#Steve Rogers x reader

[levans44]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not���” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[thezombieprostitute]

Dr. Studmuffin

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: new years kiss with a stranger

Warnings: Drugs used in a medical setting, Emergency room setting, Ex-boyfriend angst, Physical injuries. Please let me know if I missed any.

You're in tears, and not just from the pain. This was supposed to be your comeback. Your personal revolution. New Year's was a time for renewal and remaking yourself. You were going to prove to everyone, especially Bryce, that you didn't need him. That you could stand proud on your own two feet.

You'd splurged on the clothes, finding ones that not only fit you like a second skin, but that made all your best features pop. You got your hair done by a professional, even adding some highlights that would match the dress and your makeup choices. Every time you looked in the mirror you knew you were killing it! This was going to be your night. Your year!

And then you tripped on your too-high heels and likely broke your ankle.

It took everyone at the party several minutes to stop laughing. You're certain Bryce is still laughing about it. No one wanted to give you a lift to the emergency room so you had to call yourself an ambulance. Thankfully the paramedics were nice enough. Especially after the pain meds kicked in and you went from uncontrollably sad to uncontrollably sad and loopy.

You hated being loopy. You just couldn't stop talking and you inevitably said too much. Doesn't matter you primarily apologized for things that weren't your fault and made it rain compliments, you still talked nonstop and would eventually be called annoying. Thankfully the redheaded nurse taking care of you didn't seem to mind every time you repeated how pretty you thought she was. She actually was pretty good at assuaging the worst of your fears.

And then he showed up.

The first time you laid eyes on the ER doctor you blurted out, "well hello, Dr. Studmuffin!" You slapped your hands over your mouth, face burning with embarrassment. Apparently he felt it too with how pink his cheeks got.

"I see Natasha wasn't exaggerating," he chuckles as he rubs on some hand sanitizer.

"I am so sorry, doctor! I know that was very disrespectful. I mean, it's not disrespectful to call you handsome, because you really are. But it's wrong time, wrong place, right? Plus, you're a doctor! You've gotta be super smart for that! So reducing you to Dr. Studmuffin just feels so inadequate. I'm---"

He raises a hand to stop you from talking. His cheeks are still blushing but his smile is, thankfully, gentle instead of condescending or egotistical. He puts on some gloves and walks to your heavily bruised ankle. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I tripped on my shoes," you explain. Tears start to form as the embarrassing memory comes back. "I tripped in front of everyone and they just laughed and didn't try to help me and I was just trying to be better! Trying to improve myself and stand on my own without my ex and then I tripped and fell, right in front of him!"

The doctor grabs some of the tissues from the table nearby and gently wipes the tears from your face.

"The notes from the paramedics say that you had to call them yourself? No one tried to help?"

You nod, a fresh flow of tears starting. "It was supposed to be my night to remake myself. My night to be...to be not me. To be bold, daring, and kiss a stranger at midnight. But instead, here I am with...Can you please tell me your name so I might stop calling you Dr. Studmuffin?"

"I'm Dr. Rogers, but you can call me Steve."

"Thank you, Steve."

"I'm gonna examine your ankle now. I need you to tell me if, when something hurts, okay?" You nod your understanding.

After several squeaks and hisses in pain with explanations as to the type of pain he tells you it's likely a minor fracture but he's going to have to get some x-rays to confirm that.

You sigh, "I was supposed to be drinking champagne and, instead, I'll greet the new year with a dose of radiation." The tears start forming again. "Maybe they were right about how much of a loser I am."

Steve's jaw clenches and he gently lifts your chin, wiping away the tears with another tissue. "Don't do that. Don't let the bullies win. If you do that, they just get worse." He sees the confusion on your face and continues, "I don't like bullies. I got bullied pretty much my whole life."

"Who'd bully a Studmuffin like you?" you blurt.

He chuckles. "I wasn't always built like this. Used to be super scrawny."

"Aww! I bet you were so cute!"

That alone would make his cheeks burn but then Natasha walks in, "Dr. Studmuffin, you're needed in room 32." He gives her a glare but she just smiles back. He sighs, knowing he's never going to hear the end of it.

"Okay, she needs some x-rays and can you make sure Mace is her Radiologist? He'll probably have the most patience for her loopy state."

"Oh, yes, please let me have someone patient!" you exclaim. "I cannot be trusted not to annoy someone right now!"

Natasha smiles at you, "don't worry. I'll make sure you're in good hands."

After Steve catches a few moments to breathe, he looks around to see if you're back from getting your ankle x-ray. He's disappointed to see you're not back yet.

"Don't worry, Dr. Studmuffin," Nat teases. "She'll be back soon enough."

Steve's face goes pink. "I just wanted to do a follow up is all."

"You know you can't lie to me," she smiles. "She's someone who was trying to pull herself together, indicating personal strength. She cooed when you told her you were a scrawny kid, indicating a lack of shallowness on her part. And, I know you saw her chart. She's a chemist, so she's likely highly intelligent. She's exactly your kind of girl."

"She doesn't actually find me attractive," Steve counters. "It's just a bit of Nightingale Syndrome."

Nat laughs uncontrollably for a minute. "Steve, that's when the medical caretaker has a thing for the patient. Not the other way around."

Steve's face goes completely red as he realizes his slip up.

"I'll make sure you're on break around midnight so you can give the lovely lady that kiss with a stranger she was looking for," Nat winks before heading off to another patient.

Your back in your room, wallowing in misery as you look at the time. So close to midnight. You know your "friends" are having a blast. Likely still laughing about you. And here you are, alone and miserable.

Dr. Studmuffin, Steve, you internally correct yourself, comes in.

As he rubs his hands with sanitizer he says, "good news. While it is a partial fracture in the bone, your tendons and ligaments are unharmed. That'll make the healing process a lot easier on you." You nod glumly and he checks his watch. "I'm actually going on break here in a little bit, just in time for midnight. I...I was wondering if, maybe, you'd like to greet the New Year with me?"

Your eyes widen in shock. "You...you want me...you want to kiss me for New Year's?"

"Only if you'd like that," he's quick to assure. "Stick it to those bullies, get a kiss with a stranger, and all that?"

"Yes, please!"

He checks his watch again, "and with that, I'm on my break." He turns on the TV. It's muted but you can still see the countdown.

When the clock hits zero, he leans in for a kiss. Still loopy from the pain meds you wrap your arms around his head and pull him in for a deep kiss, catching him off guard, but making him smile.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad year for either of you.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

O Chilly Night

Warnings: no warnings because I let this be a sweet one. however I could see this Steve getting dark after this story hehe.

Summary: You go skating and fall in a way you don't expect. (plus!reader)

Character: skinny!Steve Rogers

Day Twenty-Two of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i didn't fall on the ice, it was a trick 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The blades glide beneath your feet as your legs move without thinking. The noise of sharp edges slice across the ice as bodies float in pairs and trios, swirling and swerving in laps around the grand oval rink. Electric lights sparkle all around, intertwined with holly and berries in a festive scene. Cheery laughter and cutting whoops fill the crisp air around the clouds of warm breaths. 

Patricia and Joyce skate behind you, slower as they aren’t so confident in their balance. You keep a relaxed pace and spin to face them, moving backwards as they cling to each other. Joyce chatters and touches her cheek. 

“It’s awfully cold out,” she complains. 

“We’ve been inside all month,” you counter. “I’d rather this than to sit at the typewriter a moment longer.” 

“Mm, I’d rather the warm office,” she grips and Patricia nods in agreement. 

You chuckle, “well, Merry Christmas to you.” 

“I’d like it a lot more if it was in June,” Joyce leans into Patricia. 

“We can get some cocoa after, there’s a stall nearby,” you say. “I told you to bring a scarf.” 

“Thank you, mother,” Joyce sneers. 

“Would you like mine?” You ignore her venomous retort. 

“No, I want to stop. I’m dizzy. This is boring,” she whines. 

“Well, there are benches,” you shrug, “you could take a rest.” 

“Fine, but I’m not waiting on you all night,” she sniffles and cups her nose. 

“I’ll come with you. These skates are too small.” 

You smile through the tug in your cheeks. You thought your new coworkers would enjoy the night out. The rink seemed to be a nice seasonal attraction. Market stalls, skating, and even a horse-drawn sleigh. You might try that next. They seem more comfortable sitting down. 

The head for the closest exit and you turn to skim away, keeping a mellow pace. A raucous thunder of laughter and jeers rise from the other end of the rink and you peek over to see the reason. A group of six men pass by a body on the cold surface. The ice seems to steam around the small figure splayed there. 

No one stops. No one even seems to care and more laugh at the poor soul’s plight than worry for it. You sweep down the center of the ice, swooping between other skaters, and stop to bend over the man in his wool coat. His cap is off his head, pillowing it over the ice, and his scarf is twisted down his front. You didn’t expect a man, not at his size. He's rather spindly and the fall might’ve broken something. 

“Sir,” you eke out, “are you alright?” 

He groans and opens his eyes. They are big and blue around his beakish nose. His gives a pained grimace. “I must be. I thought if I kept my eyes closed I might melt into the ice.” 

“Did you hit your head?” You wonder. “Can you get up?” 

He stares at you, his irises gleaming in confusion as he searches your face. He looks around then nods. “Yeah... I’m good,” he assures you. “Thanks for asking.” 

“Here,” you offer your mittened hand. “You shouldn’t stay down there or you might stick.” 

His forehead creases and his mouth upturns. He snorts, “that’s silly.” 

He looks at your hand and reaches for it hesitantly. You grasp him and do your best to plant your skates. He’s not very heavy. You get him on his blades but he wobbles precariously. 

“Sorry, I’m no good at this.” He clings to you as his feet slip. “My friend wanted to come but...” he glances around. “He’s late.” 

He’s not very tall, even on the skates. And somehow standing, he doesn’t look much bigger than he did on the ice. The hollow of his throat is deep and his jacket is at least two sizes too big. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold. 

He finally lets you go and puts his hand out to balance himself. You bend and scoop up his hat. You hand it over as your cheeks bulb in a smile. 

“You sure you didn’t hurt anything?” 

He stares at the hat before he takes it and covers his messy blond hair. “Just my ego.” 

“We all fall when we learn. That's how you learn, what matters is you get back up,” you say. 

“Yeah? Well, it helps if we have someone to help us up,” he snorts. 

“I guess,” you shrug. “It’s just what you do.” 

“Really? Cause everyone else just laughed at me.” 

“That’s more their problem than yours, I’d say,” you tut. 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Not at all. Merry Christmas, sir.” 

“Yeah, uh, you too,” he looks down sheepishly. “Can I ask how you got so good at this?” 

“Not by honest means. I used to sneak out when my mother wasn’t looking,” you snicker. “Kept a better eye on me after I fell under the ice.” 

He laughs, “hm, guess I’ll have to keep practicing.” 

“Um, I hope your friend shows up soon. Mine are waiting,” you point over your shoulder. “But, uh, do you want some help to the edge? You can lean on the posts.” 

“I think you’ve done enough,” he chews his cheek. “Think I see my buddy.” 

He raises his hand and you turn to look. You can’t see much over the bodies all around you. You’re not sure how he can see more than you. Oh well. 

“Well, have fun and... be careful,” you slowly turn and drift away. You should go find Patricia and Joyce. 

You step off the ice and sidle to the side. You look up and down the benches but don’t see them. There’s families, dads on one knee tying their kids’ skates, mothers checking their coat buttons, and adolescents impatient to go out and find their friends. 

You go around the perimeter, walking on your blades, but don’t find your fellow typists. You stop to change into your shoes, knotting the laces of your skates to hang over your shoulder. You hook your bag strap over them and get up to search the picnic tables. 

Your feet hurt as you come up fruitless in your hunt. You finally give into the disappointment and sit on your own. You stare at the stall as you mull over whether to get a cider or cocoa to soothe the wound. They left you. So much for friends. 

You untangle your skates and set them on the bench next to you. You rub your mitts together and contemplate whether it’s even worth it to spend the nickel. You shield your hurt behind a smile that aches in your cheeks. You miss home. You don’t know why you moved to the city. Like that man said, people just laugh at your pain. 

“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as the thought of him seems to summon his appearance, “I didn’t get your name.” 

You look up at the thin man, his nose even redder than before. He holds two steaming mugs. You blink and utter your name. “What’s your name?” You ask. 

“Steve,” he grins. 

You look at the cups, “you found your friend?” 

“Sure did, he’s racing on the ice,” he says. “I don’t wanna break my tailbone so I thought I’d step off. Er...” he looks down at his hands, “can I sit with you?” 

“Oh,” you look around at the full tables. “I guess. I’m taking up a lot of room, aren’t I?” 

He sets the mugs down and sits. He sniffs and scratches his nose as he beams at you. He’s speechless as you try to figure out what to say. 

“Um, I got you cocoa,” he slides a cup across. “To say thanks.” 

“You...did?” Your brows rise in surprise. “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. “So, where are your friends?” 

Your lips straighten. You can’t lie, you’ve never been any good at it. You reach for the mug, your mitten brushing his, and you pull it closer. 

“They left.” 

He hums, “really? Why would they do that?” 

You shrug, “too cold, maybe.” 

“Nah, I'd say they’re too cold,” he scoffs. 

You laugh softly, “you’re too nice. It’s my fault. I asked them and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I just thought...” you trail off. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” 

“Sure it does,” he leans his elbows on the table as he cups his hands around the mug. “If they don’t think so, then toss them. They’re missing out.” 

You look up at him and blink away the heat in your eyes. Perhaps he isn’t the friend you expected, but you think you made one nonetheless. You smile and blow over the mug. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you lift the cup, “for everything.” 

“It’s nothing,” he pushes his shoulders up as he stares at you with his bright eyes. “It’s just a cup of cocoa. You’re the sorta girl who deserves anything she could dream of.” 

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Second Lesson

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: edging and overstimulation

Genre: smut

Summary: Some things are not self explanatory, and Steve has decided he's going to fill in the gaps by coming to you to ask his questions about sex and some of those questions have more involved answers than you'd expect

***

You hear a knock at your door while you're looking for something in your closet.

"Coming!" You call, taking a moment to contain the hurricane that you've created in there. You open the door to find Steve in the hall.

"Are you busy?" He asks.

"Not particularly, what's up?"

"I have another question."

"Shoot." You say, gesturing for him to walk into your room.

"Edging. What it is?"

"It is pleasuring yourself or someone else until the brink of orgasm without letting them actually have an orgasm."

"That sounds like torture." Steve frowns.

"Sometimes it is. It can be used as a punishment, some people enjoy it though, it can also be about increasing endurance- you know- training to last longer in bed, it also usually makes the orgasm more intense when you do eventually get to that point."

"Huh, have you done it before?"

"Been on both sides." You shrug. "Oh also I should mention that like most kink terms there is an equal yet opposite complementary term. For edging its complementary term is overstimulation."

"And that is?"

"If edging is about restraint when it comes to pleasure then overstimulation is a hedonistic indulgence in it. Orgasming again and again and again, sometimes to the point of pain this is where a safe word can be useful because you may say things like stop or I can't take it especially because post orgasm sensitivity can be a bitch but the whole point is to keep going and if you've already talked about exploring either edging or overstim, your partner will probably ignore you saying stop because again the point is to keep going even if you are sensitive, but if they're going to ignore you saying it's too much, you need to be able to stop them if it actually is too much."

"Are all aspects of sex so- severe?" He asks.

"No. Sex can be incredibly soft and gentle and sweet, it can be slow and tender in many ways. I mean, you saw some of that last time. You just- happen to have coincidentally questions about the other end of the spectrum today." You shrug.

"It just seems very, intense. Like maybe too intense? I don't get why you would want to put someone through that. It seems like a slippery slope, sex should be about love not some form of- torture."

"Well calm down, you sound panicked and it's not like I'm going to strap you down and force you to experience it. It's not for everyone Steve, different people have different preferences, this is why it's good to have those conversations before you sleep with someone so nobody gets put in a stressful situation they didn't sign up for. Plus there are a lot of ways to express love you know. If your person wants you to do these things then that absolutely shows that you love them, especially if you do them with the care you're meant to."

"I just don't understand it I guess." He shakes his head.

"That's fine Stevie, no one can force you to do it or enjoy it or even comprehend it really. Like I said, it's a personal preference. Just- be honest with your partner when the time comes." You shrug.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you... like this stuff?" Steve asks.

"I do. With the right person."

"Really?"

"You have your ideas about sex, I have mine." You shrug.

"What's that mean?"

"You said sex is about showing love and I agree with that to a point but to me it's also about pleasure. It's about exploring yourself, sometimes through someone else. It's about learning and adventure. The heat and intensity, passion that is borderline all consuming, sex can be many things. I like to experience all of them."

"Oh." He breathes.

"Of course that's just me. I'm not here to change your mind about anything." You hum.

"I have to try this edging thing."

"You don't. The hands on lessons are an option not an obligation, you don't seem interested in that and that's fine! You can just take the verbal explanation and proceed with your day as long as it makes sense to you, there's no reason to force yourself to try something that don't appeal to you." You shake your head.

"Well, it's hard to understand something if you're not open to experiencing it right?"

"I mean, I guess sometimes."

"So I want to experience it. That way I can understand it." He insists.

"As long as you're sure about this."

"I'm sure. Let's do it." He nods.

"What? Now?"

"Do you have time?"

"Depends on what time it is now."

"Three seventeen."

"I've got til six, I have another engagement later this evening."

"Is that enough time?"

"Plenty. Get comfortable, I would recommend getting naked, you do need to at least take off your pants or you'll likely stain them but it'll probably be more comfortable to take off everything because there's a chance you'll get hot. I know you run pretty warm already but I don't know how much you'd enjoy your shirt sticking to your back after twenty minutes." You say.

"Right, yeah." Steve hesitantly shuffles out of his pants and underwear and then, after seemingly debating in his head, he also pulls his shirt over his head and places all of them on your desk chair before sitting on the bed.

"Alright, I'm going to treat this like I would a real situation. Of course, the expectations are different, I know so don't worry about performing a certain way. Just like last time if at any point you have a question or something makes you feel uncomfortable you can simply say so assuming you can focus. If you can't focus use your stoplight. Yellow, or red, just like we discussed before." You tell him as you pull open the drawer by your bed and grab the bottle of lube.

"What's that for?" Steve asks when you squirt a generous amount into your hand.

