#disaster for america | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stellar-solar-flare · 4 days ago

Text

A Fairytale Of A Disaster| Chapter 4/4 | Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Explicit - 18+ only - Minors DNI.

Your friend set you up with a perfect guy. Unfortunately, when it's time for you to meet 'Grant' for the first time, he has stood you up. On Valentine's Day of all days.

Was it too good to be true? Or does he instead have a very, very good reason why he's late, and a desire to make it all up to you?

Fluff, hurt/comfort, meet-cute, misunderstandings, eventual smut, healthy communication. | Background Sam Wilson/OFC.

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AO3

<< Previous chapter

Story Content Warnings:Discussion of Steve's canonical trauma; mentions of Steve/Peggy.

Reader Specifics: She/her, late twenties (a few years younger than Steve in this fic). Training to be a trauma surgeon (has completed med school, in residency stage). Likes books and houseplants. No description of appearance (other than clothes and such), no use of Y/N.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

Story Notes: I wanted to write a Valentine's Day oneshot, and then it turned out it has parts. Oh no. Well, here we are. I hope you enjoy this fluffy little trope collection! As always, thank you for reading, and hearing what you think means a lot to me.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 4: Forever After

Chapter Notes: And here is the final chapter. 2024 was a giant hassle for me, which is why it was a little delayed, but I am grateful for your patience. Thanks for sticking with me until the end. As always, I am always interested in hearing your thoughts! Thank you for reading, and happy 2025.

Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, praise kink, slightly possessive Steve Rogers, dirty talk.

4,290 words.

It didn’t sit right with you to just wait for Steve to come back.

Sure, it was the first time you were at his place, but he had told you to make yourself at home. And he had gone through all this trouble to make the schedule mishap up to you, even after he’d obviously had a long and probably somewhat overwhelming day. You wanted to do something nice for him, too; to do your part in making sure this night would turn out well.

He had mentioned the BBQ-chicken-filled baguettes, which sounded like lovely comfort-type of food; and that type of food required a dessert. You weren’t the one making the rules.

After a few minutes of contemplation, you padded over to the kitchen part of the great room and started opening the cabinets. After what Steve had said, it didn’t surprise you that his pantry was well-stocked, and it seemed like he enjoyed baking, too. So far, he’d only sent you pictures of dinners he’d cooked, but after that, it wasn’t much of a leap to assume baking was also something like a hobby to him. A top-of-the-line stand mixer stood on the counter, gleaming in the well-lit space, and you smiled. It would practically do the work for you.

You figured out how to turn on the oven and set it to heat up while you gathered all the necessary ingredients and found a nice rectangular oven pan. Brownies certainly weren’t going to win any Michelin Stars any time soon, but they were a great treat after a long day and one of the recipes you could’ve made in your sleep. Besides, Steve had quality chocolate, grass-fed butter, free-range eggs… There was no way these could turn out anything but delicious.

Steve wasn’t gone for long, but by the time he returned, you were already scooping the melted chocolate and butter into the stand mixer bowl to whisk it together with the egg-sugar foam. You were so focused on the task at hand that at first, you didn’t hear his steps coming up to the kitchen.

“Doll?” he said, and there was something careful about his voice, something that made you think it wasn’t just because he didn’t want to scare you.

You turned to look at him, smiling, as you set the dish in your hands on the counter and turned the stand mixer on; on a low setting, it was so quiet that you could easily talk despite the fact that it was running.

“Hi,” you said. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He had looked great in the suit but the combination of grey dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and a navy blazer was certainly nothing to scoff at. He’d dried and combed his hair, and it was a radiant halo on his head, and the look in his eyes was something that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze trailed down from your eyes to your body, taking in the navy apron — with his shield embroidered on it — that you’d found in a drawer and used to cover your dress to keep it clean. Abruptly, he pulled his gaze away, peering at the batter.

“I thought I’d make us some dessert to go with the sandwiches,” you smiled. “You did tell me to make myself at home.”

“I did,” he swallowed, the sound coming out of his throat somehow suffocated. “You didn’t have to but I… I appreciate it. A lot. It looks lovely. Brownies?”

