#Nomad Steve Rogers

[chxrryhansen]

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nomad steve is a big fat fuckin MUNCH. idc idc idc. nobody can change my mind. that man eats pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. he is STARVED.

you wake up? his head is in between your thighs. your working? he wants you to sit on his face while you do it. your doing the dishes? best believe that man is on his knees tongue deep inside your pussy desperate to have you cream all over his face. making comments like

“you just looked so good baby i couldn’t help it, had to get a taste of you”

“you like it when daddy sucks on your clit while you finish your chores? yeah? fuckin dirty girl”

“fuck honey, cum in daddy’s mouth, come on give it to me”

“pussy tastes like fuckin heaven”

one thing he does not stand for is hovering. when he tells you to sit on his face, he means sit on it. he’ll be grabbing your hips, pulling you down onto his face, his rough beard rubbing against your thighs while his tongue explores your dripping heat and you know damn well he eats it in the morning so he can smell your pussy on his facial hair during the day, his tongue darting out to lick over his moustache, savouring the taste of your juices.

your spread missionary as he suckles and nibbles on your clit, his fingers fucking into you at a desperate pace, missing the taste of your cream even though he’s already had you twice today, his mouth opening wide as you writhe and squirt on his tongue, watching him as he moans and grunts, his hips rocking into the mattress beneath him as he fills his boxers with hot n sticky ropes of cum

“jesus christ” he breathes, “got me cumming in my pants like a damn teenager sweet girl, thats how fuckin good your pussy tastes.”

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[buckets-and-trees]

When He First Got Me

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader Word Count: 2200 Summary: Prequel in the Exiled Nomad Series. July 3, 2017. Steve sees you at a city festival for the Fourth of July, but he's not content with only seeing...

Content/Warnings: explicit smut, vaginal fingering, kissing, rough sex, emotional unavailability, a broken Nomad who thinks he's fine but definitely is not

Author Notes: IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ ANY OF THE REST OF THIS SERIES. True stand-alone prequel. A little something for Steve's birthday weekend... This will be a bit of a darker indulgence for @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar challenge: mint chocolate chip (involving a loner), sprinkles (birthday and 4th of July), cherries (meet-cute), and we'll even say some caramel (because Steve is not quite in a great headspace if we're being honest). AND I'm entering this for @witchywithwhiskey's Slasher Summer writing challenge: carnival/fair, slight stalker (but not fully), and I bolded the dialogue prompt that I used.

Steve didn’t feel like he could breathe easily, but he did feel like he could breathe here. Nothing like New York or DC. A place small enough not to be noticed but big enough to blend in without drawing attention as a stranger.

Being invisible somewhere had been easier than carving out the opportunity to do so solo over the 4th of July – less because it was America’s Birthday and more because it was his. Steve had suggested Wanda finally reconnect with Vision (they’d been on the run long enough, it should be safe for her to reach out and discreetly stay off the grid). The case he made to Sam was that he’d been on the run for over a year, and the 4th was less expected for a sentimental return to stop in on family but would still afford a holiday’s community celebrations and to give him reasonable cover to slip in and out. Nat hadn’t needed convincing. She saw, asked if he was sure, but understood without him needing to explain, and said she had things of her own that she’d take care of.

He just didn’t want any of the fuss of them trying to make him feel better on his birthday.

Steve was sitting on a shaded grassy knoll in the city park, hundreds of people around him, all weaving in and out of booths with games, vendors, and food, a vibrant temporary set up for a few days around the 4th, and on the far side of the park the sounds of carnival rides underscored it all.

He hadn’t come to this place to find someone.

But the moment he first noticed you, the plans started forming in his head before he could stop them.

And why should he stop them?

As he alternated between sketching in his notebook and people-watching, people watching turned into watching only you – you wandering this place clearly alone. Must be on your own in this city.

It would be so easy to harmlessly bump into you.

So he did.

When you recognized him, he could easily use the moment to draw you into keeping his presence in such a public place secret, getting you to trust him by him “trusting you” with his secret.

And he did.

He could easily ask if there were any good places to eat in town, then ask if you would join him.

He did, and you did.

After walking you home, it would be so easy to get you to invite him in, an afternoon and evening of conversation, compounding moments, and more and more casual touches on your arm, your shoulder, the small of your back, the back of your hand, having your body attune to him.

And it worked.

You hesitated, but invite him in you did.

And he tried for a moment to convince himself that being invited in had been all he wanted – to be someplace that wasn’t a stolen moment or a hotel room or a safe house that itself wasn’t very safe, just to be someplace private, someplace normal, someplace that felt like home.

But that was not the only thing he wanted.

And why shouldn’t he take the rest of what he wanted? After everything, didn’t he deserve it?

You didn’t notice that he locked the door behind him. You’d been apologizing for the state of your place, though after a quick glance around, he assured you it only looked lived in, not a mess.

Not like the mess he was so eager to make you into beneath him.

After insisting you didn’t need to get anything for him, he sat on your couch. He told you how nice it was just to sit there, nowhere to be, no reason to hide, how tired he was of running. You listened; you soothed him. He leaned in and kissed you.

You kissed him back.

All he did was kiss you until you leaned back on the couch and urged him along with you.

He let his chest press into your deliciously soft body. He groaned into the kiss, and you opened your mouth to his. This kisss grew in fervor, tongues exploring and tangling with each other. His hand ran up and down your thigh, slowly coaxing you to hitch it up around his waist. You moaned when he ground gently against your core – gentle only to test the waters. His need was mounting exponentially, and he knew the damn would break soon. He intended to let it.

He moved his lips from your mouth to your shoulder, kissing there before teasing his lips and teeth and tongue along your collar bone to the sensitive point of your neck. You sighed in bliss, and he moved his hand back up your thigh, over your hip, across your stomach, undid the top button he found there, and started to reach into your jeans.

Your breath hitched, and your hands flew to his.

“Steve, wait,” you said.

But you didn’t say stop.

He waited.

He could hear the wild racing of your heart beneath him.

The pressure of your hands on his body didn’t change, no part of you shifted to move away. Your eyes closed, the only sign of your reticence were your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Steve slid his hand down to cup your pussy and his fingers found the wetness growing there that he expected. You let out a shuddering breath as his fingers worked your labia, but he didn’t linger there. He pulled his fingers out and then pushed them into your mouth.

“Neither of us wants to wait,” he snarled as you licked your slick from the pads of his fingers. “And it’s summer, we’re supposed to be having fun.”

Super soldier serum running through his veins, Steve picked you up with ease, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, while he held one of your thighs and pressed his other hand at the base of your spine, pinning you securely to him while he captured your lips to kiss you again.

He easily found your bedroom, and he lowered you to the bed in a kneeling position. He didn’t relent in his kissing, devouring you, demanding your supplication. He only broke off the kiss once you were breathless, moaning, and pulling at his clothes. Then he stepped back and told you to undress. Steve quicky removed all his own clothing while keeping his eyes on you. You only removed your shirt and jeans, leaving you in your underwear, but he could work with that for now. He’d have you willing to shed the rest soon enough.

Steve got up on the bed with you, pleased that he could see your eyes darkening with the lust and the want. He recognized exactly the kind of want he was dealing with – it was how he imagined he would have behaved before living the harsh life of denial he’d lived while exiled and on the run for the past year. The old him would have wanted but been hesitant, gone slow, paid attention to more of the dance before even getting into bed.

He didn’t have the luxury of time or the patience for that.

He only had an insatiable need that he’d pushed down and ignored – ignored for years even before becoming Nomad. He’d denied himself so many things, sacrificed for others, for missions, too many legitimate and imagined reasons holding him back.

He wouldn’t hold back now.

But he would coax you into needing him as much as he needed you.

You only glanced at his naked groin with a moment of hesitance as he pulled you into his lap, but you still let him. He resumed your kissing, and you were quick to continue making out with him. He allowed you take the reins to steer the kissing, letting you lap up at the pace you wanted. He let his hands roam over your back as he eased you along, seemingly unhurried. But his hands soon made their way to your hips, and he secured his grip there and began grinding you down against his hard cock. He moaned unabashedly into your mouth as he adjusted the angle of your hips and continued rocking your core against him.

He was insistent on torturing you where your most intimate parts met until, clinging to his shoulders, you threw your head back, gasped for air.

“Steve,” you keened his name, clearly in the early stages of sweet ruin that he wanted.

He smirked against your neck and laid you down on your back with deceptive sweetness. He kissed slowly down your chest, between your breasts, down over your belly button. His fingers hooked into the top of your panties just as his lips arrived at the top of that fabric, and he peeled them down and fully off your legs. Your fingers worked anxiously over the sheets beneath you as he made you wait for him to touch you more.

His hands opened your legs back up, pushing at your knees to splay you open like a butterfly beneath his attention.

He worked both of his thumbs up and down over your labia, smearing your cunt with your juices, studying what he was about to claim and ruin. Then he looked up at your face and said, “This is mine now, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” your voice was soft, nervous, but also eager.

It hadn’t actually been a question, but he wanted you to say it out loud.

The only question was how he wanted to take you first.

Since he planned on taking you in every way, he went with the most convenient first, easing his cock into you slowly, but with no apologies for how thick he was, pressing into you despite the resistance – not that of a virgin, but of a cunt that had never taken a cock so big before. You cried out – but he knew the tone of it was pain drenched with bliss, he could hear it. What’s more, when he was fully sheathed inside you, he waited, unmoving. He watched your chest rise and fall with a few breaths. When you finally shifted your hips against his, he knew he had won. You wanted more. The beast inside of him surged in satisfaction, and then he began to aggressively thrust in and out of your tight channel.

He leaned forward, and your knees hitched up around his waist to urge him on. You clawed at his back, and when he reached between your bodies and found your swollen clit, he rubbed furious circles over it until he was rewarded with the clenching of your cunt around him, the seizing up of every muscle in your body, as he delivered your first orgasm of the night.

He continued pumping in and out of your spasming cunt until he was right at the edge, then pulled out and fisted his cock with only two more strokes before releasing hot ribbons of cum over your stomach.

Your fingers inched hesitantly toward the mess, and he put his hand over yours and pushed your fingers and his through the mess, pressing it into your skin. Then he moved your hands away and lowered his body down onto yours, the sticky spend between your skin and his there.

“I…” you started, but then paused.

He slipped his other hand beneath your head, cradling it in his palm. “Mmm?” he hummed against the spot behind your ear.

“I’m clean and have an IUD.”

He groaned and nipped at your neck. “You want me to continue to fuck you more. You want me to cum inside you.”

“Yes, Steve,” you simpered.

“Mmm, such a good girl,” he pressed a hot kiss against your neck, then rolled off being on top of you, and to his side next to you. “Best give you what we both want, then,” he said as he turned you onto your side, back pressed to his chest, and felt below to press his dick into your hole again.

Hours later when its far past midnight, you’ve passed out from exhaustion.

Or at least that’s what he thought.

But when he slipped back onto your bed after taking a piss, you scooted your body in next to him, put your hand on his chest, and muttered the sleepiest, “Happy birthday,” to him he’d ever heard. He almost wondered how you knew switching from the third to the fourth meant it was his day, but then he remembered the time when seemingly everyone knew it was Cap’s birthday.

While he wasn’t Cap anymore, it still struck something in him and made his chest warm.

But he didn’t feel like you would make a big deal out of it or make him feel bad and that maybe it would be nice to be with someone on his birthday, so he decided to stay. He told himself it was to be distracted chasing more bliss with your body. He ignored the other thoughts working through his mind. He only wanted – only needed – the distraction. Nothing else.

NEXT: July 4, 2017. read more Exiled Nomad Series

I'M GLAD Steve's POV won in the poll I ran earlier this week... clearly since I made the poll my muse was leaning heavy towards it anyway, but this was certainly illuminating to see more of where Steve's head is at in this ... situationship.

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[rogersideup]

I'd like to drop a prompt:

The avengers have a night off in Las Vegas after a mission. Thor makes sure Cap has his fair share of Asgardian liquor so Steve ends up drunk and wanders off alone. He meets our dear reader who just got dumped by her friend group and is equally drunk. They hit it off and decide to get married. The next morning both of them are confused but decide to make it work as memories of the night before come back to them. (Surprise surprise dear reader is from New York too)

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Steve Rogers X Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Steve gets himself into some trouble while having a night off in the city of sin.

Word Count: 4,717

Warning: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Miss?"

Flashing lights separated and splayed through the drying tears in your watery eyes, music and ringing from hundreds of slot machines overstimulated your senses as you simultaneously pulled your dress up and down in different places.

"Excuse me miss? Can I get you something to drink?"

