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buckys-wintersoldier · 1 month

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Need someone older | Steve Rogers

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> DBF!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -> Your dad’s best friend, Steve Rogers, has a kind that makes your body reacts in a needy way whenever he is around you. So when your dad is taking a shower he shows you that he can help your arching feeling better as the boys you know from university.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 -> 2.019

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 -> 18+, Minors DNI, smut, dry humping, praises, dirty talk, age gap

Masterlist | Steve Rogers Masterlist

Divider made by @firefly-graphics.

“Hey, babygirl,” a rough, familiar voice says behind you, and the man behind you smirks when you hum in response.

You turn around to face the blond, tall man behind you. Your dad’s best friend - Steve Rogers. He is as tall as your dad, muscular, and has short blond hair. His beard is trimmed, and for a moment, you get lost in your thoughts. You love that look, especially because it defines his ocean blue eyes and gives you a lot of thoughts that aren’t as innocent as you look like. You always have a thing for older men, and for Steve even more; his stubble would probably feel so good between your legs while his long, thick fingers slide in and out of you. You try not to moan when you just think about the filthy things he could do to you. You’re pretty small compared to him, and it makes your knees weak. Your pussy starts dripping whenever you’re close to him. And the way your lips are parting so slightly that no one sees it, your eyes so filled with lust, but you just smile and nod softly. Steve chuckles, like he always does when he sees the reaction he has on you, the way you act when he is around you, pressing your legs together, digging your nails in the hem of your shirt, or the surface of the kitchen counter. He sees the way your eyes roam over his muscular body - little do you know he wears shirts that fit like a second skin. Steve enjoys the way your lips are parted, knowing that you think no one sees the way you stare at him, almost drooling over the older man.

“Like what you see?” He tears, walking a step closer, so you have to look up to look into his face and his beautiful blue eyes. “Answer me. Tell me, do you like what you see? Don’t be shy.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you whimper. His smile grows when he has the reaction he wants to have. You make him go crazy, and he doesn’t need to do much more than stand there. Steve loves to see how small you look, the way you don’t manage to get a word out when he looks into your eyes, the way you clench your thighs and whimper - for relief, wanting him to help you get rid of the aching feeling between your legs. His hand glides to your waist, and he pulls you closer. Your chin almost touches his broad chest, which causes a gasp to leave your lips. His fingers digging into the soft skin of yours, a shiver running along your spine, and you grip the kitchen counter behind you tighter, trying to ground yourself.

“Rogers. Do you annoy her again?” Your dad shouts from behind, and Steve grins.

“Do I, princess?” He asks loudly enough for Bucky to hear him.

You shake your head, but Steve lets go of you to smile softly and walk to Bucky. He smirks at him before they walk out of the kitchen and into the garden. Your breath hitches, your hands are shaking, and your knees are weak. Your nails are digging into the surface of the counter behind you, helping you not to fall down. This man can do things you didn’t know he could do; your panties are soaked with your arousal, and he hasn’t even touched you in a way that could explain your throbbing pussy.

“Dinner is ready in half an hour,” Bucky tells you, and when you reply with a short one, he continues his conversation with Steve.

You made your way to the living room, letting yourself slip on the couch while you watched television. Bucky and Steve are still in the garden, taking about everything and nothing. Your legs are pressed together, and while your head rests against the backrest, your mind is going wild with thoughts about what your dad’s best friend could do with you - with his tongue, with his fingers, or with his dick. You have never thought about it, but you’re sure he is huge. And Steve is experienced in bed, so he will probably do a good job when he fucks a woman, making her scream his name while she comes over his dick over and over again. Just the thought makes you wetter as you already are, and you press your thighs further together, trying to get some friction at your arching pussy. How would it feel when Steve just had a taste of you? When his stubble brushes so softly against your thigh and your pussy or when his thick fingers disappear between your wet, tight walls. He would be more talented than the guys your age, but he is your dad’s best friend and almost double your age. You’re probably not even his type of woman. Maybe you should just date some guys your age, but they are not like Steve - not so nice and handsome.

“Buck is taking a shower, then we can eat,” Steve suddenly says and stands next to you.

“O-Oke,” you mumble, and for a moment you get lost in his beautiful blue eyes.

“You haven’t answered my question earlier. So did you like what you saw?”

You smile softly; it’s more than just that you like to see him standing in front of you; you imagine filthy things he could do to you.

“Yes, I-I like what I see when you’re standing in front of me.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you turn your head away. Steve chuckles, adoring the way you try to hide the red on your cheeks, trying to hide that you’re throbbing wet because of him. He lets himself fall down next to you on the couch, his arm resting on the backrest behind you. You feel warmth rushing through the part between your legs, causing you to press your thighs together.

“I like what I see when I’m standing in front of you too, babydoll.”

The gasp that leaves your lips makes the older man chuckle. His grin playfully, and his eyes were glistening with lust. Steve’s hand slides up and down his thigh, inching closer to his dick, and you follow his hand with your eyes before you let your gaze roam over his body, looking at his hand, which is now covering the growing bulge in his pants. Your breath hitches when you see his dick pressing his pants up. You’re adorable when you look at him like that. You can’t keep your eyes off of his bulge while he slides his hand slowly over it.

“I- Are you-?”

“Hard because of you? Yes, wanna give me a helping hand?” He asks, smirking.

“D- You- Stevie-“ you stutter, your eyes widening while you look at him.

Your eyes meet, and you almost don’t recognize him leaning closer. Only when his hands find your hips and his fingers trail slowly under the fabric of your shirt. His touch feels like electricity, and you gasp once again. Steve lifts you up like you weigh nothing and places you on his lap, his bulge pressing against your core. You moan softly when you move a bit, feeling the friction between your legs and his bulge growing underneath you.

“B-But dad can hear us,” you say quietly, placing your hands on his shoulders to push you up.

Steve holds you firmly on his lap, pushing you back down on his covered dick when you try to push yourself off of him. He moves your hips slowly over his bulge. You whimper and close your eyes for a moment while he groans. The older man pushes his hips upward, pushing his dick more against you. The movements make you moan and whimper softly. You then let your head fall forward and against his shoulder. Steve smirks. He loves the way you let him touch you like that, the way your body reacts to his touches, and he loves to see you all desperate for his dick, grinding against his bulge.

“He won’t unless you’re loud. But he wanted to take a shower so he wouldn’t hear or see us,” Steve says, looking into your eyes when you push yourself up.

Your lips are just inches away from one another, and his tongue glides over his bottom lip, his glistening saliva coating the soft, plump lips, and your eyes switch from his eyes to his lips back to his eyes. Then he leans closer and captures your lips with his. He moves your hips harshly over his hard dick. You moan into the kiss and slide your hands into his hair, tugging at them. You would like to feel him inside of you; he feels huge, and it makes your cunt drip more, causing arousal to soak your panties.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. So hungry and desperate for my dick. You want a man, don’t you? Someone who takes care of you and knows how to treat you right, to make you feel good,” he mumbles against your lips, and you moan in response.

Steve smirks and kisses your jawline and along your neck. His fingers are digging into your skin, while you feel the feeling of pleasure growing in your stomach. Your whimpering turns more and more into moaning. You tug harsher at his hair, and Steve knows that your orgasm is just as close as he is.

“Feeling good, princess? Feeling like a princess on daddy’s cock, huh? Wanna feel it inside of you?” He asks, and you can’t help but throw your head back, grinding harder against him.

He knows exactly what to say and what to do to make a woman go crazy, to make her even more desperate, and to make her feel good. Steve stops your movements, and you immediately look at him, confused about why he stopped you.

“Please- so, so close,” you whimper, pouting softly.

“Answer my question. Do you feel like a princess on daddy’s cock?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Wanna feel daddy’s huge dick inside of your little pussy? Is she already begging for attention?”

“Y-Yes, begging for daddy’s attention,” you mumble, trying to grind against him.

He laughs softly before he lets you grind over his bulge. You’re a moaning mess on top of him, bringing both of you closer to the edge. He enjoys the view of you humping him like a desperate slut, and that’s what you are right now. You would agree with him; should he ask you, you would tell him you’re his little desperate slut.

“Please, c-can I come?” you ask, pressing your lips against Steve’s.

“Come for me; soak your panties, pretty girl. Make daddy come in his pants,” he groans, pressing you further down on his covered dick.

You move a few more times over his bulge before the two of you come into your pants, breathing heavily, and Steve kisses you once more to make you shut up while he helps you to move, riding out your orgasm.

“You’re so good for me; daddy’s proud of you, princess.”

Just in time, you two catch your breath, and you’re sitting next to him, talking about the university, when your dad appears with a towel around his waist. His hair is wet, and the water is still flowing down his body.

“Take on some clothes; your daughter doesn’t need to see you naked, Buck," Steve laughs and earns a groan from Bucky.

You’re still calming down from your orgasm; imagine Steve walking with just a towel, wet hair, and his body glistening through the apartment.

“How about I take care of you when Bucky is on his work drip?” Steve asks quietly, and you smile softly before you nod, leaning in for a short kiss before he gets up and walks outside to finally eat.

You follow him. Steve would prefer something else instead of the barbecue he and your dad just made, but he still enjoys it. Especially when he sees your still-red cheeks with the knowledge that your pants are soaked with your cum.

┏━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┓

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬.

┗━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━┛

Taglist: @kandis-mom @sergeantbarnessdoll @nicoline1998enilocin @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @identity2212 @km-ffluv @lunaalovesyouu @blackhawkfanatic @armystay89 @suz7days @felicitylemon @cjand10 @casa-boiardi @cevansbaby-dove @flstrawberry @bookishtheaterlover7 @rogersbarber

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 7 months

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I still got a few rounds left in me

kinktober, day thirteen

a/n: ...i have such a thing for fighters, it's bad....

warnings: boxer!steve rogers x reader, smut, established relationship, domestic bliss, kissing, foreplay, bathtub sex

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

You felt like a little marshmallow floating atop a warm mug of hot chocolate as you laid there in the tub, staring out at the dark skyline. The melody of soft rain drizzling against the window lulled you even further as your hand lazily played with the bubbles foaming at the surface.