"It's a lubricant. It might be a little cold at first, but I'm sure you'll appreciate it, especially the longer this goes." You say sitting beside him. "I'm going to touch you now, is that alright?" You ask.

"Yes." Steve nods with more conviction than you'd expect. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick and he takes in a large breath. His exhale is shaky as you drag your hand up his length with a pressured grip. You circle his tip, slowly massaging it, watching his reactions, enjoying the way his abdomen seems to flex sporadically. His breathing is coming out harsher now and you begin to pump him. Last time you made a point not to stare at him since he was clearly rather nervous about the whole thing but not looking is rather impossible with this 'lesson' so you take the time to really get a look at his dick as you stroke him. The tip is a reddish pink and there are a couple veins running very noticeably along it. You already knew he was big, he's been inside you for fuck's sake, but looking at it unobstructed, boy was he... endowed.

"So how this works Stevie, usually, is that you'll tell me when you're close, ask me, beg me if I tell you to, ask me to cum and I'll tell you if you've earned it. Of course I won't demand all that from you, I'm rather good at reading people's bodies." You explain to him, stroking faster, holding a little bit tighter.

"W-what do you mean usually?" He asks wearily.

"When I do this with partners. There's a bit of power play that comes with this, if you hadn't noticed, having control of how much pleasure your person receives at any given moment. It's a very powerful feeling. But this is more about teaching you than my own enjoyment, so it's a bit different, I'm just offering you more details about the appeal of it all." You explain.

"A-and you- you like that? The p-power play?" He asks. You can tell he's really starting to struggle with his focus, his body is twitching, and he's gripping the sheets, blinking rapidly as he speaks. You watch his whole body tense up and take that as your cue to ease up. You slow your wrist to almost a stop, relishing in the groan Steve lets out.

"I find it can be intoxicating." You smirk.

"So that's how this works?" He pants.

"Pretty much." You nod, picking up speed again. Steve moans as his body jolts again. You can't help but imagine how nice he'd look with a couple of hickeys. You won't be giving him any of course but the idea does captivate you for a brief moment. It's clear that Steve is trying to control his reactions, but the shaky breaths and strained grunts give him away.

"My god." He whispers, tipping his head back. If it was anybody but Steve saying those words, you'd affirm that you are their god and they should worship you as such but it's not somebody else, it's Steve and you'd best keep it simple. When his body tenses up again, you slow your hand accordingly, and Steve lets out a strained groan.

"You know Stevie, you don't have to try so hard to keep quiet. I like your little noises. They're hot." You say.

"I'm not- r-really used to... making n-noises like that." He pants out.

"Well, a bit of advice, most girls like to hear that you're enjoying yourself."

"Really?"

"Yep." You say, stroking him faster, again. You continue your game with him, slowing down when his body tenses up and speeding up when his shuddering breaths quiet. With each denied orgasm his restraint on his vocalizations seems to slip, by the fith time you're slowing down he's an unending string of moans and grunts and even a few whimpers when you squeeze in just the right place.

"This is torture." Steve grits out. His entire body is flushed and his skin is glistening.

"I know but you're doing so well. Just a little longer and I promise I'll reward you. Don't you want that?" You ask with a mocking sweetness in your tone.

"Please." He says breathlessly.

"Oh that sounded nice." You smile. You're not even trying to break him like you would under usual circumstances but the sound him whimpering please to you almost makes you want to.

"Y/n- I feel, like I'm on fire. Please I need to cum." Steve huffs through clenched teeth and you start to wonder if he's reaching his limit. Gripping his chin you gently tilt his head to look at you.

"Checking in Stevie, gimme a color please." You say softly.

"G-green, this is insane." He says shakily.

"You haven't tapped out yet." You smile slightly.

"Is that the goal?"

"Not today." You wink at him. You decide it's probably best to stop here, so you pick up your speed again watching for the telltale signs of his orgasm but this time you finally let him peak and you can't decide if the sound or sight is more dazzling. Either way, you work him through it as evidence of his release spurts over your hand and his thighs in thick ropes. There's an impressive amount of it and you wonder if this is a super soldier thing or if he's just really pent up. When nothing else comes out and he hisses against your touch you let him go. "I'm gonna get a wash cloth, hang tight." You tell him standing from the bed and walking into your bathroom. You rinse your hand first and then soak a washcloth with room temperature water. When you pop back out his arm is draped over his eyes but he otherwise hasn't moved. You start with his neck, wiping the sweat that's probably made his skin sticky. You do a quick swipe across his chest too before moving on to cleaning the remenants of his orgasm from his thighs and recovering dick. "How are we feeling?" You ask him once he's clean. You toss the washcloth in your hamper and grab a water from your mini fridge before sitting beside him on the bed.

"That was- intense." He says.

"Yes but you knew that going in."

"I mean- when you finally let me, you know. It was intense- probably more so than I've ever felt." He says and you giggle at his avoidance of saying orgasm.

"We should really work on your comfortablilty with some of these terms. But yes that intensity is a high some people crave."

"Wow."

"Was it worth it?" You ask.

"What?"

"You said it was the most intense orgasm you've ever had, would you say the payoff was worth the buildup? After all you called it torture."

"You're not even nice about it."

"I was actually very nice, I didn't wait til you were crying to get you off which- is usually what I'll do."

"You make people cry?" He blinks surprised.

"Sometimes." You shrug.

"That's- further than I-"

"I know, that's why I didn't make you cry. Although crying is way more likely with overstimultion anyhow." You shrug.

"Is it?"

"Wanna see for yourself?" You ask opening your bedside drawer again.

"Well I'm not sure I can hand-"

"Here." You drop one of your toys in his hand.

"What's this?"

"A vibrator. I figure it's not fair if every lesson is just me doing things to you like some sort of lab rat so I thought you might want to try overstimulating me. The only other way for that to happen is for you to learn my body but who has time for that? This is efficient and pretty much idiot proof it'll get the job done regardless of your personal experience." You shrug.

"You- want me to use this on you?" He asks wide eyes watching you quickly take off your clothes.

"Yes I do. It's simple, I promise. It does most of the work for you. If you have the energy for it that is." You say.

"Depends on just how simple it is." He says. You sit on the bed next to him and grab his wrist, placing the vibrator in his hand against your clit. It's not on but your insides still clench in anticipation when it touches you.

"Put it here, small circles or wiggling it up and down is fine but keep it in this general area, start with light pressure and press harder as we go. I'll be using the same stoplight system, so here's a couple of preliminary warnings, if I squirm away follow me or hold me down, if I cry that's fine, if I scream let me, ignore me if I ask you to stop or say it's too much. In fact, no matter what, you keep this against me until I call red and I will call red. Sound simple enough?"

"You might cry and that's a good thing?" He frowns.

"It's not a bad thing. It probably won't happen anyway I'm just covering my bases no need to look so terrified." You chuckle.

"How do I turn this on?" He asks after a moment.

"The last button."

"What are the other two?"

"One controls the rhythym and the other controls the power, don't mess with those buttons. For the sake of this lesson they are off limits."

"Last one turns it on?"

"Yes." You nod. Steve stares at the buttons for a moment before a sharp click fills the silence and you jolt from the sudden stimulation. He moves the toy in tight circles, his face pinched in focus. Your hips grind against the vibrator and it doesn't take long for your first orgasm to hit you with a soft moan.

"Oh." Steve says, as if he's surprised.

"Keep going, add pressure." You huff out. Shuddering pants indicate that Steve's done what you asked, your muscles tensing from the continued pleasure post orgasm. The thing with this particular vibrator is that it works quick and you hardly manage to calm down before your second orgasm sneaks up on you. Steve trades the circles for little up and down motions that draw a couple sharp moans from you. 

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"Fine Stevie, I'm fine." You say shakily. Your third orgasm comes with a cry through your closed mouth. You know it's impractical to be so mindful of your sounds but you've got to remain at least semi-composed to be of any help to Steve. More and more your body spasms as the stimulation continues, practically twitching from the pleasure. Small whimpers begin to escape with more frequency as you quickly approach orgasm four. On this one your eyes roll back and you allow an obscene sounding high pitched moan to fall from your lips. Steve makes a sound somewhere in his throat which you barely hear. You're starting to feel that bite of overstimulation layering under the pleasure and it makes you squirm. You jerk against the toy, hoping for a reprieve from the buzzing and Steve, the dilligent student that he is, places a hand across your stomach, holding you in place and all you can do is cry out as he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. You grip the sheets tightly as he starts to make little circles around your too sensitive bundle of nerves, your whole body is shaking as another orgasm quickly creeps up on you with a squealing noise and string of curses. You can feel your brain getting fuzzy, that familiar hedonistic haze threatens to blanket your thoughts, you know if you don't stop Steve soon you'll be far too blissed out to do so and Steve is not equipped to handle that sort of headspace.

"Okay, red. That's enough Stevie." You say breathlessly but firm. Steve quickly moves the toy but struggles to turn it off so you take it from him and turn it off yourself. You take a couple of moments to recompose yourself, ignoring the phantom buzzing and overwhelming wetness between your legs when you sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

"Are you alright? Do you need water? Can I get you something?"

"I'm fine Stevie. How are you feeling?"

"Me? I wasn't the one-"

"The whole point of this was to see if you enjoyed either edging or overstim- having tried both, do you feel like you at least have a better understanding of them like you wanted?"

"I- guess I have a better understanding."

"Well what're you thinking?"

"I thought I would- hate the edging thing but, as... intense as it was there was something, freeing about it? Like getting on a ride at Coney Island and the ending was, worth the build up."

"And overstimulation?"

"It's incredible watching the way your body reacts to such an onslaught. Plus the idea of bringing your lover imense pleasure like that is undeniably delicious, I can see how that kind of thing can be so thrilling."

"Well there you go. Questions answered. You're free to leave." You say.

"Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm fine Steve I'm just going to hop in the shower you've got nothing to worry about really. I've got other things on my schedule of today remember?"

"Alright- if you're sure. I'll see you around. Enjoy your evening."

"Thanks. See ya." You say. Steve seems hesitant to leave but without a reason to stay, he has to shuffle his way out. You let out a sigh after your door closes. You've got a couple hours before your evening plans, good thing, you'll need it. Hopefully one of these days Steve will ask a simple question with a simple answer that doesn't a demonstration.

***

Tagged Users: @chososg1rl

[hawthorne-bias]

cinnamon dust

The café on West 4th Street in Manhattan is the last place Steve expects to find summer in the middle of winter. And yet, as you step inside, wrapped in too many layers with a laugh so warm and bright, Steve finds it—discovering a light in you he never knew he was missing; one he can no longer imagine living without.

tags: steve rogers x you; this is very fluffy and cute; love at first sight; pining; steve rogers is an artist, he's a romantic, but most importantly, steve rogers is turning into a total goner for you; nat, sam and bucky all enjoy one common hobby: poking fun at steve.

warnings: none, other than a few mentions of christmas delicacies. no gendered language used for the reader.

word count: 1293.

a/n: pictures used in header are from pinterest. dividers used here are by @saradika-graphics. mcu and its characters are not mine. likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!! hope you'll enjoy reading this! happy holidays, everyone!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

It’s a few days before Christmas in New York, and Steve sits tucked in the corner of a small café, the kind that always smells like cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee. Outside, the city is draped in white, snow drifting lazily through the air, muffling the usual chaos of honking cars and hurried footsteps. But in here, it’s calm—a warm little haven with soft conversations murmuring in the background and the faint clink of cups and plates filling the air.

Steve has barely touched the last bite of his pastry, his mind half on the conversation at the table. Sam, Natasha, and Bucky are hashing out details for a mission, their voices blending with the background noise. Steve listens with one ear, his gaze occasionally flicking toward the window, where the snow is painting Manhattan in soft edges and blurry outlines.

He’s pulled back into the moment when Natasha drops a piece of classified information too casually for his comfort. His brow furrows, and he leans forward, lowering his voice. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to talk about this here?” His sharp eyes scan the room, taking in every stranger nearby, gauging the distance between their table and prying ears. “We could head to my place—or Sam’s. Both are close, and at least there we won’t have to worry about being overheard.”

Natasha leans back, a slow smirk curling at her lips. “Sometimes the best way to stay hidden is to be right out in the open, Steve. Relax.”

Sam nods, lifting his coffee with an easy grin. “Nat’s right, man. Nobody here’s listening to us.”

Bucky doesn’t say much—he rarely does these days—but he glances over his coffee cup with a ghost of a chuckle. “You’re too tense. Let it go, pal.”

Steve sighs, sinking back into his seat. His arms fold across his chest, and he picks at his pastry absentmindedly. He’s about to take another bite when the door opens with a soft jingle, and a cold gust sweeps through the café. He glances up, only half-interested in who might walk through.

And then, he sees you.

You step inside, brushing snow from your coat, and for a moment, Steve forgets to breathe. Everything else—Nat’s smirk, Sam’s grin, Bucky’s quiet chuckle—fades into nothingness.

You’re smiling, and it’s not just any smile. It’s the kind of smile that stops the world for a beat, that makes the noise around him fall away. Bright and unguarded, it spills warmth into the room, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. It’s so genuine, so easy, that Steve feels it tug at something deep inside him, a thread he didn’t even know was there.

His gaze lingers, drawn to the way you move so comfortably, like the snow and cold don’t bother you at all. You’re bundled up in a soft, slouchy hat, a thick scarf wrapped snugly around your neck, and a coat that’s just a bit too big, with the sleeves slipping over your hands. It makes you look cozy, like you’re wrapped in layers of warmth and softness, and everything about the way you carry yourself feels so effortless, like you’re perfectly at ease despite the chill outside.

Steve can’t help it. His artist’s eye takes over, sketching you in his mind as you step toward the counter. You’re all soft lines and warm tones—snow-dusted hair, the gentle curve of your scarf tucked snugly against your chin, and the easy grace in the way you move as you browse the treats behind the glass.

And then you speak.

Your voice carries across the room, light and melodic, and Steve is undone. There’s a rhythm to your words, an unintentional music that lingers in the air long after you’ve finished your sentence. “I suddenly got a craving for something sweet,” you tell the barista, your tone playful, yet sincere. “And I couldn’t think of a better place to come than here.”

Steve feels something stir in his chest, something he can’t quite name. He watches as you lean closer to the display case, your eyes lighting up at the sight of the holiday pastries. Gingerbread loaf, peppermint cheesecake, chocolate yule logs—they’re all just food, but you make them seem magical, like treasures unearthed from some hidden trove.

When you order a slice of everything, Steve’s lips twitch upward before he can stop himself. It’s such a whimsical thing to do, so unashamedly indulgent, that he finds himself enchanted by the audacity of it. There’s no hesitation in your joy, no holding back. You’ve walked into this café, brought the winter with you, and somehow made it feel like spring.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he barely notices the barista handing you the bag of treats. You thank them with a cheerful laugh, promising to come back soon to “restock your sweets stash,” and the warmth in your voice is enough to make Steve’s heart ache.

The bell jingles again as you leave, and the cold air rushes in to replace you. Steve watches you disappear into the snowfall, and the café feels dimmer, quieter, like you took the light with you.

For a long moment, Steve just stares at the door, his mind replaying the way you’d smiled, the way your voice had wrapped itself around the room like a warm embrace. It’s only when the sound of laughter from his friends pulls him back to reality that he realizes he’s been zoning out. He blinks, startled, as he suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he’s not alone.

Sam’s voice breaks the silence, light but with a hint of curiosity. “You good, Steve?”

Steve clears his throat, snapping himself back to the present. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, brushing it off as he shifts in his seat.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Seemed like something caught your attention.” Her words are casual, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.

Steve shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... got lost in thought,” he says, hoping to sound convincing.

Bucky doesn’t say a word, but the way he glances at Steve, his expression unreadable save for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, is enough to make Steve shift under his friend’s quiet scrutiny.

Sam hums, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Happens to the best of us,” he says, his tone easy but with just enough weight to make Steve glance away.

“Back to the mission,” Steve mutters, trying to refocus himself on their conversation, though it’s clear he’s still a bit lost in thought. He shifts in his seat, giving a half-hearted attempt to steer things back to the task at hand.

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle, leaning back in her chair, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Sure, Steve. Back to the mission,” she replies, the teasing tone in her voice unmistakable.

The others exchange a quick, knowing glance, but thankfully, they let the moment pass without pushing it. For now, at least. Steve breathes a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for the temporary distraction.

But even as he tries to refocus on the conversation, his mind keeps drifting back to you. His gaze flickers toward the counter, where the café hours are neatly printed on a small sign. The numbers stick in his mind, almost unbidden, as if committing them to memory is second nature.

He knows, even before he finishes reading, that this won’t be the last time he comes to this café—not by a long shot. How could it be, when he’s already looking forward to the next time he’ll catch another glimpse of your radiant smile and hear your sweet voice again?

if you've enjoyed this fic and would like to be tagged in my future fanfics, please drop an ask into my inbox! thank you so much for reading this!! <333

[minors and ageless blogs will not be tagged in the nsfw fics, by the way! i'm sorry!!]

[darsynia]

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

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | Ro Roll | Prev Fic

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

WC/Warnings: 5,200 // explicit sex

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

Can be read standalone!

Excerpt:

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

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

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

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

“--perfectly,” Steve laughs.

Joyous

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

Just normal early relationship stuff, really.

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

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

🪴🪴🪴: Whoops i

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

🪴🪴🪴: Hit enter too e

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

Screwdriver?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you murmur intelligently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if you didn’t have to hide?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You get to feel his laugh before you hear it.

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

The moment hangs. Humor isn’t enough.

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

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

“Oh! It’s snowing!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever it is, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will you survive, if so?

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

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

“Oh, I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know exactly who I’m here with.”

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

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

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

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

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

There are two shirt buttons left.

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

You wet your lips. Slowly.

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

“You’re passionate.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re patient.”

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

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

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

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

“Wait, you’re saying during the--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sweetheart, you’re forgiven.”

<- Previous story...

[ronearoundblindly]

I have a request! This can be for your ‘Every Cevans character’ or you can choose specific guys from your fics like Fools Rush in! Steve / Root of All! Ransom etc.. whichever you want :)

What does initiating sex look like for the boys? I’m curious which guys do think initiate sex the most? Or do some only wait for the girl to initiate? I have a feeling Jakey boy waits for his girl initiate most of the time 🤣. Maybe there’s some where it’s 50/50? Curious to know your thoughts.