Coming back to your senses, you turned around to face the bartender. "Yeah, uh..." really, you tried your hardest to think of something, literally anything to help move along the buzz you were already riding but no proper words made it to your brain. "Sorry. I'm not sure what I want. Can you just make it strong and fruity?"

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed, already grabbing bottles off the shelf.

Watching him masterfully work helped you zone out and relieved all of your overwhelmed senses. Pouring, shaking, more pouring, a garnish, then a fruity elixir of a bunch of liquids you most definitely could not pronounce was placed right in front of you atop a cocktail napkin. Not a single drop was spilled, even the ice was perfect.

Reaching into your purse, you handed the bartender your card and shouted to try and compete with the volume of drunken gamblers and rolling dice. "You can close the tab."

"Don't worry about it. This one's on the house, you look like you need it." He kindly denied your form of payment.

You chuckled to yourself. "That bad, huh?"

"No, but I know a sad chick when I see one." He noted. "Happens pretty often in Vegas."

"Well, thank you, I appreciate it." You raised the glass. "Cheers to you and all the bartenders making the world go round."

"Amen to that" He smiled before walking off to serve yet another drunken customer.

You sat at the bar on a little leather stool fully contemplating how you ended up in this situation as you looked out into the hotel casino and nursed your drink. It didn't take long for you to realize that the Vegas bartenders didn't take the word strong as a joke. Because every sip stung your throat and swirled your thoughts around in slow motion.

The speed at which your thoughts came at you didn't help the fact that every single one of them revolved around nothing but yourself.

What were you going to do now? Where should you go from here?

Drinking wasn't the answer, but not drinking wasn't the solution. Finding shelter in the Caesars Palace hotel was a good enough temporary fix to your problems, so you ignored that you were on the complete opposite side of the Las Vegas strip that you actually needed to be on.

However, getting to your hotel on the complete opposite side was the problem. Your shitty friends completely ditched you, or maybe you ditched them. The details were all so unclear, but the fact was they were all making stupid choices and you couldn't stand to stick around long enough to see the end results of them.

But now you were all done up in high heels and a small little dress in a city you had never been in before, notorious for sex, drugs and alcohol. Luckily, pepper spray in your purse and a back pocket full of self defense techniques that have been drilled into your head ever since you were a little girl were amongst some of the better choices you made tonight.

Then came along all of the dumber choices you would make tonight in the form of yet another fruity drink, and a tall, blonde man looking painfully confused at the roulette table right in front of you.

He was tall and broad, even more handsome than the massive statues of Roman men all around the hotel. But much like the statues around you, he looked like he was carved from marble. The muscles you could see sculpted through his suit jacket could've only been a result of a piece of fine art.

It was easy to pick up his wholesome sweetness behind his big blue eyes, that also did a lot to tell you how drunk the man was. He towered over the table and watched a few rounds, trying his hardest to understand what was happening. Much like him, you watched the ball spin round and round before landing in a slot.

Some of the players would moan and groan at their fate, while others would cheer happily and exchange loud laughter and high-fives.

Mesmerized by the game, you missed the glances the blonde man snuck of you. He really couldn't help it though. His friends had left him all alone while his capacity to make good decisions was at an all time low, and you were just so pretty and maybe a bit sad.

Another round was about to start, so the dealer started taking bets. Everyone around the table started placing their chips on a color and number, and the blonde was still confused.

He looked around again before his eyes met yours, and a stupid invasive smile smeared across your lips. When he noticed your friendly demeanor, he took a few stumbles over to you.

"Do you have any idea how to play this?" The man asked you.

Now you could smell the expensive yet deliciously pleasant cologne he was wearing, and you could take in all the details of his black suit.

Giggling at his cluelessness, you swallowed down the sip of cocktail in your mouth. "I do. Would you like some help?"

"I'm assuming you have to guess if the ball lands on red or black?" He asked as his lopsided smile and squinted eyes told you everything you needed to know about his sobriety... or lack there of.

"That's exactly it, good job." You nodded. "But you can also guess the number, or a group of numbers it'll land on. The payout at the end is based on how accurate your bet is."

"So what should I bet?" He asked you, having already built a strong sense of trust for you in the few minutes he had been observing.

"Oh no, that's not up to me." You shook your head before taking another sip of your drink. "You gotta trust your own gut."

The man's eyes darted around the table once more before his arms motioned to it. "But look around! All of these men have pretty girls telling them what to do, and that's why they're all winning money. You guys are so much smarter than us, and I'm alone so I need you to tell me. Red or black."

Usually, a statement like that from a man like him would have you rolling your eyes and cutting the conversation short. However, either your gut or the alcohol was telling you that he wasn't an asshole.

For some reason, you felt calm and comfortable in his presence all while being unable to wipe the dumb smile off your face. Something about his hair that was once perfectly styled now being a little jostled, and the twinge of pink in his cheeks made him seem so distantly familiar.

"Well thank you for that backhanded compliment." You laughed. "I think you should bet red."

He nodded, trusting your opinion far more than he trusted himself. "Should I place a more specific bet too?"

You thought for a moment, but you were in Vegas so... fuck it. "Yeah. Give me your chip"

The man happily placed the roulette chip into your hand, you stood up in one big sweep and started walking away from the bar. "Woah, don't leave your drink!"

Pleasantly surprised that he had your best interest in mind, you mumbled out a statement of gratitude as he handed the glass to you too. Approaching the table, looked at it for a few moments and tried your hardest to contemplate the best number to place a bet on, but once again no rational thoughts occupied the empty spaces of your brain.

So, you threw the chip on your favorite number, lucky 25.

"There ya go!" You used your free hand to pat the man's shoulder. "Good luck, Blondie."

"What happens if I win?" He asked you, smiling as you let your hand linger. Even with your highest heels on, you were nowhere near as tall as him.

"Then it's your lucky day, and you'll get a shit ton of money." You giggled at his question.

"And if I lose?"

"Then you're unlucky and you're about to lose some money." You snorted.

"That's not going to happen, you're my good luck charm." He declared.

"I don't think anything about my night tonight is radiating lucky energy, so I doubt that."

"What? No way! I feel like I've been the luckiest guy in the whole world today, so maybe I'm your good luck charm."

"I guess we will let the roulette wheel speak the truth of the universe tonight." You shrugged.

"Should we place our own bets on the bet?" The man asked.

"Like what?" You questioned, hoping this wasn't the moment the sweet stranger turned weird and pervy.

"I think if I lose I should probably call it a night and go back to my room because this is the drunkest I've been in probably 80 years." He stated. However, his words flew over your head figuring his drunken words were exaggerated, and you found yourself to be a little sad that your time with the stranger would be cut short so soon.

"I think if you win, you should stay out for a little while and have another drink with me." You smiled, going way out of your own comfort zone.

If you were sober, or maybe even drunk in a bar anywhere other than Las Vegas, you would've been caught dead before being caught to be so bold. But he was pulling you in faster than you've ever felt, and something about him felt so natural and warm.

"Deal." He agreed.

"Look, they're about to spin the wheel." You pointed at the table.

The dealer spun the wheel, and the ball was moving so fast that you could barely even follow it. Even as it slowed down and started to tease each individual slot, the motion of following the sphere going round and round was quite honestly making you a bit dizzy, so you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

"No way." The blonde stated. "No fucking way!"

His arm wrapped around you from behind and his big warm hands very gently shook the tops of your arms. "Look! It's on red! I can't see the number, but it's on red!"

You giggled and tried your best to keep your balance as he shook you around. When you opened your eyes you could see that the drink in your hand was sloshing around and spilling over onto the impeccably maintained carpet beneath your feet. But the loss of some of your drink was a small price to pay when the dealer picked the ball up out of the wheel and announced "25 Red!"

Simultaneously, you and Blondie let out little screeches in surprise and joy when you realized you had actually placed a winning bet. In all your years on this planet, nothing like this had ever happened to you. You never even won $5 on a penny slot, let alone a fat wad of cash that was being placed into the man's hands.

After the cheering celebration and laughter died down, he turned to you. "See! I knew you were lucky!"

"You trusted your intuition, and you won!" You noted with a smile so big and long lasting it was starting to make your cheeks sore. "Good job."

"Here! This is yours." He placed the wad of cash in your hands.

"What? No. You bet your own money, it's yours." Not being able to accept it, especially when you saw it was all $100 bills.

"No it's yours! You placed the winning bet, you knew the magic number so I want you to have it." He explained kindly. "You said nothing about your night was lucky, so consider this your sign from the universe."

"I can't just accept all of this money from a complete stranger." You denied once more. "You're very sweet, I would feel so guilty taking this from you."

"Fine, if you can't accept the money for yourself, how about we go spend it together?" He offered. "I owe you another drink anyways, then after that the Las Vegas strip is our oyster!"

"That's a little better" You agreed with a smile. "I'm sorry, I didn't even get your name."

"O-oh!" The man seemed to be taken back by that statement for a second. A look of momentary confusion furrowed his eyebrows before a happy smile returned to his kind face. "Sorry, I'm Steve!"

You made a small mental note of his initial shock that you asked for his name, but your drunken brain didn't hold onto that for very long.

"Alright Steve, here's the plan." You rocked up on your tippy toes and kept yourself braced with a steady hand on his solid shoulder so he could hear you better in the loud and chaotic environment. "Half my drink just ended up on the floor when you won, so I'm going to order another one. Then after that, I somehow need to end the night at my hotel on the complete opposite end of the strip without getting taken or murdered. So if we can somehow make it from here to there while blowing through that money you just won, then I'd be more than happy to help you spend it."

Steve's eyes went wide in concern at your statement. "Where are you staying?"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "My gut is telling me not to tell a strange man where I'm staying."

"Smart girl, but I'm not letting you walk down the strip alone at night. The people here are crazy." He challenged. "No funny business. Pinky promise."

Steve raised his pinky for you with a genuine look of promise and concern on his face. "Do people often trust you to get them to safety?"

His cheeks turned pinker, and he let out an adorable giggle. "Yeah, I think most people find me to be very trustworthy."

"No funny business." You lifted your hand and wrapped your pinky around his with a quick handshake. "I'm staying at New York, New York."

"Oh wow, we have a long way to go with lots of chances to blow through that stack." He smiled. "What are you drinking? I'll order you another one."

"Honestly, I have no idea." You admitted, smile coming back to your face.

"Okay great! That helps me a lot" The blonde laughed.

"Excuse me" You politely flagged down the bartender. The same one from earlier coming back, you showed him your glass. "Can I get another one of these please? And whatever he wants?"

You looked to Steve who looked between you and the bartender. "Just two waters please."

"Sure thing." The bartender agreed.

"What? You're not going to have a drink?" You questioned.

He pulled a copper flask out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket. "I'll drink more, but this is stronger."

"Oh, nothing here is strong enough for you?" You raised a brow, your smile growing just as lopsided as his.

"Nope. This stuff is special, it comes straight from another realm."

Laughing at his joke, as you handed the bartender cash straight from the wad Steve gave you. "That's funny, because I hope this is strong enough to make me feel like I'm no longer in this realm, so cheers to that!"

You and Steve sat at that bar for a solid two hours as conversation topics flew at the two of you unexpectedly fast. Each one new topic was short lived as an enthusiastic response would happily slip off one of your tongues, so excited that the two of you had so much in common.

Then, Steve decided to start the shopping spree. He offered you a hand to help you off the stool, which quickly turned into a protective arm around you, or ushering you the entirety of your time together. He knew that the men on the Vegas strip were pigs, but he underestimated how bad it really was.

But the cat calls, whistles, and lingering eyes were drowned out by the city sounds and the big flashing marquee lights that littered the sides of every building you passed. It was just as mesmerizing as the night before, skipping down the streets in a drunken haze with your best friends.

Now you were mesmerized by not only sin city, but the mysterious man you were following around as if you'd known him your whole life.

With a sense of childlike wonder the two of you ended up in silly places like the M&M's store, and the Coca-Cola store, but you also ventured into more classy designer establishments where you convinced him to buy a lovely new belt at Louis Vuitton.

It looked good, he looked good. You had to work really hard to contain the drool in your mouth as you watched him take off his old belt to replace it with the new one.

He tried to buy you a new bag, but once again you were being stubborn and were having a hard time accepting such a generous offer.

So, you suggested another drink. Just one more.

More sitting and chatting with Steve, you swallowed down the liquid in your cup while he shot the rest of the liquid in his flask.

That last drink was the worst of your poor decision making that night, or so you thought.

Because the last memory you had was sitting at that bar and really admiring him.

The alcohol had turned his cheeks and the tip of his nose a rosy pink color that somehow made his blue eyes shine even brighter, and add to the wholesome energy you felt radiating from him.

