#nomad!steve rogers x you

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

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

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

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

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

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

Until Fury resigned that was.

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

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

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

Not that you had a choice anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ronearoundblindly]

This Lonely Place

Steve Rogers x agent!Reader, teammates-to-lovers

Absolutely no clue where this came from, but we are breaking through the block however we can these days... Warnings for implied smut. Let's just say it's the Nomad look so the poor souls waiting for Hideout can be saved from starvation. 🫣🥲 There...might not be a proper sentence in the whole thing, but it's meant to sound that way. WC too short, sorry.

Summary: You and Steve are stranded in an inhospitable environment.

Warmth.

A soft and not-so-distant fire, separated by the callused ridges he presses into the flesh of your thigh. For leverage. For a hint of denial.

As if he could hold himself back.

Friction creates warmth, but don't move, don't waste the hot breath from your lungs, don't let the moisture escape.

Don't sweat.

He tucks the thin foil of the blanket beneath your shoulder. Delicate. A barrier against nothing but resolve.

Resolve to survive as the snow dampens your hair and makes you shiver, pelvis grinding down on his.

Don't waste hot breath.

So he doesn't.

His lips seal across yours. His breath is yours. The moisture of his mouth is yours. His moan is yours but muffled in shame of how hard and hot he truly is.

Delicate. Be delicate. Don't sweat.

The soft fire must burn for hours. Teeter at the edge of arousal, of survival, of sanity until they come.

Or he comes.

Or you come.

It could go either way: you could be happy or you could be alive.

You're dying to be happy,

to stop being soft,

to stop being distant,

to stop teetering,

to grind free and fast,

Sweat. Breathe. Moan. Scream.

But he stills you with his callused fingers and his hot mouth. For leverage. For a hint of denial.

As if to plead,

"burn slow, baby."

Or he won't be delicate...and you won't survive.

🤷🏻‍♀️ eh, it's something, I guess.

[navybrat817]

Steve + 9. "Don't even think about getting out of the car."

Oh, Eva. 🫠

Direct Order

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: Steve doesn't like that you ignored his direct order.

Word Count: Almost 900

Warnings: Arguing, slight angst, stubbornness, slight feels (it's me), Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Another overprotective prompt ficlet. Thanks, Eva! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The night air was cool and refreshing as you rolled the window down, but it went back up before you could appreciate the breeze against your skin. You shot Steve a glare who didn't acknowledge you as he drove. You didn't like uncomfortable silence, but you didn't attempt to fill the time with small talk. Not since he decided to rip you a new one in front of the team an hour ago.

You just wanted to go home.

“You have nothing to say?” Steve asked, his voice low. “Must be killing you to go this long without talking.”

You fought the urge to kick the dashboard since the car didn't do anything to you and smacking him could cause an accident. “And it must be killing you that I didn't fall in line today like a perfect little soldier,” you said with a sardonic smile. “Or would you prefer I act like a doll?”

“You ignored my direct order,” he growled as he gripped the steering wheel. For a moment you thought he’d bend or rip it away. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You sneered before facing forward. “Jesus Christ, give it a rest. You berated me enough on the quinjet and I don't need to hear it again.”

He took his eyes off the road long enough for you to see the anger brewing. “Damn right I berated you because you never listen to me.”

The tension thickened. You didn't typically argue with Steve. You went against him once and now he was saying you never listened to him? Where the hell did he get off?

“Don’t you dare lecture me about not listening to you when you’re the one who never listens to anyone,” you argued, feeling a hint of satisfaction when he clenched his jaw. “And I made the right call. I stand by that.”

The mission was a success because of your decision.

“You don't make the calls. That isn't your job,” he snapped, the tires squealing as he made a rough turn. “You could've been hurt or worse. Don't you get that?! You can be so stubborn sometimes.”

“But I wasn't hurt! And me being stubborn? Pot meet fucking kettle, Rogers!”

“Captain,” he said through his perfect teeth.

“Captain,” you scoffed, your blood boiling. “You are not my Captain right now. You're just some guy who wormed his way into driving me home after running his mouth.”

You shrieked when he slammed on the brakes, bracing yourself on the dash when he ran a hand through his blonde hair and bitterly chuckled. It was a foreign sound coming from him. One that made you shut your mouth. “Some guy? Now I’m just some guy?”

Concern flickered across your face. Yeah, you were mad, but you didn't have to push. “Steve. I mean, Captain, I-”

“I’m not just some guy and I’m not just your Captain,” he cut you off, stopping you when you reached for the door handle. “Don't even think about getting out of the car. We’re not done yet.”

“Why should I stay? So you can snap at me some more?” You mumbled. “Would you treat Bucky or Sam or anyone else like this?”

It wasn't fair to try and make him feel bad. He was your leader for a reason and he gave you an order. You didn't follow it. He had every right to be pissed off. By all means he had the right to bench you, too.

But why was he taking it personally?

All the anger fell from Steve’s face as he leaned across the seat more. “I’m sorry.”

Your gaze softened, too. “Why are you sorry?”

“For snapping the way I did,” he said with a shake of his head. “You just scared me today. I get scared every time you go into the field, but that was the first time you…”

“Didn’t listen,” you finished for him, your heart pounding when you realized just how close he was. If he leaned in any closer, his lips would be against yours.

“And you are right. I have a hard time listening to others myself,” he said, smiling when you snorted. “But I don't give you orders for you to act like a perfect soldier or doll. Just like I don't give Bucky or Sam or anyone else orders just to have things done my way. I do it to keep you as safe as possible. It would break my heart if something happened to you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes went wide. “Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’?” You asked, your stomach doing a funny flip.

He chuckled, the sound much warmer than before. “So, you do listen.”

“Most of the time,” you teased, staring into his eyes. You could see how much he cared. No wonder he took this mission to heart.

“Arguing aside, you did well,” he praised, which sent heat to your cheeks.

“Thank you, Captain. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’ll forgive you for ignoring my orders if you let me walk you to your door.”

“And I'll forgive you for snapping at me in front of the team if you come inside and have a drink,” you countered.

You didn't expect him to move his mouth to your ear. “I’ll only come inside if you say ‘please’,” he whispered, sending a shiver down your spine. “And that's a direct order.”

Yes, sir. ❤️‍🔥 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[buckets-and-trees]

Danger in the Heat of my Touch

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark and rough Nomad!Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Tuesday, January 2, 2018. A getaway for your sister's bachelorette party puts you in danger - but only a very particular kind of danger.

Content/Warnings: we're continuing to call this "fluffy" angst, repeated hook ups, Nomad Steve is still soft!dark and a warning all his own, smut (vaginal fingering, cum savoring, public sex)

Author Notes: The second offering for my Birthday Jubilee.

Previous Part | Series

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

There was nothing like a wedding to remind a person of their woefully single status.

That it was your baby sister’s upcoming nuptials made it all the more difficult and not because you weren’t happy for her - you were thrilled, you adored and wholeheartedly approved of the guy she was marrying - but because it brought into sharp relief that you weren’t getting married or anywhere close to it.

The bridesmaids getaway trip to Aspen, Colorado, had been a piece of all the wedding festivities you had actually been looking forward to. The use of a timeshare had been generously provided by your sister’s new soon-to-be in-laws, and you generally liked the group bridesmaids. It was a happy mix of active and read-at-the-resort types as well as a mix of single and in relationship among the six of you.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t planned on stepping into a nightclub while you were there.

It hand’t crossed your mind as a possibility even once.

And yet here you were.

You had never been to a club in your life.

You felt completely out of place in the dimly lit, crowded nightclub. The pulsing music was so loud you could feel it vibrating in your chest. Your sister and the other bridesmaids were already on the dance floor, laughing and moving to the beat. You, on the other hand, were planted firmly at the bar, nursing a vodka soda and trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt.

"Hey, wallflower!" Your sister's voice somehow cut through the thumping bass. She appeared at your elbow, flushed and grinning. "What are you doing over here all alone?"

You raised your glass. "Just enjoying my drink."

"Come on! You can't just sit here all night. Come dance with us!"

You hesitated, but the pleading look in her eyes weakened your resolve. With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and allowed her to lead you onto the dance floor.

The crush of bodies was overwhelming at first, the heat and energy palpable as you wove through the crowd. Your sister found a small clearing where the rest of the bridesmaids were dancing, and they cheered as you joined their circle somewhat awkwardly.

To your surprise, it wasn't as terrible as you'd feared. As you swayed to the beat, you found yourself relaxing slightly. The music was still too loud for your taste, but there was something freeing about letting your body move to the rhythm. Your sister and the other bridesmaids danced around you, their energy infectious. You even managed a laugh when one of them attempted a particularly ridiculous dance move.

The DJ transitioned seamlessly from one song to the next, each beat blending into a continuous wave of sound. Flashing lights swept across the dance floor, painting the crowd in ever-changing hues of blue, green, and purple. The air was thick with the mingled scents of perfume, sweat, and alcohol.

After a few songs Melissa, one of the other bridesmaids, leaned in close to shout over the music. "I need a break! It's so hot in here!"

"I'll keep you company," you offered, grateful for an excuse to step away from the crowded dance floor.

Melissa smiled in relief. "Thanks! I'm dying of thirst."

“You find us a table, I’ll get us some drinks!”

She nods, and the two of you part ways and meander through the crowd.

As you made your way to the bar, you found yourself swept up in the pulsing rhythm yet again. Without even realizing it, you began to move with the music, dancing your way through the crowd, gliding through so much more easily then before.

You spun, laughing as you narrowly avoided collision with a tall man in a glittering shirt. He grinned back, raising his drink in a silent toast before disappearing into the crowd. The anonymity was intoxicating.

You continued making your way to the bar, and a particularly catchy song came on, its infectious rhythm impossible to resist. You began to singg, hips swaying sensuously to the beat. You lifted your arms above your head, lost in the moment, until you felt strong hands grip your hips from behind. The touch was firm, almost possessive, as whoever it was pulled you back against a broad, muscular chest.

For a moment, indignation flared within you at the stranger's audacity. You whirled around, ready to give the presumptuous man a piece of your mind.

But the words died on your lips as you found yourself face to face with Steve Rogers.

Your heart nearly stopped. The flashing lights painted his features in alternating hues, but there was no mistaking those piercing blue eyes, that strong jaw now covered in a fuller beard than you'd ever seen on him. He wore a plain black t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame, and a sinfully intense look on his face.

"Steve?" you breathed, your voice lost in the pounding music.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. "Dance with me."

It wasn't a question. His hands remained firmly on your hips as he began to move, guiding you to sway with him to the pulsing beat. You were acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against yours, his powerful thighs brushing against you as you moved together.

The rational part of your brain screamed that this was dangerous, that he shouldn't be here. But the way he was looking at you, touching you, made it impossible to think clearly. You found yourself melting into his embrace, your arms sliding up to wrap around his neck.

Steve's hands roamed your body as you danced, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding down to grip your round ass. The possessive touch sent tendrils to wrap around your now pulsing core.

Your mind reeled, trying to process his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice barely audible over the thumping bass.

"I could ask you the same thing," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard over the music. "This doesn't seem like your usual scene."

You laughed, the sound lost in the pulsing music. "It's not. It’s my sister’s bachelorette party."

Steve's eyes darkened at the mention of your sister. "Where is she now?"

You glanced around, suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be getting drinks for Melissa. "On the dance floor with the other bridesmaids, I think. Wait, are we safe?" your mind suddenly rushing to the logic of why he would probably be here at all.

