day he did.
warnings - language, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking/being drunk, mentions of injury, brief mentions of violence, Mickey Mouse slander, light angst
word count - 4.1k
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Steve took a deep sniff, suppressing a groan as he slumped against the cave wall. The wind was biting at his nose, turning it a rosy pink, and the frigid temperature was making it difficult to breathe. Natasha had managed to roll herself next to him, wearily eyeing the entrance of the cave and trying to hide her grimace. Steve caught it though.
“You’re hurt.”
She scoffed. “So are you.”
“That’s not the same and you know it,” and then, in a more worried tone, “how bad is it?”
Natasha shook her head, as if trying to quiet his thoughts. “It’s not bleeding, just took a mean kick to the side.”
Steve could only nod, doing his own evaluation of his friend and only relaxing when he could only find minor cuts and scrapes on her body. A glance to his own hands lingered on the yellow and red wrapping his thumb, slightly caked in dirt — and blood, Steve realized — and he traced the latex softly.
“You don’t have to keep putting band-aids on me, everything heals by the time you unwrap them.”
“I know,” you smoothed an Iron Man band-aid around his thumb, bringing his hand up to press a kiss to its padded center. “But I always worry about you and I can’t do a whole lot because I’m not even a hero or anything— And don’t say I am, you know I’m not,” you pointed sternly at his opened mouth. He closed it. “I don’t know, it makes me feel better that at least some part of me is there to help you. Even if it’s little.”
You cast your eyes to the yellow and red band-aid on his thumb, rolling your lip in embarrassment.
“It’s stupid,” you shook your head, reaching to peel the band-aid off. “It’ll probably just get in the way with your shield and everything—”
“Hey now,” Steve lightly pulled his hand from your grip. “You can’t take it off, I might bleed out. We wouldn’t want that.”
You cast your eyes up at him, swallowing at the intensity inside them. The soft smile on his lips, the loving gaze resting heavy in his irises. “No, we wouldn’t want that,” you repeated quietly.
Neither of you spoke for a moment and you watched as Steve studied his hands, a contemplative look on his face that slowly morphed into light teasing.
“Really? Tony?” He groaned half-heartedly. “You couldn’t even give me a Cap one? You’re cruel, doll.”
You couldn’t stop your giggles, soon realizing that had been Steve’s goal all along, and bit your lip bashfully. “I’ll give him a Captain America one. Make it fair.”
He threw an exaggerated hand to his chest. “And now you’re going to give away my band-aids? You’re breaking my heart here.”
Your smile brightened, hands meeting his shoulders as you pressed a kiss to his lips. “Then I’ll save them for when you get back,” it was always when, not if. “Lord knows you’ll probably need all of them.”
Steve smiled softly. “I’ll hold you to that.” I’ll come back.
“What’s with the band-aid?” Natasha raised her brows teasingly. “Don’t tell me one of the HYDRA agents gave you a paper cut.”
“Nah,” Steve chuckled halfheartedly. “Just wanted to carry a piece of Tony with me.”
Natasha blinked.
“Did you just make a joke?”
“On occasion I’m capable of it, yes,” Steve deadpanned.
The redhead chuckled, though quickly cut it off with a wince. “Well, I’m glad I got to hear it. You know, since we’re going to die and all.”
Steve looked at her, though it was tired. “Don’t say that.” 
The mission was supposed to be simple. SHIELD had found an abandoned HYDRA facility on some remote mountain top. It was an extraction mission, nothing more. Get in, get the information, get out. Easy. At least, it was supposed to be.
Apparently, SHIELD had gotten false information — something Steve noticed was becoming a pattern for the agency — because the facility was very much not abandoned. What was once an extraction mission turned into a fight for their lives, the element of surprise lost to them given they’d practically waltzed right in. 
They’d managed to find a semblance of cover in the form of a cave and were left to sit with their wounds and the sinking dread that no one knew where they were or how to reach them.
Absent-mindedly, Steve reached for his comm, reminding himself — again — that he’d lost it at some point during the fight. He deflated, exhaustion creeping through his fingertips. He felt heavy. The band-aid caught his eye again.
“Steve, oh my god,” you gasped, tugging on his arm lightly. “Look!”
The man slowed his steps, brows furrowing as he tried to follow your gaze. “What?”
“These are so cute,” now you were pulling him, grip on his arm tightening excitedly, as you pranced down the aisle. “We’re getting them.”
It wasn’t until you grabbed the item that Steve finally pieced together what you were talking about and his cheeks visibly pinkened. You were looking at the blue packaging adoringly, eyes lighting up as they landed on a caricature of the man next to you.
“Doll, they’re two dollars more expensive than regular band-aids,” he tried to hide his bashfulness with a cough. “Besides, the infirmary always has band-aids.”
You didn’t even dignify him with a response, grabbing two more boxes decidedly. “I’m getting three so I can get as many Captain America ones as possible.”
“Wh-Why?” Steve cleared his throat, well aware that he was probably bright red.
“If I get a cut, I want it to be my favorite superhero who saves me,” you smiled, before turning back to the rows of band-aids and mumbling, “maybe I should get four.”
You left the aisle with four boxes of Avengers band-aids in your right hand and a sputtering Steve holding your left.
“Do you have your comm?”
Natasha sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “It fried when that one room exploded.”
Steve winced. 
The sun was dropping and he knew it was only going to get colder. He wasn’t entirely worried for himself, the serum would probably get him through the night relatively fine. But he could already see Natasha begin to shiver from his peripheral and knew that, no matter how hard he tried to shield her from the wind with his body, it wouldn’t be enough to stop her from getting hypothermia. 
Natasha rolled her head to glance at him and Steve didn’t like how defeated she looked. “Maybe Tony chipped us like shelter dogs,” it was a joke, or at least tried to be, “ethically, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I don’t know if I want you to be right or not,” Steve mirrored her before adding, “they’ll find us.”
Neither was sure if that was for her or him.
“Okay, I think you’re done honey,” Steve chuckled, side-stepping you to pry the drink from your hand. 
You pouted, though to his relief didn’t fight him. Not that you stood much of a chance. You were incredibly intoxicated, already swaying when he took his hand off your waist to set your drink on a counter. Hastily, the hand was back on your waist, keeping you upright and stopping you from running away to join Thor and do… whatever he was doing at the pool table.
Steve sighed, he always told Tony these parties were a bad idea and glancing around the room only made a lecture about the dangers of going too far form in his head. But one look at your delighted smile had him filing that speech away.
“You ready to go to bed?” He asked, pulling your attention away from your animated and drunken friends.
You nodded with a yawn, leaning your weight against him as an invitation for him to start leading you to your room. Making your way through the much quieter hallway, Steve entertained your ramblings, responding on occasion when he could piece together what you were saying. 
“—And then Sam and I had a race, which really wasn’t fair because you guys work out all the time and are super strong and I think the last time I ran was my 5th grade FitnessGram PACER Test. He even laughed at me when I fell and scraped my knee, which I think is just mean.”
Steve stilled. “What?”
“I said me and Sam had a race. Did you even listen to me?” You huffed.
“No,” Steve moved to squat in front of you. “You scraped your knee?”
“Oh yeah!” You stated proudly, showing off your bloody kneecap. “I think it’s gonna leave a gnarly scar.”
Steve looked at you incredulously, deciding to forego walking and just carrying you the last few feet to your room. You were still talking about gnarly scars which derailed into a detailed account of every ‘cool’ injury you’d ever had as Steve set you on the bathroom counter. 
You appeared to be drunk enough that you didn’t seem to feel Steve cleaning your knee and he decided not to tell you that the scrape probably wouldn’t scar at all. Your ability to distract yourself made it easy for Steve to tend to your wound and it wasn’t until he pulled a band-aid from one of your drawers that you focused on him.
“I don’t want that one,” you told him pointedly, wrinkling your nose as if the beige latex had offended you.
“Y/N,” Steve continued to peel the paper from the band-aid. “I need to put something on your knee.”
“I know,” you leaned to grab the first-aid kit by your sink and Steve rushed to stop you from falling off the counter. “I want a Captain America one please.”
Steve humored you by opening the first-aid kit, trying to find a way to tell you that it had been months since you’d bought the Avengers band-aids and that there weren’t any Captain America band-aids. His fingers froze on the thick plastic box when his eyes landed on a stack of red, white, and blue band-aids. Picking one up, as if he almost didn’t believe it, he turned back to you.
“You found it,” you giggled excitedly, extending your knee out to him.
“I found it,” he mumbled.
Only Steve knew that he was looking at you and not the band-aid. And that he was talking about something completely different.
“I got the information,” Natasha grinned, holding up a flash drive
Steve let out a shocked laugh. “I can’t believe you.”
“Believe it, Rogers,” Natasha smirked. “I’m just that good.”
“You can take full credit when we get back.”
Natasha’s smile faltered, and Steve saw it, but she fixed it quickly. “That was always the plan.”
Steve was thankful she humored him.
You let out a soft groan, vaguely aware that you were waking. From behind your closed lids you could tell the sun had not yet risen and you huffed at the fact that you had. Attempting to sleep once more, you squeezed your eyes shut, but that thought was quickly forgotten when a small whimper cut through the air. Body rigid, you shot up.
Steve’s face was contorted in discomfort, his hands almost white as they clenched in tight fists around his bed sheet. His whole body was stiff and his breaths were shallow and quick. Too afraid to shake him, you ran your fingers through his hair, softly moving from his scalp to the sides of his face.
“Steve, baby, you gotta wake up,” you coaxed quietly.
Your words seemed not to register, his chest rising in fast motions that seemed far too heavy. His lungs appeared to be moving so quickly that you didn’t even know if he was actually getting oxygen. Your hand was still tracing patterns on his cheek bones and hairline. You bit your lip to stop from panicking.
“Please wake up,” you begged a little louder. “Stevie, you’re scaring me. Please.”
Suddenly you were met with oceanic blue, confused and fearful. His body was entirely stiff and his breathing still hadn’t slowed. He had a strange look in his eye, a lack of recognition as he looked at you.
“You’re okay, baby,” you moved to give him space, but his hand shot up, keeping  yours on his face. “I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that, honey?”
Steve only swallowed thickly, watching as you took deep breaths in hopes he would mirror your movements. It took several minutes, but his breathing finally slowed and with it the adrenaline in your veins diminished. Moving your back against the headboard, you carefully placed his head on your lap continuing your ministrations on his hair. Steve watched you silently, still slightly dazed.
“Hi, baby,” you moved your hand down to cup his cheek, finally breaking the quiet.
His tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips. “Hi.”
“You okay?” You asked softly, moving to trace the bridge of his nose. “You wanna tell me what happened?”
Steve moved deeper into your lap, arms moving to wrap around your stomach. He shook his head. You bit back a sigh, moving to run your fingers through his hair. Most nights Steve was fine but, every so often, he would have a nightmare. It would take him at least a day or two to talk to you about it. You never forced him to.
Instead, you reached towards the nightstand, grabbing the remote and turning on the TV, letting its low volume fill the room. Steve moved slightly, peeking his eyes from your middle so he could watch the screen. It was a rerun of old cartoons, which you thought was odd given that it was far too late for any children to be up, but you appreciated the lightness of it.
“I used to be scared of Mickey Mouse,” Steve spoke suddenly and you could feel the vibrations of his voice on your stomach.
“Yeah?” You asked softly.
“Yeah,” Steve tore his eyes from the screen to look at you. “When the first Mickey animation came out, my mom sat me and Bucky down by the TV and made us watch it. It made me cry.”
You frowned slightly. “How old were you?”
“10,” Steve chuckled. “Bucky never lets me forget it.” 
You pushed his hair back from where it was sticking to his forehead. “Well, Bucky still cries when we watch Wonder. And not even at the sad parts. He cried when Via did her monologue in the play. How is that sad?”
The blond laughed at that, shifting slightly and pulling a gasp from your lips as you caught sight of the dots of burgundy staining the white sheet around him.
“Steve, you’re bleeding.”
He brought his hand up to the two of you, flexing his hand slightly as he watched the deep, crescent indents piercing through the skin of his palm. With a small, almost undetectable shrug, he closed his hand into a fist, as if hiding the injury meant it was no longer something to worry about.
“You have to let me clean it,” you pulled his hand back to you stubbornly.
“Doll, you know it will be gone by morning,” Steve tried to reason with you, attempting to use his hand in your grip to get you to lie down. “I’m okay, promise. And you need to sleep.”
“Do not tell me what I need, Steven Grant Rogers.” The little traces of exhaustion were wiped from his face at the use of his birth given name, eyes following you as you ripped yourself from his mattress. “What I need is to clean your hands and if I need to wake up the whole tower to do it, then so be it.”
“I would advise against that, Miss Y/L/N,” the voice of Tony’s AI was quiet in Steve’s room. “Miss Romanoff appeared to be unhappy with Mr. Rogers last night. I believe it would be unwise to wake her this early on Mr. Rogers’ account.”
You only smirked in response and, with a sigh, Steve got up from the bed. 
It took him a moment to adjust to your bathroom lights, still rubbing blearly at his eyes as you rummaged through the drawers. As he suspected, his palms had already started healing themselves, but you paid no attention to that as you cleaned, dried, and bandaged them. 
Steve looked at his hands; a Black Widow band-aid smoothed against his left palm and a Spider-Man band-aid against his right. He turned back to you with a raised eyebrow.
“Bug themed,” was all you supplied.
Steve let out an airy snort, but said nothing more as exhaustion became more apparent in your features and you finally started trudging towards the bathroom door.
Mickey Mouse cartoons were still playing lowly on the television as he settled back under the covers. You weren’t far behind him, but were moving too slow for his liking, a soft yelp leaving your lips as his hands met your hips and he yanked you on top of him. It took only a second for him to move you slightly, pulling the blankets over and getting you both comfortable.
“Now sleep,” he emphasized with a kiss to your hairline.