“Hey,” you suddenly heard, spinning your head around to spot your burly boyfriend gazing at your relaxed visage from the doorway, raindrop-painted gym clothes still hugging his form.

“Steve,” you gasped, spine straightening, “you’re home! I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you would be asleep already, so I tried to be quiet.”

“In a bit, I just wanted to wash the day away first, you know?” you sighed, “fall back down to earth before I try and fall asleep…” Offering you a gentle nod, he then stepped further into the bathroom, a soft smile still fast on his lips as he began to peel his clothes off. You couldn’t help but giggly ask, “what are you doing?” as the fighter slowly revealed more and more of his rippling physique, his eyes staying locked with yours the entire time.

“Well, I was gonna take a shower,” his shorts hit the floor mere seconds before he planted his palms on either side of the tub, “but you’re making that bath look so good.”

As he lowered himself in, your giggle morphed into a laugh as the bubbles began to make a run for it, “you’re gonna flood the entire bathroom!”

“Then it’s a good thing we have something called towels,” fully submerged, he simply leaned in to kiss you.

Arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, the current scooped you a bit closer, your legs intuitively entangling up and over his thick thighs. As your hands drifted over his skin, your fingers paused and took time to dig into a few of the muscles on his upper back. Parting from the tender peck, you deepened your massage momentarily as you asked, “are you sore?”

With his own arms tangled around you, he murmured, “not really, I didn’t really go too hard today,” before he lifted you further up onto his lap, his broad palm firm on your back so that your chest pressed flush against his, making your soapy tits share their suds.

It took you approximately two seconds before you noticed the raging hard-on, poking you under the water, “oh my god…” you chuckled, tilting your chin back as you gazed at his smirk, “what are you trying to do, huh, champ?”

His hands slowly raked down your back before they found the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that shot directly to your aching clit, “like I said, I didn’t go too hard today, so I still got a few rounds left in me…”

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krirebr · 5 months

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More Than This 1

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, a very brief conversation about the possibility of abuse, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: And here we go! A huge thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down some of the worldbuilding details and @paperweight91 for reading so much of this and especially telling me how to fix the scene that refused to be fixed. You're both the best!!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screeching at me. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

It was uncommon to be called to your stepfather’s office. The high rise on the edge of Studio City had housed the heads of his family since the silent film era, give or take a remodel and expansion or five. You’d only been here a handful of times, mostly left out of the family business. When his assistant opened the door for you, you were surprised to see a small group of people, all in expensive business attire, surrounding your stepdad, Joseph Rogers, at his desk. Even more surprising was the figure standing in the corner, staring out the window – your mother.

“Mom?” you asked, unable to hide your confusion. She just gave you a tight smile in return and turned her attention to her husband.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you. It’s what he’d called you since you’d first met him as a child and it had always felt patronizing and empty. You were well aware that you were an annoyance he’d been saddled with when he’d married your mother for her late first husband’s connections. Eighteen years later, you wished he’d drop the pretense already. “Please, have a seat,” he gestured to the leather chair in front of his large oak desk.

You sat down across from him. “What’s going on?” you asked, an uneasy feeling building in your gut.

“Congratulations are in order,” he said, smiling at you. “You’re engaged.”

Years of experience at bullshit industry and society parties had you pasting on a benign smile. This was your fourth, no fifth engagement, the first one dating all the way back to when you were 10. They’d all dissolved for one reason or another, the business arrangements at the heart of them disintegrating too. But looking around the room at all the extra people in attendance, you knew better than to dismiss this outright. You were older now. Many of your friends from school had found themselves married as part of business deals in the last few years. Love matches were uncommon in the circles you frequented. There wasn’t much patience for love when this much money was at stake. But still, just because it was expected, that didn’t make you any more ready for your turn.

“That’s wonderful,” you said, putting all your effort into keeping your tone even. “May I ask whom I’m engaged to?”

“Ransom Drysdale,” Joseph said. “He’s the grandson of Harlan Thrombey, the mystery writer. We’ve been trying to secure the movie rights to his works for years and this should finally cement it. It’s fantastic news for our family and this studio. The joining of our families should create many opportunities for all of us. Ransom is one of the most eligible bachelors in Boston. You should feel very lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing you felt right now, but you kept your face schooled as you ran through your mental Rolodex to try to figure out if you had any social connections to this man. The fact that he lived on the other side of the country made it less likely but not impossible.

“So,” he continued, sliding a stack of papers across his desk to you, “all you need to do is sign and initial the contract where it’s marked, and we can get started finalizing the details for the wedding next month.”

At that, all your poise disappeared and the smile dropped off your face. “Next month?”

Joseph nodded. “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot with deals like this. So go ahead and sign so that we can all move on to the next stage.”

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. This was happening. This one was real. “Shouldn’t I read it first?” you asked, somewhat desperately.

He shook his head, “No need,” he said, gesturing to the man you recognized as one of the family lawyers standing beside him. “Julian has already gone through it with a fine-toothed comb. All of our interests are well represented. It’s all in legalese anyway. Impossible to understand if you aren’t a lawyer.” He chuckled and many of the people standing around the desk, staring at you, joined him.

“I just–” you stammered. You didn’t know what to do, but you knew you couldn’t pick up that pen.

Irritation bloomed on your stepfather’s face. “Lydia!” he called.

Your mother stopped staring out the window and stepped up to your chair. “Honey,” she said gently, putting her hand on your back. “This will be such a good thing. And then we can get to all the fun parts of planning the wedding!” She picked up the pen and held it out to you. You took a moment to look at her. Her features were drawn and her eyes looked exhausted. She’d looked that way as long as you could remember. It did nothing to reassure you.

You glanced at the door behind you. You knew you weren’t getting out of this room without signing the contract. You took a deep breath and took the pen from your mother. There was nothing else to do. No other choice. You quickly flipped through the papers, initialing where indicated and signing the last page. Your hand was shaking so badly you weren’t sure any of it was legible.

When you turned over the last page, Joseph clapped his hands together. “Excellent!” He took a large binder off the desk and passed it over to you. “We’ve put some information together for you on your new fiance. Ransom will be in town next week to take you to dinner so that the two of you can get to know each other. Now, I’m sure you want to go celebrate, so we won’t keep you any longer.”

At the clear dismissal, you stood up. Many people in the room offered their congratulations and you nodded to them, forcing a strained smile. Then you made your way out on shaky legs, needing to see the one person who might be able to help you process what had just happened.

You’d been six years old when you and your mother had moved into the Rogers mansion. You were terrified, already able to sense Joseph’s indifference towards you. But your comfort during that time, and all the time after, had been his son, Steve. Twelve years old, still reeling from the death of his mother and just as deeply lonely as you, he’d named himself your protector, shielding you from his father’s annoyance and your mother’s sorrow. He guarded you from monsters when you woke up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and would stare down your bullies on the playground. You were very quickly inseparable.

When you became engaged the first time when you were ten, sixteen-year-old Steve had taken you out for ice cream, telling you not to worry too much, there was so much time before anything would happen and that everything would be ok. When the arrangement had fallen apart, he’d hugged you and whispered in your ear, “See? I’m always right.”

That was the memory you couldn’t stop thinking about as you let yourself into your stepbrother’s apartment, using the key he’d given you on the day he’d moved in. He wasn’t in his front room, so you moved all the way to the back, to the spare room he used as an art studio. You lightly knocked on the doorframe as you entered, trying not to startle him. He was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at a half-finished painting, but looked over his shoulder as soon as he heard you. There was a warm smile on his face, but it dropped as soon as he took in your expression. “What happened?” he asked as you flopped down onto his couch.

“I think I might be really fucked, Steve,” you said quietly, your hands still shaking. You couldn’t get them to stop.

“What happened?” he asked again, more forcefully this time, as he dragged a chair from the corner of the room so that he could sit right across from you.

“Your dad, he–” You stopped and shook your head. Steve’s face darkened. “I’m engaged,” you said with a helpless shrug.

“Okay,” he said evenly. “That might not be the most dire thing. You’ve been engaged before. Nothing ever comes of it.”

You sighed. “They’ve set a date this time.”

“Oh,” was all he could say at first, surprise on his face. “That’s new.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “A month from now.”

That had Steve sitting up straight. “The hell?!”

“It’s happening this time. I can feel it.”

“Hey, no,” he said, reaching out to touch your arm. “Let me try to talk some sense into him. Buy you some time. He might listen to me.”

You shook your head. “Everything’s already signed. They made me sign. I don’t think there’s any getting out of it.”

“He give you a name?”

“Ransom Drysdale.”

Before he was able to stop himself, Steve grimaced.

“Fuck,” you muttered, briefly covering your face with your hands.

“No, it’s– I’ve only met him once or twice, ok? I don’t actually know anything about him.”

“But you don’t like him.”

“He’s–” Steve paused, clearly trying to find the words that wouldn’t upset you even more, “a strong personality.” He looked at you carefully. “And he’s older than you. Older than me, even.”

“I know,” you sighed, reaching for your bag and taking out the folder. “They gave me this.”

You handed it to Steve and he paged through it. “This is intense. Do you think they gave him one about you?”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. Can’t imagine it says anything interesting.”

Steve nodded, seriously. “It’s probably pretty thin. Just the story of that time you completely freaked out when you weren’t allowed to bring Mr. BunBun to school with you.”

You grabbed the pillow next to you and hurled it at him. “You’re such a dick!” you laughed. “I’m very upset!”

He batted the pillow back at you and cackled when it hit you in the chest. “He deserves to know the kind of person he’s marrying. The kind who throws a five-alarm tantrum when she’s separated from her stuffed bunny.”