Sweet, silly, carefree, handsome, safe.

Then, you woke up.

Slowly at first. Your eyes opened and the dull pounding at the back of your skull wasn't nearly at bad as you deserved. The air conditioning did wonders keeping you comfortable, the light peaked through the black out curtains, and your belongings scattered across the room confirmed that you were definitely in the right place.

You looked around more. M&m's bag, Louis Vuitton bag... Converse bag? You didn't remember buying shoes. Wait... how did you get here?

Only then did you wake up FAST. You sat up, and your heart pounded as you realized that Blondie was in your bed. The sudden movement made your head pound even harder, but the good news was that he was fully clothed and was sleeping above the covers.

You were also asleep and fully clothed, but both of you were in different clothes than you had on last night. That's probably what those shopping bags in the corner were...

Carefully rolling out of bed to try and make yourself somewhat presentable and aid along trying to process what happened last night, you walked into the bathroom.

Wash your face, brush your teeth, fix your hair.

By the time you came out, Blondie was sitting up in bed with his legs on the floor, shooting you an apologetic look. He was apprehensive, scared to gauge how sick and unenthusiastic you would be by his presence this morning.

"Good morning." He said quietly, voice deep and raspy from inhaling the dry air and residual cigarette smoke.

"Morning." You tried to be polite, clutching the side of your head. "What happened? How did we- how did any of this-"

"Nothing happened." Steve reassured you. "I would never take advantage-"

"Okay, okay." You nodded slowly, feeling slightly relieved. "Advil. I have Advil."

Waking over to the table in the hotel room, you grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a water. You opened both and popped two little pills in your mouth, washing them down with water.

"I'm sorry, I don't remember much either. It's been a really long time since I've gotten drunk. This is really out of the ordinary for me." He explained.

"I guess we're on the same boat then." You agreed with him before a couple pieces of paper catch your eye.

"I guess I should probably go?" Steve stated, but it was more of a question. This was the first time he ever found himself waking up next to a stranger.

"No, you stay right there." You insisted frantically, picking up the piece of paper.

Certificate of marriage.

Your name signed at the bottom next to another signature that read Steven G Rogers.

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

You studied the signature, looked at his face, looked at the signature, then his face again.

In the table, there was a picture of the two of you kissing. Him in his suit, you in the dress you wore last night but also a veil.

"Oh my god" You exclaimed, so much information to process.

"What?" Steve questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Oh my god!" You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath.

"What happened?"

"You didn't tell me..." You puffed out a breath, then an unexpected giggle left your throat. Of course, this would happen to you the one time in your life you didn't behave like a perfect angel. "Captain America?"

"Oh... Guilty?" Steve's shoulders sunk. "I introduced myself, no?"

"As Steve." You exaggerated.

"Yeah, I'm Steve." He agreed.

"Well, at least I was safe." Finding the benefit of the doubt. "Do you remember getting married last night, Steve?"

You passed the paper and the picture to him, and his face contorted into an expression you couldn't quite read. "...wow."

"Wow?" You questioned. "I unknowingly married Captain America last night and all you have for me is wow?"

"Holy shit." Steve looked up at you.

"That's better." You nodded.

"You don't look panicked" Steve noted.

"I'm not panicked because at least you're a superhero." You explained. "That counts for something right? Like people won't think I'm totally inane for marrying a stranger when they find out it's Captain America? And like... a superhero means you have people who come and clean up after you right? Someone can fix this right?"

You watched the gears turn in his head. "... I have to call Tony."

Tony. Who's Tony? Think. Superhero, avengers, Steve, Captain America. Tony... IRON MAN.

"Stark?" Your eyebrows raised. Steve nodded, pulling out his phone. "Now I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out."

"It's okay, give me a second." Steve said calmly.

You nodded, the remembered you should check your phone too. As he spoke quietly to Tony, you looked around for your phone before finding it on the night stand, flooded with dozens of missed calls and texts from friends wondering where you were. You quickly sent off a text in a group chat saying you'd explain later, and that you were okay.

Eventually Steve ended the call. "He said he'll be here in a minute or two."

"Oh, okay great." You said exaggerating your nonchalance. "No biggie. Iron man coming over to read my marriage certificate to Captain America."

Steve giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. "My mother would be over the moon to find out I'm married."

"My mom might have me 6 feet in a grave if she ever finds out about this." You sat back down on the bed next to him.

"When do you leave Vegas?" Steve questioned.

"My flight is at nine tonight. What about you?"

"Flying home at six thirty." He informed you. "Where do you live?"

"New York" You said simply. "Queens."

"We both live in New York and we’re staying in a New York themed hotel? What a small world." Steve noted. "Maybe we don't have to fit in a divorce before this evening."

"I mean... you are very handsome so I definitely wouldn't mind staying married to you for a few days until we get this figured out." You grinned.

A small blush stippled his cheeks at your compliment. “You’re so pretty I would’ve never had the courage to talk to you if I wasn’t drunk.”

Just like him, you blushed at his admission, and giggled at his words. “This doesn’t feel like real life.”

“Maybe I should’ve gotten you a ring instead of whatever the hell we bought last night.” Steve thought.

You looked down at your left hand, and sure enough, there was a pretty ring on your finger. You lifted it up to show him. “Looks like you were two steps ahead of yourself”

“Oh, good.” He chuckled. “At least there’s that.”

Then, there was a knock at the door.

You looked at Steve with wide eyes and nervousness building up in your tummy at the thought of being in the same room with one third of the Avengers.

“I’ll get it” He reassured you, standing up to answer the door.

Before you knew it, Tony Stark confidently barreled into the room. Firing some teasing words at Steve, you knew the poor guy would never hear the end of it.

“Oh look, here she is!” Tony announced.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Stark.” You shook his hand.

“Trust me, the pleasure is all mine Mrs. Rogers.” He smiled.

“Tony” Steve warned with a glare.

“Where’s the paper work?” Tony asked.

You quickly handed him the picture and the signed document that was on the table. Steve stood right next to you as you both watched him read over it, and evaluate the legitimacy.

Tony took out his phone snapped a few pictures, and made a weird face. Nervously, you his your face in Steve’s arm and he instinctively rubbed your back to comfort you.

Then, Tony started laughing. “Rogers you’re an idiot.”

“I’m aware, but what’s so funny?” Steve complained.

“It’s fake.” Tony said.

“What?” Your head popped up.

“Little white chapel, married by Elvis just for the gag type of thing. There’s no marriage license, it’s not a legal marriage.” He explained, handing you the papers back.

Both you and Steve let out a huge sigh of relief. “Maybe I’m not that much of an idiot after all.”

“No, you’re still stupid.” Tony denied. “Out of all the people in the world I would’ve never expected this from you, Cap.”

“This is Thor’s fault.” Steve pointed his finger.

You didn’t understand how the god of thunder had anything to do with this, but you had no mental capacity left to even ask.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. Just be on time for the flight home and stay out of trouble.” Tony told him. “Hope to see you around again soon, Mrs. Rogers.”

And just like that, he was out faster than he came in.

“I know Tony made it seem like everything is okay, but it’s not and I have a giant mess to clean up with the team.” Steve explained to you.

“Yeah, I’d assume so.” You smiled.

“Which means I really should go.” He let you down. “But regardless of this fiasco, and from what I do remember, I had a lot of fun with you last night. Would you want to exchange phone numbers and maybe hang out again when we get home?”

“I would love that, Steve.” You agreed.

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours. Both putting in your phone numbers and names before swapping them back.

At the same time, you both burst out laughing at the contact names.

Unplanned, he put his name as Husband, and you put yours as Wife.

“Ridiculous!” You laughed, walking him to the door.

“Maybe we really were meant to be.” Steve pondered.

“Maybe.” You agreed. “But in all seriousness, thank you for getting me home safe last night. I was really lucky to run into the right person at the right time.”

“Of course.” Steve grinned. “Travel safe, and let me know when you get home so we can set something up.”

“You got it.” Rocking up on your tippy toes, you kissed his cheek. “Have fun cleaning up that mess, Husband.”

“Don’t tell your Mom about this, Wife.”

You locked your lips and threw away the key. “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧‎‧₊˚✧⚀♡⚁⁠♧⚂♤⚄♢⚅✧˚₊‧

[artwinx]

more soft wakanda times for this spring 🌿💐

my emergency Commissions are open and you can support me on ko-fi

[barneswilsonrogers]

What If… the Avenger Assembled in 1602? (2023)Avengers: Infinity War (2018)

[anonymityisfunwriter]

There Is No Coming Back From This (In Progress)

Summary: "Don't do this, Tony. Don't do whatever it is you're about to do. This isn't what she would want."

Tony whips around to his former friend. "You don't get to tell me what she would want - I'm her father. I need to protect her. I can - I can protect her from this."

Steve looks on with remorse, offering only a slight shake of his head. "It's her time, Tony. She's tired. She wants to rest."

"Don't give me that," Tony snaps, chucking the wrench in his hand. "I can fix this!"

"It's her time, Tony. And I hate that as much as you do, but there's some things you can't fix. There is no coming back from this."

Characters: Stark!Reader, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Chapter 1 - There Is No Coming Back From This Chapter 2 - The Beginning of The End Chapter 3 - An Old Friend Chapter 4 - An Apple From The Same Tree Chapter 5 - On The Road Again Chapter 6 - Caught You Chapter 7 - A Difference of Opinion Chapter 8 -???

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[ronearoundblindly]

ok im feeling the kiss list sm!! im feeling angsty... so steve x reader with #4 or #26?? love u <3333

#4 (a kiss where it hurts) was double requested, so this is #26-- *this* one isn't angsty although technically could be considered a wee tinybit smidgenly dark if you squint real hard. Sorry this is not even remotely edited and all over the place and just *sighs* yeah okay enjoy!

Steve Rogers x reader: a kiss as an apology

I'm So, So...Sorry, a tale for Valentine's 2024

Summary: Grant, a guest at your middle-of-nowhere motel, has needs not covered by the usual turn-down service.

Warnings: *screams and bites pillow* WHY. WHY???? omg, this just...ack...smut. Nomad Steve being needy and touch-starved just ruined my life. 😭😭😭 DUB-CON adjacent b/c Steve loses control. Please send him help. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There's plenty else to read on my Light Masterlist, but this ficlet is for adults! WC 2022

To look at him, you’d think this dude can fuck, but it turns out that the absolutely huge man checking into your family’s small rural motel doesn’t know the first thing about flirting, much less sex.

You have no idea what ‘Grant’ and his friend ‘Tom’ were really whispering about over the breakfast table that one morning weeks ago, but later that night Grant came by the office, restless and unable to sleep.

He just talked to you. It was all superficial conversation about the area, the weather, what activities you liked on your days off. Even that seemed a struggle for him—thinking up casual questions. He could look you in the eye up until he had to respond, and he didn’t give many answers in return.

You laughed--you had to—when Grant asked if he could walk you to your door, which…is ludicrous because it’s a house a whopping fifty meters down the way from strip of rooms.

“I could walk,” he shrugs. “I’ll probably do a lap or two anyway.”

“Well, I have to wait for Clark to show up, but—“ you look him up and down “—okay.”

Twenty minutes later, the craziest thing happened.

An elk walked right in front of you on the path, and you jumped back, slamming into the wall of muscle the was your escort. You were both perfectly still as it moved.

Then that thing squawked and stamped huge hoofs. You threw your weight backward and spun to flee, clambering over Grant’s body.

Why you were so scared, who knows; you should be used to the wildlife.

The most shocking thing, however, is how strongly he tried to hold you still.

The harsh grip on your waist and the way he hissed through his teeth for you to stop should have been your hint, but instead you clung to him harder, asking if the animal was gone.

“Uh…” Grant tenses against you. “It’s…it’s just—“ he shudders when you wriggle closer “—yes, gone,” he bites out, pushing you away by the hips.

He takes a second to breathe, then, “let’s get you home.”

‘Grant’ is now properly called ‘Steve’ in private.

It took a while for him to trust you. He and ‘Tom’—whose real name you still don’t know—have been back and forth to the motel several times. You don’t talk about other guests. You don’t gossip. You don’t pry because that is just the nature of your business.

Steve’s initial five o’clock shadow has come in nicely. The first time he returned with the full beard, you couldn’t help yourself and brushed your fingers through it on your way back from handing him his key over the counter. The way he looked at you…devastating.

Tom made his own, very knowing face, and winked.

“You should do that more. Touch him. He could use it.”

Steve cleared his throat harshly and blushed, accidentally leaving a small bag on the ground when he rushed to the door.