His grip on your hips tightened fractionally, and he nodded. “We stopped what we came here to stop tonight. But I shouldn't stay long."

Steve's eyes scanned the crowded dance floor, his body tensing slightly. You could almost see the tactical assessment happening behind his eyes. After a moment, he relaxed marginally, his gaze returning to you.

As one song transitioned into the next, Steve's hand slid up your back, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He tilted your chin up, his intense gaze meeting yours. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was heated and hungry.

His tongue teased at the seam of your lips, and you parted them eagerly, deepening the kiss. Steve's hand tightened against the back of your neck, angling your head to deepen the kiss further. You melted into him completely, your body molding to his as if you were made to fit together.

When you finally broke apart, both breathless, Steve rested his forehead against yours. "I shouldn't have done that," he murmured, though he made no move to release you from his embrace.

"You shouldn’t have stopped," you replied, your voice barely audible over the music.

Steve's eyes searched yours, a mix of desire and conflict swirling for only another moment, and then his lips were on your again, demanding. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve ending in your body. His hands roamed your curves possessively as you lost yourself in the sensations. The pulsing music faded into the background, your world narrowing to just the two of you in this moment.

One of his hands found your neck again, holding you steady, but the other found its way to your inner thigh, sliding up, up to your aching pussy, fingers ghosting over your sensitive skin. Your breath hitched as his hand reached the apex of your thighs, cupping you intimately.

"Steve," you gasped against his lips, torn between desire and the awareness that you were in a very public place.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers began to move, stroking you through your underwear. "You're so wet already," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "All for me?"

You could only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his hand almost involuntarily. The music and the crowd faded into the background as Steve's fingers worked their magic, teasing and stroking until you were trembling in his arms.

Steve's fingers continued their relentless teasing, stroking you through the thin fabric of your underwear. The crowded dance floor provided some cover, but you still felt exposed, vulnerable. Yet the thrill of potentially being caught only heightened your arousal.

"Steve," you gasped, clinging to his broad shoulders as pleasure coursed through you. "We can't... not here..."

He nipped at your earlobe, his beard scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Why not?" he growled. "No one's paying attention to us."

To prove his point, he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear, his fingers finally making direct contact with your slick folds. You bit back a moan, burying your face in his chest to muffle the sound.

Steve's fingers explored you expertly, circling your clit before dipping lower to tease your entrance. The pleasure was almost unbearable, laced with the adrenaline at the risk of discovery. Yet you clung to him desperately, your hips rocking against his hand as he worked you closer to the edge.

"That's it," he murmured directly in your ear, his voice low and husky. "Let go for me. Want to feel you come on my fingers."

One more particularly well-timed stroke of his thumb over your clit sent you careening over the edge. You bit down on his shoulder to muffle your cry as waves of ecstasy washed over you. Steve held you close, his fingers working you through your orgasm until you were trembling and oversensitive.

As you came down from your high, reality began to seep back in. The pulsing music and flashing lights of the club reasserted themselves. You became acutely aware of how exposed you were, even in the crowded darkness.

Steve slowly withdrew his hand, his intense gaze never leaving yours. Without breaking eye contact, he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

The sight sent another jolt of arousal through you, but it was tempered by a growing sense of urgency. You glanced around nervously, suddenly remembering your sister and the other bridesmaids.

Steve sensed your growing unease and pulled you closer, one of his strong arms encircling you protectively. He cupped your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "I have to go," he said, his voice barely audible over the pulsing music.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. Of course he had to leave. This stolen moment was all you could ever have.

Steve leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I shouldn't have sought you out," he murmured. "But when I saw you, I couldn’t…" He trailed off, his eyes roaming your face as if memorizing every detail.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. "I'm glad you did," you said, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

For a moment, Steve looked as if he might say something more. But then his expression hardened, resolve settling over his features. He leaned in, capturing your lips in one final, searing kiss that left you breathless.

When he pulled away, his voice was urgent. "Be careful. Stay with your friends."

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing into the crowd as swiftly and suddenly as he had appeared.

You stood there for a moment, feeling dazed and bereft. The pulsing music and flashing lights seemed garish now, the crowded dance floor oppressive rather than exciting. You were in a crowd, people pressed up around you, and yet the wave of loneliness that washed over you was so overwhelming you almost couldn’t breathe.

Why did you have to see him again when you thought that maybe, just maybe, you had finally gotten him out of your system?

Your heart ached, but all you could do was make your way to the bar on unsteady legs, order drinks for you and Melissa. And when you found her and later when you all went back to the timeshare, you’d have to pretend as if you hadn’t just been taken apart in the middle of a crowded dance floor by Captain America.

It’s not something you would have told all the women, of course, but you trusted your sister enough you would possibly have told her.

But it would make no difference.

And what would you tell her anyway?

Steve had rocketed into your life for what was clearly a fling in the summer. When he’d shown up at your door in September, you had felt the tone of shouldn’t be here cast its shadow over the night. Tonight that last look he gave you - the angry resolve was so clear. You knew before he wasn’t going to stumble into your town again, but now you knew that if you somehow crossed paths again, you would never know - he wouldn’t insert himself into your life again.

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

I've known since mid-September that this was the next time you would see our Exiled Nomad (you the reader fictionally in the storyline, but also that I wanted to wait to share any more of their story until when the calendar aligned with it). We know you'll see him again in March (that's where this whole 'verse started, remember?), but the question is will you see him before that?

read more in the Exiled Nomad Series

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!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hiiii can you do whiskey w/ steve rogers that involves spanking/light bdsm? reader wants to try something new in the bedroom and steve's a little more hesitant at first but he gets into it

Darkness.

warnings - smut. cursing.

you know I had to use another nomad gif... it's the long hair with the beard... it gets me going man. I kind of went a little rogue with this request, but it just happened. apologies.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

He's dreamed of women like you.

Strong, independent, resilient.

Women that take what they want, when they want it - regardless of the repercussions.

But he never could have anticipated your intuition. Your instincts.

You can read him like a book. Plain and simple. And no one can do that.

Steve prides himself on being stoic. Brave. The face of freedom. But it's like you look at him with x ray vision.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" you ask one night.

Steve's sat on the edge of the bed, watching you get undressed. It's been a long night, full of fake smiles and ballgowns and polite handshakes. Weariness has settled in his bones.

"Tired of what?"

"The Golden Boy thing."

He scoffs.

"It's not a 'thing'."

You scoff.

"Come on, Steven. Don't forget I can see right through you."

"Oh yeah? Then what do you see, honey?"

You stalk over to him, settling down in his lap. Your favourite place.

"I can see the darkness, you know."

His brow quirks. Curiosity.

"Sometimes, I watch the America's Sweetheart facade slip ever so slightly. And I see what's underneath."

"And what would that be?"

A kiss to his jaw. Below his ear. A nip at his throat.

"You're a caged animal."

His grip on your hips tightens. Bingo.

"There's something in here, Steve," you point to his chest. "Something dark. Something raw. Something feral."

His breath hitches. His lungs constrict.

"I wanna see it," you whisper. "Whatever's underneath. I wanna see it."

He chuckles, low and menacing.

"Oh, honey. I don't think you know what you've just done."

You're on all fours in the blink of an eye. Strong fingers twist into the waistband of your underwear and pull, the sound of ripping lace making you gasp.

A smack to your ass makes you jolt, but not with fear. Anticipation. You want to see how far he'll go before he stops himself. You want to see his restraint snap.

"If you need me to stop," he whispers into your ear, "tell me. Or use the word Brooklyn."

He spanks you again before flipping you over with inhuman strength. He undoes his tie and runs the silk material through his fingers. You can see the cogs turning. He just needs a little push.

You raise your wrists and place them against the headboard, giving him a look that says I dare you.

Steve ties you up, standing back to admire his handiwork. He could get used to this view.

He reminds himself that you asked for this.

And he's never been one to deny you anything.

[rogersideup]

Helloooo! May I request a Steve Roger’s fluff! ✨Where reader has anxiety and one of the ways Steve calms her down is by skin contact. Maybe he takes off his shirt at random moments and he holds her and he lets her touch his body to feel the skin. He gives her massages once in a while. Maybe even lay naked together in bed to feel their bodies and heartbeat!! ❤️✨✨

‧₊˚౨ৎ˚Skin to Skin˚౨ৎ˚₊‧

It might not be exactly what you asked for, but I wrote this last night while having a lot of anxiety and it helped me regulate so I hope you love it regardless <3

Masterlist

Word Count: 3,076

Summary: Sometimes even the hardest days have the best endings 🧸

Warnings: descriptions of symptoms of anxiety

The hallway of your apartment building was dead silent.

Usually you'd hear the faint chatter of people behind their front doors, locking and unlocking, heels clicking, neighborly hellos.

But right now, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Or maybe it was spinning way too fast and you had no control over it. Really, you didn't know which of those two scenarios you'd prefer, but regardless it all felt like too much.

There was no chatter to distract you from the sound of your own heart pounding so hard you could hear the blood pooling in your ears, no foot steps from friendly faces to urge you to look up from your own feet, no small talk to distract you from how Steve's thumb was apologetically rubbing the back of your hand, the one that was holding his tightly.

You trailed behind him, blinking back your tears and urging them not to fall until you got inside the comfort of your shared four walls. You stopped because he stopped, allowed your emotional barriers to start slipping at the sound of his keys unlocking the front door, then the first one fell down your cheek as his hand on your lower back ushered you from the hallway right into your living room.

Shaky, choppy breaths were all you could manage as Steve put his keys in the catch-all next to the front door. There was only a split second opportunity to see the exhaustion on his face before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a tight hug. He cradled your head into his chest, and gently swayed you from side to side.

The smell of your boyfriend's cologne, and the ribbed cotton of his sweater beneath your hands was the last blow to your emotional barrier, that's all it took for you to start sobbing.

From the moment you woke up this morning, you were just having a bad day. It started with a nightmare, which ultimately led you to waking up 5 minutes before your alarm, not allowing much time for Steve to comfort you before you had to get ready for work.

The nightmare almost felt like a bad omen, and it sent your anxiety spiraling for the rest of the day.

The big project meeting you worked so hard on was cancelled, you forgot your lunch on the counter at home, and it unexpectedly started raining while you were wearing a white silk blouse. By the time you got home you were soaking wet in a see through shirt and hungry. You didn't have a single moment to stop and regain your composure, because you promised Steve you'd attend the Avengers monthly team building event with him.

When he saw the state you arrived home in, he urged you to stay home and promised it would be fine. But you knew deep down that he really wanted you there, so you put on a brave face and tried to salvage as much of your hair and makeup as you could, but the rain completely ruined your plans.

Instead of your hair being down and perfectly curled as planned, you had to settle for a sleek, slicked bun and a natural makeup look. This led to your outfit not looking how you wanted it, which also led to you feeling completely unhappy with how you looked and how you felt about yourself.

With hunger levels, annoyance, and sadness being very high, your self confidence, energy, and persistence was very very low.

You weren't saying that you didn't feel great about yourself, but Steve could see it in your posture, and he could tell by the way you went completely quiet. He assured you multiple times that you looked absolutely beautiful, and he wasn't lying. You always looked beautiful.

That at least earned him a small grin and a gentle kiss, but then he threw you in a room full of superheroes and their respective friends and family, and that immediately made everything worse.

Already feeling quite self conscious and insecure while being surrounded by people who were the smartest, strongest, and greatest in their respective ways had you feeling like you couldn't even take a breath.