Yeah, sorry I completely wiffed getting this done yesterday, but here's half of the promised content! I did try to reference most of my other works for multiple story insights...

Warnings for discussion of sex, but nothing explicit.

James Mace

Unfortunately, Mace gets distracted by work, spending tons of time (even when you're together) chasing possibilities down rabbit holes, so sometimes you have to remind him that what you two have is real and, like a living thing, will die without oxygen. In this case, oxygen is affection and attention. He...gets it and then forgets again after a while. Mace doesn't need a hard push by any means, but in total, initiating sex is close to 50-50.

He's not a big romancer, but that doesn't mean Mace can't be deeply romantic. Initiating simply looks like more of a "you feeling it?"-type conversation rather than gentle, building foreplay. That said...Mace, when you too are intimate, is 100% focused on you and your pleasure and connection together. He's a very practical compartmentalizer, meaning he also goes hard on the mission in front of him 😉 ya dig?

Curtis Everett

This boi?? Oh lawd. This boi is the king of that look--the one that hits you like a train from across a busy room that says "let's fuck." Curtis doesn't need words; he just needs you. He absolutely ends up being the main initiator if you count all the looks. However, that doesn't mean you aren't giving him the eyes right back. 😁🤭

Jimmy Dobyne

Ugh. Jimmy waits for signals too much and really only is the initiator when he's very, very horny. In Common Education, since that's a modern AU, he takes the lead just as much as reader, but that is because reader has a position of authority (professor) over him at the beginning. Counter-intuitive? Nah, Jimmy finds that attractive. He's hot for it. See, the thing about Jimmy is he's an average joe. He gets kinda complacent and comfortable in traditional setups, so when his perfect partner pushes back against that boring dynamic, it lights a fire under him. He's intrigued. He's energized. That hint of danger is totally an aphrodisiac. "We shouldn't" are two of the sexiest words to this man.

Johnny Storm

Rarely isn't the initiator. Admit it, you knew that already. He's literally got the hots for you all the time. He's got that spunky energy of youth and cosmic radiation. He's DTF.

Jake Jensen

Okay, y'all know I love our babygirl so, so much, but Jake is oblivious to the idea women have libidos. He kinda thinks he's being a burden with how often he wants to touch you or fool around. It ends up being 50-50 on who initiates because he's s.l.o.w. He makes jokes and blushes and plays it off, and Jake assumes he looks more like a goofy man-child (probably because you've said that, verbatim) who isn't exactly the guy you'd want to jump on. Again, he's an idiot. We love him. Just...good gracious, just fuck him as much as you want. He's cool with it.

Lloyd Hansen

Lloyd is not patient enough to wait for you to initiate and also isn't so great with the word 'no,' even in the innocuous form of 'not now.' He will, at very least, threaten to find other entertainment to guilt you into servicing him. Secretly, he loves this game, a bit of fight, but only in small doses. Pretty much you're one chance to initiate is waking Lloyd up, otherwise it's all him.

Ari Levinson

Ari enjoys closeness. He mostly wants to be wrapped around you on the couch after long days at work which leads to who-knows-who started it sex, and with a little luck, a snack, and a hydration break, leads to a who-knows-who-started-it Round 2. He's pretty good at initiation but must be told to wait during those times you need either a different kind of closeness or some alone time.

This is only slightly different from Bedrock & Blueprints!Ari since having a decade of non-romantic experience with you, he doesn't always default to being that close to you. Not in a bad way--Ari is simply used to respecting your space, talking, and listening to you. All that 'baggage' actually helps you two have a deeper, longer-lasting relationship because it's more than just-physical for Ari.

Ransom Drysdale

Ran is a moody son-of-a-bitch and sex improves his mood. It's 50-50 since depending on whether he tries or you try to improve his mood. Ransom's not the most observant dude (putting it mildly), so he doesn't usually notice your mood behaves the same way. If you need some loving, it's then 100% on you to ask, let him know, or jump on that. This applies to...every single version of Ransom I can imagine, so this is RoAR, too.

Andy Barber

Busy. He gets tired. Andy will run himself ragged before remembering that he could have you join him in that essential-shower after a long day. He has bursts of horniness once big cases are finished or vacation energy once you two finally get away. While Andy is deep in work, it's all on you to initiate. If he's less busy/stressed, he will be the best, most playful, most attentive man, but Andy compartmentalizes his life. He can't focus on two aspects of his life fully at the same time.

Steve Rogers

Generally, I totally see Steve as being passive when it comes to initiating sex, but once I broke down the series I've written him in, that guy surprised me.

FRI--For the longest time, obviously, Steve was not the initiator in pretty much any way (couple of kisses, sure, but eh, that's about it), so he has to grow into a 50-50 split. There's a natural ebb and flow between Sketch & Keeps--sometimes it's more you, sometimes it's more him.

Hideout--Steve sure as shit wants you, but all the initiating and encouraging is you for a while. He rarely isn't in the mood when you hint at sex (or any variation of touch, etc). He takes less and less convincing to let go as you two get to know each other. Once he's gained the confidence, Steve initiating is a hott treat, let me just say...

IHTBY--Ummm, it's mostly Steve. Bit of a horndog, this one, and he's highly aware of the previous taboo of you working for him for most of your relationship. He checks in a lot, makes sure you're comfortable and not feeling pressured, and then takes over to show his devotion to you as a woman. Steve is intensely committed to appreciating your independence; he feels lucky (and turned on) knowing you choose to be with him.

Threadbare--Steve enjoys starting intimacy with Button because he often watches her handle lots of tools, paper, fabric, and other people (professionally), which gives him *ideas.* He likes to be the subject of your artistic attentions ☺️

Autumn Is Healing--Steve is the initiator most of the time actually. It began that way because he wanted to show you soft affection, but...he also really likes you (and escalation happens). He starts with very gentle touch, like running his fingertips down your arm.

So...I guess perhaps I was wrong about it being on you to start something...

Bucky Barnes

Cautious. Nowadays, Bucky likes to know the answer to a question before he asks, so he does wait for certain signs from you. He doesn't need overt signals, though, because Buck can sense every subtle change when he pays attention (there's something to be said for his comfort is *turning off* this gift around you as well btw): warmer skin, picked up heart rate, clamping and rubbing your thighs together. All that is to say that he absolutely knows if you're in a mood before making his move on you, and the only times when you technically get to initiate is if you legit pounce on him the instant he returns from a mission.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Kansas City - Interview Broadcast Day [9/12]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 7.6k Summary: The campaign rolls through Kansas City to make a pitstop to watch with the rest of the country as your interview with Oprah airs on Sunday night primetime television.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened. And in case you missed it, this is who I mentioned in a post that I cast to play the role of Jake, our fearless campaign manager.

Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The savory aroma of slow-cooked meat and smoky spices envelops you as you step out of the campaign SUV and onto the sun-baked sidewalk in front of Arthur Bryant's Barbeque. The iconic Kansas City establishment stands before you, its red brick facade and neon sign a beacon for barbecue lovers from across the nation.

Steve emerges from the vehicle behind you, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the restaurant. "I've been looking forward to this all day," he admits, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but smile back, feeling a flutter of excitement in your own stomach. You’re beginning to believe butterflies will never stop hitting you when he smiles at you like that.

After days of campaign events and press conferences, this small detour feels like a breath of fresh air. There will still be conversations, meeting strangers, taking questions, hearing from the people, and press capturing everything second of it, but part of these kinds of stops at least feel slightly more organic. You feel like the conversations, at least, are more real, and you get to know people for who they really are in the places they actually go on a regular kind of day. The fact that it involves world-famous barbecue is just a bonus.

It’s also one of the rare days you both get to be dressed down and casual. Steve even wears a dark blue baseball cap to help lower his profile of being recognized even more.

As you approach the entrance, you and Steve reach for each others hands, fingers locking, natural as anything now.

The moment you step inside Arthur Bryant's, you're hit with a wave of nostalgia. The no-frills interior, with its simple tables and chairs, feels like stepping back in time. The walls are adorned with photos of famous patrons and news clippings, a testament to the restaurant's rich history.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a warm smile approaches. "Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers, welcome to Arthur Bryant's," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Jerry, the manager. We're honored to have you here."

Steve shakes Jerry's hand firmly. "The honor is ours, Jerry. We've heard amazing things about your barbecue."

"Well, we hope to live up to the hype," Jerry chuckles. "Why don't I give you a quick tour before we get you set?"

As Jerry leads you through the restaurant, pointing out photos of past presidents and celebrities who have dined there, you can feel the eyes of other patrons on you. There are whispers and a few excited waves, but for the most part, people seem content to let you enjoy your visit.

Jerry brings you to the counter where the magic happens. The smell of smoked meat is even stronger here, making your mouth water and your stomach growl audibly. Steve glances at you with an amused smile.

"Now, what can I get for you folks?" Jerry asks.

Steve's eyes light up as he scans the menu board. "I think I'll have the burnt ends sandwich and some fries," he says.

“And you, Mrs. Rogers?”

“I want a brisket sandwich,” you reply.

“Only the half?” Jerry asks.

“With sides of the cheesy corn, baked beans, onion rings, and cole slaw,” you add.

“Atta girl!” the man grins. “This one knows how to order!” he calls out to the others around. “She’s got my vote!”

You laugh at Jerry's enthusiasm, feeling a warmth spread through you at the easy camaraderie. Steve grins and shakes his head. "I think I've been outdone," he says good-naturedly.

Jerry chuckles as he starts preparing your order. "Well, Captain, maybe I’ll swing my vote to you by the time we hit November. Now, what can I get you to drink?"

"Sweet tea for me," you say.

"Make that two," Steve adds with a smile.

As Jerry busies himself with your order, you and Steve take a moment to look around the restaurant. The dinner crowd is starting to filter in, and you can see a mix of curiosity and excitement on the faces of those who recognize you.

A young woman approaches hesitantly, her phone clutched in her hand. "Excuse me," she says, her voice slightly trembling. "I'm sorry to bother you, but would it be okay if I took a picture with you both?"

Steve responds with a warm smile. "Of course, we'd be happy to."

The young woman's face lights up. "Thank you so much! I'm Emily, by the way.” She hands her phone to a nearby friend.

You and Steve position yourselves on either side of Emily, smiling warmly as her friend snaps a few photos. As Emily checks the pictures, her excitement is palpable.

"Thank you again," she says, her eyes shining. "I've been following your campaign. It's really inspiring to see people I feel like I relate to running instead of just old white men."

“Well, technically Steve’s a very old white man,” you tease.

Steve gives you a mock glare, and Emily laughs.

“No, I guess what I mean is people who seem like people and not just politicians,” she clarifies. “I felt like that about Charlie Young before, too, and so I’m glad he’s your running mate.”

Steve's expression softens. "That means a lot, Emily. What issues are most important to you in your day to day life?"

Emily takes a deep breath, considering her answer. "I'm about to age out of my parents' insurance, and I'm worried about how I'll afford coverage on my own."

You nod sympathetically. "We'd love to hear more about your perspective if you’re willing to share."

Emily glances at her friend, who nods encouragingly. "Well," she begins, "I'm 25 and I work as a teacher's assistant. The pay isn't great, and the school district doesn't offer health insurance for part-time employees. I've been looking into private plans, but they're so expensive. I have a pre-existing condition, and I'm worried about how I'll manage my healthcare costs once I'm off my parents' plan."

Steve listens intently, his brow furrowed in concern. "We believe that access to quality, affordable healthcare is a right, not a privilege. No one should have to choose between their health and their financial stability."

You nod in agreement. "We've been hearing similar stories across the country. It's clear that our current healthcare system isn't working for many Americans, especially young people just starting their careers."

Emily smiles gratefully. "I’m not asking for hand outs - I’m working, but it needs to not feel like it’s impossible to afford to live.”

Steve nods, his expression serious. "Absolutely, Emily. You shouldn't have to struggle to afford basic necessities like healthcare while working hard and contributing to society. I want us to implement solutions that work for all Americans, not just those at the top. I think we start by simplifying the process and expand subsidies under the Affordable Care Act to make coverage more affordable for young adults and low-income workers, but next steps will involve looking to other countries who have better healthcare systems and adopting what we see is working. Detractors say that some of those other systems don’t work for everyone or they’re not perfect, but what we’ve got here isn’t much to write home about as it stands."

"And it's voices like yours that help shape our policies and remind us why this work is so important," you add.

Emily beams, clearly touched by your words. "Thank you for listening. It means a lot when I know it must be so busy for you both. Isn’t your Oprah interview airing tonight?” she asks.

“Yes, we’re just here to grab a bite and to pick up some food to take back to the campaign staff while we watch later.”

“Well, thanks again, and good luck tonight,” she says.

As Emily rejoins her friend, Jerry calls out that your order is ready. You and Steve thank him as he hands over your loaded trays.

"Enjoy your meal, folks," Jerry says with a wink. “We’ll work with your guys to load up your catering to-go boxes, y’all just enjoy.”

You and Steve thank him and then scan the bustling restaurant, looking for an open table. The dinner rush is in full swing, and most tables are already occupied. Your eyes land on a table in the corner where four men, all appearing to be in their seventies, are engaged in animated conversation over their half-eaten meals.

Steve catches your eye and nods towards the table. You both make your way over, trays in hand.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Steve says, his voice warm and friendly. "Would you mind if we joined you? Seems like all the other tables are taken."

The men look up, their eyes widening in recognition. There's a moment of stunned silence before one of them, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes, breaks into a wide grin.

"Well, I'll be damned," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of a Southern drawl. "Sure we’ve got a space for Captain America and his peach of a wife!”

As you and Steve take your seats at the table, you can feel the energy shift. The men are clearly excited, but there's also a hint of nervousness in the air.

"I'm Bill," says the man with the Southern drawl, extending his hand to Steve. "These are my buddies Tom, Frank, and Joe. We've been coming here every Sunday for the past 20 years."

Steve shakes each of their hands in turn, his smile warm and genuine. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Steve, and this is my wife," he says, introducing you by name.

You smile and greet each of the men, feeling a sense of ease settle over the table.

"So, what brings you folks to our neck of the woods?" Frank asks, leaning forward with interest. His weathered hands cradle a half-empty glass of iced tea.

"We're just looking for the best barbecue in the country," you explain, unwrapping your brisket sandwich.

The four men all laugh heartily, and you grin before you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in appreciation. “Oh, wow. This is incredible.” The meat is tender and flavorful, practically melting in your mouth.

"Best in Kansas City," Tom nods proudly. "Been coming here since I was knee-high to a grasshopper."

As you enjoy your brisket sandwich, Steve takes a bite of his burnt ends, his eyes closing it seems to fully savor that first mouthful. "This really is something special," he agrees, reaching for a napkin.

"You've got to try this," he says, holding his sandwich across to you. You smile and lean forward for a bite, letting him feed you, hoping that not all eyes are on you.

“Mmm, that’s good, too,” you hum. “But if you offered so you could try a bite of mine in return, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

This garners another round of laughter from the men along with some hoots and some ribbing, and Steve just smirks and shakes his head at you.

“I’ll share my sides, though,” you say with a teasing smile, pushing your tray closer to the middle.

Joe, who's been quietly observing until now, clears his throat. "If you don't mind me asking, Captain, what made you decide to run for office? I mean, you've already done so much for this country."

Steve sets down his sandwich, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Joe, I've always believed in serving my country, in whatever way I can. After everything that's happened in recent years, I felt like I could do more good by working within the system, trying to bring people together and address the issues that matter most to everyday Americans."

Bill nods, a wistful look in his eyes. "It's refreshing to hear, I'll tell you that. Feels like politicians these days are more concerned with having an office than serving the people and a lot of us old-timers are worried about the direction the country's headed."

Steve’s brow furrows. "I understand those concerns," he says thoughtfully. "The world is changing rapidly, and it can be unsettling. But I believe in the resilience and spirit of the American people. We've faced challenges before, and we've always come through stronger."

Bill nods slowly, a pensive look on his face. "That's true enough - and when you say it, we can believe it because we know you’ve got old experience in those bones, too. But it feels different now, doesn't it? Like we're more divided than ever."

Steve nods solemnly, wiping his hands on a napkin. "You're right, Bill. The divisions in our country are deep, and they're not going to be healed overnight. But I believe we have more in common than what separates us. We've been crisscrossing the country, meeting people and hearing their stories. We all want safe communities, good jobs, affordable healthcare, and a bright future for our children and grandchildren."

Frank leans forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That's all well and good, Captain, but how do you plan to actually bring people together? Seems like every politician says that, but nothing ever changes. It feels like people aren't even speaking the same language anymore when it comes to politics."

You take a sip of your sweet tea, watching Steve carefully as he considers his response. You can see the determination in his eyes.

Steve leans back in his chair, his eyes scanning the faces of the men around the table. The warm glow of the restaurant's lighting casts a soft hue on their weathered features, each line and wrinkle telling a story of years lived and experiences gained.

"You're right, Frank. It does feel like we're not speaking the same language anymore. But that's exactly why I'm running as an independent candidate," Steve begins, his voice calm but filled with conviction. "I'm not beholden to either the Democratic or Republican party. This isn't just about wearing a different color tie or having a different letter next to my name on the ballot. It's about fundamentally changing from a battle for political power between red and blue to calling for consensus to see action that matters to the three hundred and thirty-four million people who live in our country."

He pauses, reaching for his sweet tea. "I believe we need to start by listening to each other again," Steve continues, his eyes meeting each of the men's gazes in turn. "Really listening, not just waiting for our turn to speak. That's why we're here, sitting with you gentlemen, sharing a meal. It's why we make these stops at local businesses and community centers across the country."

You nod in agreement, swallowing a bite of your brisket sandwich before adding, "We've found that when you sit down with people, break bread together, and have real conversations, you often discover that we're not as different as the headlines make us out to be."

Tom, speaks up. "That's all well and good, but how does that translate to actual policy? How do you bridge the gap when it comes to the big issues?"

Steve leans forward, his elbows on the table. "It starts by voting for policies, not parties. When we focus on specific issues rather than partisan loyalties, we often find more common ground than we expect. For example, take healthcare. Most Americans, regardless of political affiliation, agree that healthcare costs are too high and that something needs to be done. The disagreement is usually about how to solve the problem, not whether it exists."

He pauses to take another bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "We just spoke with a young woman over there named Emily who's worried about affording health insurance. That's not a red or blue issue - that's an American issue."