As he suspected, you didn’t argue, blinks slowing and breath evening as the late night caught up to you. For a moment, Steve let himself take in the feeling of your breath against his neck and the colored lights of old timey animations dancing around the room, the lingering effects of his nightmare rolling off his skin. He smiled fondly at his Spider-Man band-aid, before finally reaching for the remote.
“I’m gonna kill him.” Your mumbled voice surprised him slightly, informing him that you actually hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
His brows furrowed when he processed your words. “Who?”
“Him.” You gestured lazily to the TV.
Looking at the screen, Steve was only more confused. “Mickey Mouse?”
“Do you think Nat would help me?” You asked suddenly, ignoring his question and propping yourself up on his chest. Steve could see that the movement hardly made you more alert. “I wanna know how she does that thing with her legs,” you mimed the move with your hands — though it was really just you mashing your fingers together in various ways. “Like the WWE takedown thingy she does with her thighs.”
“And why would you want to,” Steve was glad you were too sleepy to register the amused expression on his face, “WWE takedown Mickey Mouse?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” You looked at him and Steve had to restrain himself from laughing at the fact that you appeared to believe that he was the ridiculous one in this scenario. “He made you cry, little mouse-headed freak. Plus he treats Minnie like shit.”
The super soldier could only roll his eyes affectionately, using a gentle palm on the back of your head to make you lie down again.
“Go to sleep, Y/N.”
The sun was setting. Steve estimated it would be half an hour before it was completely dark. He and Natasha had settled into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, both resigned to the fact that they’d walked into this cave and might never walk out. Steve wished he knew what to say — he was usually good at these kinds of things — but Natasha had always been a little bit cynical and, in this instance, maybe she had a right to be.
The air was dripping with vulnerability and Natasha sucked in a breath, her lips a worryingly blue. 
“I’m not ready to die,” she admitted quietly.
Steve reached for her hand, giving her frigid fingers a light squeeze. “Me neither,” he stared at his Iron Man band-aid, trying to ingrain it into his retinas. “So we won’t.”
Natasha nodded. Every movement the both of them made was subdued by cold and exhaustion. “Okay.”
It was quiet once more and Steve glanced at the opening of the cave. He had no idea how low the temperature would drop after nightfall, he had no ideas about a lot of things. For the first time, Steve Rogers was completely without a plan.
“We should get some sleep,” was all he managed.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, when we wake up,” Natasha offered him a small smile. She had always been good at reading people.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Steve didn’t have any ideas. Steve didn’t have a plan. All Steve had was an Iron Man band-aid and, as his eyes fluttered closed and he pressed a kiss to the dirty, bloody latex, he remembered the box of band-aids you were saving for him and the promise that he would come back for you to use them all. Steve wished more than anything that his promise to you would be one he’d get to keep.
“Shit. Tony, I found them.”
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The first thing Steve felt was warm. Which was unusually given his last memory was of being stranded on some remote mountain top as he watched his friend slowly succumb to hypothermia. The next thing Steve felt was something gripping his hand with so much desperation it almost hurt. Which led him to his third realization: he could feel his fingers.
Blinking slowly he took in the ceiling of the infirmary, a sight he had become all too familiar with given all his various injuries. 
“Steve?”
He turned at the sound of his name, groggily smiling when his eyes landed on you. Your chair was pulled up so close to the side of his bed that he was sure it wasn’t at all comfortable for you. Your eyes were rubbed raw and puffy, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that you’d been crying.
“Hi honey.”
He frowned when his words pulled a whimper from your lips and more tears from your eyes. Your hand was shaking around his and he gave it a soft squeeze.
“Why’re you crying?” He cooed.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you huffed, trying to compose yourself. “Natasha even woke up before you. I thought I was never going to hear your voice again, you asshole.”
Despite your best efforts, a fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks anyway and you wiped at them harshly with your sleeve. Steve took the hand that was still in his, doing his best to press comforting kisses to your fingertips.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t—” You shook your head, guilt filling your gaze. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Steve pressed another kiss to your fingers, only letting go when you pulled from his grip to play with his hair. “Missed you.” 
He reached with his index finger to trace the Iron Man band-aid at the thought, jolting up when his finger only met skin. “Where’s my band-aid?”
You looked at him incredulously. “Steve, it was covered in dirt. The doctors took it off.”
Steve pouted subconsciously. “Can I get another one?”
You studied him for a moment, smile soft and eyes even softer, before pulling a blue box from your bag and asking him with a watery voice, “Of course, Stevie. Which one do you want?”
“I don’t know. I kind of like the Thor one.”
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babyjakes · 4 months
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help me hold onto you.
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event | kinkmas 2023
prompt | sex pollen
pairing | steve rogers x avenger!reader
warnings | sex pollen (reader was exposed to some sort of chemical agent that induced a persistent state of hyperarousal.) medical elements (reader is staying in the medbay.) crying (not related to the sexual interactions.) stevie is soooo soft :')). dialogue is soft and sweet, gentle praise and encouragement included. fingering. tummy rubs bc they make me soft. she comes quick! intense, prolonged orgasm. the beginnings of aftercare.
word count | 1,356
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"Hey, hey- okay. I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here. Just tell me what you need."
Steve's brow was raised in gentle concern as he stood over your hospital bed. Dr. Banner had set you up in a secluded room at the end of the medbay, wanting to give you as much privacy as possible given the nature of your condition. It was still all a bit baffling to Steve; Bruce had shared any information he had available on the mysterious chemical you'd been exposed to out on your mission to a foreign bioweaponry facility, but most of it had gone in one of the supersoldier's ears and out the other. "Persistent heightened state of arousal" was the only phrase he was able to cling to, which still didn't feel like much to go off of.
As he stood there at your bedside, though, those words were all of a sudden making a lot more sense. You were a pitiful sight, really- curled up on your side with your knees hugged up to your chest. Your whole body was shaking, something that tore at your teammate's heart as he came to better terms with the severity of the state you were in. Overcome with obvious discomfort, all you could do was lie there and rub your sore knees together uselessly. Your hands reached out for him needily; in an instant, he was lowering himself down to sit beside you, leaning over you attentively as his face filled with concern.
"Oh doll," he hummed, reaching out to brush back your hair with a steady hand. Your forehead was drenched in sweat, your big eyes looking up at him pleadingly. As another wave of unbearable heat rolled over you, tears were building in your eyes. "How can I help, sweet girl?" Steve was pressing, "Is there anything I can do?"
In a moment of total weakness, you reached out for him again. This was completely abnormal behavior for you. Being the youngest and newest to the team, you were always intentional about maintaining an image of responsibility and restraint. But as Steve sat there at your side, his steel blue eyes looking over you so thoughtfully as he gently offered you his hands, your hijacked mind was fixating on him faster than you could realize what was happening.
"P-please," the weakness of your small voice broke Steve's heart. He nodded encouragingly, wanting to do anything he could to ease your suffering.
"What is it, honey? Hmm? What do you need?" he asked soothingly.
More tears built in your eyes as you failed to generate a verbal response. Instead, all you could do was continue to writhe pathetically. Steve's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of your movements. "Does something hurt?" You whimpered feebly at his question, shaking your head. "No, then what is it, sweetheart? Can you tell me, or- or show me?"
Desperation drove your every move as you shifted slightly onto your back, your knees falling apart as you brought a shaking hand down to motion over your hospital gown toward where the sensations were accumulating. If Steve was surprised or offended by your admission, he didn't let it show. Instead, he simply nodded, speaking with an understanding tone, "It's bothering you there, darlin'? Do you want me to take a look?"
Your wide, pleading eyes were enough to answer his question. Pausing, he took a moment to consider the best way to proceed. After a quick glance back at the door to the hallway, seeing that the coast was seemingly clear, he gently brought his hands over to lift up the thin fabric of the gown, pulling it back to expose the area you had pointed to. Steve couldn't help but gasp softly as he saw the ramifications for the first time; any doubts he could've had about the compound's strength or effects were immediately shot down as he faced the living, breathing evidence.
"Oh honey," he crooned worriedly, leaning his head down a bit to get a better look. Your pussy was so puffy it almost looked painful. Your clit was swollen to about three times its normal size, pulsating visibly in unison with your heavy heartbeat. Bruce had placed a wide gauze pad beneath you, and it wasn't hard to see why; with the constant state of arousal your body was trapped in, you were amassing an impressive amount of self-lubricant. Face drawn in disbelief and honest fascination, Steve struggled to find words to console you. "Sweetie, what can I do? Let me help you," his voice was swelling with concern. Swallowing hard, his gaze returned up to your face. "Can I-... would it help if I-... you know...?" The sweetest hint of pink rose up in his cheeks.
You were unsure of what would happen if he tried, but with the way your stomach was lurching and spasming in excitement at the mere thought, both you and Steve knew it would be senseless to not at least give it a try. Sensing your mild confliction, the supersoldier took a moment to brush back your hair again as his soothing voice filled the air, "It's alright, doll. Let me take care of you. S'just me, just Stevie. I'll be gentle, I promise."
As he spoke, he gently drew his hand down to begin rubbing at your inner thigh. Letting out a squeak of surprise, your heart jumped at the way his touch immediately sent sparks shooting up through your tangled nerves. "Easy," he hummed lowly, pushing on you carefully to encourage you to open up your legs a little further. Once you were nice and spread out for him, he took another deep breath. "Okay darlin'. Just keep breathing for me," he seemed to be trying to calm his own nerves as much as he was yours.
With the lightest amount of pressure he could manage, Steve carefully brought his pointer and middle middle fingers to sink slightly into your pool of arousal. They didn't linger long, as they then slowly dragged up your wetness to smear over your enlarged clit. The moment he came in contact with your poor button, your world was set ablaze. You had never felt such unbearable heat in your life; it was as if every atom within your core was being blasted into smithereens, an incredible amount of energy and pressure building up inside of you as a result.
"Easy, easy- shhhh," Steve was doing his best to talk you through it, watching as your hands scrambled to grip the sheets below you, your hips rocking in shameless desperation.
"Mm.... mmhh... hhh..." you struggled through incoherent whines. The man brought his free hand over to rub your tummy gently, trying to give you any sense of comfort and safety he could as he continued working the pads of his fingers in careful, steady circles.
It only took a few more moments of the simple stimulation to send an orgasm ripping through you with unimaginable force; as Steve saw your climax hit, his eyes widened, but he was intent on carrying you through it. Needy cunt spasming around nothing, your clit jerked and jolted beneath his tender traces. Your eyes were rolling back in your head, your whole body at the mercy of the waves of pleasure crashing over you.
And you kept coming, and coming, and coming- trapped in the grips of your orgasm for what must have been minutes compared to the fleeting moments you were usually granted. "Good, let it out," Steve was murmuring softly, watching as all your pent-up frustration was slowly pulled from your seizing body.
When you were finally winding down, breathless and slumped against the flimsy mattress beneath you, he was careful to pull his hands away with the utmost care to avoid causing you any further discomfort or unwanted stimulation. As he stood momentarily to find something to wipe his hands with, you let out a shaky whimper. "No, no, I'm here," he quickly returned to your side, retaking his place next to you on the cot. "I'm right here, doll. You're okay. Here, let me clean you up a bit, honey."
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Need someone older | Steve Rogers
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> DBF!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Your dad’s best friend, Steve Rogers, has a kind that makes your body reacts in a needy way whenever he is around you. So when your dad is taking a shower he shows you that he can help your arching feeling better as the boys you know from university.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 2.019
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, dry humping, praises, dirty talk, age gap
Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist
Divider made by @firefly-graphics.
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“Hey, babygirl,” a rough, familiar voice says behind you, and the man behind you smirks when you hum in response.
You turn around to face the blond, tall man behind you. Your dad’s best friend - Steve Rogers. He is as tall as your dad, muscular, and has short blond hair. His beard is trimmed, and for a moment, you get lost in your thoughts. You love that look, especially because it defines his ocean blue eyes and gives you a lot of thoughts that aren’t as innocent as you look like. You always have a thing for older men, and for Steve even more; his stubble would probably feel so good between your legs while his long, thick fingers slide in and out of you. You try not to moan when you just think about the filthy things he could do to you. You’re pretty small compared to him, and it makes your knees weak. Your pussy starts dripping whenever you’re close to him. And the way your lips are parting so slightly that no one sees it, your eyes so filled with lust, but you just smile and nod softly. Steve chuckles, like he always does when he sees the reaction he has on you, the way you act when he is around you, pressing your legs together, digging your nails in the hem of your shirt, or the surface of the kitchen counter. He sees the way your eyes roam over his muscular body - little do you know he wears shirts that fit like a second skin. Steve enjoys the way your lips are parted, knowing that you think no one sees the way you stare at him, almost drooling over the older man.
“Like what you see?” He tears, walking a step closer, so you have to look up to look into his face and his beautiful blue eyes. “Answer me. Tell me, do you like what you see? Don’t be shy.”
Your eyes widen slightly, and you whimper. His smile grows when he has the reaction he wants to have. You make him go crazy, and he doesn’t need to do much more than stand there. Steve loves to see how small you look, the way you don’t manage to get a word out when he looks into your eyes, the way you clench your thighs and whimper - for relief, wanting him to help you get rid of the aching feeling between your legs. His hand glides to your waist, and he pulls you closer. Your chin almost touches his broad chest, which causes a gasp to leave your lips. His fingers digging into the soft skin of yours, a shiver running along your spine, and you grip the kitchen counter behind you tighter, trying to ground yourself.
“Rogers. Do you annoy her again?” Your dad shouts from behind, and Steve grins.
“Do I, princess?” He asks loudly enough for Bucky to hear him.
You shake your head, but Steve lets go of you to smile softly and walk to Bucky. He smirks at him before they walk out of the kitchen and into the garden. Your breath hitches, your hands are shaking, and your knees are weak. Your nails are digging into the surface of the counter behind you, helping you not to fall down. This man can do things you didn’t know he could do; your panties are soaked with your arousal, and he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could explain your throbbing pussy.