Even on their worst days they could save the world, meanwhile you were on the brink of tears because Black Widow and the Scarlet Witch looked so pretty.

In a very bold self preservation attempt, you pushed it all down. Steve deserved some happy and chipper arm candy, and you already committed to being that for him so you tried your best to play the role.

To him, this was family and to you, this was a room full of people you didn't even deserve to be in the presence of. Although most of them became friends of yours and accustomed to your habits, they knew enough about you to know that something was wrong, but not enough to know that they shouldn't push your buttons about it.

It left you as the target of all of the jokes that evening. Nearly every conversation had a minimum of one passing comment. Steve tried his hardest to shut down as many as he could, even changing the topic a few times, but there were some things he couldn't save you from.

You appreciated him trying, but wondered if he would've rather you stayed home instead of damper his evening with your self pity. That also spiraled into some nasty thoughts, the meanest part of your brain convincing you that he didn't really love you, and you weren't good enough to even be around him.

Thats when you quietly slipped away to the bathroom just for a few moments to take some deep breaths and dry the tears pooling in your lash line, your mascara wasn't about to meet its fate twice in one day.

You knew that anxiety was most of the issue, you knew that you just needed some reassurance and a warm meal, maybe a hug and a warm shower. The thought of all of the snacks out on a grazing table for everyone to enjoy made you pull yourself together, you were hopeful that some food in your empty stomach could really help.

And it did, for about 10 minutes before Tony made yet another back handed, rude remark about you. So sly that Steve didn't even catch it, and when you grabbed his hand to try and comfort yourself, Tony threw you a wink.

Thats when you knew there was no turning your mood around. Your white flag waved high and proud as you spent the remainder of the night making yourself small, trying not to drag any attention to yourself or take any fun away from Steve.

He caught onto the way you let go of his hand and got up to grab some water, then when you came back you sat further from him. Shoving yourself into the corner of the couch leaving plenty of space between your bodies. Knowing damn well you were struggling, he could assume your brain tricked you into thinking he didn't love you, because really, he knew you that well.

Making his way over to you, he wasn't shy to put his arm around your shoulders and use his hand to draw little shapes in the top of your arm before giving you a very quick kiss to your temple.

You didn't speak for the rest of the night unless it was to say goodbye to everyone on your way out, or politely thank Tony for hosting. You didn't even speak to Steve on the way home, and he understood. Rather than trying to force you to speak, he gave you the metaphorical space you needed to keep your composure as he kept one hand on the wheel and one hand on your thigh.

That led to this moment, soaking his sweater in your tears. You felt pathetic, but it was also the first time all day you felt safe.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Steve spoke gently. He hated seeing you so upset, swearing he could physically feel his heart breaking in his chest. "I love you so much."

You sucked in a shaky breath before mustering up the only sentence you could speak. "Tony is an asshole."

"I know, Baby." Steve agreed, petting your hair and trying his best to comfort you. "They were all laying in on you way too hard. You didn't deserve it."

"They were just joking," You tried justifying between sniffles and cries. "but I couldn't handle it tonight."

"But they could've stopped after the first time I told them. I know they can be too much sometimes. Just because they're just joking doesn't mean it wasn't hurting your feelings." He justified. "You've had a long day, I think you need some love and food and sleep."

"I just want to stay here." You cried, holding on just a bit tighter. Finding your nervous system starting to regulate itself for the first time all day, you weren't feeling ready to let go of your boyfriend just yet.

Steve kissed the crown of your head multiple times, "We can stay here as long as you want."

He held you for a little while longer until your sobs turned into slow tears and you finally felt brave enough to let go of him. After getting you comfortable and warm on the couch, he walked away for a bit to make you your favorite dinner.

When he came back with two bowls and handed you one, it was the first time all day he saw your real, genuine smile. Though you were still crying, he was confident that he could turn your mood around.

Your favorite show playing on the TV, snuggles, a fluffy blanket across your lap, and eating dinner on the couch was a good start. When you were done eating, Steve took the bowl back from you and wandered off to clean the kitchen and do the dishes.

When he came back he hovered over you with a sad pout when he noticed how quick your breathing was and how he could practically see your pulse from the artery in the base of your neck. Approaching slowly, he gently placed his index and middle finger to your neck and left them there for a second before his pout deepened.

"Baby" He sympathized. "You've gotta slow that thing down, your heart is going to run away from you."

"I've had the worst anxiety all day long." You explained, wiping tears off your face. "I don't think my resting heart rate has been normal since I woke up this morning."

You could see his gears turning before he leaned over and gave you a kiss. "I know how to fix it, I'll be right back."

He wandered off again before coming back and holding his hands out for you, pulling you up off the couch. There were a few small complaints about how you didn't want to get up, or how you were so warm and comfortable, but he swore this would help.

Dragging you into the bathroom, you noticed he lit a candle and started a bubble bath. The sight alone made you release a long sigh, and Steve took that as a good sign.

The two of you fell into silence once more, words were useless when you already knew how this was going to go. Besides, all the talking would do was mask the sound of the rain pattering against the roof, and that was loved deeply by the both of you.

He flicked off the light switch leaving just candlelight to softly illuminate the bathroom while you both undressed and sank into the hot water.

Steve sat behind you, and you sat between his legs with your back leaning against his chest. The moment you settled in, his arms wrapped around your tummy and rested on top of your thighs.

With his soft skin against yours, and the pressure of the hot water against the whole of your body, your mind began to slow enough to start thinking rationally.

You could feel Steve's calm, deep breaths as his diaphragm inflated and deflated against your back, subconsciously making your body match his.

Very quickly, you went from feeling like you weren't good enough to even be around him to feeling an overwhelming sense of safety and gratitude for his love.

Especially when you never had to worry about what your body might've looked like while sitting down, or if your tummy was too soft underneath his arms. You especially didn't have to worry about what he might've felt beneath his wandering palms as starting moving them about your body, applying some pressure to your tense shoulders and the tops of your arms. You didn't have to worry about the pressure of being in this situation, already naked with his hands roaming about. His intentions were always very clear and he didn't even need his words to state them.

You were safe in the hands of the man you loved, and he loved you so much that you didn't have to worry. You didn't have to put out for him or give him anything in return right now, he just loved you, and he wanted you to feel better.

He gave you an occasional chastise kiss to your shoulder between massaging various parts of your body, and oxytocin flooded your brain faster than you understood.

The tears eventually stopped wetting your cheeks, and the rain only started falling even harder outside.

Your head leaned backwards and a bit sideways to rest on Steve's shoulder, and you couldn't help but to lift your hand up out of the water and reach back to cradle the side of Steve's face.

"I love you" You whispered, not wanting to ruin the peace. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier."

"It's okay, baby." His voice also gentle and full of adoration. "I know you love me, you don't have to say it for me to know it. I trust that you know I love you too, even when your brain is being very unkind to you."

You very subtly nodded, understanding exactly what he was saying.

The two of you weren't unfamiliar with nights like these, skin to skin in the bathtub, or in the shower, even the bed or on the couch. Between the nature of Steve's job and your chronic anxiety, the two of you have become experts at being present for each other. When the world was spinning too fast or it came to a screeching halt, you could always trust the other person to know exactly how to grasp it and make it spin just right.

It wasn't something that came easy or naturally, you both learned a lot from each other and your methods were ever changing much like every season of life. The closer you bonded, the easier it was to understand each other's needs.

There was a fine line between needing affirming words and complete silence, needing support but also needing to be left alone. Some nights looked like a few hours of alone time, some looked like you were super glued together, but every anxiety attack was ended with your bare bodies regulating as one.

He knew you had your fill of silence, and your words told him you were ready to talk.

"You know you never have to shy away from me, I'm always happy to be with you even if you think otherwise." He reassured. "Thank you for coming with me tonight. I know that was really hard, but I appreciate you."

"I just didn't want to ruin your fun, I felt bad that I wasn't at my best and I didn't want you to have to deal with it. That's not fair." You explained quietly.

You learned very early on in your relationship to just be upfront and honest with Steve, another privilege of being with him. He never made you feel bad or weird about your true feelings, and he always knew just the right things to say. In turn, he was completely open and honest with you, and you've never trusted anyone more in your whole life.

"You didn't ruin the fun, the fun was ruined the moment everyone decided to make you a target and that's not your fault." Steve shook his head. "What's not fair is you thinking that having an off day makes you an inconvenience to anyone else. You're allowed to be sad or upset sometimes, baby. It's life, it's okay. How many times have you cancelled plans or altered your day just because I turned into a ticking time bomb of panic? I'm happy to return the favor, I enjoy taking care of you."

"It's different." You denied with a slight shake of your head. "You're a superhero, Stevie. Most of those days are because you've gotten shot or stabbed or you've witnessed and been involved in unthinkable horrors. I work an office job four blocks away and can barely handle that pressure."

"Thats not a fair comparison." Steve denied. "At the very root of it, we're both human and life will never be completely perfect all of the time. Regardless of if you're smiley and bouncing off the walls or just need a day to cry in bed I love you just the same."

You kissed the corner of his jaw in acceptance before completely relaxing your body against his. Steve's hand reached up and rested right over your heart.

"Besides," He started again. "I think that you're also exposed to all of those unthinkable horrors just from having to put up with me every day. The way you handle it and the way you treat me contributes a lot to my ability to do what I do everyday. I understand I probably make your anxiety worse sometimes, because I wouldn't even be able to handle dating me."

"It's worth every second of digging bullets out of you with tweezers, baby." You grinned, earning Steve's smile in return.

"See? You're a superhero too." He pointed out. "And your heart is slow and steady. That makes me really happy."

"You make me really happy." You replied without a second thought. "Thank you for this, I feel so much better."

"Anytime, Beautiful." He kissed your cheek. "I'm sorry you had a bad day. I know for sure that tomorrow is going to be so much better."

[frostironfudge]

I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there. 

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features. 

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family. 

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other. 

Won together. 

Lost together. 

In the past few days died together. 

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory. 

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago. 

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor. 

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder. 

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it. 

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.” 

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?” 

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head. 

Wanda looks down at her hands. 

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re  preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all. 

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?” 

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you. 

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off. 

“I know, I did too.” 

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone. 

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart. 

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him. 

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows. 

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him. 

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places. 

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.” 

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene. 

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static. 

“Wh-what?” 

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you. 

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens. 

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans. 

You stand there dumbfounded. 

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.  

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt��,” The shield slams against the arc reactor. 

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you. 

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body. 

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you. 

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain. 

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.” 

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.” 

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face. 

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing. 

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell. 

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam. 

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated 

that about the company’s past. 

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you. 

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away. 

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems. 

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together. 

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia. 

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed. 

Opening it reveals a burner phone. 

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle. 

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it. 

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him. 

Opening the text. 

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain. 

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol. 

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair. 

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?” 

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink. 

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync. 

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun. 

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.” 

“So confident.” You raise your brows. 

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck. 

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face. 

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes. 

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again. 

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you. 

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own. 

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.” 

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late. 

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel. 

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down. 

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.” 

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?” 

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him. 

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand. 

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head. 

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle. 

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well. 

Both of you burst out laughing. 

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room. 

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?” 

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers. 

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered. 

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart. 

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes. 

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow. 

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself. 

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself. 

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him. 

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level. 

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights. 

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him. 

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him. 

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them. 

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried. 

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab. 

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn. 

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup. 

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own. 

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more. 