“He was joking. It was a joke,” Steve blurted when he found you standing there to give it back.

You just smiled and said Tom wasn’t wrong.

“So, if you ever just want a hug…” you muttered.

That’s how this started.

A tentative embrace where only the top of his chest touched you led to a lovely full-body hug, and then he held you a touch longer, so your hand went to his hair and…

Steve whined and crashed you two against the wall outside his room, righting himself almost immediately, excusing the behavior, and rushing back inside. You couldn’t let that stand though. You stopped the door before it closed.

“Hey, it’s okay. I can be here, if you want, to hold.”

Steve’s eyes were one of the only things you could see in the dark room.

You took a chance and reached out to scratch at his bearded cheek again. “Not like you’re gonna hurt me, Stevie.”

So he melted into your hand, eye’s rolling as if drunk on the feeling, and you stepped in to hug him.

You can’t count the number of times you’ve had to tell him ‘it’s okay,’ but at least Steve doesn’t stop everything to apologize each time. Convincing him not to be self-conscious of how his body reacts to touch took a while.

He humped your leg like a puppy while you played with his hair. He came in his pants while you gave him a back rub. He cried when you kissed over his arms and chest.

You’ve told him it’s all okay.

He tries so hard not to smile when he checks back in, but he waits until your shift ends to have you fall asleep in his arms.

You’ve told him it’s okay to fall asleep in your arms, too.

Genuinely, the best part of the whole arrangement is that he will let you do anything to him. He’s fine being petted and fawned over, teased for being more ripped than jeans in the ‘90s—except for he didn’t understand that joke, sadly,—and it’s okay because you get it. He doesn’t tell you any personal information. He barely told you his name. He’s probably figured out that you aren’t an idiot and have put two-and-two together, but he keeps quiet, too.

He lets you keep touching him because he enjoys it.

Aside from the average hug and a simple spooning hold, Steve only ever touches you when you put his hand somewhere. (Right, except for the leg humping, but that was adorable so who cares! He wasn’t even doing that to touch you; poor thing needed friction, is all.) Anyway, since he’s been so excited about everything you’ve wanted to do to him, you push your luck.

The recent days have been all about Steve completely naked and at your mercy, which is, of course, still focused on making him feel good, but tonight is the very first night you are also naked. It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him, maximum skin-to-skin contact—and it is.

He’s warm and stretched out like a cat in the sun beneath you, smiling, resting his eyes as dusk takes over the sky. You fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat but don’t notice until he’s gently shaking you awake.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare.”

Steve’s voice is husky. His grip on your arm is deliberately stationary until you shift to slide off of him.

His hand flies down to the back of your knee but not before you feel the hard length of his erection move from its perch at your ass to press flush on the back of your thigh.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

You’re surprised he’s so shy after all you’ve been through for this. How can he doubt?

You stretch up to his face, straddling his abs for stability. “Stevie,” you say with soft fingers carding through his long hair, “you know it really is okay. You know that.”

He hums, his cock jumping against your ass while he squeezes your knee. He exhales shakily when you drag the back of your nails down his arms and sit up. Too dark to see, all you can go by is what you hear and feel.

“As long as you’re okay—“ you press into his pecs to lift yourself over his hips “and this is okay for you, right?”

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how Steve groans when you settle your folds along the length of him. He clenches his ass so hard, it lifts you and sends a surge of heat to your core.

There’s a shuffling noise by his head.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Are you alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes.” He clenches again, and your arousal finally slicks his hot skin beneath you.

You keep your hands braced on his chest as you start to move, tiny pulses at first, and the poor thing is too sensitive.

He’s a panting mess by the time your slick is spread over him.

“No,” he whines, and you stop, thinking it’s too far to push him. “Too soon.”

“Shh, it’s okay to come. Remember, Stevie? That’s good. We can stop but—“

His other hand clamps onto the meat of your thigh. “Don’t. Don’t stop. I just…”

“Then we’ll do this again. Don’t worry,” you coo, rolling your hips from his root to tip.

He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan. He only lasts a few more thorough pumps. The spurts of cum graze your clit as he finishes on his stomach, shot as far as your wrists still above his chest, and for the first time with Steve you’re disappointed you can’t immediately keep going. You were getting very close, too, very fast.

It pains you to peel your sticky pussy off of him to get tissues, but you praise him the whole way.

“Please,” he rasps, taking hold of your arm as the last is wiped up, “more?” He’s breathless. “I can do better.”

You smile in the dark, excited for the possibility but afraid to push him. “Stevie, you did great. Rest for—“

“No, I—I want…I mean, can I touch you this time?”

Oh.

Oh.

“Sure,” you gulp, “that’d be nice.” If by ‘nice’ you mean ‘I’ve just creamed myself at a single question’ then yes, very nice.

He wants you in the same position straddling him, but that’s so he can spread his hands and run his fingertips over the most of you. He’s softened as he starts exploring you, but his lingering fascination with your breasts makes you wetter and wetter. He likes how you purr and gasp as he pinches and kneads. He likes to pull at your thighs until he gets handfuls of your ass.

He gets hard again off of your moans and tucks his cock between you while you instinctively ride him. It’s still only him deliciously fucking your folds until the repeated swipe of his head over your clit tips you to the edge, and your nails dig into his skin to draw down with the coil in your belly.

The angle catches him at your entrance, a shallow thrust that has you crying out lewdly, and suddenly, you’re on your back, Steve’s huge body pinning you to the mattress, one elbow propping himself by your chest, his other hand brutally spreading your ass to accommodate him.

You’re overwhelmed by the power he exerts over you. He suckles and nips at your breasts, cock so deep it pushes your insides to make way, and what starts as an average orgasm just wipes you out in a cascade of sharp pleasure.

Your hand grip blindly at his hair and back, choking on screams of profanities he wouldn’t appreciate, and he wraps his arms under you, bending you in an arch, chest to chest, while his hot breath rolls over your sweat-cooled throat.

You feel his lips open wide, but Steve goes silent until spent.

Finally, his last slow pistons calmed in halted combustion, he nuzzles his head to the crook of your neck.

Your fingers are frozen where buried in his hair.

In the dim moonlight you can see his ass twitch, jolting in over-stimulation while he gently pulls out of you. He props himself up, posture small and timid for such broad shoulders.

He hovers above you while you try to read each other’s expressions.

“I…I…” he starts quietly, looking over and over your features.

His chin ticks closer, hesitates, and then descends so his lips can capture yours. It’s so quick and chaste, like any other first kiss, but all out of order.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words cracking in his guilt. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop.”

You pull him down to you, properly melding your mouth to his, beginning your next lesson already, then let him come up for air.

“It’s okay, Stevie. You can still walk me home.”

A/N: *drops bath bomb to froth in the pool of Tumblr* *runs away* Don't ask me wtf just happened because I don't know. It just consumed my whole day.

[psst. This became a whole series. 'Hideout' Masterlist]

Bucky Barnes and a kiss as encouragement ⬅️ ➡️ Jake Jensen and a kiss where it doesn't hurt

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: I'm also adding the people who showed interest in this concept earlier. You will not be tagged beyond this unless you ask! @mrs-barnes-rogers-writes @bstorn @rogersbarber @cevansbaby-dove @nowandajenn @jesevans @justherebecausesafarisucks @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp

[badgers-and-cats]

Nomad Steve Rogers x reader smut Drabble #1

Warnings: 18+ only!!! Smut. Daddy kink. No pronouns used, but are described to have breasts

Thinking about Steve fucking you nice and hard after a particularly long day. you’re a whimpering mess beneath him, the moans coming from your mouth are pathetic, but you don’t care. They somehow turn him on even more.

He grabs your tits roughly, that bouncing to the brutal pace of his thrusts. Tears form in your eyes, a mixture of the pleasure of three previous orgasms and this upcoming one - plus his hand that moves from your left breast to your throat, squeezing it. It’s all overwhelming.

“Come on, baby, cum for daddy. I know you have one more in you, soak daddy’s cock” he grunts, his thrusts becoming somehow more powerful and brutal.

And you do just as he says. With a high pitched moan, you feel yourself letting go: soaking his cock and balls for the fourth time. He follows shortly after, filling your womb once again with his sweet cum.

[heytheredelulu]

Imagine nomad Steve is reader’s possessive boyfriend and she just wants to rile him up by making him think she’s been cheating on him with Bucky.

Also Bucky smokes in this because I said so.

Like Sin

Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

Content Warning: Language and a lil blood

You fumbled with the knob at the front door of your apartment, the dim light in the breezeway coupled with the whiskey you’d drank only making it harder for you to slot the little silver key into the lock. Just as you had finally succeeded, the lock clicked before you could turn your key and you drew your hands back, looking up as your very angry boyfriend yanked the door open.

Steve glared down at you with his arms folded across his broad chest. “You’re late.” He states sternly, stepping aside to allow you entry. “Where the hell were you? You haven’t answered a single one of my texts all night.” He asks, leaning against the wall in the foyer as you tossed your keys on the table.

“I told you I was going to happy hour with some of the others.” You say with a hint of annoyance, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, happy hour.” He repeats with equal annoyance. “It’s nearly 1 in the morning.” He scolds. You lose the fight and finally roll your eyes as you perch on the arm of the couch to take your shoes off. “Okay, happy ‘hours’, then.” You mumble, tossing one shoe towards the shoe rack.

“And you didn’t think to text me back? You’ve been gone for hours and haven’t even bothered to check in.” He points out, uncrossing his arms as his lips curve downward into a frown.

You sigh and pull off your other shoe, tossing it to land near the other as you look up at him. “Steve, I was with our friends. If I’m out socializing I’m not going to just sit and stare at my phone, it’s rude. It’s not my fault that you didn’t want to come out with us.” You counter, standing up.

“It’s rude?” He asks, incredulously. “And it’s not rude to ignore your boyfriend all night and keep him up late, worried sick?”

“You’re being dramatic.” You mumble, unzipping your coat and walking over towards the coat rack, where he was still leaned up against the wall.

He sucks his teeth at your comment and nods, eyeing you up and down. “I’m not being dramatic.”

You scoff, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up. “Yes, you are. If you were so worried about me going out without you, you should’ve come along.”

He opens his mouth to respond but his eyes flick over to your coat pocket and he steps away from the wall, reaching into it and fishing out a pack of cigarettes. He turns the pack over in his hand as his eyes narrow in recognition.

This is Bucky’s brand of cigarettes.

“Who were you with again?” He asks, not looking up from the smokes in his hand.

You’re in the kitchen at this point, getting a glass from the cabinet and is unaware of the bomb in his hand that was ticking towards an inevitable explosion. “Tony, Nat, Bruce. A few others from the team.” You call out, filling your glass with water from the sink.

Steve steps into the kitchen and crushes the pack of cigarettes in his fist before tossing it onto the table. “And Bucky?” He asks, though it wasn’t much of a question.

You glance over at him mid drink and swallow, setting the glass down slowly. “He’s part of the group, yeah?” You question, brow furrowing as you look to the crushed pack of smokes now discarded on the table.

“Why do you have his shit in your pockets?” He asks, his expression hardening.

“I don’t know, Steve. I probably just picked them up with my things when I was leaving. You know sometimes I smoke when I’m drinking.”

He places both hands on the kitchen table, the muscles in his arms flexing as he leans forward and lowers his voice. “You were alone with him, weren’t you?”

You sigh and shake your head. “I’m sure at some point, yeah. I was alone with Nat at some point too.” You argue.

He slams his fist down on the table, the legs shaking in response to the assault.

“You were alone with him!” He shouts.

“What the hell is your problem?” You yell in return, throwing up your hands in frustration.

“My problem is that you were alone with Bucky.” He growls.

You tilt your head curiously. “And the problem with that is what? Your own insecurity? Your jealousy is showing Steve, and it’s not attractive.”

He bows his head and sucks in a deep breath before lifting his gaze to meet yours in a menacing stare.

“I am not insecure. I see the way he looks at you.” He whispers harshly. “And I’ve seen the way you are around him.”

He leans back and steps around the table, slowly moving into your space as he backs you against the wall.

“Who knows what the two of you do when I’m not around.” He says, "You could be flirting, you could be touching him, hell-" His voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper "you could be fucking him." His eyes flash dangerously as he leans his face closer to yours.

"Excuse me?" You ask, your face contorting in anger. "What the hell did you just accuse me of?"

He grits his teeth, and slams his palm against the wall behind your head. "Don't you try to play innocent with me. I know you two get a little too friendly with one another and I'm sick of it!" He yells.

"I'm not playing innocent, I'm asking you to look me in the face and repeat what you just fucking said, Steve!" You shout, your eyebrows knitting in anger.