The chopped sentences made one side of your mouth tug up. For sure, you had heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, but you hadn’t expected such a small thing to have an effect this tangible. You stopped the device, satisfied with the evenness of the batter, and Steve turned back to you.

“Yeah, brownies,” you confirmed. “I borrowed your apron, too.”

“I can see that,” he smiled. “It looks great on you. It’s from our Kitchen Heroes merch line — Sam got it for me as a gag gift, since all the profits go to fund food banks. I often cook for the team; it’s good for the spirit. But it definitely looks better on you than it does on me.”

A part of you doubted it — the idea of Steve, with the apron on and the sleeves of his shirt rolled back, working on some complicated dish with a focused expression on his face in this very kitchen made something stir on the bottom of your stomach. Maybe you would see it; maybe this was only the first time you were cooking in this kitchen, maybe this was the beginning of something beautiful, maybe this was it.

His eyes trailed down again, and for a second, you thought he might be staring at your breasts, and then you realized that his gaze was fixed on the shield that stood proudly on your chest. His shield, on an apron in his colors, on you. You hadn’t intended this to be any sort of innuendo, really, you had simply grabbed the topmost apron from the drawer that held them, but now, the implications of his gaze definitely weren’t lost on you.

“Steve…” you whispered, licking your lips.

The doorbell rang, making both of you almost jump.

Steve tore his eyes off you, clearing his throat as pink was staining his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, just, give me a second,” he said, already spinning on his heel to stride to the door.

Whatever it was that caused someone to physically come meet Captain America at this hour on a holiday probably wasn’t something that you should be eavesdropping on. So you used the moment to pour the batter into the greased dish and stick it to the oven, letting the clangs of metal and the beeps of the timer you set cover the conversation at the door. And of course, you weren’t going to deny yourself the simple joy of tasting the batter off the spatula you’d used to scrape the bowl. Delicious, just like you’d thought — thick and wonderfully chocolatey.

Focused on your task, you didn’t hear Steve’s steps until he was back to standing almost next to you. He cleared his throat in a way that called for your attention, and you spun to your right, the spatula still in your left hand.

Your heart skipped a beat. And then another.

Roses.

Steve was standing there with a huge bouquet of them on his arm; he’d peeled off the paper that had sheltered them during transport and with only the thin cellophane wrapped around the stems, you could easily see how beautiful the flowers were. In full bloom, under the bright lights of the kitchen, their scarlet red color looked so wonderfully brilliant that for a moment, all you could do was stare and feel your heart swell in your chest. No one had ever.

“I thought…” Steve murmured, just a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I felt bad for showing up to a first date without the flowers, and I wondered if the red was a little too much but they match your dress. There are a few 24/7 delivery systems here on AI Campus. I hope —“

“Steve,” you cut him off, your voice thick. “They’re wonderful. Beautiful. Thank you.”

You stepped closer to him leaning in to peek at the roses, smiling at their fragrant scent. Three or four dozen — you would have to count them to be sure. Later. Now, you would just take them in and enjoy. It might’ve been true that it was a little excessive for what was a first date, despite the feeling that you’d known Steve for much longer because you’d been talking so much about everything, but so far, nothing about this had exactly been normal and ordinary.

“I love the color, too,” you whispered, turning your gaze up to Steve.

“I’m glad you like them,” he murmured.

He was looking at your gleaming eyes and your bright smile with something akin to primal satisfaction on his face. It should have clashed with the way he looked like Prince Charming, tall and strong and handsome and well dressed and bearing flowers — god, your luck had finally turned, hadn’t it? — but somehow, it didn’t. As the eye contact stretched again, seconds ticking away and your pulse racing in your chest, your head was running away with almost irresistible images of a future you might share with him.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of something falling onto the back of your palm. Dazed, you turned your gaze to the left, looking at the drop of brownie batter that had fallen off the spatula you were holding.

You should have put it away. You should have found a vase to stick the flowers in until it was time for you to go home. You should have started the dishes you’d made baking, and get the food cooking with Steve.