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him. 

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD. 

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him. 

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts. 

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare. 

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits. 

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury. 

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair. 

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all. 

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff. 

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes. 

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds. 

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods. 

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder. 

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow. 

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.” 

No one nods. 

Nick shakes his head leaving the room. 

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder. 

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further. 

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh. 

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan. 

Nat and Sam stare at you. 

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched. 

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze. 

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust. 

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.” 

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile. 

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead. 

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone. 

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back. 

His mouth opens again to speak. 

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?” 

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out. 

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting. 

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head. 

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators. 

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator. 

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him. 

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away. 

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator. 

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you. 

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers. 

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again. 

People trickle in and out. 

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you. 

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him. 

Finally it's just the two of you. 

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender. 

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched. 

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker. 

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him. 

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes. 

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge. 

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him. 

“You lied?” You repeat. 

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,” 

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up. 

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,” 

The doors open to your floor, you step out. 

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!” 

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door. 

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading. 

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over. 

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place. 

Mixed training was now mandatory. 

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you. 

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties. 

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down. 

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh. 

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh. 

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.” 

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen. 

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you. 

You grin at him. 

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes. 

“Y/N.” 

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there. 

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench. 

Sam takes his arm away. 

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem. 

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news. 

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.” 

You glare at him, “Alright.” 

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough. 

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout. 

You frown in recognition. 

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him. 

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead. 

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans. 

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands. 

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space. 

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you. 

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper. 

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps. 

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area. 

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.” 

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path. 

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward. 

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him. 

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate. 

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck. 

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him? 

Why do you miss him? 

He hurt you. 

He lied. 

He hurt you. 

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway. 

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way. 

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall. 

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!” 

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you. 

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing. 

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous. 

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps. 

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort. 

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across. 

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew. 

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you. 

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it. 

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him. 

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,” 

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place. 

Your palms cover his, you look up at him. 

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him. 

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view. 

“Poppet, something is wrong.” 

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled? 

Why was he falling to his knees? 

You look behind him, people standing and watching. 

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him. 

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield. 

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up. 

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body. 

Steve keeps his eyes closed. 

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers. 

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath. 

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them. 

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration. 

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm. 

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher. 

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend. 

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.” 

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own. 

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city. 

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside. 

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair. 

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you. 

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...” 

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors. 

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core. 

“Steve—,” 

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you. 

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns. 

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?” 

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out. 

“I see and why is she yours?” 

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.” 

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.  

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens. 

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling. 

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked. 

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper. 

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place. 

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.” 

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch. 

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him. 

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured. 

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.” 

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed. 

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper. 

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again. 

“You can’t have him at risk again!” 

“I won’t let you die!” 

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you. 

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.” 

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts. 

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,” 

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.” 

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out. 

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features. 

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him. 

“He’s in the United Kingdom.” 

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?” 

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!” 

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you. 

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive. 

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way. 

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain. 

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault. 

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad. 

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.” 

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento. 

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across. 

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows. 

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off. 

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him. 

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over. 

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him. 

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief. 

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well. 

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away. 

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin. 

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you. 

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there. 

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop. 

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek. 

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you. 

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,” 

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall. 

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you. 

When your thighs clench around him,  Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos. 

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before. 

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched. 

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him. 

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy. 

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders. 

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture. 

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly. 

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet. 

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that  he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek. 

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

[georgiapeach30513]

Steve Rogers x me 🙋‍♀️ number 32 or 50 please

Oh!! I love this one so much, but...just don't hate me with this.

There Goes My Life

Summary: just one last time

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, PIV sex, a smidge of dirty talk, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

He sighs as his blue eyes peer at your sleeping form. You never listened. It was too easy for him to get in through your window, and just gaze at you while you sleep. He warned you that there was a target on your back. Especially the moment you left SHIELD. It just didn’t seem right anymore. Not without Steve, and not knowing what you now know.

You look peaceful, which is more than what he can say for himself. Your windows seem smaller now, or maybe it was just because he felt he could never get too close to you. The picture of the two of you still sits beside your bed, and he feels an ache in his chest as you cling to his pillow. By now his scent would have worn off considering how you had your face buried into it.

“Cap, you have a short window. I’ll buy you some more time. Enjoy your girl.”

“Thanks, Sam,” he whispers, leaning over to remove his boots. If he didn’t have this need to hold you and enjoy you while he could, he would tell you how stupid it was to leave your window unlocked. But he also knew why.

You are also painfully aware that Steve had someone watch your place. Everything changed in such a short time. You didn’t think he would be coming back, much less as often as he did.

Removing his suit, he lets the mess of what was Captain America drift into your floor. Fully naked, and for a reason, he lifts the blanket on his side, and slides in. His eyes rake over your beautiful sleeping face. There wasn’t enough time for him to just watch you, but he did it all the same. He missed you so much it hurt. So much that he couldn’t even focus on the task at hand because he was waiting on you to tell him what to do. But this isn’t SHIELD, and you no longer were in his ear.

Your full lashes flutter with his warm breath. Your body sidles up to his even more. He’s so proud of you, even in your sleep you knew it was him. He reaches to pull the pillow from your grasp, wanting you to use him instead when your sleepy eyes blink away the clouds from your vision.

“Steve?”

“Shh,” he whispers, his nose pressing up against yours. Every moment with him is bittersweet because you know he’ll be off somewhere else before you wake up again. Leaving you feeling like everything was only a figment of your imagination.

Your lashes flutter close as you absorb his warmth. His breath. And when his lips press against your trembling ones. “Sugar,” he pleads, but you don’t want to waste time. Each time he visited you felt like it would be the last time, and that killed you inside. “Stop.”

“Steve, just take me. Make me forget that you won’t be here in the morning.”

“You make me feel like the biggest asshole.”

“Language, Captain,” he chuckles on your lips. Hoisting his body to hover over yours. His legs positioned in between your own, and he slides his apart as he sinks lower over you. His silky steel cock, lays over your bare mound, and you shutter at the feeling.

“I really hate that you were privy to that moment.”

“Why’s that?” You tease as he grips his length in one hand and runs it through your slick.

“Because every time I growl out filth in your ears, I want them to be your words only. Because even though you hold your head up high, and you look so regal walking into SHIELD, you’re my dirty little slut.”

“Your dirty little slut wishes that you would just fuck her��ahh,” you gulp as his thick veiny member plunges into your depths. Fully sheathing himself into your wet heat, and his weight settles on yours. It is the best kind of smothering. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you so much,” he grunts as his hips piston in and out of your walls. Pushing and pulling into every bit of you. Molding the two of you together again, and you hope that this was the normal. That you didn’t have to wait months until you got to feel him again. That this was a bad dream, and Steve wasn’t an enemy of the country.

You focus on the way his body cages around yours and how the two of you had so many beautiful plans. Feel only the way his thicker body made you feel so small. The tickle of his beard as he nips along your neck. You swear every part of him got thicker. And it made you more needy for him.

You took every bit of his hard and deep thrusts because your body was made for him. Nobody pulled out the sounds from your lips. There was nobody else you trusted the way you trusted him. In a different world you and Steve would have already been married, and have a baby on the way. He would have given up this fight with the Avengers just to live a normal life.

But those dreams weren’t reality. Now it was a dream that the man you love was becoming so feral with the limited time he had with you. His hands slam on the headboard above you, and his hips stab into you with so much force you start to see stars. This is how he always ended things. He wanted to make sure you almost passed out with pleasure and pressure.

His thrusts make the picture frames rattle on the walls. Your hands cling to his wide hips as you feel yourself start to go blank. Damn this beautiful man. He couldn’t even bear to say goodbye. The solution was to fuck you stupid. Fuck him.

You try and hold on. See the image of Steve gritting his teeth as he forces his orgasm away. Waiting on you to succumb to your exhaustion. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as your walls clench down tight around his cock, and he gets a few more ruts into you before ribbons of hot thick cum fill your belly up.

He stutters his movement as he watches your head lull to the side, and he hates himself for doing this. Hates having to be so careful. There is nothing he wants more than to bask in your silky walls all day. He pulls himself out of you, and smiles when you sleepily whimper at the loss of him.

Giving himself just a moment to stare at your gaping cunt leaking of him. “Captain, it’s time. We gotta be careful.”

He leaves you laying there, but covers you back up. Leaving behind the scent of him on your sheets, and the regret that things aren’t different. This had to be the last time. He was putting you into too much danger. Slowly he’d call the eye from watching you. He’d let you go because that’s how much he loved you.

“I’m always careful,” he says, slipping back into his suit.

But this time — he wasn’t…..

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke @harrysthiccthighss @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (Interlude)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!reader (see series)

Written for @whiskeytangofoxtrot555's birthday from her premise ask 💜 but also serves as a wee prezzie for @blogbog710, @targaryenvampireslayer, @navybrat817, and (belatedly) the lovely @ellethespaceunicorn! (What the heck is in the water?? So many bdays I didn't know about!)

Summary: Your birthday ritual is interrupted.

*You do not need to know anything about this series to enjoy this blurb.* Warnings for suggestive eating, a sweet kiss (literally), cuddling in minimal clothing, but otherwise, just fluff and feels! WC 1.2k

Of course, you don’t always do this. Sometimes you’re out with friends. Sometimes your parents make a huge deal out of late dinner. Sometimes you draw the short straw and have to work the front desk, but not tonight.

The searing red of the digital clock counts down for you (or up depending on how you look at it). Soon—very soon—it will be midnight, and you can wish yourself the first ‘happy birthday.’ To some that might seem sad, but it’s become a ritual of you putting yourself first. Birthday parties may be for children but celebrating YOU should never go out of style.

The red flickers. New numbers. New you. Older, wiser, and alive. It’s a beautiful thing.

Your eyelids fall heavy after your long soak in the tub, the lingering scent of the bubblebath still warm on your skin. You’re content and tired. You hum as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Why you aren’t startled is a hope you don't admit aloud, a greedy, gluttonous vice that piles on to a reality you cannot share with a single living soul except…

Steve Rogers, the fugitive Captain America, crouches outside your window, nimble and stealthy, having climbed to the slant of roof without you noticing.

But you wished for him. You always wish for him to come back.

Your smile grows as you slide off the edge of your bed and press your hand to the pane of glass. He mirrors the gesture, unhurried, soft. It’s just a moment more before you lift the latches and invite him in.

Whispers of ‘hey’ are exchanged while Steve crawls through, but he only answers your surprised “what are you doing here?” with a kiss to your forehead and a long hug.

You taught him how to hug like that. He's taken it to another level as anxiety melts out of you faster than it did in the bath.

His warm skin smells of pine and leather, likely from wearing his decrepit Cap suit to sneak around the woods behind your house. It fits his mountain-man vibe these days--full beard, hair curling beneath his ears, desperate loneliness he uses you to brighten.

You're not sure Steve comprehends how much light he brings to your life in return, but you soak up what you can.

He stands tall, still grinning, and drops a small, structured backpack to the floor. From it he pulls a pastry box, a little pack of candles, and a lighter. He goes through the entire process of preparing your cupcake in his palm before stretching out his hand.

The tiny, flickering flame shimmers in his twilight eyes.

“Happy birthday, Tops.”

As you gently take your treat, it occurs to you that you’ve never told Steve Rogers your birthday. 

“How did you know?”

Technically, the question is casual, but you’re still curious.