He glares at you for a long moment before speaking in a low voice laced with quiet rage.

"I think you're fucking Bucky." He says, taking a threatening step towards you.

"Oh, do you?" You ask, your voice dripping with mockery.

"Yes, I do." He says through clenched teeth.

You shake your head and laugh in disbelief. "Wow,” you breathe out. “So is that what you think I was doing tonight? You think I was out fucking Bucky?"

His glare never falters. A muscle in his jaw twitches as his hands curl into fists. "That’s exactly what I think." He whispers harshly.

You lick your lips and cross your arms as the corners of your mouth twitch up into a cruel smirk. "Maybe I was. Why don't you kiss me baby? Tell me if you can taste his cock on my tongue." You dare, looking up at him in defiance.

His eyes widen as you issues him the challenge. At first he doesn't react, but then without warning he closes the gap between you both, pressing himself against you and crashing his lips into yours. He takes your mouth in a rough, punishing kiss, his lips moving against yours fueled with all his pent-up rage and jealousy.

You kiss him back angrily, violently as you parts your lips, deepening the kiss and meeting his tongue with your own in a dance of dominance. You break the kiss abruptly, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth as your pull away, nipping hard enough to draw blood as you lean back and look up at him with your chest heaving.

He releases you with a gasp and glances down at you in confusion as he tastes blood. It takes him a moment to speak. “Did you just bite me?” He asks, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he stares at you with a mix of shock and arousal.

You reach up and cup his jaw roughly with your hand, tracing your thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, smearing the blood across it. "Is that what you're worried about?" You ask in a low voice "You aren't going to tell me how your best friend tastes?"

His breath catches as a shiver crawls its way up his spine and he meets your gaze narrowing his eyes.

"What did you just say?" He whispers, leaning forward and pressing his bloodied lip against your thumb.

You let your thumb slip between his lips pressing it down on his tongue as you hold his gaze, then you withdraw it and pinch his cheeks, saliva wet against his skin "I asked you a fucking question." You repeat dangerously "How does Bucky taste?"

His eyes darken as he looks down at you. He can’t help but notice the subtle way your voice changes when you say his best friend's name; Just like how he can’t help but notice how it makes his heart race and a heat spread in the pit of his stomach when you do it.

He shakes his head to clear the thought.

"I'm not justifying that with an answer." He says, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.

You lean in towards his ear, your breath hot as it fans across his skin. "I will." You whisper, sucking a finger into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it before reaching to run the wet digit down his neck "Like sin."

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

[buckets-and-trees]

EXILED NOMAD SERIES

a series of encounters that could have happened between Civil War and Infinity War

Steve doesn't regret going against the The Sokovia Accords. He never would have signed them, he had to be there for Bucky, and together they had to stop Zemo. He doesn't regret anything, but he's not happy that he and some of his closest friends are on the run from 117 116 of the governments of the world. It eats at him. That festering wound leaves a Nomad who's not the Steve he used to be.

And it's this exiled Nomad Steve Rogers you cross paths with.

Content Warnings: [check individual parts for their respective warnings] SOFT DARK STORY, explicit smut, rough sex, emotionally damaged Steve, lonely reader

SERIES: ↠ July 3, 2017: When He First Got Me (Steve POV) ↠ July 4, 2017: You Should've Seen Him ↠ September 28, 2017: Pull the String ↠ September 28, 2017, around midnight: Put Me Back on My Shelf ↠ March 10, 2018: It Fit Too Right ↠ March 21, 2018: Puzzle Pieces in the Dead of Night ↠ more coming soon

[rogersideup]

One shot request: the reader from nice to be kneaded and Steve have a baby. Creative control is all yours. I just need a baby in that man’s arms.

Nice to be Kneaded

More Fun Stuff

Just Between Us

Can be read as a one shot, or in conjunction with Nice to be Kneaded.

Series Masterlist More Fun Stuff Masterlist

Post Endgame Steve x Baker reader

Word Count: 1,564

Some things are best kept a secret <3

Getting home from a long day at work at the bakery felt like a billion pounds falling off your shoulders. It had been a long, chaotic day of fulfilling unusually large orders all while trying to appease the masses that never slowed down since the blip.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, the view in the living room immediately put a smile on your face, and took the weight of the world off your back.

"Dada" Steve spoke to the now almost one year old.

He was splayed out on the living room rug, your little daughter in front of him, belly laughing right in his face.

"Mama!" She responded, laughing even harder at Steve's immediate response.

"No, Dada!" He shook his head, smiling at the sound of her giggles.

Your smile widened as you kicked off your shoes and put your bag down.

"Say dada!" Steve encouraged. "Da-Da"

"Mama!" She responded.

"Dada" He tried again.

"Mama."

The closer you got to the adorable scene, the more you could tell Steve was exhausted and probably losing his mind a bit. He was wearing no pants and a shirt, and he had yet to even brush his hair. But, your daughter looked freshly bathed, fed, dressed, and happy as a clam.

Moments like these always warmed your heart, and you were endlessly thankful to have a husband who was so supportive of not only you, but his own daughter.

You could've never been running two bakeries and raising a kid if it weren't for his wild blonde hair and lack of pants.

"Okay, sound it out." He changed methods. "Start with D. Duh duh duh."

"Duh" She babbled back.

"Now dah! Dah dah dah."

"Dah dah dah"

"Now Dada!" Steve was so hopeful.

"Mama!" Her cheeky smile widened and pointed to you, putting her arms in the air hopeful you would pick her up.

"Hi baby! I missed you!" You enthused, happy to scoop up your little cinnamon roll off the plush rug. "Oh my goodness, did Dada put you in this cute little outfit?! What a cutie!"

"Dada also gave her a bath, because she was a bit stinky." Steve told you, the superhero nearly struggling to get up off the floor, a testament to how tightly she has him wrapped around her teeny baby fingers.

"Do you have the best Dad in the whole world?!" You asked her, she smiled and giggled in response. "Say Yes! Yeessss"

"Yes!" She responded with ease.

"Yay!!" You celebrated.

Teaching a baby how to talk meant every conversation was now grounds for teaching, and you would happily teach her that Steve, was in fact, the best dad in the world.

Steve finally made it up off the floor, which excited her even more.

"Mama!" She squeaked happily, pointing to Steve.

"No, Dada." You pointed to him, trying to help Steve out.

He's been trying for three days now to get her to call her anything close to Dad. She's had Mama down for a week now and you were starting to feel Steve's pain.

"Hi, Captain Underpants" You smiled at him, it was impossible to not be happy and completely enchanted by the sight of him. "I missed you."

He gave you a kiss, and you wrapped your free arm around him to hug him the best you could.

"Hi, Sweetheart. I missed you too" He happily snuggled up to you. "How was work?"

"Chaotic." You stated simply. "How was your morning?"

"It was good, we went on a nice long walk, had breakfast, lots of snacks, a bath, but no nap yet." He told you.

"You look like you could use a nap." You grinned sympathetically, reaching your arm up and running your fingers through his hair a few times. "I've got her, you go get some sleep, baby."

"You just got home, I think you should nap first." He denied.

You shook your head. "I'm not tired, and you do a lot for us. You got up with her like three times last night. I know you didn't sleep well."

"I think I need a shower more than sleep, much like her, I'm also I bit stinky" Steve stated.

"Go take a shower and a nap." You sympathized.

"You're sure?" He questioned.

"Positive." You nodded, giving him another kiss. "Because even the best dad ever needs sleep, too. Huh, Cinny?"

The two of you have been calling her Cinny more than her real name, short for Cinnamon Roll of course.

"Yes!" She used the new word she learned a whole minute ago.

"Best dad ever?" You asked her, pointing to Steve. He raised his eyebrow in anticipation.

"Yes!"

"Who's this?" You asked her, still pointing to Steve.

"Mama!" She stated proudly.

Steve's shoulders deflated. "She'll get it soon." You comforted him. "Go relax, I love you."

"I love you too." Steve told you before playfully and gently smacking your butt and waking off.

You brought Cinny into her room and sat down with her on the glider chair. There was a lot of one sided conversation about how much you missed her and how much you loved her before reading her some books to get her to wind down for her nap.

It took about 45 minutes, but she eventually knocked out snuggled into your chest and neck. You took a very selfish 20 minutes to appreciate the baby cuddles and get your fix since you really did miss her at work today.

After a successful transfer into her crib, you turned the baby monitor on and quickly went upstairs to change out of your work clothes and into something far more comfortable.

Then you were right back downstairs to the other not-so-little human you missed all day too. Steve was asleep on the couch, but this time he had sweatpants on and no shirt.

Maybe one day he could find it within himself to be fully clothed, but for now, you definitely weren't complaining.

You leaned over and gave him a kiss to his temple before sitting next to his head and massaging it.

Being a stay home Dad looked really good on him. You'll admit, after his retirement he seemed a bit lost for a while. Like he had gone so long being Captain America or on the run from the government that he didn't even know who Steve was anymore. But the second he became a Dad, it was like he immediately knew exactly who he was supposed to be.

You thought that having kids would change things. Through your whole life you heard stories of exhausted mothers not having time for life anymore, slightly miserable, never talking fondly of their husbands, or even how their husbands found them less attractive after having their kids. There was a lot of silent fear that maybe that would happen to you, maybe the two of you would be under so much stress you'd start to resent each other, or maybe you'd be less attractive to Steve after your body changed in the process of growing baby Cinny.

But that couldn't be further from the truth. You'd never been more attracted to or in love than you were right now with a happy sleepy baby, and a happy sleeping husband. He took such amazing care of you and in turn, all you ever wanted to do was take care of him.

Even if he was sleeping, you wanted him to know how much you loved and appreciated him, and his crazy blonde hair. In true Steve fashion, even in his sleep he snuggled into you.

He dug his face into your stomach, and his arm held you close. Cuddles from Steve lasted a solid hour before you were nearly dosing off to sleep yourself.

Not all things could be a fairytale, and you knew that because you could hear Cinny start to fuss on the monitor. Small little cries let you know she was awake and ready to be done with nap time.

So you carefully slipped out underneath Steve, and he was so exhausted that you managed to stand up again without waking him.

"Mama" Your daughter pouted and wiped small tears off her face when she saw you enter her room.

"Good morning, honey." You said quietly matching her tiny pout, and cradling her in your arms. "It's okay, baby, you're okay."

You snuggled her and swayed her as her tears slowly came to an end with quiet promises of playtime and more snacks, you even asked her very politely if she could keep her babbles and voice to a reasonable level as to not wake up Dad.

Did she understand? No. Did you try anyways? Absolutely.

Once she was fully awake and a lot less grumpy, you tip toed back into the living room to set her up with her favorite little aquarium toy.

When she spotted Steve dead asleep on the couch, her whole face lit up with yet another cheeky smile.

She pointed at him. "Dada!"

Your eyes squeezed shut and your head lulled back, so immensely disappointed that Steve missed that moment. But, you were proud of her.

"Yes! That's Dada!" You confirmed enthusiastically but quietly. "This stays between us, kid."

You were now fully prepared to pretend like the next time she called him Dad was her first, because really, you loved Steve that much.

[artwinx]

one last kiss before the mission

my commissions are still open and you can buy me a coffee ☕

[rainydayfix]

Take One

pairing: Nomad! Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: Nomad!Steve Rogers fulfills his sex worker partner’s wishes until he can’t take it anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (MINORS DNI!!!), smut, lots of fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex

word count: 3.2k

Notes: Please do not copy, steal, etc. My ask box is currently open if you want to send fic ideas / imagines / etc.

Snippet: It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting - could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

“I thought about what you asked for,” you said, resting your head on Steve’s chest as you settled in for the night. “And, I want you to finger me.”

“I always finger you,” he joked, lightly tickling you at your sides.

“No, I want you to only finger me,” you repeated. “Over and over again.”

You and Steve talked about fantasies you wanted to share. You both moaned between the sheets when you were in a race to hit that space where nothing else existed but each other. But, when he first asked if he could help you out on camera, because that was one of his fantasies, it was still a bit of a shock – leaving you a couple of days to digest, to ponder, to re-ponder, to really think about what you could ask him to do.

As your first video together, you finally settled one idea: him fingering you relentlessly. It was genuinely a fantasy of yours. You knew your body and what you liked, and always found it exciting to see your partner discover it too. And it was a blessing that Steve didn’t rest on his stamina from the serum to do all the work.

“Why only fingering?” he questioned softly. “Why not more?”

“You know why?” you answered, trying to tiptoe around one of the reasons you only wanted fingering. Truth be told it was that you weren’t ready to do a full length video with him yet. Your stream had a good fifteen videos on it so far. Thousands of followers who loved seeing your curves, seeing you naked, seeing you come. But your sex work always came with a caveat making partners turned on before becoming jealous and distrusting, or being distrusting from the start and making you feel cheap.