But right now, those things weren’t something you wanted to do, and maybe, the weird trust that had floated in the air for the entire night meant that you didn’t have to care about what you should do, about the usual and ordinary route of doing things. Maybe you could simply do what you wanted, and see where it took you.

In a bout of courage, you ran your forefinger over the side of the spatula, sweeping a generous amount of batter onto it. You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, and when you looked up again, there was a darkness there that made your heart beat louder.

“I think this turned out delicious. You should try it?” you whispered, holding your hand up, almost beckoning him with the batter-covered finger.

You were proud of your hand not trembling, of your tone only to having that small question in it. For the second it took for Steve to understand your words, you thought you’d made a glorious miscalculation. The only sound you could hear was the breathing of you.

And then, after shifting the bouquet so that it rested on his left arm, he reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped gently around your wrist, so lightly that the barest flex of your hand would’ve removed it from his grip, and yet it was the furthest thing from your mind. His hand was so warm it felt like it was radiating pure heat up your arm so that it pooled in your chest and at the bottom of your belly. You didn’t dare to move, you didn’t dare to breathe, you simply watched, eyes riveted on the movement when he brought the hand onto his lips.

His mouth was so soft against your finger. At first, it was a simple kiss, almost something like the back-of-the-hand kisses from fairy tales, and yet, the way his gaze was aflame when he kept his eyes in yours seemed to belong to a completely different sort of tale. When you didn’t yank your hand back at the touch of his lips, he grew bolder, his thumb sweeping a caress onto the sensitive underside of your wrist right at the edge of your palm. His tongue swept the side of your finger before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking the last of the batter off.

A tiny, desperate whine escaped from the depths of your throat, and if it hadn’t been for his super-hearing, it might’ve blown entirely past him. But it didn’t. His darkened eyes locked back on yours, and for a half-second of pure, blessed clarity, you realized the power of a man you were playing with, and some sort of eons-old instinct that was purring in the back of your head at the possibility of bedding him took the reins for you:

“Please.”

It was just as tiny and desperate as your whine had been, but it was a much clearer permission for him to proceed, and with a movement so fast you could hardly catch it, he threw the roses onto the kitchen island and grabbed you by the hips, bringing your body against his and his mouth down to yours.

The kiss’ urgency shot through your veins, setting them alight with desire, and you brought your free hand up to wrap around the nape of his neck, keeping his mouth right where it was. A low sound, a growl almost, rumbled in his chest as he felt your touch, the eagerness with which your body arched for him when his arm wrapped around your midriff, pulling you tight against his body. He nibbled your lower lip, leaving behind a faint taste of vinegar from the fish & chips you had shared, and then traced his way down the column of your neck with small kisses.

“God you’re so beautiful,” he rasped. “I just… Please tell me yes.”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to get the three letters out of your hazy brain that had zeroed in on the way Steve felt against you, the way his hips pressed against yours.

The second he heard you say that, he crouched down only enough to bring his hands to the back of your thighs, lifting you up to his arms with ease that made your stomach do a flip. You were ready for him, ready to be carried to the bedroom and kept there until your voice was hoarse from screaming his name, ready to let him to have and to hold.

But it wasn’t in his mind to venture that far. He lifted you up on the kitchen counter, and you spread your legs so that he could get in between. It would be the perfect height, and what you felt when his hips pressed against you this way filled you with something that was a mixture of exhilaration and slight dread at the size of him. Before you could think about it too much, his soft, perfect mouth was back on yours, emptying your head about anything except his taste, now pure Steve in a way that made something within you whine.

You tossed the spatula still in your hand away, hoping it would land somewhere in the general direction of the sink, and moved your hands to the top button of the shirt Steve had only a moment ago put on. With self-control that would’ve moved mountains, you moved your head so that your lips separated from his, and he stopped, his forehead leaning against yours and his breaths coming in harsh, graving bouts.

“Doll?” he whispered.

“Is it a yes?” you whispered in turn, fingers fiddling with the closed button.