His eyebrows shoot up, dramatic and comical shadows cast across his handsome features.

“Well, see, in my…position—” Wax drips onto the towering icing while Steve rubs his neck, guilty and avoiding your eyes. “I have to take certain…precautions, and I was just—” 

“Did you look me up? Online? Do some research, huh? Check up on me?” 

You’re teasing him, but it is fun to see the huge man kneeling at your bedside squirm. His blush is crimson in the candlelight.

You poke his burly shoulder. “You were checkin’ me out…”

“It’s not like that,” he whispers. “Anyway, make a wish, birthday girl.” Steve pushes the cupcake higher in your hold, encouraging you with a wry smile.

Your breath is swift and precise, your desire so clear at the forefront of your mind that picking a wish—another wish, since he’s already here—takes no time at all.

Steve maneuvers himself to sit up on your bed, pulling you to into his lap.

“Good surprise?”

“The best,” you whisper.

You remove the candle and hold the bottom to Steve’s lips. “Lick.”

He sucks off the icing slowly, keeping his eyes locked with yours.

You playfully run your finger through the frosting and taste it, too. If you ever told him your favorite cake flavor, you can’t remember that either, but he clearly knows.

“Tasty?” he asks, a swipe of his tongue wetting his lips.

“Uh-huh.”

You take another dollop and offer your finger to him.

He chuckles. “It’s all yours. I’m not fond of super-sweet things.”

“Oh?” You let the whipped, buttery sugar dissolve in your mouth, thinking. “You’re fond of me, so…are you saying I’m not sweet?”

Your concern is overly dramatic, but Steve stares, biting his bottom lip. “No.”

“Then what do I add to the flavor?” You pull down a corner of crimped paper to try the cake itself. He’s still pondering when you clean lingering stickiness off your thumb.

“Clarity,” Steve finally says. “You offer clarity in a very blurry life.”

His hand on your back shifts to cradle your head, bringing you closer until you’re captured in an intense but chaste kiss. He cups your cheek in his other palm and licks across your sweet lips until you open for him. Steve devours you like you are the real treat, uncaring if his offering splats on the floor. It’s not on fire anymore, so who cares?

Something else occurs to you, jolting you to break away.

“How long can you stay?”

Steve pets down his beard, restarting his brain. “Till morning, I guess, but then I should go. I don’t want to ruin any of your other plans.”

Unbidden, you inhale swiftly and are overtaken by a yawn.

He’s wildly amused by that. “Tired, Tops?”

“No,” you lie, feeling another one coming on. “If I eat the rest of this, I’ll have energy.”

“Or—“ Steve plucks the confection away before you can slam it in two bites flat “—you can finish this for breakfast and get some sleep.”

You whine in protest because every minute you sleep is a minute with him wasted. He senses exactly that.

“I promise to stay right here all night. Come on. Get comfy.”

He repackages your cupcake to keep it fresh while you crawl into bed. You’ve never seen Steve have to remove his suit, and to watch, it looks tedious and involved.

“Took a second to master, I tell ya,” he mutters once the top is off.

Another minute and he’s shuffling under the covers beside you, aligning his body to snuggle yours, keeping you facing him.

Again his hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin gently. He’s purposefully lulling you, placing the most delicate kisses over your forehead, his beard tickling your nose and making it scrunch up.

“Sorry,” he breathes.

You tilt upwards to steal the apology right from his lips. Usually, your time together is dictated by his needs, even if he doesn’t ask for the attention. It’s uplifting to have no worry of caring for him explicitly. This is just you with him, zero pressure, tons of love, nothing between.

“Hey, Steve?”

You wait for the deep rumble of a hum from his chest

“Thank you. I don’t think I ever said that.”

He smiles against your mouth, breaking away with a swift double peck.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” He pulls you flush to his chest, sighing happily when you toss your leg over his hip. “Happy birthday,” Steve whispers into your hair. “Thank you for letting me in.”

You fall asleep with him everywhere, in your arms, in your lungs, and in your heart. Your wish is that he never leaves, and for tonight, he’s doing the best he can to make your every wish come true.

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby

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

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes

@mrsevans90 @lemonadygirl @umadirectioner @mrschandlerbing @as-white-as-snow-love

[fandoms-writings]

Pursuit

Pairing: Nomad!Steve x Agent!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Summary: Requested by anon - "Don't go where I can't follow, I thought I lost you"/"Honey, you're exhausted, go back to sleep."

Warnings: it's angsty, reader curses, but that's about it.

A/N: I promise I'm working on getting through these requests, life is just insane rn and i've been trying to get into some digital art, so i'm a little busy rn.

Masterpost

The second Steve stepped through the door of their latest safehouse, he knew something was off. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and he honed in all of his senses to focus on his surroundings. The others were still on their way, they'd all taken different routes here to at least try not to bring attention here, though it seemed like that didn't matter in the end. 

If the house was compromised, they'd need to make a swift exit, hopefully without killing anyone. But that also meant they had one last place they could safely hide from SHIELD. 

He steeled himself before taking cautious steps through the front room, back to the kitchen where he would check the dining room before heading up the stairs to clear the bedrooms. But there was something that caught his attention in the dining room. 

It looked like someone was seated there at the table in the dark. He clenched his fist, bracing himself for whatever was coming, and turned the light on. 

He thought he'd been found, that sitting at the table was an agent, waiting to bring him in. Or maybe even a Hydra agent, ready to kill him. For a second, he thought Nat could've been there - she did like to scare the crap out of him every now and then. 

But when that light turned on, it was worse than any of those outcomes. It was a sight that had his heart aching in his chest. 

You were seated at the table, staring at him with a gaze of steel, your hands folded over a gun on the table. 

He took a breath to steady himself from the shock of seeing you before taking a tentative step into the room. He didn't think he'd ever see you again if he was being honest with himself, not after he left SHIELD. 

"You were harder to track down than I thought you'd be," Your voice filled the room and he barely kept himself from flinching. You never spoke to him like this, cold and emotionless, he'd heard it in interrogations that you lead, but it was never aimed at him. "I suppose Nat's to thank for that." 

"What are you doing here?" He asked, trying to take a subtle glance around the room to see if you'd bought anyone with you. 

"It's just us, you can stop being paranoid." 

He glanced back to you, only letting his shoulders drop slightly before he gripped the back of the chair in front of him. "Why are you here?" 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, "Not even a 'hey baby, i missed you' huh?" You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms across your chest, "No, 'sorry I left you behind when we went on the run'?" 

He sighed, hanging his head. "I didn't want to leave you there." He muttered. 

"Bull shit," You snapped, "You know I would've dropped everything for you." 

He nodded at his feet, "I know. I'm sorry." 

"Sorry isn't gonna cut it this time, Steve." 

He lifted his head to look at you when your voice broke over his name, the tension in his shoulders from the day falling, replaced by a new stress. The way you were looking at him was devastating. Your jaw was clenched as you fought the wobble in your lips. The bags under your eyes were more prominent than he'd ever seen before, and your chest was heaving in uneven breaths as you kept yourself together. 

"I know," He started, "I know an apology isn't enough. But I am sorry." Slowly, he rounded the table until he stood three from you, his eyes glancing down to your shaking hands as you gripped your arms. "I wanted to come get you, but I didn't know if your department had been compromised or not. I also didn't want to force you to become federally wanted by the government, and there definitely wasn't enough time to talk about it." 

You were silent, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he pulled out the chair next to you, taking a seat and leaning his elbows on his knees. 

"The plan was to contact you when things calmed down," He explained, "It's just taken a lot longer than I thought it would." 

You let out a wet scoff, your voice tight as you said, "You're Captain America, Steven, on the run. What did you think? That they'd forget about you after a few days?" 

The attitude, the sass you gave him warmed his heart a bit - it meant you weren't so mad at him that it wasn't fixable, so he let out a small breath. 

"I don't know," He muttered, "With everything going on, I guess I didn't really think about it." 

"No shit." Your voice broke and he watched the first tear break through your lashes. He reached up, brushing it away with his knuckles before cupping your face, his heart aching in his chest like it was trying to reach for yours. They'd been off the grid for weeks now - weeks that he hadn't been able to hold you, to kiss you, to just be with you. 

"I'm so sorry, baby," He whispered, leaning so far forward that he slid out of his chair, gently landing on his knees in front of you. 

"Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?" You asked and he shook head. 

"I wasn't sure," he muttered, "I didn't know how tight of a leash they'd have on you because of who you are to me." His brows pulled together in thought and his paranoia began to creep back up the back of his neck. "How did you get out?" 

You smirked down at him, not bothering to wipe at the tears he was catching with his knuckles, "Don't you remember who trained me?" 

He huffed a laugh at that. Nat had trained you when you first joined SHIELD - before he was even brought out of the ice. And you two were like peas in a pod. But when you started dating Steve, the higher ups moved you to a different department, to avoid internal conflict and possible distraction in the field. 

He had no doubt that you didn't leave a trail here - hell, you could've even faked your death to get out from under their thumb. But as he stared up at you, at those tears still falling and the exhaustion swimming in your eyes, he decided that was a talk for tomorrow. Maybe even the day after. 

You reached up to grip his wrists tight, your smirk falling, "Don't you ever go where I can't follow," your voice cracked as you struggled to keep it even. Immediately he understood you were talking about how they vanished into Wakanda to drop off Bucky. Even if you had been tailing them, which you probably were by then, you wouldn't have gotten in without T'Challa's approval. "I thought I lost you." 

All the breath was forced from his lungs as his chest caved. He pulled your head into the crook of his neck, keeping one hand to the back of your head and the other wrapping around to grip at the back of your kevlar suit. Your arms wound around him, holding him so tight, like you were scared he'd vanish again. 

"I won't," He promised the words into the kevlar covering your neck, "I promise." 

He held you like that until his knees went numb, pins and needles starting in his calves and feet, and he pulled away from you, standing again. He pulled you from your chair, taking you upstairs to one of the bedrooms with an adjoining bathroom. 

He showered with you, your eyes barely able to stay open as he peeled off your kevlar for you and washed the dirt and oils and who knew what else from your hair before soaping up the rest of you. Once he had the both of you clean and dry, he tucked you into the bed, curling around behind you, clinging to you. 

He'd been trying so hard not to think about how much he missed you these past few weeks. Focusing so much on keeping those who ran with him hidden and alive that having you here like this, asleep in his hold again, he realized just how much his heart ached for you. How much his soul itself had been crying out for you. 

And now you were here, in his arms as he finally let the fear of never seeing you again go. The fear that you'd been corrupted by the system. That you'd been compromised, or worse. 

He let it all go, savoring the time he had with you before there was a small knock on the door. The pattern of knocks told him it was Nat. 

Trying not to wake you as he got up was a fruitless effort as you turned to face his retreating form and you sat up. 

"Steve?" He turned back to you, "Where are you going?"

Your voice was so small, so tired but so nervous as you asked, the question hitting him in the chest. He walked back to you, cupping your cheeks and placing a kiss on the top of your head. 

"I'm just going to talk to Nat, I'll be right back," He gave you a small smile, "I promise." 

"I want to see her," You tried to get free of his hold to get out of bed but he stopped you. 

"You're exhausted honey," He said, softly pushing you to lie back down, "Go back to sleep. She'll be here in the morning, I'll make sure of it." 

"Okay," You sighed, submitting to the fatigue in your body as you easily slipped back to sleep. He pulled the blankets over you, tucking you back in before heading for the door again. 