“I was eight, asshole!” You laughed again but then your brain caught on something Steve had said. “Holy shit, he’s marrying me. I’m getting married. I don’t know anything about him. He could be anyone. You don’t even like him! He could hurt me and–”

“Hey, no!” Steve interrupted quickly. “I might not know much, but I know that. He won’t do that. I’m sure of it. And if he ever even tried, I’d be there so fast. They’d never find his body.”

“Will he be kind to me?” you asked quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but you stopped him. “Be honest with me. Please.”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” you said, trying so hard not to cry, “I guess at least now we know exactly how your dad feels about me.”

Steve closed his eyes and quietly said your name. When he opened them, there was a resolved look on his face that was painfully familiar. His ‘I’m going to fix this’ face. He was intractable when he got like this. He set his jaw. “I’m going to talk to Dad.”

You shook your head. “Steve.” Your stepfather was just as intractable as his son. This would only result in a shouting match that wouldn’t go anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said resolutely.

All you could do was say “OK,” with a wan smile, knowing it was a lie. You lay down on the couch and curled up on your side. “Do you mind if I stay here for a bit?”

“Of course not. Lola good on her own for a while?”

You nodded. Your little dog was probably asleep in her kennel. “Yeah, for a while.”

“Do you mind if I keep working on this?” he asked, gesturing to his painting.

“I like watching you paint,” you said, trying to find comfort in the familiarity of something you’d done since you were small.

He stood up and turned back to his easel, and you did your best to focus on watching him paint and not think about how, if this went through, you’d have to move to Boston and you wouldn’t get to have this time with your brother anymore.

As expected, Steve’s talk with Joseph yielded no results when it came to your future. The only thing it seemed to have any effect on was their own relationship, Steve announcing to you that he was no longer speaking to his father the next time you saw him. You hadn’t expected anything else.

For your part, you spent the next week vacillating between going overboard preparing for your first meeting with Ransom—pouring over your folder on him, making salon appointments, shopping for a dress that would make the right impression—and pretending your problems didn’t exist. As such, the day of the dinner still snuck up on you. You were a nervous wreck.

The plan was for him to pick you up at your apartment, but an hour before he was supposed to arrive, you got a text from an unfamiliar number telling you to meet him at the restaurant instead.

So now you sat at the table, alone, in a new dress with your hair done. You’d arrived ten minutes early, and he was now 20 minutes late. You took a deep breath, staring at the empty seat across from you. He would show up. He had to.

Another ten minutes passed and, as you waived off the server for a third time, you let yourself consider what it would mean if your future husband had stood you up. You should go. It’d be pathetic to stay. And even if he did show up after you’d gone, it’d make a point. Show you had a backbone. You should definitely go.

Just as your hand began to inch toward your handbag on the table, the hostess came through, leading a tall, handsome man to your table. She stopped beside you and then ducked away. The man looked at you critically. He said your name like a question and, when you nodded, he sat down. He didn’t introduce himself, but he could only be Ransom.

He was dressed nicely in an expensive sweater and slacks, but much more casually than you were and looking around the restaurant than most of the other people there, too. And when he sat down, you could see the places in his sweater where it was threadbare or torn. You tried very hard to not take it as a sign of how he felt about this dinner, felt about you.

You cleared your throat to say something, you weren’t entirely sure what when he glanced at your glass of water. “You don’t drink?”

“No, I do,” you said, but when he smirked you realized how that sounded. “I can,” you amended, but that sounded odd too. “I mean, I don’t have anything against it. I was just waiting for you.”

He snorted. “Well, aren’t you polite?” His tone made it feel like the worst thing you could possibly be. He flagged down the server and ordered a glass of the Macallan 18, then huffed impatiently while you asked questions about their wine selection. You didn’t know how he could be half an hour late and make you feel bad for taking your time ordering.

Once you’d finally made your choice and the server left, you tried not to squirm as he gave you a once-over with his eyes. You felt disappointing without really knowing why. You tried to shrug off the feeling, but then Ransom said, “How old even are you?” with scorn in his voice.

You cleared your throat. “Twenty-four,” you tried to say with confidence.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

You did your best not to shrink in on yourself. Maybe he was just nervous too. It was a weird situation. But, “Didn’t they tell you about me?”

He snorted again and rolled his eyes. “Gave me a whole binder. I never opened it.”

You looked down at your empty place setting, embarrassed. You’d studied every inch of what they’d given you, hoping to show him how seriously you were taking this and he couldn’t care less. “Oh,” was all you were able to say.

He grinned a little meanly. “You got one too, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve memorized facts about me that you were ready to rattle off to impress me.”

“No,” you growled out. You weren’t going to let him make you feel small just for trying to show interest in the person you were going to have to spend the rest of your life with.

He swiped one hand over his mouth and chin. “My god,” he muttered, “this whole thing is fucking ridiculous.”

The waitress came back and set down your drinks. Ransom immediately took a large gulp of his scotch. You itched to do the same, but you suddenly felt like proving a point. Even if you weren’t entirely sure what that point was.

You were ready to order, but Ransom hadn’t glanced at his menu yet. Just as you were about to ask for a few more minutes, he said, “Go ahead and bring me another one of these right away,” and gestured with his drink in dismissal. She nodded and left.

Fuck it, you let yourself take a large drink of your wine. “Do you know what you’re going to have?” you asked, nodding to his menu.

He shook his head. “I have dinner plans after this.”

Heat shot through your whole body. “I thought these were the dinner plans.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Getting a head start on the nagging?” he asked, dryly. “Wow, it’s like we’re already married.”

You opened your mouth to do something, you weren’t sure what. Everything in your mind had gone white. But once again, Ransom beat you to it. “Alright, let’s get this done. You’re moving into my house. Fine. But I already have everything we need, so I expect you to pack light. I don’t need your shit cluttering up everything.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know how to have a conversation with him. Someone who left no room for you and seemed not to care at all about anything you had to say. And then there was the voice in your head that kept shouting about how incredibly important this dinner was to the rest of your life. And now it wasn’t even dinner. So when you opened your mouth to speak, what came out was, “I have a dog.”

He stared at you for a moment, seemingly surprised that you’d spoken at all. “What? No. Absolutely not. You’ll have to get rid of it. I hate dogs.”

You didn’t even bother to try to think through the static in your head. “She’s coming with me. I don’t care what else happens, I’m fucking bringing my dog.”

Ransom just narrowed his eyes and stared at you for a moment, then, “Fine. Just keep it away from me. And if it destroys my house, you’re getting rid of it. I’m serious.”

“She won’t,” you said, as sure of that as anything. “She’s a good girl.”

“Whatever,” he said, as the server returned with his second drink. He slid his empty glass to the end of the table, then said, “The bill,” without looking at her. As she took his empty away, he continued to you, “I don’t know why you want to deal with a dog and a baby, but…” he shrugged.

You just blinked at him, trying to catch up with the massive leap he’d just taken. “Baby? What? Who said anything about a baby?”

He laughed, loudly. “Oh my god, they didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” you asked, harshly, panic starting to build up in your chest.

“Of course, they fucking left that to me. There’s a clause in the contract,” he said, “requiring you to get pregnant with my child within the first year.”

You stared over his shoulder, you couldn't look him in the eye, horrified and speechless. You couldn’t breathe. How were you supposed to breathe?

“You seriously didn’t read your own marriage contract?” The judgment in his tone had you shrinking in on yourself. You couldn’t help it.

“They didn’t give me any time,” you said, quietly. “They just made me sign it.”

“And you always do what you’re told, don’t you? Yeah, you look like a good girl.” He said it the same way he’d called you polite when he’d first sat down with you. Like it made you weak. Stupid. You’d never thought so before, but now you wondered if he was right.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He chuckled humorlessly. “We agree on that,” he said. “This whole thing is fucked.”

At some point, without your notice, the server had returned with Ransom’s card and the receipt. He signed it quickly, then stood up. “Listen, now, at least, we can go back to our parents, tell them we met, chatted, got to know each other. Everything is hunky dory. And then do whatever we want for the next three weeks. Right now, I’m going to try to salvage my night. You go do,” he gestured vaguely at you, “whatever you need to do. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

And then he was gone and you were alone.

You sat in the back seat of the car on the way back to your apartment, running over every moment of your evening. You kept thinking about the way he’d looked at you, talked to you. A baby. You were supposed to have a baby with him. A child that you’d have to raise. By yourself, judging by how invested in all this he seemed to be. Forty, fifty years of him looking at you like that, talking to you like that. And a baby. You leaned forward and asked the driver to take you to your parents’ house instead.

Once you arrived, you said you needed to speak to your stepfather urgently and were shown to his study. You stood in the middle of the room, too anxious to sit down, and waited. Everyone was making you wait tonight.

Several minutes later, Joseph finally came in. “We weren’t expecting you tonight,” he said. “How did it go?”

You ignored his question, which you guessed was an answer in itself. “Please don’t make me do this,” you pleaded.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, disappointed, and moved over to his bar, pouring himself two fingers of decanted whiskey. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“It was. It was awful. He’s– I can’t do this. Please, please don’t make me.” Your voice broke, but you couldn’t be embarrassed about it, not when you were staring down an entire lifetime with him.

“Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. You’ll be fine. This is important. To all of us.”

“It’s not nerves!” You were close to shouting, suddenly. “You weren’t there. You don’t know. There have to be other families we need things from. It doesn’t have to be this family, does it? It doesn’t have to be right now. Please, please, anything else. I’m begging you, don’t make me marry him, have a child with him.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh, that’s what this is about. It won’t feel as scary once the baby is here. You’ll make an excellent mother.”

You just stared at him, agape. He wasn’t listening to anything you had to say. “How could you not tell me that was part of the contract? I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have signed!”

His face hardened at that. “You were naive to not expect it. Of course, children are part of this. I admit that the timing is a little fast, but Harlan insisted.”