Joe nods slowly. "I can relate to that. My grandson's in the same boat."

"Exactly," Steve continues. "So instead of getting bogged down in partisan debates, we need to look at what's actually working. What can we learn from other countries? What innovative solutions are individual states implementing? We need to be willing to try new approaches and admit when something isn't working."

Frank leans back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That sounds good in theory, Captain, but how do you get Congress to go along with that? They seem pretty set in their ways."

Steve nods, acknowledging the challenge. "You're right, Frank. Changing the culture in Washington won't be easy. But I believe the American people are ready for a different approach. If we can build a broad coalition of voters who demand bipartisan solutions, we can put pressure on Congress to work together."

"And," you add, setting down your fork, "Steve isn't just talking about compromise for the sake of compromise. It's about finding common ground and building on it. For example, both parties agree that we need to improve our infrastructure. So let's start there and create jobs while we're at it."

Bill nods slowly, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I like the sound of that.”

The conversation eases from there to the two of you learning more about the four men and the lives they’ve led in Kansas while you eat. Once you’re finished - Steve having cleared both your trays when you’d had your fill of the collection - you take a picture with these men as well, and with Jerry and some of the staff by the counter before you leave.

When you and Steve step out of Arthur Bryant's, the warm evening air envelops you. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the city streets. You can still taste the smoky flavor of the barbecue, and your stomach feels pleasantly full.

A small crowd has gathered, word having spread of your presence at the iconic barbecue joint. There's a mix of excitement and curiosity in their faces as they call out greetings and words of encouragement.

Steve pauses to shake a few hands and exchange brief words with some of the gathered people. You follow suit, touched by the warmth and genuine interest of the Kansas City residents.

"Thank you for coming to our city," an older woman says, her eyes shining. "It means a lot that you're taking the time to visit places like this."

"We're honored to be here," you reply sincerely. "Thank you for your hospitality."

As you walk towards the waiting SUV, the ever-present security detail for your public outings moves seamlessly around you, a constant reminder of the enormity of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

Steve opens the door for you. Just before you step in, you turn back to wave at the small crowd, and Steve waves at them, as well.

Inside the SUV with the door closed, the calm quiet is nice. Steve's hand finds yours again, and he gives it a gentle squeeze. "That was something, wasn’t it," he says, a contented smile on his face.

You nod in agreement. "The food was incredible, but the conversations... that's what makes these stops so special."

"It really is," Steve replies, his voice thoughtful. "Every time we do something like this, I'm reminded of why we're doing all of it. It's about the Emilys and the Bills and the Jerrys."

As the SUV pulls away from Arthur Bryant's, you both settle into a comfortable silence, processing the events of the evening. Steve's thumb traces gentle circles on the back of your hand, a now-familiar gesture that never fails to sooth you and make you feel more connected to him. "You know," he says softly, "I was thinking about what Bill said. About how things feel different now, more divided."

You turn to face him, seeing the thoughtful expression on his face. "What are you thinking?"

Steve's brow furrows slightly. "I've seen this country go through a lot of changes, faced a lot of challenges. But there's always been this... resilience, this underlying unity that pulled us through. I wonder sometimes if we've lost sight of that."

You squeeze his hand reassuringly. "I don't think we've lost it completely. It's still there, just buried under a lot of noise and frustration and fear. What we saw tonight - people coming together, sharing a meal, having real conversations - that's the spirit of America that's always been there."

Steve nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're right. And that’s the job now - uncover that spirit again, remind people of what we can accomplish when we work together."

You shift back to get more comfortable in your seat again, but keep holding hands as you look out the window.

"Are you nervous about the Oprah interview airing tonight?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

Steve chuckles softly. "A little," he admits. "It's one thing to have these intimate conversations with people like we just did, but knowing millions will be watching..." He trails off, shaking his head slightly. “And the revelation about our marriage…”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You were amazing during the interview. Honest, authentic, just like you always are. People will respond to that."

He turns to you, his blue eyes filled with warmth. "We were amazing together," he corrects gently. "You went with me when I climbed out on that limb of truth.”

“I was feeling the need to set the record straight, too,” you reassure him. “It felt like you were reading my mind.”

He lets out a breath that apparently he was holding. “I couldn't imagine doing any of this without you now."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words. Even after all this time, he still has that effect on you. "Well, good thing you don't have to," you reply with a soft smile.

As the SUV winds its way through the Kansas City streets, you both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the city lights flicker to life as evening overtakes the afternoon.

The weight of the campaign, the responsibility you've taken on, settles over you like a familiar blanket. There’s the mantle of potential presidential job ahead, but then there’s things like the motorcade. To come on this very small outing to get food, there were three SUVs - the one the two of you are riding in, one ahead, and one behind - and eight Secret Security men and women, plus two campaign staffers who had come to make sure things went smoothly in and out, pick up the food, and pay for everything, and Steve is only a candidate.

If he becomes president, it will only grow - more security, bigger motorcade, four years of responsibilities and obligations and opportunities and being scheduled every waking hour of the day.

As you contemplate the enormity of it all, Steve's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand.

You turn to him with a small smile. "Just thinking about how much our lives have changed. And how much more they would change if we win."

Steve nods, understanding in his eyes. "Sometimes I still can't believe we're here, doing this."

"Do you ever regret it?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Deciding to run?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. "No," he says finally, his voice firm. "It's not easy, and there are days when I feel the weight of it more than others. But then I think about the people we meet all day, every day.”

“Your big heart is a sucker for people,” you tease him good-naturedly. “If only you were more surly and selfish.”

Steve chuckles at your teasing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're right, I am a sucker for people. But you're no better, Mrs. Rogers."

As you continue to banter, the SUV turns onto a tree-lined street in a quiet suburban neighborhood. The sun has fully set now, and the warm glow of streetlights illuminates rows of well-maintained houses. Each home seems to tell its own story - some with Halloween decorations already adorning their porches, others with children's bicycles left haphazardly on front lawns.

The SUV slows to a stop in front of a charming two-story house with pale yellow siding and white trim. A wrap-around porch extends across the front, complete with a porch swing gently swaying in the evening breeze. The lawn is neatly manicured, with vibrant flower beds lining the walkway.

"Home sweet home, at least for tonight," Steve says with a smile as he opens the car door. “Tell me you’re just as eager as I am to meet Jake’s family.”

“I’ve been dying of curiosity ever since we found out!” You step out of the car, walking quickly up the front sidewalk.

No one knew Jake’s sister lived in Kansas with her husband and four kids until Elsa brought up whether the team should watch the interview together at the hotel or in groups in a few of the suites when Jake said that wouldn’t be necessary - that his baby sister had insisted she wanted to host the full traveling staff in her home for it.

As you approach the front door, it swings open before you can knock. A petite woman with Jake's same dark brown eyes and infectious smile emerges, her face beaming with excitement.

"Welcome! I'm Kathy, Jake's sister," she says, extending her hand. "It's such an honor to have you both here."

Steve shakes her hand warmly. "The honor is ours, Kathy. We can’t thank you for opening your home to us."

You follow suit, greeting Kathy with a smile. "It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Kathy ushers you inside, where the aroma of freshly baked cookies mingles with the scent of coffee, and the rest of your team begins to file in behind you. The living room is cozy and inviting, with overstuffed couches and chairs arranged to face a large flat-screen TV. Campaign staff members are already scattered around the room, chatting animatedly and nibbling on chips and cookies.

The house is alive with domestic energy, a stark contrast to the usual hotel suites and conference rooms you've grown accustomed to. Children's laughter echoes from somewhere upstairs, and you can hear the distant chatter of voices coming from what you assume is the kitchen.

Kathy's husband, a tall man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair, emerges from the dining room. "I'm Tom," he introduces himself, shaking your hands. "We've set up a spot in the dining room for the barbecue spread.”

“Sorry for descending on you with all this chaos, Tom,” Steve apologizes.

“Oh, please, we’ve got four kids from four to sixteen, this is hardly new for us. Bring this kind of feast and you’re welcome any night of the week,” he insists.

Steve heads through to the dining room with Tom, but you make your way to the kitchen instead. Your eyes land on Bucky who’s in close conversation with campaign spokesperson Lisa and one of the new speechwriters.

They look up when they notice you.

“Where’s Sophia?” you ask. You don’t need her in this moment, but you’re so used to her finding you whenever you arrive at a new location if she isn’t already with you that it’s strange you haven’t seen her yet.

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Bucky informs you, “She’s out on the back porch with Sam.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise and ask, “Alone?”

Bucky just smiles slyly and confirms your suspicions - he's trying to play matchmaker. You had wondered if you were only being hopeful at seeing signs of a potential spark between them, and now you’re glad it wasn’t only you seeing things happening there.

“Hang on,” Lisa slams her water bottle down on the counter. “Sam and Sophia?”

Bucky nods, “Mhmm.”

“No! Not yet!” she blusters. “We’re still three weeks out from election day! This is your first campaign, Barnes, so believe me when I tell you we need to avoid as many campaign crushes coming together as we can for at least another week - two if we can manage it - if we want to keep this operation running like a well-oiled machine! We want people pining as long as we can, not working through the awkward is this crush lasting after the campaign phase in the final days.” And with that, Lisa’s already rushing out of the kitchen, no doubt on her way to need something from one of them.

You shake your head, amused by Lisa’s reaction. As much as you understand her perspective from a campaign management standpoint, you can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Sam and Sophia. After all, you know exactly how difficult it is to navigate feelings in the midst of such an intense, all-consuming experience.

But you wonder how Lisa’s timeline translates to you and Steve because this isn’t a campaign crush? You’re married to the someone you’re building a relationship with on the campaign trail.

Because you have developed strong, deep feelings for Steve. You know they’re real. You know he has feelings for you. You’ve said things to each other indicating you both know this isn’t only a marriage to have a President and potential First Lady campaigning for the White House any more. But what are the next steps, and is there a too soon to take them on the campaign trail? The past week has been wonderful, spending time so effortlessly together as you can, routinely sitting right next to each other without question, holding hands, Steve’s arms often around your shoulders. There hadn’t been more kissing like your night alone in Brooklyn, but there had been more chaste kisses exchanged, and easily.

In a matter of hours things would fundamentally shift given what the rest of the world was going to learn about your marriage from the interview, so it would probably be smart to maintain whatever you were now and ride out whatever the fallout might end up being, and not add any more complexity to the situation.

“She’s right,” the other woman in the room says, bringing your attention back to the moment with Bucky and the speechwriter. “I’ve seen so many campaign crushes peak too soon, and it’s painful to watch,” she laughs - but do you detect it’s a little nervously?

Jake enters the kitchen with a broad smile.

"You made it here!" he exclaims. "I see you've met the family. What do you think of my little sister's humble abode, Mrs. Rogers?"

You return his smile warmly. "It's lovely so far. Your sister and her husband really are so great to host all of us."

Jake chuckles. "Yeah, Kathy's always been like that. Heart of gold. You should see her at Thanksgiving - she insists on inviting every stray and lonely soul in the neighborhood."

You arch an eyebrow. “Jake, I have this suspicion there’s a big softie under your campaign manager persona to rival your sister.”

“Sure, of course,” he admits, “but people can’t know I have a marshmallow heart up front. When the staff are afraid and want to impress me, they set the bar high and only keep climbing from there.” He points at the Bucky and the speechwriter, “I will deny it if you spread that nasty rumor.”

You all laugh.

“Will you two make the rounds?” Jake looks at Bucky and the speechwriter. “Let people know dinner’s up and that I need to talk to everyone about five minutes before the interview starts to air? Living room.”

Jake's request sends the other two off, leaving you alone with him in the kitchen. He turns to you with a more serious expression.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, his voice lowered. "Big night."

You take a deep breath, considering your answer. "I'm okay. A little nervous, I guess. It's one thing to do the interview, but now that it’s done but finally going to be out there for better or worse..."

Jake nods understandingly. "It's natural to feel that way. But I want you to know, you and Steve both knocked it out of the park. The footage I've seen is powerful stuff."

You feel a flutter of anticipation in your stomach. "Thanks, Jake. That means a lot."

"And I do mean it," he continues, leaning against the counter. "You know I don’t get paid to bullshit anyone. The honesty, the vulnerability... it's exactly what people need to see right now.”

You smile gratefully at Jake's reassurance. "I just hope the public sees it that way."

Jake nods confidently. "They will. Look, I've been in this game a long time, and I've rarely seen candidates connect with people the way you and Steve do. This interview is just going to reinforce that."

As you're about to respond, Steve enters the kitchen, a plate of barbecue in hand. "There you are," he says, smiling warmly at you. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

Jake straightens up, clapping Steve on the shoulder. "Just giving your wife a little pep talk before the big show," he says with a wink. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Don't forget, living room in about fifteen minutes."

As Jake exits, Steve moves closer to you, setting his plate down on the counter. You grin, familiar now with how much food the super soldier can pack away.

"You okay?" Steve asks softly, his blue eyes searching your face.

You nod, grin softening to a smaller smile. "Jake says we’ll be fine, but I can’t help a few nerves still."

Steve reaches out, gently taking your hand in his. "We're in this together. Whatever happens, we face it as a team."

His touch and words calm you, as they always do now. You squeeze his hand back. "You're right."

Steve smiles, then glances at his plate of barbecue. "Want to help me out with some of this?"

You laugh, eyeing the heaping plate. "No way. I’m saving the small bit of room I’ve got for one of Kathy’s cookies."

The two of you chat with campaign staffers as they filter in and out of the kitchen and Tom and Kathy - who comes through with a plate of her cookies - until it’s time to congregate in the living room.

Once everyone is packed in on all the furniture, extra chairs that have been brought in, and even some pillows and cushions on spots of the floor, its crowded but cozy, and it seems like it would be wrong to have any of the team in the other room for a night like this.

Jake stands in front of the tv - which is already on but muted until the interview goes live - and clears his throat. The room falls silent, all eyes turning to him. The excitement in the air is palpable, a mix of nervous energy and anticipation.

"Alright, team," Jake begins, his voice carrying across the crowded living room. "Before we dive into the interview, I've got some news to share." He pauses, building the suspense, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I just got off the phone with our polling team," he continues, his eyes scanning the room. "We have official data as of an hour ago, and I've got to say, the numbers are looking good. Really good."

A murmur of excitement ripples through the group. You feel Steve's hand tighten around yours, his body tensing slightly beside you.

Jake holds up his hands, calling for quiet. "Now, I don't want anyone getting ahead of themselves, but..." he pauses again before his face breaks into a wide smile. "Our latest poll shows that Steve has gained four points in the last week alone. This puts the Rogers-Young ticket just three points behind our closest competitor."

The room erupts in cheers and applause. You see Sam clap Bucky on the back, both men grinning ear to ear. Campaign staffers high-five each other, their faces beaming with excitement. You feel a surge of elation course through you, and you turn to Steve, who's wearing an expression of disbelief and joy.

“However,” Jake cuts into the celebrations, “no one can coast, especially after tonight. In tonight’s interview, Captain and Mrs. Rogers shared some information about their relationship that is going to dramatically shift public perception of their marriage. There are about a dozen people who already know, and I’m going to tell you now so that you have the next twenty minutes or so to wrap your head around how you’re own reaction.”

The nervous excitement in the room turned to trepidation within less than a second.

Jake continues, “There’s superstitions - or expectations - that there’s always some type of news that will break weeks or days before an election that has a significant impact on the narrative of the campaigns for public perception and tip the scales for who wins - it’s called the October Surprise. This might be it.”

You hold your breath and Steve holds tightly to your hand.

“Some of you have idly asked questions or made comments about the Rogers’ quick engagement and marriage and accepted the statement that they realized if they were going to get married, they needed to do it before the filing deadline to officially get Steve on the ballot. Others have noticed and wondered why we always book them separate rooms. I said the directive to our advance coordinator came from me, that it simplified things if one of them had an earlier departure time than the other.

“The truth is,” Jake explains, “that I said Captain Rogers needed a wife if we were going to have any chance of winning with him running as a third-party candidate without a prior political career. Theirs was a politically arranged marriage, and they met the day of their wedding.”

There are gasps and murmurs immediately around the room.

“I know you will have questions. Elsa is giving the same news to our team back at campaign HQ in DC,” Jake says. “I’d like everyone to watch the interview before you ask any questions or make any statements or decisions. If you’re in this room, I’m betting you’re giving your blood, sweat, and tears for more than the semantics around their marriage, and I think what you’ll learn from their conversation with Oprah will answer most of your questions. Deal?”

There’s still some tension in the air, but the consensus is there.

“Then, here we go,” Jake says. “Remember, as with everything else on this campaign, only Lisa makes statements on behalf of the campaign, and that includes texts from your family and friends who want an inside scoop from you tonight while they watch with the rest of America.”

The television is taken off mute, and within moments, the program begins.

Watching the interview is an out of body experience. You remember every moment, reliving it as it plays out on screen. The ninety minutes seem to stretch on forever, and yet when it’s all over and done, it feels like it can’t have been more than five minutes.

Everyone says it went well. You think it went well. Steve feels like it went well. The team has a few questions - mostly for Jake about strategy and messaging moving forward. Steve says he’s more than willing to answer questions, but Mike - one of the policy advisors - seems to speak for everyone when he says, "I think we're good, Cap. We all probably need some time to fully process this, but the interview spoke for itself. You two were honest and open. I'm still 100% behind this campaign and what you stand for.”

There are nods and murmurs of agreement from the rest of the team. The tension that had filled the room earlier has dissipated, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

Jake claps his hands together. "Alright, team. Let's all get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning. Elsa and Peter have already been working on strategy ahead of tonight, and they and Lisa will already be working tonight and with the first wave of morning shows bright and early. Dump questions and thoughts into the Slack workspace to your directors as needed or straight to me. We’ll meet in the morning discuss our next phase and handling the positive and negative reactions we expect moving forward."

As the group begins to disperse, you and Steve make your way to Kathy and Tom to thank them for their hospitality.

"It was our pleasure," Kathy says warmly, pulling you both into a hug. "We're honored to have been a part of this night."

Tom nods in agreement. "You're welcome back anytime you’re in Kansas. And for what it's worth, I think you two make a great team, arranged marriage or not."

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words. "Thank you, Tom. That means a lot."

Behind them, there’s a smaller TV on behind them, muted, but showing pundits already discussing the interview.