His hand gripped the handle, and he turned back to look at you peacefully sleeping, smiling to himself before preparing to hear what the others had been through on their way here. 

Being on the run was going to be rough, and people would be pushed to their limits, but you were with him. And that's all he cared about now.

 

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!

If you enjoyed the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi

I no longer do taglists, if you would like to be notified when i post, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications @remis-library​ <3

[navybrat817]

Looks Better on You

Pairing: Lumberjack!Steve Rogers x Female Reader Summary: Steve can't stop thinking about how good you look in his shirts. Word Count: Over 1.6k Warnings: Mentions of explicit sexual content, referenced vaginal sex (wrap it before you tap it), a bit of fluff, talks of having a family, slight feels (it's me), Steve Rogers (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Last "planned" writing for January belongs to Beefcake and Tippy. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, banner by the wonderful @sgt-seabass and divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Steve loves seeing you in his shirts.

After he received the serum, his blood ran warmer than he could remember. Cool weather or a chill in the air didn't bother him the way it used to. You, on the other hand, couldn't stand being cold. If you set your foot on the floor in the morning and it wasn't warm enough for your liking, you immediately went back under the covers.

He bought you a pair of slippers to leave by your side of the bed to help.

Not that he minded when you used the weather or chill in the cabin as an excuse to cuddle.

"Please, warm me up."

He happily obliged every time.

It was the first time he saw you in his shirt though that he was done for.

One early morning after his run, you were in the kitchen making breakfast. The crackling bacon beckoned to him as he went to greet you. The food was long forgotten when he walked in and took in the sight of you. Your bare legs were on display as you faced the stove, giving him the chance to admire the beauty in front of him. In fact, the only thing that seemed to cover you at all was a red and blue flannel shirt.

His flannel shirt.

You smiled over your shoulder before you began to plate the bacon. "Good timing. Just needs to cool off," you said.

He almost asked you to repeat yourself when you went to the end of the counter. You didn't even bother buttoning the shirt all the way. He never understood the appeal of seeing someone else in his clothes until now. It was like he was touching you without his hands being on you.

A visible claim for others to know who you belonged to, but thankfully it was the two of you in your home.

Being both jealous and in awe of a piece of fabric was something he could add to his list of things he never thought would happen.

"That's mine," he said in a low voice.

"Yeah, I know it's yours," you teased, holding up his coffee mug. "I'm just filling it up."

He had something he wanted to fill up, too.

"Not that. My shirt," he said, his fingers twitching when you looked yourself over.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It was just laying there and it smelled good and I-"

"Are you wearing anything under it?" he asked, moving forward until he trapped you between his wide frame and the counter.

You smiled as you carefully set the mug down. "Why don't you check?" you suggested, gripping his hand and guiding it between your legs. He groaned when his fingers brushed your folds. "Oops. I must've forgotten," you said, widening your stance so he could explore.

Breakfast was cold that day since he was too busy fucking you over the counter. And on top of the kitchen table, which you commented later how incredibly sturdy it is. And in your bed.

All with his shirt on.

At some point your breasts spilled free, giving him the opportunity to watch them bounce as you eagerly took his thrusts. He appreciated every inch of your body the way you deserved and wondered how his other shirts would look on you in the throes of passion. Part of him felt guilty because you wore his shirt to cover up and now he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Or his cock out of you.

"That's it," you panted once he gave you a breather. "I'm stealing all of your shirts from now on."

"Doesn't stealing imply that you won't give them back?" he asked, kissing your warm forehead.

Between the sex and his body being close, you wouldn't get cold anytime soon.

"They're mine now," you smiled, shutting your eyes as you curled up against him. "Sorry."

"I guess that's fair," he said, touching your back through the flannel. "They look better on you anyway."

After that, it became a normal thing to leave his shirts around for you.

On the colder days when he had to get to work before you, he made sure to leave a warm shirt for you to put on when you got out of bed. Other days he had a tendency to leave a sweatshirt on the back of your desk chair. It was adorable how you pushed the sleeves up before you focused on writing. T-shirts were easy access when you exercised, even though you had a drawer full of shirts suitable for working out.

"I thought you only liked to exercise in the bedroom."

"That's my favorite kind of exercise, but I need to do more than that to keep up with you, Beefcake."

You didn't look at all ashamed when he later caught you spritzing his cologne in the air and walking through it.

"What?" you shrugged as you put the bottle down. "It didn't smell enough like you, okay?"

"I'm not judging," he chuckled.

Why would he? The fact that you wanted to keep wearing his clothes, with his scent on them, made him happy. Especially when he went away for missions, unsure of when he'd be back. Coming home to you in one of his shirts was the best kind of welcome.

He made sure to get another bottle of that cologne so you wouldn't run out.

He also decided early on that he liked his flannel shirts on you the most. Maybe it was because it was the first shirt of his he saw you in. It could have also been because it reminded him of the man he is now, the lumberjack who made a home with you. If he looked at you just right, he could imagine a child in your arms wearing a matching shirt.

Someone to make your home even brighter.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you asked one day, narrowing your eyes as he leaned your hip against the bedroom door frame.

"Like what?" he asked innocently.

"Like you want to ravage me."

"I always want to ravage you."

He smirked when you sharply inhaled. It was the truth. He couldn't help that you made him an insatiable man. It elated him that you felt the same way.

"Hmm. You're thinking about something else."

"Still thinking about you," he said truthfully.

You set your hands on your hips and he did his best not to let his eyes drift down. The fabric of the worn red and blue top brushed your thighs as you tapped your right foot, like you sometimes did when you tried to get a read on him. He didn't give anything away.

"It's quiet today," you said as you let your arms drop. He wasn't expecting you to say that. "Sometimes I wonder…"

"Wonder what?" he asked, his blue eyes watching as you tugged at the hem of the shirt.

"What it would be like if the cabin wasn't so quiet, aside from the noises we make," you said with a coy smile. A hand went to your stomach as you sat on the edge of the bed. "Laughter, even crying. The pitter patter of little feet."

His heart pounded when you gave him a loving smile.

"Is that what you were thinking about?" you asked.

He pushed himself off the door frame and took light steps toward you. He hadn't given away what he was thinking, but he should've known you'd figure it out. The two of you were in tune with each other.

"You a mind reader?" he teased, towering over you as you leaned back on the mattress.

"No," you answered, reaching up to frame his face. "You've just had this tiny, but different, smile on your face lately when I wear one of your shirts. And you keep looking at my stomach or resting your hand on it."

"I didn't think I was being obvious," he said sheepishly.

"I'm pretty sure you started baby-proofing the place without realizing in between working and keeping me in bed," you teased, brushing your lips against his.

"But if you don't want that, I understand."

"You think I don't?" you asked sadly.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to take a certain path in life because of someone else."

Family was something he wanted, but didn't think he'd have after everything. You changed how he envisioned his future. You changed everything.

He refused to put any pressure on you though.

What kind of man would I be if I asked that of you?

"Steve," you sighed with a slow shake of your head. "I'm pretty sure you changed my path in life the moment you set foot on my property. I had my work and I loved it, but you made me want more than that. So whatever it is that we want, we'll figure it out together."

He kissed you again, wishing he could put into words how you changed him for the better. How you gave him hope. He'd continue to show you through his actions.

"But I'm not having twenty kids," you smiled when he moved his kisses along your jaw.

"No, sweetheart. How about ten?" he joked.

"Two. That way the number of kids doesn't outweigh the adults," you teased as he moved you to the center of the bed. "And should that day come that we decide to make a family, you may have to buy some bigger shirts for me."

"I'll buy you as many shirts as you want," he smiled, making you gasp when he settled over you. "Like I said, they look better on you anyway."

You think he can convince you to have ten? Bahaha. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If  you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Series masterlist

Nomad Steve Rogers x Baker Reader

Almost every news station in the country was covering the chase for the missing superheroes post-raft-escape following the Civil War. Steve Rogers face had been plastered on the cover of every news paper, fliers stapled to street lamps, posted on bulletin boards in what felt like every coffee shop in the country. It had been just a few long months shy of a year, just long enough to grow out his hair and beard to make himself as unrecognizable as he could manage. Though he was still the poster boy of disorder within the states, he found himself in the scanty town of Greenwood in the house right next to yours.

Chapters 1-18

⋆｡°✩ Chapter one: Welcome to Greenwood

⋆｡°✩ Chapter two: Inhale, Exhale

⋆｡°✩ Chapter thee: Nice to be Needed

⋆｡°✩ Chapter four: Captain-What’s-His-Butt

⋆｡°✩ Chapter five: Absdoughlutely

⋆｡°✩ Chapter six: Sunflower

⋆｡°✩ Chapter seven: Beautifully Natured

⋆｡°✩ Chapter eight: The Brewing Storm

⋆｡°✩ Chapter nine: Doomsday

⋆｡°✩ Chapter ten: The Snap

⋆｡°✩Chapter Eleven: Courage

⋆｡°✩Chapter Twelve: Homecoming

⋆｡°✩Chapter Thirteen: Cardboard Castle

⋆｡°✩Chapter Fourteen: Cinnamon Roll

⋆｡°✩Chapter Fifteen: Everything will be Okay

⋆｡°✩Chapter Sixteen: Crawl Home to You

⋆｡°✩Chapter Seventeen: Endgame

⋆｡°✩Chapter Eighteen: Good Luck Charm

⋆｡°✩ More fun stuff extended masterlist ⋆｡°✩

[darsynia]

Ro Roll Masterlist

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST

It is my BESTIE'S BIRTHDAY and I have done something silly and outrageous. You see, @ronearoundblindly LOVES the song Never Gonna Give You Up. So I decided to write her 7 stories, one for each of the syllables in that first phrase.

It's a celebration of friendship, of blatant ridiculousness, and most of all, the characters we both know and love! Thanks for coming along!!

NEw Nomad Steve/nurse!fReader first kiss

adVERsarial Bucky/mechanic!fReader soulmate AU

draGONfly MCU Steve/wizard!fReader fantasy AU

banaNA Steve/f!Reader established relationship smut

forGIVEn CEO!Steve/f!Reader fluffy meet cute

joYOUs CEO!Steve/f!Reader smutty romance (part III)

sUPine Bucky/mechanic!fReader (Adversarial Part II)

It's been an honor and a delight being your friend!

[frostironfudge]

Hide From Me - Steve Rogers

Summary: You deal with the leaving of Steve in your own way, what happens when he finds you and states he wants you back? (Also I was inspired by Where Have You Been by Rihanna the lyrics are quoted)

Pairings: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, angst, drinking, di/rty dancing, di/rty talk, sm/ut, ora/l fem rec, d/s undertones, ex/hi/bitionism if you squint, steve rogers is jealous, you are responsible for the media you consume

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist || AO3

A.N: i do not consent to my work being copied, translated, reposted on other platforms, or put into AI. My accounts are on tumblr and AO3 only.

Knocking back drinks is easy. The burn is welcome. Flashing lights hide your seat of choice. 

See everyone but you must not be seen. 

The bitter taste upon your tongue seldom prevents the bittersweet memory. Your tongue clicks as the last shot glass is empty as well. Pushing away from your hideaway you go to the crowd upon the dance floor. 

Become one with the crowd but you must stand out. 

The speakers thump, your heart reverberates to the beat of the song. Head thrown back in a bitter drowned laugh at the lyrics. Reminding you of an aimless search. 

Hands grip your hips, you allow yourself to be pulled into the embrace. The man moves his hips, your short skirt doing its job. 