“Joseph, please listen to me. I can’t. I can’t. Please. If you care about me at all, you won’t make me do this.”

“You’re being ridiculous. It’s done. Everything’s signed. You signed. Now,” he said and took a drink, “it’s getting late. It’s high time you went home. Hopefully, you’ll be able to calm yourself down there.” And then he left the room, ignoring you as your whole world fell apart.

As you left, you passed your mother in the hall. Neither of you said anything.

When you got home, Steve was waiting for you, having already let himself in, holding Lola in one arm. “How did it go?” he asked seriously. You shook your head and finally let the tears fall. He pulled you into his arms, smushing you against your dog, and gently guided you into your home.

Part Two

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 2 months

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Late Night Snack » Steve Rogers/Captain America

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Steve and Y/N wake up in the middle of the night for a late night snack.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, size kink, pet names (honey, sweetheart)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“Hey, Captain.” You smiled, walking into the Avengers kitchen.

“Hey, Y/N. What are you doing up?” Steve asks.

“I wanted a snack.” You say.

You opened the freezer, reaching in to grab your tub of ice cream. You grabbed a spoon out of the drawer next to the refrigerator and took a seat next to Steve at the table.

“What are you doing up?” You asked, opening your ice cream.

“I wanted a snack too.” He says.

You hummed and took a bite of ice cream. Steve took the opportunity to take in your appearance. His eyes wandered down to your breasts, getting an amazing view due to the tank top you were wearing. He licked his lips when he noticed your nipples poking through your tank top, his cock harden in his sweatpants.

“Are you ok, Steve?” You asked.

“Uhh…” He cleared his throat. “Yes I am.” He says.

Your eyes began to wander his perfectly sculpted body. Your eyes looked further down his body, noticing the bulge in his sweatpants. You bit your lower lip, thinking about what his cock would feel like inside of you. Steve noticed you rubbing your thighs together.

“Y/N?” Steve says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yea?” You asked.

You two looked at each other, eyes filled with lust. The next thing you knew, you and Steve kissed each other hungrily, moaning into the kiss. Steve stood up, bring you with him and placed you on the table. You spread your legs so he could get in between them. You moaned when his bulge rubbed against your covered pussy. Steve’s hands found the bottom of your tank top and pulled it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the kitchen.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Steve breathes.

He dips his head down, kissing along your collarbone and making his way to your breasts. You gasped when his teeth nibbled at your skin, marking you up. One of his hands fondled your breasts while his other hand disappeared inside of your sleep shorts and panties. His fingers rubbed in between your wet folds, blindly finding your clit.

“You’re so fucking wet. Is it because of me?” He asks.

“It’s all because of you, Stevie.” You moaned.

His fingers circled your tight entrance before sliding two fingers inside of you. You involuntarily spread your legs wider to give him more access. Breathy moans left your lips as your nails dug in his strong biceps.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned, tilting your head back.

Steve moved his lips up to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. Your cunt clenched around his fingers.

“Stevie…” You gasped.

“Tell me what you need, honey.” Steve says against your skin.

“Fuck me.” You say in almost a whisper.

Steve removed his fingers from your pussy causing you to whine. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulled them down with your panties, dropping them on the floor. He pulled down his sweatpants, revealing his hard cock. He pumped it in his hand a couple times before lining it up at your tight entrance, rubbing his tip between your wet folds.

“Oh fuck…” You gasped when his tip slid past your tight entrance. “You’re so big!” You moaned.

“You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” Steve says.

His hands gripped your waist as he began thrusting. His thrusts started off slow and then got faster. Steve captured your lips in a hungry kiss. You two were moaning into each other’s mouths. You placed one of your hands on the back of his head, tugging on his hair causing him to moan at the feeling.

“I’ve been dreaming of this for so long.” You moaned, tilting your head back.

“Yea? You’ve always wanted to get fucked by your Captain?” He asks.

“Mmm yes.” You moaned, your eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ve been dreaming about this too, sweetheart.” Steve moans.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and locking your ankles behind his back. Your nails dug into his back, leaving red line marks behind. One of Steve’s hands left your waist to rub your clit causing you to arch your back in pleasure. That created a new angle for Steve. A pornographic moan left your lips when his tip hit your sweet spot.

“Right there!” You gasped. “Right fucking there!” You moaned.

His fingers rubbed your clit faster as his tip continues to hit your sweet spot repeatedly.

“Stevie!” You moaned.

“Yes, honey?” Steve pants.

“Faster!” You begged.

Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He thrusted faster to the point where your lips were parted and inaudible moans left your lips. You felt your orgasm coming closer and closer like it was about to come crashing down on you.

“S-Steve, I—” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

“Give it to me, sweetheart.” Steve says.

His fingers rubbed faster on your clit, just enough to send you over the edge. Your jaw dropped, an inaudible moan left your lips as you came. Steve’s grip tightened on your waist, feeling his orgasm coming closer and closer. His thrusts became sloppy as he came inside of you. He thrusted a few more times before stopping. You two looked at each other breathless before Steve kissed you hungrily.

“Best late night snack ever.” Steve says.

“Definitely.” You agreed.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

#captain steve rogers #captain rogers #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #chris evans characters #avengers #marvel #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers smut #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #avenger!reader

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avelera · 20 days

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Re-watched Captain America: Winter Soldier and First Avenger (in that order lol) and hey guys

Remember that time Steve woke up in New York City 70 years later and panicked, thinking he was in HYDRA hands and haha, actually it turns out, he kind of was??

Also remember that bit where he found out in the most deadpan way possible (thanks Nick) that everyone he had ever known and loved was dead or aged to to the point of death in the blink of an eye, and no one ever actually like, gave him a moment's sympathy for the fact his entire world ended in a split-second of self-sacrifice that ended up just being one battle in a war that never ended?

Remember when he found out that the only person left who loved him, Peggy, only occasionally remembered him in moments of lucidity haha and then it turned out that the only other person who still lived and who loved him, Bucky, also only remembered him in moment's of lucidity?? Good times, good fucking times, I'm an emotional wreck about it

And one last thing, because I will never ever fucking ever let this grudge go, remember that time Tony fucking Stark who I mostly love but in the context of Steve Rogers specifically I want to tear him to shreds, decided to have beef with a literal traumatized 20-something year old war veteran whose entire world just dissolved into nothing in the 70 years he was on ice, and Tony fucking Stark decided to pick a fight with this guy and rag on him 24/7, despite being in his 40s himself and completely comfortable, stable, and with insane levels of wealth and privilege, because his fucking dad who has been dead for decades apparently loved this guy more, something that would have bewildered Steve who like, barely knew Howard outside of work, and that Steve had fucking nothing to do with Howard's neglect of his son because it all happened while he was unconscious?

Don't even get me started on Civil War, we will be here all day in how these supposedly equal sides weren't even slightly equal in morality or logic at all, but I will die on the hill of Tony fucking Stark was being a Grade A fucking asshole for his stupid man-child fight he picked with Steve Rogers when you actually objectively view Steve's life story as a human being instead of a symbol that he was literally forced to be

Whew. Ok. I'm ok now.

...

AND ANOTHER THING...!

#steve rogers #captain america #catws #caws #catfs #cacw #seriously though I could rant for literal days #look i mostly love tony but I can't stand the beef he has with steve it is so messed up to me and severely damaged my love of the character

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sisu-rove-sgr · 2 years

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This is actually a trading card I saw online that I found amusing.

#marvel #funny #captain america #comics #cute #spiderman #character: steve rogers/captain america #steve rogers #peter parker #being goofy #silly #trading cards #lemonade

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deliciousangelfestival · 15 days

Text

Love Me A Little

Character: Secretary!Bucky x Female!Reader

Words: 1,539

Summary: "Love me, even just a little." When she uttered those words, they struck Bucky like a bolt of lightning, leaving him utterly bewildered. After all, he was just a secretary—his world and hers seemed galaxies apart.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

A/N: Check out the male version of this story - Be Mine.

It was already 1:00 a.m., and the streets lay deserted, easing Bucky's drive. The sleek black Bugatti smoothly entered the apartment basement car park. Just one more turn, and he would find his usual parking spot.

"Screech." The sound of tires screeching echoed in the empty basement.

"Huh?" Bucky's foot instinctively hit the brake as he caught sight of the familiar figure standing in front of his car.

"Y/N?"

It's you. The sole daughter of the Rogers family, the heiress to Starlight Enterprises, a conglomerate spanning oil and gas, telecom, retail, and financial services.

You had fled, prompting the company to dispatch security teams in search of you.

And here you were.

Bucky stepped out of the car. "What are you doing? Don't you realize everyone's been searching for you?"

You scoffed, your tone laced with defiance. "So what? At least everyone will learn that I'm serious. I refuse to marry that guy."

Bucky understood the depth of your frustration. Your family was orchestrating an engagement between you and their business partner. But you vehemently opposed it. He comprehended why; the man they wanted you to marry was notorious—a playboy and a drug addict.

Unable to sway your resolve, Bucky carefully chose his words. "You should go home."

He reached out, gently clasping your hand, his touch pleading, wanting to guide you to safety.

But you recoiled, pushing his hand away. "I don't want to."

Bucky's heart sank, his expression pained. "Your family is worried about you."

Your retort was sharp, cutting. "Are they really? Or are they just afraid of losing their golden ticket?"

A tense silence enveloped them as Bucky grappled with the weight of your words. As the secretary to your brother, Steve, the Vice President, he was privy to the inner workings of wealthy families, aware that most marriages were arranged for business purposes.

Like Steve and Peggy, who defied the odds and found happiness together despite the pressures of their world, you refused to succumb to a loveless marriage.

With teary eyes, you gazed at Bucky, desperation etched in every tear. "I'll tell my parents I'll marry you instead."