“Dinner is ready in half an hour,” Bucky tells you, and when you reply with a short one, he continues his conversation with Steve.
You made your way to the living room, letting yourself slip on the couch while you watched television. Bucky and Steve are still in the garden, taking about everything and nothing. Your legs are pressed together, and while your head rests against the backrest, your mind is going wild with thoughts about what your dad’s best friend could do with you - with his tongue, with his fingers, or with his dick. You have never thought about it, but you’re sure he is huge. And Steve is experienced in bed, so he will probably do a good job when he fucks a woman, making her scream his name while she comes over his dick over and over again. Just the thought makes you wetter as you already are, and you press your thighs further together, trying to get some friction at your arching pussy. How would it feel when Steve just had a taste of you? When his stubble brushes so softly against your thigh and your pussy or when his thick fingers disappear between your wet, tight walls. He would be more talented than the guys your age, but he is your dad’s best friend and almost double your age. You’re probably not even his type of woman. Maybe you should just date some guys your age, but they are not like Steve - not so nice and handsome.
“Buck is taking a shower, then we can eat,” Steve suddenly says and stands next to you.
“O-Oke,” you mumble, and for a moment you get lost in his beautiful blue eyes.
“You haven’t answered my question earlier. So did you like what you saw?”
You smile softly; it’s more than just that you like to see him standing in front of you; you imagine filthy things he could do to you.
“Yes, I-I like what I see when you’re standing in front of me.”
Your cheeks heat up, and you turn your head away. Steve chuckles, adoring the way you try to hide the red on your cheeks, trying to hide that you’re throbbing wet because of him. He lets himself fall down next to you on the couch, his arm resting on the backrest behind you. You feel warmth rushing through the part between your legs, causing you to press your thighs together.
“I like what I see when I’m standing in front of you too, babydoll.”
The gasp that leaves your lips makes the older man chuckle. His grin playfully, and his eyes were glistening with lust. Steve’s hand slides up and down his thigh, inching closer to his dick, and you follow his hand with your eyes before you let your gaze roam over his body, looking at his hand, which is now covering the growing bulge in his pants. Your breath hitches when you see his dick pressing his pants up. You’re adorable when you look at him like that. You can’t keep your eyes off of his bulge while he slides his hand slowly over it.
“I- Are you-?”
“Hard because of you? Yes, wanna give me a helping hand?” He asks, smirking.
“D- You- Stevie-“ you stutter, your eyes widening while you look at him.
Your eyes meet, and you almost don’t recognize him leaning closer. Only when his hands find your hips and his fingers trail slowly under the fabric of your shirt. His touch feels like electricity, and you gasp once again. Steve lifts you up like you weigh nothing and places you on his lap, his bulge pressing against your core. You moan softly when you move a bit, feeling the friction between your legs and his bulge growing underneath you.
“B-But dad can hear us,” you say quietly, placing your hands on his shoulders to push you up.
Steve holds you firmly on his lap, pushing you back down on his covered dick when you try to push yourself off of him. He moves your hips slowly over his bulge. You whimper and close your eyes for a moment while he groans. The older man pushes his hips upward, pushing his dick more against you. The movements make you moan and whimper softly. You then let your head fall forward and against his shoulder. Steve smirks. He loves the way you let him touch you like that, the way your body reacts to his touches, and he loves to see you all desperate for his dick, grinding against his bulge.
“He won’t unless you’re loud. But he wanted to take a shower so he wouldn’t hear or see us,” Steve says, looking into your eyes when you push yourself up.
Your lips are just inches away from one another, and his tongue glides over his bottom lip, his glistening saliva coating the soft, plump lips, and your eyes switch from his eyes to his lips back to his eyes. Then he leans closer and captures your lips with his. He moves your hips harshly over his hard dick. You moan into the kiss and slide your hands into his hair, tugging at them. You would like to feel him inside of you; he feels huge, and it makes your cunt drip more, causing arousal to soak your panties.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me. So hungry and desperate for my dick. You want a man, don’t you? Someone who takes care of you and knows how to treat you right, to make you feel good,” he mumbles against your lips, and you moan in response.
Steve smirks and kisses your jawline and along your neck. His fingers are digging into your skin, while you feel the feeling of pleasure growing in your stomach. Your whimpering turns more and more into moaning. You tug harsher at his hair, and Steve knows that your orgasm is just as close as he is.
“Feeling good, princess? Feeling like a princess on daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna feel it inside of you?” He asks, and you can’t help but throw your head back, grinding harder against him.
He knows exactly what to say and what to do to make a woman go crazy, to make her even more desperate, and to make her feel good. Steve stops your movements, and you immediately look at him, confused about why he stopped you.
“Please- so, so close,” you whimper, pouting softly.
“Answer my question. Do you feel like a princess on daddy’s cock?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Wanna feel daddy’s huge dick inside of your little pussy? Is she already begging for attention?”
“Y-Yes, begging for daddy’s attention,” you mumble, trying to grind against him.
He laughs softly before he lets you grind over his bulge. You’re a moaning mess on top of him, bringing both of you closer to the edge. He enjoys the view of you humping him like a desperate slut, and that’s what you are right now. You would agree with him; should he ask you, you would tell him you’re his little desperate slut.
“Please, c-can I come?” you ask, pressing your lips against Steve’s.
“Come for me; soak your panties, pretty girl. Make daddy come in his pants,” he groans, pressing you further down on his covered dick.
You move a few more times over his bulge before the two of you come into your pants, breathing heavily, and Steve kisses you once more to make you shut up while he helps you to move, riding out your orgasm.
“You’re so good for me; daddy’s proud of you, princess.”
Just in time, you two catch your breath, and you’re sitting next to him, talking about the university, when your dad appears with a towel around his waist. His hair is wet, and the water is still flowing down his body.
“Take on some clothes; your daughter doesn’t need to see you naked, Buck," Steve laughs and earns a groan from Bucky.
You’re still calming down from your orgasm; imagine Steve walking with just a towel, wet hair, and his body glistening through the apartment.
“How about I take care of you when Bucky is on his work drip?” Steve asks quietly, and you smile softly before you nod, leaning in for a short kiss before he gets up and walks outside to finally eat.
You follow him. Steve would prefer something else instead of the barbecue he and your dad just made, but he still enjoys it. Especially when he sees your still-red cheeks with the knowledge that your pants are soaked with your cum.
┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨
𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬.
┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛
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Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber
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sweetsbfreex · 1 year
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drunk and obsessed
Summary: a little something about a drunk steve. in the mafia steve universe
Pairing: drunk!mafia! steve rogers x reader
Warning: none rlly
-
“Baby, baby,” you giggle, a bit tipsy, as you try your hardest to fit the key into the door's lock. “I can’t open the door with you all over me.”
You laugh once more when Steve begins kissing your neck once again. His trimmed beard tickles your neck. 
On the other hand, Steve had a bit too much to drink. And that's all your doing. 
You know he feels he can never have too much to drink at these events, especially with you there. The events are filled with some of the most inimical people worldwide. So he always wants to be on his A-game for you. But that’s what body guards are for, you had argued. Pushing for him to have the time of his life with some of his friends.
Now here he was: drunk and his body cradling yours, as the two of you struggle to get in the house. 
“I just love you, baby,” his words slur as he kisses your cheek. 
“I love you too,” You tell him, so close to getting the fucking key to fit. 
“I can’t wait to get you inside,” his voice rich and husky as he seals his promise. 
“Baby, I don’t even think you could get it up right now.”
“Woah, woah, woah,” Steve removes himself as your shell, both arms up in defense while he takes a few steps back.  
When your senses finally catch up that he’s no longer hovering over you. You quickly turn, just stopping him before he tumbles down the step. 
You hold both his hands, then let one go to grab the side of this face, “Honey, your drunk off your ass right now—“
“I am not! You just called my game weak,”
“That’s not what I said, but I need you to stand silently so I can open the door, okay?”
“Okay, pretty” he answers, landing a soft peck on your lips.
You smile as you finally open the door, reaching behind you to clasp Steve’s hand so you can pull him in. 
You close the door behind him, toeing your shoes off, giggling when he has trouble with his. But five ‘fucks’ later, he finally gets it done. 
“Woooo!!” Steve shoots his hand up in a v, as if his team just won the super bowl. 
You’re quick to drop his arms back down to his sides, “Shhh, baby. You’re screaming.”
“I am?! I’m sorry,” his hands cup your cheeks as he pulls you for yet another kiss. 
“Honey,” you laugh into his sloppy kiss. “Let’s go to bed, hm? And get some water into you.”
“I don’t wanna do bed,” he whines. “I wanna do you,” he smirks, moving one hand to grip your hip.
“Tomorrow, okay? I’m really tired.” You feign a dramatic yawn. 
“You are? Okay, that’s okay, okay?” he kisses your nose this time. 
Drunk sex isn’t something that hasn’t been checked off your and Steve’s list. But Steve is sloshed and can barely walk straight, so sex would not be on the menu for tonight. 
“Let’s head up.” You wrap his arm over your shoulder, walking up the steps carefully. 
-
He’s sitting at the end of the bed, his coat beside him, as you unbutton his dress shirt. You would’ve let him do it himself, but he was struggling with his lack of hand-eye coordination. Playfully slapping your hand every time your hands got close to his shirt. Giggling and joking that there would be no sexy times. That was until he had made you oath you’d keep your hands innocent. 
Ever your affectionate, drunk lover. 
“Are you sure you feel alright? Don't need to throw up or anything?” You ask Steve once again. 
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tells you then takes another swig of water.
It only takes ten minutes until he’s in his sweatpants, with no boxers (under his request). You’re changed and ready for bed, tired out from an eventful day. Steve’s favorite movie playing in the background. 
Steve cuddles up close, half his brawny body on yours, his leg splayed over yours, and his head nestled on your chest. 
Your fingers run through his hair soothingly. 
“Y/n?”
You hum a response.
“Thank you for taking care of me, I love you too,” 
“I love you too.” you laugh breathily at his mistake. 
A comfortable pause ensues. 
“Y/n?” His hand shimmies under your t-shirt, to caress your soft skin. 
“Yes, honey,” you can’t help but laugh at the way he calls for your attention. You don’t think you’ve heard your actual name from his mouth so consistently. 
“I think I wanna— I know I want to start trying soon. I wanna be a dad, a good dad.”
Your hand stills.
“What?” Your voice is quiet and relayed with shock. Your heart no longer in your chest. 
He wants to try. The two of you tied the knot two months ago. However, talk of whether you guys wanted to start a family or not was shut down by Steve every time. You never wanted to push, but you also wanted to know what to expect. 
Either way, He was adamant that he wasn’t ready. There was no way he could raise a baby to be half a decent human being with his trauma lingering in the shadows, among other things
He sits up abruptly, “I know, I know. I’m not sober, but I’m not lying either. I’m ready, honey… if you are.” He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles.
“Okay,” you smile, “If you remember, we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow?”
“Okay.” He kisses your cheek before cuddling into you once again. “I wanna be the perfect dad, y/n. The best.”
“You will be.” 
You tell him sweetly, your eyes stinging as you run your fingers through his hair once more. 
-
a/n: srry it's been so long, college keeps me busy 24/7! here's this as i try and finish binky fairy pt. 2
if you enjoyed pls don’t forget to reblog or give feedback if ur up to it <3
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Cuddle bug
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PAIRING | Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader
WORD COUNT | ~ 900 words
SUMMARY | Steve comes home from a long mission, and all he wants is to be cuddled up in bed with his favorite person. However, your shared secret threatens to be spilled when your good friend walks in the door and finds the two of you in bed together.
RATING | Teen (T)
WARNINGS/TAGS | Established (secret) relationship, use of nickname (Doll).
A/N | This little drabble is written based on a request I received from a sweet Anon! As soon as I saw this prompt, I couldn't resist writing a little something, so I hope you will all enjoy it! This is proofread by the amazing @ccbsrmsf1, for which I'm forever grateful. I love you 🩷
EVENTS Masterlist | @marvel-smash-bingo | Secret relationship Masterlist | @seasonaldelightsbingo | Can't Warm Up Masterlist | @ultimatechrisbingo | "That is America's ass."
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Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: Source
Main Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist
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Steve has been away on an extended mission—three and a half weeks and counting—and you're missing him more than ever. The two of you started dating only a few months ago, though it mainly takes place behind closed doors. You cannot get enough of one another whenever you are alone. Still, when other people are around, it is strictly professional—apart from the occasional reassuring smile you give one another.
Within the Avengers, there is no opposition to team members dating. Still, Steve has specifically asked to keep your relationship a secret because he wants to explore the connection between you two. It is the perfect way to get to know each other personally, and the last few months have been amazing because of that.
Now, you find yourself in your bedroom, curled up in your comfiest armchair with a good book and Alpine beside you. Since Bucky is on the same mission as Steve, you have taken over her care, and she's purring away in her sleep on the windowsill, enjoying the warm spring sun.
Just as you're about to finish your chapter, you hear a knock on your door, and you look up, expecting Natasha or maybe Tony to come by, but when you see who walks in the door, you smile brightly. Steve is back from his mission.
"Hi, Doll. I missed you," he tells you as he walks into the room, and your book lies abandoned in your chair. He's still wearing his suit and the shield on his back, letting you know he came to visit you right away, and it makes the butterflies in your stomach go wild.
"Steve, you're back already! I thought you would be gone for another few days!" Your arms are wrapped around his waist as you plaster yourself against his chest. His heartbeat thumps against your cheek as he gives you soft kisses on the top of your head. His hands rub soothingly over your back as he inhales your sweet scent.
"Mission got wrapped up early, so I figured I'd come home to my girl as soon as possible," Steve says. You lift your head to meet his gaze, warmth spreading through your cheeks as he calls you his girl.
"I love it when you call me your girl; it makes me feel special," you say shyly, and Steve can't help but chuckle.
"I'm glad because I cannot stop calling you that," he tells you before kissing you in a sweet, soft kiss. You two take your time to bask in one another's familiarity, but he pulls away when he can feel a shiver run down your spine.