Jake approaches. "The SUV is ready when you are," he says. "I've arranged for you to have a later start tomorrow morning. I figure you both could use some extra rest after tonight."

Steve nods gratefully. "Thanks, Jake. We appreciate it."

Sam, Bucky, and Sophia are all with you and Steve on the ride back to the hotel.

There are six or eight of your team who arrived ahead of you, and you cross paths with them on the way to the hotel bar. They invite the five of you to join them, when you meet Steve’s eyes, you can see he’s feeling as drained you, and so the two of you encourage everyone else to go and make your excuses to go upstairs.

In the elevator, Steve drapes an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to his side. You melt into him, wrapping both arms around his strong chest, and inhale his scent - smiling at the tinge of barbecue smoke that mingled in and still lingers from earlier in the day.

As the elevator rises, you feel the tension of the evening finish melting away. The warmth of Steve's body against yours is comforting, and you allow yourself to fully relax into his embrace.

"What a night," Steve murmurs, his voice rumbling in his chest.

You nod against him. "I still can't believe we actually did it. Told the whole world."

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor. Steve keeps his arm around you as you walk down the hallway to your rooms. When you reach your door, you both pause, and he moves away from you just enough to clearly look at you.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his blue eyes searching your face.

You take a moment to consider the question. "Relieved, I think. And a little scared. But mostly... hopeful?"

Steve nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I feel the same way. The weight has been lifted, but now we're stepping into uncharted territory."

You lean against the door frame, looking up at him. "No more hiding, no more pretending. It's all out there now."

"For better or worse," Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving yours.

Steve's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. You move to close the gap between you, cup your hand around his neck, and press your lips to his. There’s heat in the kiss, but it’s soft, warm, promising.

The kiss deepens as Steve's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. You sink into his embrace, fingers threading through his hair, falling further into the kiss.

When you finally part, you're both a little breathless. Steve rests his forehead against yours, a soft smile on his lips. "I've been wanting to do that all day," he murmurs.

You can't help but smile back. "Me too."

For a moment, you both just stand there, savoring the closeness. Then reality creeps back in - you're still in the hallway of a hotel, with your security details positioned nearby, trying to be as discreet as they can in a long hallway which translates to almost zero discreetness.

Steve seems to realize this too. He straightens up, though he keeps one arm around your waist. "We should both get some sleep," he says, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

You nod, but don't release your hold on him. "Probably," you agree.

For another moment, neither of you moves, but then you hear the elevator ding again at the end of the hallway and break apart as it opens, a few staffers stepping out.

As the staffers approach, you and Steve exchange a look that speaks volumes. The moment has passed, but the lingering warmth remains.

You exchange a few words and offer polite nods as they pass by. Once they're out of earshot, you turn back to Steve with a small, almost shy smile.

"Goodnight, Steve," you say softly, reaching for your room key.

He catches your hand gently before you can insert the key, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. "Goodnight," he murmurs against your skin.

With one last lingering look, Steve reluctantly lets go of your hand and steps back. You slip into your room, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Leaning against it, you take a deep breath, your heart still racing from the kiss and the intensity of Steve's gaze.

You move through your nightly routine on autopilot, your mind still buzzing. As you climb into bed, you can't help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. The world knows the truth now, and there's no telling how they'll react.

But as you drift off to sleep, it was such a good day that you find yourself feeling more excited than anxious.

Twelve hours later, you would not believe how wrong you were.

next part: coming 12/27

I gave you a little calm before the storm.

Plus some seeds of Sam & Sophia! 🥰

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[saiyanprincessswanie]

SaiyanPrincessSwanie Reading List Week 229 & 230

A/N: Thank you again to those who recommended fanfics or tagged me. 💜 This week had me reading 20 fics. Absolutely amazing fanfics here. This has been so much fun for me and I hope you enjoy my reading lists.

As always these will be listed in no particular order. None of these stories are mine. I’m just signal-boosting them. The author is listed next to the title. My goal is to signal boost writers and spread positivity in the community. 💜💜

Click HERE to see what I will or won’t read. This is very important.

Click HERE for past reading lists.

For my Masterlist click HERE.

Please make sure you’re reading the warnings on every story. They range from dark to fluff. Do Not Read if you are under 18 years old. These stories are meant for adults only. You’re responsible for your own media consumption.

Header by @fictional-affairs

Page-break by @whimsicalrogers

If you can, please reblog these lists so they can reach more people on Tumblr.

I love you 3000 💜 Missy

Where do we go from here - (Ari x Reader) - @saiyanprincessswanie

A Christmas Miracle in the Making - (Bucky x Reader) - @firefly-in-darkness

Tree Shopping - (Bucky x Reader) - @holylulusworld

Wise Men Say! - (Steve x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Wish Come True - (Bucky x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Moments Stolen - (Bucky x Reader) -@imawreck

Bad or Good? - (Ari x Reader) - @steviebbboi

Those Cold Nights - (Bucky Barnes) - @caplanbuckybarnes

Somewhere I Belong - (werewolf bucky) - @caplanbuckybarnes

Pluvial Kisses! - (Bucky x Reader) - @mercurial-chuckles

Don't Touch Me (TWS) - (Bucky x Reader) - @caplanbuckybarnes

The silence between us - (Clint x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

Gray days - (Steve x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

The weight of battle - (Brock x Reader) - @nekoannie-chan

The Imperfect Couple - 8 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

The Imperfect Couple - 9 - (Bucky x Reader) - @deliciousangelfestival

Dipping it - (Steve x Reader) - @biteofcherry

Hold You Tight: Part 11 - (Bucky x Reader) - @navybrat817

Reboot - (Bucky x Reader) - @stellar-solar-flare

Read Your Book - (Curtis x Honey) - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

[biteofcherry]

I'm a little late to this story, but I don't regret, because it was such a wonderful holiday gift to treat myself to right before Christmas ❤️

Of course I loved the hot, D/s part of it 🫠🔥 You wrote it so well that I felt my own excitement at welcoming Steve like that.

But what absolutely stole my heart forever was the deep connection between them and the comforting fluffiness. Even in the smutty part that care for each other and love was visible. Then the engagement part just melted me into a puddle 🥹 I loved that Steve slid the ring on her finger in that most intimate moment. It was so perfect for them and their dynamic, but also showed that Steve listened to her and her preference for engagement to be really intimate, not public or showy ❤️

so glittery

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x sugar baby!female reader

summary: when your sugar daddy returns from a long business trip on christmas eve, you're waiting for him—on your knees in the prettiest lingerie money could buy—and he's just as happy to see you as you are him.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, established relationship, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, hand jobs, brief masturbation (m), very brief anal play (f receiving), light bdsm, size kink, praise kink, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby, pretty present), sex with feelings, aftercare, very happy/fluffy ending

word count: 5.1k

a/n: here's my december 10 entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge and it's only like 4 days late 😅 i used the prompt: "I'm your present." i've been wanting to write a sugar daddy steve rogers fic for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity!! also, the title is inspired by the kacey musgraves christmas song, "glittery." hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Excitement was an effervescent cocktail of glorious anticipation and glittery joy, thrumming through your body and throbbing between your thighs while you checked your makeup in the hall mirror before lowering yourself to your knees in perfect view of the front door. 

Your fingers distractedly smoothed over the lace and ribbons and bows that wrapped around your body, and you had to stop yourself from bouncing where you sat while you strained your ears to hear the sounds of the elevator. You couldn’t wait for the man you were expecting to walk through the door. It had been too long since you’d last seen him.

Your sugar daddy, Steve Rogers, had been on a business trip oversees for nearly a month, and you were the first person he’d see after returning to New York City on Christmas Eve. He’d texted you only moments ago to let you know he was in the elevator on the way up to his penthouse apartment, where you waited for him.

When you’d planned your Christmas Eve reunion together, he’d had very specific requests for how he wanted you to be waiting for him, and you’d been all too happy to indulge in his demands. It sent another pulse of excitement through your body when you thought about how Steve would react when he walked in and found you already on your knees for him.

Seconds later, the front door of the penthouse swung open and Steve’s reaction didn’t disappoint. 

The moment the gloriously handsome man laid eyes on you, he came to an abrupt halt, one hand still on the door while his blue eyes were riveted on only you. Steve stood in the open doorway for a long minute while his gaze feasted on the sight you presented to him. 

A bright, beaming smile spread across your face the longer he stared, your body warming under his gaze as you struggled not to look down at yourself. You already knew how you looked. You’d spent a ridiculously long time searching for the perfect set of lingerie, which you’d purchased at Steve’s behest—and with his black Amex. 

But after all that time searching, you were happy with what you’d found. The lingerie was tastefully Christmas themed, hugging your curves in red silk and lace. Little white bows accented different parts of your body, with one nestled perfectly between your tits. 

Steve’s eyes seemed stuck on that particular bow, watching your tits bouncing lightly in the ribbons and lace as your breathing picked up with your excitement. Anticipation was bubbling champagne in your veins, and you leaned forward slightly, arching your back and giving your sugar daddy an even more enticing look at your body. 

The movement seemed to snap Steve out of whatever spell he’d been under because he cleared his throat and finally stepped further into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He tossed his keys onto table in the entryway and shed his coat, hanging it up on the door to the closet without taking his eyes off you.

His silent staring gave you time to properly look at your sugar daddy for the first time in weeks. 

Steve was dressed casually in a soft-looking black sweater and dark gray wool slacks. His broad shoulders filled out the comfy looking fabric, while the sleeves of the sweater were pushed up slightly to reveal his toned forearms. You took notice of his toned legs briefly, but you couldn’t keep your gaze away from his handsome face for too long.

Your sugar daddy’s blue eyes were sparkling, even as his gaze continued to darken with lust. His mouth was curving into a delicious little smirk, and his lips looked impossibly pink against the pale skin of his clean-shaven jaw. With his blond hair swept back from his face, you had the urge to rake your fingers through it and drag him to you for a kiss.

“Now, what do we have here?” Steve rumbled, prowling further into the apartment until he stood just in front of you. 

He was so close, you had to crane your neck back to look up at him, which only made your body tighten with excitement. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his slacks, and though his stance was casual, you could practically feel the lust radiating off him.

Steve quirked an eyebrow expectantly, and you finally found your tongue to offer the greeting he was expecting.

“I’m your present.”

The words had been one of Steve’s requests for your reunion, and even though he’d known they were coming, you enjoyed the slight hitch of his breath and the way his eyes narrowed slightly on you—and the way his cock twitched to life in the front of his pants. 

Already, you were growing wet enough to leak into the panties of the expensive lingerie you’d purchased, your arousal an insistent pulse in your core. You shifted on your knees, pressing your thighs together while you tried to keep your gaze fixed on Steve’s face and not let it drop to the thickening length so close to your face.

“Such a pretty present,” Steve cooed sweetly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over your cheek. 

The pad of his finger moved lower, running along your lip. You couldn’t help yourself—you ducked forward, taking his thumb into your mouth and giving him an affectionate little suckle. 

Steve’s eyes darkened further, his voice dropping into a low, husky tone as he went on, “And how do pretty presents say hello?”

You smirked, your body warming with anticipation as Steve pulled his thumb from between your lips. His hand slipped back into his pocket, curling like it was wrapping around something, and leaving you to stare up his large body from your position at his feet. 

Leaning forward, you held Steve’s gaze while you pressed your soft cheek against the lap of his slacks, feeling his cock twitch beneath the thick wool. Your mouth spread into a wide, sultry smile and you turned your face to brush a kiss against Steve’s hard length, reveling in the way it jumped beneath your lips, like his body was greeting you back.

“Hi, daddy,” you purred, your eyes fixed on Steve’s while you gave his cock another kiss through his pants.

“Good girl,” he rumbled in a pleased tone, sending glimmering sparkles of pleasure through your body as you basked in his praise. His fingers smoothed over your cheek and then his hand was skimming down to your arm until he caught your hand. “Up you go, princess.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief as you stood, grateful for Steve’s big hand holding you steady as your legs wobbled, even after such a short time on your knees. You leaned against his broad chest, breathing in the familiar scent of his expensive cologne as your legs regained their strength. 

“Thank you, daddy,” you whispered sweetly into Steve’s sweater. 

He rumbled a pleased sound in his throat, his other arm circling your waist and holding you close, your hands clasped together against his chest. For a moment, the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence, and it settled something inside you, the tangible reminder that Steve was finally back after he’d been gone for so long.

Then, gently, your sugar daddy eased you away from his body, his bright blue eyes raking down your form and taking in the full effect of your lingerie while you were standing. If the pleased smile curing his lips was any indication, he enjoyed the outfit you’d chosen. 

“Gimme a twirl, princess,” Steve commanded in a gruff voice, and you could practically hear the barely leashed desire in the richness of his tone. “Show daddy this sexy little outfit you wore for me.”

With a giddy laugh, you spun in a circle for your sugar daddy, your fingers clinging to Steve’s. He lifted his arm, keeping your hands connected above your head as you twirled for him, giving him a full view of the Christmasy outfit you’d worn for him. 

When you were back facing him, you stumbled into his chest, still laughing lightly as you looked up at him, your gaze expectant. 

“Do you like it, daddy?”

Steve’s big hands slid down your sides, skimming over the ribbons and bows, feeling the lace and silk swathing your body. His fingers dug into your soft curves, groping you shamelessly while he grinned at you. 

“I love it, princess,” he said with genuine appreciation. He ducked down and brushed a brief kiss of greeting to your lips before murmuring in your ear, “It’s giving me some ideas about sitting you on my lap so you can show me what a good girl you’ve been this year.”

The words sinking into your mind felt like Steve had poured liquid desire over the top of your head, warmth washing down your body as heat ignited in your core. The throbbing of desire pulsed more insistently between your thighs. 

Arching your spine, you pushed your soft tits against Steve’s hard chest, reveling in the way his big body shuddered when he felt your peaked nipples through your thin lingerie.

“Yes, please, daddy, let me sit on your cock—I’ll show you how good I can be,” you purred in Steve’s ear, your fingers curling in his soft sweater while you rubbed yourself against him like a desperate Christmas vixen. 

Thankfully, Steve must’ve had enough teasing, because he grabbed your hand and towed you deeper into the apartment. The entryway opened up into the lavish and luxuriously decorated living room, which featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. 

The lights of the city shimmered as brightly as those on the massive Christmas tree that stood in the corner. Before Steve had arrived, you’d already scrutinized the decorations, coming to the conclusion he’d paid someone to do them, which explained why they were a little cold.

But you didn’t have a chance to think more about Steve’s Christmas decor just then since he was busy leading you over to the couch. He lowered himself onto the smooth linen cushions before hauling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs so you straddled him.

You were barely settled on his thighs when your hands greedily cupped Steve’s clean-shaven jaw and dragged his face to yours for a proper kiss. Sparkling, glittering joy filled your chest at the first firm press of your mouth against his.

Steve’s own happiness was evident when he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest. Then he kissed you back, plunging his tongue between your parted lips as his arms wound around your waist, hauling you closer until your core pressed against the growing bulge in the front of his slacks.

You moaned into your sugar daddy’s mouth, rocking against his hardness while you kissed him fervently. Your fingers threaded through Steve’s soft hair, twirling around and tugging on the ends before clinging to his shoulders for better leverage to grind your needy wet slit down on his thick bulge.

“Fuck, princess, I’ve missed you,” he rumbled in a gruff voice, mouth breaking away from yours to press hungry kisses to your jaw and neck. 

Steve’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once—groping your tits and grasping your hips in greedy fingers. You were helpless to do anything but cling to him and moan your pleasure while he manhandled your body on his lap.

“Missed your cunt so fucking much—need to be inside you, baby.” Steve paused, lifting his head so he could catch your eye, his gaze the color of the night sky in winter. “Ya gonna let daddy sink into your achy, needy pussy, princess? Gonna let daddy have his present early?”

“Yes, yes, daddy, of course,” you answered, your tongue tripping over itself to get the words out as fast as you could. “Unwrap me, use me,” you bounced on his lap, grinding your dripping pussy against your sugar daddy’s bulge until you were nearly crying with need. “Please use my cunt, daddy, I want your cock—I need your cock, daddy, please!”

“Unwrap you?” Steve chuckled, ignoring the rest of what you’d said for the moment as he leaned back so his eyes could rake appreciatively down your body. “I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head and smiling at you. “I want you looking like the prettiest Christmas present I’ve ever seen while you’re bouncing on my cock, princess.” 

A wide smile spread across your face and you were so distracted by basking in Steve’s praise that you almost missed the way his hands lowered to the button and fly of his slacks. Almost.

Eagerly, your eyes dropped to watch Steve’s fingers nimbly undo his pants, your body bouncing in excited anticipation while he reached inside and pulled his cock free. 

No matter how many times you saw Steve’s cock—and you’d seen it a lot throughout the course of your relationship—your core always clenched with need and your body heated with desire, your pussy leaking like it was begging to be filled. 

You watched as Steve stroked himself with an expert hand, jealousy burning through your body. Steve’s cock was long and thick and perfect, a drop of pearly precum already beading at the tip, and your mouth filled with saliva at the thought of sliding to the floor between his legs and taking him between your lips. 

Instead, Steve’s thumb rubbed over the head of his cock and smoothed the precum down his shaft, making himself slicker for you. Suddenly, you couldn’t wait any longer to touch him.

“A present? All for me, daddy?” you cooed, reaching for Steve’s cock and taking over. Your fingers squeezed him admiringly, with just the right amount of pressure that you knew he liked, and he rewarded you with a pleased grunt. 

“All for you, baby,” Steve rumbled, affection soaking his voice so thoroughly that you finally tore your gaze away from his cock. You found your sugar daddy watching you, something deeper than affection in his darkened blue eyes. 

Emotion fluttered in your chest and you smiled shyly at Steve as something passed between the two of you, something intangible and so perfect you could hardly stand it. On a whim, you leaned into Steve, pressing a kiss to his lips because it felt like the only way to convey how you were feeling. 

When he smiled against your mouth, you knew he was feeling the same way. You delighted in that feeling for a moment and then you sat back on his thighs, giving his cock an affectionate pump while you stared into Steve’s eyes.

“Can I ride it, daddy?” you murmured breathlessly, letting your excitement show on your face as you stroked Steve’s length a little faster, twisting your wrist and wringing another pleasured grunt from him.

“Hop on up, princess,” he rasped with a strained smirk, patting your thigh. 