Bucky sighed, feeling the weight of your request once more. You had asked him this before, seeking refuge from the loveless future awaiting you. Each time, he had declined.

"Not everything will always go your way," he murmured, his words heavy with resignation. "You've been living in a bubble as Princess Rogers." He paused, unable to bring himself to utter the name of your family's empire. "Now you're facing reality."

You fought back the tears, stung by his harshness. It was the first time Bucky had spoken so coldly to you. "Do you think my feelings for you are fake?"

"My whole life has been arranged from A to Z without my opinion," you continued, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

"The only thing I have is my dream of us living happily ever after. Can I at least have that?" Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you struggled to contain your emotions.

"Stop dreaming. Go home," Bucky commanded, his voice firm as he pointed behind you.

'Screech.'

With a screech of tires, a white Mercedes arrived to collect you. It dawned on you that Bucky had already informed the security team of your whereabouts.

As you watched Bucky walk away, a surge of determination washed over you. Clenching your fists, you whispered, "I'll show you."

########

A few days later

The entire Rogers family had gathered for tonight's dinner, including your grandparents, Thomas Rogers, the esteemed founder of the company. Bucky joined the dinner as well, having become one of the company's key figures, seated right beside you.

Despite the gravity of your previous conversation, you seemed to have put it aside, acting as if nothing had happened when you saw Bucky.

The dinner unfolded in its usual extravagant manner, with everyone engaging in polite small talk until dessert was served.

Your grandmother, Anna, broke the silence. "It's wonderful that we could all come together like this. We must discuss our youngest's engagement."

Your mother, Sophia, nodded, her smile gentle. "I met with them four days ago, and we've already ironed out all the details, from the church to the wedding."

Bucky's mind raced. Four days ago? That's precisely when you had gone missing.

Anna's excitement bubbled over. "This wedding will be magnificent. I can hardly contain myself."

But only the two women seemed enthused; your grandfather, Thomas, and your father, Benjamin, remained stoic, while your brother Steve stayed silent.

Then, a sudden sound cut through the air—a sharp "clank" as a fork stabbed into a plate.

All eyes turned to you.

"I don't like it," you stated flatly, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Sophia's hand hesitated mid-air, poised to call the waitress, but froze when she heard her daughter's words.

"I don't like anything," you continued, your voice ringing with defiance. "I don't like that person, the wedding, anything."

"Y/N, stop," Sophia interjected, her tone tinged with frustration. "We've discussed this."

"Discuss?" you retorted bitterly. "Do you mean when you ignore my words?"

Anna's patience wore thin. "Y/N, enough with the tantrum. This concerns the entire family."

You crossed your arms defiantly. "I refuse to marry him."

Anna rose from her seat, ready to reprimand you, but a sharp glance from Thomas halted her in her tracks. Without a word, she sank back down, chastened by her husband silent command.

Thomas fixed you with a steady gaze, the same gaze that had once spoiled you as his beloved granddaughter. "Explain to me the reason why."

"I don't love him," you declared, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love someone else."

A sudden palpitation coursed through Bucky's chest. He sensed the situation spiraling out of control.

"Whose the person you love?" Thomas inquired, his voice firm.

You didn't hesitate. "Bucky."

'Ba-dump'

The room fell into stunned silence, broken only by the rapid thudding of Bucky's heart echoing in his ears, his mind racing as he grappled with the revelation unfolding before him.

Bucky rose hastily, his intention to apologize to the Chairman halted as your hand clasped his, the determination in your eyes stopping him in his tracks. It was the first time he had seen you like this, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

As all eyes turned towards you, you swallowed hard before speaking up. "And I'm pregnant. Bucky is the father."

The room erupted in chaos as Sophia and Anna screamed in unison.

"What?" they exclaimed in disbelief.

"Bucky! How dare you touch my daughter!" Sophia lunged forward, her hand reaching for Bucky's hair, but Benjamin intervened, restraining her.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest and deny the accusation, but the words stuck in his throat. He was taken by surprise, too.

"Silence," Thomas, the Chairman's authoritative voice, cut through the commotion, bringing an abrupt end to the chaos.

He rose from his seat, followed by Benjamin and Steve, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.

Fixing Bucky with a steely gaze, Thomas uttered just two words. "A word."

Bucky swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he replied, "Yes, Sir," bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation.

########

In Benjamin's office, Bucky stood before the three men, the weight of their scrutiny heavy upon him as they remained silent. Finally, Thomas broke the tension with a direct question. "Is everything true?"

Bucky knelt before his boss and friend, his voice steady but his heart pounding. "No, sir. None of it is true. I've never laid a hand on her."

Thomas's expression softened, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "Good."

Bucky let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, grateful for Thomas's understanding.

But then Benjamin spoke up, his tone contemplative. "Then why don't you like my daughter?"

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion as he lifted his head to meet Benjamin's gaze.

"She's better off with you than with that spoiled man," Steve interjected, his voice firm.

Benjamin nodded in agreement, his eyes holding a hint of understanding.

Bucky was taken aback. "What?"

Thomas leaned forward, his voice grave. "The wedding arrangement was orchestrated by my wife and Y/N's mother. I'm relieved my granddaughter took a stand today."

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, a mixture of relief and gratitude in his eyes. "I nearly lost my cool when she said she was pregnant. I almost punched you. Thank goodness it was a lie."

Bucky struggled to find words, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.

Steve's tone softened. "Stay with her. I won't allow my sister to marry that man."

As the men continued their discussion, Bucky's mind raced, unable to fully comprehend the depth of their support.

Excusing himself, Bucky closed the door behind him, only to find you waiting for him outside.

Your worried expression melted his defenses as you approached him.

"What did they say?" you asked, searching his eyes for answers.

Bucky hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing."

You breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him into a tight hug, his body stiffening like a log. Lifting your head to meet his gaze, determination flashed in your eyes.

"I'll make you love me," you vowed softly. "Even just a little."

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Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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oh-my-damn · 2 years

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Ethereal

A/N: I couldn't stop thinking about living next to puppy Steve and not knowing he's cap. So here's a mini-series!

Series Masterlist

Part 2

Pairing: TWS!Steve Rogers x Neighbor!Reader

Summary: When you move into your new apartment the last thing you'd expected was the greek god living next door to you.

Warnings: Steve is a literal golden retriever, riding on a motorcycle, mutual pining (a lot), reader doesn't know Steve is Cap, alcohol consumption, being awkward, first date vibes, Steve is a cutie.

Word Count: 5300

The beautiful divider is by @firefly-graphics

When you found a cheap apartment in an old but well-kept building in Brooklyn Heights, you were relieved.

You'd been searching for a new place to live for a while, after you found out the building you'd been living in was going co-op.

You had no means to pay for that old apartment, and even if you did, you wouldn't have wanted to. It was run down, new problems seemingly appearing every day, and there was no way you would have tied yourself to that place for good.

So when you found your new apartment you were excited; the building was old, but clearly well taken care of, and it was in a safe neighborhood. You lived in Williamsburg before, so you had no problem with staying in Brooklyn. In fact, you preferred it.

It took you about an hour to get to university, but you didn't mind the travel time. You would always spend that time studying, catching up on whatever you were missing, or getting ahead of next weeks readings.

You'd also always loved riding on the train; it could be hot, and cramped, and uncomfortable, but it also provided you with a sort of peace. You enjoyed people watching, or gazing out the window with your headphones on. Riding on the train provided a forced tranquility, because you knew, no matter what, you had to spend an hour or so on there. And so it forced you to disconnect with the outside world and in turn, connect with yourself. Even if it was just for a little while.

The day you moved into your new apartment you remember a feeling of curiosity. You remember lugging your boxes up to the top floor and down the hall, unlocking your front door as your gaze moved to the door further down the hall.

Your neighbor lived at the end of the hallway, while you lived to the right. You didn't know anything about who occupied the space; the only thing you knew was that someone lived there, by the doormat placed on the floor.

The apartment didn't have a specific name attached to its mailbox, only initials, and that was both intriguing and unsettling.

S. G. R.

You've met many people in your life who value their privacy, but not even providing a name on their own mailbox seemed excessive to you. Your first thought was how much of a hassle it must be to have packages delivered - you know for a fact that your online shopping habit would severely suffer if your name wasn't properly visible on your mailbox.

You moved in with no issues, other than a bit of sweat and a few groans of exhaustion.

Within a month, you'd gotten used to living there; it was almost like you'd lived there your entire life. You'd always leave early in the morning to get to class, and you'd often arrive home after dinner time, choosing to stay on campus to study, or go out with your friends.

All in all, it was a normal apartment, and it allowed you to live a completely ordinary life.

Until that fateful day back in March.

You arrive home earlier than usual. The entire day has been a disaster; first you missed your train, resulting in you being late for class, and then you spilled your coffee down the front of your shirt as you were walking across campus. When class was over, you'd talked yourself into staying and catch up on your reading, only to realize you'd forgotten the book for the course you needed to catch up on.

With a heavy sigh, and even heavier footsteps, you trudge up the stairs to your apartment. You're cursing yourself for forgetting your book, because you know that once you're inside, your urges will get the best of you, and you'll probably end up watching TV instead of catching up on your studies.

You release another heavy sigh when you reach your floor, turning the corner in the direction of your front door. Your eyes are locked on your feet as they carry you along, your bones tired and exhausted from this utter disappointment of a day.

But then your ears perk up when you hear the familiar sound of a key sliding into a lock.

Your eyes flit up to look ahead of you, breath almost hitching when they land on a tall blonde man, his broad back hunched over slightly as he unlocks his door.

Your feet still, making you stop just a few steps from your front door. The change in movement makes the stranger ahead of you glance over his shoulder, his brows furrowing for a moment before he turns around to face you.

"Hi," he says, grazing you with a dazzling smile, "You must be my new neighbor."

His voice is deep yet gentle, matching the hypnotizing features on his face. A strong jaw, chiseled cheekbones, matched with a pair of bright blue eyes and pink, plump lips.

