#Captain America x f!reader

[buck-star]

Late night thoughts

It’s way past your bed time but somehow your thoughts just don’t want to stop spinning in your head. So maybe your boyfriend knows the answer?

Pairing: Boyfriend!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 1.430 Words

Warnings/Tags: established relationship, petnames, funny ask/answer, dom!Steve, mention of daddy kink, mention of sexual activities

Authors Note: Between lots of anxiety and not much motivation… that one was created. Thank you to @soelstress for proofreading.

Events: @gremlin-girly’s writing game [ "Do you think sharks get sad about their representation in the media?"]

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

The room is dark, only the slight light of the moon makes it possible to see the outline of the furniture in the room. Soft, warm breaths come from next to you, a thick arm wrapped around your waist to keep your chest pressed against the firm chest of your boyfriend.

His eyes are tightly closed, his breaths slow just like his heartbeat against your chest. Even though his breath is slower than usually you know he’s still awake. Steve’s fingers draw small patterns on your back, tracing your sides with his thick tights. His legs caging in yours to keep you as close and warm as possible.

Usually you would fall asleep easily if your boyfriend pressed tightly against you. The movements of his fingers calming you down and the rhythm of his heart like a lullaby to you. Unfortunately, tonight you just can’t sleep. As much as you try, closing your eyes and just trying to listen to his heartbeat turns out harder than you thought. The thoughts in your mind run wild and you just can’t find a way to turn them off.

“Stevie…?” You ask softly, trying to keep your voice as innocent and quiet as possible. As much as you want his attention, you don’t want to startle him. He hums softly, letting you know that he listens to you. “Do you think there are aliens who… like… listen to us or something?”

You can feel his lips twitching against your cheek, his eyes staying shut. “I don’t think so, princess,” he says softly, pressing his plump lips against your soft skin before tightening his arm around your waist. “But even if they do… maybe they copy our talks to turn them into movies for them.”

Little did Steve know that he doesn’t calm your thoughts but causes them to run even wilder. You nod slightly, thinking for a moment before you need another answer from him. “Do you think that’s how the first movie got created… they… they watched aliens to make a movie?”

“No, I don’t think they watched aliens, princess. That was only a joke, they probably copied some stuff from other humans but I don’t think that they use any alien sources for movies,” Steve mumbles. He takes a deep breath before curling around you tighter. “Now, sleep.”

You huff, he can’t just start with a topic — even though it was a joke — and then cut you off like that! With a soft groan you close your eyes once again and try to get some sleep. Maybe you will dream of some aliens…? Or some shar—

“Stevie?”

“Yes, princess?”

“Do you think sharks are sad about their reputation in the media?” You ask thoughtfully. Steve laughs softly, shaking his head slightly and opening his eyes. The ocean blue glistens in the slight shine of the moon as he leans back to look at you. “I mean… you know, they are accused of eating humans. But they actually don’t. Not really… the human… they look like seals when they swim on their surfboards…”

“Sharks thinking about their reputation… in the media? I’m not sure they know about our media, princess,” Steve mumbles, slightly confused. Your questions are silly and maybe even weird but somehow it awakens his own thoughts too. “I haven’t seen a shark with a phone before, so I don’t think they know about their reputation.”

“You have seen a shark before?” You say way louder than wanted as you look at your boyfriend with widened eyes. Excitement swirling in your orbs as Steve watches you intensely, chuckling softly. He shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he pulls you into his warm chest again.

“No, I haven’t. But I think we might sleep now,” he hums, pressing another kiss to your forehead. You whine softly, still not quite finished with the questions you have. Steve’s chest rumbles slightly and you know he’s trying to suppress the growl that threatens to slip past his lips. His voice changes into a more dominant and rougher tone. “Princess. We had that before, no whining.”

You huff but stay quiet. Your face is once again buried in his side while Steve wraps his arms tighter around you and hums softly. With his eyes closed he pushes himself further into the pillow.

“Stevie?”

“Yes, princess?” He asks once again, his voice softer but still holding the edge of dominance.

“Do you think birds are jealous of fishes?” You ask quietly, your tone thoughtful and your eyes slightly narrowed. “Or the fishes of the birds? Because they both can do things the other can’t.”

“Are you jealous of…” Steve thinks for a moment before he keeps speaking. “Of someone who can ride better than you?”

“WHO?” You almost growl. Your boyfriend groans, pressing his hand against the back of your head into his soft skin to keep you from bursting out like you just did. You’re just about to bite into his chest when he takes his hand away and lets you move a few inches away from his warm chest. “Who can ride you better than I can?”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips, a chuckle you don’t find as entertaining as he does. This isn’t fun, who does he think he is, telling you someone else can ride better than you.

“Princess, you’re obviously sleepy. Or just a really needy for your daddy’s cock, huh? But I don’t think that’s it because you were all innocent until now, so close those pretty eyes of yours and—“

“Who. Can. Ride. You. Better. Than. I. Can?” You ask once more, punctuating every word with a poke into his firm chest. Steve keeps laughing slightly, his eyes on you once again. He’s looking with such a sweet and loving expression at you — if he wouldn’t have one of his eyebrows raised slightly.

“You better behave now, princess. Interrupting isn’t good girl behaviour. And poking my chest with such determination,” he says with an even more dangerous edge in his tone than the sparkle in his blue eyes already has. “I only said riding better, I didn’t say what I meant and I definitely didn’t think you would be all dirty now.”

I pout but nod slightly as you bury your head in his chest again. Steve hums softly, kissing the top of his head as he closes his eyes once again.

“What if—“ before you can continue your sentence Steve pushes two of his thick fingers into your mouth and presses them down in your tongue. The pressure makes you almost gag around them. “Mhmmm n mhm?”

“I can’t understand you with a stuffed mouth, so you might just keep that pretty mouth of yours closed now and sleep,” Steve says, his voice firm but still soft. You growl around his fingers, swallowing thickly before your saliva can drip down your chin. Your boyfriend smiles softly, pulling his fingers slightly out until he keeps your tongue pinned down with only his fingertips. “Gonna be a good girl now?”

You nod and he removes his digits completely. Steve smiles softly before he drys his fingers and wraps himself tightly around you. You would growl and argue with him for interrupting you but you stay quiet and just snuggle further into him — at least for a moment until your thoughts are screaming at you again.

“No!”

“I-“

“You don’t have to say anything. I can literally hear the gears turning in your mind. But you’re going to be good for daddy and close those pretty eyes. And in the morning we can talk about all the questions you have,” Steve mumbles softly, a hint of smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sh, princess.”

“But you—“ he interrupts you once more when he pinches the soft skin of your ass making you yelp. “Fine!”

Steve ignores the growl you make, his fingers trailing along your sides. “I love you, princess. So, now, sleep well.”

“You too, I love you too, Stevie,” you say softly, kissing his firm chest. Steve’s chest vibrates, giving away the inaudible groan you caused with your lips against his chest. “Have you ever thought how funny it might be if—“

“Princess!” He growls under his breath. Little does he know that you’re only teasing him, your mind only filled with the warmth and love of your amazing boyfriend who’s biting into the skin of your neck. You tilt your head to give him some more space on your neck. “Good girl, my precious princess, love you so much baby.”

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @rnurse-kole @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @alexxavicry @gremlin-girly @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @irisk12 @lilyalone @iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @princesscore-angel @blackhawkfanatic @bamitzzsam @princesscore-angel @thiquefunlover63 @kandis-mom @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories

[darsynia]

Forgiven (CEO Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Part II

Summary: Since dropping out of school to care for your sister, your daydream has been that a rich, handsome man will save you from drowning in debt. Until then (read: never), you’ll work hard at your new receptionist job and try not to ogle the impossibly hot construction guy working in the foyer…

Words/Warnings: 2,855 | none

As 5/7 of my Ro Roll birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, forGIVEn is a fluffy meet cute between CEO Steve and f!Freader. Gif is by @ashilesun.

Excerpt:

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

FORGIVEN

“Thank God for the internship last summer!” your sister says (again).

“I do, I do,” you promise, looking at yourself critically in the grubby bathroom mirror. She doesn’t have to know you pick a new deity to mentally ‘thank’ every time. Today it’s Thor, because you need to bring electricity to your first day on the job. 

You’re hoping to look professional but approachable for this customer-facing position, and it looks like the months of clothes thrifting before your internship last year are really paying off. Do you wish you could work in your field of choice? Sure, but working in the same company as a receptionist means you have both in-field and company knowledge. Once Jennie is back on her feet, you hope to be back on yours, too.

You step into the kitchen to check that everything is set up for your sister. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at lunch?”

“No mother hen-ing, you promised! I’ll be fine, and you’ll need your own lunch!”

Your watch beeps that it’s time to start walking to work, so you slip into your sturdy dress shoes and give the room a final once-over. Jennie’s cooler of food is near the couch, she’s got all of the remotes, and her walker is within reach. You’ve even put a pair of crutches in the umbrella stand and lashed the damned thing to the couch so she can’t knock it over. Her charger is at hand, the blinds are down, and the end table has her morning coffee on a coaster.

“Get out or I’ll start throwing things at you and you’ll be late from having to clean them up!” your sister teases.

“I love when you nag,” you tell her, shutting the door before she can retort.

Star Industries is honestly your dream workplace, even after pausing your mechanical engineering degree to take care of Jennie. After Tony Stark and his company spun it off as a subsidiary, Star really came into its own. The company has an inspiring mission: to ensure safe, affordable prosthetics for the people who really need them. Many customers are war veterans, just like the two men in charge. The COO even has one himself.

You’d filled out your paperwork after hours, so when you walk into the building, it’s a nice surprise to see how the morning light floods the lobby. The atrium of the building is made up of a multi-storey open space lit by tall windows, with the company’s logo laid out in the tile floor right as you come in the doors. The A in the word ‘STAR’ is, of course, a star, but it’s the missing ‘K’ from its parent company that catches the eye. Instead of upright, the K is laid on its ‘back.’ One stick figure’s front leg and another stick figure’s back leg make up the angled lines from the K--and they’re both wearing prosthetics.

The name badge you’re given has a smaller version of the same logo, and you can’t help but hope this isn’t the only time you’ll be representing the company. You fix it to your lapel and sit nervously at the desk beside the woman who will train you. It’s an hour before you come up for air long enough to notice there’s some renovation work going on nearby. 

Honestly, ‘notice’ is embarrassingly underselling it.

The windows in the lobby are clearly designed to encourage shafts of sunlight that flood a particular area with a cheerful glow. You’ve managed to look over right when one such beam illuminates a man wearing rough work clothes, his head tipped back to drink out of a water bottle. He’s handsome as hell, with a face like Adonis and powerful muscles straining his sweat-damp t-shirt. The sunlight turns him into a golden statue, and you sure as hell would visit museums more often if the art looked like that!

Your phone rings and you answer promptly, tearing your eyes away from the construction worker just as he smiles at someone. The stammered greeting you offer to the caller could be chalked up to it being your first day, but that isn’t the reason at all.

Your first week on the job is equal parts satisfying and stressful. Satisfying because it turns out you’re a natural at taking zero shit with maximum politeness. Your stress comes from the renovations.

The work isn’t loud, and it’s not like you’re worried about safety or anything. Technically, your job isn’t affected at all… well, not because of your assigned work, that is. No, you’re the one affected, and it’s thanks to the man who seems to be in charge.

After that first day, the tarp that separated their construction from the rest of the lobby had been removed, meaning you could just look over and see him at any point throughout your day.

You’ve been rationing those glimpses for your own sanity.

Despite this, there are still details you’ve noted. One, he’s definitely the foreman. Everyone defers to the guy, but his leadership style seems to rely on trust and respect. Two, he has the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. Paired with his looks, it’s a disastrous combination, especially given Reason Number Three: he’s an utter beast. More than once you’ve seen him moving things with ease that would take multiple other men to lift.

Today is Monday and the men were all at work before you arrive. Their project is taking shape; it appears to be a café with low counters, maybe a wheelchair-friendly gathering space? It would be on brand for the company, and certainly explains why you’ve been brought on as a second receptionist. The usual population in the lobby will certainly go up once it’s completed.

Before you sit down, you take stock of the wide welcome desk. Would anyone notice if you nudged one of the large flower pots to the left to mostly block your view of the café area? You decide to risk it. Foreman Eye Candy is a Distraction with a capital D, and you already love this job.

The morning goes smoothly--but by lunch you’re fairly certain you’ve memorized the pattern on the side of that damned pot, for as often as you’ve looked over at it.

When you come back from your break, the pot is back where it was before.

Your hands shake a little bit as you log back into your computer. Did a cleaning crew come through and adjust it? You’re not brave enough to ask the senior receptionist for fear she’ll question why it was moved in the first place. It’s probably a fluke, you decide.

Without your makeshift barrier, you find yourself looking over at the Foreman way too many times before you’re done for the day, but he’s smiled at least twice in your direction, so that’s something.

On Tuesday morning, you choose discretion as the better part of valor and scoot the pot over to obscure your view again, even taking the time to nudge its closest neighbor a little, to even up the spacing.

After lunch on Tuesday, both pots are moved back, and Eye Candy is smiling. You doubt the two are related.

On Wednesday you bring in one of those Newton’s Cradle desk toys with permission from your coworker at the desk. It’s altruistic, distracting the children when their parents show up to ask questions. Because your area is recessed a bit, you risk setting the item on a little paper sorter to make it level with the visitors’ side. Completely incidentally, that placement blocks some of your view of the café under construction.

You come back from lunch to find the shelf moved to the other side of your computer monitor.

It’s so disconcerting that you stand there staring at it in shock for a long moment, long enough to attract attention.

“Something wrong, miss?”

You look up to see Foreman Eye Candy standing beside the desk looking gently concerned. One sandy blonde curl is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and you can see that his eyes are a gorgeous shade of blue.

From behind you, a hand lands on your shoulder with just enough pressure to guide you to your seat.

“Nothing of note, Sir, I’m sure!” your coworker says hurriedly.

“All right,” the man says, setting his left hand down on the counter. There’s no ring on his finger. ‘Sir’ Eye Candy (you’re going to hell for all of this) offers a kindly, “Have a good afternoon,” and right at that moment, both of the reception phones ring. There’s no time to process the oddness of what’s just happened, not until you’re back at home and making dinner for your sister.

“How was your hump day?” Jennie asks from the living room.

You nearly splash boiling hot water all over yourself.  

Chanting ‘it’s Wednesday, that’s called ‘hump day,’ there’s nothing that implies you’ve been thinking impure thoughts, pull it together!’ in your head, you answer something non-committal and continue with dinner.

That night you have a dream that Sir Eye Candy walks over and smiles at you, illuminated by one of those rays of light straight from heaven.

On Thursday you arrive at work to find the pots have all been moved farther back along the decorative part of the receptionist’s desk, much too far to move any of them without notice.

As if he’d been waiting for you to see the change, you make brief eye contact with Sir Eye Candy. He does a little nod of acknowledgment before turning to move the large sign for the café. By himself.

“Am I awake?” you whisper to yourself, unable to look away from how effortlessly he moves under heavy strain.

“Keep staring at the boss like that and the rest of his crew will never let you hear the end of it!” your front desk coworker Marcia jokes.

Your cognitive function flatlines as you try to process the word ‘boss’ while at the same time watching the man in question wipe sweat off of his brow. “It’s obvious he’s the foreman,” you mumble, dropping your phone so you have to look away to pick it up. If the screen cracks, you deserve it.

“Oh, honey, this is his side gig. Pet project. Maybe even a vacation, knowing Rogers,” Marcia chuckles.

The name ‘Rogers’ finally gets through to you, in context to ‘the boss.’ Steve Rogers.

Sir Eye Candy is CEO Eye Candy.

“Wait…”

“There it is!” Your coworker gives you the kind of look only busybody aunts and elder coworkers can pull off. “Word is his gym is closed for a few weeks, so he pulled some strings to move this project up. Nice way to start a new job, yeah?”

You’ve been ogling the CEO. “Should I put in my two weeks’ notice?” you whisper. Dismay doesn’t even cover it. You’re practically mortifie--

“I’d advise your manager not to accept,” a nearby voice says. “If anything, I probably ought to call myself into an HR meeting. I’ve been quite distracted this past week.”

It’s CEO Eye Can-- Rogers. All you can do is mutely look up at him, watching the amused look on his face turn into a stern one.

“Have you been messing with my plant display?”

It’s not at all what you were expecting him to say, and you’re still befuddled by the idea he was distracted by you, so you stammer out an admission that yes, you did move his pots.

The phone rings, and after a subtle gesture from Rogers, Marcia takes the call.

“Sir,” you begin, noting the way his posture straightens on hearing the title. You lick your lips in nervousness, and god, his eyes go straight there. HR would be having kittens.

“Go on?” Rogers’ voice is resonant. Everything about this feels like a rom-com, and you are totally worried you’ll screw it up.

“Forgive me for staring?” you offer. You’d meant to say something less obvious, but it’s too late now.

“Yes, well. I’d like to go over your conduct at a lunch meeting, if, that is, you--” he breaks off, lifts his chin, and clears his throat. “In a half hour.”

“I-- Of course--” You’ve answered too late, he’s already walking away and calling out to the crew. Stunned, you look over at Marcia. She’s grinning, but doesn’t look up, and you decide to take your cues from her.

Fifteen minutes later, the work crew wraps up. You see them file out in your peripheral vision, but if Rogers is going to play the Principal’s Office card, you’re going to play at being an obedient student.

This sends your mind on a complete irresponsible rampage, and you’re still tamping down the mental images when a gentleman in a suit walks up to the front of the desk.

Your welcoming smile is already in place when you lift your head to greet him, but it widens into surprised happiness to see that it’s Rogers. At the very last minute you stop yourself from acting like he’s picking you up for a date, even though you very much hope that’s what this is, HR be damned. Every fairytale has a villain, after all, and villains are made to be thwarted.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The word choice is deliberate.

“You can. Marcia, do you usually cover for lunch?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll be prompt,” he says firmly, tapping the flat of his palm on the desk with finality. You take the cue, getting up and slinging your purse over your shoulder, but inwardly your stomach is a riot of sawdust. 

Are you reading this wrong? All of your teenage aspirations to be swept off of your feet by a rich, handsome man feel like lead weights at the bottom of your shoes. Steve Rogers’ reputation is sterling, and despite your less-than-angelic daydreams, you don’t want to come across like a gold-digger. Even if you are strapped for cash.

Rogers opens the door for you. The front door. The front door of his business. It’s heady and confusing, even more confusing when a slick silver car pulls up and a valet hands him the keys.

“You look like you either need sunglasses or smelling salts,” he says gently.

“A neck brace,” you quip. “For the whiplash.”

His smile is sheepish as he opens the car door for you. “That’s fair.”

The car is cinematically nice inside, and you suppress the desperate desire to pinch yourself until you wake up as he gets in and adjusts the seat for his height. He doesn’t look over at you, which your adrenaline-drunk mind can’t decide is good or bad.

Then he does, and all you can do is smile back at him.

“A confession: I cribbed some of those lines.” Rogers eases the car out into traffic and lets out a long breath. “From Bu-- a friend of mine. Advice on how to be in charge and ask out a subordinate at the same time.” He stops at a red light and shoots a look over at you. “How’d I do?”

You kind of want that neck brace, but despite the trappings, you’re really enjoying who this man is turning out to be. “That depends. Do you want me to be turned upside down and sideways?”

That earns you a look akin to the one he sent you when you’d called him ‘sir.’ You shiver, and he notices. “I don’t think you want to know what his advice might be on the answer to that question! How about ‘maybe?’”

“Maybe is good,” you manage.

“Glad to hear it. What would you like? Italian? Deli?” Rogers looks over and catches his breath like he’d forgotten his wallet. “An invite to lunch without your employment on the line? I’m sorry about that. I got--” He looks back at the road, hands tight on the steering wheel. “--carried away.”

His candid mix of charm and command are sweeping you completely off your feet, tarnished halo and all. “I don’t think I have time to phone a friend for a better answer, but is ‘maybe’ still good?”

Your sister would walk her ass to the car to smack you if she knew you’d just told the CEO of your new company you’re a ‘maybe’ for a one-on-one ‘maybe’ date with him. You suspect his friend would be facepalming, too.

“Your job isn’t on the line, I promise. I’d never misuse power like that--” He breaks off from his serious tone, looks down at his suit and the fancy car you’re both sitting in, and chuckles. “All evidence to the contrary.”

The whole situation is absurd, unrealistic, completely romantic, and everything you’ve always wanted.

You’re going to wake up any minute now.

Rogers looks over and raises his eyebrows. You realize with embarrassment that he wants you to either tell him where he can stuff his lunch invitation, or where the two of you can go eat.

“I got carried away too,” you rush to say. “Yes to lunch. No maybes in sight.”