That was just men who were regular Joe assholes. This was Steve Rogers. Retired Captain America. Now Nomad. He stayed in the shadows. Popping up online, no matter how many creative angles you could try, someone would figure it out. Who you were. Who he was with. Where you were. Then come the headlines. The jokes. The invasion of privacy. You hoped deep down making a video out in the open with Steve wouldn’t change things, but you knew it would. “Not even you can hide underneath all this,” you finished, gingerly teasing his full beard.

A small groan seemed to be his only response. You could feel his pensiveness clench his muscles.

“I just - “ you started, before turning in his arms to face him. “I want us to be us for as long as we possibly can. And, blasting America’s ass on the internet will have the vultures coming around in a heartbeat.”

That made him break out into a small smile at least. You couldn’t help but lay next to him in silence as your fingers caressed his face – the deepened wrinkles on his forehead, the laugh lines, the freckles. Blinking up at the ceiling, deep in thought, he turned his face towards yours and gently took your hand into his. He brought it to his lips, taking his time to plant soft kisses along your fingers.

“When do we start?”

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

You know Steve asked if he could help. But you couldn’t find it to answer him with your actual voice. He ended up sitting on the bench at the end of the bed - with that ever-cool patience and calm he possessed. Positioning everything just right seemed to be the only thing to settle your nerves. It wasn’t like you were new to this. You set up the equipment a couple of dozen times before – sometimes for videos to post, sometimes with videos that didn’t make the cut. You set your phone set high on the tripod over the bed in the exact angle that would show your breasts down to your feet, if you poised your legs up right. You made sure the lighting was right – with soft lamps centered on your vanity and at your bedside.

As you slowly ran out of things to do, you started to realize you only started the channel with one person in mind – yourself. But now there was someone else you wanted your videos to mean something for – Steve.

“I’m gonna put the final touches together,” you said softly, giving the tiniest curtsy when his hand reached out for yours. He pulled you between this legs. How could a 240 lb superhero seem so small in your arms yet take up your entire world?

“This won’t change anything, this is just for us,” he reminded, running his hands over your hips and reaching his head up to nestle his lips between sternum. Your hands ran through his thick hair, gently bringing his face up. “I know,” you smiled down at him, taking his hands in yours before letting him go. “I’ll only be a minute.”

One minute turned into more than a couple of minutes as you changed your outfit. Steve honestly doesn’t need much to get going, but your “branding” wasn’t exactly in mind when you picked out the lingerie. From a technical point of view, you wanted something that showed enough skin from your breasts to your hips as the camera’s angle pointed downwards away from your face. For yourself, you wanted something that was simple but special – nothing said that better than see-through black and lace. Your hands ran over the delicate floral pattern as it shaped your taut waist, and the stockings that were lightly attached to the garter and underwear. After putting on the finishing touches of light make-up, you looked yourself over once more in the mirror before opening the bathroom door.

All of the equipment stayed exactly the same, but you weren’t the only one that had changed. A small array of candles were lit alongside the drawers across the room. The softest low-fi music played from the stereo. And, Steve stood next to the bed having changed into a long black shirt and pants, matching exactly what you wore. His eyes bore into you with an intensity that paled into comparison to the soft romantic set-up around you.

“Are you sure you just want my hands?” he asked, his voice deep and almost raw. He inhaled sharp but slowly, looking you over as his hands seemed to unconsciously rub together.

“For right now, yes,” you said – it was taking everything in you to not just shove the shoot aside and just let you fuck for the hell of it. There was so much about his body that you loved, and somehow restricting yourself to only his hands made you want him even more. The part of you that pushed you to save it for the video, caused you to turn away from him slowly before handing him the remote control and slowly crawling up the bed, trying to give him as much of a show as possible.

Once you settled onto your back, you reminded yourself to breathe as you could see Steve in your peripheral check the angle of your placement on the bed with the lens and press record. You forced your eyes to stay peeled on the ceiling, knowing that if you looked at him too soon you might call the whole thing off. It seemed like forever before his weight sunk on the bed next to you, his presence becoming a safe haven and a master in control.

When he was fully settled next to you, resting his weight on his arm, he whispered, “it’s just us.” His lips planted softly against yours, you immediately felt it start to leave you breathless and wanting more. Carefully, he left a trail of wetness as his tongue and lips ran down your neck, as his hand traveled over the rim of fabric covering your breasts and towards your stomach. Your breathing steadily grew heavily, when you felt his nails dig into your hips before gliding across your lower stomach and under your underwear.

You were careful to not shuffle too much, not wanting the position of your body to skew out of view. You also didn’t want to seem too over-eager as you peeled the underwear lower. A small smirk lifted from Steve’s mouth as he discovered you were already wet. One of his fingers dipped lowly, lightly skimming your outer lips before delving further. He didn’t seem to be in a rush and it was killing you. You couldn’t help but let out a deep breath as he added another finger, just playing with the power his touch had on you. He took you licking your lips as an invitation as he brought his fingers to your mouth, letting your head bob against them for a few seconds before he placed them back where they belonged.

He started with his digits pushing between your lips to your core, not wasting any more time, causing you to sigh heavily. It was exactly what you wanted. His motions mostly focused on dipping in and out of you, experimenting with the pace of rough and slow. When his fingers hit your inner lips in the perfect way, he alternated to hitting your core. Just like his cock that fit inside you perfectly, Steve knew the right amount of thickness and how to curve his fingers to create the same tight fit. You thought you were close to hitting your first orgasm, when he switched up the position, pushing his middle and ring finger deep inside you, and letting his other fingers pad against your inner walls. Your moan filled the room as your hand dipped low to hold yourself open a little more for his palm to slightly tap against you.

“Fuck, just like that, almost there” you gasped, as you felt your wetness coat not only his hand but slip down between your thighs underneath you. The concentration on Steve’s face, the way his eyes invited you to come all over his hand, pushed you over the edge as your moan was caught in his lips on yours, your tongues thrashing against each other. The first wave washed over you, as he finally let you up for air, and his fingers slowly returned to the caressing he had started with just minutes ago.

You didn’t expect the initial orgasm to take so much out of you, your eyes falling shut a little too quickly for your taste as well as Steve’s. You felt his hand gradually leaving you feeling empty, and the weight of him next to you lightening a bit. When he returned a second later, you felt something soft and plastic roll across your collarbone, and over the rim of your brassiere. Your eyes shot open, when you felt the odd object pulse against one of your nipples and over to the other. You caught the hot pink device looking small in Steve’s massive hand – your vibrator. The one you used in the video that Steve said was his favorite. That bastard.

His heavy breath brushed against your ear. “You can’t quit on me now. I’m just getting started, honey,” he instructed, in a gruff tone you’d never heard before he nipped your lobe between his teeth. He turned the device on and off again as he made sure to let it sail smoothly over breasts and across your stomach, just close enough for you to feel it pulsate through the lingerie. Once the vibrator made it towards your heat, you opened your legs further for him, letting him know how ready you were for him to give it to you.

This time he wasn’t waiting to take it slow and steady like he did before. This time he turned on the vibrator to the first setting for a few brief seconds, and then the second – the one that usually made you come within minutes. The only problem was that he held it right between your clit and lips – not letting you do anything to give him permission to go further or deeper. He was within the reason of pressing the vibrator right where you need it and perfect distance of making you yearn for his touch.

“Oh god, baby, please,” you cried out, and was silenced immediately, as he plunged the vibrator into you. Steve didn’t mess around with the pressure of the touch; he just let it pulse against your folds. It felt like an endless divine tease. Seconds gave way to minutes. Minutes felt like it gave way to eternity. You felt like you were heaven without actually crossing over the through the gates. You looked over at Steve with hooded eyes, wondering how much this man could possibly know exactly what you wanted without saying words, as the coil within you began to tighten and tauntingly refuse to unravel.

Gradually, the arm that was resting near your head slipped under your neck, lifting your face upwards. Knowing he wanted you to watch what he was doing, you helped by slightly lifting yourself up onto your elbows, prompting your eyes to roll back into your head before refocusing on the full view of his hand thrusting between your legs– the black of his shirt wrapped towards his elbow, and your lingerie, contrasted with the hot pink glimpses of the vibrator. It was a miracle any thoughts ran through your mind but you couldn’t help but wonder how his hands – that had been through so much war, endured so many scars and callouses from fighting, could bring out something so heavenly from you. Maybe it was the fact that his hands hand been used to defend and protect so unabashedly that made them capable of showing an equal amount of devotion.

Steve’s body tilted towards you closer, you could feel his cock through his pants on your side. “I wish it was your cock inside me so bad,” you whined, as he suddenly dropped the vibrator and replaced it with his hand, practically fisting you. Your focus stayed on the continuous pounding of his hand that matched the throbbing of the vibrator and thensome for as long as you could. You never wanted it to stop, and Steve almost made you feel like it was never going to. Your one hand gripped the sheet underneath, while the other wrestled to reach for Steve’s arm as your head bowed backwards, as your body finally let go, and you released a high pitched squeal. Steve slowly lowered your head back against the bed, kissing away some of the tears that had freed themselves from the corner of your eyes and down your cheeks, as everything in you crossed the finishing line. You could of sworn you heard him mumble ‘good girl’ before asking if you were all right, making you nod in response as your hands reached up to run through his hair and wrap around his arms.

You laid there for several moments, letting him hold you, caress you, plant kisses everywhere. You didn’t know if this was the end of your recording. You weren’t sure if you had another round in you. You weren’t sure if two times would be enough to follow with what you had on your stream already. You just wanted to rest with Steve, as much as it seemed like he just wanted to rest alongside you. He brought his hand up long enough for you to see him run it along his lips, coating his palm in his spit before dipping it inside you. You guessed he wasn’t done with you just yet as his hand splayed itself against your core– his middle finger found its home deep inside you while the rest of his palm rested on your inner and outer lips.

When his mouth started to trail down towards your collarbone, and towards your breasts, you helped him nuzzle your corset as low as it could, just letting your nipples peak out from the top, enough for him to paying attention to one, and then the other. His mouth grappled your breasts, back and forth, before he settled on one while his hands picked up the pace of strokes. It had been a long time before you felt an orgasm building from more focused attention on your delicate folds. But the ease with his hand swiping at you and the way his mouth enfolded around one of your nipples pushed your body to accept that he was building that eden in you again.

The slight slits in Steve’s palm seemed to ever so gently and rapidly rap against your opening, testing the limit if you could come against his motions. Gradually, your moans – the only sound in the room – was mixed with his own. One deep groan, one you’d never heard before surprised you, of ‘fuck it’ – signaled a swift change that took your breath away. Steve’s mouth left your breasts, his hand left your core, as he moved over you. Everything happened so fast – you helping Steve fling his shirt over your head and his pants down around his ass, a loud thud mixing with the pillow above your head getting roughly tossed to the side of the bed, and Steve filling you up with his cock. His arms snaked above you, as his weight practically pinned you to the bed. You reached down towards your ass and moved the flesh away to hold your thighs open for him more. In a matter of milliseconds, he was animalistically fucking away all of the tension that had been building up between the two of you. The mix of of his hands padding away sensitively at your core, and then every inch of you getting railed, was almost too much to bare. You actually surprised Steve lasted as long as he did before taking matters literally into his own hands. Both of your moans echoed in the room as his thrusts grew messier and faster as you hit another high, and he hit his first, feeling him empty his essence inside you. Once the pace of his thrust sfinally began to smooth over and stop altogether, you laid underneath him, your arms wrapped underneath his above your head.

“That was….” Steve began to say before, his words tapered off. All you could do was nod. His hand started to nuzzle the side of your neck, the coarseness of his beard brushing against your face as your lolled your head to the side.

“….only the beginning,” you finished his sentence before his head whipped up and in the direction yours was facing. Your phone had been knocked to the ground along with the tripod, lying next to the pillow Steve had tossed around aside. The realization drew a laugh from both of you. You were sure there was enough material you and Steve would be happy to post if you had to cut out the grand finale. There was no need for words or apologies, not being entirely sure if the phone had been damaged from the fall...the only thing you could do was reconsider what you could plan for take two.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

There Is No Coming Back From This - Chapter 3

Characters: Stark!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Summary: "It's her time, Tony. And I hate that as much as you do, but there's some things you can't fix. There is no coming back from this."

Bucky can't help but be really glad Steve refused to tell him anything about why he was going back to see Tony Stark and his kid.

Not that he really wanted to hear about anything about the Stark family anyway. 