He's fucking ethereal.

You can practically feel your heart hammering against your ribcage as you take in his full form, eyes gazing over his 6'2 frame. Broad shoulders to match his back, curving into a narrow waist, and legs that go on for days. His short, blonde hair is a little mussed up, his eyebrows raised in a question.

He's wearing a navy blue jacket, which matches his jeans, and a white t-shirt underneath. Entirely ordinary yet painfully breathtaking.

You're not sure you've ever seen a specimen quite like him.

When he tilts his head ever so slightly, you snap out of the daze he brought you in.

"Yeah, uh, hi. I guess I am. I just moved in."

You gesture towards your front door, and the stranger nods in acknowledgement.

"I heard some ruckus," he chuckles, bright white teeth practically blinding you, "I'm sorry I didn't come around to introduce myself earlier, I've been a little preoccupied with work."

You wave a dismissive hand as you smile, "Oh, no worries. I know how it is. But I'm glad we finally met, I was starting to wonder who lived next door."

"Yeah?" He asks with a grin, "Why?"

"Because I've never seen anyone," you chuckle, "I was starting to suspect it was an investment property or something. Figured no one lived there."

The stranger laughs, the sound a bubbling melodic tune that makes your heart beat excitedly. It's a beautiful, genuine sound, that makes you feel special in a way you can't quite explain.

"Oh, I live here, don't you worry," he replies, his smile turning softer, "I've been away for a little while, but I'm back now. I did hear you move in, though, but I had to leave for work early the next day, so I didn't have time to come by and welcome you to the building."

You nod, "Okay, I see. What do you do for work?"

His brows furrow momentarily before he shrugs, "You know, I work jobs here and there. I travel a lot, though."

"You're an easy neighbor to have, then," you joke, tilting your head, "I guess I won't have to worry about you making a noise complaint."

He laughs again, the sound is practically addicting to your ears, "No, you won't have to worry about that, I promise. I usually keep to myself."

You nod and hum, holding eye contact for a moment longer before your eyes dart to your front door, "Good to know.. Well, it was really nice to meet you, uhh..?"

He smiles, hesitating for a moment before he says, "Steve. Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you too."

Two days later, you're out for drinks with your friends, excitedly telling them about the greek god living next door to you.

"I swear to god, he's fucking ethereal. Like, insane. I can't even explain it."

You take another large sip of your drink as your friends giggle.

"You have to show me a picture!" Janine says excitedly, eyes wide as she looks at you, "Come on, show us his social media!"

"That's the thing!" You exclaim, placing your drink perhaps a bit too harshly back on the table, "I tried to look him up but I couldn't find any social media accounts for him. It was so frustrating because apparently he shares a name with one of those Avenger guys, so it was practically impossible."

You take another eager sip as your friend, Melanie, narrows her eyes at you, "What do you mean he shares a name with one of the Avengers? Who?"

You wave your hand dismissively, "I don't fucking know those guys, you know that, but when I googled his name all of these articles for those guys showed up so I couldn't find anything on him. I didn't feel like sifting through all of that."

Your friends share a knowing look before Melanie leans closer to you on the table, "What did you say his name was?"

"Steve," you chirp, sipping your drink through the straw happily, "Steve Rogers."

Your friends share another look, although this one seems more shocked than before, making you look between the two of them.

"What?" You ask, watching their expressions, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing!" Janine immediately interjects, glancing quickly at Melanie before she looks back at you, "It's nothing. But that sucks, you gotta take a sneaky picture next time you're able to."

You snort, "Okay, I'll try, but I haven't seen him since we met the other day. He gets really busy with work, apparently."

"I'm sure he does..." Melanie replies, taking another sip of her drink.

After one too many cocktails, you called an uber to get back home. You're trying to stay focused as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, swaying ever so slightly with every step.

"Almost there," you mumble as you reach the final step, "God I'm tired.."

You round the corner and head towards your door, pulling your keys out of your bag.

Right as you find the right one, and struggle to slide it into the lock, your neighbors' door opens.

"Hey," a deep voice says, making you glance in its direction, "You okay?"

Your eyes find a pair of beautiful cerulean ones, your cheeks growing warm at his presence.

"Yeah," you drunkenly giggle, moving your attention back to your key as you try to slide it into the lock, "I'm fine, just need to figure out how to unlock the door.."

You hear a quiet chuckle and then approaching footsteps before Steve is standing right beside you, a large hand reaching out to cover your own.

"Here, let me help you."

He easily unlocks your door, handing the keys back to you with a smile.

"Thank you," you hiccup, smiling goofily up at him, "You didn't have to, I could have figured it out myself.. Eventually.."

"Yeah," he chuckles, smiling down at you, "But then you'd probably have spent half your night out here."

You giggle again, shaking your head, "Noooo, I would have figured it out."

"Mhmm," Steve hums, placing a strong hand on the small of your back when you stumble where you stand, "Sure. You need help getting inside?"

"No no," you immediately respond, frowning up at him seriously, "I'm a big girl, I can handle myself."

"Okay, big girl," Steve chuckles as you step over the threshold, "Just make sure to drink some water, okay? And maybe some painkillers, too."

"Will do," you grin, gripping the door handle to keep you steady, "Thank you, Steve."

"Anytime."

3 days later you're walking home from school when you notice a motorcycle parked in front of your building. You look it over for a minute, impressed by how well kept it is despite it being an older model. You don't know a lot about motorcycles, but you know enough to realize it's a Harley-Davidson and that the design is a classic.

Your dad taught you what little knowledge you possess on motorcycles since he owned a Harley himself back when you were a kid.

You hesitantly let your fingers graze over the cushioned leather seat, the material soft against your fingertips.

"This is nice," you mumble to yourself absentmindedly, brows furrowing momentarily. It's clean, practically shiny, which makes you wonder where it's usually parked. Whoever owns it must have a covered parking space for it.

Just as your fingers lift from the leather cushion, the building door opens. Your eyes flit up to the figure walking down the steps to your building, heading in your direction, and you feel a flurry of butterflies when you recognize the man approaching you.

He's wearing a brown leather jacket this time, with a grey t-shirt underneath, a pair of blue jeans to finish off the look.

You can practically see the outline of his undoubtedly defined abs through the tight t-shirt and the thought alone makes your cheeks heat up.

"Hi Steve," you say with a smile as he walks in your direction.

His face splits into a wide smile, shoving his hands into his pockets once he descends the steps and walks over to where you're standing by the bike, "Hey neighbor. Nice to see you again. How's your head?"

Haven't had any complaints so far...

You chuckle, resisting the urge to make the dirty joke that popped into your mind, a small shake of your head as you speak, "That was 3 days ago. Hangover is long gone. But thank you for helping me inside, that was nice of you."

"Of course," he beams, a bashful shrug of his shoulders, "It was nothing. What else are neighbors for, right?"

"Right," you nod, smiling shyly when your eyes flit down to the motorcycle in an effort to hide your flushing cheeks.

"You like it?" Steve asks when he notices your gaze trailing over the bike, "Just pulled it out of storage today. Figured it was time to take it for a ride, now that the weather is getting warmer."

Your eyes dart up to meet his, brows raised in surprise, "This is yours?"

"Yeah," Steve replies, patting the leather seat as if it was a horse, "I used to have a different one but I like this newer model, too. Drives like a dream."

"Of course it does," you snort, fingers lightly touching the sleek silver on the side, "It's a Soft Slim, they're spectacular. Harley does good work in general, but they certainly stepped their game up with this model."

Steve quirks a brow at you, his eyes slowly moving over your face as you continue looking at his bike, "You know motorcycles?"

You shrug, "A little bit. My dad is a Harley-Davidson enthusiast, so I know some. Not a lot, though. But I know this model. She's a beaut."

"Yeah, she is," Steve chuckles, his head tilting slightly as he looks at you, "I was just about to go for a ride. Care to join me?"

The brisk spring air breezing through your hair send shivers down your spine as you race down the almost deserted highway. Steve takes an exit, heading towards New Jersey, and you cling to him as your arms are wrapped around his waist.

He's in complete control of the bike in a way that seems almost effortless; it moves with him in every turn, and even at high speeds, you sense no hesitation in him.

It almost feels like flying.

Your arms tighten their hold a little more when the cold air nips at the bare skin on your neck, instinctively burrowing your face into his back.

He tilts his head slightly, and lifts his shoulder, seemingly inviting you to tuck your face into the crook of his neck.

You only hesitate for a moment before you bury your face in his neck, pressing your chest to his back, his warm skin heating you up almost instantly. He tilts his head more to give you proper space, leaning his back into your chest.

Your arms tighten in response, a small smile grazing your lips as you breathe in deeply. His clean and fresh scent envelopes you, making the shivers running down your back happen for a very different reason than before.

Your thighs tighten where they are on the outer side of his, holding onto him more firmly, and by all accounts, it appears he's enjoying it.

He speeds up experimentally, making you let out a small squeak before you hold onto him even tighter, and you swear you hear the melodic sound of his laugh before it's swallowed up by the wind.

Eventually Steve brings you back home, the city of Brooklyn enveloped in darkness, the lampposts on the side of the road the only thing lighting your way.

He drives into a spot in front of the building and you reluctantly unwrap your arms from his waist, sliding off the bike.

He parks the bike and gets off, standing in front of you with a soft smile on his lips. His cheeks are the faintest shade of pink, probably from the cold, and his hair is mussed up in a cute way that makes you yearn to run your fingers through it.

You smile up at him, another small shiver running down your spine, and Steve immediately notices. He shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders, "I'm sorry, I should have figured you'd get cold. I hope it wasn't too bad?"

He has no idea you've been shivering this entire time, or that your shivers are triggered by something other than the cold.

"It's okay," you respond with a warm smile, "I wasn't cold while you were driving, you're surprisingly hot."