You raised yourself up and Steve hooked his finger in your panties, pulling them to the side and making it that much easier for you to line up your soaking wet pussy with his hard cock. 

You wasted no more time, sinking down on the tip, a sharp exhale punching from your lungs as you felt the thick girth of him stretch your tight hole.

“Daddy,” you whined while your body adjusted to the intrusion, your fingers curling into a fist in Steve’s sweater while you held onto him.

He was so thick that even after all the time you’d been Steve’s sugar baby, each time you took him felt like the first. The fullness was nearly overwhelming, your mind swimming as warm pleasure suffused your body.

Opening your eyes, not remembering when you’d closed them, you found Steve looking undone as he leaned back into the cushions of the couch, his chest heaving beneath his sweater. Pink tinged his cheeks and his blue eyes were darkened to a nearly midnight navy, his gaze fixed on the spot where your body was taking him. 

You wanted more, so you pushed your hips down, taking another inch of Steve’s cock into your tight pussy. The stretch of him sliding into you wrung a whine from your throat and the sound dragged your sugar daddy’s gaze away from your pussy, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“You’re doing so good for me, princess,” Steve cooed, sitting up and curling his arm around your waist, gathering you up against his chest. “Need to feel your warm pussy hugging my cock, baby,” he murmured in your ear, brushing kisses to your cheeks. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” 

At Steve’s question, you moved again and sank further down on his cock, taking him halfway inside you. The feeling of fullness was intoxicating, making you sway in your sugar daddy’s lap, a filthy moan slipping from your lips. 

“Atta girl, taking my cock so fucking well, baby,” Steve murmured, his hands curling under your thighs to help you lift up and sink back down, taking another inch inside your tight hole. Both of you moaned loudly. “Fuck, you’ve got the sweetest pussy in the world, princess, let me all the way in—c’mon, pretty present, let daddy all the way into that sweet cunt.”

Spreading your knees wider on either side of Steve’s lap, you lowered yourself down onto his hard length. When your ass met his thighs, Steve’s head fell back and he groaned, his eyes closed tightly. The sound mixed with your moan of pleasure as you reveled in the feeling of his cock buried to the hilt in your pussy. 

“Oh fuck, daddy, you’re so big,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck. You were full, but it felt so good. Your hips squirmed in Steve’s lap, as if your body was greedy for friction, for more, for anything. 

But Steve had too tight a hold on you, his arms holding you securely enough that you could do little more than writhe your hips and buck against his grip. He wasn’t holding you tight enough to hurt you, just enough to keep you exactly where he wanted you—impaled on his cock. 

It only served to make more pleasure wash through your body, the evidence of your arousal leaking down the shaft of Steve’s cock to soak his balls. Still, you whined for more.

“You’re making daddy feel so fucking good, baby,” Steve groaned, giving in to your wordless plea and rocking you on his lap. His thick cock dragged against your inner walls so deliciously that you melted against his chest, letting out a soft cry of pleasure. “You feel so perfect, princess, so tight and wet and warm and—fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, daddy,” you sobbed into Steve’s neck, your hips grinding instinctively on his lap, finding his rhythm and meeting his rocking thrusts. “Missed your cock and your face and your… your everything.”

“You missed me, huh?” Steve huffed on a self-satisfied chuckle, pulling back enough to capture your chin and tilt your face toward him so he could stare into your eyes. His blue gaze blazed with a heady mix of desire and possessiveness. “You missed your daddy’s cock, huh, princess? ‘Cause your daddy is the only one who can fuck you this good, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, daddy, yes,” you cried. 

Your words cut off on a gasp when Steve pinned your hips in place above his lap while he fucked up into you, grinding the base of his cock against your clit. Shining, dazzling pleasure rocketed through your body, making you tremble as the coil of tension in your center wound tighter. 

“You’re the only one who can fuck me so good,” you echoed, babbling the words you knew Steve wanted to hear—the words that you knew were true. “So good, daddy, you feel sooo good.”

“That’s my fucking girl,” Steve rumbled moments before slanting his mouth to yours for a searing kiss. 

He stole your breath straight from your lungs, holding you tight and fucking you in short hard thrusts that had your mind going blank from pleasure. You moaned into his kiss, your fingers threading in his hair and clutching onto him like he was your whole world.

“My pretty little Christmas present,” Steve cooed against your mouth when you broke away to gasp for air. “My perfect girl.”

“Daddy, I’m gonna come!” you cried, pleasure swirling through your body and pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Steve urged in a deep voice, his tone sweet like honey, the sound of it slipping down your spine and making your pussy clench with desire. “Show me how much you missed me by being a good girl and coming all over my fat cock, princess.”

Steve’s hand groped your ass, then one of his long fingers slipped between your cheeks, pressing against the tight rosebud of your other hole. That little bit of pressure tipped you over the edge, twinkling flashes of pleasure setting off behind your eyes. Your lips fell open in a scream as you came hard on Steve’s cock.

Your release sparked Steve’s, and he crushed you to his chest, pinning you to his lap so that his cock was buried to the root in your cunt while he came. He let out a groan, his cock throbbing deep in your pussy as he spilled inside you. It felt so good, you shivered with delight, little pulses of aftershocks thrumming through your body. 

For long moments, you clung to Steve while he kept you wrapped up in his arms. You rode out your releases together, his big body shuddering against yours and your limbs trembling in his lap.

Once you were both sated, Steve relaxed back into the couch cushions, taking you with him. His hold on your body loosened, his arms only circling your waist, while you lay splayed across his broad chest. His palm smoothed up your spine, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you against him while you both caught your breath.

“Did you enjoy your present, daddy?” you asked in your most sugary sweet tone when you’d mostly recovered. There was still a little breathlessness in your voice. 

“Princess, I loved my present,” Steve murmured, dropping a kiss to your head. His other hand began to trace the lacy pattern of the lingerie you were still wearing. “The only thing I’ll love more is when I finally unwrap you.”

You laughed softly, melting further into Steve’s chest and letting your eyes slip closed as you breathed in his familiar scent. You could feel your combined releases leaking from your body, his softening cock still buried in your pussy, but you didn’t want to move. You just wanted to enjoy the feeling of having your sugar daddy home with you for a few minutes.

So when Steve shifted your bodies, disturbing you as one of his hands reached into the pocket of his pants, you grumbled unhappily. He chuckled and pressed another kiss to your hair, settling you back down on his lap. 

A moment later, you felt his fingers brush your hand, which was resting against his chest. Your palm was pressed right over his heart, and you were enjoying the feel of it beating steadily beneath your touch.

Casually, in the way of someone who’d thought about their actions at great length, Steve slipped a ring onto the fourth finger of your left hand. 

When your eyes fluttered open to see what he’d done, you found a sparkling gemstone attached to a metal band circling your finger. The meaning of the ring and the finger Steve had put it on clicked in your mind and you sucked in a gasp, your heart racing to a gallop in your chest.

“When we talked about it,” Steve began, a slight tremor in his tone, like he was nervous, though you could hardly believe it. “You said you wanted it to be a quiet, special moment—just the two of us.”

You knew the conversation he was talking about, the one you’d had a few times over the last few months. But your mind was still whirling from the pleasure he’d given you and it was slow to process the understanding of the gemstone and the metal band. The ring. The sparkling, glittering ring.

When you didn’t say anything, Steve went on. 

“You told me to put a ring on your finger when I knew I was sure, and I—” He cut himself off as he got choked up, and you heard him swallow thickly, though your eyes were still fixed on the ring. “I’m sure—I’m sure you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Words were stuck in your throat. The moment felt like a fairytale becoming reality and you couldn’t seem to find the words to express the explosion of happiness filling your heart. 

“So, what do you think?” Steve asked, the tremor in his voice worsening and you knew he was nervous. It was Steve’s vulnerability in that moment that finally snapped you out of your trance.

Sitting up, you kept your left hand pressed to Steve’s chest, barely able to pull your eyes away from the ring to look at the man you loved.

“You haven’t asked me a question yet,” you said faintly, your mouth fluttering shyly into a playful smirk. 

Steve caught your eye and his expression softened as he relaxed a little and indulged in your playfulness. “Do you like your present, princess?” he asked, his own smirk curving his mouth. 

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot, and forced yourself to keep playing the game you’d started. 

“I think…” you said, then paused, tilting your head to the side and giving the ring an assessing examination. Then you looked up at Steve from under your lashes. “It’s so glittery.” 

Steve groaned like he was being tortured, his head falling forward while his hand covered the back of yours. He pressed your palm further against his chest and you could feel the way his heart was beating faster than normal. It almost made you laugh giddily, but you held it back.

“Princess,” he rumbled, the pet name a warning as he lifted his head and fixed you with a firm expression. There was no heat of anger or frustration in his wintry blue eyes, though, only the warmth of affection and desire.

You couldn’t help playing with him a little more, shrugging as nonchalantly as you could while you cut your eyes to the side, knowing that if you kept looking at Steve, you’d laugh and cry and scream in delight. 

“That wasn’t the question I was expecting,” was all you said.

Catching your chin, Steve turned your face back toward his. His blue eyes were swimming with emotion and humor, a slight sheen to them as if he was holding back tears.

“Will you marry me?”

The words had barely passed his lips when you shrieked, “Yes!” 

You didn’t know who pulled the other in for a kiss, or if you both did it at the same time, but suddenly you were kissing Steve—and you couldn’t seem to stop. His mouth felt perfect and you sank into him, your hands holding him tightly while his arms wrapped around your waist, both of you celebrating the moment together.

For a long time, Steve kissed you, his mouth murmuring declarations into your lips as he promised to make you happy and give you anything you wanted. And in return, you promised to make him happy, to be the person he could always truly be himself with.

Both of you declared your love for one another, over and over again, in between one kiss and the next until all your words and kisses blended into one precious vow.

When you finally broke apart, you lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and he held you close, both of you enjoying being together. 

You admired the way the ring sparkled in the Christmas lights decorating the penthouse while Steve murmured plans for the wedding into your hair. He chuckled good-naturedly when you vetoed his ideas and squeezed you tight when you approved of them.

All the while, you kept his cock warm inside you, the two of you pretending not to notice the way he was hardening again, or the way you were growing wetter, your pussy fluttering with need. 

That is, until Steve couldn’t pretend anymore and he began rocking his hips beneath you so you could both feel the drag of his hard cock against your sensitive inner walls. Steve held you while you trembled through the sensation, his mouth covering yours and swallowing your moans of pleasure.

By the time you were begging Steve to unwrap you, he was more than happy to oblige. He laid you down on the plush carpet of the living room, stripping you of everything but the ring he’d put on your finger. 

Then, he made love to you under the light of the Christmas tree, whispering his devotion into your ear. His fingers twined with yours and your bodies writhed closer and closer until you came together with a sparkling, glittering burst of pleasure.

That night, you slept at the penthouse, and the following morning Steve took you home—to his real home, the brownstone in Park Slope where he truly lived. He hadn’t taken you there until things had gotten serious between the two of you, and he’d only met you at the penthouse the night before because it was faster to get there from the airport. 

Steve led you over the threshold of his brownstone, and your eyes glanced at the warmly decorated living room, smiling when you remembered the evening you’d spent with him putting up his Christmas tree before his trip. 

There were homemade ornaments and mismatched garlands everywhere, and you felt warmth bloom in your heart as you realized it felt like home to you too. 

Pulling you in for a kiss, Steve smiled against your lips before going to the kitchen to find a bottle of champagne. You clinked glasses in cheers of your engagement by the light of the Christmas tree in the home you were going to share as a family.

Then, the two of you spent Christmas together, not as sugar daddy and sugar baby, but as fiancé and fiancée. And every time Steve Rogers asked if you liked your present, you smiled and told him you loved the ring because it was so, so glittery. Which was exactly how he made you feel—so lit up with sparkling happiness, like the lights on a Christmas tree.

december daze challenge masterlist

[anika-ann]

For the game:

Steve Rogers x reader, blanket kingdom

Jaqui, my sweet! I'm sorry I took so long, brain did a thing 🙈

Thank you for participating in this ask game (which has rules I completely ignored, because brain be braining differently) 💕 May the result bring a smile to your face!

Blanket Kingdom

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Type: blurb-ish, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort WC: 1,8k 🥹 Warnings: a bit of self-deprecation, allusions to anxiety and depression, tooth-rotting fluff, Steve being unfairly perfect and pretty

It was one of those days: a day that was simply wrong in its core.

Nothing major had happened; nothing tragic. You had lived through an alien invasion; you had sat by Steve’s bedside after he’d had a brush with death and had cried your eyes out. You had lost people, lost friendships and lost jobs. Today, no heartbreaking event took place – and yet you had trouble counting your blessings.

It was one of those days; a day that was simply wrong. One minor inconvenience after another, piling up and up and with every inch added to that pile, with every teeny struggle, you just wanted to throw yourself on the floor and scream. And cry. And that feeling itself, paired with knowing all too well that not one of those things that should really make you feel like that, made you want to scream and cry all the more.

Then, your only solace; coming home.

Coming home to the most loving, softest, warmest embrace you’d ever known; an embrace which today, you repaid Steve with soaking his Henley in tears and smudged with a little mascara. Stupid, stupid tears. Stupid shoulders of yours which couldn’t bear the weight of mere inconveniences, while Steve’s shoulders carried weight the world. And yes, he might struggle sometimes too, but he had valid reasons at least. You, today? Barely.

And yet, you clung to him like to a lifeline, soaking in his love and his sunshine dimmed with concern for you.

“Why don't you lie in the bath?” he hummed as he ran his warm palm along your spine again, adjusting his head on top of yours, kissing your hair.

The first hint of a real smile since you had left the apartment this morning twitched in the corner of your lips.

“Are you telling me I stink, mister?”

A light offended snort escaped him, the little jerk of his chest sparking gentle warmth in yours. “No. You smell lovely. But to relax. You're all tense, honey.”

You hummed in agreement, swallowing the ‘no shit’ your angel of a boyfriend did not deserve.

“’kay… uhm… will you come with me?” you asked lowly, retreating a bit despite feeling like you were leaving a soft comfy bed at an ungodly hour of a morning, entering the cold dark world.

Your lips pursed slightly, the echo of your voice sounding so childish even to yourself in face of the larger-than-life man; and it felt all the more childish to see him frown compassionately, his thumb stroking your cheek, still wet with tears.

“I’m sorry, love, I've got one last bit of work to do. Then I'm all yours, I promise. Maybe we can watch a movie?”

You nodded, an automatism triggered despite the rejection feeling ridiculously like a punch to your gut. God, you were pathetic. And so was probably your attempt at a smile.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds lovely.”

And it did sound exactly that; except Steve wouldn't come to the bath with you to hold you, which was honestly all you wanted. What you wanted more than anything in the world, at least at the moment.

Another inconvenience added to the pile.

Except this time, you felt like the inconvenience; an imposition on Captain America, who had much more important things to do.

You understood. You did.

But god did you just want--- you didn’t even know anymore. Nothing. Anything. Everything.

You knew deep down this feeling would pass eventually; you knew that eventually, you’d again feel like a human being and not a burden, like someone worthy of love instead of loathing, but the weight of the pile was so damn crushing, all the problems of today thrown at your body, at your face, blocking your view of the starry skies so you couldn’t even wish on a falling one.

And through the mess, you missed Steve’s smile, bright like a sun, following your every step as you shuffled to the bathroom.

Body slightly more pliant after the long minutes in the scented bath, softest pyjama pants on along with Steve’s t-shirt long enough to be considered a dress on you, you took a deep not-so-steadying breath. Stepping out of the bathroom felt like a trial; your best attempt at bravery made, your smile froze in an instant as you set eyes on Steve.

Or rather on the result of the incredibly important task worthy only of Captain America you had thought he had had to fulfil.

A blanket fort. He had built you a blanket fort, large enough to be called a blanket kingdom. Big enough to accommodate both you and him comfortably, and since he had mentioned a movie, with enough space to fit in a provisory cinema.

Tears prickled in your eyes as you met his gaze, his hesitation evident, his own inviting smile wavering.

“Is this okay?”

No. No it wasn’t. It was far from okay, because this was—

You took a wavering breath, trying to steady the quivering of your lower lip, trying to draw some air into your lungs even as there seemed to be no space in your chest but for the explosion of affection for this man.

By god, you did not deserve him, but you were never letting him go.

Steve frowned as you quickly wiped the tears having escaped with the back of your palm, crossing the distance between you with cautious strides, as if worried he might spook you – or that you’d break or dissipate into thin air like a dream if he got too close too fast.

Joke was on him; you were sure he couldn’t be real.

But he was. And so was his warm hand enclosing yours, leading you into your hiding place from the cold dark world, a solace gently illuminated by fairy lights, fluffy blankets and pillows gathered to battle the piles of struggles you had faced today, two cups of hot chocolate to sweeten all the bitter pills that had made your stomach hurt, laptop indeed prepared, displaying the start screen for Princess Diaries 2, your ultimate comfort movie.

The sob was exploding from your chest before you could hope to stop it, your whole weight thrown over him as he laid on his back, your inner cuddle monster coming out, soothed by his presence and his gentle chuckle.

“So it is okay,” he teased you lightly, your frantic nods against his chest enough of an answer.

“Oh Steve... it’s perfect. You’re perfect. I love you. I love you so much I can’t handle it,” you muttered, hushed by a tender peck to your forehead.

“I love you too… now, tell me. Does Her Majesty find her quarters satisfactory? ‘tis no excuse but my time and resources were unfortunately limited.”

You couldn’t supress your giggle as he mimicked the way Nicolas would speak at the end of the movie, asking for Mia’s forgiveness and pleaded to know whether she reciprocated his love.

“Steve-“

“And does my betrothed wishes to order from the royal kitchens before the comedians begin their performance?”

He used the moment of your stunned silence to steal a kiss from your now parted lips, your heart trembling with overwhelming affection.

“I’m… not your betrothed, love-“

“Yet,” he muttered, almost absently as he tucked a lose strand of your damp hair behind your ear, smiling oh so warmly, as if his words weren’t sending your heart into frenzy. A very, very pleasant frenzy.

Hesitating, torn between whether you should address his little remark, you decided to call upon your nearly non-existing bravery and use the opportunity to apologize.

“That would mean being here for better and for worse…” you said, earning a hum of agreement, Steve’s gaze following his fingers as he traced the lines of your face, as if committing them to memory. Your voice stuck in your throat. “I… I’m sorry it’s on the side of worse today. I’m sorry to-“

“We all have those days, sweetheart. Would you tell me off if I had a bad day?” he inquired gently, causing your voice to fall silent with a huff.