“God yes,” he breathed out, his mouth coming back to yours as if all his control had been drained by that small moment of confirmation, and then there was nothing standing in your way.

You fumbled your way through opening the buttons and then pushing the shirt off his shoulders, revealing his warm, chiseled upper body for you to map with your greedy hands. It was almost too much, too perfect, his serum-enhanced physiology something out of a wild daydream — and now, it was yours to touch. You ran your hands all over his abs and pecs and arms and back, and the muffled groans he buried in your neck filled you with satisfaction, even as the way his hips were rocking against yours was awakening a deeper craving in you than you had thought possible.

“There are condoms in the bathroom, I can go get one…” he whispered, his forehead moving to rest against yours as you breathed on each other’s lips.

Even as he spoke, his large hands were running up your stocking-covered legs and then hips. Finally, they settled on the underside of your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. Even through the layers of apron and dress, the touch was almost unbearable, too much and too little at the same time, and you couldn’t bear the thought of Steve leaving the cradle of your thighs for even a moment.

“I have an IUD,” you said. “And I trust you if you trust me.”

He swallowed hard, nodding, and then his hands were on the move again. They traced their way down your sides and then slipped underneath your skirt, his eyes fixed on yours. He was giving you plenty of time to tell him to stop if you changed your mind, and yet stopping was the furthest thing from your hazy mind.

“You’ve been driving me crazy the whole night,” he rasped. “The whole day, really. Ever since you sent me that picture… It’s been all I’ve been able to think about. You are so goddamn beautiful that I can’t fathom how I got this lucky.”

Your eyes fell closed as his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your stockings, and with some maneuvering and rocking from you, he slipped them off your legs. The stone counter was a little cold underneath your butt, but it was something you barely acknowledged when Steve was looking at you with darkened eyes, gathering your skirts slowly up to your hips and making you whine in anticipation.

“That eager for me, beautiful?” he murmured. “Good. I want you moaning my name before we are done; I want to drive you just as crazy as you drive me, I want to see those gorgeous eyes glazed over with the pleasure I bring you.”

Oh god. You hadn’t anticipated this, any of this, sleeping with Steve on the first date, or him having that sort of mouth, but something pleased rippled down your spine as you realized how much of an expression of trust this was. A different kind than your talk in the car, certainly, but another one regardless.

“Please.”

“Oh, that’s a good girl.”

The gravelly tone and the words of praise combined with hot fingers smoothing up the inside of your leg made your vision cloud over with a red haze. He noticed your reaction — of course he did, with his eyes fixed on your face when he touched you, and a smile so smug it almost glowed spread on his face.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You like me telling you how perfect you are for me.”

It wasn’t a question, which was good, because his fingers finally, finally reached the apex of your thighs, diving into your wet folds, and the only thing you could do in response was to grab his shoulders and let out a whine, your hips rocking up to his touch.

“So wet for me, doll,” he whispered, his hand twisting so that his thumb landed on your clit and his forefinger teased your entrance, pure electricity shooting up from where he touched you and making you sparkle with pure lust.

You arched for him when he started drawing gentle circles on you, finger finally entering you with an audible groan from his mouth as he felt your tightness. Your head fell back, and he brought his other hand to the nape of your neck, holding you in a perfect position to lean over you and capture your lips for a kiss. And the hand didn’t stop; he was reading your reactions with all his strategic intelligence, finding the perfect ways to touch and stroke, everything inside you winding tighter and tighter and tighter.

“Steve,” you moaned when he released your mouth because saying his name was more important than breathing.

“Are you going to come for me, beautiful? Does my hand feel that good? I want it, baby, let me have it.”

As if you could’ve stopped it even if you had wanted to. Your peak poured over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in it, and you brought your hands into the back of Steve’s neck to pull his mouth to yours when it happened. He let you ride it, extending the feeling with his touch until you were a panting, hazy mess, barely able to see.

“I need you inside me, right now, you panted the second his hand retreated, your hand going for the buckle of his belt.