Steve's lips lift into a goofy grin, making you immediately backtrack, "Oh my god, uh, I mean warm. You're surprisingly warm."

"I got it, don't worry," he chuckles, placing a protective hand on the small of your back before he starts guiding you in the direction of your building, "Let me walk you up."

You chuckle, walking beside him up the steps, "I don't think it counts as walking me up when you're going the same direction yourself."

He snorts and shakes his head, "Probably not. But I would have done it if I didn't live here, too."

"Such a gentleman," you muse, your fingers gripping the hem of his jacket. It smells like him, that clean, fresh scent, and you'd want to drown in that smell if you could.

"I try," he jokes, grinning at you quickly.

You reach your apartment door, and once you're standing in front of it, you slide his jacket off your shoulders, "Thank you for lending this to me. That was nice."

"Even if it was short lived," Steve responds as he takes his jacket from you, "I'm sorry I didn't give it to you before we left on the drive."

"Steve, don't worry about it," you reply earnestly, "I promise, I wasn't cold. Not until I had to unwrap myself from you, at least."

Steve's eyes lock on yours, a tension filling the small space between the two of you as you look up at him. His smile is soft, gentle, a quiet hum leaving his lips as he nods.

"I'm sorry you had to do that, then."

"It's alright," you grin teasingly, "Maybe I'll get to do it again some time."

"I would love that," Steve immediately responds, a wide smile breaking out on his lips, "For there to be a next time, I mean. Doesn't have to be a drive, either."

"No?" You tease, your head tilting as your eyes stay locked on his, "What did you have in mind?"

"A cup of coffee?" He asks, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit hallway.

"I like coffee," you smile, nodding, "I'd love to."

"It's a date," he firmly replies, his fingers fiddling with the keys in his hand, "Maybe in the next few days?"

"Sure!" You beam up at him, immediately reaching into your bag, "Let me give you my number, that might make it easier to plan."

"Oh, uh, yeah, okay," Steve responds, hands clasping over his pockets almost as if he's unsure where his phone is.

When he brings out a flip phone, you snort. "That's your phone?"

Steve's cheeks tinge pink, this time certainly not from the cold, a small nod of his head, "Yeah, I uh.. I'm not really good with technology. Needed something easy."

You chuckle, "Okay, fair enough."

You take his phone, putting your number in and sending yourself a text. "There. Now we have each others numbers. Just text me when you have time to grab that cup of coffee."

"Will do," Steve responds, lingering for a moment as he stands in front of you.

When he suddenly leans down and places a quick kiss on your cheek, your breath hitches, and you fight the urge to pull him closer.

"I had a great time," he says as he takes a few steps backwards, in the direction of his apartment, "Have a good night."

"Goodnight, Steve."

A few days pass without you running into Steve in the hallway again. It's also been very quiet, you haven't heard a peep from your neighbor, which is surprising because the walls aren't that thick. You can always hear your downstairs neighbor, especially if they're listening to music or have people over, so you're surprised you never hear anything from Steve.

No movement, no accidental run ins, no noises. Nothing. Only silence.

It makes you wonder if he's even home.

A week after your bike ride, you finally hear from him.

You're sitting on your couch, watching one of your favorite shows on TV while binging a tub of ice cream. It's Saturday night, and you weren't in the mood to go out even though your friends tried to convince you. It'd been a long week at university and the only thing you were in the mood for this weekend was to stay at home in your sweats and watch silly sitcoms to get your mind to relax.

You phone chimes just after 8pm, alerting you to a text message.

You pick up your phone while licking your spoonful of ice cream clean, your eyes flicking from the TV to your phone screen. Your brows raise in surprise when you see who it's from, a snort leaving your lips.

Steve Rogers: How's your Saturday night?

You: Oh hello there, stranger. I was starting to think perhaps you'd moved

Steve Rogers: I'm sorry, I had a work emergency I had to take care of. I've been gone for the past few days, just got back. How has your week been?

Your brows furrow at his response. What does this guy do for work?

The last time you asked, his response was pretty vague, but he obviously does something that's important enough for him to leave without notice. Often.

You: It's been alright, nothing exciting to report. Mainly just studying and classes. How's yours been?

Steve Rogers: A little rough. Had to deal with a tough project at work, but it's over now, luckily. At home licking my wounds now

You: Wounds? Literal or metaphorical?

Steve Rogers: Little of both

You blink in surprise, putting down your ice cream to be able to text quicker.

You: What? Are you hurt?

Steve Rogers: I'll be okay, I'm just tired. I'm sorry I didn't follow up on our coffee date, though. I hope you didn't lose faith in me

You: Was just about to, but then you texted, so I'll give you another chance

Steve Rogers: Yeah? When do you have time?

Steve Rogers: Are you busy right now?

Your brows raise in surprise at the double text as well as the question.

You: It's a little late for coffee, don't you think?

Steve Rogers: How about tea, then?

You manage to tidy yourself up a little bit, tossing on a tank-top instead of the oversized shirt you were wearing when there's a knock on your door.

You're still in your sweats from earlier, but you don't really mind that; he messaged you with very short notice, so he couldn't exactly be expecting you to look all dressed up.

You unlock your door before opening it, grinning up at Steve when he comes into view, "Hey there."

"Hi," Steve smiles, his hands shoved into his pockets, "Nice to see you again."

You let your eyes trail over his form; he's in a white t-shirt, one that's tight and allows you to see the firm outline of his torso (you suspect tight t-shirts are his signature, by now), and you apparently guessed right on keeping your sweats on, because he's in a pair of his own. A grey pair, to be exact.

Your eyes move up to take in the features of his face, lingering on his beautiful, baby blue eyes and pink plump lips. But then your brows instantly furrow when you notice the small mark on his cheekbone.

"Oh," you breathe out, instinctively stepping closer, and before you can even stop yourself, you reach up, letting your fingers gently touch the skin right below the mark, "Are you okay?"

You can tell Steve tenses at your touch, making you immediately remove your hand before you step back again, mumbling, "Uh, sorry, I shouldn't-"

"No, it's alright," Steve interrupts, putting up a hand to stop you, "Don't worry, I was just caught off guard. It hurts a little, but it'll go away soon. Promise."

"Okay," you reply with a small nod, smiling softly as your eyes meet his. Then you step aside, gesturing to your apartment, "Well, come on in."

Steve smiles as he walks inside, continuing further as you close the door behind him. He wanders into the open kitchen, eyes moving over the space and to the living room area.

"This is nice," he hums, placing his hands in his pockets, "I like what you did with the place."

You chuckle, "Thanks. I only buy the finest Ikea furniture."

Steve lets out a melodic laugh, following your movement when you walk into the kitchen. You reach up to pull open the cupboard as you ask, "So, what kind of tea do you like?"

You don't hear a response immediately, but you almost jump in surprise when you suddenly hear his voice from right behind you, "What kinds do you have?"

You glance over your shoulder, eyes locking with the blonde man towering over you. You smirk, "Well, you tell me. Seems like you can see better than I can."

Steve snorts, stepping closer before his attention is pulled to the inside of the cupboard. He reaches up, his chest brushing against your back when he grabs for a packet and places it on the counter in front of you, "I like this one."

You release a quiet, unsteady breath when you feel the warmth of him pressing against your back, your fingers reaching for the packet of tea.

"Black tea," you hum, picking two tea bags out of the box, "Good choice."

You slide a little to the side, reaching for two mugs in a different cupboard, still nervously aware of his close presence.

"I'm glad you think so," Steve hums, following your movement. He stands behind you again, taking the mugs for you when you stand up on your tip toes to reach them, "Did you know that was the kind of tea the British soldiers drank during World War II?"

Your brows raise in surprise, looking up at him over your shoulder, "No, I didn't. That's pretty cool."

Steve grins, nodding as he places the two mugs on the counter, "Yeah, uh, actually the British government bought out practically all the tea in Europe in order to be able to give them to the soldiers on the frontlines."

"Wow," you respond, your brows furrowing, "That's actually crazy. How could they even do that?"

You walk over to the kettle, filling it with water so you can boil it, while Steve moves to lean on your kitchen counter. He shrugs, "Guess they just decided it was worth it, to keep morale up."

"Hm," you hum, turning on the kettle before you turn to him, "That was really nice of them. I didn't think the government cared much about their soldiers, to be honest. All you ever hear about are the glory while they're away, and then those horror stories when they come back and have PTSD."

Steve's face falls a little, his hands going back into his pockets as he nods slowly, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Perhaps the British government cared more about their soldiers then they do here.."

"Yeah," you mumble, your fingers reaching for the packet to fiddle with it, "My brother was actually in the army.."

"He was?" Steve asks curiously, "For how long?"

"A long time," you sigh, "Too long. He wasn't the same when he came back home.."

"That happens," Steve replies quietly, "A lot, unfortunately."

You glance over at him, watching how his eyes are trained on the floor. You tilt your head, asking hesitantly, "Is that something you know a lot about? The army?"

"Kinda," he shrugs, offering you a small smile when he looks back up at you, "I was also in the army. I still kind of am, I guess.." He cringes a little, making you turn to directly face him.

You take a small step closer, slowly lifting your hand until your fingers are almost brushing his cheek as you hold eye contact, "Is that how you got this?"

Steve's lips part in a nervous breath when you lean closer, his hands bracing the edge of the counter as he leans on it. His baby blues hold yours, dipping his head ever so slightly until your fingertips trail over his skin.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"But you're not shipped out?" You inquire, your fingers trailing down his cheek to his jaw, "You live here, and you don't go away for months at a time."

"I'm a.. different kind of soldier," he whispers, his face slowly leaning closer to yours, "But I used to be in the army."

"So, you got promoted?" You tease, your voice low. Your fingers trail down his jaw, to the column of his neck, Steve's breath hitching when the delicate touch tickles his skin.