The little manipulator; he already knew you wouldn’t. You had been there for a bad day or two of his before; and if he’d have you, you’d be there for all of them.

You sighed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, causing him to grin brilliantly you almost had to shield your eyes; from the brightness, from the almost painful beauty.

He really was an angel accidentally kicked out of heaven, landing hard but keeping his heart soft with love for humanity. And by some miracle, for you.

“You know I wouldn’t,” you murmured, a mantra you sometimes reminded both and you and him echoing in your head, a ray of soft light on days when it turned into a dark place. “You are worthy of love on any day, and loved you are.”

“That’s right, love. And you deserve treats and food…?”  

Honestly, you weren’t hungry at all, but you were aware that much like the gloom following you today, that too, was only momentary. And despite how wholesome and fulfilling your relationship with Steve was, you could not live off on it only.

“A pizza sounds good?”

Steve pecked your lips, before shifting under you to reach for his phone. “The word of my betrothed is my law. I shall see to keep Her Majesty happy, fed and mine.”

“Oh my god, stop it,” you giggled at the warm fluttery feeling in your ribcage, not blind to the way Steve’s eyes lit up at the sound, his sheer delight at your happiness and being the source of it spreading through your veins like liquid sunshine, warm and joyful.

“Now why would I, when Her Majesty my queen looks so beautiful smiling…”

“Steve---- very well,” you resigned to join his gentle ridiculousness despite the heat in your face, caressing his cheek with the pad of your fingers, his smile softening, skin dusting with pink under your affection as it still did at times. “I therein declare my love to you, Sir Rogers. Please accept my gratitude for your heroic actions and for my chambers large enough to be a castle. Thank you.”

Thank you; I do not deserve you. But I do.

He caressed your hair, irises sparkling, the fairy lights playing games so enticing on his handsome face you wanted to chase the shadows and light with your lips.

“Anything for you, my love. May we rule in peace in good humour, for long years, side by side.”

And there it was again; a subtle promise of forever. You leaned your cheek on his chest with a smile, nestling comfortably, not protesting in the slightest when he pressed one of the cups of hot chocolate to your hand, before tapping on his phone to order dinner.

You sighed contentedly, the worries of the cold dark world stranded outside of your unconquerable fortress, while you remained safe and loved.

“Yes… that is all we could ever wish for.”

I hope you don't really needed a hurt/comfort fic, but I hope you liked it either way 💕

Thank you for reading and potential feedback!

You can find my other works on my masterlist, should you be interested 😇

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

[the-voice-beckons-below]

the end of the (red) line

bucky barnes x steve rogers x gn! reader

synopsis: red string au, in which a thread, invisible to others, tangles you and your soulmate together. you’ve been waiting a long time to meet the person at the other end, the problem is, they keep damaging the thread, leaving you unable to track them down.

warnings: angst (it’s a fic involving bucky, it’s to be expected), fluff, reader is down bad, mentions of death, self loathing, reader is technically an orphan (blame new york not me), big muscly super soldiers !! reader is confident!

word count : 2,928

this whole red string business had cost you many nights of sleep. all your friends had been lucky, bumping into their supposed soulmate in a store or cafe, or getting a new job and seeing a prominent string dangling from their coworker’s fingers.

see, it isn’t visible at all times, which is arguably less and equally more frustrating. there’s only certain times you can follow it, or tug on it if you’re impatient. there’s a possibility you walk past your fately betrothed and you’ll miss them, because the universe decides you’re not ready.

it’s been five years since it first showed up, looped around your fingers snuggly. it happened after a nightmare, which were all too common. witnessing the attack on new york first hand had been devastating, bodies upon bodies. screams and cries and families torn apart, including your own.

it was just you now, scattered in the vast expanse of the world like a drop in the ocean. friends were distractions, only so much could tackle the constant ebbing and aching deep within your chest. tucked away so far that it was normal, like it had always been there.

it was at a bar when the familiar red showed up, and in frustration, you yanked hard. standing up from the booth with your friends and determinedly walking to try once more. the bond was fickle, or maybe, it was just yours specifically. seemingly disappearing each time some ground was made, like someone had purposely cut it.

you learnt to be fast, coiling the thread and pacing swiftly. weaving through crowded streets on a winter’s eve, eyes narrowed and scrutinising. your lips dried at the cold air, and a small voice reminded you that the jacket you’d been wearing was still slumped in the bar’s booth. was it worth it? getting cold and also getting a dead end?

the trail never seemed to end, with each tug and pull, there was no resistance. leaving a yarn-like pile puddled at your feet. it could’ve been the frustration or exasperation that triggered the next moment, gripping onto the thin crimson and jerking it with every ounce of might you had.

it wasn’t noticeable at first, but steadily a burning littered your palms. for the very first time, you’d gotten rope burn from wrenching the thread.

there was also a man who was distinctively dishevelled, like he’d been displaced.

he was littered in crimson.

not only was it looped around him, it also continued from him. which was just too much to comprehend at the given moment, was it possible to be attached to multiple people?

the man whipped his head up, almost like he’d been shocked, and belatedly met eyes with you. locking with a shudder, his gaze was almost frantic.

at the same time, you both spoke, your voice edging on angry and confused. while the stranger’s seemed unbelievably stunned.

“you!”

in all years of imagining your future partner, you’d never expected them to be so…unfairly attractive. adorned with dull blonde locks, a sharp jaw and icy blue eyes that held a depth you hadn’t prepared for. he was tall, and built, gods he could crush you.

it almost cooled the anger in your veins.

“why did you keep cutting me off?” you snapped, fists clenching from anxiety this time. had they seen you before and decided you weren’t enough? could you be enough? why wait all this time? why sever the connection over and over?

“what?” he breathed, the air in his lungs fled. the blonde’s train of thought was completely dismantled, a flicker of hurt and confusion flooded his face. “that - that wasn’t you?”

steve still remembers when it appeared. just after his major transformation from frail to superhuman. the sight caused him to stutter, whole body feeling just as weak as he was before. immediately he’d gone to find peggy, hoping it was her, she was breathtaking. first woman to see him as someone, and who looked at him with a hint of softness that he melted for each time.

and he still remembers the way his heart had plummeted upon finding out his newly acquired string was not attached to peggy. it shattered a part of him, he’d never felt like this with anyone before, and yet peggy wasn’t the one. her bold lipstick would not litter his cheeks or lips, her soft yet strong hands would not rest in his own.

it was confusing.

but what was truly heartbreaking was finding out who it was attached to.

after rescuing bucky from hydra and finally having his best friend back, steve thought maybe it would be okay not to know the person on the other side of the string. him and buck would be alright if they had each other, his fondest and happiest of memories included barnes.

on that train, time stopped. bucky dangling from a scrap of metal, steel eyes terrified and begging for steve to haul him back up.

he couldn’t reach him. he tried, god he tried.

the worst part of it all had been seeing glimmering thread falling into the snow with his best friend. he’d found and lost his soulmate - best friend, at the exact same time. it was a good thing to have crashed that jet into the ice, he was content with it. knowing if there was an afterlife, buck would be there with open arms.

but that’s just not how it went.

instead he woke up from a presumably deadly sleep.

all he had ever known was gone, apart from peggy, who after a little while, was gone too.

thread was still attached to him, he felt it, it was heavy, dragging him down in what felt like every step. the weight was there, but he didn’t see it.

not until a masked assassin stood in his path, mask strewn across concrete. his beautiful bucky was alive, and almost unrecognisable with the torment that surrounded him.

he cried that night.

eventually, after he fought through what felt like hell, he’d pulled bucky back from the torturous programming he’d been under. they’d come to realise that their thread, ignited since the 40’s had changed, it went in another direction.

“multiple soulmates huh?” buck realised, if steve was observant enough, he would’ve seen the defeat in his former best friend’s (now lover’s) language.

“i don’t think it will be a bad thing, it’s, exciting.”

bucky’s bit his lip, “maybe.”

it had taken years to let steve in again. he was on edge all of the time, was real panicky too. spent so much time locked in his room, and went between eating so much his stomach hurt and not having an appetite at all. it felt undeserving to have what he wanted, to have a soulmate, to be potentially happy after what he’d done.

the lives he’d taken.

the guilt had crushed him, and the self hatred never dulled. he didn’t deserve steve, he was too good. too sweet, too soft. too, steve.

when it became clear that someone else was out there, linked to steve and him, he panicked. it had been hard enough coming to terms that steve didn’t hate him, didn’t blame him. no one else could get close, what if he hurt them? what if they took steve?

what if this string thing didn’t work out all the time? everything was fine with steve. he felt safer than ever, with a calm so alien to him.

it wasn’t purposeful, but whenever the other string popped up, every time he went to touch it, it frayed. like the bond didn’t want him.

time after time it dissolved after bucky touched it, no matter how gentle or rough, it vanished. it was humiliating. after a while he just swiped at it whenever it did reappear, wanting it gone. it was just there to insult him. of course it would fray when he touched it, it was naive of him to think that a killer, someone drenched in the blood of others, could be wanted.

steve would disagree of course.

steve loved him with every fibre of his being, so fiercely it was near startling. it was more than he deserved. every embrace was simultaneously his oxygen and his undoing.

captain america was righteous, strong. believed in bucky and nursed him back to ‘health’ as much as he could. rogers was more than a tight suit and a impenetrable shield. he was everything.

he knew that steve was searching for their other, other half. knew that he was excited to meet them, wanted to show bucky that it would be a good thing. steve hadn’t accounted for one thing, bucky’s fear.

bucky was internally petrified of losing his everything.

he swiped at the string over and over, and the guilt was way lesser than the fear.

the name you’d gotten was steve, you’d quickly texted your friends not to worry.

followed string, please hold onto that jacket, it’s my favourite. i’ll be sad if you lose it :(

he had ordered two coffees, “this may take a while.” the man wrung his hands nervously, it was mildly comforting to know you weren’t the only one with a pounding heart and a sweaty brow.

“you’re different than i thought you’d be.” it had come out in a splutter, scrounging for a conversation, it would be embarrassing to confess you just wanted to hear him talk more.

the raise in his brow only made your heart thud faster, eyes becoming half amused and half apprehensive. “how so? i’m sorry if uh, don’t cut it.”

you had practically interrupted him, “no - you’re just, i mean for one you’re captain america. makes sense why i couldn’t find you, you’ve probably been all over the place.” after years of pondering about your soulmate, finally coming face to face with one of them was exhilarating and overwhelming. and you couldn’t stop talking, spilling too many words. it was a wonder that he kept up. “and secondly, you cut it, how you look is borderline unfair to the general public.”

you had caught him off guard, and his laugh, it came from his chest. deep, rich and warm. “fighting takes you all over. i’m glad - that i cut it. been worrying that you were making it disappear, that you didn’t want to see me - us.”

mid sip, you halted. he drank his own coffee with a small smile. “you uh, know the other one?”

his lips quirked up more, a fondness shining in his pupils, “you could say that.” steve cleared his throat, thumbing the handle of the coffee cup, “i’ve known him my whole life,” he hesitated, “his name is bucky.”

everyone who’d paid attention to the news was aware who this ‘bucky’ was. captain america’s best friend who was taken in by hydra and brainwashed so severely he’d lost himself along the way, who was used as a weapon for a long, long time.

steve was prepared for a bad reaction, people weren’t always understanding when it came to buck. more often than not, they’d call him a killer or become uncomfortable. it made him incredibly protective, and he struggled to stay present in a conversation after judging bucky so poorly.

“you don’t need to be on edge you know.” you spoke, spotting the super soldier’s tense posture. “i know who he is,” you started carefully, sweeping across the expanse of steve’s face, “and anyone with a brain knows what happened to him, is not his fault.”

steve inhaled with a shaky, but relieved breath. “thank yo-“

“you don’t need to,” you cut in, “i’ve been waiting for years, for you, for you both technically.” a blush quickly swarmed your cheeks, and you broke the eye contact between the two of you. the rest of the sentence was silent, but steve would’ve decoded it as: i don’t give up so easily.

being connected by fate to one extremely attractive man was already hard to grasp. but two of them? it was almost sending you to an early grave. it was easy to see just from a small interaction that steve was sweet, protective, handsome and you were bound to him.

“he’s a tough nut to crack.” a part of you laughed at the innuendo, but outwardly, just managed to keep it in. “he’s probably worried, said i’d be back by 5, always make sure im never late.”

“trying to escape already?” you teased, before asking for his number. he fumbled around with his phone, shaking his head at your question. it was slightly endearing how steve’s fingers shook as he pulled up his contact details. despite the pair of you trying to appear confident, you were equally as nervous and giddy.

as soon as you finished inputting the information, the door to the cafe dinged, and in walked the reincarnation of sin itself. brown messy hair and the most hypnotising steel irises. red thread wrapped around the metal of his arm beautifully. you sucked in a breath, not out of fear of who bucky was, but the dawning realisation you were linked with perhaps the prettiest men on earth.

his face was hard set, pulled taut and serious. clinically, and methodically, he swept over the cafe until he found his target. the tension from the man visibly eased, enough so that he didn’t even clock the person sitting across from steve. who, if he had noticed, was staring at him unashamedly.

“it’s 6, you’re never late.” bucky narrowed his stare pointedly, quickly checking to see if steve was perhaps held back by an injury. when he found nothing, he almost looked offended.

steve’s lids fluttered at the timbre of his partners voice greeting him, “mhm.” amusement quickly overcame his expression, “well, i was busy.”

“busy with what?” bucky almost growled, frowning at the pleased glint present in steve’s pupils, and how his partner seemed smug. he was happy about not coming home? he’d been waiting at home like a damn dog, until noticing the string and following it to steve like he was on a mission. steve shifted to look at you, and couldn’t help the smile that burst from him. oh you were perfect. not afraid or judgmental of bucky at all, you instead looked all but ready to devour the ex assassin.

at steve’s silence, and sudden interest looking at something else, bucky cranked his head to the side. all words dying on his tongue the second he caught onto you, the string cocooning you and your ecstatic half crinkled eyes. “oh.”

“oh.” steve echoed with a poorly hidden smirk, anxiety tugging at his chest, waiting to see how bucky would react. it all depended on this moment.

it was basically a staring contest with the amount of eye contact between the two of you. it was like bucky was searching for something within you, trying to dig into your core and assess what laid there. “this is an acceptable reason for being late.” and with that, he turned away.

steve sighed exasperated, “i’m sorry for him, that, that was rude buck.” back in the 40’s bucky was an unrivalled gentleman, polite to women and men alike. he was guarded, too much so. steve had desperately wanted to forge a connection with their third partner, and didn’t expect bucky to seem almost against it.

“don’t apologise for me.” he withheld a small scowl, flicking back and forth between steve and you. it didnt deter you, rationally maybe it should have, but you waited 5 years. you’d be damned if you gave up on the first hurdle. steve had said he was a ‘tough nut to crack’, so cracked he would be.

“it’s alright,” you waved steve’s concern off, “it’s good to meet you, years of waiting was worth it.” you raised your hand expectantly, bucky hesitated, until stubbornly wrapping his metal fingers around your flesh ones. the lack of alarm or fright from touching the metal limb had him faltering.

you truly weren’t affected by him or the history and baggage he carried.

with a confidence you weren’t sure you had, you leant closer, heart hammering at a speed that felt dangerous. slowly, and tentatively, you placed a tender kiss upon the back of the silver hand. bucky’s reaction was a sucked in breath and a sharp twitch in the prosthetic limb. it was almost as if he’d felt the sensation coursing through him. “i am sorry for keeping your partner, do forgive me.”

“i’ll think about it.” his stoic facade was ruined by the smallest lopsided lift of his lips. all three of you had trouble slowing your pulses, all frantic and strangled by adrenaline. “here again, tomorrow at 2.” he all but demanded, pulling away and walking towards steve.

“bucky! you can’t just - buck!” the blonde groaned, jumping at bucky interlinking their hands and dragging him away. before he was completely swept, steve fumbled through his wallet and laid money on the table for the coffees, “i hope tomorrow at 2 is convenient.”

“i’ll think about it.” you replied, slyly laughing at steve before he disappeared through the glass cafe door.

there was no doubt about it, they would cram into every space hidden within your head, without any resistance. one interaction with them both, and you were a goner.

you leant into your hands, muffling the borderline painful grin painted on your face. after a moment, you turned on your phone, sending the fastest text.

you are never going to believe this, i’m coming back for my jacket, and for drinks.

your index hovered over the new contact in your phone, and before you could think it through, you typed away.

you both cut it ps. do you or bucky want flowers or chocolates?

a/n: so i started this fic today, and it was meant to be a very short one, more of a drabble than anything. i’ve become more attached than initially expected, and it became a longer fic. divider credits are me just in case anyone was about to ask about them, i might post them!! i think i need some more to do a batch though.

i don’t normally see more confident readers/a mix of flustered and confident, and i’m not sure how well received it will be because of that. i hope there’s people that can appreciate a cheeky hand kiss and a little bit of flustered steve and bucky. reader would spoil them both, gifts and open affection, would be so supportive and protective, steve and bucky would end up so possessive of them in return.

i hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it !! merry early christmas <33

[heliads]

you're going to have to shut this down - steve rogers

You grew up with Steve Rogers in the 1940s and froze with him until the present day, too. When he leaves you after killing Thanos to return to the '40s, it's the biggest betrayal of your life. If there was a way to ever see him again, it would require the crossing of many timelines, something you'd know nothing about. The TVA might, though.

masterlist

a/n: back from the dead! who would have thought (not me). who can say how long. enjoy xoxo

You join the TVA because you have nothing else to do. It’s not a bad gig, all things considered. It makes about as much sense as life normally does for you, which is to say, not at all. You’re getting better about understanding the splashier technology, the speedier cars, the altered accents. Not everything is going to seem like it’s fresh out of the 1940s, because only you are. It’s been several years since they got you out of the ice. By all accounts, you should have settled in a long time ago.

And you have, honestly. You did a good job of learning fast and moving on. Still, all it takes is one odd word of slang you don’t understand or a reference to a world-altering event that you never heard of to shove you two steps back instead of forward. You never expected it to be easy, trying to live in the new century. You just didn’t think you’d have to do it alone, either.