The two of you move. Your hands guide him to your waist, you turn wrapping your arms around him. Smiling shyly at him. Little does he know what you are up to. 

Replace easily but never forget. 

The man trails his hands up your back. Hmm, maybe you could have your fun. The wandering hands freeze. You huff, pushing away from him. The crowd wanes in the slightest. You find another partner. 

Your hips meet with this new partner, your eyes scan the surroundings. 

How fitting the line of the song.

‘Are you hiding from me, yeah?

Somewhere in the crowd’ 

The light bounces off of his features, brows knit, scowling. Angry, grumpy and oh so livid at the forgettable hands that are too close to cupping what is absolutely belonging to him. 

Rather was his, abandoning you on the run. Leaving stale crumbs to follow. You grab the wandering hands leading them to the back. Where bodies seek pleasure. 

Where the heart eats the afterthoughts, and falls into a bitter ruin. 

‘Someone who can please me,

Love me all night long’

The stranger pushes you against the wall, lips on your neck, parting your legs with his knee. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, drawing him closer. The stranger speaks with lust, and decrees promises of euphoria. 

You blink up at him, then smirk. Your hands wander below. He groans as you palm him. Then he stumbles backward. Your vision is blocked by broad shoulders that one did carry your given marks proudly. 

The song reaches its chorus. Steve turns to you, blue eyes carry an anger. You only raise your brow at him. He follows you out of the back exit. You don’t run. He tilts his head, you did run from him the previous times. 

Why not today?

The song still faintly carries out of the club. You turn towards him. Arms crossed, demeanour demanding an explanation. 

“You are not running away from me.” Steve says it as though a statement, the subtle shock hidden well enough.

Make them tell you everything, give them nothing.

“You seemed as if you wanted to have a chat.” You lean against the wall.

“We no longer have to be on the run. Things have come up.” He regards you, trying to get a read. Your expression is neutral.

“So what? You’re treasure hunting your abandoned cadets?” You sneer.

“Do not be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like as if I’m to blame when–,”

“Steve, fuck you.” You spit out, “I do not wish to return anywhere with you. You left lets keep it that fucking way.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” You watch the muscle in his jaw twitch.

“Any warm bed.” You take a sick pleasure in the way his calm demeanour cracks. Flaring nostrils, tightening fist, clenched jaw.

“You’re coming to my place.” The authoritative tone makes itself known.

“Sorry Captain, I no longer work for or with you.” You turn back, your shoulder pushing against his arm as you go back into the club.

Steve closes his eyes, breathing in and then out. He groans low as your perfume lingers around him. He had to take you back. Whatever he may have to do to lure you. Following in your footsteps.

Finding you on the dance floor is easy only because you make it. He had decided to leave but then you had to dance with that lowlife. Then the next one, as if you knew he was here. 

‘Looking for you babe,

Looking for you babe,

Searching for you babe’

Steve growls spotting you, lips locked on with the stranger from before. His movements are sluggish but they still touch what belongs to Steve himself. The man is pulled away by a friend as Steve makes his way to you.

You are pulled to him, his warmth seeping into your skin through the material of your sheer top yet you shiver. Steve hums pleased, lips nipping at your earlobe. Your hands tighten upon his wanting to push him away.

Both of your hands are grabbed by one of his, you try to move but Steve has other plans. His large palm moves down the back of your right thigh then front. Moving below your skirt. He cups you, the tightening of your inner thighs just keeps his touch closer. 

He begins to grind his palm to the beat of the music, speed growing faster as the tempo picks up. Steve watches as your body responds to him. Unravelling itself to the man who ruined it and put it back together with each shattering orgasm. 

Your breath comes out in short pants, the coil tightening in your belly. Your panties are ruined by your arousal aiding Steve in his merciless ministrations. Your head rests against his chest. You feel his hand on your chest but your hands don’t move. Lest he stops.

Your moan reverberates against his palm. He tugs on your earlobe yet again as praise. Two fingers now inside you. You know you won’t be able to take it any longer.

‘You can have me all you want

Anyway,’

You cum with a cry of his name, his hearing picks it up even if the hazed crowd around you cannot hear the sweet melody.

You’re pressed down into the mattress, with his belt around your hands tied to the headboard. Steve’s lips are seizing yours—wet, warm, and consuming you. Clothes are long discarded along the small hallway of the flat. 

Large palms cup your breasts, your nipples teased, tugged upon with fingers and teeth. When he kisses over your sternum his beard leaves a delicious burn across your body. You cry out his name as he blows over your folds. Lips latching on your clit. 

Steve moans, finally his hunger would be sated. Your taste coats his tongue and lips. He can feel his pussy demanding for more, demanding to be rewarded for all these months of useless fucks. 

“Steve!” You cry out when he bites down on your folds, tugging them before soothing them with his tongue. 

“You need to be reminded who this pussy belongs to.” He nips on your clit, you cry out as the sensitivity begins to take over. He can tell the signs, your hands released. 

His cock coated in your arousal. He hisses as your nails dig in, awaking his primal urge to want to be marked by you over and over. 

Steve thrusts into you, groaning as you take him so well. All of him, every inch.

“Do you know how beautiful you look? Taking every inch of my cock so well.” He praises, “Look at you, marking me up.” 

Your eyes follow the trail of red welts as you leave scratches upon him. Drawing him in and closer for more, more of him.

He angles his hips and you feel him hit the spot that has you arching up into him. Your orgasm barrels into you. Crying out his name. Steve kisses you as your ecstasy triggers his own. You feel him fill you up, your whimpers and mewls met with his soft kisses. 

When he pulls away you whine, needing him close. He returns soon with a warm towel and more kisses to give you. 

Somewhere between slumber and wakefulness, he makes yet another promise,

“I will make it up to you, sweetheart. I do regret leaving. I’m so very sorry. Even if it takes me years to earn your forgiveness I will remain on my knees.”

The morning light wakes Steve, the sheets are warm and still carry your scent. He smiles burrowing closer, his arm reaching out to draw you to him. He finds emptiness. Bolting upright he searches the room. 

He walks through the small apartment. Each corner is empty. 

Your clothes are still strewn across his floor but his shirt is gone. Tongue running over his teeth he walks up to the small paper taped to his bathroom mirror. Words he wrote months ago stare back at him.

‘Don’t try to find me, I do not want to be found.’ 

At the back of the note there is more, but in your handwriting;

‘My Love,

Your search for me will be futile just as mine for you was.

Thanks for the warm bed.’ 

He traces the lipstick print you’ve left as the sign off with his index finger. 

-x-x-x-x-

[megamindsecretlair]

Sit Still (Look Pretty), Part 3

Pairing: Nomad Steve x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some making out, porn without plot, PIV unprotected (wrap it up!), fingering (fem receiving), cum play, breeding kink, possession kink, cursing. Mild age gap. Reader is late 20s and Steve is mid 30s. Part 3 of 3, final chapter babayyy!

Summary: AU where Steve was born in modern times but still received a serum in the army to make him a super soldier. He's moved in next door and has noticed you watching him. He's come back from a business trip and the only place he wants to be is with you.

Word Count: 3,528k

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2

A/N: Listen...I know. I got zooted and just kept writing. I have no excuses for myself. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @namsey1987 @dayjlovesromance

Steve had been gone nearly three weeks and you were not taking it well. After he effectively made you his fuck doll, he disappeared. Well, that wasn’t fair. You texted all the time and called each other when he was done for the day.

You didn’t know what he did and he wasn’t allowed to tell you. You knew it was dangerous and you knew that the military valued him. As much as the military could value anyone.

You were going stir crazy. He made you feel alive. He had pinpointed something you held close to the vest for so long. He not only sniffed you out, he was able to deliver. And deliver more. And then he just left. Vanished. Poofed.

If you didn’t have such vivid memories, you’d think it was all a dream. Hell, it was starting to feel like one. Which was insane. You knew you sounded insane. But you were bordering on obsession at this point. 

You needed to feel his lips on yours. His hands on your body. You needed to hear his filthy words. You needed to see that perfect face lost in your body. You needed to know that you affected him just as much as he affected you.

You didn’t know when he would be back. So there you were. On a Tuesday afternoon staring at your ceiling because nothing mattered anymore. You weren’t depressed. You weren’t that delusional. You just missed him so damn much. 

Your parents had noticed a change in you. They often asked what was wrong with you and why you were so sullen all the time. You put on a fake smile every time they come near. It wasn’t like you could admit that you were in desperate need of being bent over and fucked out of your mind. 

Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your strange musings. You wanted to ignore it. But some divine intuition made you reach for it. Steve’s name flashed across the screen. Your heart flipped as you swiped to answer it.

“How’s my best girl?” Steve’s suave voice was like music to your ears. You grinned like an idiot and flipped over in bed.

“Good. Been busy, you?” 

“Missing you.”

You giggled. “Steve…” 

“Tell me you miss me,” he said.

“You know I do,” you said. You couldn’t stop grinning. You knew that he couldn’t see you and you were silently thankful for it. You looked like an idiot.

“I want to hear the words,” he said. There was shuffling on his end and then the sound of a door closing. He must have made it back to his hotel room early. 

“I miss you, Steve.” You added extra sugar to your voice and Steve chuckled.

“Brat. What are you doing?” He asked.

“Getting ready to hang with friends,” you lied. You couldn’t very well tell him that you didn’t want to do anything at the moment but sulk. Sulk and remember the feeling of him all over your body.

“Look out of your window.” 

You froze. Surely…surely not. You scrambled out of your bed and threw back your curtains. Across the way, Steve stood in his bedroom window and waved to you. You shrieked. 

“When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked. You placed your hand on your window as if you could reach out and touch him. You couldn’t believe that he was there, just a short distance away.

The persistent ache in your chest eased up at the sight of him. It was unnatural to miss someone this much, but you did. You missed him desperately.

“Wanted to surprise you. Get your ass over here,” Steve’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper. 

You loosed a breath and grinned. He did not have to tell you twice. You turned and threw on a pair of shorts and a shirt. You realized too late that you stood at the window in your bra and panties. Well hell. He saw more than that weeks ago. 

“Don’t you dare change that sexy outfit either.” Steve hung up the phone and it only excited you more. 

You ran downstairs and slipped on your sandals. “Where are you rushing off to?” Your mom caught you by the front door. She emerged from the kitchen with glasses around her neck. She looked you up and down and you thanked your lucky stars that she couldn’t see you blush.

“Friends. We’re probably going to head to the mall or something. I’ll text if I catch something with them,” you said.

Two for two on lying. You wished that you felt guilty but you just didn’t. You were bouncing as you stood there. Heat and desire suffused you. You knew you were in for a naughty treat and you didn’t need your mom knowing that the neighbor was ruining her baby girl. 

Your mom tilted her head as she looked at you. “I’m glad you seem a bit happier. For real this time. You know I’m here if you ever want to talk,” she said.

“I know, mom. I’m fine. Swear.” You gave her your best smile. She still side eyed you but waved you away. What harm could you get into in Bumfuck, Suburbia? It was a major reason why they moved here in the first place. They didn’t want to worry about you hanging out with friends or being gone all night in less than savory neighborhoods.

You waved as well and headed out of the front door. You quickly skipped past the porch, across the lawn, and over to Steve’s house. Before you could knock, Steve opened the door and smiled at you. He yanked you into the house.

No sooner had the door closed, did he push you against it and crash his lips against you. His hands gripped your waist and pulled you flush against his hard dick. You gasped and the sensation. That allowed him to sweep his tongue inside and deepen the kiss.