"You could say that," he smiles softly, his eyes burning into yours intensely as he continues slowly leaning closer, "The job isn't very different, though. But I get to go home more often."

You hum, nodding slowly as your fingers curl around his neck hesitantly. You break eye contact for a moment, eyes dropping to his lips, your stomach doing a flip when his tongue darts out to lick them.

Your eyes raise up to meet his again, the hand curled around the back of his neck slowly pulling him closer until you can feel your breaths mixing.

You look up at him with wide eyes, your nerves on edge, and it's almost like your mind goes blank when he whispers, "Can I kiss you?"

You nod immediately, there's no way in hell you'd ever say no.

Steve's eyes drop to your lips, inching himself closer until they softly brush over yours, and then you let out a content sigh when he presses them firmly against your own. You pull him closer by the hand curled around his neck, one large hand landing on your waist to pull you into his chest.

Your other hand slides up his chest to his shoulder, gripping it as your lips glide over his in perfect synchronization.

You lose yourself in the softness of his lips, your unsteady breaths mixing, and you're only faintly aware when you hear the water boiling in the background.

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age-of-moonknight · 7 months

Text

“Systemic Approach (Part Two),” Avengers Unlimited (Vol. 1/2022), Infinity Comic, #64.

Writer: Mat Groom; Penciler and Inker: Caio Majado; Colorist: Pete Pantazis; Letterer: Joe Sabino

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Avengers Unlimited #Avengers Unlimited Infinity Comic #Moon Knight comic #latest release #Moon Knight #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Captain America #Steve Rogers #Marc we need a direct quotation from Jake for the full connotation come on don’t paraphrase #and this made me reevaluate some biases about Cap’s character I hadn’t realized that I had been holding hahaha #because while this is very much a Moon Knight plan (‘why dodge the electricity when you can just take it head on?’)#I hadn’t expected Steve to go along with it quite so easily #but then I remembered ‘naw Steve’s definitely not adverse to taking some risks’ askdhsjs #and furthermore I think it’s just further proof that Steve trusts the Moon Knight system #something that I will infinitely treasure #lastly I now have a vested interest in if the Spector household discussed Cap’s WWII adventures #if Marc and Randall in any way grew up admiring Captain America #Cap has also been added to my short list of characters I would like to see Marc box against (Daredevil being the other short-lister hahaha)

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levans44 · 6 months

Text

Tipsy, smutty headcanons w/ cevans characters (pt. 1)

(aka: how steve and frank would fuck you after a few drinks)

Steve:

Steve’s never been one for PDA—nearly five months since you’ve started ‘going steady,’ but he’s still so polite about touching you, always keeping his hands to himself when you’re out together in public.

But all that changes with a few sips of Asgardian mead at an Avengers soirée, which gives him a high he hasn’t had the luxury of feeling since 1941.

It’s that point in the night when the party’s starting to wind down—just a small circle of friends gathered around Tony’s living room, jostling about who’s worthy enough to lift Thor’s hammer.

You’re sat next to Steve on the far end of the couch, amused by the group’s shenanigans. You laugh along at all the right cues, chin in hand as you butt in with a witty comment here and there. Meanwhile, Steve can’t focus on anyone else but you, eyes zeroing in on your smile, the way those red lips stretch around the rim of your glass. The soft curves of your body under that little black dress as you cross your legs, leaning innocently into his side.

With your attention still on the rest of the group, the alcohol encourages him venture out a little. Careful fingers skim across the top of your knee, a quick brush of his calloused knuckles against your thigh.

You miss it the first few times, but when his hand starts to inch closer and closer up the hem of your dress you turn to look at him, brows raised. You immediately notice the difference in his energy—eyes relaxed, head resting against the back of the couch as a lazy smile ghosts his soft lips.

Steve, you okay? You murmur away from the group, head cocked to one side.

Hmm? mmhm. He’s barely nodding, clearly distracted by something else.

You frown, about to follow up, when a loud crash from the group makes you jump—Tony’s ingenious plans to lift the hammer using the suit had backfired (literally), the propulsion from his glove blasting him all the way across the room.

The whole group starts groaning at the damage of the crash, and that’s when you feel Steve’s grip on your knee suddenly tighten. With everyone else distracted, he leans forward, hot breath teasing the shell of your ear as he whispers:

Can we go home?

You’re a little wide-eyed and breathless when it finally sinks in. One look at the way his tongue darts out to swipe at his bottom lip, his eyes shamelessly dragging down the outlines of your dress, and you’re shouting some incoherent excuse about an early morning to the rest of the group, grabbing his hand, and dragging his ass out of there.

He can’t keep his hands off of you in the back of the Uber, and as soon as the apartment door closes shut, he sleuths off all pretense of modesty, any sliver of chivalry he was holding onto at the party.

Steve, what’s gotten into you? Is this that stuff you were drinking at the party?

You’re laughing because he can’t seem to get you out of your dress fast enough, painfully hard beneath you as you run your fingers through his tussled hair, straddling him on the couch.

Dunno. haven’t…

He huffs out a breath, brows furrowed, pupils blown wide.

…haven’t ffelt like this in a while.

Hands dragging up and down your sides, his lips worship every inch of your body. And you’re pretty sure your heart stops beating the moment he leans up to your ear, murmuring oh-so-gently:

Want you to ride me.

Please.

Brand fucking new, for Steve to voice his needs like that. You pull back, resting a hand against his chest, and he stares up at you like you’re the only person he’s ever known, completely exposed and defenseless. His heart thumps erratically under your fingertips—a reminder of his mortality, that he’s still just a man. Your man.

You keep him underneath you all night, teasing mercilessly until he’s a groaning, panting mess underneath you—cheeks flushed, hips bucking, nails gripping at the upholstery. He can’t do anything but take it, head rolling against the back of the couch as you bounce up and down on his cock, grinding slow and hard, coming to a complete halt before speeding back up.

And he’s grinning like an idiot the whole time.

F-fuck, you feel… you feel so good, a-always so good.

God, I love you.

He’s a stuttering mess when you finally let him come, a string of broken syllables that spell out your name.

When he rushes up to kiss you, you grin against his mouth, closing a gentle hand around his neck. Your index finger slides over to his pulse point, just to the right of his Adam’s apple, tapping in time with the rhythm of a heart that only beats for you.

Frank:

Frank drinks when he’s pissed. And today’s just been… one of those days. Repair went south on a boat he’s been working on for weeks, and he was called into Mary’s school (for the third time this month) because she’d snuck her laptop in her bag and got into a fight over it at recess.

He’s just dropped Mary off to stay at Roberta’s (after a lengthy conversation about ‘keeping that damn laptop at home’). On the drive back, he’s gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave indents because all he can think about right now is you, you, you.

He returns to an empty house, and it takes him a few bottles of liquid courage before he’s shakily looking up your name in his short list of contacts, texting you five simple words:

Can you come over tonight?

Like a dog to a whistle, you’re there in under 10.

He yanks open the door after the first knock, his lips swallowing your soft greeting as he kisses you fiercely, wasting no time as he pulls you into his bedroom.

Calloused hands drag down your hips, squeezing your ass before he slides your jeans off, pushing you onto the bed. Kissing his way up your neck, lips hovering over your jaw as heavy breaths warm up your skin.

Frank, you alright? W-what’s going on?

You slow him down, fingers grasping at the short hairs on his nape.

He nods against the crook of your neck, pulling back with a quiet sigh.

Yeah, m’fine, I just….

He’s never been great with words, but the familiar strain in his eyes tells you all you need to know. Cupping his face in both hands, you pull him back down, and his grateful lips respond to yours with fervor. His arm moves south, palm warm and heavy against your sex as he cups your mound. Drags his fingers against the wet patch on your panties until you’re arching into his touch and mewling against his mouth.

He’s desperate too, practically throbbing by the time he hastily shucks his boxers down and reaches for a condom in the bedside drawer. His hands are shaking, unable to tear his eyes away from you—your naked form sprawled on top of his sheets, fingers drawing lazy circles over your clit as you smile up at him.

And when he finally sinks into your heat, it’s the first time in days the noise in his brain goes silent.

He fills his mind, instead, with images of you.

Your coquettish grin, delicate lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks as you blink up at him.

I’m all yours, baby.

Whatever you want.

You bring his hand up to your face, rubbing your cheek against his palm. Soft, pink lips mold around the tip of his thumb as you suck gently, circling your tongue over the tip, and it sends him over the edge.

With one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, he drives into you, deep. Hits that one spot inside you that’s got your pretty eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Fuck, yes. Right there, don’t stop.

Shit—m’not, not gonna last.

Let go for me, baby, I've got you.

He cums with a low groan, collapsing forward to bury his face in the crook of your neck as he bottoms out. When the aftershocks pass, you let him stay there for a while, fingers caressing the back of his neck while you listen to his breathing even out.

He rolls off of you, mumbling a quiet apology, embarrassment etched into his brows as he lets out a low chuckle.

Didn’t mean to jump you as soon as you got here.

Your chest heaves with laughter as you turn to the side, pink lips stretched into a wicked grin as you look at him dead in the eye.

Frank, never apologize for fucking me like that.

And despite everything that’s gone wrong that day, your words send butterflies to the pit of his stomach, making him blush like he’s a high schooler on prom night.

He’s only known you for a couple months now, and you’re a few years younger—vibrant and affectionate in ways that make him feel guilty on most days. And even though he’s asked to ‘keep things casual’ because ‘he’s not exactly in the best place to commit to a relationship,’ he knows from the light behind your eyes that it’s time.

He asks you out for lunch the very next day.

author's note: gahh this was so fun to write and I hope you enjoyed! remember to drink responsibly kidz!!! If you do drink, reply&lmk what kind of drunk you are (handsy, loud, sad, etc) I’m trying to see something lol

also working on a pt.2 w/ ransom+andy but lmk if you'd like to see any other characters!

(update: read pt. 2 here!)

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