"I think it's time we had some cuddles, Doll. You're shivering," he whispers, and you nod.
"That sounds good. You know I can't warm up properly with you there," you tell him, and he smiles knowingly. Before you know it, Steve has put down the shield, and his suit is folded neatly on top. As he bends down to put his boots away as well, you happen to glance over, and you're met with the glorious sight of Steve's butt being wrapped perfectly by his light blue boxer briefs, highlighting it beautifully.
"Hmm, so that is America's ass," you say jokingly. You have seen it clothed and bare countless times, but you still can't help saying it. The bright red flush covering Steve's cheeks has you smiling wide, and you can't get enough of the sight.
You have also taken your clothes off, being left in your underwear as you crawl under the covers with Steve. Due to the super soldier serum, his body temperature is always warmer than a regular person's, so he makes a perfect cuddle companion during the nights and colder months.
"Welcome back, Steve. I missed you and your warmth so much," you whisper when you're lying in his arms, your leg thrown over his, his arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest. The comforter is pulled up to your chin, and you're just about to fall asleep when you hear a few knocks on your door.
"Y/N? I'm here to pick up Alpine!" you hear Bucky's voice carry through the door before he swings it open, and you immediately sit upright in the bed, clutching the comforter to your chest, leaving Steve exposed in the bed in the process.
"B-Bucky, hi!" you say as embarrassment floods your body that you're caught in bed with your boyfriend. Bucky's face turns bright red as he looks at the two of you, his mouth opening and closing without words as he tries to understand what's happening. Without saying another word, he turns around and closes the door behind him, leaving you two to wonder what just happened.
"I should go talk to him, Doll," Steve says as he leans in for a kiss, which you happily give him.
"Okay, but only if you promise to come back soon. I can't miss you for too long again!" you tell him, and he nods with a smile before jumping into his pants. The rest of his suit and his shield are left behind as he runs after Bucky to explain what is going on between you two.
While you were embarrassed at first, you're also a little relieved that you can finally share the love between you two with someone. This is going to be the first step to telling everyone about your relationship, too. It won't be long before you don't have to carry this secret around anymore, and you're looking forward to that day finally being here.
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whereireid · 11 months
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𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | masterlist
pairing: senator!steve rogers x fem!reader
⍟ — nsfw content ahead. soft!dom steve. married life. housewife kink. oral [f receiving]. degradation of reader.
Summary: Your husband, Senator Steve Rogers, has been acting strange recently. He makes it up to you after he catches you snooping.
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You don’t want to snoop on your husband.
Honest, you don’t.
Sometimes, though, duty calls. It feels like a crime to be in Steve’s office, perched at his desk, attempting to hack into his computer.
You’ve tried three different passwords, now. The first, the name of your daughter, and her date of birth — BeauRogers2012. The second, your anniversary — 19October2007. And, finally, the name of the family dog — CooperRogers.
Nothing. There’s nothing. All to no avail, the screen lighting a shade of red with each incorrect guess, your lips tugging down into a frown as you try to pinpoint exactly what his password could be.
If it’s not Beau, and it’s not you, and it’s not the family dog… then what is it?
Your eyes scan his office, desperate for a moment of realisation. You want something to click, your eyes dragging from a photograph of him and Bucky, to the miniature American flag which sits on his desk.
That’s it.
107thInfantryRegiment.
The computer lets you in. Steve’s desktop background is a photograph of you, him and Beau — baby Beau, curled in her daddy’s arms, asleep, in a pumpkin patch.
You pause. You feel bad, snooping, hesitating as you stare at the pixelated desktop background.
You feel awful, but you have to know what he’s getting up to.
Your lips press together as you swallow away the tightness in your throat, dragging the mouse towards his emails. Before you press down, you hesitate — Steve has never given you a reason not to trust him.
Yet, you’re in, now. You might as well look whilst you’re there, and you’re glad that you do, because a particular name piques your interest as you snoop through his emails.
Sharon Carter.
Steve’s ex-assistant, although you’d always assumed she was more than that. She helped your husband climb to the position of Senator — she was his number one fan, more obsessed with him than you.
Your brows knit together. Steve had told you that him and Sharon no longer speak, as a result of her switching to the Republican to spite him. This — these emails, which go back for months — is unfathomable evidence that he’s been lying to you. Your throat feels cotton dry as you frantically scroll, unable to comprehend that they’ve been communicating for months without you knowing.
“What are you doing?”
Fear cracks through your body like a whip. You feel like a thin sheet of ice, cold flooding through your body as your eyes dart up from the computer screen, focused on your husband, who appears unamused by what he’s found.
“So, what are you doing?” Steve repeats when you don’t answer, his lips pursed as he stares at you. The suit he’s wearing is somewhat tight on his arms, and you can see his muscles flex beneath his clothes. “Be a big girl and use your words, honey.”
“You’re — you’re messaging Sharon Carter.”
His eyebrows quirk upwards in amusement. “You went through my emails,” he comments, “without my permission.”
“You’re messaging Sharon Carter,” you repeat, your voice coming out a whisper.
The look that he gives you is degrading. It’s a look of pity — his jaw ticks slightly as he cocks his head, his tongue darting over his plump, pink lips, leaving a glistening sheen in its wake. “And you’re going through my emails,” he reiterates, pushing himself off of the doorframe. “Without my permission.”
“Are you cheating on me?”
An amused expression flitters over Steve’s face as he approaches you. You feel timid in his chair, his large frame overbearing as he looms over you, the blue irises of his eyes impossibly sheathed by his black and blown pupils.
“Cheating?” He asks, beginning to lower himself to your height. You brows furrow in confusion as he kneels in front of you, his hands placing themselves on your knees. “No. Why? Did you think that I was?”
“Yes.”
“Liar,” Steve whispers from beneath you, your skin prickling with goosebumps as his fingers run over the pleated fabric of your skirt. “You just wanted to know what I’ve been doing.”
You push at Steve’s head, forcing him to look up at you. You frown, a twisted warmth pooling inside of your stomach as his hand caresses the plump flesh of your thighs. “Yeah. You’ve been doing her.”
He snorts. “If I wanted Barbie, I would’ve had Barbie.” His hand beckons your thighs apart, and you flush as his hums in content. “No underwear. Whore.”
Your face flushes with warmth. "That’s what you like, isn’t it?”
Steve grins, his fingers parting your folds softly, his knuckle pressing against your swollen clit. You try to kill the moan which climbs up your throat before it can slip past your lips, but it refuses to die. “Like music to my ears,” he comments, his stubble grazing your skin as he peppers deliberate kisses to your thighs, his tongue a cool stimulant to your hot skin, “you’re a naughty girl, you know? Going through my things and then getting all worked up over what you find.”
You can’t bare to look down at his smug face. His blue eyes twinkle as he gazes up at you, and you force your eyes shut, the delicious, dirty feeling of desire brooding inside of you. It pulls at your heart and burns wildly inside of you, only to be smothered by the feeling of his fingers gliding through your folds.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what you found?”
You shake your head, your eyes scrunching shut as his tongue finally makes contact with your heat. “Oh, God,” you whimper as he glides the muscle through your folds, his fingers pushing inside of your cunt.
“Not God. Just Steve.”
His lips twitch, tugging upwards with a smile. Pleasure rides through you in a gentle wave as his tongue makes contact with your clit, his motions gentle as he suckles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
It feels so deliciously wrong. You’re in his office, sat in his chair, with him between your legs. He wasn’t even meant to find you here — you were supposed to be in the kitchen when he got home, but you’d lost track of time.
“Since you won’t tell me, I’ll make an assumption, and I want you to tell me if I’m right.” His voice is gravely, rumbling against your cunt, and you shiver as his fingers curl inside of you. “You went through my emails. You saw Sharon Carter’s name and you had to click, and you read them in detail and you found information.”
“Yes,” you say shakily, groaning as his nose nuzzles into your pelvic bone, his tongue rolling small circles into your sensitive bud. “Yes, I read them. She’s — she’s a bitch and I don’t want you talking to her.”
His brows quirk upwards, his fingers carefully scissoring your tight cunt open. You clench down around him, the pointed look he’s shouting you making you tense. “She’s my spy. Why else would she have switched to Republican last minute?”
“Because you married me and she wishes it was her.”
A wave of pleasure ripples through you as he suckles on your clit, his fingers heavenly as they roll inside of you. “Is she the one getting her cunt eaten in my office, honey?” When you don’t answer, he hums, his voice muffled as he continues to roll his tongue up and down your sticky, wet folds, “no, she’s not, so stop being a brat and let me finish speaking.”
As if to make a point, his fingers still inside of you, and your chest burns with disappointment. “Okay. I’ll stop being a brat,” you submit to him, your voice shaking slightly as you buck your pelvis towards his hand.
“Good girl." His praise makes you shiver, a delicious pleasure crackling through you as his fingers contain their steady motions, his lips peppering soft kisses against your heat intermittently
“The information that you found is very important people, only meant to be seen by people in government.” A delicious pleasure cracks through you like a whip as his fingers glide through your glistening folds, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he rolls his thumb over your sensitive clit. “And, honey, you're not in government. You've got too much of a dumb baby brain for that."
You whine, your legs trembling involuntary as Steve licks up a deliberate stripe up your cunt, his tongue flattening against your clit. "I'm not dumb," you protest weakly, your thighs tensing as his fingers curl inside of you, the lewd squelching of your cunt echoing around his office walls.
Your body becomes electric with sparks, exploding with ecstasy as his tongue licks stripes up and down your slick. It's so intimate, so gentle — his movements are precise, your legs jolting at every movement, every lick.
"Really? You're not?" Steve pulls away, tutting from below you. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that only dumb wives went through their husband's stuff without permission."
"I'm sorry," you say.
"You're not," he replies, his tongue flat as he swirls his muscle around your swollen bud, "but that's okay, honey. I don't expect my wife and her dumb, baby brain to feel sorry for me. I'm the man of this house. I don't need feeling sorry for."
His kisses grow sloppy, his nose pressing heavily into your pelvis. You let out a shaky breath, your stomach flipping as Steve's fingers glide in and out of your cunt. A moan catches in your throat, and you're unsure of whether or not it actually escapes your lips or dies before it gets to do so.
Steve's movements are skilled, deliberate. You melt into the office chair, the leather fabric growing slick beneath you as you softly behind to grind against his face. He's slow and teasing, his tongue swirling around you bud, nipping at it softly. The pinching pain makes you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat as he groans against your cunt.
"Come on, honey. I know you want to let go," he purrs against your cunt, the sensation sending shivers up your spine. "I know you're not holding that much of a grudge against me that you're denying yourself of an orgasm."
You pout. He's right — of course he's right, he's your husband and he knows what's best for you. You finally allow yourself to relax, fully, a soft whimper slipping past your lips as Steve's movements makes your stomach tighten.
And then, it happens. You grow tired of holding back, needy and desperate, and Steve's fingers curl inside of you again, and you let go. Your slick paints his face, your legs trembling as he laps at your heat, his groans sending sparks to your core.
By the time he pulls away, you feel weak. The sight of him only makes you grow weaker, his chin glistening with your slick, his eyes black and blown, a sultry grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His hand runs over his lips and he hums, satisfied with the orgasm that he drew from you.
"I'm sorry, honey. You should have never seen those emails, or the documents attached to them. They're not for you to be concerned about." His hand runs over your thighs, his motions gentle and soft as he caresses your skin. Steve's lips purse, his voice dropping dangerously low as he speaks. "But if you ever go through my emails again, you'll be in serious trouble. You got that, honey?"
Your body grows stiff as he reaches past you to turn the computer off, his lips nestling against your head in the process. The kiss he plants to your forehead is soft and gentle, and you smile up at him.
“Yes, Steve.”
You nod your head like an obedient little wife, and he smiles down at you as he does so.
Domesticated bliss keeps him sane.
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she's everything he's just ken.
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sergeantbarnessdoll · 1 month
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Late Night Snack » Steve Rogers/Captain America
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader
Summary: Steve and Y/N wake up in the middle of the night for a late night snack.
Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, pet names (honey, sweetheart)
Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.
Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier
GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞
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“Hey, Captain.” You smiled, walking into the Avengers kitchen.
“Hey, Y/N. What are you doing up?” Steve asks.
“I wanted a snack.” You say.
You opened the freezer, reaching in to grab your tub of ice cream. You grabbed a spoon out of the drawer next to the refrigerator and took a seat next to Steve at the table.
“What are you doing up?” You asked, opening your ice cream.
“I wanted a snack too.” He says.
You hummed and took a bite of ice cream. Steve took the opportunity to take in your appearance. His eyes wandered down to your breasts, getting an amazing view due to the tank top you were wearing. He licked his lips when he noticed your nipples poking through your tank top, his cock harden in his sweatpants.
“Are you ok, Steve?” You asked.
“Uhh…” He cleared his throat. “Yes I am.” He says.
Your eyes began to wander his perfectly sculpted body. Your eyes looked further down his body, noticing the bulge in his sweatpants. You bit your lower lip, thinking about what his cock would feel like inside of you. Steve noticed you rubbing your thighs together.
“Y/N?” Steve says, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Yea?” You asked.
You two looked at each other, eyes filled with lust. The next thing you knew, you and Steve kissed each other hungrily, moaning into the kiss. Steve stood up, bring you with him and placed you on the table. You spread your legs so he could get in between them. You moaned when his bulge rubbed against your covered pussy. Steve’s hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the kitchen.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Steve breathes.
He dips his head down, kissing along your collarbone and making his way to your breasts. You gasped when his teeth nibbled at your skin, marking you up. One of his hands fondled your breasts while his other hand disappeared inside of your sleep shorts and panties. His fingers rubbed in between your wet folds, blindly finding your clit.
“You’re so fucking wet. Is it because of me?” He asks.
“It’s all because of you, Stevie.” You moaned.
His fingers circled your tight entrance before sliding two fingers inside of you. You involuntarily spread your legs wider to give him more access. Breathy moans left your lips as your nails dug in his strong biceps.