“You’re forgiven,” he smiles.

Part 2

[swan-of-sunrise]

Heaven-Sent

Summary: The morning after Steve and (Y/N)’s much-anticipated first time together, as shown through the eyes of a romantic and love-struck super-soldier.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for implied sexy times

A/N: Hi there! Since the last couple of Superhero Snapshots were on the angsty side, I figured that you guys deserved some fluff and a hint of spice, so here it is! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Heaven-Sent November 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

Ignoring the super-soldier serum flowing through his veins and putting aside his role as the leader of the Avengers, Steve Rogers’ morning routine was remarkably ordinary. He was roused from his slumber by the shrill sound of his alarm clock at five-thirty and was out the door by five-forty-five, embarking on his early morning run; the others found it challenging to keep pace with him, so he often only had his battered MP3 player and its many energizing playlists for company. When he promptly returned to the Avengers Facility at seven o’clock, he took a shower and headed to their shared kitchen to whip up some breakfast just as his sleep-riddled teammates began to emerge from their suites. During missions, his morning run became his morning push-ups-and-sit-ups regiment and his breakfast usually consisted of instant coffee and granola bars, but the routine remained regardless.

That particular morning, however, Steve was slowly roused from his deep slumber by the warm rays of sunlight streaming in through the bedroom windows and the chirping of birds in the trees outside. With a content hum, he unfurled his arms from around his pillow and rolled over onto his back, bringing a hand up to rub at his sleep-filled eyes and stifle his exhausted yawn; he blinked his eyes open, momentarily surprised to find himself lounging in (Y/N)’s bed, but memories of the night before flooded his mind when he spotted some of their clothing strewn across the floor and a familiar black lace bra dangling off of the bedside lamp’s shade, prompting a love-struck grin to slowly spread across his face as he replayed the beginning of their perfect evening together…

“So…” (Y/N) slowly began, a bashful grin spreading across her face as she turned to face him and held her hands behind her back. Her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the overhead porch light, and Steve found himself stunned by her beauty for the umpteenth time that evening; he’d done everything he could not to ogle her all throughout dinner, but the off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress hugged her curves in the most scintillating way and its daring neckline nearly brought him to his knees in the middle of the restaurant.

Steve chuckled and mirrored his girlfriend’s stance with a playful smile. “So…?”

The historical-fiction novelist took a step forward, and the look of desire in her intense gaze forced him to swallow thickly and hold his breath in anticipation. “We’ve had a wonderful evening together and I really don’t want it to end just yet, so would you like to come inside for a cup of coffee?”

“Coffee, huh?” Steve moved closer and pretended to ponder her question. “Well, it all depends, sunshine.”

(Y/N) softly bit her crimson-hued bottom lip and tilted her head to the side in faux inquisitiveness. “On?”

“Whether you’re inviting me inside for a cup of coffee…” One of Steve’s hands moved to rest on her waist while the other cupped the warm skin of her cheek, the both of them leaning in towards one another. “Or if you’ve got something else in mind.”

“You’re a very, very intelligent man, sweetheart.” The historical-fiction novelist’s breath fanned over Steve’s lips but before they could connect with hers, she flashed him a mischievous smile and slipped out of his embrace to stand at the porch railing; he grinned at her unabashed teasing and followed after her, standing behind her and wrapping his hands around the railing to cage her in between his arms “As a matter of fact, there is something else I had in mind.”

Bending down, Steve nuzzled his nose against her neck and breathed in the sweet scent of her perfume, her breath hitching when his lips purposefully brushed against her pulse point. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” (Y/N) hummed as she turned to face him, leaning back against the railing and looking up at him through her long lashes while a seductive smile played on her lips. “And I’ve got a feeling that you’re thinking of the same thing that I am. Would you like to know how I know?” Steve, entranced by how beautiful she looked in the pale moonlight, wet his dry lips and mutely nodded. “Because you’re looking at me like I’m the most profound revelation of your life.”

“You are…” Steve slid his arms around his girlfriend’s waist and pulled her against his chest, all too aware of her elevated heartbeat and the lustful gleam in her eyes as he met her heavy gaze. “You’re my everything, baby. My Tiny Dancer, remember?”

Bashfully smiling at his use of his special nickname for her, (Y/N) slung her arms around his neck and dreamily sighed. “Just when I think I couldn’t possibly fall any deeper in love with you, you go and say the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard and I go weak at the knees.”

“And I’ll gladly catch you each and every time, sunshine; if I could, I’d hold you in my arms forever, just like this.” Steve’s gaze flicked down to focus on her purple garnet pendant, a wave of insecurity suddenly taking hold and causing his heart to race. “For full transparency, though, I…um, I haven’t really done this since before I went into the ice. I’ve been on dates, of course, and I’ve gotten a couple of bases in but…well, no home-run this century.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to-”

“I do!” He hastily interrupted and blushed at his over-eagerness. “Believe me, I can’t think of anything I wanna do more than to take you inside and make love to you, but…” Taking a deep breath, Steve glanced up to meet the historical-fiction novelist’s understanding gaze. “I just want tonight to be perfect for you, and I’m afraid that it won’t be.”

(Y/N)’s eyes softened as she cupped his face between her hands and gently stroked his cheekbones with the pads of her thumbs. “But don’t you see, sweetheart? It’ll be perfect because I’ll be with you.” Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest as he stared at her in silent admiration. “Oh God, was that too cheesy? I’m-”

Steve’s lips descended onto (Y/N)’s and interrupted her rambling apology; he poured all of his love and lust for her into his kiss, holding her even tighter and reveling in the feeling of her body pressed against his. (Y/N) recovered from her surprise and eagerly reciprocated, deepening their kiss and drawing a breathy moan from him when her fingernails scraped along his scalp as her fingers carded through his hair. When they finally broke apart for some much-needed air, Steve trailed kisses along her cheek and jawline, whispering against her flushed skin, “I want this, (Y/N). I want you.”

“I want you too, Steve,” (Y/N) breathed, tilting her head to the side and drawing him closer as he pressed kisses onto the soft skin of her neck. “I think…oh, sweetheart…I-I think it’s time to take this inside before we traumatize the neighbors.”

With great reluctance, Steve pulled himself away and offered her his hand with a smile. “Lead the way, baby.”

The historical-fiction novelist latched onto his hand and practically dragged him over to the front door; when she dropped his hand to rummage through her purse for her keys, he stood behind her and rested his hands on her waist, biting his lip in amusement when she struggled to unlock the door and cursed under her breath. “You’d better not be laughing at me back there,” She warned without any real anger in her voice as she turned the key in the deadbolt. “Otherwise, this night’ll end before it’s even begun.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior…” The moment the front door swung open, Steve scooped (Y/N) up into his arms with ease, grinning mischievously as she burst into a flurry of surprised giggles. “Mostly.”

“Mmm, I’m counting on it.” Smirking, (Y/N) looped her arms around his neck and kissed him, and Steve lost himself in the blissful feeling of her lips on his as he carried her into the house and kicked the front door closed behind him…

With a satisfied smile on his face, Steve crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, happiness blooming in his chest as he let out a content sigh. It had been the single most enjoyable night of his life – their movements fervent yet oh so gentle as they drew both sinful sounds of pleasure and bursts of shy giggles from one another, their joined hands pressed against the soft sheets as they surrendered themselves over to their desires, their shared passion finally reaching its highest crescendo as a galaxy of stars exploded in Steve’s line of vision and (Y/N) buried her face in his neck to muffle her beautiful gasps – and he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it other than divine. He hadn’t been drunk since 1942 but that night, he was intoxicated by her; her warmth, her softness, her scent, her unconditional love…everything about her drove him beyond madness, clouded his mind in the best way imaginable until only thoughts of her remained. Being with (Y/N) was the closest he’d ever felt to anyone before or after emerging from the ice, the closest he’d ever felt to heaven itself, and the culmination of their most carnal passions only confirmed what he’d known to be true for months: (Y/N) (Y/L/N), his beautiful, intelligent and courageous sunshine, was the love of his life.

Steve glanced over at (Y/N)’s vacant side of the bed and was starting to wonder where she’d gone when he heard the faint sound of his girlfriend singing along to a cheerful ‘60’s Motown song in the kitchen; the smell of maple syrup and pancakes drove any lingering immodest thoughts from his mind as his stomach growled, and he huffed out a quiet laugh before getting up to slip his boxers on and quietly padding down the hallway. When he reached the kitchen, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, a familiar warmth blooming in his chest as he studied his girlfriend from afar.

The historical-fiction novelist hadn’t noticed his presence, too engrossed in flipping pancakes on the griddle and singing along to the lively song that was playing from Sam’s stereo system; she was wrapped in a satin cherry blossom-patterned robe and a cheery smile illuminated her features as she sang, a smile that adorably widened when she flipped a pancake high into the air and successfully caught it on its descent with a plate while she swayed to the upbeat tempo. With the ongoing editing of her second soon-to-be released novel and the added stress of balancing their blossoming relationship with his unpredictable mission schedule, it was good to see her so relaxed and carefree for a change, and Steve couldn’t help but feel a surge of masculine pride for the part he played in her cheerful mood.

“Now this funny feeling has me amazed, don’t know what to do, my head’s in a haze, it’s like a heat wave! Yeah yeah, yeah-” (Y/N) twirled around in a circle and yelped in surprise when she finally noticed Steve, almost dropping the heaping plate of pancakes but quickly stopping herself as she flashed him a sheepish smile. “Um…surprise! It’s no secret that I’m not the best cook in the world, but I do know how to read the instructions on the back of the Krusteaz bag and I figured your super-soldier stomach was in need of sustenance, so I hope that you like pancakes.”

Steve hadn’t woken up with the expectation of getting emotional over a plate of slightly-overdone pancakes but there he was, standing in the messy kitchen with his eyes stinging and a lump forming in his throat as his kindhearted girlfriend beamed at him. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had made him breakfast – or any meal, for that matter – and while he’d always thrived as a caretaker to others and valued his independence, a part of him always wondered what it would feel like to be the one being taken care of for a change. I don’t think I’ll ever have to wonder again, he thought to himself as his smile slowly widened. He crossed the kitchen, his hands gently cupping her cheeks and angling her face upwards to give her a tender kiss, pulling away with great reluctance and finally finding his voice. “I love pancakes. Thank you, sunshine.”

(Y/N)’s eyes softened as she smiled back, and it was clear to see that she understood the implications behind his appreciation. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She handed him the plate and nodded towards the stools at the kitchen counter. “Now, dig in before they get cold while I finish making mine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Chuckling, Steve took a seat and began pouring a liberal amount of maple syrup over his pancakes while (Y/N) dolloped more thick batter onto the hot griddle. “So, did you…um, did you have a good night?”

Steve mentally kicked himself for sounding so awkward but his girlfriend thankfully took his discomfort in stride. “I had a fantastic night, actually.” She tipped some coffee into her ‘Professional Bookworm’ mug and slid it across the counter towards him, and Steve caught the apprehension that quickly flashed across her face when her eyes timidly met his. “And you?”

“It was perfect, sunshine. You were perfect,” Steve assured her, his hand reaching across the counter to rest atop hers as he continued. “Trust me, I’m not exaggerating when I say that last night was the best night of my life.”

(Y/N) self-consciously ducked her head at his earnest words and affectionate tone and Steve’s heart swelled at the sight. He started on his breakfast while she finished preparing hers, unable to keep the content smile off his face and unwilling to take his eyes off the historical-fiction novelist as she worked; she seemed to be having a similar dilemma herself, nearly dropping the bottle of orange juice at one point and being forced to rescue a pancake from a charred fate not too long after, all because she’d been distracted by his smiles and heated gaze. When she took a seat beside him at the counter, her bare knee brushed against his and sent a pleasant jolt up his spine, the pleased smirk playing on her lips confirming that she knew exactly what sort of affect she had on him; It took me ninety-seven years, but I finally understand what it means to see heaven on earth, he thought as he smiled contentedly into his coffee mug.

“Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?”

Steve looked up from his pancakes to see an endearingly inquisitive expression gracing his girlfriend’s features. “Of course.”

“When did you finally…seal the deal?” (Y/N) inquired; there was no trace of jealousy in her tone or resentment in her eyes, only innocent curiosity. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I was just wondering whether it happened before or after Project Rebirth.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind answering, sunshine.” Shrugging his shoulders, Steve took another bite of food and downed it with another sip of coffee before answering. “It was after; I’m pretty sure my asthma alone would’ve killed me if I tried doin’ anything like what we did last night before the serum.” She giggled a little at that and he felt himself starting to blush as he continued. “Yeah, it happened while I was on that damn USO tour of America in the summer of ‘43. We’d just finished up a show in Buffalo when one of the chorus girls found me hiding out backstage and asked me if I wanted a drink; from there, one thing led to another and then…” He chuckled to himself. “It was okay, I guess, and Joanie was nice enough but after a few weeks of sneakin’ around with her, I decided that I’d rather just wait for the right partner and we decided to break it off. Besides Joanie, you’re the only other woman I’ve ever gone all the way with.” (Y/N) nodded in understanding and Steve was suddenly filled with a little curiosity himself. “Is it okay to ask about your-?”

“Of course it is, Steve!” The historical-fiction novelist quickly reassured him, resting her hand on his forearm and giving him an encouraging smile. “Two of the best things about the twenty-first century is the rejection of purity culture and the encouragement of open communication within relationships. My first time was during my freshman year of college, with my boyfriend Travis; just as we were getting into it, he smacked his head on the corner of my dresser and had to get four stitches at the E.R., so I suppose you could say that it was a night to remember.”

Steve winced. “Please tell me it got better from there.”

“With Travis? Nope, that asshat dumped me a week later with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech, but there were a couple of other guys after him. I dated Kenneth throughout my first year of grad school – he was sweet, but our masters degrees took us in two different directions and we decided to call it quits – and I went on a couple of dates with Marc, a Marine between deployments I met when I went out for drinks with Sam at Barracks Row; we both knew it wasn’t anything serious and while he was a perfect gentleman, I could tell that he was struggling with some personal issues and wasn’t really in the right mindset for a relationship. A couple of months after Marc and I went our separate ways, my dumb-ass roommate decided to try and race Captain America around the National Mall and…” She took another bite of her pancakes and gave him a flirtatious wink. “Well, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Steve repeated with a bashful grin that widened as his super-soldier hearing picked up her elevated heartbeat and warming skin.

The two of them enjoyed the rest of their breakfast together, listening to Sam’s Motown CD and chatting about anything and everything that came to their minds. When they finished eating, Steve offered to clean the whole kitchen himself but after a lighthearted debate regarding the unspoken rules of hospitality, he reluctantly agreed to wash the dishes while (Y/N) dried and put them away. The historical-fiction novelist sang along to each song that played without missing a single lyric and Steve even found himself humming along while they worked, smiling to himself as he reveled in the charming domesticity of it all; for the briefest of moments, he allowed his eyes to drift closed and he worked to commit their perfect morning to memory, not wanting to forget a single moment of it. I’d give everything I have if it meant I could spend every morning of the rest of my life like this, he silently admitted to himself, opening his eyes to steal another glance at (Y/N) and finding himself admiring the way she practically glowed under the morning sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window.

After rinsing the last of the soap suds down the drain, Steve switched the faucet off and turned away from the sink. “There, all done. You know, we make a pretty good dishwashing duo-”

Steve’s words were abruptly cut off when (Y/N)’s hands cradled his face and she pulled him close before crashing her lips against his, causing him to grunt in surprise as his hands landed on her waist to stabilize her. The softness of her lips on his coupled with the taste of maple syrup caused Steve’s mind to go blank, and his eyes slid closed in bliss while he returned her tender kiss; his arms wrapped around her waist and when he tugged her closer, she gasped against his lips and he chuckled before kissing her with renewed passion. While one of his arms held her securely against him, his other hand slid up her satin-covered curves and caressed her cheek, her flushed skin nearly scorching the pad of his thumb as it skimmed the length of her cheekbone. With a pleased hum, the historical-fiction novelist buried a hand into his mussed hair, the feel of her nails scratching along his scalp forcing him to suppress his desperate moan; his efforts were immediately dashed when her other hand sneakily found a home at the back of his boxers and playfully squeezed.

“Christ, baby,” Steve groaned against her smiling lips as a spark of desire igniting within him. In an instant, he lifted her up with ease and set her down onto the kitchen island before trailing kisses along the exposed column of her throat, murmuring against her heated skin, “You’re kind of a tease, you know that?”

(Y/N) giggled as his lips latched onto the delicate patch of skin just below her jawline. “It’s not my fault that you’ve got one fine ass, sweetheart. I was simply admiring a masterpiece.”

Reluctantly drawing away from her neck, Steve’s head tilted to the side as he studied his breathless girlfriend, a loving smile spreading across his face that was accompanied by the smallest of head-shakes. “The only masterpiece I see is sittin’ right in front of me, sunshine.” (Y/N) beamed and her eyes shone with tender affection as she leaned forward and kissed the bridge of his nose; Steve’s hands firmly grasped her waist, fingers flexing along the soft satin of her robe when she initiated another passionate kiss and his need for her growing stronger with every caress of her lips.

Before either of them could deepen their kiss, the buzzing of Steve’s cell phone filled the kitchen and abruptly brought them back to reality. (Y/N), nearly panting as she rested her forehead against his and unwound her arms from around his neck, flashed him a dazed sort of smile and nodded. “Go ahead and get that, I’ll just sit here and catch my breath.”

Steve chuckled, giving her another kiss before crossing into the living room to retrieve his crumpled slacks he’d discarded on the floor the night before; fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, his brow furrowed when he saw Natasha’s name appear on the screen and he quickly answered the call. “Nat?”

“Wow, someone sounds a little crabby this morning. Sleepless night?”

Steve’s eyes flicked over to (Y/N), who’d hopped down from the counter and was going along scooping up the trail of clothes that led to her bedroom, and he smiled to himself before answering, “Yeah, something like that. What’s up?”

“We’ve got a lead on Adrien Pullman, one of Rumlow’s mercenary friends; our intel puts him and his crew in a safe house about five miles outside of San Juan.”

“How fresh is this intel?”

“Farm-fresh. It’s your call, Steve, but I don’t know when we’re gonna get another chance like this.”

Leaning against the back of the couch, Steve ran his free hand through his hair as he weighed the situation, ultimately coming to the conclusion that the spy was correct. “All right, we’ll go. Get Sam and Wanda up to speed on Pullman and his crew, and I’ll meet you guys at JBA in an hour.”

“Will-do. Oh, and tell (Y/N) I said hi!”

“I-wait, how’d you know I was with…?”

“I’m a trained spy, Steve; you’ve got that ‘I got laid last night and I’m wasting the morning away basking in the glory of my smoking-hot author girlfriend’ lilt in your voice.” Natasha’s blunt explanation caused Steve to blush and she snickered. “And I’ll bet you anything that you look like an heirloom tomato right now. See you in an hour, and don’t forget to wear protection!”

Steve’s blush darkened as the spy abruptly ended the call, and he tossed his cell phone onto the couch before chuckling at himself; ninety-seven years old and I’m blushing like a goddamn teenager, he silently observed, a smile reluctantly forming on his lips at the absurdity of his circumstances. “Steve?” He glanced up to see (Y/N) standing in front of him, their clothes slung over her arm and a concerned frown on her face. “Everything okay?”

“A last-minute mission to Puerto Rico just came up, and I’ve gotta be at Joint Base Andrews in an hour.” He offered her an apologetic look and reached out to take her free hand. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I was really looking forward to spending the day with you.”

With an understanding smile, the historical-fiction novelist leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss onto his forehead, waiting until his gaze met hers to speak. “Sweetheart, I’m dating Captain America; last-minute missions and cancelled plans are pretty much a given in your profession, and I’d be naïve not to understand that by now. All that matters to me is that after Cap gives ‘em hell out there, Steve Rogers comes home safe to me.”

If Steve hadn’t been leaning against the back of the couch, his girlfriend’s sweet sincerity and the kindhearted gleam in her (Y/E/C) eyes would’ve instantly made him go weak at the knees; instead, he brought their joined hands up to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss onto her knuckles before breaking out into a dopey smile. “You’re heaven-sent, you know that?”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I was thinking about you,” (Y/N) softly replied, kissing the bridge of his nose and giggling when his face scrunched up at the ticklish sensation. “C’mon, super-soldier, I’ll drive you to Joint Base Andrews after we take a shower.”

Steve’s brow shot up in surprise. “We?”

“I, um…well, yes? Y-You know, you’re right, that was a little presumptuous of me, just forget I said anything-”

(Y/N)’s anxious rambling was cut off when Steve surged forward and captured her lips in a searing kiss; the pile of clothes were unceremoniously dropped onto the ground and her arms wrapped around his neck as she returned his kiss with equal enthusiasm. When a lack of air forced them apart, Steve smirked roguishly at (Y/N) as she worked on catching her breath. “I’ve never showered with a beautiful dame before, but I’ve always wanted to.”