Your hands came up to play with the hair at his nape. His hair had grown out a bit making him look wilder, more unkempt. His beard was thicker and it tickled your cheeks but you were too busy being kissed out of your mind. 

His kisses grew desperate. He pushed until your back hit the door. His hands wrapped around you and squeezed your ass. He growled low in his throat. He trailed his lips across your jaw, your cheek, your eye, and then dipped to your neck. 

“I really missed you, sweetheart,” he murmured against your neck. 

“I really fuckin’ missed you, too.” 

He rested his forehead against yours and huffed. You rubbed your hands along his massive arms, back, and thin waist. It was criminal how slutty his waist was. You needed to remember him all over again. Every plane and dip of his body. You needed to re-learn all of his looks and smiles.

“Upstairs. Now.” He leaned back far enough for you to scoot from under him. You scurried to the stairs and a swift smack to your ass made you cry out. “Not fast enough.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him as you nearly ran up the stairs. Steve thundered behind you, taking the stairs two at a time for your every one step. Your heart pounded in your chest. Pretty soon, it would burst through and run down the street. 

Your head felt light. You were equal parts dizzy and free. He spun your head around and you only wanted more. 

You didn’t know where he wanted you to go. So far, he’d only fucked you in his office. You hesitated at the top of the stairs. Steve grabbed you by the waist once more and picked you up.

You yelped. You slapped at his arms as he threw you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. “Steve! Put me down!” 

You bounced a little as he carried you to a room. You had a perfect view of his ass as it moved in his tight jeans. You were too busy holding on to his belt to properly smack him back. He, however, smacked yours. His big hands caressed your thighs and you clenched painfully. Your thighs tingled. He hadn’t even done anything yet.

“Are you scared?” He asked.

“Yes! This is…”

Steve flipped you and threw you onto a bed. You bounced and steadied yourself with your hands. You looked at him as he grinned at you. 

“I will pick you up whenever…” He leaned down and kissed your calf. “Wherever…” He kissed your knee. “However…” He kissed your thigh. “I damn well please.” He used his nose to lift your shirt and kissed your belly, right on your stretch marks.

You sighed and played with his hair. “Don’t tease me, Steve. Not today,” you said.

He smirked at you and placed more kisses on your tummy. “Afraid not, sweetheart. I have been dreaming of getting back in between your thighs, so I’m going to take my time.”

Your mouth dropped open and your hands stopped their searching. “Steve…”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve been gone a long time. I need to enjoy this. Just like I know you need to enjoy this. So let me,” he said. He trained  those deep blue eyes on you. A faint smile curved his lips.

“Okay,” you said and smiled.

His grin was like the first ray of dawn. It lit up his whole face. Your answering smile made his eyes dip slowly. “You can say no at any time. Only say it and I will,” he said.

You nodded. “I know. I want this,” you said.

If possible, his smile only grew. He stood up and looked down at you. You were able to see more of the room. His room was still in progress but it already felt so much like him. There weren’t a lot of frivolous things on his dresser or bookshelf. 

His cover was soft but practical. It was a deep blue and incredible to the tough. The mattress was a little stiff but not horrible. You rubbed your hands over it as you looked back at Steve. You had one leg down and one leg up on the bed. He grabbed your ankle of the leg that was up and pulled. 

“I gotta inspect you first,” he said.

“What?” That caught you so off guard that you cricked your neck glancing at him.

“I’ve been gone a long time, sweetheart. I gotta make sure you followed my directions,” he said.

Oh god. He was serious about that. When he left without saying a word, you woke up to a text saying that you weren’t allowed to get yourself off or let any other man near you. You had laughed. He couldn’t be serious. Sure, you liked the way he manhandled you, but that rubbed against the grain.

But no, he was serious. So serious, that he called immediately and demanded that you not touch yourself. Like…at all. And baby. You were so frustrated. You felt like you’d die if you didn’t get filled up with something.

Steve began to trail his fingers up and down your legs. When he rubbed the underside of your thighs, you whimpered. You bit your lip. Steve’s eyes seemed to grow edgier. He narrowed them as he continued to glide his fingers on your bare legs. 

It was so quiet in the room, that you heard how loud and desperate you were getting. You probably looked pathetic. You gripped your shorts. It was a mixture of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh from the sensation. 

“Please, don’t. Don’t tease me. I followed your directions,” you said.

“How do I know that for certain? You could’ve been a bad girl,” he said. He reached for your shorts and unbuttoned them. He pulled them roughly over your thick thighs.

You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Steve opened your legs as far as they would go. He looked at your lacy white panties. No garters this time. You couldn’t stand anything more than a simple set for the past few weeks. 

Between the heat and lack of sex, you were stuck in the middle of uncomfortable and turned on. 

You shook your head. “I swear. I listened,” you said. 

“You still have to prove it, sweetheart,” he said. 

There was nothing you could say to change his mind. You were at his whim and it didn’t frighten you. It should. It definitely should but it didn’t. 

Still holding your knees open, he leaned down and sniffed your pussy. You gasped at finally getting some stimulation. You were incredibly sensitive. He pressed his nose in, rubbing you up and down through your panties. You sighed and moaned. You tossed your head back and forth and dug your nails into his covers.

“I need more,” you whined.

“I know what you need.” He kissed your pussy and you moaned again. He kissed his way up your center. He kissed your tummy. He licked certain areas and bit in other places. The alternating pain and tickles drove you insane. 

He skirted his fingers down your side before he moved it down to your aching cunt. You whined as he rubbed you outside of your panties. It felt good, sure, but you needed more. You needed direct contact.

You tapped pathetically at his arm. “I need more,” you said. 

“It’s my inspection, sweetheart. You’ll get what I want you to get,” he said.

You cried again and writhed under his excellent fingers. He increased his pressure and you started mumbling and making noises. You got so, so close.

Steve stalled his fingers and pressed into your clit. “No, no, no no,” you cried. Fuck, you were so close. Just a little more.

“Shhh,” Steve said. He moved his hand up and pushed on your lower tummy. It flipped and you breathed through it. Steve breathed with you and you stared into his eyes as you came down. 

Steve leaned back when you had calmed down and looked at you. “You’ve made a mess in your panties,  sweetheart,” his voice rumbled in his chest. 

Your aching pussy clenched and you cried a bit. “Please, Steve. I was good. I swear,” you pleaded.

You needed to cum right this second. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

He sat up and tugged on your panties until they were past your feet. He gripped your thighs in his big hands and spread you. He looked his fill at your wet pussy. You were leaking down your ass cheek. 

He just sat there, looking at the way you clenched around nothing. Your body was electric. Heat suffused you. Your desire continued a slow trail out of you. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

Steve ran his index finger through your damp curls. He moved his finger until he spread you and swiped at your pussy. You bucked off of the bed. You were not prepared for that simple little motion. 

Your nub was hard as he slid his finger through your folds. You cried out and bit your lip. The painful bite paled in comparison to the magic Steve was working with his fingers. Pressure built in your lower belly as your legs began to shake.

“Have you touched yourself since I’ve been gone, sweetheart?” 

“Whaa?” You couldn’t concentrate on his voice and concentrate on getting off. You didn’t know how much longer you could last through this torture. You’d give up the nuclear codes if it meant that he would just let you cum.

“Did you touch what was mine?” He asked.

“No, I swear.” Your throat burned from how hard you were panting. Your fingers twisted in his covers. 

He slid his finger inside of you with no warning. He hummed as if he was satisfied with how you squeezed his fingers. He slid another one in and you dropped your mouth open. “You can take more than that,” he said. He pushed a third finger into you and you grinded on his fingers. He stretched you so well. 

“That’s it,” he said. He coached you through taking his fingers. He told you when to slow down and when to speed up. He encouraged you to fuck his fingers and prove how good you were for him. 

“Ohhh,” you repeated over and over. Desire pooled in your tummy. You squeezed his fingers. “That’s my girl. Just like that, sweetheart.”

It was the ‘sweetheart’ that did you in. You came with a fierce moan and clamped down on his fingers. Your eyes crossed as you shook and jerked. Steve continued to move his fingers into you.

“That’s my girl. You’re so fucking pretty when you cum,” he said. He stared at you and the pretty faces you were making for him. 

You panted as you came down. Sweat clung to your body. Your harsh breath blew across your damp stomach. When he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers out of you and licked his fingers. You cried at this sight. His hand glistened with your slick and you cried again.

“I want to keep going, but I need to cum in that pussy.”

“Fuck, yes, Steve.” You whined and turned doe eyes on him. 

Steve yanked at his sweatpants and pulled them off in one go. His tank top went next. He snapped it on the floor. He climbed onto the bed and used his big thighs to push your legs back.

You had a proper ache beginning in your back but you didn’t care. You were about to have the ride of your life.

Steve grabbed his thick cock and glided it through your wet arousal. He circled your clit with it and you licked your lips. Fuck, why did that feel so good? 

No more games. You hiked your legs onto his waist and he pushed at your entrance. He kept going, pushing into you. You brought your hand up to push against him. He felt too good. You dug your nails into his chest and he grunted.

“Steve…oh god,” you said. You didn’t know what you were trying to say but pleasure robbed you of speech. It robbed you of thinking clearly. 

He kept pushing in until he bottomed out and you both groaned out. He collapsed on top of you as if he couldn’t support himself anymore. He groaned and bit your titty through your shirt. 

“Fuck, I missed this sweet pussy,” he groaned into your ear. “Oh fuck,” he continued.

You bit at his shoulder as he twitched inside of you. You squeezed his dick and made him groan again. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he said.

He pushed himself up and off to the side. He lifted your shirt and palmed your breasts through your bra. He lowered each cup and began to lick on your left nipple. He moaned as he laved at it with the flat of his tongue. With each swipe, you felt more desire in your belly. You clenched his dick and he groaned. 

He started to move. You were so wet, he almost had a hard time staying in. He began to stroke you deep and hard and slow. 

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuuck,” you moaned. 

He switched to your other nipple and paid it the same attention he did the other one. He nipped at your nipple and you jerked beneath him. 

“Let me hear it, sweetheart. Give me one more,” he said. He twitched his hips and reached a spot hidden deep within you.

You cried out soundlessly and stared agape at him. You grabbed at his chest leaving thin red streaks in his skin.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breath for me,” he said. He hit that deep spot over and over. You stared into his eyes as he smiled patiently and adoringly at you. 

“You feel so good. And you’ve been such a good girl for me. Taking all of me. I’m so proud of you,” he said.

“Fuuuuck,” you screamed as you came. The way your thighs locked Steve to you, made him tense as he came deep within you. Hot jets of his come squirted inside of you. You felt it all. You felt so full and blissed out. You closed your eyes and rode your orgasm silently. He had fucked all of the breath out of you.

“I missed you, sweetheart. I missed this pussy too. Stay with me tonight,” he said.

“What?” You croaked out.

“Stay with me. I’m gonna need to reassert my place right here,” he said and stroked you again. 

“Steve, please. I can’t. No more,” you pleaded. 

“Say you’ll stay. I’ve got three weeks worth of load to fill you up with.” He pushed in and out of you with a slow glide so that you felt every inch of him. Every ridge and vein. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, I’ll stay.” 

Your eyes were turning watery. You blinked up at him and his cocky smile. “That’s my girl,” he said. And he took you again until you were dizzy with pleasure and making sure the whole neighborhood heard how Steve was tearing you apart.

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2

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