“Oh fuck!” You moaned, tilting your head back.
Steve moved his lips up to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. Your cunt clenched around his fingers.
“Stevie…” You gasped.
“Tell me what you need, honey.” Steve says against your skin.
“Fuck me.” You say in almost a whisper.
Steve removed his fingers from your pussy causing you to whine. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulled them down with your panties, dropping them on the floor. He pulled down his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock. He pumped it in his hand a couple times before lining it up at your tight entrance, rubbing his tip between your wet folds.
“Oh fuck…” You gasped when his tip slid past your tight entrance. “You’re so big!” You moaned.
“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” Steve says.
His hands gripped your waist as he began thrusting. His thrusts started off slow and then got faster. Steve captured your lips in a hungry kiss. You two were moaning into each other’s mouths. You placed one of your hands on the back of his head, tugging on his hair causing him to moan at the feeling.
“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long.” You moaned, tilting your head back.
“Yea? You’ve always wanted to get fucked by your Captain?” He asks.
“Mmm yes.” You moaned, your eyes fluttered shut.
“I’ve been dreaming about this too, sweetheart.” Steve moans.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and locking your ankles behind his back. Your nails dug into his back, leaving red line marks behind. One of Steve’s hands left your waist to rub your clit causing you to arch your back in pleasure. That created a new angle for Steve. A pornographic moan left your lips when his tip hit your sweet spot.
“Right there!” You gasped. “Right fucking there!” You moaned.
His fingers rubbed your clit faster as his tip continues to hit your sweet spot repeatedly.
“Stevie!” You moaned.
“Yes, honey?” Steve pants.
“Faster!” You begged.
Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He thrusted faster to the point where your lips were parted and inaudible moans left your lips. You felt your orgasm coming closer and closer like it was about to come crashing down on you.
“S-Steve, I—” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.
“Give it to me, sweetheart.” Steve says.
His fingers rubbed faster on your clit, just enough to send you over the edge. Your jaw dropped, an inaudible moan left your lips as you came. Steve’s grip tightened on your waist, feeling his orgasm coming closer and closer. His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside of you. He thrusted a few more times before stopping. You two looked at each other breathless before Steve kissed you hungrily.
“Best late night snack ever.” Steve says.
“Definitely.” You agreed.
💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙
-Bucky’s Doll
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Take Me Home Tonight
Summary: You run into a familiar face while working. (Bucky Barnes)
Warnings: noncon/dubcon, fingering, dry humping, flirting.
Note: look, we didn't expect Applebee's to inspire one fic, but now it's done two fics. Shit. We are deranged.
Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Please also reblog because it’s a lot longer than I intended.
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You hug the menus to your chest as you approach the booth of four newly sat in your section. As you do, you stutter step, unsure if your eyes are seeing clearly. You know that hair, the subtle wave of brown with strands of silver woven in. You step up and give a smile to the men.
“Good evening,” you place a menu in front of each of them; the burly blonde comedically crowded into the corner beside the man with dark hair and darker eyes, the blonde you vaguely recognise from his acquaintance with the most familiar face at the table, “Mr. Barnes.”
“Oh, hi,” he sits up and sets the drink menu back at the centre of the table, “uh,” he gives you a peculiar look, “I thought you worked down at the Denny’s.”
“Used to. Just got hired here,” you chime, “uh, so, are you all ready to go with your drink orders?”
“You mind?” The blond with the short hair nudges him.
“Yeah, go ahead, I’m still thinking,” he sits back.
“Heineken,” the man orders with a tweak of his eyebrow.
“Seems you don’t carry Hansa so I’ll have a jolly rancher cocktail,” the big blond intones. You almost laugh, thinking of him with the bright blue drink with a gummy worm for garnish.
“Shirley Temple for me,” the other says, “designated driver.”
“Oh, of course,” you note each order in your head, “and you, Mr. Barnes?”
“Mr. Barnes,” the man across from him goads.
“Bucky,” Mr. Barnes corrects you, “uh, I’ll take a Corona.”
“Alright, Heineken, jolly rancher, Shirley Temple, Corona,” you list off, “I’ll be back with your drinks and to take your order.”
“Thanks,” Bucky smiles.
“Yeah, thanks, doll,” the blonde at his shoulder winks. You don’t miss the elbow he receives from his seat partner.
You go to the bar and put in the order. You do a round to check in on your other tables, grabbing a few napkins at request and clearing plates. When the drinks are set out neatly on a tray, you carry them to the booth and dole them out.
“So, are we starting with an appetizer?” You ask.
“We’ll do some nachos,” the man across from Bucky says, “thanks, sweetie.”
“Beef, chicken, or veggie?”
“Chicken,” he answers.
“Hey, I know you,” the blond drapes his arm over the side of the booth, “you’re the neighbour girl.”
“Steve,” Bucky reproaches under his breath.
“What? It was killing me. I just couldn’t place the face.”
Bucky utters your name, almost reluctant to do so, “I’m just out with buddies,” he explains, “buncha old men catching up;” he jabs his thumb towards the man beside him, “Steve, Thor,” he points to the other blonde then to the man across from him, “Sam.”
“Sounds like fun,” you chirp, “well, I’ll go get those nachos. Are we planning on entrees?”
“We’ll just share the chips,” Bucky assures.
Sam leans back and pats his chest, “heartburn.”
You humour him with a smile and nod before spinning away. You flit off and head for the kitchen. It’s strange seeing Mr. Barnes– Bucky outside the neighbourhood. He’s always just been next door. Odder even seeing him without his family. Well, you guess he deserves the break. Every time you see him, he’s on his way somewhere.
🍻
The night wears on. Your shifts always pass quickly as you’re kept afoot by patrons and managers alike. Several times you find yourself visiting Bucky’s table to top up drinks and they grow rowdy as the game comes on the big screen. 
You’re almost amused as you’ve never seen your neighbour like this. He’s always so stern and standoffish. A small wave as he mows the lawn or a ‘morning’ as you pass by him unlocking his car. Even your father claimed he was the most serious man he’d ever met.
“Sweetheart,” Sam smiles at you as clear the empties, “can we get our check? I gotta get them out of here before they break something.”
“Sure thing,” you say as you stack the tray with bottles and glasses, “separate or together?”
“Together. I’ll have to chase them down for the difference,” Sam answers.
As you take the clear Corona bottle from in front of Bucky, he rests his chin in his hand and watches you. Your eyes meet his and your cheeks round even more. He’s definitely drunk.
“Hi,” he babbles.
“Hello, Mr. Barnes,” you return.
“I told you, it’s Bucky,” he grins.
“Bucky,” you repeat, “you want some water?”
He sits up and drags his elbow off the table, “I guess I should…”
“For all of them,” Sam says from your other side, “please.”
“Alright, check and waters.”
You almost click your heels before you sweep off on your mission. It’s almost closing time and the place is sparse. A few stragglers along the bar but no more hectic families of screaming toddlers breaking crayons and tossing napkins.
You go to the till and print out the bill and grab a handheld from the charger. You place both on your cleared tray and fill three glasses of water. You carry them back to your last table and gently set the condensating drinks before each diner. Sam takes the bill as he holds his card between two fingers.
“You go to school?” Steve’s voice startles you before you can summon small talk.
“Uh, yeah, second year,” you answer him.
“I thought so,” he says, “college girls…”
“Shut up, Rogers,” Bucky grumbles, putting his hand up to block out Steve, “ignore him. He’s trashed.”
“Speak for yourself,” Steve swats his hand down and receives a swipe back. 
The men slap at each others’ hands as Thor stands and leans over, his size deterring the men as he shoves their arms apart, “enough. Or I’ll drag you out like stray cats.”
You try not to show your discomfort as Sam hands you back the machine and it loudly prints his receipt. You offer him a copy but he insists you go and enjoy your night. You bid them all the same and set off to clear the last of your tables.
Your coworkers start their own closing tasks and the music turns off as closing time hits. You glance up, everyone’s gone. You go back to the booth and gather up the mostly untouched glasses of water and wipe it down. With your tables done, you turn in your apron and go to get your cut of the tips. Your tally comes up higher than you expect thanks to the table of middle-aged men.
You head out the back door and round to the front of the shining marquee. You’ll uber home since your mom is out of town. As you step up on the little pavement lip in front of the restaurant, a figure stands from their perch on the ground. You don’t recognise Bucky until he says your name.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask as you lower your phone.
“Ah, well, me and Steve…” he rubs his neck and chuckles, “I’m waiting on a cab but none have passed by.” He shrugs, “plus, I figured we’re headed in the same direction…”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess,” you say, “I was just ordering an uber. Kinda don’t like taking them alone so late at night anyway.”
“Great,” he slurs, “uh, sorry about tonight. My friends are… a lot.”
“It’s fine, you were having a good time,” you select a ride and black out your phone. “Just make sure you drink lots of water.”
“Hmm,” he hums, “you’re so nice… I’ll be fine, you know? I can take care of myself.”
“I know, I just… I hate hangovers.”
“Oh? Didn’t take you for a drinker?”
“Well, don’t tell mom but once in a while.”
“My lips are sealed,” he surprises you as he reaches to squeeze your shoulder. “And I’ve never broken a promise to a pretty girl.”
You want to laugh. He’s tipsy and it’s kind of cute. The glare of headlights flash over you and he drops his arm away from you. The uber approaches and you check the plate, pointing Bucky in ahead of you. 
He sidles over the seat and yawns as you climb in next to him. The driver confirms your destination as you let yourself relax against the seat. The tension of your shift slowly drifts away.
Bucky slowly slides until he’s leaning against you, “I’ll pay you back for the ride,” he grumbles as he rests his head on your shoulder. 
The tension seeps back into you but you try not to overthink it. He’s just your neighbour, a friendly neighbourhood dad, a bit discombobulated from his night out. He probably doesn’t get many of those.
“Been a long time since I went home with a girl like you,” he chuckles.
You laugh, a nervous tickle in your throat as his weight bears down on you. You can smell a hint of citrus from his hair. Hopefully he’ll forget this all by the morning.
You’re quiet as the driver continues on. By the time you get to your street, you’re sure Bucky’s fallen asleep. You’re worried about getting him back to his place. As you get close to your house, you point the driver to the house right beside your own. That’ll be easier.
To your surprise, Bucky sits up and lets out a sleepy grumble. You thank the driver as your neighbour grabs onto your hand and tugs you towards his side as he opens the door. You let him and he clings to you as the uber leaves you in the shadow of the Barnes’ abode.
“Let’s go to bed,” he pulls you towards the walkway.
“Bucky,” you utter, “uh, Mr. Barnes?”
Is he that drunk? He must not realise you’re not his wife. You look around. You don’t see her car. That explains his little boys’ night. She’s probably visiting family again so he’s all alone.
“Hey,” you laugh unevenly as he drags you up onto the porch. He’s very strong. “Mr. Barnes, it’s me.”
He stops and sways. He squints at you and feels his pockets, jangling his keys through the fabric. He steadies himself and grins. His eyes hold yours, drowning you in pools of oceanic blue.
“I know,” he says soberly, “it’s you.”
You stare at him in confusion, blinking as he slides his hand into his pocket. You glance over your shoulder at the dark siding of your parents’ house. You face him again as he pulls his keys out but drops them between his shoes. You put your phone in your purse and shift the bag to rest on your hip.
“I should– oop,” you look down, “Mr. Barnes,” you bends to grab the keys, “alright, I’ll just get you inside and head home.” You stand up and hold up his keys, “which one?”
He points to the square gold one and you shove it into the slot. You push the door inward and gesture him ahead of you. He shuffles over the threshold, tripping before barely catching himself on the frame. You follow him in and look around cautiously. You’ve never been inside.
“Let’s get you to the couch, Mr. Barnes,” you grab his arm as he wobbles, “you just need to sleep this off–”
You tug on his arm but he doesn’t budge. Once more, all unsteadiness fades and he’s suddenly immovably still. He turns his head slowly and puts his hand over yours.
“I told you,” he faces you as he guides your hand up his arm, “it’s Bucky.”
“Um, alright, uh–”
He backs you up and you collide with the door, the impact forcing it shut. You gulp and press yourself against the inside as he pens you in, clutching your hand to his shoulder. The beer on his breath mingles with the citrusy scent that cloys from him.
“Mr. Barnes, what–”
“Shhh,” his hand slips from your and he grips your chin, “it’s okay–”
“St–”
He smothers your protest with a kiss. You’re too stunned to do more than flatten yourself against the door. His grip makes your jaw ache as his other hand crawls up your thigh. You squirm and push against his shoulder with a whine.
He doesn’t relent. He pushes his foot between yours, edging them apart as he picks your fly open. You curl your fingers, jabbing your nails into him. He growls but doesn’t stop.
You turn your head, forcing your mouth away from his.
“Mr. Barnes… Bucky, please–”
He hushes you again as his hand falls from chin to throat. He squeezes, crushing out any hope of screaming for help. He nuzzles into the side of your neck, his nose tickling the line of your jaw. You whimper as his hand delves beneath the cotton of your panties.
His fingertips brush along your trimmed vee of hair and he swirls the short curls with a purr. He extends his middle finger, feeling along your folds and dipping between. He flicks his finger back and forth, exploring you until he finds your clit. He rolls his finger, stoking a heat beneath his touch.
You wriggle and trail your hand down his arm, gripping his wrist as you fight him. You’re too weak. You croak through your tight throat as you try to fight the swirling tide building with the friction of his roughened fingertip. This can’t be happening.
He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not like this.
A million thoughts race with as many sensations. You stand on your toes as your muscles knots and the tension coils in your core. You shouldn’t feel like this. This is wrong. This isn’t real. Your eyes roll back and you hide behind your eyelids.
His finger glides as you slicken against him. He quickens his pace, toying with you as he breathes against your neck, puffing damply as his hand remains firm on you. He keeps you pinned as he goads your body on, fueling a fire you’ve never lit before.