The historical-fiction novelist hummed in playful interest. “Is that so? Well, we should really remedy that, shouldn’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve agreed and with a teasing grin, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bathroom while their lips pressing together in a ravenous kiss.

Arriving at Joint Base Andrews over fifteen minutes late, Steve said his goodbyes to (Y/N) at the main gate and jogged across the tarmac to the Quinjet, where Natasha and Sam were impatiently waiting on the aircraft’s extended ramp and a bored Wanda was levitating his vibranium shield into the air with her powers. Sam ribbed him for his uncharacteristic tardiness, eying the fading love bite on his neck with a mixture of pride and apprehension, his sibling-like relationship with (Y/N) no doubt conflicting with his happiness for him, and Wanda handed over his shield before reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a ten dollar bill, which Natasha smugly accepted as they trooped up the ramp. Steve was unfazed by his teammates’ behavior, entirely consumed with thoughts of (Y/N) and the passion-filled morning they’d shared; it looks like we’ve created a much more pleasurable morning routine to stick to, he smiled to himself, changing into his uniform and whistling a light-hearted tune all the while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I've tried writing smut several times over the years, and I've pretty much accepted that this is as close as I'll ever get to giving you guys spice lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book VI: “Endgame” Masterlist

Tagging: @mrs-obrien @lahoete @awkward117 @fanficfandomlove @momc95 @savedbystyle @awkwardnesshabitat @marinettepotterandplagg @benakenalove @brooke0297 @hufflepeople @outoftheregular @junipermurdock @mads-weasley @username23345 @crist1216 @capswife @lilmschild @crowleysqueenofhell @mary1raven @groovy-lady @ljej95 @toostrangerkid @prettysbliss

[lunarbuck]

Kinktober Week 1: Love Bites

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Steve Rogers x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 422

Prompt: Love Bites

Warnings: fingering, pet names [baby], neck biting

a/n: yay day 1 of kinktober <3 i hope you guys enjoy!!! not beta'd, all mistakes are mine baby

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Strong hands roam your body, teasing and pinching as they explore you. You lean back into Steve’s chest as his fingers trace the edge of your panties. You gasp when his lips make contact with your neck, gliding kisses along the sensitive skin.

“Steve,” you whisper, arching your back. He hums against your neck, teeth gently nipping before his tongue soothes the mark. “Don’t tease.”

Without removing his lips from his neck, Steve rests his hands on your waist and starts to walk you backward. He sits on the edge of the bed, you on his lap. The feeling of Steve’s dick pressed against your ass makes your core tighten. 

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he rasps, fingers resuming their descent on your body. He drags his index finger across the seam of your panties, finding you aching and wet for him. “Feel so good on top of me.” He pushes your panties to the side, exposing your heated flesh to the room’s cool air. You shiver in his grasp, earning you another bite to your neck. 

Two of Steve’s big fingers press inside of you, sliding in easily. You moan, relaxing fully against Steve. He’s steady and strong behind you, but you can feel tension in his muscles. He’s so worked up just by giving you this pleasure. 

Steve’s fingers work magic on your pussy, curling and hitting that spot inside you that makes your head spin, while his lips and tongue worship your neck. His free hand roams the rest of your body, squeezing your breasts and grazing over your thighs. Each touch brings you closer and closer to snapping.

“Stevie, please.” Your voice comes out as a whimper, needy. He smirks against your neck, biting the flesh of your shoulder as he grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. 

“Come for me, baby. I know you want to.” You twist your eyes shut as you succumb, letting the wave of pleasure pull you under. Steve holds you to his chest as you go limp, sucking in deep breaths. He helps you lay back on the bed, cushioned by the plush comforter. 

Sated and happy, you grin at your beautiful boyfriend when he kneels beside you. You watch him lick his fingers, groaning at your taste. His eyes roam over your neck and shoulders, the spots where he’d bitten, and kissed heating under his attention. 

“You’re so pretty when you come, baby.” Even though you just came, heat floods in your belly. “Why don’t you show me again.”

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[jen-with-a-pen]

Dancing in the Kitchen

summary: After the worst night imaginable, your best friend helps you when you need him most. What you don't realize is just how much you've always needed him. or: Tony Dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together.

parings: protective!best friend!Steve Rogers x best friend!f!Reader

word count: 4.9k

warnings: fluff, angst, self-doubt and insecurity, verbally abusive relationship elements, insults + language/name calling, reader cusses and so does Steve bc he can, no smut!, wearing Steve's clothes (very little to no description about reader's body so do with that what you will), intense feelings, confessions, crying, anxiety, best friends to lovers, intimate touch, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, protectiveness, not Tony Stark friendly, cap quartet mention

a/n: these characters are out of college! It's set in their early-mid 20s following graduating and I thought it'd be a little more relatable (also since I'm not in college anymore I wanted this specific fic concept to be more relatable. self-indulgence and stuff). the cap quartet rent a house together. there might be more shenanigans in the future involving them. maybe. who knows? enjoy <3

If I've missed any tags, please let me know!

gif by @annislittleshopofhorrors | dividers by @saradika-graphics | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Everything was cold. 

Everything was ruined.

Everything was a fucking nightmare.

Dark clouds shrouded the night sky, hiding helpful moonlight. Rain pelted at you from above, mixing with fresh tears, drenching you to the bone as cold water collected on your skin and soaked through your dress. Your hands morphed into balled fists at your sides as you shook with rage, heartbreak, and the innate need to punch something.

You couldn’t wrap your pounding head around the events of the night; everything blurred together after ten o’clock. It was like a cruel joke, one where you waited an eternity for the punchline, begging for it not to be real no matter how hard you screwed your eyes shut and prayed. 

You didn’t want to believe it, yet there you were.

It sure as hell wasn’t the first time you found yourself standing at the backdoor of Steve Roger’s house on the cusp of a breakdown– and a breakup– warring with your own body to simply knock on the fucking door. Hell, Steve was already expecting you. He knew something was wrong the second you called; there wasn’t a warning text, just you, asking in a choked-up whisper if he was home. His response spilled out in a rushed ‘yes’ before you could explain further. A ‘no questions asked’ request, something not uncommon in your friendship. Steve, since day one, was one of your main sources of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Now, he was your only source of comfort within a thousand mile radius. 

Remnants of the phone call from Tony only minutes earlier echoed in your eardrums like a bad case of tinnitus. Annoying, repetitive. His hoarse, drunken slurry of vicious words clawed at the inside of your skull. Another fight. Another screaming match. Another forgotten birthday– this time, it included meeting your family. You’d planned it for months prior, making sure Tony knew not to forget it.

Your insides were twisting in knots as you waited at the restaurant awkwardly with your parents, brother, and an empty seat next to you. After an hour, eight failed calls and fifteen texts later, Tony finally picked up. Delight revived the few butterflies left in your stomach, only to be crushed, turning them into weighted dread as loud club music obliterated your ear drum as he shouted at you. 

“You bitch!” he spat. “Why the ever-loving f-fuck are y’blowin’ up my phone for?!”

You didn’t have time to process what he was saying before he’d already reloaded and shot you with more.

“What the hell is sooooo important? Huh? Y-you stupid bitch! You fuckin’ knew I’m busy t’night!”

You tore the phone away. Even at arm’s length, you, and the rest of your family, could hear every single thing he spewed at you. A couple from the table next to yours stopped mid-bite to turn and throw rude looks at you and your family.

“Tony, please, I–” 

“‘Tony please’– just shut up!” he mocked. “Just shut the fuck up! I don’t fuckin’ care what you gotta– what you have t’say! I can’t f–fuckin’ stand you anymore!”

Hurt and hunger morphed into churning waves of anxiety and embarrassment. Your throat was closing. Tears began stinging your eyes. You looked between your parents in shame, meeting their stunned looks filled with pity and disappointment. Your brother refused to look anywhere but the spot on his plate where he played with his food, sadness and second-hand embarrassment plaguing his face.

Yelling, jeering, and chanting echoed out of your phone. Tony didn’t stop. 

“Y’know what? I’m not doin’ this anymore,” he slurred, gulping some unknown liquid down, swallowing, gagging. More cheering. “We– we’re fuckin’ done. You’re out. I’m done.”

The other line fumbled. You winced as you heard Tony wet his lips, preparing the final blow. His breathing became heavy, ragged, hard enough you could smell the liquor through the phone.

“Fuckin’ cunt.” 

Click.

You loathed yourself for tolerating him; the endless cycle of poisoning you, providing the antidote, and taking it away when it seemed to get better. The whiplash from his unpredictable moods and personal attacks on you hurt as bad as it felt when he’d come around with endless apologies– accompanied by flowers, cuddles, and kisses– to heal each wound he was responsible for. 

This time, though, the stab was fatal. This time, you bled out; it’d been akin to getting gutted and hung helplessly in front of your fucking family. 

A sob snuck its way up your throat. You choked it down, willing your fist to reach up and knock on the door. You didn’t understand why this was next to impossible. Steve was your best friend. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. It wasn’t like he’d chastise you or yell at you or tell you to fuck off. Yet, there was a fear, deep down, feeding on the anxiety and self-doubt in the pit of your stomach, telling you the opposite; it whispered to you, telling you to run back to your car, scream into the steering wheel, and speed off to disappear from everything and everyone for just a little longer. It’d only be until you got your head on straight, until you figured out what to do with the apartment and your classes and your stuff and–

Knock. knock. knock.

In the blur of a million thoughts racing through your mind, you automatically reached up and weakly knocked, body tensing every muscle as you waited.

The door swung open, revealing one extremely concerned Steve Rogers.

Steve panted, a result from sprinting down the stairs from his upstairs bedroom in an attempt to open the back door by your first knock. Acutely aware of his jaw hanging from its hinges, Steve’s soft baby blues bore into you, scanning you up and down, stunned at you and your dress and how desperate you looked. 

Time stopped the second you saw him; it was difficult to describe, but everything magnetizing between the two of you was different. You felt different– different in the way he was familiar and somehow new at the same time. Steve felt different– different in the way you were single for the first time in two years and he was single since… forever ago.

This time was unlike the million other times.

You both stared. Your lips quivered, his parted in disbelief. Both your minds instantly went blank, unable to think of anything to say, to do. So, the sky thought for you. It opened its floodgates, releasing a torrential downpour as you stood inches from warmth, from comfort.

“Steve,” you croaked, reaching for him. 

It was then, everything came crashing down. 

You crumbled to the ground in a heap, knees buckling while your hand and arms braced for impact with the ground. Steve quickly abandoned his tight grip on the doorframe, catching you, helping you inside. Lungs gasped for air as heavy sobs poured from your chest and tears flowed steadily down your face. You pawed at Steve’s arm hooked around you as he stumbled back into the house, kicking the door closed and collapsing onto the kitchen floor with you in tow. He immediately pulled you closer and hugged you tightly against his chest. You heaved, crying out from the painful pit in your heart, digging your fingers into his flesh, hard enough to bruise. You buried your face into his t-shirt and bawled.

All of it– the rage, the hurt, the mess of balled-up emotions from the last two fucking years– came unraveled. Hands twisted into Steve’s t-shirt, balling the fabric and pulling it taut enough to rip. 

Steve didn’t shout. He didn’t complain. He didn’t utter a single word as he leaned against the kitchen cabinets, rocking you gently, squeezing you harder as his chest rose and fell rhythmically against your pounding skull, silently coaxing you to follow his breathing. Blubbering in his lap, stringing words together became futile as thoughts became unrecognizable. Another wave of panic and anxiety crashed over you. Steve’s mumbled shushes softened you; the deep timbre and honeyed bass of his voice and vibrations in his chest grounded you, welcoming you to safety. To home. 

“Shh… don’t worry, I got you. I have you. You’re okay,” he muttered, running a hand gently up and down your back.

“I–he–bu–” you fumbled, lip quivering as another sob overtook you. Rage clawed at the walls in the chasm of your chest. You screamed. Guttural, pained. Again. And again.

“Shh… it’s okay, let it out. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” he soothed, rocking you, adding in a lowered octave, “I’m here.”

“T–Tony,” you hiccuped, fists twisting more of Steve’s t-shirt. “He–he–”

“What, angel? What about Tony?” 

“He–he c–called me n–names a–and,” you shook your head violently, “he b-broke up with me. For real, this time.”

Steve cupped your cheek, softly wiping away fresh tears with calloused fingertips. While you continued to cry in his arms, his focus turned to the back door you tumbled through. Inside, he seethed; his rage nearly boiled over at the thought of anyone doing this to you, let alone Tony fucking Stark. Out of all the things you’d told him over the last couple years– all the threats, the cruel jokes and abandonment and insults– tonight was the ultimate cherry on top. It validated every time Tony’s actions made Steve think vengeful thoughts on what he’d do if he ever got five minutes with the douchebag. Just five minutes. Alone. 

He shook the thought away, looking back down to you. The last thing he wanted was for you to see him upset, let alone remotely think you were the cause of it. He’d promised himself that the first time you met.

Tony was going to fucking pay for what he’d done to you every single second for the last two years. And on your birthday, for chrissake. 

“What–” Steve swallowed the excess rage in his chest. “What kind of names, sweetie?”

You softened, sniffling, refusing to look at him. “He called me a b–bitch, a–and,” you bit your tongue, “a… cunt.”

The moment the word left your lips, Steve fought every last nerve in him not to put you to bed, get in his car, and go teach Tony a lesson on some fucking manners. Hell, even the idea of taking Bucky and Sam crossed his mind. 

He pushed the thought away, focusing back on you. You needed him. You came to him for help. No one else but him. 

Steve slid his hand off your back and placed it under your chin, thumb and forefinger gently coaxing you to look at him. Big blue eyes swam with concern and worry. In the dark of the kitchen, they seemed brighter than ever– a beacon guiding you back from the hurricane in your head.

In an instant, everything in your head went quiet. No more muffled echoes from the phone call. No more sobs readying to burst out your chest. No more caring about how swollen and puffy your eyes were, or the drying combination of mascara and tear stains running down your cheeks and neck. Your sopping wet dress that drenched the floor, and Steve, was pushed to the back of your brain, the cold no longer leaking into your bones as he brought you back down from the ledge.

All you saw was Steve. All you smelled, all you could feel, was Steve. 

Steve swallowed. His jaw slacked, tongue jutting out to wet his lips, slowly drinking you in for as long as he was able. 

And honestly? You couldn’t care enough to stop him. It’d been so long since someone looked at you the way Steve did.

Had he always looked at you like that?

“Listen to me. You are none of those things. Not even close,” he whispered, hoping you believed him. 

You nodded lightly. “I–I know, but it hurts,” your voice cracked again, eyes drifting away from him. 

“Hey, look at me,” he tugged at your chin, “you will never be anything like he says you are. Ever. Okay?”

You stared at him. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you placed a hand on his, taking it from your chin to your chest. Warmth bloomed as it rested against your damp skin. 

“‘Kay.” Barely a whisper. Enough for only him to hear.

He paused, gaze holding steady on you, lips twitching at the corners. 

“Let’s get you up ‘n out of that thing, yeah?” He nodded to your dress. “You gotta be freezing.”

Gently, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the kitchen floor and pulling you up on your feet. Your legs felt like a wobbly blend of jelly and nerves that forced you to lean onto Steve for support. He anticipated this, catching you and gripping your shoulders. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you clung to him as he guided you through the living room and up the stairs to his bedroom. You passed by Sam and Bucky’s rooms, both empty for the night, just like Natasha’s downstairs. 

As Steve rifled through his drawers and closet, your focus wandered to his messy desk: the lamp cast a soft, warm glow across the room, sitting next to history books and sketchbooks stacked high on top of one another; pencils and dirtied paint brushes littered the surface, products of his latest art assignment. His bed was half-made, dark green covers on one side neatly tucked in while the opposite was thrown aside, exposing gray pinstripe sheets. The walls were covered with scattered art– some his, others his favorite artists’– posters and pictures of family, friends, and some local bands. You bit back a smile. Memories of the shows you both went to over the last few years played like a highlight reel in your mind. You never regretted it; you never passed up a single invite, even after the time Tony locked you out for a whole weekend. 

“Here, these are clean,” he handed you a neatly folded pile of his clothes before adding, “I promise.”

A fuller smile broke across your face. The first of the entire night.

“Uh huh, sure, I believe you,” you joked sarcastically. He feigned hurt, scoffing at your false accusation.

“I did the sniff test, if that makes you feel any better.”

You giggled, taking the clothes from him and turning to head to the bathroom.

“I’ll be down in the kitchen,” he called after you. “You, um, you want something to drink?”

You paused, turning to look at him from the bathroom doorway halfway down the hall. From where he stood, the saturated pink creeping up his neck and reaching his face was more visible than the light on his desk. You couldn’t help but hold in a snicker and flash him a relieved smile, thankful.

“Coffee would be a godsend, right now.”

Steve smiled, saluting you. “Coming right up.”

You headed into the bathroom, tossing the clothes onto the counter, slumping against the door the second you shut and locked it. Finally relaxing, you realized how much tension was pent up in your tired shoulders– which, in turn, prompted the realization you were holding your breath the entire time in Steve’s room. 

Brushing the self-induced lightheadedness, you slipped the ruined dress off your body and hung it up on the shower rod. You hated the color, the texture, but wore it anyway. For Tony. On your birthday.

You cursed yourself, pulling your bra off next– a pushup that held your rib cage hostage the entire night. Just how Tony likes it. 

Or, liked it.

You silently prayed Steve included some Bailey’s in your coffee. 

Pulling on Steve’s sweatshirt, the scent of him enveloped you instantly. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into the neck of it, filling your lungs with the familiarity of Steve. He was a quiet, sunny Sunday morning and freshly brewed coffee. He was a nice night in watching your favorite movies and playing cards. 

Your head was swimming, swirling, caught up in the entirety of your best friend. He was yours just as much as you were his. Through Tony, through other guys you’d subjected yourself to the last few years, none of them compared to Steve. 

You tugged the sweatpants on, catching sight of yourself in the mirror and realizing the runny makeup staining your face. You snorted at how fucking ridiculous you looked, remembering the caked-on layers you’d put on for the evening. Again, just for Tony. The snort turned into a giggle, utterly grateful for Steve not making fun of how you looked and for ignoring the mascara stains on his poor t-shirt from earlier.

But, again, it was Steve. He’d never make fun of you. Ever.

Butterflies– the ones you’d thought were long gone months prior– stuttered suddenly, alive and fluttering in your stomach. 

You instantly recognized the feeling: it was the same you had the day you met Steve.

The same feeling you’d get on roller coasters, or reading an exceptionally good romance novel. Giddiness, dizziness. It was as if you were spinning while the room stood still. Your head felt light, high on helium. Your skin burned. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you scanned yourself, the question ‘is this happening right now?’ running on a loop at the forefront of your mind. 

Bzzt.

You jumped at the buzz of a text. With the trance broken, you took into account your shaking hands and the bumping tempo of your heart. Turning on the sink, you made sure the water was as cold as possible before cupping some in your hands and splashing your face. Refreshing. Needed. You rubbed the rest of the runny wakeup off your skin, stuffing your face into the fluffy hand towel and silently promising to get the boys a new one. Picking up your phone, teeth chewed on cheek to hold in your smile at the sight of Steve’s name on the screen.

⍟ Steve: You doing OK? Coffees ready 

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you told your reflection. “He’s only your best friend.”

The butterflies continued to multiply, bumping against one another, fluttering and escaping out into your chest and your limbs. 

“Fuck.”

You opened the door. 

⋆˙ઇଓ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

“I was beginning to think you climbed out the window up there,” Steve quipped upon seeing you round the corner into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the stupid grin spreading across his face when he saw you in his clothes. You looked more relaxed, more comfortable.

More like you. 

You noticed he changed, too, donning a heather-gray t-shirt that clung to his torso in all the right ways– ways you hadn’t noticed before.

You mentally scolded yourself.

“A–Almost. But I’d never pass up a cup of world-famous Rogers Roast.”

“Wow, world-famous? I would’ve preferred universally-renowned, but I’ll take it.” He held a mug out to you, one faded with a ‘I ❤ New York’ logo– the one you’d gotten for him during your senior-year college internship. “Made it just how you like it.” 

He paused as you took a sip. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you, biting his lip in anticipation as you drank. The coffee tasted like liquid gold, warm and comforting and all-around delicious. You didn’t care if you burnt your tongue. This was what you needed. 

He was what you needed. 

Was he?

You looked back up at Steve. His cheeks flushed as he pressed his lips together, entranced with the mug in your hands, eyes ever-so-slightly flitting from it to your lips and back again. 

“Thank you, Stevie.” 