He didn't have to watch the news for more than a minute to realize the breaking news was everywhere.

Tony Stark's daughter, a wanted fugitive, considered armed and dangerous, dosed with an untested serum of some kind, mysteriously disappeared from SWORD custody last night. 

And no matter how hard he tries not to, Bucky can't help but judge Tony for the actions that brought all this about. All he can think, who would willing test some serum on their own child? No one except Tony Stark.

And now he's implicated everyone around them. Including Steve. Who shouldn't have gone back in the first place. 

And now, all Bucky can do is hope that Steve made it out of there without getting caught up in another one of Tony Stark's messes. 

An urgent knock cuts through his watching session. He grumbles under his breath and flicks off the TV, listening for any signs of an unfriendly visitor. He quietly walks to the door, careful not to make a single sound. 

"Buck, it's me." Steve taps at the door in the intricate knocking patter only they knew. 

"Thank God, Steve." Bucky sighs in relief as he reaches the door. He swings the door open. "Honestly, I was worried you got mixed up with all that Stark nonsense. I mean, seriously, what is wrong with him? Testing a serum-"

"Bucky," Steve stops him, stepping a foot over the threshold. Bucky's smile drops as he finally notices the other person standing behind Steve. "I need your help."

Bucky shakes his head over and over and over. "Steve, tell me that is not who I think that is."

"Bucky, just hear me out."

"Steve, please, tell me that is not who I think it is!" Bucky begs, his eyes comically wide. He's not angry. In fact, he finds himself mostly concerned for Steve, who clearly seems to have lost his mind. 

"Please, we - I need your help. It's just for a little while."

"No!' Bucky hisses. "She can't stay here! Are you crazy?"

"Come on," Steve begs. "She's just a kid."

"She's a Stark! A Stark! She'll probably try to kill me in my sleep!"

"She can hear you," you sarcastically mutter, a little louder than intended. Both Steve and Bucky's eyes dart over to you, you immediately look away and feign innocence. 

"She's not going to kill you in your sleep," Steve promises. "She just got put in the middle of one of her father's messes. Something you, of all people, should be sympathetic to."

"I should be sympathetic? You want me to help the man that's very literally the reason we're both fugitives," Bucky scoffs. "No, this isn't my problem. I don't care."

"I'm not asking you to help him, I'm asking you to help me. I promised I'd keep her safe."

Bucky's hands fly up in frustration, "Well, why the hell would you promise that?"

"She's a good kid," Steve emphasizes, taking another step towards Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's just for a little while. Please?"

"Fine," Bucky acquiesces with a groan. He lets go of the door, allowing you both to enter. "Don't make me regret this, Steve." As you walk past the threshold, you can feel the ire radiating off of him, he sneers down at you, "Hope you're okay with sleeping on the floor, Princess."

"Well... this is gonna be fun," you sarcastically remark. 

"It won't be boring." Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should get some rest. It's been a long night." 

"It's 6 at night."

"And you've been on the run since 4 in the morning. Trust me, the adrenaline runs out."

And in spite of Bucky's promise, you didn't actually sleep on the floor. You take the small couch in the living room, curled up in the thin throw blanket with Steve rummaging through his bag. 

As it turns out, he was right about the adrenaline crash. The second you feel even remotely comfortable, you drift off into a restless sleep. As he sorts through his bag and plans out your next move, his eyes flicker back and forth to your sleeping figure. There was no hiding his concern. It was a lot to process, and he dreaded the moment the events of the last week hit you. In one week, you were dosed with a serum. Woke up from the brink of death with unfamiliar strength. You'd been forced out of your home and become a fugitive. 

It's no surprise to him that you toss and turn all night. Even bogged down by exhaustion, there's a part of him that wants to keep a close eye on you. He eventually dozes off, sleeping until the early morning light of the next morning. 

You're also woken up by the morning light streaming through the blinds of Bucky's hideout. You jolt up with a gasp at the unfamiliar scene. 

"Easy, kid," Steve mutters. "We're at Bucky's, remember?"

You shake your head, trying to clear the mental fog, "Right. Bucky. On the run."

"You alright?" Steve hedges. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." You rub your bleary eyes. You don't actually feel that rested. Still, you feel better than you did just last week. 

"Here," Steve offers, handing you a mug as you join him in the kitchenette. "Drink something."

"Thanks." You absentmindedly reach out and grab the mug. The second your hand closes around the mug, your grip shatters the mug. And as your luck would have it, it's at that moment that Bucky enters the room. 

He grimaces at you, then at shattered ceramic at your feet. "You broke my favorite mug."

"I-" you stammer in shock. 

"That was your only mug, Bucky," Steve reminds him. 

"This is exactly the kind of thing I'm talking about," Bucky glowers. "She can't be here. We'll all get caught."

Steve's eyes flicker between you and Bucky. Even as you try to pull on a brave face, you look scared out of your mind. Steve turns to you with an apologetic look, "Why don't you go get cleaned up?"

You nod, walking out of the room with another word. With the utmost concentration, you lightly touch the doorknob. You sigh in relief that you don't accidentally break it. You lightly grasp the doorknob, and without incident, you make it into the bathroom. You mostly take a moment to compose yourself. You take a mental inventory of yourself. Your face. Your eyes. Your cheekbones. You looked so much healthier than a week ago. A lot less... close to death. Healthy even. Healthy and a fugitive. Healthy and in exile. Healthy and unwanted. 

You shake away all those thoughts and force them back down. 

But you can't help but hear the loud argument happening right outside the paper thin walls. 

"This is what I'm talking about, Steve. That girl is a high profile, ticking time bomb. It doesn't matter what you do or where you take her, she's gonna stick out like a sore thumb."

"No, she's not," Steve insists. "Tony put a lot of time and effort into keeping her out of the public eye. And we'll get the breaking things under control. This is all so new, but Tony was working with her to get it under control."

"You seem to be putting a lot of stock into what Tony Stark did or didn't do."

"He messed up," Steve agrees. "I know that he messed up, but that's not the point. The kid is innocent in all of this. She was just ripped from everything that she's ever known because of her father's mistakes. Cut her a little slack."

"Slack?" Bucky incredulously repeats. "There is no slack out here! You were almost caught. I've almost been caught before. It's too much, Steve... Look, I'm not telling you to turn her in. All I'm saying is that maybe this isn't your problem."

"I made a promise."

"Forget about your promise!" Bucky protests. "Worry about yourself for once."

"I can't do that," Steve refuses with a firm shake of his head. "I won't turn my back on her again."

"Why? Why the hell not?"

"Because I can't!" Steve shouts. "I just can't. I've known that kid her entire life. I care about her. She's scared and she needs our help right now. She didn't have any say in anything that happened to her, but she's doing her best. She just needs a little help. Help we can give her."

Bucky groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're killing me, Steve."

"She's a good kid. She's smart. A hell of a lot smarter than you or I were at 17. Just give her a chance, I promise she can hold her own."

"You're responsible for whatever happens," Bucky warns. "You hear me? Figure out how you're gonna make her blend in. And get the breaking things under control."

"I'll take care of it. Don't worry."

Bucky dubiously scoffs, snatching up his jacket and turning to walk out the door, "Sure, you will."

With the front door slammed shut, you figure it's probably safe to come out of hiding. You creak the door open, poking your head out into the hall. 

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Sorry." You walk back to the couch, taking a seat. "I tried not to, but the walls are paper thing. And you know, the weird serum flowing through my veins."

"Are you okay?"

You shrug, not quite sure how to answer his question. Physically, you were fine. Mentally and emotionally, you couldn't deny you were in a bit of weird spot, but who wouldn't be? "Serum flowing through my veins. On the lam. Pretty good considering."

Steve hangs his head apologetically, "I tried to tell him, but Tony would hear it."

"What?" you sarcastically gasp. "My father was being stubborn? I can't believe it."

"He wasn't ready to say goodbye. None of us were."

"I know." The smile on your face drops. You shake your head, thankful for the innate Stark ability to compartmentalize any negative emotion. You couldn't decide how you felt about what your father had done to you. He saved your life while also damning it all in one go. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done. We just roll with the punches."

Steve nods, watching you to gauge your feelings on the situation, "Right."

You hug your knees to your chest, "Bucky really doesn't want me here, does he?"

"He's a little rough around the edges, but he only acts like that when he's worried."

"About me. That I'll get you caught."

"Which you won't. We just have to be careful, maybe take a few more precautions. That's all."

"I have a feeling I'm not gonna like this, but I'll do anything if it keeps us safe."

"Well, right about now, they're probably plastering our faces all over the news. You might want to change up," He gestures to you. "You know, your look, as the kids call it."

You halfheartedly laugh, rolling your eyes, "That's not what the kids call it, Steve."

"You know what I mean," he snorts. "The harder you are to identify, the easier it is to lay low. I grew a beard. Natasha went blonde. That kind of thing."

"Anything else?"

"We're gonna have to move soon. The longer we stay in one place, the more likely it is that someone will spot us."

It's only a few hours later when you find yourself standing in the bathroom staring at the mirror before you, clutching a pair of scissors. You take a deep breath, desperately trying to find the nerve to do it. 

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I really don't care."

"It seems like you do. And that's okay, kid. Maybe you could dye it or something."

"It just grew back. This is the longest it's ever been since I was kid and I lost it all," you whisper. 

"Kid..." Steve begins to apologize. 

You shake your head again, forcing yourself to make the first cut. The scissors open and close with a resounding snip, taking off more than half of your hair in one go. Steve sucks in a sharp breath as your hair falls to the ground. "It's fine, Steve. I just didn't think I'd be cutting it again, but I also thought I'd be six feet under by now."

"That's not funny."

"Sure it is." You take the scissors and cut off another large chunk. "2 super soldiers and a Stark. All on the run together. It sounds like the start of a really, really bad joke."

He doesn't have any idea what to say as you continue hacking at your hair. He's not even sure if you want to be consoled, so he decides to give you a moment to gather yourself. "I'l give you a minute."

"Okay."

You pretend like every snip of the scissors doesn't bother you at all as you cut chunk after chunk of hair until you're sure it's mostly even. You look down at the bathroom floor to the clumps of hair on the floor. It takes you back to the time Pepper shaved your hair during your first rounds of chemo all those years ago. 

You throw all the hair away and leave the bathroom. The moment you enter the room, you hear Bucky's snarky remark waiting for you, "Guess the Princess finally finished."

"Leave her alone, Bucky," Steve scolds. "She's had it hard."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, okay, 'hard'. What choosing between the steak or the lobster?"

You jokingly twist your mouth, "Actually, I'm allergic to shellfish."

"Not helping," Steve hisses.

You shrug, turning your attention to the sound of your father's familiar voice coming from the TV. You pad over to the living room, watching as he gives a press conference. 

Bucky scoffs, "He's giving press conferences when his daughter allegedly disappeared into thin air."

"He's playing his part, Bucky. Ease up."

You pay no mind to Bucky or his insults about your father. Tony points to a reporter in the first row. "You. Go."

"Is it true you experimented on your daughter with a serum of some sort?"

Tony grimaces, rolling his eyes, "Next question."

"How did your daughter escape custody?"

"I think the better question is how they had her in custody and lost her," he expertly retorts.

"Does it concern you that your daughter is now a fugitive?"

"It concerns me that my daughter is missing and no one seems to be doing anything about it."

"Reports say that Captain Steve Rogers was at the Avengers Compound when your daughter disappeared."

"I think you missed the part where you're supposed to ask a question," Tony remarks. 

"What's your daughter's relationship to Captain Rogers?"

Tony shakes his head in disbelief, his face contorting with disgust, "I'm sorry, what exactly are you implying?"

"Did your daughter run away with Captain Rogers because she was in a romantic relationship with him?" the reporter plainly asks. 

"Ew..." you cringe dramatically, your face contorting with repulsion. "No offense, Steve, but you're old enough to be my grandfather."

Steve's head vehemently shakes, pinching the bridge of his nose so tightly that you worry he might break it. "Considering I actually was friends with your grandfather, none taken."

All the while, Bucky is maniacally laughing harder than you've ever seen. It isn't until Steve slaps Bucky upside the head that he finally stops laughing while you turn your head back to the screen just in time to see your father speak with a resounding firmness. "I'm only going to say this one. My 17 year old daughter did not run away. While in the custody of the U.S. Government, she disappeared. I don't know where she is, and I want nothing more than for her to be found safe and sound."

"So you don't think it's too coincidental that they both disappeared last night? What was a known fugitive even doing at the Avengers Compound?" 

Tony holds a hand up, halting all further questions. "All I will say is that I have the utmost faith in Steve Rogers. I won't be taking anymore questions today."