As collected as he had appeared with his words, he certainly wasn’t unaffected by you, either. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, groaning as your hand slipped down the front of his pants, feeling the diamond-hard length of him. He rocked his hips into your hand as you explored him with your fingers, feeling the moisture at the tip of his cock that told you he was just as eager as you.

You freed him from his pants, feasting your eyes at the sight of him, your mouth watering, and if it hadn’t been for the aching emptiness in your core, you would’ve dropped on your knees to taste him. Based on the way he’d been staring at your red lipstick, he wouldn’t have objected to it. But no. You needed more, and so did he, lifting his face to look at you as his hands pulled you to the very edge of the counter. You wrapped your legs around him as he lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness in a way that made you both take a violent breath. His other hand moved your skirts and —

Suddenly, a bubble of laughter formed in your chest, escaping your lips as a small giggle, and Steve lifted his eyes from where he’d been staring at the apex of your thighs. He was smiling too; a happy glow mixed into the darkened look of his eyes, and you couldn’t resist swiping a tendril of hair away from his forehead — you must’ve marred his perfect hairdo with your hands when he’d been working magic with his hand.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Should I take the apron off?” you grinned, and he tilted his head.

The smile on his face turned into a devious smirk, and then, with one smooth, slow stroke, he buried himself inside you. The movement knocked all thought away from your head, your mouth opening in a gasp as you felt yourself accommodate his impressive size, and god, yes, you were his now, ruined from anything else now that you’d felt him inside you, felt him pull you into an embrace as he slowly started moving, his lips dropping kisses into your jawline.

“Let’s leave it,” he rasped, as if you could’ve managed something as complicated as opening the knot of the apron’s strings in this state. “I like it… Makes you look all mine. And I have time to enjoy more of your beautiful body before this night is over.”

It was a promise and a threat at the same time — this was only the beginning and yet, you could already feel the white haze of another peak creeping into your brain, just as you’d barely stopped floating in the tail waves of the previous one, and you were not sure any mortal was meant to survive an experience this divine. But Steve was a demigod more than he was a man, as human as he was, and a primal part of you was nodding eagerly at the idea of him truly keeping you in his bed for the entirety of the night.

“Steve…” you whimpered.

“I’m right here, beautiful,” he cooed. “God, you feel so fucking perfect on my cock, jesus christ.”

His movements were speeding up, his patience unraveling, and yet, he wasn’t about to leave you wanting. His hand found its way back to where you were joined, fingers stroking your clit. The touch was tender, careful not to hurt you, and yet the overwhelm of it and the way he was moving inside you blurred into a flurry of sensation. He was ripping sounds of you that you hadn’t known you were capable of making, keening whines and gasps and whimpers that made him chuckle darkly as he stared at you like you were the center of his universe.

Your core fluttering around him, almost there, almost almost almost —

“Give it to me, doll, come on my cock,” he murmured on the shell of your ear, and the words were your final undoing.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips on yours and letting him have your whimpers directly from your mouth. You were shaking in his hand hard enough that you might’ve been worried about falling off the counter if it hadn’t been for Steve holding you by your hips, his thrust speeding up and losing rhythm when he approached his point of no return and then —

there.

You felt him spill inside you, his back muscles trembling with the force of his climax, a moan resembling your name falling from his lips as he dropped his forehead to rest against yours, breathing harshly.

For a few breaths, neither of you said anything, and then Steve pulled his head back just far enough to be able to look at you.

“So, um, will you believe me if I say I didn’t bring you here just for this?” he said.

The sheepish tone compared with the fact that you hadn’t even made it to the bedroom and that he was still inside you made it impossible to not laugh. You pulled him for another kiss for an answer — lighter, sated, happier…

almost loving, very, very soon it would be

…and he answered the kiss just the same way. Soon, you’d have to move, get cleaned up, get the brownies out of the oven, get the food situation sorted out with Steve but not just yet.

For a few minutes more, you could just linger here in his warmth and his scent, enjoying the beginning of your happily ever after.

THE END. Thank you for reading!

#steve rogers x reader #ssf fic: a fairytale of a disaster #captain america x reader #steve rogers x f!reader

17 notes · View notes