“You’re welcome, angel.”

You pinched yourself, then took another sip.

Silence fell, comfortable and calm, as you both nursed your drinks, checking your phones and letting time pass. You didn’t care to check the clock. 

Steve cleared his throat and set his phone down. 

“So, um,” he began. “What else did you have planned for your birthday?” 

His voice was low, tender, careful with the question so as not to upset you. He was curious, however, and determined to see exactly how much Tony fucked up your night.

And your life.

“Oh,” you swallowed, chewing your lip in an attempt to remember what you’d originally planned.

“He was, ah, gonna take me dancing. After dinner, after he,” you took an unsteady breath, “after he met my family. It was the one thing he told me he'd let me do after dinner.” You shook your head, adding under your breath, “besides him.”

Tension seeped into the space between you both. You didn’t want to meet Steve’s stare; it was the one you’d always see whenever you told him about Tony, one filled with anger so palpable it made his arms flex subconsciously, one he thought he hid well enough so you never saw, but you always did. Without looking up, you already knew his jaw was clenched and his shoulders were stiff and his eyes bored a hole into the wall behind you. Butterflies started to somersault, crashing into the waves of worry and anxiety. 

“Why?”

You looked up. Blue eyes. Stormy, swirling, stubborn.

“What?”

“Why did you stay with him?” Steve asked steadily, voice barely above a whisper. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

You paused. “Because he wouldn’t let me leave.”

“I could’ve helped you. We could’ve helped you,” he gestured vaguely to the rest of the house.

Your teeth tore into your bottom lip. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“I–” Steve sighed and carded a hand through his dirty blond hair, frustrated, trying to keep his promise while also appealing to you and balancing the fragile tightrope you two stood on. “I care about you, angel. I care about you so fuckin’ much. I just wanna know why. Why he was– why you were–”

“I–” Don’t fucking cry. “I was trapped. Every time I tried to leave, he’d tie me down more. It… it wasn’t as easy as you fucking think, Steve. Rose-colored glasses, wool over my eyes, wolf in sheep's clothing, that sorta thing, ya know? These last couple years, I… I don’t know why tonight was it, and I don’t know how I was able to get out, and I just… I don’t fucking know. I don’t. I–” 

You felt tears again. 

“I– Angel, I wasn’t trying to–”

“No, I know,” you cut him off, setting down your mug to rub your face in your hands. “I know. But I need you to understand that I– God, my fucking brain feels so scrambled. I just feel so confused, I feel like I’m going insane right now. Fuck!” 

You tried to calm down, taking deep breaths to feed your strained lungs, holding on to each before exhaling. In, hold, out, repeat. 

The room was spinning again, whirling around like a sick carnival ride as your center of gravity began to give.

As you braced the counter, strong hands and warm, muscular arms engulfed you, lifting you back from the countertop and guiding you into the middle of the kitchen. Steve pressed into you until you relented, reaching your arms around him and pulling him closer. The tension in your shoulders melted, migrating to your chest where your heart surged the moment he touched you, where it pounded against your sternum, threatening to break out of its marrow cage. You inhaled him, savoring him, feeling him all around you.

Slowly, delicately, Steve unwrapped from you. He was careful with every touch, as if he would shatter you– even though he had no problem with putting you back together again. He’d done it a million times before, and he’d do it a million times again.

He’d do it all again for you. 

Steve carefully slid your hands from around his center, placing one onto his shoulder, then– nervously and ever-so-slowly– he held your other hand out, sliding down your forearm and entwining his fingers into yours. His free hand fell softly onto your waist, fingers absently and lightly kneading the fabric and skin underneath his palm.

“May I have this dance?” he whispered.

You looked up from the floor to Steve, speechless. You nodded.

Then, he started to sway. He guided you both, rocking side to side to an unheard rhythm and subtly spinning in unison under the soft glow of the kitchen light.

He smiled softly, boyish and genuine, with admiration and tenderness in his eyes. Something gentle and kind, something about the feeling and the familiarity of it– of him– sank into you the longer you looked at him. Your focus shifted around the features of his chiseled face. You recognized the light freckles stippled across his nose and cheeks leftover from the summer; the scar on his earlobe from the night Natasha drunkenly dared you to pierce his ear and failed; the faint worry lines sculpted into his forehead he inherited from his father; the soft, full pink of his lips that innocently parted when you caught him staring at you.

It was the feeling that felt foreign to you; the one missing from your life after the last two years. But, it wasn’t missing. It had been right in front of you the entire time stealing glances, accidental touches, and irreplaceable memories.

Steve had been there. 

Steve had been the one looking at you like that for the last two years. 

He wasn’t missing. He was just waiting his turn. 

And, judging by the realization that washed over your face, his waiting was over. 

Steve's smile widened as he squeezed your waist, wordlessly confirming the thoughts running rampant in your head. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the ghost of a cry, blinking away tears forming in the corners of his vision. 

Your lips trembled as you smiled back. Slowly, you snaked your hand from his shoulder to his cheek and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch instantly, stubble and skin rubbed against your palm as he kissed it lightly. The press of his lips sent a spark coursing through your veins, electrifying your body and the air around you. The two of you continued to sway while the kitchen spun faster, a blurred whirlwind while you both remained in focus.

“When?” you asked, voice barely audible.

“Since the day I met you.”

“Why didn’t you–”

Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get to know you first. Didn’t wanna be some random dude who just wanted you for your number. You seemed too special to rush into something. Still are,” he sighed. “I wanted to be your friend first, but before I could muster up some courage, Tony swept you out from under me.” 

Guilt crawled up your throat. “I– I’m sorry, Stevie.”

He stepped away from you, twirling you, then dragged you back to him. You could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

“No, baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I promise. I–” his voice broke. “I wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. I just– I wish I did more for you. I should’ve done more for you.”

He tilted his head to the ceiling trying to stop his tears from falling, but you pulled him right back down to you. 

“Steve,” you started, keeping on his baby blues while your own voice struggled to remain steady, “you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the entire world. Hell, in my entire life. I just lost the last two years of my life suffering with someone I thought I loved. Who I thought loved me.”

You brought your other hand to his face. “You did all you could. I just… I thought it was gonna get better, you know? I thought, I hoped– God, I even fucking prayed– that he’d get better, but he didn’t. Nothing did. And I couldn’t find a way out. It’s like he conditioned me to believe he was the only one I had, like, he was the only one who’d ever save me.”

Steve frowned, but nodded in understanding. 

“I’m glad you came to me. Not just tonight, but every night. It was like reassuring me that I didn’t totally lose you, or like I never totally lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me, Stevie.”

His face, red-hot underneath your touch, moved closer to yours. You couldn’t tell if you were pulling or he was pushing. His hands gripped your waist the tighter you held his face, the two of you crashing into one another in slow-motion. The light above you grew brighter, the humming of the appliances was getting louder, the room spun at an infinitely unfathomable speed. 

You crashed together. 

Soft lips– softer than either of you could’ve ever pictured feeling– fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces. Neither of you moved, staying locked together until your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer and smashing his nose into your cheek. His grip became bruising as his fingers kneaded into your waist, steadying himself with your hips. You felt another surge of electricity as his tongue jutted out, parting your lips and swiping along the bottom before retreating back behind his.

He tipped you backwards on your heel, smirking against your lips as you flinched and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. 

Setting you upright, he pulled away from the kiss and whispered, “I’ll never let you go.”

“Never?” 

“Ever.”

You kissed him again, and the butterflies went wild. 

[eufezco]

CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD SPOILERS 👇🏻

ARE YOU JEALOUS? 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

congressman!bucky barnes x fem!readwr

synopsis – bucky finds out that you're jealous about those comments that woman madd about him.

a/n – i hate her and her stupid fucking character better stay away from bucky. free palestine 🇵🇸

joaquin had taken a bad hit during a mission with sam, bad enough to need surgery and land him in the hospital for a few days. being in congress meant bucky had access to that kind of information, and as soon as he saw joaquin’s name in a report, he knew what that meant.

bucky walked into your office without a word, you barely had time to look up before he dropped a file onto your desk.

—good morning to you too, —you teased, raising your eyebrows and looking at the papers he just placed on your desk. then, you looked at him. —not even a kiss for your sweet girlfriend?

he looked ridiculously good in that black suit, broad shoulders filling it out perfectly, the fabric hugging his frame in a way that was almost unfair. his tie was just a little loose, and you had the sudden urge to tug on it and pull him closer. bucky sighed and stepped forward. his metal fingers brushed your cheek before he leaned down and gave a quick kiss to your lips.

you hummed and nodded. —thank you, —you grabbed the papers and opened the file. —you left earlier this morning, i wanted to have breakfast with you.

—yeah, sorry, this came up.

you glanced down at the folder, your eyes scanned the first few lines and then stopped. torres, joaquin – injured in action. bucky exhaled, finally moving. he sat on the edge of your desk, fingers drumming against the wood. —mission went sideways. he took a hit.

you stood up from your chair and went to sit next to him, close enough that your knee brushed against his. —how bad?

bucky sighed. —fractured ribs, concussion, some internal bleeding. they got to him in time, he’s stable but...

—and sam?

—got here this morning.

you closed the file, inhaling slowly to steady yourself. bucky was watching you, waiting for your reaction. you met his gaze and nodded. —then let’s go

before you stepped into the private room, you paused, standing in front of bucky. his gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw tight, he hadn’t said much since the moment you arrived at the hospital. he was trying to figure out what to say to sam.

—you're good, —you said quietly, —sam is our friend, he'd appreciate us being here. —your hand gently coming up to rest on his chest, fixing his tie, —you'd know what to say when you see him.

bucky nodded, his eyes met yours, but you could see the how his gaze softened as he let your words settle in. you stood up on your tiptoes and placed a quick, soft kiss right in the middle of his lips.

you weren’t wrong. as soon as the door opened, sam’s eyes landed on both of you. he looked exhausted, like the weight of the world had been pressing down on him, but the relief in his eyes when he saw you both was undeniable. he also looked at your fingers laced. last time you three were together, things were... complicated. bucky didn't know if he deserved a relationship and sam, being sam, wanted to be supportive but didn't want to rush things between you two. now, seeing you both standing there, so... together, sam felt relief that bucky had come to terms with his own feelings.

you hugged sam and then bucky hugged him. you asked about joaquin's state as you watched through the glass how the surgeons worked.

bucky and sam had the sweetest interaction, you let bucky talk as you stood next to him, holding onto his arm. as you predicted, bucky said exactly what sam needed to hear and by the end of their conversation you noticed how sam felt more confident. then, the phone in bucky's pocket buzzed breaking the moment. he checked the screen and sighed,

—i gotta go, —he said quietly. before he stepped away, he pulled sam into one last hug, holding him tightly. —take care of yourself, alright? —he murmured. once bucky pulled back, he turned to you, his fingers brushing your arm gently before he kissed you on the lips. —see you at home.

sam raised his eyebrows and looked at you when bucky left. —kissing in public, living together, that way he looks at you... you've got him wrapped around your finger.

you laughed and shook your head. you were going to say something but in that moment someone else entered the room.

—future congressman james buchanan barnes.

you frowned. who was talking about your boyfriend? leaning slightly, you peered around sam. standing on the other side of him was a small woman, sharp-eyed, impeccably dressed, exuding authority, but what did she have to say about your bucky?

her gaze was still fixed on the spot where he had just walked away, head tilted slightly like she was noticing something only she could see. wow, were you missing something?

—he's taller in real life. nice smile too, good amount of teeth. great posture.

—he's a 110, —sam added.

—and taken.

the woman finally turned to look at you, her expression unreadable, but there was amusement. she studied you for a second before offering a knowing little smile. —noted.

you got home before bucky did. you figured you’d cook something nice for dinner. you couldn’t share breakfast with him, but you’d make the most of dinner but even as you chopped vegetables and stirred the rice you were preparing, those words echoed in your head. great posture, nice smile.

you scoffed, gripping the knife just a little too tightly. yeah, no shit he has a nice smile. you’d spent enough time staring at it to know that. and his posture? sure, the man stood like he was built from granite, all strong shoulders and perfect stance—but why the hell was she the one noticing it? you wouldn’t have thought you’d be the type to get jealous. it wasn’t like you were insecure—you trusted him completely. but still… something about another woman noticing him, talking about him like that...

you took a deep breath, shaking it off. it was fine. you were fine. you had no reason to feel this way. bucky was yours. he came home to you, kissed you, held you when he thought no one was looking.

bucky called your name, shutting the door behind him. —i'm home.

—i'm in the kitchen! —you said trying to sound casual, even though you were still thinking about that damn conversation from earlier.

bucky approached you and wrapped his arms around you from behind, his chin rested on your shoulder, his beard tickled your skin as he murmured, —smells amazing.

you smiled, proud. —figured we didn’t get breakfast together, so i’d make up for it with dinner.

he hummed in appreciation, planting a kiss on your shoulder.

—how was your day? —you asked as he watched you cook. his presence stopped all the overthinking you'd been doing since you got home for a minute, his touch was reassuring enough to almost make you forgot completely about how the words of that woman made you feel. the way his exhausted body was molding into yours, like he needed you to keep him steady, it all made you feel just a little better.

—long, —he admitted, kissing your shoulder again. —meetings, calls and a whole lot of people telling me what i should be doing.

you hummed in response, —sounds frustrating.

bucky noticed the stiffness in your body almost immediately. you let him hug you, you acted like nothing happened, you even seemed to be glad for his touch yet your body told a different story. but he didn’t let go. instead, his metal hand slid lower, fingers splaying over your stomach while his flesh hand found your hip. —what’s going on in that head of yours? —he murmured against your skin.

—nothing, i was just thinking... it was nice seeing sam, wasn't it? we should invite him over sometime, hang out with him in another circumstances.

bucky wasn't convinced, there was something else, but he agreed with you. —yeah, it was good to see him. it’s been too long since we’ve had a proper catch-up, just the three of us.

you hummed. you couldn’t shake the feeling. you tried to push it down, but you knew you needed to ask. you couldn't hold it in any longer. —did you know that woman? —you asked, trying to keep your tone casual. —the one that came in when you left?

bucky paused for a moment before responding. —yeah, she's head of security of thaddeus ross.

you raised your eyebrows, bucky was looking at you, his chin still resting on your shoulder, yet you were focused on the rice. —she seemed a little too interested in you.

he frowned. —how so?

—oh, she mentioned your nice smile and great posture.

bucky was quiet for a moment, then you felt his chest shake against your back. he was laughing. —you're jealous, —he realized.

you pulled away from his hold and turning to face him, arms crossed, almost offended, not because he wasn't right but because he had figured it out so easily. —no, i'm not.

he smirked as he watched you with knowing eyes. those deep blue eyes. had that woman noticed them too? had she seen how they darkened under the dim lights of the office? or how they became even more shadowed after a restless night? you clenched your jaw.

—yes, you are. you’re jealous over a comment about my posture.

you scoffed. —that’s not— you huffed, shaking your head. that smirk remained on his lips, waiting to see how you tried to explain yourself. —it’s not just that! it’s the way she was looking at you, like she was mentally taking notes. and i know what you're gonna say, she was just doing her job, but she was not just doing her job when she called you well-built with a nice smile like you were some—some political snack.

bucky raised his eyebrows and then couldn't help a laugh escaping his lips at that, shaking his head in disbelief. ugh, he did have the nicest smile. —political snack?

—shut up, —you muttered, your cheeks warming.

he reached for you again, this time catching your waist and pulling you right up against him, his laughter dying down into something softer. —you’re so sexy when you’re jealous, you know that?

you narrowed your eyes at him. —not jealous.

—oh yeah, totally jealous, —he teased, grinning as he leaned closer, lips barely brushing against yours. —and so possessive.

before you could complain again, he pressed his lips against yours. your lips moved in perfect sync, this was exactly what you needed.

his mouth tasted like fruit, sweet and familiar. that damn tropical gum he always chewed. would that woman know that? would she know that he liked it because it reminded him of the time he spent learning himself again, reclaiming parts of his life he thought were lost? that he once moved heaven and earth just to find gum that tasted like plum? would she know that when he chewed peppermint gum, his lips turned pinker than usual because he was so used to the soft, sweet taste of fruit-flavored ones?

you sighed into the kiss, relieved to think that you were the only one who knew these things about him. your hands sliding up to grip his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

bucky chuckled against your lips, the vibration sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. he pulled back just enough to murmur, —you’re telling me this death grip on my shirt isn't possessive and jealous?

you refused to let go, using it to pull him into a kiss again. —it’s not.

his metal hand curled around your waist, sliding down until it cupped your ass. bucky pulled back again and you whined, annoyed. he murmured, —so if that woman from earlier showed up right now, you wouldn’t throw something at her? —his smirk was downright smug now, he was enjoying this way too much.

you rolled your eyes. —i wouldn’t throw something at her. i’d throw something near her. just to remind her what’s off-limits.

the smirk never left his lips. he slowly let go of his grip on your body, his metal hand dragging over your skin just enough to make you shiver. then, he took a step back. and another. his eyes never left yours, the challenge clear in them. —and if i walked into another room right now, —he tilted his head, —you wouldn’t follow me to make sure no one else was looking at your man?

you groaned. before he could take another step, your hand shot out, grabbing his tie and yanking him back toward you. he stumbled, his body colliding with yours. his hands instinctively landed on your waist to steady himself. —i wouldn't even let my man walk out of here.

your lips met in another heated kiss, his breath mixing with yours as your fingers tangled deeper into his hair. you felt him shiver slightly under your touch, his grip on your hips tightening as he pressed himself closer. his hair was getting longer. you could feel it, the way your fingers sank into the thick strands, how easily you could grab and tug at it. and god, you loved it like this.

he's taller in real life...

bucky’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he effortlessly lifted you, guiding your legs to wrap around his body. his hands shamelessly moved to your ass as yours went to the back of his head to deepen the kiss. he placed you on the edge of the table, the cold surface pressing against your thighs as he stood between your legs, his hands resting on your hips.

you started to lean back, pulling at his tie and guiding him down with you. his body followed, towering over you. his hands were on either side of your body, holding himself up just enough to keep from fully pinning you to the table.

—you really like this, don’t you? —he murmured against your lips.

you smirked, your fingers kept on tightening his tie, —like what?

his metal fingers squeezed the bare skin of your thighs, a low growl escaped his lips. —being a little brat, —he muttered, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down to the curve of your neck.

you shivered, your head tilting to give him better access. —maybe.

—you’re lucky i like it, —he dragged your pajama pants and your underwear down your legs with ease.

—lucky? —your hands slipped down to the knot of his tie, loosening it and sliding the fabric through your fingers. then, you skillfully unbuttoned his white shirt with urgency. you couldn’t help but moan a quiet fuck under your breath as you pulled his shirt open, your fingers grazing over the defined lines of his torso. perfectly sculpted muscles tensed beneath your touch. your gaze traced the scars along his shoulder where the metal met his skin as you pushed the shirt down his arms.

—very lucky.

... nice smile too, good amount of teeth...

bucky unzipped his pants as you squeezed his body with your thighs. he pushed himself inside of you without warning, you let out a loud moan and held onto his biceps as you felt how he bottomed you.

he smiled, watching your reaction. he then hid his face in your neck. —you really think i don’t know who i belong to? —his voice was lower now, rougher. his hot breath against your skin spiked goosebumps on your body. —you think anyone else could ever touch me the way you do?

... great posture.

you held onto his strong and broad shoulders while your head was thrown back, eyes closed shut, lips parted letting out the most sinful sounds. his flesh-and-blood hand moved to the back of your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself. his back was a bit arched, just enough for his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you every time he trusted into you.

you connected your lips with his as you swallowed his moans. your hands, without any shame, traveled down his muscled and tensed back until they reached his ass. you squeezed it, enjoying yourself and helping him to push into you.

—say it, —bucky said in between moans.

travelling up his tensed back, your fingers curled into the hair at the back of his head, tugging just enough to make him groan, you encircled your legs around his body and locked your ankles over the swell of his ass. you felt that burn sensation in the pit of your stomach. —you’re mine.

he exhaled sharply, pressing a slow, claiming kiss to your throat. his hands traced up your thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go. you felt his metal fingers closing a bit tighter, —and you’re mine.

you came digging your nails into his back, your legs around his body squeezing him and bucky let more of his weight settle against you once his orgasm hit him. his pace became faster and harder when he was close, his metal hand on your hips tightened, pressing you firmly against the surface of the table, and you knew that by morning, you'd see the imprint of his fingers on your skin. and you could't complain because you loved it.

even though you knew he’d hate. he never liked seeing the marks he left on you. he’d frown when he saw the faint bruises his grip had left on your hips, running his fingers over them with something like regret in his eyes. he’d mutter something about being too rough, about how he should be more careful. but the truth was that you craved it.

but as much as bucky hated to mark you, he loved when you marked him. it was a reminder that everything was real—that you were real. that it wasn’t some dream he’d wake up from, alone and lost. that he wasn’t the ghost of a man wandering through a life that didn’t belong to him anymore. and when he saw those scratches in his back in the mirror tomorrow, when he felt that sting as his shirt brushed against them, he’d know—he wasn’t just existing. he was living.

you pushed the strands of hair that were falling over his face and some that were sticking to his forehead as you both tried to catch your breaths.