You squeak as you twitch without permission. You succumb to the brewing storm, blown away in the whirlwind as your mind is stifled by your body. You gulp and gasp, your hand slipping down to his chest as your other falls away from his arm.
“You’re so sexy,” he purrs as he lets you go.
You brace yourself against the door, breathless and paralysed as you watch him raise his hand. He presses his fingertips to his mouth and you see the glisten on them. He pushes them inside and sucks them clean with a growl.
“And so sweet, baby,” he steps forward, crowding you again.
The afterglow has you helpless. He feels along your side as his other hand wanders down your leg. He pulls your knee up and brings himself flush to you. He bends his knees as he presses his crotch into yours. You murmur at the hot weight between you. 
He curls his arm around your neck and your head lolls back. He bows to kiss you, devouring you as he slowly rocks his hip. A fiery heat builds between the layers of fabric, the friction of your seam rubs you through the damp cotton of your panties.
He gasps into your mouth as his pace quickens. The door shifts and squeaks with his motion as he pounds you into it, hips pumping as his bulge pokes through his jeans rigidly. Your head droops to the side and his wet lips smear over your cheek. He bites into your ear lobe and snarls.
Another tickle flares and you moan. A small burst that has you just as senseless. Your delight leaks onto your panties, spreading to the edges.
“Mmmmm,” he hums and releases the pinch of his bite, “fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me go– right in my–” he chokes as his fingertips sink into the bottom of your thigh and he pulls your leg higher, “jeans–”
He shakes and lets out a long rattle, sprinkled with deep groans and soft mewls. He leans into you completely and shudders, stilling at last. He sinks down with you, bringing you to straddle him as his knees meet the floor.
You heave and lift your head, gaping at him as his eyelids droop sleepily. He smiles, the expression crinkling around his eyes. He leans in and kisses you again, nibbling on your lower lip before pulling away.
“I won’t tell your mom about that either, kitten.”
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tuiccim · 6 months
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Juxtaposition
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Pairing: Mafia Boss Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Word Count: 2174
Warnings: Smut, Dom/Sub, Oral (f rec)
Summary: Bucky Barnes is the boss of your city's mafia. You are the sweet, shy woman who has fallen in love with a bad man. At least, that's what everyone thinks.
A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.
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You took a deep breath as you walked past the line to the bouncer guarding the club doors. He knew you immediately and waved you through. 
“Evening,” Thor winks cheekily as he holds the door open for you. 
“Hi,” you demure. 
A guy at the front of the line takes offense at this and yells, “Hey! Why does she get in?” 
“Cause she’s a hell of a lot prettier than you,” Thor laughs unperturbed but with a warning look at the guy. 
“Can’t argue with that,” the guy shrugs, taking the hint. 
“Thank you,” you whisper shyly. 
“Anything for the boss’s girl,” Thor nods. 
You make your way through the crowded club as lights flash and loud music accompanies the many people bumping and grinding on the dance floor. You get to the bar and give a small wave to the two bartenders, Natasha and Clint. 
“He’s in the office,” Natasha says over the music while holding out a glass of scotch and a bottle of water to you.
“Thanks,” you say as you take the drinks. You make your way to the back hallway, currently guarded by Bruce, who smiles kindly and opens the door for you. You nod to him sweetly and hurry down to Bucky’s office door. Balancing the glass of Scotch carefully, you push the door open but stop short when you see Steve and Sam holding a man up by his arms as Bucky lands a solid punch to his gut. Obviously not the first one, the guy groans and remains slumped. Three heads snap up to see at your wide-eyed stare. 
“I-I’m sorry!” You exclaim quickly and begin to back out the door. Their captive’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice and you see his jaw drop at the sight of you. 
“It’s okay, Doll. Come in. We should have been done by now. I got a little carried away,” Bucky turns his attention back to the men but seeing the man’s eyes on you enrages him all over again. He punches him in the nose, easily breaking it and causing blood to gush , “Get this trash out of my office. If I ever see you around here again, if you ever even look at her again, Walker, you’ll be a dead man. You understand?” 
“Yes,” the man wheezes as Steve and Sam drag him out. You stare as they walk the man through the door, both making brief eye contact with apologetic looks. 
“We’ll take the trash out and get back to our post, boss,” Steve assures as he closes the door behind him. 
Bucky unbuttons his suit and takes a seat behind his large desk. He takes out a handkerchief and dabs at a small spot on his knuckle. Otherwise, he is immaculately clean despite the mess from the beating he had given. You make your way to the desk slowly and set down the drinks. He watches your every move with a hungry look. Licking your lips, you walk around to stand in front of him. 
“You’re early,” he says, eyeing you. 
You pick his arm up and look at the watch on his wrist, “I’m right on time.” You drop his arm and slap him hard enough to turn his head. As you stand there, he keeps his face turned away but you see the tick in his jaw. “How dare you make me see him. You should have been finished and ready for me.” 
His control is beautiful as you watch him carefully. He waits, not moving, for your permission. You had trained him well. 
“Speak,” you say quietly. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, moving only his lips. 
“Look at me,” you command. He complies immediately giving you a feeling of elation. “What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry he was still here when you got here. That I didn’t manage my time better,” Bucky says, jaw still clenched. You know he’s frustrated and turned on by the slap you had delivered. Judging by the red mark on his cheek, it was still stinging. 
You grab his face with one hand. Gripping the back of his chair with the other, you lean over him. “You aren’t sorry you beat him so badly?”
“No,” he growls. 
“No, what?” You squeeze his cheeks harder with annoyance. 
“No, ma’am.”
“You aren’t sorry that he’ll be in pain for days, weeks even?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Good boy,” you smile down at him as you release your grip and slide to sit on the desk. You grab the glass of scotch and hold it out to him, “You look like you could use a drink.”
You waited until his hand was just within reach of the glass to pull back, “Have you hydrated today?” His clenched jaw gives you the answer. You tsk as you hand him the bottle of water. He opens it and obediently takes a sip. “All of it,” you instruct, tipping the bottle to his lips. He drinks while maintaining eye contact with you. When the last drop slides into his mouth you smile, “Good boy.”
“Does that mean I’ve earned my Scotch?” he asks carefully. 
“Mmm,” you consider the request as you roll the glass across your chest. “I think an apology is still in order. I said I never wanted to see him again and then there he is right in my face.”
“I apologize again, ma’am,” Bucky says, watching the glass move, wishing he could pour the contents down your chest and trace its path with his tongue. 
You lean forward with a small smile, reading his thoughts as clearly as he spoke them aloud, bringing your face close. Bucky’s mouth opens slightly awaiting your kiss of forgiveness but instead of giving him that relief, you bring the glass to your lips and take a sip of the amber liquid. With a smirk, you clarify, “Apology was the wrong word. I meant penance. So, precious, can you think of some way to make me forget seeing him again?”
As you speak, you propped your legs on each side of his chair, allowing the dress you wore to ride up your thighs. Bucky’s eyes blaze a trail up to the visible wet spot on your innocent pink panties. He loved this juxtaposition about you. To anyone else, you were a shy, innocent-looking woman, but with him, behind closed doors, you were a dominating seductress. It wasn’t anything he thought he’d ever want but since you’d show him that side of you, and himself, he’s been utterly lost to you. He would take down empires at your command, tear the world to shreds, while you stood at his side looking like the good woman who fell in love with a bad man. His dick twitched at the thought. His eyes snap up to yours, “May I touch you, ma’am?”
His gravelly voice shoots a thrill through you. He was so goddamn perfect staring up at you like that, full of want and admirable restraint. You nod, widening your legs. His hands are immediately under your skirt, reaching for your panties, and you oblige him by lifting up for him to pull them off you. Moving his chair closer, he wraps his arms around your legs. 
“Can I put my mouth on you, please?” His voice comes out in a desperate whisper as he leans a cheek against your thigh. 
“Are you getting hard already?” You croon. 
“Yes, ma’am,” he groans.
“Oh, precious, if you’re already getting hard from this little bit of teasing, I can just imagine how you’re going to be by the end of the night.” You decide to tease him and put your hand over your mound, “I don’t know if my poor little pussy can handle it. You look like you might not be able to control yourself. Maybe I should just take care of myself.” You dip your fingers into your wetness and slide them over your clit. 
“Please,” Bucky whispers as his eyes follow the movements of your fingers. 
“Please, oh! Please, what?” you whine breathlessly, moving more quickly. 
“Please let me put my mouth on you. Please, ma’am. I’ll be good. I’ll make you feel so good,” he begs.
“Say please again,” you demand. 
“Please! Please, I need it! I need you, please!” Bucky’s words make you gush. 
“You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you, baby?” you tease him. He knows you can take it any way he could dish it out. 
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Show me,” you lean back on your elbows, giving him full access. 
He’s immediately kissing his way up your thighs with whispered words of affirmation, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be gentle. Fuck, I want you so much. Please, ma’am, I need to get my mouth on you, please.”
“Okay, baby. If you make me come with that tongue of yours, maybe I’ll accept your apology,” you encourage him. 
He wastes no time burying his face between your legs. He runs his tongue up and down your slit, laps at your clit, and moans as he tastes you. You grab a handful of his hair and tug at it to encourage him. Fuck, you live for this. For his compliance and skill at pleasuring you. The way he moved his tongue over your clit had your legs quivering. He used his fingers to play at your entrance and then slid them down to tease your ass before returning. When he slid one in and crooked it into your G spot, you bucked against his face while holding him tighter against you. 
“Using that tongue so fucking good. Fuck,” you can feel your orgasm building. He was good with his mouth, both talking and fucking with it. You lean your head back as you rock your hips. You grip his hair harder, pulling it from the tie that held it back. Silky soft strands tickled your thighs and his tongue worked double time until your body spasmed. You came hard, gripping his head with your thighs and rubbing your pussy against his face. 
“Fucking hell,” you whisper as you begin to come down. You release the vice-like grip you have on Bucky’s hair but his tongue is still making slow circles. “I forgive-”
The door slams open as Tony walks in, “Hey boss. I’ve got- oh.” 
You jump off the desk and turn away, pulling your skirt down before wrapping your arms around yourself. Bucky surges out of his chair with a growl. 
“Sorry, boss, didn’t realize you were in the middle of dinner,” Tony smirks as he wiggles his eyebrows. In a blink, Bucky has him by the neck and slams him against the wall. 
“Don’t look at her,” Bucky growls. “The fuck are you thinking?”
“You said you wanted to know as soon as I got the info. Your boys weren’t outside standing guard so I assumed it was just you three in here. My bad,” Tony wheezes. 
“I should rip your eyes and tongue out,” Bucky growls. 
“That would make me much less useful, boss,” Tony replies. 
“That’s the only reason I haven’t yet. Apologize.”
“Sorry, boss,” Tony mumbles. 
“Not to me,” Bucky whispers. 
“My sincerest apology, miss,” Tony says loudly in your direction but without looking at you, remembering Bucky’s earlier warning. Bucky looks over his shoulder at you and sees as you nod your head but then lift your hand as if wiping away a tear. He knows how shy you are around others. Like he said, you were a paradox. Shy, timid, demure even, when out in public. It was only behind closed doors that you became the self-assured domme who fascinated him. 
“Is it what we thought?” Bucky asks suddenly. 
“Yeah,” Tony nods. 
“Share the information with Bruce and the two of you need to take care of it. If it isn’t done by tomorrow night… you can still work with one eye, right?” Bucky says threateningly. 
“Consider it done.”
“I don’t,” Bucky lets him go but then punches him in the jaw. “Get out and get it done.”
“On it, boss,” Tony assures, holding his jaw. 
Bucky practically throws Tony out the door, meeting the shocked stares of Sam and Steve who were just returning. 
“Bring my car around,” Bucky says as he slams the door. Hurrying back over to you, he wraps his arms around you and cradles your face in his neck. “You okay, doll?”
You nod against his shoulder but are too overwhelmed to speak. Part of you is embarrassed to have been seen in such a compromising position, the other part of you is turned on by Bucky’s protective reaction. You cling to him, breathing his scent deeply to ground yourself. 
“Can I take you to my place? I’ll make this all up to you,” Bucky pulls back to look at you. He watches you closely and sees the moment your dominant side takes hold again. 
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Your eyes light and you smirk at him, “Yes, but I’m going to need a bottle of scotch and some handcuffs when we get there.”
Part 2
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ronearoundblindly · 7 months
Text
Your Dog, His Tricks
a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.
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Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.
Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k
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You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.
No help.
None.
You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 
Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.
He’s stubborn, and so are you.
You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.
Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.
It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.
“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.
You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.
At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.
He’ll swoop in.
He’ll save you.
You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.
Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.
Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.
You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.
No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.
You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.
“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”
The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.
“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”
Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—
—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.
You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.
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You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.
It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.
His eyes.
Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.
Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.
“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”
Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.
Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.
“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”
You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’
There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”
Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?
Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.
If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.
This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.
“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.
“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”
“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.
“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”
The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.
“Language, Steve.” 
He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 
“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”
You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”
Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.
The nurse offers to step out for a second.
You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’
This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”
“She is not—“
“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”
“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.
The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.
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Steve says nothing.
You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 
He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.
You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.
Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.
He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.
He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.
At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.
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Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 
You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 
You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.
Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 
Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.
Always an arm’s length away.
No closer. No farther.
That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.
Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.
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If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.
You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.
You’re asleep before he returns.
The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.
Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.
There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.
He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.
Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.
For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 
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Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.
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About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.
Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.
You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.
“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.
“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.
Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.
“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”
Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.
He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.
“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 
“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.
“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.
“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.
The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.
Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.
You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.
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It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.
The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.
You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.
Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...
The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.
To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.
An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.
Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.
Not this time. Not a chance. None.
You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.
Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.
You salute at big, blue eyes. 
“On your six, Cap.” 
Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 
“What the fuck are you doing?”
What the fuck indeed…
All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.
“Uh, you’re welcome.”
His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'
Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 
Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 
“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 
You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.
“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”
“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.
“Doing what? My job?!”
Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”
“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”
You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.
“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”
Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”
“You heard me,” he all but whispers.
It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.
You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“
“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.
“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“
“It’s not your job to save me.”
“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“
“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.
“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”
His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.
Oh shit. You’ve done it now.
“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”
Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.
“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”
A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”
There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.
“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”
Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”
“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.
You can’t wriggle away.
“Let’s see how you like it.”
Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.
“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 
How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?
Who. Fucking. Cares. How.
Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.
“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”
“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.
“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”
“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.
The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 
“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”
“Please,” you beg.
One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”
“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”
“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.
“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”
“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”
“That’s my girl.”
Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?
“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.
“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”
“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”
“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.
You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.
Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.
“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”
“Move, Steve.”
“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”
You groan in frustration.
You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.
With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.
Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.
Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.
“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 
Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.
Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.
“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.
Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”
You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.
“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”
You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.
When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.
“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.
Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”
You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.
Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.
He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.
You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?
Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.
“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.
You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”
He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.
“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”
“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”
That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”
“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”
He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.
With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.
Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”
“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…
“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”
Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.
“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”
He huffs out a laugh and blushes.
“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”
Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.
 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”
He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.
“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.
When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 
We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky
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Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby
A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️
[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
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babyjakes · 3 months
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〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉
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event | kinkmas 2023
prompt | monster fucking
pairing | steve rogers x fairy!reader
warnings | me knowing nothing about fairies. reader is in "fairy heat"? bruce captured reader (potentially inhumane conditions for fairy-keeping?) soft sweet steve. size kink LOL. th-thumb riding? fingering. p-pinky fucking? stretching. multiple orgasms. squirting. praise and encouragement that makes me feral. pity kink? is that a thing? if it is, i think i have it.
word count | 1,225
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an | i've never written monster fucking (or really anything super fantasy-oriented) so please be kind!! wasn't expecting to get sooo into this, but like there's just something about reader being literally so tiny that steve's pinky stuffs her to the brim that's making me all 🥲🫠😩
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what if bruce was off working in some top-secret remote location and brought you back with him: a sweet little fairy he'd captured while working out in the field, just as you were entering your fairy heat 🫠
maybe you're just about 7 inches tall, with the body/proportions of a grown young woman. he's been conducting research on your species for quite some time, so he's able to determine basics like your age, your likely place of origin, etc. he's thrilled to have caught you at the start of your heat
what's your fairy heat? i made that part up simple, it's the span of several days that occur around the same time every month when your body's at its prime and looking to breed. you become insatiably horny, almost to the point of it being debilitating, and all you can focus on during your excruciating waking moments is fucking yourself on anything of appropriate size in sight
you're kept in some sort of incubator in his lab, a glass box that's a few feet by a few feet wide and deep. the bottom of the enclosure is made of a soft cushiony material, making any spot a good spot to lay down and rest. miniature food and water bowls are set out for you, and a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling of the box shines 12 hours a day. it's a pretty miserable existence, your makeshift habitat nothing close to the wide open flower fields and prairies you're used to, but it allows the scientist to observe you closely without any distractions or interfering variables. and since you're in heat, you aren't too worried about where you are or who's taken you. all you can do is writhe around on the soft floor of the incubator in desperate, horny agony
maybe one day bruce is out of the lab, but he told steve he could come check out his new findings and maybe keep you company if you'd let him. when he enters the room and sees you lying there, squirming and struggling weakly, of course the supersoldier's heart is instantly hurting for you 🥺
he approaches the incubator slowly, not wanting to startle you. but pretty quickly he realizes that you're paying him no mind; you're too preoccupied with your discomfort. he takes his time observing you, standing right in front of the glass box as his huge frame towers over you. bruce told him a little about your condition and the science behind it. it made him blush, but he accepted it like he would learning about any other species and their unique reproductive habits
"poor thing," he hums to himself as he watches your tiny body wriggle in distress. he's stunned by how pretty you are. you have the most delicate little face, and your translucent wings with their iridescent shimmer look like something straight out of a fairytale movie. you're completely naked- bruce removed your scraps of moss carpeting and leaf clothing when he found you. but it's not strange or offputting in the slightest to steve. he just thinks you're beautiful, such a stunning little creature that seems too precious for this world 💕
he notices the plugged openings in the glass wall that allow bruce to reach in and work inside the enclosure. carefully removing the rubber inserts, he reaches a large hand in, wanting to offer you some comfort if you'll take it. you're so tiny that you could nearly crawl right into the palm of his hand and curl up if you wanted to
but snuggles are the last thing you're looking for in this moment. when you see his huge hand lying there, palm up just a short distance away from you, you weakly crawl over, wings drooping in exhaustion. you couldn't fly at the moment if you tried
steve is a little surprised as you hoist yourself up onto his thumb, your tiny legs dangling on either side of it. it only takes him a moment to realize what you're doing- his cheeks turn bright red as you begin rolling your hips desperately, a faint feeling of wetness forming on the pad of his finger as you leak your glistening juices all over him
"oh doll-" his voice is dripping with pity and concern. he doesn't try to stop you, just watches as you so needily try to relieve yourself. as strange as the situation is, he can't help but find your primal actions endearing, in a way
he continues watching sympathetically as you grind your tiny little pussy down against his large digit. his heart swells at the way you place your hands down in front of you, trying to keep yourself upright as you rock at a steady pace. just a few moments later, he sees your little body spasming and realizes you've reached orgasm by merely riding along on his finger. "oh my," he hums thoughtfully, watching as your precious little toes curl in delight
your face is much happier after your climax. steve watches curiously to see what you'll do next, staying silent as you climb off of his thumb and move to the other end of his splayed-out fingers. as you lie yourself down on your back and spread your legs out on either side of his pinky, he's again blushing deeply. "o-oh, hey little one-"
he watches as you begin pushing down to press the tip of his smallest finger up against your leaking hole. seeing how much you struggle to maneuver against him, steve takes even more pity on you. "here, doll. let me help," he decides, bringing his other arm through the unused hole in the glass. he moves it over to lift your back up gently, supporting you in a sitting position as he carefully begins easing his smallest digit up into you, smiling affectionately as you let out a soft sigh of relief
"there you go. that's it," he's murmuring encouragingly as he carefully fucks you with his pinky. your little pussy is so tight around him, he's surprised he's able to fit. but you're taking him so well, and there's something so sweet about the way you look as you sit here in his hands, letting him stretch you out over the smallest finger he has 💕
"good, just like that" "such a pretty little thing you are" "that feel good, doll?" "just keep taking it, sweetheart" "so good for me, keep going" he's not sure if you can understand his words, but there's something he finds satisfying about talking to you this way
he can somehow feel your second orgasm approaching, your walls growing a bit tighter around him as he works up his pace a little more to carry you over the edge. "there," he's humming proudly, smiling as you manage to squirt out forcefully against him. your come ✨literally sparkles✨ as it coats his finger
as you're floating down from your high, he strokes your hair with his thumb as you lean up against the rest of his hand that's behind you. your eyes are droopy, your body no longer writhing in discomfort. as questionable as his actions might've been, it's clear he's taken care of much of your discomfort- at least for now
whyyy was this hot 🫠🫠 maybe i need to write fantasy shit more often lol
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To Know Him Is To Love Him
summary: to know steve rogers is to love him. to know him is to keep handing over your heart over and over again. to know him is to be broken by him.
pairing: steve rogers x reader
an: quick someone give this to a boy to read and ask him what steve did wrong. it's for science.
Anon's 1K Celebration
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to know him is to love him.
to know him is to stand by him.
to know him is to allow him to break your heart over and over again.
to know him to to hope that one day he'll finally see.
to know him is to be broken by him.
you can't count how many times he put you here, put in this situation. and worse, you can't count how many times you've let him put you in this situation.
three months ago...
you fix steve's tie, patting his shoulder to send him off on yet another date - after he invited himself into your apartment to get him ready for his date. you hated this feeling, the feeling of unrequited love.
you can't blame him, he doesn't know. at least, you think he doesn't know. in fact, you're sure he doesn't, he would never hurt you like that.
"i swear if this date doesn't go well, i'm swearing off women for good."
"does that mean i'm out a friend?" you tease.
"no, of course not," steve laughs. "you're my best friend. you don't count."
your smile falls at the words fall out of his mouth with ease. you don't count. you're not even a consideration. "i don't count as a woman?"
"you know what i meant. you're my friend."
you don't know what he meant. not in the slightest.
"right," you clear your throat, shaking your head with furrowed brows. "good luck on your date."
two months ago...
"i would tell him, but he's just - he's confusing," you admit. "i get a lot of mixed signals."
"men are just idiots," nat offers in consolation. "someday, he'll see. you're perfect for each other."
"thanks." you smile, walking back to your table with a fresh round of drinks. "what are you guys talking about?"
"about steve's terrible dating record," sam jokes.
"ah," you hum, you settle in the booth beside him, leaving plenty of room between the two of you.
steve frowns at you, reaching behind you and gripping your waist. without a word, he slides you until you're pressed against his thigh.
sam humorously snorts, "i don't get you two. you're attached at the hip. you're both attractive singles. make it official already."
you look to steve's reaction for any indication of what he's feeling. steve leans over, kissing your temple, "she knows she's my other half, my soulmate. we don't need labels."
"soulmate?" sam teases.
you shift uncomfortably. he never asked you that, never asked you if you wanted a label. he's never even asked you on a real date, but now he's declaring that he's your soulmate.
how blind can he be?
one month ago...
"please, i miss you, sweetheart." you squeeze your eyes shut. the term of endearment rolls so easily off his tongue. "i feel like i haven't seen you in forever."
it's intentional. you're trying to get over him. to move past these feelings. he doesn't make it easy. "i know, i've just been busy."
"how about dinner tonight? my place at 8?"
you chew on the inside of your cheek, hesitant to accept his dinner invite, "i don't know, steve."
"please, i need you."
putting distance between you and steve rogers didn't work. not when he so dutifully sought you out. not when he told you over and over again that he missed you. that he didn't know how to be without you.
his words toy with your head just enough to convince that it's a good idea to enter his gravitational orbit again.
you're not strong enough to resist the pull. you're not strong enough to to say no. you never have been.
you decide that you can't do this. you're going to tell him. you'll tell him. you'll tell him that you want to count. you'll tell him that you want him to see you.
to know him is to love him, you remember. the moment you see him, you crumble. that smile that makes it feel like your life is worthwhile. the eyes that send your rational mind into a haze. to know him is to love him.
he doesn't make it easy for you or your heart. he greets you at the door with a beaming grin, his eyes lighting up. it makes you feel like this is more than just a dinner. it feels like you're finally coming home to him.
you falter as his fingers graze your skin to take off your jacket. the apartment isn't his usual scene either. it feels like so much more than just a normal hangout. it feels... romantic. music spinning on his record player, marvin gaye, you recognize. candles lit in the center of the table. the smell of a home cooked meal simmering over the stove.
you turn to him with a nervous smile, "i thought you we were ordering pizza or something."
"i wanted to do something nice for my best girl."
his best girl.
he spends the whole dinner fawning over you. his hand rests on your leg. the other occasionally grazing the back of your hand. he asks you all about your work, about your love life.
"i missed you so much."
you're so entranced by him that your carefully thought out speech is gone, replaced by a soft whisper, "i love you."
"i love you, too." he smiles down at him. his eyes shining bright and blue. it doesn't even occur to him that you're professing your love for him. "i can't imagine my life without you."
you shake your head, reminding yourself that you had to tell him. you needed to move forward, one way or another. "no, steve, i - i'm in love with you."
an anxious chuckle leaves his mouth. his hand drops from your thigh, leaving you feeling cold, hollow, and abandoned. "what?"
you know a rejection when you see one. at least you can move on now. your heart can begin to heal. maybe in time, you could be friends again. "i just had to tell you. just once."
"i don't -" he licks his lips. "i'm sorry, i don't feel the same."
"i understand."
2 weeks ago...
you sigh at yourself, hearing the familiar ding of another voicemail on your phone.
each one chips away at your resolve, each one shatters your broken heart even more.
you told him you understood. you told him that it was okay. you spent the night consoling him. you soothed his fears that he would lose you.
in return, he made you promise to always be in his life. with a broken heart and wounded pride, you weren't strong enough to say no. you simply asked for time and a little space.
time and space that steve had no interest in giving you.
you made it easy for him. you retreated from mutual friends. from social spaces you occupied. you no longer texted or called first. you just needed time.
still, he sought you out.
you've gained enough strength to stop answering his every call and text. you've stuck to your boundaries, at least, the ones steve doesn't seem intent on steamrolling past.
you clutch your kitchen counter with your head hung low. with a couple deep breaths and reminders that he doesn't feel the same for you, you're slowly glad you didn't answer. you're proud of yourself for being strong and doing what's best for you.
at least, you're glad until there's a banging at your door.
your mending heart regrets the moment you answer.
"steve?"
"you weren't answering," he pants, clutching the frame of your doorway, "i wanted to hear your voice."
"steve..." you sputter. "this isn't - it's-"
"i just miss you," he cuts you off. he looks so heartbroken, so sincere. he misses you. you try to not make anything more of it, but then he says it again, "i miss you so much."
you stand to the side, allowing him to pass, "come in."
"thank you," he sighs in relief.
"what happened?"
"the worst date of my life."
you swear you can feel your heart fracturing. the air feels like its being squeezed out of your lungs.
and still, you stand before him trying to look as unaffected as possible. you don't know how effective it is. you don't think he sees you enough to notice either way. "you were on a date?"
"it was awful. she was vapid and boring and - and pretentious - and - and she wasn't you."
you suck in a breath, "steve..."
these were words from a man who did not love you, from a man that did not count you. they sounded an awful lot like the love he claimed he didn't feel.
suddenly, he cups your face, standing too close to you. this wasn't what friends did. this isn't how friends treated each other. you know that.
and then he kisses you. soft and tenderly. his lips mold against yours perfectly. you swear it's a sigh of relief that leaves his mouth when you don't pull away.
you smile against his lips. a sense of rightness overtakes you. he overwhelms you. he consumes you. he grips your waist tightly. the other hand caressing your cheek.
"steve.." you sigh against his lips.
and he freezes. his hands drop as though you burned him. his lips slightly swollen and shining from the kiss. he wipes his mouth, "i should go."
you shake your head. you don't want to believe that this is happening right now. this is steve. the person you loved with every fiber of your being. your friend. you trusted him. you believed in him. he wouldn't hurt you like that. even if he didn't love you, even as just a friend, he wouldn't take advantage of your love for him like that. "what?"
"i should go."
and he leaves without another word.
your heart isn't just broken anymore, it's crumbled into a million little pieces. you're not sure you'll ever be able to fix it.
1 week ago...
he's blown past all your defenses. he's drained every ounce of strength from you. he's taken everything except your broken heart and your love for him. that's all that's left of you.
to know him is to love him. to know him is to be broken by him.
he calls and this time, you answer. you fear him coming back to your apartment like he did before. your heart couldn't take it anymore.
"hi, steve." your voice is so gravelly and hollow, a shell of the fullness and life it used to contain.
you noticed everything about him. his likes, his dislikes. you could tell the day he was having by the way he said hi, by the sort of smile he gave you. you're not sure why you just realized that it's not reciprocated at all. he once told you he loved the sound of your voice, how could he not hear the broken tone? if he notices, which you're sure he doesn't, he doesn't ask.
you can hear the smile in his voice, "i'm so glad you answered."
you're not even sure that he realizes you've put the phone down. after all, you're just his space filler.
now...
you don't know why you're surprised he showed up at your door again. you're not surprised that you opened the door. you're not surprised that you let him back into your home. you're not even surprised that he's talking to you like everything is normal.
the only thing that takes you by surprise is your unwillingness to hear about the misadventures of his dating life.
"steve," you try to interrupt.
"and all i want -"
"steve."
"is for someone to really hear me, to see -"
"steve." you're surprised by the harshness in your own voice. his eyes flash over to you, widened slightly in shock. "you - you have to go now."
his brow furrow, he's taken aback. it occurs to you that he has no idea what he's done wrong. "why?"
"you know why," you spit at him.
"no, you said you understood. you said we could still be friends."
"friends?" you bitterly chuckle. "friends don't hurt their friends over and over again."
"i don't understand."
"that's the problem, steve. you don't get it. you don't get that i don't want to hear about the girls you date. you don't get that it hurts hearing you talk about what you're looking for in a woman. it hurts when call me at the end of the night because you want to hear my voice."
"they why do you answer the phone?"
"because i love you!" you hopelessly exclaim. "because i’ll do anything for you. i’ll do anything you say. and i think you know that."
"am i just supposed to know that you didn’t want to hear about them?"
"no girl wants that," you whisper. "no one wants to hear about everything they don’t have."
"i don't understand what's happening here. you promised me that you would always be in my life!" his accusing tone offends you far more than it should.
a tear slips down your cheek. "that was before."
"before? before what?"
each word hurts. he really doesn't know. he doesn't think about you at all. not as a consideration. not as a woman. not even as just a friend. he doesn't see you at all. "i can do this anymore. it’s too hard. i can - i can’t keep letting you break my heart."
"i told you that i didn’t feel the same. you knew i wasn’t in a space to - to reciprocate."
"and then you kissed me!"
he stiffens at the kiss that he refused to mention. all those nights he spent on the phone with you, talking to you. it was the one thing he never spoke about. "i - i know that wasn’t right. and i’m sorry, okay? i’m sorry i did that. i was hurting."
"you were hurting?" your breaths come out in fragments, with each heave of your chest you can hear the whistle of emptiness where your heart used to reside. "you - you knew how i felt and you knew you didn’t feel the same and you kissed me anyway."
"it was a mistake. i'm sorry."
your hands ball up in frustration, tear burn at the corners of your eyes. "it’s not just about the kiss. it’s - it’s everything. it’s you. you won’t let me go. let me move on. please."
steve staggers back, "i don’t- i'm not trying to hold on to you."
"why did you call me the other night?"
"because you’re my friend. you’re the person i wanted to talk to. you understand. you always understand."
"i don’t. i don’t understand. it crushed me."
he reaches out for your hand. hurt flashes in his eyes when you snatch it out of his reach. you can't let him blind you this time. "you’re always there for me. even when no one else is, you are."
you snort, "you don’t even know what you did wrong, do you?"
"you’re my best friend. i just - i wanted you hear your voice."
"you see? you keep messing with my head. you tell me that i'm the person you want to talk to at the end of the night. you tell people that i'm your soulmate. you tell me that you don’t feel the same. i tell you i want to move on. you kiss me. then you go on a date with another girl. when it doesn’t work out, you call me. i'm done. i can’t do this anymore. loving you is breaking me far beyond repair."
"i do love you."
you fervently shake your head over and over again, "you don’t mean that."
"i love you and i know it’s not in the same way but maybe - just give me time."
"time isn’t going to fix this. you don’t love me. you love the way i make you feel. you love being loved."
he scoffs, shooting a glare at you, "that’s not fair."
"no, it’s not," you agree. "and it’s not fair that you know how i feel and yet you just keep hurting me. you do it over and over again. and i keep letting you."
steve reaches for you again, "we can fix this."
you shake him off, striding to your door, opening it for him, "you should go."
"please," steve begs.
"goodbye, steve."
you don't know how you gather the strength to close the door on the man you love more than anything, let alone the man begging to stay in your life. the door clicks shut behind him.
a choked sob escapes your mouth as tears freely fall.
to know him is to love him, and you don't want to know a thing about steve rogers anymore.
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Anon's 1K Celebration
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lives-in-midgard · 3 months
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Stay With Me
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Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader
Summary: Steve is there for reader after a mission.
Word Count: 830
A/N: Hey everyone! I had this idea when I saw the prompt: "Please, stay with me." of the Fluffcember from @buckys-wintersoldier But because it wasn't Christmas themed and then I also didn't have time I decided to not post it for the Fluffcember. So, here it is I hope you enjoy it!
Divider made by @firefly-graphics
Masterlist
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Returning to the compound after a mission was not always easy. Sometimes it was, but not today. A lot of bad things happened on this mission, and you didn’t know how to deal with it right now. The whole flight you just looked at the ground, trying not to look at the others, but you could feel them all looking at you. Especially Steve, who sat across from you.
When the Quinjet landed on the compound, you were the first one who made their way out of it, not looking at any of the other Avengers. You could hear Steve calling your name but you didn't care, you just wanted to go home. Home to the comfort of your apartment.
When you got to your car, you turned on your favorite playlist as loud as you could and drove off.
The first thing you did when you got home was to take a shower and change into comfortable clothes. You quickly looked at your phone and saw that you had received a message from Steve.
"Hey y/n, are you okay?"
You didn't answer and put your phone away. Then you sat on the couch with a blanket over your shoulder and started thinking about the mission. How you almost caught the HYDRA agent until he suddenly escaped. How many people had to die. And then you started thinking about the moment you could have died until Steve came and saved you.
You sat there for a while until you heard a knock on the door. You weren't really in the mood to see anyone at that moment, but the person didn’t stop knocking.
After the tenth knock, or at least that’s what it felt like, you got up and went to the door. When you opened it, you saw a very worried Steve standing there.
"Hey." You said quietly.
"Hey." Steve said, looking over your body to see if he could see any injuries.
"I came here to check on you. You drove to your apartment so quickly after you got back to the compound." He said softly.
"Yeah, umm sorry. I just had to get away from there." You mumbled.
"You know what happened on the mission wasn't your fault, right?" Steve said, referring to the things that happened there.
"I don't know." You mumbled and looked at the ground.
"No, hey, it definitely wasn't your fault. You did your best; we all did our best." He said, took your hand and you looked back at him.
"Deep down I know this, but right now it feels like it’s all my fault."
"I know this feeling all too well. He paused a moment and then said.
"If you’d rather be alone now, I can go."
"No, please stay with me." You confessed and Steve gave you a comforting smile.
"Of course." He said and you opened the door more so he could walk in.
You both sat on the couch very close to each other so that your knee touched his. You sat in silence for a while until Steve said something.
"Actually I also wanted to check on you because I wanted to see if you have any injuries." You looked up at Steve who had another worried look on his face.
"I'm fine, I just have a few small scratches and a few bruises, but nothing serious."
"Are you sure?" Steve asked and you nodded.
"What about you?"
"Oh, you don't have to worry about me, sweetheart." You blushed at the petname he gave but tried to smile at him.
"How about we watch a movie and order some take out?" Steve suggested, placing a strand of hair behind your ear, making you a little nervous.
"That's a good idea." You smiled at each other. Steve suggested ordering the pizza while you searched for a movie. You found one that you remembered Steve wanted to watch and decided to pick that one.
You ate the pizza and watched the movie. After the movie ended, you decided to watch another one. You had a great time together and were really grateful that Steve came over. The movie had just ended when you decided to say something.
"Thank you, Steve. Not only for coming over but also for saving me on this mission." A small tear fell from your eye and Steve's gaze softened. He wiped the tear away and wrapped his arms around you. Then Steve pulled you into a tight hug.
"Of course, I saved you and came here. You mean so much to me." You sniffed a few times while Steve rubbed your back and hugged you for as long as you needed him.
After a while you broke the hug but stayed close to him. You placed your head on his shoulder, and he held you close to him. Steve insisted that he wants to stay the night to make sure you were okay and because he didn't want you to be alone.
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Taglist:
@marvelogic | @rogersbarber | @eviebuggg | @nicoline1998enilocin | @nekoannie-chan | @kandis-mom | @sergeantbarnessdoll | @noellez-best-life23 | @buckskemp | @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 | @cutedisneygrl | @mrsbuckybarnes1917
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wlntrsldler · 3 months
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marvel masterlist
bucky barnes:
series
DOPPELGÄNGER: Bucky has only been in love once and it was before he was put in ice and way before he became the Winter Soldier. What happens when Bucky meets Y/N, the exact look alike of the girl he used to love? (Social Media AU) (WIP) DISCONTINUED
ROSES: Bucky tells Y/N he’s the Winter Soldier. The next day, he’s taken by the government and that’s the last Y/N sees of him... until they cross paths again. But what if Bucky doesn’t remember her? (COMPLETED)
TO BE SO LONELY: When Bucky and Y/N signed up for this online penpal system, they never expected to grow attached to the other person behind the screen. (COMPLETED)
FALLING: Bucky has been distant lately. Y/N doesn’t know why. (COMPLETED)
THE BREAKUP CHRONICLES: A collection of imagines that can be read independently or as a whole fic about Y/N and Bucky’s relationship post-breakup. DISCONTINUED
one shots
NOT MY TYPE AT ALL: Y/N isn’t Bucky’s type but honestly, he doesn’t care about that anymore. (Not My Type At All by Jacob Whitesides)
SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING ROOM: Y/N knew that Bucky had to leave someday but that didn’t mean that she was ready when the day came. (Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer)
CLOSE TO YOU: Requested! Bucky loves Y/N, he didn’t mean to snap at her. (Close To You by Rihanna)
LAST KISS: 1940’s Bucky tells Y/N that he got his orders. (Last Kiss by Taylor Swift)
KISS ME SLOWLY: Bucky keeps running away from Y/N. He doesn’t want to get attached. (Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute)
FALLING LIKE THE STARS: Bucky and Y/N fall in love but he’s sent off to fight the war. (Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur)
HARD PLACE: Bucky and Y/N can’t stop fighting and it’s getting too much. (Hard Place by H.E.R)
F&MU**: Bucky and Y/N hate each other… but they can’t stop letting their anger out through sex. (F&MU by Kehlani) 18+!
MAY I ASK: Y/N and Bucky see each other for the first time since the breakup. Y/N confronts Bucky on why he ended things. (May I Ask by Luke Chiang)
I WILL BE FOUND:  Bucky finally found the place where he belongs when he met Y/N but at times, he wished that he could somehow take the life he used to have and magically fit it into the life he had now. (I Will Be Found by John Mayer)
10 AM: REQUESTED! Bucky is hopelessly in love with Y/N. He stops himself from saying anything to her because he’s afraid of getting hurt again, not knowing how much more he can take in his lifetime. (10AM by Keaton Henson)
FLAWLESS**: Bucky and Y/N are friends with benefits. They found a new thing to play with in the bedroom. The Winter Soldier. (Flawless by The Neighbourhood)
CHERIE: Bucky doesn’t understand why Y/N is always so happy. He never thought he would be one of the people who got entranced by her until he was. (Cherry by Harry Styles)
TEE SHIRT:  Bucky and Y/N walk into a music shop and she hears the song her and her ex used to love playing in the background. (Tee Shirt by Birdy)
I’M LONELY: lex’s writing challenge! enemies to lovers; “Will you wait for me?” (i’m lonely by luz)
LOUD: Every time Y/N is afraid, she plays her music too loudly but this time, Bucky is there to comfort her.
BUBBLES: Short Bucky imagine about bubbles.
DOCTOR ME UP: Y/N is Bucky’s doctor when he wakes up in Wakanda. 
WHITE DRESS: Bucky loves her, so so much, especially as she walks down the aisle in her white dress. 
SHAWARMAS: Bucky has a crush on Y/N, the cashier from the Shawarma place. 
NO CLUE: Y/N and Bucky hate each other. Nobody knows why. Whenever someone asks, the pair just say, “I have my reasons.” Some think that something happened between them when Bucky was in hiding. Some think that Bucky did something to Y/N when he was the Winter Soldier. Some think that there’s no actual reason- they simply hate each other.
RITUALS: You died on a mission and all Bucky has left is the voicemail you left him before you got on the Quinjet. 
FAMILIARITY: Love is a foreign concept to Bucky. 
peter parker:
JEALOUS: Where Peter tells Y/N that he’s Spiderman and things go down. (Jealous by Labrinth)
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