The moment those words leave Tony's mouth, the screen goes dark. You turn around to see Steve with the remote in hand and a apologetic expression, "Sorry, kid, I just - I don't think you should be watching that. It's gonna get ugly."

You think about every person in your life. Your old life. Every person that will be raked over the coals because they were trying to save your life. Tony. Pepper. Peter. Bruce. Everyone. "You're right, it's going to get ugly."

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist 'There Is No Coming Back From This' Chapter List

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Hideout (2)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

Summary: 'Grant' becomes comfortable enough to tell you who he is, and you get comfortable enough to show him the kindness he deserves.

Warnings for description of minor blood/injury and light smut (mentions of morning wood, dry humping, hair pulling, praise kink? maybe coached orgasm?). This series is 18+ only. MINORS DNI. There is plenty else for you youngins to read on my Light Masterlist, but this is not for you! WC 2.6k

Warmer months are for updating the rooms, so they are on a rotation of renovation. There are really busy times and really slow times based on events in town, but there’s an understanding with Grant’s ‘party’ of friends that, if needed, they can stay in the room closed for repair. It’s not as if any room is uninhabitable when they need a coat of paint and some plumbing tune-ups.

Clark doesn’t remember you told him about this—you used the excuse that Grant ’s company are handymen (and women) who come in between other jobs,—so the front desk kid calls you while you’re out running errands one day.

Two ‘dudes’ want to stay in room eight on the end. So? Let them. Those are the people who fix things. Clark just says “kay.”

When you pull into the lot hours later, you don’t expect to find Grant sitting on the curb, filthy and exhausted in some gym clothes, a plastic bag set at his feet.

“Wha’ch’a waiting for?” you call with the window down, hoping his spirits can lift easily.

Grant peers up at you through long lashes. He’s had a knock-down drag-out with a field of bramble…or something. That’s when you notice dark, dried blood in the grime stuck to him, and he lets out a long sigh.

“Sa—Tom used all the hot water,” he huffs, “so I’m biding my time.”

Their room’s water tank, the one due for maintenance, is going to take an eternity to reheat, and it’s the worst luck that there really are no other rooms available.

“Hop on in. You can use the bath up at the house.”

He looks just as startled as you by the invitation, but in no simple terms can you express how bad it is to have a huge guy covered in blood hanging out in front of your rural motel. That’s horror movie bait.

You know Grant. You trust him. All he needs is to clean himself up.

He checks behind him again. The same mix of seeking approval or seeking the cover of ignorance returns to his pretty features, and he trots over to the passenger seat of the car, plastic bag in hand.

He helps you bring in the groceries and supplies from town even though you point him in the direction of the upstairs bathroom immediately. There’s a big jacuzzi tub in there, and he is welcome to soak for however long he wants. You’ll even wash his clothes in the mean time, if he’d like.

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

Showing him where everything is in the bathroom takes a minute. You fish around a cupboard for the muscle-relaxing milk additive, explaining it may help him…if needed. You don’t know what’s happened, so you’re flying blind for options.

When the tap turns off ten minutes later, silence descends, but he never handed you stuff to wash. You knock and try the door, just to crack it open so he can hear you.

First, you notice the color of the water. He used the milk bath alright, but whatever washed immediately off him has saturated and soured the clean white into a rusty tan. Second, you pick up the pile of clothes and find more in the plastic bag, except…it’s a suit with a star decal half-ripped and dangling from the chest. Third, you realize you can’t see him in the water at all, not his feet, not his head, no bubbles, so you rush in and shove your hands beneath the surface.

He shoots up in alarm, gasping and sloshing to a different wide, rounded corner of porcelain.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you shriek, hands out and spread wide. “I just thought—I don’t know—I didn’t know if you’d—sorry!”

He rubs his hands down his face and over his dripping hair. He doesn’t even speak; he just waves for you to stop apologizing and clears water shot up his nose.

You have to collapse to the fuzzy rug and hold your heart before it beats right out of your ribcage. You still repeat “sorry” a few more times and then manage an impressed “wow, you kept all the water in.”

He thunks his head back to the lip of the tub and props up one leg, his knee cresting the surface. “I have a talent…”

The dirt, despite how much clearly came off already, is smeared grossly across him.

He looks so tired.

“May I—“ you grab the shampoo bottle all the way at his feet “—help?”

Defeated in more ways than one, he nods through the same concerned and confused gaze that’s become his signature. He maneuvers nearer you while you carefully wet your hands, starting a lather. His head stays down, spine exposed, as you massage at the base of his skull.

His eyes shut.

Your heart now swells with accomplishment; you gave this man a moment of peace.

Fingers gliding over the sinewy, tight bands beneath soft hairs, you press circles around and around his scalp. He cranes backwards while you move up and over the crown of his head, and by just above his ears, he’s laying his full weight in the water, lax against the rim.

You keep going long after his hair is strictly clean, though you’ll recommend he rinse after soaking because the water is too foul to count on.

He remains quiet, so you dip your hands in the water at his shoulders, shake them about, and move on to scrubbing his face clean, too, working down from the hairline and over his beard.

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

He sniffs again, raising a hand from the water to stop yours.

“My name isn’t…” His eyes open finally, only to stare blankly at the ceiling. “My name is Steve.”

“Okay,” you say, abandoning the washing to sit back on the mat again. “Do you want me to call you that or Grant?”

He turns, brows furrowed, and in the most authoritative voice, he replies, “you can’t tell anyone.”

You rest your chin on the lip of the tub, too. “I know. I won’t.”

Eyes locked, you two stare at each other for a long beat.

“The Captain America suit kinda gave it away though,” you whisper, and to your surprise and delight, Steve flicks water at you in retaliation.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “handle yourself in here while I go start the laundry.”

You stretch and almost—almost—kiss his forehead because, for whatever reason, that feels right, but at the last second you tuck your head down, acting like you were just standing up. You can’t bring yourself to look back at him while gathering the clothes.

You keep busy downstairs, scrubbing at a few spots of caked on muck, trying not to listen to the sounds of splashing, the squeaking as he moves around, the rush of the draining bath, and the tap turning back on to rinse him again. You scramble to find the biggest t-shirt and pair of pants you own (although, come to think of it, Steve’s got fairly small hips, so you grab some stretchy sweats) and hand them through the door when realizing he has nothing else to wear.

He emerges with several visible cuts and scrapes but dismisses your offer to treat them.

“It’s not worth the effort. They’ll be gone by morning.”

You’ve decided something: if he doesn’t bring it up, you won’t either.

Whatever he wants to tell you, whenever he wants to tell it, you don’t ask. You are used to keeping guests’ confidence—not that anyone tells you deep, dark secrets, but you refuse to gossip about cleanliness or things in the trash—and ‘Grant’ will be no different.

You can, however, still tease him.

“Ready to share that queen bed with Tom?” You give his beefy arm a playful punch.

Steve groans.

“Kidding,” you beam. “I’m not making you walk that path in the dark right now. An elk could get ya!”

He pinches tired eyes, a ghost of a smirk realigning the hairs of his beard. You imagine that on any other day, he would put up more of a fight, but he’s fought enough.

“Yeah, okay. As long as I won’t scare the daylights out of your parents by being on the couch in the morning.” Steve steps over to the landing at the top of the stairs.

“They’re at a hospitality conference. I run the place…mostly. Besides, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer you a bed that fits you?” You dramatically bow and indicate your room. “This way, please, sir.”

Good thing he has no fight left in him. His eyes narrow adorably, but he doesn’t budge.

“I should let Tom know.”

“There is a phone in there, too. I’ll dial room eight.”

You get him some water, hanging his clothes to dry, offering as much privacy as you can in an old house with thin walls.

“Yeah, hi, it’s…yes, yes, I’m… Yeah, I know. I know, Sam, just—you don’t have to laugh about it. She let me use the bath, is all. You’re the one who—Well, don’t take all the damn wa—hello? Hello?” Steve is staring at the receiver of the land line when you appear in the doorway. “Uh, he…gets it.”

He sits on the edge of your bed, glancing around your neither childish nor sterile room. You put the glass down on your side table instead of handing it to him.

“Okay, I think you need rest,” you add, sweeping your hand down his bare arm.

You marvel at how the edges of his cuts are already shrinking, knitting back together in near-realtime. Your fingertips trace around the skin like an interactive roadmap.

First heal this, then he needs this, and this is deeper here.

You wonder whether he feels pain the same as everyone else. Is it dulled? Does he just have to ignore how much and how frequently he hurts because it goes away sooner? That’s a sad thought to you. Just because he’ll be okay, doesn’t mean he should suffer more.

He’s a miracle. As Grant, Steve, Cap, or nobody at all, he’s still a miracle.

“You don’t have to go…”

The last of the evening blurs as you wake, but you remember Steve needed this. He asked you to stay.

Spooning is the only way to fit on the bed together. After finishing your own bedtime routing, you began behind the giant man, curled tight, lightly scratching over his broad shoulders and arms. He fell asleep so quickly, and you don’t recall how long after that you both turned over. You had to drape Steve’s awkward arm around you, show him he could hold you close, assure him he can be as comfortable as he likes.

Whichever way he settled is infinitely better than falling off the bed, and you’re grateful he’s accommodating in a small space. You suppose he has to be. Though, for a man as dense as a brick wall, he is shockingly pliant around you. 

Shame you have to stretch, ruining the picture of fitting puzzle pieces you’ve become.

Arms out and legs long, you roll, restless on the one side for too long in the night. Steve shifts around your moves, laying his head on your arm instead of the pillow. His arm that was your pillow wedges down by your waist instead.

Your knees knock his, so even in sleep, he lets them slot through, legs entangled and…his erection laying over your thigh, the tip poking your hip.

Your body tenses for a split second, the muscles of your leg brush harder against his cock, and Steve groans softly, the arm draped over you pulling your body closer.

He’s still asleep, breathing easy, his features totally relaxed.

His golden hair shines in the early light, and he’s so, so beautiful.

You move stray locks from his face, enjoying how he nuzzles and sighs as you play. Quiet, lazy touches.

His hips nudge forward for friction. His fingers grab at your nightshirt. One of his shifts angles his length to drive against your mound instead, and you gasp involuntarily, having smothered your excitement for too long.

He stirs, a heavier, longer breath followed by Steve's whole body going rigid and his eyes squeezing shut. He tries to bury his face in your arm, and you can’t help it. You hope he’ll continue.

You shush him, carding through his hair to soothe him as you did in the bath.

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

You want him to feel good. Hell, you don’t say it, but you need to make him feel good.

Steve still won’t face you. He leans closer, shielding himself with your chest, but he doesn’t pull his hips away.

You can hear him thinking through his options groggily, and in your nervousness, you pull at the fistful of hair in your hand.

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Did you like that? Does that feel nice, Stevie?”

His abs flutter with a spasming exhale, but he says nothing. His rough hands dig into your back while he desperately seeks more friction.

You let him—you encourage him—to keep going.

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

He pants into your skin, making you sweat while he dissolves into a mewling mess of shame, taking what he deserves.

He bends his leg for leverage, the sole of his foot pressing flush to your calf. You feel his thumping heartbeat along all of your skin that touches his. He swallows moans which sound hollow and deep where they die in his chest before Steve grunts and stretches, the whole underbelly of his cock rubbing your inner thigh and baiting your clit mercilessly with almost-contact.

You release his hair, asking “do you want my han—”

But it’s too late.

Steve seizes you in his last moments hard before he stills, palms so wide you’ll feel the marks over an entire shoulder blade and the breadth of skin from your ass to your ribcage.

You yelp, the nails of your trapped hand clawing at the sheets around you. It’s a good pain. It’s worth it to witness how his body melts into yours after he comes. He’s lax and heavy, pathetic convulsions of ecstasy subsiding.

You’re only just starting to feel the wet fabric on your thigh when he peels away and rushes to the bathroom.

The best thing for him is to act normal. It is normal for him to be hard in the morning, to want contact and satisfaction, and the truth is it’s perfectly normal for you to dream of providing that for him. You want that contact with him. You are satisfied when he is satisfied.

That's scary because it's a secret as hidden from you both as his identity now, but you won't talk about it. If he doesn't ask, then he doesn't want the answer. It's better that way.

So that was okay, and this is okay.

It's okay, and you tell him when you bring his gym clothes back to the door. You repeat it as he walks out of your home unable to look you in the eye, his partially-destroyed past life wadded up in a fresh plastic bag.

At the bottom of the porch steps, he turns, still focused on the ground.

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

You can’t tell anyone about him—about how you feel for him—not even him. It wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

A/N: Google, Play 'Hopelessly Devoted To You.' *starts weeping some more*

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

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