—would you think i'm crazy if i say i don't want her anywhere near you?

bucky huffed a laugh, pulling out of you and letting you sat up on your elbows. —i’d think that you’re, in fact, jealous.

you rolled your eyes. —whatever. but if i heard her talking about your posture again, i swear i'll...

before you could finish the sentence, bucky pressed his lips to yours, cutting you off. his kiss was soft, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a reassurance that you didn’t need to say more. —maybe there's a touch of craziness, yeah.

[buckyalpine]

I love Bucky loving his body. I love Bucky loved by the team. I love Bucky having his happy ending with a family. Imagine Bucky lounging around the sofa with his little baby girl tucked in his arm, her sweet face covered in frosting after smothering half of her cupcake onto her cheeks. The icing is bright red just like Tony's suit and it's his birthday party afterall, so everything is in full swing. Most of the cupcake is squished between her fingers, very little actually making it into her mouth but Bucky doesn't mind. He chuckles, watching her with heart eyes as she happily smears it onto his crisp white shirt, babbling and cooing, now sucking her thumb.

He is absolutely unbothered by this, all he sees is his happy little baby with her cheeky smile licking up all the frosting just like her mama. While Bucky couldn't care less about his shirt, a few others certainly did.

"Better get dunk that shirt into a bucket of tide pens Barnes" Clint snorted.

"Actually the quicker you get it off, the less likely it is to stain. Take it off now" Tony's voice went from fatherly advice to a seductive growl making Bucky's face twist in amusement, pink starting to color his cheeks.

"Yeah, give the little munchkin to y/n and take it off. Cause of the stain" Nat agreed, cocking an eyebrow. You giggled watching the scene unfold before you, your husband growing bashfully shy.

"Can't hurt punk" Steve shrugged and Bucky's eyes nearly popped out of his head until he realized his best friend had been nursing a rather large glass of Asgardian mead. Tipsy Steve was always a little bit of a pervert...

"I-

"For the stain"

"I think you just want me to take my shirt off" Bucky huffed while you grinned, giving his cheek a peck before taking your little princess in your arms.

"Can't blame them handsome, c'mon, show em' how lucky I am" you whisper and that sells it. Couldn't hurt and since they were all asking...

"Just take it off!" Nat howled with a wink, a bunch of whistles when Bucky sighed, indulging the team a little. He unbuttons his shirt and hands it off to a genuinely concerned Sam who would normally make sure the shirt got sent to the cleaners but this is too good so he throws it into a bucket of cold water and is back within seconds.

"Good God"

"Jesus"

"You look fuckin' good terminator"

"Alright, alright" Bucky holds his hands up, unable to stop the way his ears are bright red, shaking his head when you blow him a kiss making him blush more.

"Body shots!"

"What?"

"Yes"

Tony's eyes glimmer with excitement, and Bucky snorts, loving the way you egg him on, his daughter also squealing with excitement.

"Go on Sarge, y'know you look good"

He lies down on the bar table, surrounded by just the team, abs beautifully flexed as Nat pours a generous amount of some type of alcohol right on his belly button.

"When else will we get this lucky" She says with a playful smirk while Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Why are you cracking your knuckles, what the hell do you plan on-

"ME FIRST" He doesn't give anyone a chance, face planting himself into Bucky's tummy, his lips sealed, drinking every bit of the burning liquor with a satisfied hum.

"How much has he had to drink"

"Who cares, me next"

"I think you've licked enough of my husband"

"You get him all the time, don't be greedy"

"That cute little chubby ball of frosting and giggles is enough evidence you get him every which way, besides isn't there another one cooking, y'can't have any now git"

"Blink twice if you need help"

"Bro looks like an angel"

"Why aren't you blinking"

"Crafted by the heavens"

"You like this, don't you"

Bucky can't help but chuckle, surrounded by idiots. Drunk idiots. His wife. His baby girl. Another little one on the way. All who love him. Would protect him. Life was good.

[navybrat817]

Lovelies, I'm exhausted and in a mood. Indulge with me, if you will.

Warnings: Steve Rogers, explicit sexual content, dry humping, grinding

banner by the talented @cafekitsune

We all know Steve Rogers can fuck for hours, right? Peak condition and all, but can we talk about the flip side and how sensitive he is some days? Just hard for absolutely no reason and he feels like he'll blow his load if you even look in his direction?

So, naturally, you decide to be a little bratty when you see him on the couch trying to hide the massive hard-on he’s sporting. And why wouldn't you play a little? The thought of the commanding, blonde, sculpted super soldier about to burst because of you is just too hot to ignore.

“Aww. Poor Steve. Hard in your pants just because I walked into the room,” you tease as you straddle him, the outline of his cock making you shiver. He's strong enough to push you away, but doesn't. So you take it as an invitation to shove your hips down in a slow, dirty grind. “Let me take care of that for you.”

He grunts, his pretty blue eyes fluttering as you roll your hips. You arch your back when he grips them hard enough that you can feel it in your bones. Other than that, he doesn't move. In fact, he hardly breathes. Because he doesn't want to lose it so quickly.

“Keep doing that and I'll come in my pants,” he grits.

And that makes you double your efforts.

You tug at his hair, biting at his soft lower lip. His eyes are hazy, his breathing heavy. “All the panties you've made me ruin. Only fair I return the favor just this once.” You smirk when his head falls back. “Can you smell how wet I am? Bet you wish you were fucking me. Too bad. You owe me an orgasm first.”

“Sweetheart.” He warns, his voice a bit hoarse, his cheeks flushed. He's beautiful. He’s yours.

“It's okay. You can come. I want you to. Make a mess for me.” Your lips move to his ear to breathe out, “Captain.”

Steve moans your name when you shove your hips down once more and he finally moves. His body shudders and you can't help but smile when you feel the wet patch through the fabric. You made Steve Rogers, Captain America, come in his pants. God, he even whimpers when he’s finally spent.

“Think you can get it up again, old man?” You tease.

Steve may spank you when he bends you over the arm of the couch and makes another mess.

This time inside you.

Nothing to see here, lovelies! Go about your business! ❤️

[luv-lock]

#1 Avengers men text: Steve, Tony, Clint, Thor, Bucky.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Hold Me Closer

summary: you give joaquin exactly what he needs after a rough mission.

pairing: subby!joaquin torres x f!reader

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI/SMUT, internal angst, food mention, dom/sub undertones, kissing, teasing, cockwarming, unprotected p in v

wc: 1,845

an: finallyyyyyy got to writing this subby!joaquin goodness, hope yall enjoy while i finish past 5 of vuelve!

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Joaquin usually texted or called you when he was almost home, even though he’d set up notifications to let you know when he and Sam made it back to the armory.

But today, there was nothing—just the notification—no call, no message.

Several minutes passed in silence before you caved and checked his location, confirming he was on his way.

That’s how you know it’s bad before he even opens the door. And the confirmation is all over his face the moment he steps inside, setting his bags down with a weighty exhale. He’s not his usual cheery self, even as his gaze catches yours and he forces a smile.

“Rough one, huh?” you ask gently.

He sighs. “Yeah. Just—really shitty.”

You rise from the couch and make your way to him, cupping his face in your hands. “Then let’s have a not-so-shitty night, okay?”

“Seguro, mi amor,” he agrees, though his shoulders still slouch.

You turn his head this way and that, examining him. “Mmm. ¿Tienes hambre?”

He makes a face, shaking his head. “Not really.”

You raise a brow. “But did you eat?”

A pause. “Not really,” he repeats. “Don’t light a fire under my ass, querida, I can see it in your eyes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the sweetest girl you know.”

“That’s true, but you’re also the most stubborn. Which is why I know you’re about to make suggestions on what we should eat.”

“We could get Happy Camper—I’ve never seen you deny pizza.”

His hands find their place on your waist, squeezing gently as he mulls it over. “I could eat some pizza,” he murmurs, a smile pulling at his lips.

At the sight of that familiar light in his eyes, you can’t help but smile too. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his in an adoring kiss. With each word, your mouths brush, “I’ll order the pizza and you shower?”

He uses his grip on your hips to pull you closer, kissing you more deeply than before. He’s a little breathless, warmth creeping into his cheeks when he breaks away. “Sí, patrona.”

—

When Joaquin returns, you’re on the couch again with your book. You look up at him with a warm smile, but there’s something in your eyes that has him in a near shiver. Something hungry. Possessive.

“C’mere,” you murmur, patting the space next to you. He obliges, sitting beside you so your shoulders brush. Setting your book down, you rise onto your knees to straddle him.

He narrows his eyes at you playfully, though his hands slide up your thighs, kneading at the soft flesh. “What’re you up to?”

You ignore his line of questioning, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “Your hair’s longer than usual. Gonna cut it?”

“Maybe,” he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut when you start using the pads of your fingers to scratch at his scalp.

His breath deepens, his body slackening beneath your touch. Your gaze traces every detail of him—the sharp curve of his jaw, plush lips, delicate lashes. He’s stunning like this, and the quiet reverence between you feeds your growing hunger.

“I’m gonna touch you now, ok, cariño?” you ask softly, your fingers working against his scalp in slow, methodical circles.

“Mhmm,” he hums, sounding a little desperate. His body shifts, pressing more firmly into the couch, exposing the line of his throat to you.

The sight of him, open and willing, ignites something in you. You lean in, pressing your lips to the warm skin of his neck, trailing soft kisses downward. Your hands fall to his sweats, one rubbing against his hardening cock before slipping inside.

You’re met with nothing but solid warmth.

“You went commando on me, Torres?” you tease, your grip on him just as playful, fingers curling only slightly to emphasize your point. “That’s something a slut would do.”

“Oh fuck, baby,” he breathes, his eyes squeezing shut. His fingers twitch against your thighs, his muscles flexing as he fights the urge to thrust into your hand. His restraint is cracking, barely holding together, but he’s determined to be good for you.

“Are you a slut, Joaquin?”

“For you—por ti, cualquier día,” he mumbles eagerly, hoping that his willingness will bring him a reward.

His answer should bring nothing but arousal, but you feel yourself softening. How sweet it is that the man in a suit, the superhero, goes tender for you. You rest the bridge of your nose against his, asking him softly to look at you.

When he does, his brown eyes meet yours with a soft haziness, something vulnerable beneath the hunger.

“Te amo, mi amor. Lo sabes, ¿verdad?”

“Always.”

You lean in, taking control, your lips finding his with slow, deliberate pressure. His breath hitches, body tensing as you deepen the kiss, feeling his need swell against you. His hands tighten on your hips, a silent plea.

“Can I be close to you?”

You know what he means as soon as he asks. It isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Joaquin has this thing where he wants to crawl inside your skin and be there forever. Sometimes he’ll smoosh his cheek against yours and hope that somehow you’ll start to meld together. But when he’s asking like this, he wants to be inside you. Simply inside you, and nothing else.

“I don’t know if you asked correctly,” you murmur, your lips brushing his.

Joaquin’s known for his honesty, his playfulness, his confidence. But when you take control like this, you can draw out the part of him that’s shy. This is one of those times.

There’s a faint flush in his cheeks as he says, “Can I be inside you…please?”

“Since you asked so perfectly, amorcito. Hips up,” you command softly, and he moves in nanoseconds, allowing you to slide his sweats down to his knees.

Joaquin’s chest is heaving, his breaths rushed in anticipation. You don’t break eye contact as you pull your panties to the side, line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him.

He gasps sharply, his fingers twitching against your skin.

“Perfect fit, hmm? Or should I try again?” you wonder playfully out loud.

“No—baby—I—” he sputters, but both of you know you weren’t truly asking.

You lift your hips until just the tip of him is inside you before lowering yourself again—slower this time. Neither of you can help it, moans mingling as your heads fall back in pleasure.

“Much better,” you murmur through a hitched breath, burying your face in his neck.

“M-much better,” he grits out, nuzzling into your temple. His hands rest at your hips, holding you, not guiding. He’s letting you take from him whatever you want.

And you do.

There’s a desire to tease him more, but you know what he needs from you. He wants you to pry control and decision-making from his hands and make him feel safe. He wants to be nearly brain-dead with just the thought, the smell, the feel of you. So you hold him close as minutes stretch on, whispering soft praises here and there, dusting any skin you can reach with kisses.

Eventually, your patience wears thin— he feels too good inside you, but it’s not enough. It’s like scratching an itch with dull nails, like soothing an ache that can’t be satisfied.

You start a lazy but steady rock against him, pressing the tip of him firmly against the most sensitive spot inside you. Joaquin’s breath quickens but he stays quiet and still, letting you take what you want from him. Just a few minutes of this— you fucking him like this— and you’ll fall over the edge, but this isn’t just about you.

“Think you can cum like this for me? Or does baby boy need some help?”

“Can I touch you, hermosa? It’ll help,” he asks, guiding your head an inch so that his gaze can meet yours. He’s completely under your spell, his eyes glazed over with restlessness. With need.

You break for him, ready to let him have whatever he needs.

“Sure, baby, touch me,” you agree easily, sitting back more firmly on your heels so that you have a better position to rock against him.

One of his hands finds the hem of your shirt, eagerly skimming up your skin to knead and caress your breast. The other takes an opposite path, forgoing the waistband of your panties to play with your clit.

Now your breath goes shallow, your hips bucking more quickly as his hands and cock serve you just the way you want them to. The sight of you alone— lips parted, half-naked, consuming him has him nearing his orgasm.

“Kiss me, mi vida. Please,” he begs, and you feel the way he tightens his muscles further beneath you, trying to resist the urge to fuck you back.

You close the gap between you, taking his lip between your teeth. “¿Ya no puedes más, cariño?”

“No,” he nearly whimpers, trying to pry his lip from your grip so that he can kiss you.

“Patience, I’ll kiss you, but when I’m close. Understand?”

Joaquin is tortured, you can see the resolve he’s been holding onto fading in his eyes but he nods, all of him growing still but his working hands.

He doesn’t know it, but you’re close too, barely holding on. You have less than a minute, you can feel it in the way you start to clench around his cock. You know that Joaquin can feel it too, but he continues to be a good boy for you, plucking at your nipples and clit.

You don’t give him a warning when your high washes over him, you just crush your mouth to his, groaning into the wetness as wave after wave of ecstasy floods your system.

It’s his undoing and he mirrors you, whimpering against your tongue as he fills you to the brim. It’s warm, comforting, and exactly what you both needed.

When you pull away, Joaquin is as out of it as ever, his head falling back against the cushions once more. You run your hands up and down his bare chest, planting soft, alternating kisses on his cheeks.

“¿Estás bien, amorcito?” you ask him gently, snuggling into his arms.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs dreamily, his fingers grazing over your skin absentmindedly as he starts to drift.

You smile softly at his words, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. But then—your thoughts go back to the pizza.

“Hey,” you murmur, shifting so you’re looking down at him. “Don’t forget about the pizza, cariño.”

His eyes flutter open, still hazy from the pleasure, but there’s a playful glint in his gaze. “How could I?” he whispers, pulling you closer into his arms. “But I’m good here…we can always eat later.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No way. We’ve got pizza, and I’m not letting you fall asleep on me just yet.”

Joaquin groans but grins up at you. “Alright, alright. You win, mi amor.”

“Damn right I do,” you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

nsfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

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

“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[buck-star]

Welcome to my little corner filled with everything including our favorite captain, Steve Rogers.

Read the warnings, you’re responsible for your own social media consumption. Divider made by me.

— NEED SOMEONE OLDER [smut | 2.0k]

— HEATED TRAINING [smut, fluff | 2.3k]

— MISSION — HEAT [smut, fluff | 6.7k]

— NEVER SAY ‘NO’ TO YOUR HUSBAND [dark, smut | 557]

— SUNSHINE BOY [fluff | 605 Words]

— NO MOVE [fluff, smut | 562 Words]

— MAKING A MESS [dark, smut | 587 Words]

[darsynia]

Forgiven: joYOUs | CEO Steve/f!Reader series Part III

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

Summary: You and Steve Rogers have been dating for a little over two months, and it's been wonderful. Through it all you've asked yourself if it could possibly be real--but when he finally invites you to stay over at his apartment, you realize that being 'real' has as much to do with his complicated issues at work as it does being a Hallmark movie protagonist brought to life.

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

As 6/7 of my Ro Roll badly-belated-birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, joYOUs is part III in my CEO Steve and f!Freader series. This story also (more lightly than intended) is written for the 'first fall of snow' prompt for @the-slumberparty's December Daze!

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

You’ve tried not to read anything into the 36 hours of no-contact since Steve left on his business trip. He had warned you that he would be ‘can’t check the phone’ kind of busy, but you also know that his stress has ramped up considerably with the holidays coming up. You suspect that the café project hadn’t been enough of a respite--but you’d promised yourself not to push him too hard about his burnout, and that includes acting like it’s no big deal that you haven’t talked for a while. 

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

That all drops away like an uncomfortable bra after a long day at work when you get a text at 10 PM Friday night.

🪴🪴🪴: We still on for tomorrow at 7? I’ve been thinking about you since the plane took off from LaGuardia.

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

🪴🪴🪴: was only supposed to send that first part.

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

🪴🪴🪴: Buck give me back the phone. Don’t send her anything, okay? You’re hopeless, man. You have to leave some mystery. If she had any idea how much you talked about her while we were gone, she’d probably quit her job and leave the state. What’s. Oh shit it’s recording. How do I make it. Give it back. Bucky I mean it just put it down before you screwdriver

Screwdriver?

The (thrilling) mess of words take a minute or two to detangle, and once you parse the dictated back-and-forth, you realize that Steve’s subsequent silence is probably mortification. Adorable mortification.

The phone rings on silent mode, buzzing wildly in your hand. Surprise makes you drop it on your lap like it’s alive-- which it might as well be, because the vibration sends it jittering across your indulgent silk pajamas and onto the floor.

“Shit!” you gasp out, knowing that any delay in answering will probably make everything much worse. You scramble off the bed in a move so inelegant your sister calls out asking if you’ve joined her in Broken Leg Land. “I’m fine, just an idiot!” you holler, finally grabbing the phone from your crumpled position on the bedroom floor.

“That’s not true at all!” Steve Rogers’ voice echoes from the speakers. You must have  brushed the ‘answer’ part when you picked it up, because of course that would happen.

“Oh my god, is there a deity of phones I’ve badly wronged today?” you gasp out, bringing the thing gingerly up to your ear. Thankfully, he’s chuckling, and damn, it’s sexy.

“Seems like it. Should we call this a draw?” he suggests, adding, “I evicted the phone thief, sorry about that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“Which would be… screwdrivers?” you offer, grinning despite your rational brain screaming at you not to sound overeager. “You somehow don’t strike me as an orange juice and vodka kind of guy.”

“You’re right, and that was a nice deflect.” There’s gratitude as well as sheepishness in Steve’s voice. When paired with the ‘forbidden truths’ in the dictated texts, you may be sitting on the floor in twisted-up PJs, but your mind and heart are floating on a cloud somewhere high above Manhattan. “Should I send a car tomorrow?”

Surprise snarls the response in your throat into a twisted um-cough combo that is entirely indelicate. “Sorry, yes, that, yes,” you manage, kicking yourself. He runs a company, having a car service probably doesn’t seem impersonal to him, even though he’s always picked you up or met you somewhere before this. The Maiden Aunt in your brain tries to argue that the magic is over, but she’s drowned out by College TA, who thinks this is a step up in statistical importance.

Some girls get a devil on their shoulder, but you ended up with a pessimist and an overachiever.

“How about a do-over,” Steve says, interrupting your mental chaos. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yes!” you say in a flood of relief. “I’m sorry, you said ‘send a car’ and all I could picture was one of those movies where someone in livery holds up a piece of paper with my name--”

He interrupts before you can gnaw past the foot in your mouth and up onto the ankle.

“I don’t mind driving, don’t worry. See you at seven, then.” With that, CEO Eye, Ear, and Heart Candy hangs up, leaving you in a flustered, anticipatory mess on the floor in your bedroom.

Jennie gives you relentless shit over that whole sequence of events, but she also gives you access to her closet. You’ve already run through your handful of fancy dresses on dates with Steve, and everything else gives you ‘someday I might go clubbing’ or ‘student on a budget’ vibes.

Your sister’s tastes run more expensive than yours, and she’s always been a fan of modular clothing-- skirts that wrap around, blouses with 3x as much fabric as necessary that end up folding and twisting into a masterpiece, etc. It’s worked out well for her while she’s laid up with a broken leg, but the unusual style might help you keep up appearances. You choose a black form-fitting pants topped with a silky wraparound blouse; hopefully they’ll look sophisticated enough for your first visit to Steve’s apartment.

True to form, Jennie makes three ‘wrapped present’ jokes about the two ribbon-tied sections of your shirt before you make it out the door.

Steve is waiting beside his car when you come outside. He’s clearly come from work, wearing tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt that looks so good you’re practically overheating in the brisk winter air. Then he smiles at you, and your body takes a detour from ‘visit to Arizona’ straight down to ‘the Brazilian Rainforest,’ all innuendo included.

Oblivious to your secretly disrespectful ogling, Steve moves to escort you to your car door, standing deliciously close by as he opens it. His aftershave smells heady and masculine, distracting enough that you turn your heel a little bit on the seam of the sidewalk. Your unbuttoned coat swings back and his hand moves to steady you, fingers tangling in the red ribbon holding your blouse together on that side.

“Oh!” you gasp, half because of his sheer strength and half because good god, if that bow comes undone on the street you’re not sure how much you’re even going to care right now. You gently grasp his hand (finding that, yep, the sizzling live wire connection on physical contact is still active), salvaging the knot for the sake of your sanity.

“Wow,” Steve breathes in a low voice that sends its resonance whizzing through your whole body. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

You’re never going to tell your sister how many mental seconds it’s taken you to go from 0 to head over heels for this man.

“Do you need me to adjust the buckle? You were making a face,” Steve explains.

“Oh, no, I was coming up with something suitably embarrassing to text my nagging sister so she doesn’t send me ‘romantic suggestions’ all night,” you admit. “She means well, but I think she’s been watching too many Hallmark Christmas movies. Nothing I do or say will measure up!”

He chuckles. “I won’t comment on what my own nag might have to say on the outcome of the evening.”

“You mean the professional phone thief? He owes you, not the other way around! Telling secrets on dictation while your friend’s planning to bring a girl home-- and then sending it? Hung, drawn, and quartered.”

“Well, the method of delivery may have been terrible,” Steve says, looking over at you while paused at a red light, “--but none of that was a secret.”

The light changes, and just like Jennie’s favorite movies, he holds your gaze instead of driving on. You’re suddenly very aware of everywhere your clothing touches you, especially at your chest, where the fabric of your blouse clings to your curves. When you pull in a breath, Steve’s attention dips down to appreciate them, too.

“Eyes on the road, CEO Eye Candy,” you tease (not for the first time), and his expression scrunches up into easy laughter.

There’s an older, well-dressed couple in the parking garage to his building when you arrive, and the four of you ride the elevator up together until you and Steve step out. Just before the doors close, you catch the woman looking up at her husband fondly, nodding toward the two of you. No pressure! you think to yourself again, but then Steve opens the door to his apartment and smiles with such honest happiness that you forget everything else but him.

Just like he is, the main room is a charming mix of vintage and modern, with warm wood accents and high-tech amenities. There’s something both open and intimate that hits you right away; the floor is dotted with comforting rugs, the walls with bookcases, creating cozy little nooks, but the lamplight is warm and inviting throughout.

“I need to start the oven,” Steve says with a light touch to your arm, gesturing to take your coat. You nod and hand it over before you step farther in, finally letting yourself glance beyond the bookshelves of classics and the homey crochet afghan to the view. 

It’s completely captivating. The wall of windows face east, showing the lively cityscape to glorious effect (and you can’t help but picture what the sunrise would look like!). It suddenly hits you that you’re in Steve’s space. There are no phones to ring and save you from a misstep, no waitress to break the tension, no dog running past chasing its ball in the grass.

If he sees just how far gone you are on him already, will Steve think you’re a gold-digger, or will he understand that you can’t help but be dazzled and drawn in by the kind of man he is, not the things he surrounds himself with?

“Are you all right?” Steve asks. You startle, making eye contact with his reflection in the window, and something about the intimacy of that makes you tell the absolute truth.

“I’m realizing there are no flowerpots to hide behind.”

He smiles and moves closer, one hand casually in his pocket. When he’s just near enough that you can feel his warmth through the back of your blouse, Steve tips his head in a move that bleeds sincerity, still holding your gaze.

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

You can’t look away. “What if that doesn’t make me any less shy?”

“Makes it all the more rewarding to earn that smile of yours,” Steve says, moving to face you instead of the view.

The weight of where you are, who you’re with, and how much it means to you keeps your gaze glued to the view outside the window, but the city lights blur a little with the frequency of your blinking. You want to reassure him that the shyness is good actually, that it means you really like him, that what he thinks about you is important--

“I have a confession to make,” Steve says in an apologetic tone.

Your mind springs to swift and miserable action: Somehow his good guy persona is a sham and he’s actually a real-life Christian Grey (honestly, you’d try it). This is all a bet and your naive honesty is embarrassing (horrifyingly plausible)...

Steve says, “--happened to it, I have no idea what, but the food’s ruined. We’re going to have to get take-out.”

His warm apologetic tone heats your fears into float-away steam, and you rush to reconnect with reality. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’m here for you, not your food,” you stammer out, only fully hearing what you’ve said once it’s already out there. “Shit, that came out--”

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs. You can’t help but toss him the Skeptical Eyebrow, despite your heart voting on the ‘melt’ option. “I’m being serious,” he goes on. “Honesty is in rare supply for much of my day-to-day. Suppliers expect us to push for cheaper materials, manufacturers are uncomfortable with flexible deadlines, and we’ve fired multiple product designers who get upset by how much we rely on end-user feedback.” He lets out a long sigh, punctuating it with a rueful laugh. “I felt more relaxed with the construction crew than I do with my so-called ‘peers.’”

The frustrated defeat in his tone makes you step close to tuck yourself up against his side, hugging him with an arm around his back. Steve’s arm comes around you right away, and god, you wish you could bottle that feeling. The two of you have shared quite a few toe-curling kisses, but physical affection like this is exciting, despite being prompted by Steve’s ongoing business concerns.

It’s easy to believe that this part of your life isn’t real when you’re at work answering phones and giving directions. You’re never prepared for the way Steve tips your life upside down, and in a way that makes moments like this more magical. Late at night, you do sometimes worry your job at his company makes it harder for him to disconnect.

With his heartbeat thrumming under your cheek and his arm tucked around you, that concern feels as far away as the streetlights visible across the city. There’s still a thread of tenseness in his embrace that tells you he’s not as relaxed as you are. You might not have the money to take him out for a fancy dinner or attend an exclusive event, but you can show him he’s wanted.

“So what you’re saying is that we should brainstorm another building project for the lobby? Preferably within sightlines of the front desk?”

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

“Oh, I wish. I’ve actually started looking into Habitat For Humanity, a couple of other hands-on charities,” Steve tells you, squeezing you tighter against him for a second or two. “They’ve got experience with higher profile contributors, safety concerns, that sort of thing.”

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

“That doesn’t solve the underlying problem though, because the problem isn’t you,” you realize aloud.

“You’re right.” Steve kisses your hairline, but you can sense that his metaphorically held breath isn’t going to release like this. You’re struck by the rightness of your reflection; the two of you fit together so well visually that it’s easy to miss his job insecurities and your uncertain future. Movement beyond the surface catches your eye, and you realize it’s the perfect way to break the tension.

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

“Those are some giant snowflakes.” He hugs you to him briefly before stepping over to a small panel on the wall. “May I?”

The more time you spend with him, the braver you feel. “I’m going to say yes, even though I don’t know what you’re asking.”

Steve’s answering smile is blindingly handsome. “Watch,” he says, nodding to the view. A second later the lights in the room dim or shut off, heightening the glowing cityscape outside. There’s a beauty to the familiar hodgepodge of buildings, more so with the fairy dust of snow drifting down from above.

“It’s like a snowglobe,” you say, tearing your eyes away from the scene to look at Steve. To your surprise, he’s not looking outside, he’s looking at you.

“May I?” he asks again. Heart pounding, you nod, and he walks toward you, his features thrown into sharp relief by the dim light. When Steve finally reaches you, the anticipation has doused you with fuel set alight by the touch of his hand at your cheek. 

This kiss is nothing like the gentle exploration that was your first with Steve. Where then you were still learning each other, this is knowledge. He lifts you up against him effortlessly, his thumb tangling with the ties of your blouse in a way that pulls it taut against your breasts. You let out a gasp as he kisses his way down from your neck over to the neckline of your blouse, making a begging sound of his own.

It sounds like enough of a ‘May I?’ that you whisper, “Yes.”

In three large strides he’s at the couch, setting you onto your feet as he sweeps the afghan and pillows out of the way. When he turns to face you again, you offer him the end of the ribbon tie holding your blouse together.

The reverence with which Steve pulls it loose is sexy as hell, but you absolutely adore the way he locks eyes with you and keeps your gaze when the fabric falls away. You pull in a ragged breath, and his gaze sharpens.

“What do you want?” he asks, his own answer ringing in the undertones.

You want everything, as far into the future as fate allows, but you force yourself to focus on the here and now. “I-- God, I just want you. I want-- oh!” You press your lips together to stop yourself, shy again. There’s honesty, and then there’s honesty. In that confident but gentle way he has, Steve knows exactly what to say.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

He takes your hand and backs the few inches to the couch, sitting down and tugging gently, a clear but respectful invitation. Steve takes a few seconds to just look at you, his eyes tracing across your features and down to the structure of your blouse. He’d mentioned his sketchbook at one of your early-on dates but never elaborated; now the way he unerringly follows each ribbon with his eyes, fingertips, and then lips make you feel like a work of art.

By the time your shirt drops to the floor, you’re practically drunk on the honest arousal you can taste on his lips--and you’re still mostly dressed! One thing you’re certain of: no one will ever make you feel as much like a medieval harlot and an object of worship at the same time like Steve Rogers.

Reluctantly, you draw back from his addictive kisses, pulling his hand from your cheek to briefly kiss his palm. “I’m going to ask you something, and you’re going to answer me without trying to smooth anything over, got it?”

Steve’s gaze darkens with an amused sort of interest. “I’ll see where you’re going with this, but you should know that there are two places I like to be in charge: the boardroom and the bedroom.”

His tone is gentle, but with an undercurrent of steel. You’re completely unable to stop the way your breath catches and your thighs clench. Sweet fires of hell, this man is perfect.

“It’s a deal,” you manage to squeak out.

“Go on, then.” Steve lifts a hand to brush his thumb along your hairline, down your cheek to press against your lips, dragging them open. From there, he continues to where the swell of your breast meets the lace of your bra, skirting your nipple by lifting his hand up to clasp with the other hand behind his head. Throughout, his gaze holds yours, intense and commanding.

“Sure, show me up, like I’m going to remember anything more than my own name, at this point,” you whisper-whine.

“I used it a few times on my recent trip.” His soft admission is in direct contrast to his casual, confident body language. You’re starting to realize there’s a stronger dichotomy to Steve than you thought. Will you get to have the kind, thoughtful boyfriend who saves you from an evening of elitist tedium and a fierce, possessive lover?

Will you survive, if so?

“Tell me. I’m getting a little jealous of whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Steve intones.

You stop biting your lip and grin. “I’m filing away these new pieces of information about you. Just… don’t ask me where I’m filing them.”

“Oh, I will.”

His voice is like a caress that cascades over you, pausing at your most sensitive places. You shiver, both for your own acknowledgment of the sexual tension and for him to appreciate his effect on you. After letting out a breath that’s more like a yearning sigh, you set your hands on the top button of his dress shirt. With Steve’s steady gaze on you, though, you’re questioning yourself.

“My plan sounds stupid in my head now, with you oozing all of this confidence.”

Immediately, his hand covers yours, setting off sparks with every swipe of his thumb on your skin. “At work it’s a facade, a persona, even--and not a flattering one. I didn’t think I could shake it off, the night of the gala. It’s more natural when--” He interrupts himself by pulling you in for a deep, passionate kiss.

“You’re not faking it here,” you observe minutes later. The whole concept is knocking you sideways, but-- “Okay, I need to tell you I’m picturing you in one of those tailored suits commanding a room of powerful people and that is just sexy as hell.”

He rocks his hips up into you. “I’ll let them know--but, roll back a minute. What was your plan? Better yet,” Steve interrupts himself, setting a heavy hand on your hip to hold you still as he grinds up against you again. “Show me.”

His confidence is literally rubbing off on you. “All right, but fair warning: it’s very ‘over-eager receptionist peeks at you between decorative plants.’” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, his warm hand travels from your hip around and down, fingertips pushing aside your waistbands to firmly grip your ass.

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

There’s enough of the altruistic, spend-a-week-building-with-the-bros tone in his voice to be reassuring, and you nod.

“Right, then.” Briskly, with the heat of arousal singing through you from every point of contact, you unbutton the top button of his dress shirt. “You’re kind.” Button two: “You’re moral and fair.” Your eyes are focused on your ‘work,’ but you can see Steve break into a smile. At button three, you’re almost halfway down. “You’re a hard worker.”

Steve lets out a deep ‘Mmmm’ sound. Thanks to his ass-grab leverage, he blatantly moves your hips in time with his for a cycle of thrusts that leave you breathless. You can’t look at him, so you clear your throat like a prudish schoolmarm and meticulously unbutton #4.

“You’re good at your… job.” It takes a little while to free this button, so you end up worrying your lower lip with your teeth as you try. Once you’re finished, with anticipation lifting every single hair follicle on your body, only then do you make eye contact.

He mutters ‘fuck’ and reaches between the two of you to unbuckle his belt, popping his trouser snap with an expression that challenges you to object.

There are two shirt buttons left.

You’re completely out of your depth, as desperate to come as you may have ever been in your entire existence, and you have zero idea what else to say--but you reach for button number five.

You wet your lips. Slowly.

Steve grips the couch with his free hand-- but the one he’s holding onto you with is still firm and not at all bruising (not that you’d mind. You’ll paint yourself with this man’s passion if he lets you). 

“You’re passionate.”

He makes a cut-off sort of growl in the back of his throat when you move to the last button. You can see the heavy bulge of his cock in his boxer briefs just an inch away from your palms. In a perfect world, you’d say ‘fuck it’ to coming up with another word. In a perfect world, you’d reward both of you by giving up and sliding to your knees, demonstrating exactly how much you appreciate this tall, sexy, beast of an honorable man--and then you have an idea.

Your borrowed pants have a simple clasp, and you move your hands slowly from Steve’s last remaining shirt button to release it, incidentally dragging across his straining cock as you do so. The blatant teasing gets ‘worse’ when you draw down your zipper, nudging, rubbing, and pressing until it’s fully unzipped.

Throughout, Steve’s hand on your ass remains steady, but his breathing grows more and more ragged.

Finally, you lift your hands up and away, denying him any more contact before dropping down to reach for the last button.

“You--” he rumbles, but you interrupt him with two words.

“You’re patient.”

With a practically incomprehensible oath that thoroughly refutes your last impudent compliment, Steve shoves down your loosened clothing and angles the two of you to the side on the couch, all in a single action. Then he sinks two fingers inside you roughly, both of you groaning at the desperate, glorious pleasure of it.

You cram a fist in your mouth, but he stops in the middle of his one-handed shucking of his pants and boxers to yank your fist free.

“All through that shitty conference I imagined the noises you’d make tonight,” Steve grits out, looking down at you with naked desire in his eyes. He twists his fingers mid thrust, and you can’t help but cry out, your hips chasing every movement his talented, devastating fingers perform on you.

You’re already so close. The white-hot, catastrophic release starts to cloud your vision, stayed only by your delayed understanding of what he just said.

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

Steve kicks the last inches of his lower clothing free and swaps hands deftly, spreading your arousal on his cock with an ‘Mmmm’ of pleasure so filthy you flutter around his fingers in pre-orgasmic shock.

“Thinking about you genuinely kept me sane, and I'm going to turn those daydreams into reality,” he rasps, a modern Greek god with the morals of a saint and the body of a satyr, as if you could ever do anything but gratefully worship him.

You mouth something like the word “Yes,” too desperate for anything more coherent.

The pleasure that follows his first deep thrust is ruinous. You forget everything but Steve, the taste of praise on his lips, the delight his touch chases across your skin, and most of all, the power he arches into you, music and mayhem and meaning, all at once. By the time you’re shuddering around each other you’ve ended up on the floor in front of his couch--and you only notice because Steve’s got a hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m out of adjectives,” you whisper weakly. “All of the good ones. Most of the naughty ones. Fuck, other languages, too. Even extinct ones. You’re fluent in everything.”

Steve pulls you to his chest and does something athletic that ends with you on the couch beside him, his soft homemade afghan covering the most pertinent parts of your nakedness.

“You make me want to be fluent in everything,” he murmurs. “And, thank you.” Steve grabs his shirt and holds it in front of his crotch. “I’ll get a washcloth.”

He’s jogging farther into the apartment before you can respond, but something about his protective actions trigger a flurry of realization, something you should be--

Oh.

The fall of snow past the giant picture windows brings reality crashing into you. You just had glorious, intense, messy sex in a room that is visible from other nearby buildings!

Steve reappears with a soft-looking washcloth. He’s wearing pajama pants, with what looks like a matching long-sleeved top slung over his shoulder.

“I forgot about the windows,” you say in a small voice, taking the washcloth and using it under the afghan.

“Oh, right,” he says in a completely un-worried voice. Steve looks over at you, sees the half-scared expression on your face, and his demeanor sort of… softens. It’s both obvious and hard to quantify, and it hits you that he’s almost certainly done that before, even if you hadn’t noticed. You imagine there’s a lot of things his clothes and a carefully-crafted facial expression would cover for. He sits down beside you on the couch and offers you the shirt as he says, “The couch is recessed enough into the room that it’s not very visible, I think, but I wasn’t thinking, and I should have asked you about that. I’m sorry.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, and you ask him about that while pulling on his proffered pajama top, juggling the blanket in the process.

“Would it be strange to say I get very… goals-oriented?” he asks, rueful and amused in equal measure.

“How much different a ‘persona’ are we talking, here?”

The question is meant playfully, but Steve takes long enough to answer that you can feel the warmth of the washcloth start to fade in your hand.

“Too different for comfort, I’m coming to realize.” 

He reaches for the washcloth, but you pull it close and get up, gesturing for him to lead you to wherever you can rinse it out. On the way, you can’t help but eye the windows in a new way, perhaps as unintentional adversaries.

“I haven’t let myself be truly seen in a long time,” Steve says as you drape the rinsed washcloth on a drying rack in the dimly-lit kitchen area. “The reason is--well, it might be insulting, but it’s honest.”

You resist the urge to hug your arms around yourself. He’s given you a shirt to wear that matches his, and you were serious with those compliments earlier, despite the pleasure-wrought desperation you felt as you spoke them. “Go on?”

“You’re yourself with me. Not fawning. There’s no facade, no attempt to pretend you have more money or influence. That’s rare. Precious even.”

His statement stings, despite everything that’s happened tonight, despite the way his compliment hews off the rough edges. There’s no derision or judgment in his tone, so you smile at him, albeit stiffly. 

“I don’t really have a way to hide those things. I’m me. I figured if you were bothered by--” you wince, feeling a sense of inferiority rise up inside you (dropped out of college, pulled out of your internship, entry-level job, depleted nest-egg, caregiver for your sister, baggage, baggage, baggage) before you wrestle it all back down. “--any of that, you’d move on, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

“I don’t want to move on,” Steve says firmly, brushing his hand over your hair as if to adjust the disarray that came from putting on his shirt. “I want to move forward, even if that means you can see through some of the windows I usually cover with curtains. Will you be exclusive with me?”

“I’d really like that,” you whisper, overcome. “And not just because you fuck like a complete god.”

The words slip out before you can fucking stop them, and you gasp, the tidal wave of your social inferiority to a man like Steve coming blasting through all the tentative bridges you’ve just built. You hear buzzing in your ears, your vision is misted over with regret--but seconds later, you realize he’s laughing.

“Okay I swear on every single deity that exists, I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud! I’m so sorry,” you groan, your relief over his amusement barely tempering the metallic tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

Your… your boyfriend Steve Rogers takes your hand in his and lifts it up, bowing over it before kissing it with more chivalry than a whole season of Game of Thrones. Even one of the early ones.

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[swan-of-sunrise]

Let It Out, and Let It In

Summary: Spiraling under the immeasurable weight of his trauma, Steve desperately seeks out the company of his girlfriend and, after experiencing a panic attack in her presence, unexpectedly finds himself opening up to her about his mental health.

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a detailed depiction of a panic attack and a frank discussion about Steve Rogers’ trauma

A/N: Hi guys! I've been an MCU/Steve Rogers fan for damn near a decade now, and it hasn't escaped my notice that Steve's trauma has a tendency of being overlooked and overshadowed. So today, we'll be getting a glimpse of his ongoing mental health struggles (I promise you it's not all angst!) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

Let It Out, and Let It In September 2015 The Home of (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and Sam Wilson, Washington D.C. (Superhero Snapshots Masterlist)

“Should’ve called ahead, Rogers,” Steve chastised himself under his breath as he knocked three times on (Y/N)’s front door. He shoved the hood of his sweatshirt off his head and roughly combed his fingers through his hair, the poor attempt to straighten up his appearance for his girlfriend doing very little to distract from his spiraling mental state.

Like many, Steve didn’t exactly have fond memories of high school. While everyone around him seemed to struggle a little as they transitioned from awkward adolescence to mature adulthood, he always felt as though he was one massive step behind them without any hope of catching up. One aspect of high school he did appreciate, though – apart from his friendship with Bucky and his beloved art – were his English courses; he devoured each of the novels, plays and poems that they were assigned to read and thoroughly enjoyed writing themes that analyzed their deeper meanings. One of his favorite books had been The Great Gatsby and even eighty years later, he could still recall the telling exchange that Jay Gatsby shared with Nick Carraway towards the beginning of their friendship: ‘You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.’

The brief line of Gatsby’s dialogue managed to stick with Steve long after he’d finished reading the book, initially because he couldn’t imagine how one’s life could become so lonely but eventually, because he’d come to understand Gatsby’s words all too well; he suffered the loss of his mother and Bucky, went into the ice in 1945 and woke up to find that nearly seventy years had passed him by, grappled with the losses of all his fellow Howling Commandos and helplessly watched as the last personified tie to his past slowly succumbed to dementia. Like Gatsby, Steve preferred the company of strangers; they made it easier for him to ignore the crippling loneliness because they never bothered to try and get to know the traumatized twenty-seven-year-old man behind the red, white and blue shield.

Things began to change for him not long after the Battle of New York. He befriended Natasha, one of his fellow Avengers, and she tried her best to acclimate him to his new life; maybe it was a result of all she’d suffered at the hands of the Red Room or because she was just incredibly adept at reading people, but Nat knew that he was struggling and in her own unique way, she did everything she could to be there for him. He met Sam and (Y/N), leaving his apartment for his usual morning run around the National Mall wearing a serious scowl but departing for his S.H.I.E.L.D. mission afterwards with a truly happy smile on his face; Sam soon became one of his best friends, the VA trauma counselor understanding his difficulties with adjusting to his new life but never treating him differently because of them, and he found himself falling in love with (Y/N), the historical-fiction novelist bursting into his life like sunshine on a cloudy day and making him feel truly seen for who he was instead of the larger-than-life mantle he carried. And with the help of (Y/N), Sam and Nat, he grew closer to his fellow Avengers, even finding himself beginning to view them as his family and accepting the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

But while Steve had slowly grown to love and appreciate his new life, there were still some days when the reality of his situation would weigh heavily on his mind and it was only a matter of time before he’d break down into a full-blown panic attack; he did his best to hide his struggles from his girlfriend and friends, not wanting to hurt their feelings or make them feel that they weren’t enough for him, but it was becoming harder and harder for him to pretend that everything was all right. It was one of those awful days that saw Steve impulsively asking Nat to land the Quinjet at Joint Base Andrews on their way home from a mission in Argentina; the assassin did as he asked without question, but he could feel her concerned gaze following him as he walked down the ramp and marched across the airstrip alone. Ignoring the mounting pressure in his chest, he elected to do what he’d often do before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and take a walk through the streets of D.C., following in Jay Gatsby’s footsteps and surrounding himself with strangers to avoid addressing the memories of his old life that were clawing their way to the forefront of his mind.

With the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his face and his hands shoved into its pockets, Steve trudged down North Capitol Street with his eyes downcast, prolonging his return to his dark and impersonal apartment and the panic attack that would inevitably follow. Dusk had already fallen and downtown, the city’s nightlife was beginning to ramp up; restaurants were packed with families visiting the historic city and cheerful groups of friends pulled one another into the bars and nightclubs, while couples walked arm-in-arm and took in the glimmering lights that illuminated the city’s imposing monuments. It wasn’t until Steve walked past a bookstore and caught sight of (Y/N)’s debut novel, For Queen and Country, proudly displayed in the window that he felt his mind beginning to clear and a small smile tug on his lips. In that instant, Steve was engulfed by an overwhelming need to see his girlfriend and he continued walking down the street at an increased pace, spurred on by the sunshine that might succeed in breaking through the bleak isolation he found himself consumed by.

Steve forced himself out of his musings just as the door swung open to reveal (Y/N); he was pleased to see that she was dressed for a comfortable night in, with a well-loved Lauryn Hill concert t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, but it was evident by the white strip adhered to her nose and the hair towel balanced on her head that he’d interrupted her evening. “Steve!” (Y/N), unaware of the guilt he was experiencing for interrupting her relaxing evening, smiled broadly and opened her door wider. “I’ve really got to stop listening to Sam; that lying Birdbrain told me you guys wouldn’t be back from Argentina until tomorrow.”

“The mission wrapped up a lot quicker than we’d initially anticipated, so Sam’s off the hook for lying this time,” Steve replied with a small smile as he shoved his fidgeting hands into his pockets. “I, um, I’m really sorry that I didn’t call or text you before coming over, but I was on my way home and I…anyway, I can leave if I’m intruding-”

“Don’t be silly, you’re not intruding!” Standing the side, (Y/N) allowed him to step through the doorway and closed the door before turning to give him a sheepish smile. “After spending all day going over my book’s first draft with Greg, I treated myself to a bubble bath and I may or may not have fallen asleep in the tub; I woke up in lukewarm water and my fingers were all pruney, but it was a damn good nap.”

“You’ve been working hard on your novel, sunshine; if anyone deserves a little rest and relaxation, it’s you.” Steve slipped off his sneakers and neatly placed them near the entryway table, straightening and chuckling when his girlfriend launched herself into his arms and nuzzled her face against his chest. “Did you miss me?”

(Y/N) nodded and tightened her arms around his waist. “I always miss you whenever you’re away on a mission, sweetheart.”

Steve’s heart melted and before he knew it, one of his arms was holding her close while his hand was guiding her face upwards so that his lips could meet hers; their kiss was slow yet passionate, with each of them doing all they could to savor their rare moment of peace, but his initial reason for visiting the historical-fiction novelist made its presence known in his mind and saw him give her one last kiss before pulling away with a forced smile. “Me too, baby. I just…I really needed to see you.”

(Y/N)’s head tilted to the side as her (Y/E/C) eyes studied him but to his surprise and overwhelming gratitude, she didn’t ask him what was wrong or if he was all right. Instead, she took both of his hands in hers and playfully swung their arms while giving him a coy smile. “I was about to try my luck at cooking dinner and since my culinary skills aren’t exactly up to par, I could really use the assistance of a big, strong Avenger. Do you know if any of them are brave enough to accept this dangerous mission?”

“I think I’m up for the challenge, ma’am,” Steve impishly replied and his overstated authoritative tone made (Y/N) giggle as she led him into the kitchen to prepare dinner. “Can I, um, ask what’s on your nose?”

“Oh, it’s for unclogging oil and dead skin cells from pores! It’s a little gross to remove but at the same time, kind of satisfying. Did you want to try one out for yourself?”

“…Sure, why not?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While helping his girlfriend cook dinner wasn’t quite as dangerous of a task as she’d made it out to be, Steve certainly had his hands full with making sure she didn’t over-season or burn anything in her eagerness to prove her minimal culinary skills; most importantly, however, cooking alongside (Y/N) helped to take his mind off the incapacitating loneliness that drove him to her doorstep in the first place. They sat at the dining room table to enjoy their chicken parmigiana with angel hair pasta and broccoli and (Y/N) even brought out a pricier bottle of red wine to enjoy with their food, a gift she claimed was sent by Tony and Pepper to congratulate her for winning the Goodreads Choice Award for Best Historical Fiction. Steve listened to (Y/N) talk about the last-minute touches being placed on what would soon be her second published novel with rapt attention, voicing his amazement when she revealed which of her favorite authors would be joining her at an upcoming writing convention and chuckling as she told him about the playful argument she’d gotten into with her publisher about certain spelling choices in her draft.

After they finished their meal, they cleaned up the sizable mess they’d made in the kitchen, with Steve washing the dirty dishes and (Y/N) drying and putting them away; they fell into a comfortable silence while they worked, and he found himself focusing on her soft humming as he deliberated over whether or not to open up to her about the complex emotions he was fighting to control. He loved his girlfriend with all his heart, but it was because of his love for her that he hesitated to fully open up and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why: he was not only afraid that he’d hurt her feelings if he told her that he still struggled to acclimate to the twenty-first century, but he was also afraid that the truth would only serve to drive her away. The memory-wiping device from that Will Smith alien movie Tony made me watch could solve all of my problems in the blink of an eye, he sullenly thought with a sideways glance at a blissfully unaware (Y/N) putting away their dishes, you can’t miss something that you don’t have any memories of.

With the kitchen scrubbed clean and the comforting sound of a light rainfall outside echoing throughout the cozy home, Steve and (Y/N) took to the couch to watch some television. The historical-fiction novelist dissolved into a fit of giggles after applying a cleansing strip to Steve’s nose and he happily indulged her by posing for the selfie she all but begged for his permission to take. After she took several pictures and disposed of their cleansing strips, he pulled her into his arms and soundly kissed her, finding that the dark cloud that hung over him was slowly but surely dispersing the longer she kissed him back.

“Do you feel like watching a movie?” (Y/N) breathlessly asked after they’d finally separated for air. A knowing smile was beginning to spread across her face as she realized they’d moved positions during their impromptu make-out session; the historical-fiction novelist was lying flat on her back while he held himself above her and as he deviously grinned down at her, she twirled her fingers around his sweatshirt’s drawstrings and shrugged offhandedly. “Not that I have any problem with continuing our current activities, of course-”

“Neither do I.”

His girlfriend’s smirk widened at his hasty reply. “But TCM’s been airing a really good screwball comedy marathon all day, and I was thinking that we could give it a watch. I guarantee that my world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction pairs excellently with a glass of top shelf red wine and 1935’s Top Hat, so how ‘bout it?”

Steve’s smile instantly dropped at her otherwise innocuous statement. His lungs began to restrict, his vision blurred and it was as though someone had suddenly flipped a switch inside of his hippocampus; all at once, jarring flashes of cloudy memories flooded his mind and overtook his vision.

Bucky dragging Steve along on another double date and insisting that this one would be different than the other failed dates he’d arranged…his throat constricting as his date scowled at the sight of him…sitting in a darkened theater beside the highly displeased woman and throwing his best friend an envious look as he smoothly draped an arm over his smitten date’s shoulders…trying his damndest to enjoy the hit Astaire & Rogers musical-comedy so that his night wouldn’t be so miserable…

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

Fists tightening in anger when he saw a furious-looking man dragging his date up the aisle while she begged him to calm down…staggering to his feet in the alleyway behind the theater and throwing another punch at the laughing man, only for him to easily dodge and shove him against the nearby dumpster…fighting to catch his breath as he crumpled to the grimy ground and panicking when he recognized the tell-tale signs of an oncoming asthma attack…frantically grabbing at his pockets in search of his asthma cigarettes, fully conscious of Bucky’s shouting and his date’s frightened scream but unable to stop the black dots from invading his vision…

“You’re having a panic attack, Steve, so I need you to take a deep breath. Can you do that for me? C’mon, sweetheart, just breathe.”

Bucky’s hand colliding with his bruised cheek and stunning him back to consciousness long enough for his best friend to practically shove a lit asthma cigarette between his lips…inhaling the smoke and clutching his ribs as his body was wracked with a violent coughing fit…calling out for his mother the moment he regained his breath, only to break down into heaving sobs when he remembered that she’d been gone for nearly six months…

“Steve, look at me.” The sudden feel of his fingers pressed against a soft warmth finally forced Steve’s eyes open; although he was crouched in the corner of his girlfriend’s living room instead of a dingy alleyway behind Bay Ridge’s Alpine Cinema, his chest was still heaving under the strain of regaining his breath and his entire body was trembling. He focused on the blurry figure and realized in a flash of fear that it was (Y/N) kneeling on the floor before him, looking calm and composed as she held his hand against the side of her neck and gently spoke to him. “Take a deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth, like this.” The historical-fiction novelist completed the breathing exercise and nodded in approval when he shakily copied her. “That’s it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. What are three things you can see?”

“You,” Steve automatically replied, making his girlfriend smile as his eyes darted around in search of two more items. “Sam’s bowl of wine corks…the lamp that you found at that estate sale a couple of weeks ago.”

“Good, good, but don’t forget to keep on breathing. What’re three things you can hear?”

He took another deep breath and released it before answering. “The rain falling on the rooftop above us…the refrigerator’s ice-maker refilling itself…the ticking of the clock in the entryway.”

(Y/N)’s eyes searched his and he spotted the flicker of trepidation that briefly flashed across them while she studied his features. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Now, can you touch three things for me and tell me what you feel?”

“Y-Yeah…” Steve swallowed thickly, his stiff fingers slowly flexing against the skin of his girlfriend’s neck as he focused on all he could feel. “Your pulse. It’s strong and steady. I can feel the warmth of the blood flowing through your veins.” Emboldened by her encouraging nod, he brought his other hand up to rest flat against his chest and stretched out his fingers along the material of his sweatshirt. “My sweatshirt’s soft, and my fingers catch on its embroidered logo…” He lowered his hand to touch the living room’s hardwood floor and winced at the unpleasant sensation. “The floor’s cold. All I can think about is the moment I crashed the Valkyrie into the ice.”

The historical-fiction novelist raised her arms but suddenly halted her movements. “Are you up for a hug right now?” Instead of answering, Steve wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight embrace; he buried his face in her neck and squeezed his eyes shut as her arms draped around his shoulders, savoring the weight of her warm body pressed against his and practically preening when her fingers rhythmically carded through his hair. “You can talk to me, Steve. Whatever it is you have to get off your chest, I’ll listen.” He could feel her press a kiss onto his hair. “And if you want to just sit here and enjoy the silence, then I’ll be more than happy to oblige you. I…I don’t want you to be afraid of letting me in; you deserve to feel safe enough to express yourself, sweetheart, no matter what.”

Steve didn’t know how long they sat there in silence before he rested his chin on her shoulder and stared unseeingly at her cozy living room as he finally found his voice. “The first thing that people told me after coming out of the ice was how lucky I was. They told me that surviving the crash and the ice was a blessing in disguise and that I’d have a shot at living a better life – and they were all so damn pleased with themselves as they were saying it, too, like they could claim that they did their one good deed for the day by convincing Captain America that he was better off in the 21st century – and none of ‘em could understand why I wasn’t as happy as the rest of the world was. Fury arranged for me to see a therapist, but I stopped going after the first appointment because I could see that it’d be more of the same ‘be grateful for what you’ve been given’ shit; there was no one I felt that I could talk to, and then after Loki and the Battle of New York happened…well, most everyone stopped trying to get to know me after that. The lack of any genuine companionship meant it was easier for me to hide and even numb my feelings, but when I found myself bonding with you and Nat and Sam, I…I started to become afraid of driving you all away.”

Steve pulled back far enough to meet (Y/N)’s eyes, only realizing he’d started to cry when her hands delicately cradled his face and her thumbs brushed his drying tear tracks away. “Were you afraid of how we’d react if you admitted that you still think about your old life?” There was no hint of judgement in her expression or hostility in her eyes, only patience and consideration, and Steve found himself silently appreciating his girlfriend’s kindhearted nature as he nodded. “Sweetheart, I want you to listen to me very carefully: depriving yourself of emotions is to deprive yourself of humanity. You’re human, Steve, and you’re allowed to feel however you feel. The people who love you love you for who you are and while I can’t speak for Sam or Nat, I want you to know that I’ll never, ever ask you to repress your emotions for my sake.”

“(Y/N)…” Steve softly started as one of his hands moved to caress her cheek. “No matter what, I’m always gonna have these memories of my life without you in my head. I have no way of knowing when or even if I’ll be settled into my new life. Doesn’t that…doesn’t that bother you?”

His girlfriend smiled patiently and shook her head before countering his question with one of her own. “If our roles were reversed and I was the one who’d come out of the ice instead, would you still love and accept me for who I am?”

“Of course I would, sunshine,” Steve replied with conviction.

“Then believe me when I say that I’ll always love and accept you, sweetheart, no matter what.” With tears beginning to well in her own eyes, (Y/N) leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto his forehead. “Please, please believe me.”

Steve’s heart nearly broke at the desperation that laced her plea and he hurriedly nodded. “I believe you, baby.” He gently coaxed her to look up and into his eyes; the unabashed love that he saw emanating from her tear-filled eyes melted something deep within him, encouraging him to rest his forehead against hers and brush the pad of his thumb along her flushed cheek. “I believe you.” They stayed there for an undetermined amount of time, with their arms wrapped around one another and their eyes closed while they relished the warmth of one another’s embrace and listened to the steady patter of rain outside. When Steve felt his heartbeat slow to its usual pace and his limbs stop their trembling, he trailed his hand down from his girlfriend’s cheek to rest against her chest, in the space directly over her heart; he wasn’t sure why, but the steady beating of her heart against his palm was soothing to him. “Thank you for helping me through all of that; if I’d gone through it alone, I’d still be spiraling right about now.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, about how often do you go through a panic attack?”

Opening his eyes, Steve considered her question for several moments as he took in the consideration that was written across her face. “A couple of times a month,” He replied with a wistful smile. “They started right after I came out of the ice, but they’ve been happening a little more frequently lately.”

(Y/N) offered him a sympathetic smile. “You know, I may not be a Certified Kick-Ass Counselor like Sam is but if I learned anything from working with him down at the VA, it’s that acknowledging your feelings can be a great first step towards healing.” He hummed thoughtfully and took in her words as her fingers smoothed down his rumpled hair. “When you start to feel another panic attack coming on, you can always give me a call and I’ll do whatever I can to help you through it, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“I’m not sure how it’ll live up to this…” Steve’s arms wound back around the historical-fiction novelist’s waist and pulled her in close with a content smile on his face. “But I promise you I will.” The familiar jingle of their local ten o’clock news sounded throughout the living room, causing him to give his girlfriend an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, we’re probably missing that screwball comedy marathon you wanted to watch, aren’t we?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just head down to Barnes & Noble one of these days and buy the Blu-Rays. Besides, I think that now’s the perfect time to introduce you to one of favorite comfort movies, but only if you’re up for it.”

Steve, touched by the consideration she was continuously showing for him and his mental health, swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed a chaste kiss onto her lips, pulling back after a moment with a playful grin. “I’m up for anything, so long as it’s with my best girl…and her world-famous Milk Duds-and-popcorn concoction, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” (Y/N) readily agreed as she fought the smirk of amusement that was threatening to spread across her face; after extricating herself from his embrace, she hopped to her feet and offered him her hand, lacing her fingers around his once he stood and leading him into the kitchen as she continued. “We’ll make my not-so-secret recipe, pop open another bottle of pricey wine, and then we’ll be all set to watch 1978’s Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band!”

“That’s the Beatles, right? So, does that mean the movie’s about the album?”

“…You’ll see.”

Needless to say, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was one of the strangest movies Steve had ever seen, but it was also one of the most entertaining movie-watching experiences he’d ever had; he chuckled at all of the corny yet earnest moments, watched in admiration as his girlfriend sang along to each and every one of the Beatles songs that played and even caught himself tearing up at the few emotional moments, all while indulging in some delicious popcorn and wine. Steve’s arms were holding (Y/N) close while they lounged across the couch and it was then, as the historical-fiction novelist in his arms sang her heart out to the film’s absurd yet catchy version of ‘Get Back,’ that he realized he felt more grounded in reality than he’d felt in a long, long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve was returning to his room in the Avengers Facility after a long intelligence briefing with the rest of the team when he spotted a box sitting in front of his suite’s locked door. I don’t remember ordering anything online, he thought to himself as he cautiously picked up the box and brought it inside; their mail was regularly scanned and checked for explosives and biological weapons upon arrival and while Steve was fond of bidding on used vinyl records on Ebay, he hadn’t logged into his account since well before his mission in Argentina.

“Please don’t be another ‘Over The Hill’ shirt from Tony,” He sighed under his breath, setting the package down onto his bed and retrieving his pocket knife from his dresser drawer.

Steve carefully sliced through the packing tape and pushed open the cardboard flaps, his head tilting to the side when his eyes landed on a misshapen bundle of bubble wrap inside. His interest piqued, he unfurled the piece of bubble wrap and his brows rose in surprise when a large stuffed black and white cow tumbled out onto his comforter; a small card was attached to the sky-blue bow around the stuffed animal’s neck, and he wasted no time in detaching it and reading its brief contents.

Sweetheart,

Meet Buttercup the Cow! I did a little research and found out that weighted stuffed animals can help reduce feelings of anxiety and even ground someone who’s experiencing a panic attack; whenever you begin to feel yourself spiraling or getting lost in your memories, hold Buttercup and imagine that I’m right there with you, giving you the biggest hug imaginable.

With all my love,

Your Sunshine

Steve’s eyes prickled with unshed tears as he placed the heartfelt note down on his dresser, right beside the framed sketch he’d drawn of his beautiful girlfriend long before they began to date. He picked up the stuffed cow and tested its weight in his hands before hugging it tight to his chest; he could already feel his shoulders relaxing and when he nuzzled his cheek against the soft fabric, he realized that the clever historical-fiction novelist had sprayed some of her perfume – Design by Paul Sebastian – onto the stuffed cow. Breathing in the familiar notes of tuberose and jasmine, Steve briefly closed his eyes as he smiled to himself and thought about how much he loved his girlfriend and her kind heart.

A brilliant idea suddenly came to Steve’s mind and after setting Buttercup down on his pillow, he pulled a jacket on, tucked his wallet into his back pocket and scooped up his motorcycle’s keys, hurrying out of his suite and down the hall to the common room; Sam was in the middle of making a sandwich while Wanda and Vision sat together on the sofa debating their favorite sitcoms, the counselor looking up from his half-made meal and flashing him a welcoming smile. “Hey, man, we’re gonna do a little team bonding and watch Modern Family while we eat lunch; you want a sandwich or a wrap?”

“Thanks for the offer, Sam, but I’ve gotta go run an errand,” Steve replied with an apologetic look and twirled his keys around his finger. “Do you happen to know where the nearest Barnes & Noble is?”

“Um, I think there’s one up in Kingston…?”

“1200 Ulster Avenue.” They both looked over at their android teammate as he nonchalantly continued. “According to all available data, the store sees low to moderate business around this time, and the traffic appears to be light.”

An impressed Steve gave him an appreciative nod. “Thanks, Vis.”

Their exchange caught Wanda’s attention, causing her to look up from her box set of DVD’s and arch a curious brow. “You usually detest going out on errands. Is everything all right?”

“Yep, I’ve just got some Blu-Rays I need to buy.” He flashed his befuddled teammates a grin as he brusquely headed out of the common room. “I’ll see you guys later!”

As he jogged down the steps and crossed their private parking lot towards his motorcycle, the cell phone in his pocket chimed; he swung his leg over and sat as he pulled his phone out to check his text messages, chuckling to himself after reading his friend’s brief message.

Sam: If you show up at Booksmart’s doorstep with a box set of old Cary Grant flicks, she just might ask you to marry her on the spot 😂

Glancing up towards the floor-to-ceiling window in the common room and spotting an amused Sam watching him, Steve grinned and gave the counselor a teasing salute before revving up the engine and taking off. I can’t think of a better outcome than that, he thought to himself as he sped down the road, a truly happy smile spreading across her face at the mental image of someday marrying the love of his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: And there we have it! I promise, the next one-shot will be a little happier and although I haven't decided which movie/show I wanna tackle next, I'm sure that little series will be happier too! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3ziGMhEsAw833GQ9eV44nR?si=6dfead09c76848d5 

Stumblin’ In Book VII: “Superhero Snapshots” Masterlist 

Stumblin’ In Book II: “Age of Ultron” Masterlist

Tagging:  @mrs-obrien​​​​​ @lahoete​​​​​ @awkward117 @cminr @natdrunk​​​​ @momc95​​​​​ @savedbystyle​​​​​ @miraculouscloud @awkwardnesshabitat​​​​​ @marinettepotterandplagg​​​​​ @mangosandmimosas @supersouthy @benakenalove​​​​​ @brooke0297​​​​​ @hufflepeople​​​​​ @becausewelie​​​​​ @outoftheregular​​​​​​ @junipermurdock​​​​​ @ladydmalfoy @mads-weasley​​​​​ @username23345@crist1216​​​​​ @capswife​​​​​ @lilmschild​​​​​ @avngrsinitiative @crowleysqueenofhell​​​​​ @y-napotat​​​ @mary1raven​​​​​ ​​​​​@groovy-lady @ljej95 @innersublimefury @prettysbliss

[lunarbuck]

Kinktober Week 1: Phone Sex

header: @jen-with-a-pen

Pairing: Sam Wilson x f!reader (any race)

Word Count: 692

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: phone sex, swearing, masturbation, pet names [baby, sweetheart]

my masterlist | kinktober masterlist | @lunarbucklibrary

Your phone rings, and you look around on the bed for the offending device. You try to have at least two hours of screen-free time a day, and today, you’ve spent that time reading. Your book rests against your chest as you see Sam’s photo flash on your screen. 

“Hello,” you grin. When Sam is off on a mission, he rarely has time to call, so you relish each opportunity to hear his voice.

“Hey, cutie, what’re you up to?” You can hear the roar of an engine in the background. He probably just got off the jet. Heat blooms in your chest, knowing that his first thought was to call you.

“Trying and failing to curb my screen addiction, what about you?” Sam laughs, the sound warm despite some distortion from the speaker. 

“Just thinkin’ about my girl.” You don’t miss the slight rasp in his voice, the way he practically growls the words. That heat in your chest migrates, warming you all the way to your belly. You press your thighs together, giving your clit the slightest bit of friction.

“Yeah? What about me?” Through the phone, you can hear Sam’s footsteps pick up speed before a door slams shut. His breaths come out ragged and rushed. He’s just as worked up as you are. Your book slides off your chest, falling shut, but you barely even notice.

“Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.” A smile tugs at your lips while you trail your fingers down your body underneath the blanket. “I’m thinking about your perfect body, your soft skin. The way you fit so perfectly against me.” You trace the band of your sleep shorts, gently teasing yourself the way Sam always does. It’s not quite the same, but with the rasp of his voice in your ear, you can almost imagine that he’s here.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper, dipping your fingers into your shorts to slide over the fabric of your panties. 

“Me too, baby. I’m so fucking hard right now. I love the way you suck my cock. Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, so fucking beautiful.” You hear the snick of a zipper on the other end and shuffle your shorts down your legs. “Are you gonna touch yourself, baby? You gonna make yourself feel good until I get home?”

You whimper in response, circling your clit with your finger.

“Such a good girl for me, sweetie. If I were there, you know I’d be in between your legs, eating that perfect pussy of yours. I’d slide my fingers inside and warm you up for my cock just the way you like.” Your fingers follow your imagination, pressing inside your warm entrance. They’re not as big as Sam’s, but you still moan when you hit those spots.

“You sound so beautiful, baby. Keep fucking yourself on your fingers, just like that. I’m aching for you, sweetheart.” Your fingers are slick as they slide in and out of your pussy, but you want more. You manage to hit the speaker button and position your phone on your pillow to free up your other hand. You circle your clit while you fuck yourself, the sensations slowly working you toward your orgasm.

“Sam, I need you,” you moan, wishing it was his cock filling you, stretching you. You wish he was here, pressing you down into the mattress with his big, calloused hands. You wish you were grabbing onto his muscular shoulders, hanging onto him for dear life.

“I need you too, baby. I need you to come for me, please, baby. Need to hear you come.” You apply more pressure to your clit, imagining it’s Sam, and you screw your eyes shut. His cologne lingers on the pillow, and you inhale deeply as your orgasm barrels toward you.

You come moaning his name, electricity shooting through your body. Sam follows close behind, rasping your name as he comes. You suck in deep breaths and go limp against the mattress. 

“Shit,” you giggle, smiling to yourself. “Somehow, I miss you even more now.”

“I’ll be home soon, baby. Promise.”

i am discontinuing my taglist. please follow @lunarbucklibrary and turn on notifications to be notified when i post new writing. must be 18+

[krirebr]

All Things Go 1

Pairing: Alpha Steve Rogers x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Summary: It's been a few months since Steve was pulled out of the ice and immediately had to fight aliens with the newly formed Avengers. He is doing fine with all that, all things considered. Which is why he's so upset when he's suddenly benched from missions and forced to welcome a support omega into his home. He's fine!

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), panic attack, disassociation flashback, Steve actually having to deal with the PTSD and depression and anxiety he would so clearly have if he'd been through everything in the MCU, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, possible slow burn - we'll see All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Oh boy. Here I am. Back on my angsty bullshit. This story was kickstarted by this ask. It's an inverse of the program at the center of Still Life, but not in the same universe.

This idea was helped along a ton by @stellar-solar-flare who helped me overcome my fear of writing a mostly canon compliant Steve and dipping my toes into an Avengers AU.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Steve checked his watch for a third time as he paced around his apartment. It was bad enough that he had to indulge this ridiculous idea, but she was late on top of it. Four minutes, now. He’d been pacing for the last fifteen. He’d tried to sit down while he waited, but the buzz of the adrenaline just under his skin had been too strong. 

It was the disrespect, that’s what it was, that really bothered him in her tardiness. That was going around lately. A whole team that refused to listen to him. And then had the gall to go to Fury behind his back after what happened during the last mission. And yes, of course, it was all couched in concern. But he saw it for what it was: a mutiny. And he’d been benched because of it. From all missions for the foreseeable future. So what was he supposed to do now? Thawed out 70 years in the future just to be stranded without a purpose.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the worst part was now six minutes late. A support omega. He’d scoffed right in Fury’s face when he’d “suggested” it. Of all the stupid, 21st-century things he’d encountered, this took the cake. Like there could possibly be some base alpha part of him that was so broken it could only be soothed by an omega with a degree in psychology. Ridiculous. He was fine!

But it’d been the kind of suggestion that didn’t come with the option to say no. Not if he ever wanted to get back on the team. So fine. He’d play nice, show her there was nothing wrong, and get her to sign off on him going back into the field. He’d be back in action in just a few days. And then he might be able to breathe again.

As he was about to start another lap of his living room, the doorbell finally chimed. He took a moment, so as not to seem like he’d been standing right next to it. Then he took a deep breath, pasted on that Captain America smile, and opened the door. “Hi,” he said, immediately stepping aside to give you room. “Come on in.”

“Captain Rogers,” you said with your own big smile as you introduced yourself, then picked up your valise from the ground beside you and stepped into his apartment. You were sharply dressed, professional. In how you held yourself, too. But your eyes were warm. And you were beautiful. It reminded him of some of the nicer omegas Buck used to go out with. There was a sharp pang in his chest. Like always, he ignored it. 

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” you continued. As if he’d had any sort of choice. “I’m so sorry I’m late. The security checks took longer than I’d expected.”

“No problem at all,” he said. Ten whole minutes. “I hadn’t even noticed. Here, let me put your bag in the room I set aside for you.”

“Oh, a guest room?” you asked. He stopped at your question, a little confused. Where else would you sleep? “That’s very thoughtful of you. I’ll definitely appreciate having my own space. But, sleeping arrangements are something we can discuss and customize to fit our goals. Sharing a bed can be really helpful if sleep is something you’re struggling with.”

Absolutely not. No. Definitely not. “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” he demurred. “With the serum, I really don’t require much sleep,” he called down to you as he quickly took your bag to the small guest room he’d finally furnished because he had to have somewhere to put you. It’d never occurred to him you’d want to share his bed. Did people really do that?

When he came back into the living room, you were still hovering by the door, your messenger bag slung over your shoulder and your hands clasped in front of you. You were looking around, taking in the blank walls, spartan furniture. Judging him probably. Well, it’s not like he’d had much time to decorate in between saving the world. What did any of that matter? “Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?” he asked.

“No, I’m fine,” you said, with a benign smile that seemed aggressively professional. “If you don’t mind, I’d love if we could sit and chat for a few minutes before we move on to anything else.” 

“Of course,” he said, with his own benign smile, as he gestured to the two couches that had come with the apartment. He waited for you to sit in one and then took a seat in the other, a mass-produced coffee table covering the chasm between you.

“First,” you said, your hands resting neatly in your lap, “I just wanted to make sure that my scent is one you’re comfortable having in your home on a long-term basis. I know that the real thing can sometimes be a little different than the sample you based your choice off of.”

Steve had just randomly grabbed one from the box he’d been presented with. He’d thrown it at Fury with a grumbled, “That one’s fine,” as he left the small room they’d given him to make his choice. He’d never even opened it.

He only got a vague hint of it now, sitting across the room from you. Floral maybe. He didn’t bother to take a deep breath, to catalogue it. You’d only be here for a few days max. Not enough time for your scent to permeate. So, it didn’t really matter what he thought about it.

“Yes, it’s fine,” he nodded at you.

“Good,” you said, your smile becoming slightly more genuine. “Well, first I can take a few minutes to talk through what it is we’re going to be doing here. I'm sure you've already gotten the whole spiel, but it might be helpful to hear it from my perspective. Get a feel for how I do things.”

You paused like you were waiting for a response so he nodded along. “Sure, sounds great.” He already knew what the program was. He already knew he didn’t need it. This was a waste of time.

“Mostly, I’m just here to help you as an alpha get back to feeling like your most grounded, best self. Stability and comfort are mainly what I’m here to provide. Listening and guidance too, if that’s what you want. This is fully customizable, very collaborative. I’m not a therapist, but I do have my masters in behavioral psychology. And I’ve been doing this for a while now. So whatever you throw at me, I can handle it. Basically, this arrangement can look like whatever the two of us want it to look like. The biggest requirement, on both sides, is honesty.”

He leaned forward. This was the in he’d been waiting for. “I really appreciate that. And I do want to be completely honest with you. I don’t want to waste your time. The truth is, this is unnecessary. I think people expect me not to adjust well, so they’re treating me like I’m not. But really, I’m fine. I’m doing fine. And I just don’t think I’m going to get much from this.” 

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at him curiously with your lips pursed. At one point, your eyes flicked down to where his hand was resting on his knee. Could you see the way it shook? His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d come out of the ice. He straightened it out so it laid flat on the denim of his jeans, willing it to be still. That didn’t mean anything.

Finally, your eyes left him as you turned to your messenger bag, pulling out a thin file. “Do you mind,” you asked, “if we talk about some of the concerns your team has for you?”

Steve’s jaw ticked. Not for. About. Fury had already done this. “I know their concerns. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

You shrugged casually, like it didn’t much matter to you either way. “I think it could be instructive to what we’re trying to do here.”

“Fine,” he ground out, but you didn’t react to his tone. You just opened the file. Before you had a chance to say anything, he leaned forward and spat out, “Listen, I know what’s in there. They think I don’t listen to anyone. That I’m a bad leader. That my plans are too risky. That I can’t keep anyone safe. Did I get everything?”

You bobbed your head a little, your expression impassive, your voice soft. “Not exactly. They did say that you refuse to listen to people. But they never said anything about you being a bad leader. Or not keeping them safe. They said the thing you’re most likely to risk on these missions is yourself. They’re worried about you.” He couldn’t hold in his scoff and you paused to look him in the eye. “Do you really jump out of planes without a parachute?”

He felt his eyes go a little wide like he’d been caught, doing what exactly, he wasn’t quite sure. He shook his head. “No, that’s not– You know what’s in my veins. If I were a normal man, sure, that’d be suicidal. But I have more strength, better reflexes, I heal faster. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

Your brow furrowed as you leaned forward too. “But, you still get injured, don’t you? Even if it doesn’t last as long. You still feel all that pain. Steve,” and the way you said his name, for the first time, different somehow than the way any omega had ever said it before, he felt it like a knife to the heart, “why would you want to put yourself through feeling all that if you didn’t have to?”

He was up off the couch before he even realized it. The room was suddenly smaller than it’d been a minute ago. His mind was racing and he didn’t know why or how to make it stop.

“Captain Rogers.” You were standing right in front of him, holding your hands up at your chest, your palms out. “I’m sorry Captain, I didn’t mean to push. Are you alright?” All he could do for the moment was blink at you. “Hey, how ‘bout you take a deep breath with me, ok? A slow breath in through your nose.” 

He followed your lead and took a deep breath in. And, oh. He was struck by the scent of you. Lilacs and oranges. You smelled like spring.

“And out through your mouth,” you said quietly and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled slowly and you smiled. “Do you want to take a break?” you asked softly. “I have a few more questions, but I don’t need to ask them right now.”

He shook himself out of whatever daze he’d been in. “No,” he said, standing up straighter. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.” 

He sat back down on the couch, but you hadn’t moved yet. “Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yes. I’m fine. Let’s go.” It was only at the look on your face, that he realized how short he’d been. He took a breath. “Sorry,” he said, forcing some calm into his tone. “I’d like to keep going.”

“Okay,” you nodded and finally sat back down across from him. You opened your folder again. “You were a little… vague in your intake questionnaire. So, if you're able, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell me a little about what you’ve been going through, how you’ve been feeling.”

He fidgeted a little in his seat and he saw you clock it. He stilled himself, then said, with as casual an air as he could muster, “If I was vague, it’s only because there really isn’t much to report. I’ve been fine.” He was using that word too much. He knew it. But he didn’t know how else to say it.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “It’s just, on paper? You’ve been through a lot in what must feel like a very short amount of time. And that’s just the widely reported stuff. What’s in the history books and on the news. It would be understandable if you were struggling. Anyone would be.”

“Well, I’m not anyone, am I?” he snapped. 

“No, you’re not,” you said slowly, calmly, and he hated how unflappable you were. “You’re a hero.” He just barely stopped his lip from curling up into a snarl at that. He’d had enough. “But–”

“Listen, I just need to get back in the field, okay? I just need another mission. That’s all I need. We don’t have to– None of this will be necessary if I can just get back out there. I understand that you’re a professional and you’ll want to seem thorough, so we can wait a few days. But I’m fine and that’s what I need you to tell Fury. If the team doesn’t want to work with me right now, that’s– that’s okay. I’ll do solo missions. Whatever they want. I just need to get back out there.” He was pleading by the end of it. He could hear it in his voice. But this was important. He needed you to understand.

You just sat there for a moment, staring at him, your brow furrowed. “I–” you started. “I think there may have been a misunderstanding, Captain Rogers.”

“Steve,” he corrected, “please.”

“Steve, I–” you paused, your lips pursed. “I’m sorry, whether or not you eventually get back on the team, that doesn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t work for SHIELD. I can’t make that decision.”

“What? No. Yes, you do. You can tell Fury that I’m fit for duty.”

“Steve. I work for a support omega agency. I’ve helped a few agents before, but I don’t know Commander Fury. I’m not here to report back to anyone. I’m just here to help you.”

All he could do was shake his head. No, this wasn’t right. There had to be a way to get back to work. You had to be the key.

“I’ve been contracted for a three month period, with the option to extend as needed. I thought this had all been explained to you. I–” You looked at him, pained, like you were willing him to understand 

  ‘Three months to start’ had been said to him at some point in this whole process, but he hadn’t thought that’d been serious. He’d been sure there was a way around it. Sure that you were the way.

He wouldn’t be able to survive three months. That he was sure of. Not without something to do. Not without a purpose. Not without something to fight. The room was getting smaller again. Closing in on him. All of that time stretching out ahead of him, without any purpose, without any point to him. It was all closing in on him.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. It didn’t do anything. Didn’t get him any air. There wasn’t any air. He was pinned down. Under all the water. Under all that ice. He was so cold and he couldn’t breathe.

“Steve!”

He was distantly aware of someone calling his name, but no one would be able to get to him. He was too far under. There was too much ice. He’d done too much.

“Steve. Hey, Steve! I’m here with you. I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.”

No, that couldn’t be right. He was alone. All alone and–

Lilacs. How was he smelling lilacs? And oranges. Fresh and bright. Spring.

He blinked his eyes open. He didn’t know when he’d shut them. He was huddled on the floor in front of the couch. In the living room. You were kneeling in front of him, your hands held out in front of you, not making contact, but one of your wrists was extended. Right under his nose. 

When he made eye contact with you, you exhaled, like maybe you’d been holding your breath. “Hi,” you said, relieved. “You back with me?”

All he could do was blink at you, at first. Then he looked around. The blank walls. The prefab furniture. The apartment. He hated this place. He looked back at you. “Yeah.” It came out in a croak. “I– Yeah.”

“Is it alright if I touch you?” you asked, inching closer. “You can say no.”

He shook his head without even thinking. “Please.”

As you reached out to touch him, hug him, maybe, he collapsed into you. You let out a little “oof” but didn’t pull away. You just wrapped your arms around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched, really touched, like this. Not just in passing. Not in battle. Before the ice. Decades. Everything had been decades. 

His eyes were wet and he was so so tired. He felt wrenched open. Emptied out like there was nothing left. He exhaled in your arms and with it came a whisper, completely out of his control. “I just want to go home.”

You didn't say anything, but your grip on him tightened.

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