The Avengers helped. Despite the infighting and the many false retirements and the deaths, that job helped put you together more than anything else. Everyone was strange there, so no one was. Even the person out of time. 

Maybe that’s why the TVA reached out after it was all over– they knew you needed a fresh start. A new team, too, one that didn’t really care about your understanding of any one particular timeline. It was the perfect fit. Why not risk your life for someone else all over again?

It had made sense at the time. After Thanos was defeated, you’d lost your purpose. The Avengers didn’t technically disband, but enough of the original core had been lost to death and retirement and better things. You could sense a new generation rising up to take the mantle, and, not wanting to go through the same cycle of learning new faces just to lose them again, you stepped aside.

Retirement wasn’t good for you. All that time on your own left you twitchy, waiting for something to do, someone to see. You suppose it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if it weren’t for one specific absence, but that’s just the way it goes sometimes. Maybe you should have learned a long time ago to never bet your happiness on Steve Rogers, because when he left, you felt like you’d lost everything.

Even after all this time, you still can’t fathom why he did it, why he left you behind. You had grown up in the 1940s by his side, next door neighbors and family friends. Your parents knew his, and died around the same time his did, too. You’d been inseparable for as long as you could remember. You thought it was the worst pain in your life when he and Bucky went to war, so you followed, taking on a position as a medic in their regiment.

Steve had been absolutely furious that you’d put yourself into harm’s way like that, but you didn’t care. Everything was good so long as you were still together, and for a while, it was. Sure, it took you a while to remember how to act normally after he underwent his Captain America transformation, but he was still Steve, your Steve. And that was okay.

You were almost starting to believe in fantasies that you’d be able to make it back to Brooklyn one day, and then the cards stopped falling in your favor. First, you were sent to hunt down Zola, which was doomed from the start. You’d lost Bucky from the side of the train, which was the beginning of the end. Steve was spiraling and you knew it. It should have come as no surprise that he’d plunge himself into whatever danger he could find to try and keep his mind off the loss. It should have come as no surprise that you’d go with him.

However, neither of you expected to find yourselves on a plane headed into the ocean. It felt fitting somehow, dying with Steve. Bucky was gone anyway. You might as well join him. It was cold enough that you didn’t feel the water entering your lungs. You knew Steve’s hand was in yours even after you lost the sensation in your fingers. You felt him with you even after you closed your eyes for the final time.

Only, it wasn’t the final time. You woke up after what seemed like a matter of hours and ended up being several decades. The new century was full of trouble, but you and Steve were determined to run headfirst into it. You can still remember listening to the new music with him, quizzing each other on current events, doing everything under the sun together in the name of embracing modernity.

Even if it felt wrong to be so suddenly transplanted out of your normal world and into this bright, fast-paced future, some part of you was glad for it. You’ve had a secret crush on Steve since you were ten years old and starry-eyed for the boy next door. What did you lose by leaving the 1940s, anyway– sickness, the war, significantly worse water quality? Steve needed you here more than he ever needed you there. There was so much more in this modern world that would bring the two of you together, and you were delighted for it.

You were delighted, that is. You had assumed that Steve was, too. He certainly seemed like it, always down to visit a new museum or take a trip out of the city. He’d been happy with you. You were certain about it.

Yet, years after you first woke up together in a strange new world, he traveled back in time to return the Infinity Stones and came back as an old man who had already lived his life back in the 1940s. You weren’t there when it happened. Steve had actually sent you away, back to New York, so you could monitor the sites where the transfer of the Stones would take place to see if anything went wrong in the future. You’ll always wonder if he did that on purpose, to make sure you didn’t come with him, or if he really was worried about something as mundane as the Stones after all.

In the end, you’ll never know. Steve never told you about his plan to go back. You’re certain that Bucky was aware of it, even if he denies it. You saw the look on his face when Bucky returned from the job alone and told you that Steve had made his choice. He wasn’t surprised or shocked like you. He was sad, but accepting, because he already knew.

It was the worst betrayal of your life. You told Steve everything except the fact that you love him, and he left without telling you a single goodbye. Somehow, somewhere along the line you had walked together all your lives, Steve decided that he would rather live and die in the past without you than face the future you’d been building since they took you out of the ice. You’ve tried to remember moments in which he wasn’t happy, when you could have seen the signs and known that Steve was going to leave, but you can’t. Steve never seemed to have a problem with the modern world until he left it. It makes no sense, and so the awful mystery consumes you whole.

It would be one thing to retire from the Avengers with Steve by your side, just like always. Now, though, you’re losing not just your main activity but the last vestige of your heart. Bucky is your friend, close to family, but he’s not Steve and never will be. You’ve tried to spend time with him, but every time you see Bucky, you’re haunted by a third presence that should be there yet isn’t. You haven’t talked in a while. It’s probably better that way, anyway.

Luckily, you weren’t left to your own devices forever. One lonely morning, an orange panel of light opened up in front of you, and out of it stepped Loki, who, according to Thor, should have died when Thanos visited. He’d explained briefly how he was still alive, but focused more on offering you a chance to work with the TVA. Without anything better to do but sit around and mope, you’d agreed.

You and Loki have gotten along well for the most part, surprisingly enough. Barring the part where he’d tried to invade New York, you’ve come in contact with him through Thor several times and gotten along through a shared sarcastic sense of humor and biting wit. You’re probably one of the Avengers Loki tolerates the most, a title you bear with no small semblance of pride. Loki had needed someone to advise him on a variant, and he’d gone to you.

It’s a good job for someone out of time. The timelines all converge and diverge in mysterious ways, so who could truly say what’s current or out-of-date? You help Loki and the other TVA officers in maintaining the timeline. Slowly, you settle in, and you stop thinking about going back to your usual timeline. Why bother, anyway? There’s nothing left for you there. Bucky has moved on. Steve is gone. Your family passed on decades ago, and your friends in the Avengers are dead or busy. It’s not a place for you anymore.

Honestly, it’s decent work, all things considered, until you hear about an errant variant totally destroying not just his universe but every one to cross his path. Loki comes bursting into the main office, which isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, but the look in his eyes certainly isn’t. Apparently, there’s some guy who left his universe and started jumping around in many others. He’d stayed in his first place for many years, but made so many major changes that the timeline was all but destroyed. Once this variant took note of the fires he couldn’t put out, he started jumping into other places, doing the same thing in less time.

He’s someone who’ll have to be stopped, to say the least. It’s certainly a cause for concern, but that doesn’t explain the cagey expression on Loki’s face. There’s something he isn’t telling you, to be sure, something big. Something that might make you rethink this assignment entirely.

“Loki,” you say slowly, once the god of mischief has calmed down enough to go from frenetic pacing to merely glaring at the small hologram of Miss Minutes across the room, “What’s really going on here? Who exactly is this variant?”

Loki hesitates, and you know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. This variant isn’t just anyone, is it? No, of course not. That would be too easy, and if you’ve learned anything in your voyages across the timelines, it’s that nothing in any universe is ever easy.

The variant destroying the worlds– it’s Steve. And it’s your Steve specifically, the one who’d decided to leave you to go back in time. It’s the precise version of Steve Rogers from your universe who had abandoned all you’d built to go back and live to old age in the 1940s.

You suck in a harsh breath. “That’s impossible. Steve would never do a thing like that. He saves the universe, he doesn’t destroy it.”

Loki laughs bitterly. “Think again, Y/N. It’s him.”

You shake your head unthinkingly, but as little as you want to even contemplate the idea, you can’t deny that it might be likely. Steve already upset the laws of the multiverse when he went to live his life in the 1940s. Who’s to say what else he might do?

You stand up and join Loki in his pacing. “Don’t go through the usual steps. Bring him here.”

Loki starts to protest, but you silence him with a glance. “Think of it as a favor. You owe me, you know that. I won’t kill him, not yet. Not until I know what’s going on.”

One desk over, Mobius holds up his hands. “Wait, wait. Maybe this Steve is a friend of yours, but he’s still a dangerous variant who is quite literally destroying the fabric of time with every jump he makes. Are you sure that bringing him into the TVA is the best idea?”

You lift a shoulder. “Do you have any other ideas of where to put him?”

Mobius sighs. “No, but I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like this,” you tell him, “but I need to talk to Steve. Please.”

You look over at Loki hopefully, and feel a crush of relief when you see him caving. “Fine, but the second Rogers tries anything, we’re all over him. We can’t risk the multiverse for one melodramatic walking flag.”

You chuckle in spite of yourself. It’s not a happy sound. “Just let me see what I can do.”

You have no idea what you’ll do with your errant Steve once he gets here. Before that, though, you’re going to have to solve the problem of bringing him here in the first place. If what Loki says is true, Steve is not going to come quietly.

You’re still having trouble wrapping your mind around the whole concept. Steve– your Steve– destroying timelines? Rampaging through the multiverse? It doesn’t even compute in your mind. After all you’ve seen of him, through every decade, in every incarnation, every uniform, he has still been himself at the core. Even when he just came out of the ice. Even when he lost Bucky after Thanos’ snap. Even when you lost the biggest battle of your lives.

Something must have happened to him when he was going back in time, that’s all you can imagine. It’s certainly a better thing to tell yourself, it makes you believe that there was a reason outside his control that he would have left you in the dust. Yes, this must be the fault of traveling through time, and not the simple fact that Steve didn’t want you anymore.

You suit up with the rest, ready to head out and collect your errant Captain. You deliberate over the helmet when Mobius advises you to hide your face in any way possible. He’s had many bad dealings with variants over the years, he claims. No one knows what Steve would do if he saw you.

Face obscured, you walk through a Timedoor to the latest universe Steve has attempted to conquer. It doesn’t take long to find a disturbance; you’ve hardly stepped through the orange portal before you’re greeted with the sound of screaming, the smell of smoke. Buildings are burning. It’s like the world is on fire, and all you can think about is that somehow, Steve caused this.

“We have to move fast,” Mobius urges. “The timeline is unraveling by the second. Find the variant and drag him through a Timedoor as fast as you can.”

You nod your assent and start moving. The easiest thing to do is to head towards the center of the chaos, and so you do, the other TVA agents not far behind you. The smoke gets thicker, all culminating around one building in the center of the city. With a chill, you realize it’s what should be the old Avengers complex, but the letters on the outside still read Stark Tower. This universe might not have gotten the chance to ever get its Avengers, so there is no one to fight off a corrupted Rogers except the TVA, too little and too late.

“I see him,” Loki shouts suddenly, pointing towards a figure moving through the rubble. “Amazing, his hair shines even in a bonfire.”

You don’t have it in you to laugh, but surge forward recklessly. You have to see, you have to know, is it him? Could it be? As you draw closer, you’re certain that you see him, that Steve is here after all this time. A lump rises in your throat utterly unrelated to the pollutants clogging the air. You’ve missed him for so long, and now he’s right in front of you.

Mobius flings out an arm, stopping you short. “Wait,” he says. “He’s a variant, Y/N. Remember that.”

You come thundering back to reality at his words. When you look again, Steve isn’t standing there harmlessly, but holding an unconscious figure in his arms, the head thudding lifelessly against his bicep. This is the real Steve right now, someone you could never recognize.

Two of the TVA agents hurry forward, attempting to cuff him, but Steve brushes them aside easily, even after Loki and Mobius try to enter the fray. Suddenly, the situation looks like you’ll lose it for good, until a wild, terrible idea occurs to you and you shout out to him, “Steve!”

Instantly, Steve’s whole body goes rigid, and he starts scanning the area frantically. “Y/N?” He calls out.

He sounds like a madman, that’s the first thought that rises to your mind. His eyes are wide, his syllables unsettled. You rip off your helmet and Steve turns to you as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Y/N?” He repeats again, this time far more quietly, the words all but disappearing on the smoke-burnt wind.

Steve starts to reach out a grimy hand to you, but one of the TVA agents surges up behind him, jamming a syringe in his neck and knocking him out cold. Cuffs are tightened around his wrists moments later, and Mobius conjures up the requisite Timedoor straight to a holding cell back in the TVA. Everyone starts filing away, but takes you a few more moments to gather yourself together long enough to follow them.

Once back in the halls of the TVA, lights buzzing cheerfully overhead, Loki turns to you at last. “The move with the helmet was risky,” he chastises.

You can’t focus on the rebuke. “He knew me,” you whisper. “He knew me, and he stopped fighting.”

Loki’s lips thin. “That’s not Steve,” he says. “Not the one you know, at least.”

You steal a glance towards the locked door of the cell anyway. “I have to talk to him.”

Loki’s expression shifts from frustrated to simply tired. “I know.”

Still, you’re not blind to the wishes of the TVA, and you let Mobius go in to talk to Steve first. You decide it’s probably best if you’re not the first face he sees, and if you’re not going, Loki would be an even worse choice, so it’s Mobius alone in there with a few guards for security. He barely makes it ten minutes before he comes storming out again, though, obviously frustrated.

You could hear shouting outside the cell and down the hall, but still, you’re curious enough to ask Mobius, “What happened in there?”

Mobius drags an irritated hand through his hair. “Your little hero isn’t really the talking type.”

You frown. “That’s unlike him.”

“All of this is unlike him,” Loki intercedes. “You really couldn’t get through to him, Mobius? That’s startling. Surely there’s some sort of homegrown charm you could pull on him to twist his mind in your favor.”

“That’s just called manners,” Mobius frowns, “but no, I tried. He refuses to talk to anyone but Y/N.”

Loki swings around to stare at you curiously. “Fascinating. He left you and now he won’t even indulge in a friendly conversation with the authorities. What sort of Captain Rogers is this?”

You roll your eyes to hide your growing discomfort. “Forget that. Are we going to give in so fast? Don’t tell me you’re the type to give up on interrogating a suspect after less than half an hour.”

Mobius shrugs. “We might as well let you in. Might learn something, he doesn’t seem inclined to give us anything else otherwise. Why waste more time?”

You might argue a little harder were it not for the fact that you’ve been dying to see Steve since he got here. Before that, really. You’ve been wanting to talk to him since he left you in the first place. Maybe it’s not the best strategy for dealing with a variant, but in your heart, he’s still Steve, and always will be.

Steve’s head is down when you enter the cell, but it flies up the second you take a seat opposite him. He’s sitting down, hands cuffed behind him, but you have no doubt that he could free himself in a heartbeat if he tried.

Still, he isn’t trying. He’s just looking at you, eyes wide, mouth a little agape, as if he really can’t believe it’s you even after demanding to meet. “Y/N?” He asks quietly.

You nod. “Steve.”

Your voice seems harsh in the hollow stillness of the TVA cell. Steve doesn’t flinch, but he might as well; his eyes gain a thin veneer of hurt you’ve known since the forties. 

“You’re not my Y/N, though,” he decides. “You know, I never really believed in the whole multiverse thing. Strange tried to explain it to me after Thanos, but I just thought it was a bunch of crap. No way there were a million versions of us. But I’ve met enough of you and me to know otherwise now.”

Your heart feels heavy in your chest. “You’re referring to all of the universes you hijacked.”

“Hijacked,” Steve muses. “That’s a strong word.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “You entered universes that were not your own and caused chains of events that led to destruction of that world, every single time.”

It horrified you, looking at the footage. Every single universe was the same:  heroes gone or killed, skies full of smoke, thousands of dead. Everywhere Steve went, chaos followed him. It felt impossible, but it was true. Shockingly, awfully, it was true.

Steve’s eyes go dark. “That wasn’t my intention.”

“But it still happened,” you point out. “And you saw it happen but you kept going in more universes anyway. Why? Why didn’t you stop?”

Anger sparks in Steve like a match to gasoline. “I wasn’t trying to tear the universes apart, I was just trying to go back home,” he spits. “I couldn’t find the way back. I didn’t realize how delicate the multiverse was. Maybe that means you guys are bad at your job if a few detours can send the whole thing spiraling.”

The jab doesn’t even land, you’re too distracted by what he said before it. “You– you were trying to go back? Back where?”

A thundercloud of emotion passes over Steve’s face. “Back to the present,” he says softly.

He looks like he wants to keep talking, but he glances sharply back at you again and cuts himself off. “What does it matter to you, anyway? You’re just another version of you. What universe are you from, anyway? One where you leave instead of me?”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” you whisper. “You have no idea who I am, Steve.”

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “No. No, I know you’re not my Y/N. My Y/N never would have agreed to go in the same room as me.” 

He straightens up suddenly. “Say– you’ve seen all the endings of the timeline, right? Is there any– are there any universes where you forgive me? Where I’m able to go back?”

Your breath feels faint in your chest. “You want to know if you ever go back to the present?”

He nods. “Surely I could do it at least once. Don’t tell me it never happens. And if I do, don’t say you hate me for leaving.”

His face, suddenly pleading, makes you almost sick to your stomach. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I never looked. I was too afraid that you would have left me for nothing.”

Steve draws back suddenly, looking at you with a fresh wave of curiosity. “You mean– Y/N. You’re the one I left? How did you get here?”

You nod. “I was lonely after you disappeared. I needed something to do. But Steve– I thought you would stay in the forties. Why would you ever go in the first place if you were just going to leave again?”

Steve looks stricken. “I thought I would like it better back then. I wanted to go home, but Y/N, I was wrong. The forties weren't home, you were. I realized it after a few months. Nothing felt right without you. I tried to go to our present day again, but it had been too long since I jumped and I couldn’t figure it out. I tried finding Strange, but of course he hadn’t been born yet, and I was sent into another universe instead of ours.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t understand. If you were trying to get back, why destroy all those universes?”

“I wasn’t trying to destroy them,” Steve says lowly, “I was trying to get you back. Only– you’re pivotal to all of this, and you don’t even get it. If the Avengers formed without us, they wouldn’t make the decisions needed to stop the Chitauri, or save the world from Thanos, or anything.”

You comprehend it all at last. “You weren’t destroying the multiverse, you were meddling with the timeline. Of course. The TVA always insisted on the danger of even the smallest variant. I get it now.”

“I made a mistake by leaving, Y/N,” Steve tells you. “I’m trying to make it right. Will you let me?”

And, looking at him in the low fluorescent lights of the TVA, you ask yourself if there’s still a place in your heart for the man you’ve known all your life. It’s been a long time since you saw him. It’ll be longer still before you forgive him for leaving in the first place. However, there’s not many people like you in this world or the next. You have Steve back at last. How could anyone not take a chance like that?

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[mcntsee]

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

[l0velysmut]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours: