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ronearoundblindly · 1 month

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Hideout (4.2)

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

Horny Teen, part two (see previous or series)

Summary: A late-summer heat wave hits you and Steve hard.

Warnings for smut (kinda unprotected sex, momentarily--guess that's dubcon to be safe--fingering, lots of foreplay things and dirty talk but Steve can't actually talk dirty, so...hot talk? IDK, gang, I 'bout died writing this. Prepare thy loins, babes). MINORS DNI. There is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this series is not for you! WC 3.1k

A/N: This part contains a cannibalized version of the original idea for this series, but since we've developed differently to this point, it is very different.

He calls ahead. For the first time in a year of visiting, he calls ahead and knows you aren’t working the night he’ll be here.

You work in the garden as long as you can stand before hopping in a cool shower. You aren’t even wrapped in a towel when the trill of your room phone—extension 14, as Steve now knows it—blares through multiple closed doors.

He’s checked-in, and in Room Two, but no pressure, if you want, if you don’t have plans, he’s here. It is the most adorable and awkwardest conversation of all time. It also never gets old to hear him scramble for the simplest of sentiments.

Translation: I’m excited to see you.

Your heart soars then immediately stalls in the stifling weather.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” you chuckle.

Of course, he opens his arms for a bear hug the instant the door labeled ‘2’ swings wide. Steve has fewer troubles with platonic affection when alone, that’s for sure, but who could blame him? You’re elated he’s here under any circumstances.

Record-setting heat this late in the summer has left all the AC units taxed to the brink, running constantly, and even with the in-room thermostat set stupidly low, a tank top and shorts is too much.

This means another first: both of you, in bed, naked.

Nothing’s happened, mind, because the swelter of the day zapped energy out of every creature for miles and miles around. The ice machine can’t keep up with eight rooms and your family needing relief from the blaze. From the bright stripe of red across Steve’s cheeks and his earthy musk, he was outside plenty. He’s wiped, too.

You wonder absently when the last time he wore cologne was and what it smelled like. Perhaps he never used it. Perhaps he misses small luxuries more than he ever realized.

Steve looks on the brink of heat-stroke, so you inched yourself onto one side of the bed to start, thinking skin-to-skin contact might be unwelcome. You barely got your palms on the sheets before he pulled you to him. You did not fight it.

It’s meant to be a profound comfort—your weight atop him—and it is.

Your cheek settles on his chest, eyes watching through the sheer curtains as dusk takes over the sky, a happy man stretched like a cat beneath you, smiling, heart beat slowing in your ear. So strong, so steady, so secure.

He’s safe. He’s comfortable. That’s all that matters.

You peer up from your perch. The thin worry lines on his forehead have relaxed. He seems younger. Freedom looks good on Steve Rogers, just as good as it looks on Captain America, maybe better.

You fall asleep straddling his hips, one knee hitched so the crook of your ankle drapes his thigh, slowly pushed up and down by his deep breaths.

You’re drifting, rocked gently by powerful waves in the nothingness of your blank mind, free like him, blooming in the warmth of a bright sun embracing you.

The glow continues until Steve gently shakes you awake.

The room is pitch black, the lights of the parking lot too muted to pass through the gossamer layer over the window.

“You’re…you were squirming a lot. Thought you might be having a nightmare,” his rough timber booms close to your ear.

“No, I—“ you wipe at your face “—I don’t think I was dreaming.”

Steve’s not so relaxed under you now. His abs quake slightly, and those slow breaths have become stunted, shallow with control.

“Did you?” you ask, looking towards his face, useless in the dark but your drowsy brain hasn’t caught up yet.

There’s a shuffling noise above you.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Did you have a nightmare? You alright?”

The shuffling repeats, accompanied by a strangled “yes,” and you lift your arm to brace on his chest. It unhooks your leg from his, and the hard length of his erection moves from its perch at your ass, nudging the joint of your hip and thigh from below.

“Not—not a nightmare,” he whispers. “Just ignore it.”

Steve’s voice is husky, his grip on the back of your knee tight and unyielding, keeping you from trapping him between your legs.

Your impulse is to soothe him, to tell him he is fine and it is okay to be turned on, generally, when naked and pressed to someone you find attractive—hell, you definitely are—but if he wants you to ignore it, if he’d rather not, if it’s too soon or too hot (metaphorically, physically) or just too much right now, then you respect that. None of this has ever been about making him feel like how he chooses to receive affection is wrong.

Without moving any limbs, your fingers retract and relax, a gentle, nailless scratch to his broad pec beneath your hand, and his cock twitches, tapping your leg.

“Sorry,” Steve huffs.

“Do you want me to get off of you?” You suppress the urge to make a minor edit in that statement because it’s very close to what you want to do.

The shuffling noise sounds different.

“No,” he says softly.

You slide your hand up his chest to his neck and around the back of his head, petting the corner of his bearded jaw just below his ear, careful to use as few muscles as possible.

His cock taps you again anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

You ignore it, as asked, and continue scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Hey,” you start in the darkness, “is this comfortable?”

You run your fingertips over his features while he nods, following his jaw up and down.

Unable to see, this paints the most vivid picture of Steve’s reactions. You feel the vibration of a hum through his cheek, the draw and release of his brow as you skate over his forehead. You hear his short chuckle when you brush ever-so-gently across his long lashes and boop his nose. Finally, you trace his open-mouth smile with the edge of your thumb, his ragged exhale rushing over your palm.

Tap.

“Sorry.”

“Comfy though?”

His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it. “Yeah.”

The drag of your fingers past the edge of bristly stubble and down his throat makes him shiver.

Twitch.

“Sorry.”

You flutter across his collarbone, wondering if that means he’s ticklish on more than just his sides.

“Comfy?”

He hums. You feel it rattle your cheek as much as you actually hear it in your ears.

You continue. His corded muscles giving only slightly to the pressure of your touch. His arm, his chest, down to the hand he keeps on your leg.

Several more breathy apologies sound above you. Steve’s other arm is draped over your waist, and with every pulse of need that betrays him, his grip tightens just a little. His fingers now dig into your soft flesh absently.

It’s hard to hide how desperate he’s made you, but the issue is mutual based on how his abs won’t stop tensing, searching for attention where he denies it.

You flatten your hand to his chest and make to move.

“May I?”

Steve’s swallow is louder than the ‘okay’ he returns.

You are careful not to push him in any weird angles as you raise up to your knees and straddle him, pinning his erection beneath you, not directly between your folds but nestled at the apex of your legs, just so he won’t have to worry about every involuntary poke.

With such fresh contact, he clenches his ass hard in response, lifting your whole weight completely before he settles again. The surge of heat to your core has you biting your lip to muffle a moan.

“Comfy?” you rasp at the same moment Steve offers a strangled “sorry.”

The low, constant whine of the air conditioner fills the hollow space around your cocoon of anticipation.

“New plan,” you laugh, relaxing your fingers to splay across his warm skin, “both of us stop doing that, huh? You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’ll trust you to tell me if you aren’t comfortable.”

“So…” Steve shuffles on the sheets, but whatever he moves doesn’t affect your position. “Can I touch you?”

You bite your lip harder before answering, your voice dropping to a sweet reassurance. “Yes. Of course you can, Stevie.”

You keep your pets of his chest and arms light, trying not to tickle him. He’s always so hesitant; you’re worried the tiniest misstep will send him back into his head—not in a good way.

The silence now feels purposeful, dense with possibility, and then rough fingertips land like a foreign explorer who’s braved months at sea solely to experience this moment.

A calculated inhale and exhale rock your pelvis, a wave of nerves foaming in your gut.

He starts innocently enough, mapping your thighs, muttering something about how soft they are, but you don’t dare lean to hear him better. No sudden movements. None. Even though your skin lights up as explosive as those 4th of July fireworks you missed.

Since there’s nothing to see in the room, you feel everything.

He keeps to the periphery of you at first, abandoning your legs to brush the same arms touching him, running fingers together, separating them just as quickly, caressing your palms gently, and dragging his short nails up your wrists without pressure.

You stiffen in pleasure, fighting not to shrink away from the purest intimacy you’ve ever experienced.

His long arms reach the curve of your shoulders, flit across your collarbone, and you’re doing your damndest to keep it together, leaning your head back in lieu of talking.

Don’t scare him.

It can’t last; you’re only human.

Steve’s hands slowly descend over your breasts, middle fingers catching your peaking nipples, and a lewd and aching cry tumbles from your bitten lips.

The force of it surprises you, but more surprising still is him, unfazed, encouraged to linger.

In that low timber, he growls.

“You like that… Knew you would.”

Your body throbs, pulsing with need and emptiness.

That means he thinks of you. He’s imagined this. He’s wanted this.

Stunning electricity shoots through your body as he pinches and twists, squeezes and kneads. Nothing too harsh, but he’s highly motivated when you purr and gasp atop him.

What else does he think about doing? How long has he fantasized? Is this as good as his imagination?

Yours aren’t the only noises now. He sounds tortured with little pleas and whimpers escaping before each guttural moan.

Arousal pools at your folds, and without realizing you started to move, the shy momentum of your hips has nudged his length to lay flush with your dripping center. His tip glides over your clit.

Again and again.

A hot pressure builds in you, faster than ever, kerosene dumped on your wet-dreams and burned to life, a spell manifest in the night.

Steve shakes beneath the palms you brace flat on his chest, the heels digging into his diaphragm.

He moves to grip your thighs hard.

Fire spreads beneath your skin as you two pant and gasp, his whole cock slick and slotted so close to where you truly long for him.

“Wait,” Steve groans, but you can’t understand.

No one could imagine how good this feels, how much you need this, how—

He sits up to stop you, accidentally notching himself at your entrance, your residual motion sliding the thick head of him past the that first, tight ring.

Steve’s lusty moan is barely eclipsed by your own, and you’re too close to halt sheathing him within you, arms instinctively wrapping his shoulders. Desire winds the coil in your belly too taut, the thought of losing this climax unbearable.

“N-uhhh god—“

He’s too sensitive though. He flips you both so your back crashes to the soft sheets and digs his grip into your side, his other hand thumping to anchor on the headboard. Steve sucks air through his teeth like he’s afraid the faintest smell of sex will set him off.

“Don—don’t move,” he orders in thick command.

It makes things worse.

You’re so close, vaulting off the ground and suspended by legs clamped around his waist, dangling on the precipice of ecstasy. You whine and clench, totally unable to control yourself, your nails digging into his back.

Steve cries out, choked at the hilt by your desperation and lost to his own finish.

His hand races from your side to your ass. He pulls out of you only to slot himself there and thrust his cock between your cheeks, cum shooting on the sheets below.

Mindlessly, you ride the cut of his abs, his course pubic hair adding almost enough friction to keep ascending toward your own end, but the void left behind is too consuming. The fire sputters and dims.

Steve buries his face in your neck, breath cooling the sweat lining your skin as he curls away from you, overwhelmed.

“Swear I was gonna wait,” he confesses to the tender spot behind your ear. “I swear.”

“Please,” you croak, tears prickling your eyes in lament for your ruined orgasm.

“Was gonna be better. Swear I’ll do better for you.”

You grope and claw at those thick arms which hold all but his face far away. “Please,” you beg pathetically, “fucking touch me, please.”

A drawn out grunt vibrates the column of your throat.

“Y’shouldn’t have ta beg...”

He shifts to his forearm, caging you in as you plead over and over. He kneels to hover, and your thighs weakly squeeze at his own to emphasize what you need.

“Sounds so pretty when you do…”

Something between a screech and a snarl erupts from your chest.

Steve shushes you, smoothing a big hand across your damp cheek, and quietly, he commands you, “show me what to do.”

Your quivering hold guides him by the wrist down your body. Words to instruct him won’t form in your sex-steeped brain. As luck would have it, he doesn’t need specifics.

“Next time I’ll taste you.” One finger teases your folds in search of his entrance. “Next time you’ll have to beg me to stop.” Two fingers drive forward, displacing a gush of your shared juices. “So wet,” he groans, agonized to silence when you jerk his hand to thrust faster.

“More.”

He sets a loving and delicate pace, the heel of his palm working your clit.

Too delicate.

“More,” you gasp.

He obliges, muttering how good he’ll be to you from now on. You’ll always be first. He promises.

The fire takes over again.

“More, Stevie. Please.”

You grind down on him to prove your point, and he marvels that this isn’t too rough for you.

Each strangled breath ties your moans together in a crescendo worthy of Carnegie Hall.

“God,” he rumbles by your ear again, “I know that sound. You’re close, aren’t you?”

Steve’s pumping fingers bully your body farther and farther up the bed, using only a taste of his real strength.

Your chant of ‘yes’ catches in your taxed lungs. He doesn’t need an answer though.

The super-stretched band snaps, a plateau of peace and weightlessness tipped at the vertex until—crash—nerves are razed all along you like a carpet-bombed battlefield.

“Uhnn, is that what you’re gonna feel like around me?” He sighs at the thought and stills his hand just to commit the ripple to memory. “How’m I s’pose to last?”

You slap a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to hold in your yelp of relief.

That mouth…that fucking mouth of his is a weapon all its own.

Tiny explosions wreak havoc on you, body and soul, as his fingers greedily coax you to keep coming—just a little more—just for him—one last rush—give him everything.

His lips open in your palm, but you grip his face harder.

You can’t. You can’t listen right now. You can’t hear one more dangerously sexy, completely innocent thing fall from his beautiful mouth.

Steve lets his hand go lax but doesn’t take it away from your clenched and spasming thighs.

He tries to speak again then gives up, waiting.

Finally, before you can collapse boneless to the bed, he hooks his arm behind your leg so you don’t land on the cold, cum-stained sheets.

He shakes off your forgotten grip of his jaw.

“Tops?” he whispers, patience personified in the long pause before you hum acknowledgment. “Can I kiss you?”

That fucking mouth…

There’s barely enough breath in you to make a sound, but the instant the ‘ye—’ forms in the back of your throat, Steve’s lips are on yours.

It's your first real kiss, of all the ways, after all this time, following all that.

You’d laugh if you weren’t smiling, suffocating in the gentle press that becomes deep and adoring. He kisses you thoroughly after each frantic gasp for air, savoring you, even in the reckless passion of the moment.

Steve rolls to lay you atop him again, more intimately than before. He keeps his face close, sharing breath even in the heat and stench of sex in the room, your wetness now smeared from his navel to his knee.

Turns out, he is a very good kisser, focusing on the act of physical connection. Not only do your lips touch, but he likes to nudge you into whatever minutely different position with his nose. He likes to nuzzle his beard on your sensitive skin until you giggle and squirm. He relishes you like you relish him.

He whispers things too soft to make out at first. It takes him a while to find his voice, to push past his insecurities, to find his confidence, but eventually, you hear it.

He mumbles how he should have been better, more prepared.

You weave all your fingers through his hair, propped on his chest by your elbows, smiling so he’ll be able to tell in your tone.

“Take the win, Cap.”

You freeze.

You’ve never called him that, and Steve stays silent for an excruciating beat.

“Sorry,” you offer in the dark, air conditioner churning out sobering drafts of reality.

Steve runs his knuckles gently in patterns across your bare back. There’s a short huff and an amused snort, you mind scrambling to plan some explanation as to why you’d haul the drama of out there into his safe space.

He guides you to settle against him again, tucking you into his strong hold with his chin resting on your forehead.

After what feels like an eternity, he simply asks, “comfy?”

A/N: In case you were wondering...

[Next part: Desperate Man, part one]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers series #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #touchstarved #touch starved!steve #touch starved #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #nomad captain america #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #hideout series

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boxofbonesfic · 9 months

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Title: Brave [2 of ?]

Pairing: Orc!Steve x Reader

Summary: As you begin to acclimate to life in the pack, your new leader seems to take a keen interest in your ability to survive.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Genre typical violence, Warlord Nomad AU, Dark Fantasy AU, Enemies to lovers, Eventual smut, References to past abuse

A/N: i really hope you guys enjoy this next piece! mind the warnings ❤️

You run your tongue across your chapped lips before reaching for the skin of water hanging from a long strap across your shoulder. The liquid inside is over-warm from the sun hanging mercilessly overhead, but you are grateful for it still.

Where are we even going?

The river had been days ago—three, perhaps four at your best estimation—and the pack had been pushing on ever since, riding out into the grass sea further than you had ever thought possible. When you had asked, your father had told you simply that there was nothing out there, his breath stinking of ale as he reminded you to keep your mind to your housework, else he would ensure you found out for yourself. And now, for all the fates cruel humor, you had found out anyway.

You had been spared death at the river, but the same luck that had kept you breathing now also bound you to the blue-eyed-orc and his pack. You had tried twice already to sneak away in the darkness, only to find yourself practically nose to nose with your captor, his eyes bright even in the dark.

Dangerous out there in the dark, Sweetmeat, he’d said, turning you around with one huge hand on your shoulder, tapping the flat of his blade against your backside as your cheeks flamed with hot anger and embarrassment. If you’re looking to raise an army for vengeance, you should ride in daylight. Even now, your face heats with anger. You had no intention of riding to the capital to raise the alarm—even if you knew how to get there, you doubt anyone would care for the fate of a tiny village in the borderlands.

You slip dangerously in the saddle, yelping as you grab for the reins, righting yourself. You had never ridden a horse before now, much preferring to watch the huge beasts from afar rather than subject yourself to them up close. The stallion beneath you seems to know it, tossing his head irritatedly as you pull back haphazardly.

“I’m afraid the saddle is too big for you.” The voice startles you, and you almost slip down out of the saddle again as you whirl to look at its source. Mirthful blue eyes meet your own. “We shall have to find you a smaller one.”

You glare at him, your mouth stubbornly shut.

“Oh come now. Are you still angry about last night?” He makes no effort to hide his amusement. You keep your jaw locked, refusing to answer—which only serves to amuse him further. Finally, your ire loosens your tongue.

“You would have killed me three days ago,” you bite out through gritted teeth. “And left my corpse in the dirt.”

“Aye,” he answers, cocking his head. “Yet I did not.” Somehow, this enrages you even more.

“You hunted the others for sport—” You half choke on the words. “You ran them down like dogs.”

“What use is a lame horse, Sweetmeat?” He asks. “Or a dog that won’t hunt?” There is no derision in his words, only indifference. “I cannot ask my riders to carry that burden.”

“So you kill them.”

“Aye.” You see reflected in his eyes the same cool apathy a wild dog might give a rabbit. “Would you ask a wolf to apologize for feeding its strongest cubs, Little One?” You bristle, but he continues before you can speak. “Perhaps because it is removed from you, you do not see it. But I have seen it. I have seen your great cities of men, and the bodies that line the ditches of their streets. There is death for them everywhere.” You want to deny the truth of his words, but they settle on your skin like oil. “Better a quick death by my steel than a slow one beneath the heel of the man you call King.”

He stops his horse, and you mirror him, watching the orc warily.

“If you wish to return to it, you’ve my blessing to do so, Sweetmeat. May you go and die in whichever way seems best to you.”

You are overcome with the urge to dig your heels into the stallion’s sides and take off, to cut through the swaying sea of grass like a clean blade—but you hesitate.

Your life in the village had been one of little note and much misery; tending to your father as he sickened himself with either too much ale or for the want of it as the days ground on and on. You’d felt little sorrow at his passing, considering he’d blacked your eye only three days prior. There were, no doubt, several villagers that had escaped on horses of their own, racing back toward the mountain to warn others of the orc-pack roaming the borderlands. You suppose you could rejoin them—the same people who had watched as your father’s druken rages consumed him and done nothing to help you.

Your skin prickles with distaste.

“No?” He asks after a lengthy silence. “Then let us ride on.”

You watch sullenly as he takes his place at the front of the group, the other riders falling into a loose line behind him.

—

No one offers to help you as you struggle down from your horse when they break to make camp, and you drop unceremoniously to the ground. For the most part, the rest of the pack ignores you completely, regarding you with the same indifference one might pay a rock as they go about setting up their bedrolls and hobbling the horses. They dwarf you as you all line up to fill your water skins, and the one with chestnut hair—-the blue-eyed-one had called him Buck—narrows his eyes at you.

“What’d you do to earn water today?” He sneers. “Get to the back. We’ll see if we have any left for you.” You dig your heels in gritting your teeth despite your fear. The protestation is there on your tongue, but before you can voice it, someone else speaks instead.

“Give her the water, Bucky.” The blue-eyed-orc rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Steve, she will do nothing but slow us down and rob us of our food, our water—”

“Calm, Bucky.” He holds up a hand. “The human will hunt tomorrow, and tomorrow she will earn it. Tonight, give her the water.” For a moment there is tension between them, a charged current you can’t see, but it soon breaks. Reluctantly, Bucky fills your water skin, shoving it into your hands with a grimace.

“It was fine to give her Roth’s horse—he fell, he’s got no need for it now,” Bucky spits irritatedly. “But Tarrath’s a fortnight’s ride from here. She’s going to need to earn her water.” He frowns at you. “Like the rest of us.” Steve nods his understanding.

“Aye. She will. Consider it half my portion.”

Angrily, you shuffle back over to your horse and begin unstrapping your bed-roll from its back. Nothing has been said outright, but you sleep away from the others, setting your roll up at the edge of camp. You know you aren’t welcome. You know you shouldn’t care at all for your usefulness, but you aren’t sure you’d fare any better wandering the grass sea alone. Your horse—Roth’s horse—stares down at you judgmentally while you wind the length of rope around his front legs, and you frown deeper.

“Even the blasted horse,” you mutter, kicking aside a few loose rocks as you lay down the roll beside him. You don’t know how to hunt—it wasn’t as if your father had taught you, and you doubt he had the knowledge to do so in the first place. There is large bow strapped to the saddle, thus far untouched by you, and gently you undo the bindings. It is heavier than it looks, and you hold it aloft clumsily, the string biting hard into your fingers as you struggle to draw it back.

“You won’t catch anything like that.”

You don’t turn to look at him.

“You didn’t have to give me your water. Steve.” He chuckles at the sound of his name on your lips.

“I won’t be doing it again, Sweetmeat. So you’d better learn how to use that thing.” This time you do turn. He is closer than you anticipated, and you squeak with surprise as he plucks the bow from your hands with ease. “Hold it up, like this.” He draws the string back, the muscles rippling across his bare chest. “This is the sight, here, this notch.” He runs his thumb over the place where the arrow head will sit. “Come.”

When you don’t move, he grips your hands firmly, winding them around the bow.

“Like this, put your hand here.” His hand curls over yours, covering it completely. You’re practically trembling when he pulls away, your palms sweaty against the lacquered wood. “One last piece of advice, Sweetmeat.”

“What?”

“Don’t miss.”

to be continued

#chris evans #chris evans fandom #chris evans fanfiction #cevans fandom #cevans fic #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers au #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #boxofbonesfic #bones drabbles #Orc Au #Brave fic

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buckybarnesisdaddy · 6 months

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All is Well Part 2

Summary- Daisy and the men are still getting used to their newest houseguest.

Pairings- Steve Rogers(Nomad) x Daisy!Reader, Bucky Barnes x Daisy!Reader, Jefferson x Daisy!Reader (implied), Ransom x Daisy!Reader (implied).

Rating- Explicit, 18+

Warnings- polyamorous relationships, sex (PiV), Oral (f receiving), Double penetration, slight choking, cream pie, teased MxM but doesn’t actually happen, I’m sure I forgot something. 18+ only!!

Word count- 6.2k

Authors notes- This ties into It’s Cold, by @rainydayandmondays so please read that wonderful chapter! I haven’t posted my writing on Tumblr so here goes nothing, hopefully you all like it!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warmth. A soft, gentle warmth washes over him. “Mmhmm,” he hums as he opens his eyes. Looking down at you as your head is buried against his chest and dreaming away, a soft smile breaks over his face.

Cold. Bone-chilling cold grips his chest as he shoots awake. He is looking around and gasping for air, looking for you, his Daisy. You’re asleep in the arms of the other while one leg is entangled with his own and your hand clasped with his, Grounding him.

Love. Unmatched and all-consuming, as you sleep between your two men. You hum as you start to stir, feeling eyes on you, and then the bed shakes as one sits up, started awake.

“Buck- hey Bucky, you’re safe.” Steve’s voice is what pulls you from your sleep. Bucky’s gasping for air scares you as you wipe the sleep out of your eyes.

“Bucky? Baby, what is it?” You sit up, still holding his metal hand in yours and moving closer to him as he moves to the edge of the bed. Kissing his shoulders and rubbing his back, you try to bring him out of his dream.

“I’m- I’m okay- I…” you look at Steve, who is already sitting up and switching on the lamp. Glancing at the clock, it reads 2 am. “I’m sorry- I’ll try to go back to sleep- I just.” still trying to catch his breath, he stumbles over his words. Bucky hasn’t had nightmares in about nine months, not since you got into a routine. Nine months ago, He moved into the room you shared with Steve. He sleeps on your right, and Steve sleeps on your left. Every other morning, he gets up and runs; the mornings he doesn’t, Steve does. They never want to leave you alone. And the mornings neither get up; well, those mornings usually end up with a late start for all three of you as soft kisses turn into hands roaming each other’s bodies, which leads to you spread out above or below one of them. Bucky makes breakfast for everyone in the house and eats with you either on his lap or admiring you sitting in Steve’s. It’s a solid routine that has worked for the past nine months and one day… no nightmares for nine months and one day until tonight. Feeling the tightness in his chest finally subside, he allows you to move him back on the bed and lean back against the headboard. You settle between him and Steve, laying your head on his shoulder and taking Steve’s hand to your left.

“Talk to me, Baby.” You rub Bucky’s leg, coaxing him to open up, “What’s going on?”

Bucky lets out a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna laugh at me.” You shake your head no, and Steve voices what you’re thinking.

“Whatever it is, it’s big enough to cause your nightmares to return. Just talk to us, Buck.” Steve reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. Bucky sighs again.

“That little prick coming in and messing up our lives,” Bucky grumbles. “We all had a great system! Sleep together, workout, I cook, Stevie cleans, Daisy sits there and looks pretty-“Bucky crosses his arms. “Now I’m having to share my women-” Steve clears his throat, “Our women, Sorry Stevie.” He reaches over and ruffles Steve’s bedhead. “There is never any hot water cause he is always taking damn baths, I have to cook more food, so it’s taking even longer, and I’m not even getting to eat with you two anymore because I always serve you first-” Bucky looks down at you, and you are smiling a little. “See! I knew you’d laugh!” You smile and look at Steve, who nods. You move to straddle Bucky’s lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I’m not laughing, Bucky. I think you’re a little jealous of our new housemate-”

“I’m not jealous- I just hate change! You know me, I don’t do change well!” You rub down his chest.

“James Buchanan Barnes, don’t raise your voice at me.” You say in the sweetest, softest voice that all Bucky can do is smile at your request. He grumbles an apology. You giggle and kiss his nose as you say a thank you back. “Fine, you’re not jealous, but I sense you feel left out.” He nods, and you rub his chest again. “A bit… underappreciated.” He nods again, and you reach down to the hem of your shirt and lift it off in one motion. Bucky stares at your breast and licks his lips. You tilt his chin up to look at you, and you smile. “I’m sorry you have felt unseen these past few days… he can be-”

“An ass,” Steve says.

“A prick,” Bucky grumbles

“A handful,” you correct both of them. “Ransom is new; remember what it was like when we brought the last new guy in?” Bucky sighs and nods. The last new guy was a man named Frank. He had no last name, and he had a bad smoking habit. You took care of that pretty quickly. He was sweet but took some training; learning to share can be challenging for little kids, let alone grown men. He finally settled in, and the boys really like him now. He gets along with Jefferson well and keeps to himself except when asked to join everyone. He took some getting used to. Now, he comes and goes as he pleases.

“That first week, he was needy, and you both HATED him for it. Turns out he was just in need of a family, of somewhere to belong. We gave that to him. Ransom has some similar needs. His family was… well, a shit show, and he was never disciplined. Ever. Precious, Dutchess and I must correct that, and there will be some natural pushback. Trust me, it won’t be like this forever.” You lean forward and press your chest against Bucky’s. “And if anyone can show him how to behave, it’s my two Super Soldiers.” You lean in and kiss Steve and then turn to kiss Bucky. Bucky smiles and seems to relax a little. You meet Steve’s gaze, and he nods, clearing his throat and furrowing his brow; he brings up a topic that he knows could be touchy.

“Buck, this actually comes at a perfect time. Bucky looks at Steve and then at you. “The routine you-” Steve gestures to all three of you, “we- have is great, but I think we could ease up on it a bit.” Bucky goes stiff and looks at you. “We are only suggesting this because,” Steve shifts around, “well,” Still feeling like he might be walking into a dangerous conversation, “we’ve noticed how the changes have slowly been affecting you. We think it would help if you weren’t so tied to a routine that you can’t deviate from. Life is full of changes, and we have to be able to adapt to them. This is proof that maybe- just maybe your coping skills aren’t the best solution.” You lean forward and hug him tight, looking up at him with your sweet, puppy eyes, as Steve and Bucky like to call them. “You haven’t had your exact routine for eight days now, and you’ve gotten grumpy, and now you’re having nightmares,” Steve continues. “And don’t get us wrong, we LOVE grumpy you,” you giggle and kiss his chest, and Steve ruffles his hair. “But the nightmares… you’ve come so far, Buck, we don’t want you to lose all your progress.” Bucky looks at Steve and then down at you. He nods and kisses your head.

“Okay, well then, what do you two suggest? Bucky asks, actually curious how two people with no experience in PTSD therapy or counseling are going to help him overcome this.

“Well, for starters,” you smile as you sit up, drawing squiggles down his chest with your fingers. “A good night’s rest will help. And I know you’re not tired now, but,” you look at Steve and smirk. “I can change that,” Steve smirks back and pulls you into a kiss.

“I’m still pretty tired from earlier,” he winks at you as you blush, “but you two go ahead.”

That night, you tire Bucky out, and you pass out next to Steve. All three of you blissed out and incredibly happier than you were an hour ago. You and Steve make it a point to change Bucky’s schedule gradually. If he wakes up late, you encourage him to skip the run and do it at another time that day. If he cooks breakfast, he does it all at once, and it’s not made to order like he used to do. That way, if Ransom wants to be an hour late for breakfast, Bucky isn’t thrown off by that. Ransom gets cold eggs and bacon, and Bucky doesn’t miss his morning snuggles with you. Little by little, Bucky lets go of the reigns and allows the little bumps in his schedule to test his flexibility. And pretty soon, the nightmares stop, too; it’s a strange thing the mind. When every second of Bucky’s day wasn’t taken up with some task or job, it would wander to the horrors of his past life. The things he did, the people he killed, that’s why he wanted to be constantly busy. It took one prick waltzing into his home to show him that he needed to let go so he could heal and move on. He doesn’t care for Ransom, but he can’t say he hates him anymore.

***5 months later- November***

Bucky is making French toast when he hears someone come walking into the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder, “morning,” he offers, and Jake smiles and pats his shoulder as he walks by. Fixing his coffee and sitting down at the table, Bucky can tell Jake isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Ransom?” Bucky asks, and Jake nods.

“With precious now, and that’s why I’m here with you.” Bucky laughs and nods. “So tell me, how does one make French toast?” Jake asks, and Bucky kindly obliges him, going over each step in detail and offering to let him make a few. Bucky likes Jake; he is a little eccentric, but Bucky doesn’t mind that; it makes for good story times at the dinner table. The only thing Bucky could do without is Jake’s need to introduce him to new music; if Bucky has to hear Don’t Stop Believin’ one more time, he might just snap and beat the shit out of Ransom and blame it on music rage. He smiles to himself at the thought. That’s when the bedroom door starts to open.

“That’s my cue,” Jake smiles and excuses himself. Bucky looks over his shoulder, and he sees a half-naked Ransom walking down the hall to the bathroom, as smug as can be. Bucky sighs and shakes his head as he finishes breakfast.

The sun streams in and shines in your eyes, pulling you from your blissful sleep. You’re blissful yet cold sleep. You reach out on both sides and feel icy sheets under your fingertips. Pouting and staring at the ceiling, you grumble about waking up alone. Steve went for a run right after Bucky got up to start breakfast. You stayed tucked in bed, hoping they’d both be back by now, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. You are still lost in your pouting thoughts when there is a knock on the bedroom door. You forgo your slippers and regret it when the hardwood floor sends shivers up your spine. You tie your silk robe around you before opening the door and seeing who it is, except all you see is a giant bouquet of daisies. You’re eyes light up, and a small giggle escapes your lips. “Steve Grant Rogers, what on earth?!” Steve drops them and places the bouquet by the door before scooping you up into his arms. He tickles your sides, and a laugh escapes your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“I just wanted to treat you, that’s all.” He kisses you as he kicks the door closed behind him. Steve crosses the room to the king-sized bed in the middle of the back wall. The pillows are haphazardly thrown on either side, and the dark green comforter is a little twisted, but that doesn’t stop Steve from laying you down. As you have two men permanently in your bedroom, you have the large master suite with a joined bathroom. Dutchess has a room at the very end of the hall, and it has a joined bathroom as well. Precious (as Jake likes to call her) has the room down the hall, and their bathroom is across from your bedroom. Each room is exceptionally spacious, and you’ve even drawn up plans to add a bathroom to Jake and Precious’ room. It’s only fair that they have the same privacy as you and Dutchess. Also, it would keep Ransom from giving you, Steve, and Bucky a free show whenever he can’t be bothered to close the door. And it would decrease his opportunity to eavesdrop on your private time with your boys. You can count on one hand the number of times Bucky and Steve have stayed and joined in on your time with Ransom… there’s a reason that number doesn’t go past 5.

Lost in the eyes of your husband and the feel of his lips on your skin, you don’t hear the door open. You don’t hear the clearing of his throat, and you don’t hear him call out your name; you don’t hear him at all, but you see him. Opening your eyes when Steve leaves a particularly hard love bite on your neck. There’s Ransom, bedroom door kicked back open, leaning against the doorframe. Ransom has taken your bouquet, and he’s picking the petals off the Daisies. Steve had taken the time from his run to buy you your favorite flower; it’s where your nickname comes from, and here Ransom is just ripping it apart. His smirk tells you everything you need to know; he’s looking for a reaction. Ransom knows those were special for you. He wants Steve or even you to get angry; you won’t give him that. You know he’s acting out for attention; Steve and Bucky would say he’s just being a little prick. You look away, pull Steve’s face close to yours, and whisper, “Next time, take an extra second to lock the door.” Steve scrunches his brow, and his eyes get slightly sad, thinking he messed up somehow. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Ransom’s smug face and rolls his eyes. Noticing how Ransom’s eyes rake over your body, shielded by this sheer silk robe and Steve, it sends Steve into protective mode. He starts to get up and lecture Ransom about respecting people’s privacy and how Daisy is HIS wife, and HE decides who sees her and when. All that would have done is cause Ransom to laugh in Steve’s face. Steve may be the husband, and he may have some control over Daisy, but everyone knows that the women in this house have 100% autonomy, and no one’s husband can say differently. Well, that’s what they let Ransom think, no one’s had the heart to give him the cold, hard truth about these relationships… yet. Steve just might though. Ransom stares Steve down, almost begging him to let go and yell. Ransom doesn’t rightfully fear Steve, at least not yet. You three ladies allow the men to handle their differences however they see fit. As long as no one is seriously hurt, they can duke it out. That rule was put on pause once Ransom arrived because, well, the boys would have permanently damaged his face and their hands with the amount of times they’ve had disagreements with him. So, if Steve had chosen to tell him off like he so desperately wanted to do, Ransom would have answered with a literal laugh in Steve’s face. And Steve would have had no choice but to show Ransom why he should fear him. But Bucky saves the day and the peace. Bucky always saves the day.

“Beat it.” Bucky walks up beside Ransom and stands in the doorway to block his view. Not before he glances at you himself; he definitely likes what he sees, and you bite your lip when you catch his gaze. He turns back around and looks Ransom up and down. “You’re not supposed to have a foot in this room until tomorrow.” Ransom scoffs at Bucky. “Breakfast is ready in the kitchen; go now.” Bucky stands up straighter, towering over Ransom; he’s only one or two inches taller, but still, with Bucky’s muscles, it's intimidating. Bucky gives Ransom’s shoulder a little push, moving him out of the doorway, and Bucky shuts and locks the door on him.

“I’m sorry he ruined your flowers.” Steve opens your robe and kisses your chest. You hum at the feeling of his beard creating delicious friction along your soft skin.

“It’s okay, Stevie. Bucky? Could you gather the petals? If Ransom wants to ruin my flowers, then he will have to bathe with the petals his next bath.” You smile, and Bucky lightly laughs and nods.

“He’s gonna hate and love that simultaneously,” Bucky says as he gathers the petals and places them on the dresser. One hand plays in Steve’s hair as he continues to kiss your chest, and the other reaches out to Bucky. He stands at the end of the bed watching you and Steve; he sees how you melt in Steve’s arms and soften at the feel of his lips along your breast. You make a grabby motion, and he teases you by doing it back. You pout, and a light laugh escapes Bucky’s lips before he gives in and walks over.

“You two left me in a cold bed this morning, all alone,” You tighten your grip on Steve’s hair, and you squeeze Bucky’s hand a little harder. They look at each other.

“I was making breakfast-“

“I needed to run- I haven’t been running in- “

“Yeah, but it was your first morning with alone time since the- “

“I had promised Sam-“

“Boys, boys, boys.” You say, and they stop talking over one another. “I’m not mad,” you smile up at them; you’re still on your back with Steve on top of you. You run your hands up and down their chests, feeling the muscles move and tense under your fingers. “I just need you two to warm me up.” You smile, and Steve gives you a deep kiss, and then so does Bucky.

“I’ve got just the thing. Buck?” Steve says.

“High or low?” Bucky asks, and Steve thinks for a minute.

“High, I haven’t spent enough time up high.” Bucky nods, and then they are both moving you around the bed. Steve lays next to you and opens your robe as Bucky lays between your legs and rubs up and down your thighs.

“Mhmm, my boys,” You hum as Bucky kisses you along your center. He whispered against your skin.

“All yours, Doll.” Bucky gives a love bite to your inner thigh and then sets in to devour you.

“Sweet, perfect Daisy,” Steve says against your lips as he kisses you.

Soon Bucky has you arching off the bed and clinging to Steve as you reach your high. “Atta girl, just like that,” Steve whispers in your ear while playing with Bucky’s hair as he cleans you up and gets more than his fair share of you. You pull Bucky up, and he settles between your legs as he kisses you, shoving his tongue in your mouth as you moan around it. Pulling away to fill your screaming lungs,

“Now it’s your turn,” you say breathlessly. You look at Steve. “Yours too, Stevie.” You smirk and move them around. Bucky settles behind you while you straddle Steve’s lap, already guiding him inside. You moan at the stretch while Bucky kisses your neck, his hands drifting down your body and between your breasts.

“Where do you want me, baby girl? In this sweet ass,” he squeezes it, “in that sweet pussy with Stevie,” He guides you up and down to start riding slowly. “or in Stevie?” He pinches Steve’s thigh, and that has you all laughing a little, and you turn and kiss Bucky.

“I’d never choose that FOR Stevie.” You wink.

“You choose everything else for him.” Bucky retorts, and Steve laughs loudly. Steve gives your ass a smack on one side with one hand and the he reaches up and smacks the side of Bucky’s ass with the other. Almost like a reprimand to you both, you can’t help but giggle and Bucky laughs.

“This is why you have neighbors like Peter assuming we are fucking.” Steve responds with a bit of light in his eyes. Bucky smirks and slowly pushes in alongside Steve.

“I mean, that’s kinda what we’re doing now, isn’t it?” Bucky says, trying not to sound affected by how you are squeezing him. You and Steve moan loudly, and you collapse on Steve’s chest. Bucky beams at the reaction he pulled out of both of you. Steve catches his breath, and a small smile escapes as he lets out a breathy laugh.

“True, but Daisy’s pussy and my ass are two very different things.” Steve struggles to get out. Bucky smirks as he slowly moves in and out, torturing you and Steve.

“Now Stevie-“Bucky starts, but you and Steve cut him off.

“Just fuck us!” You scream, tired of his games.

“My god, Bucky- just move!” Steve screams and emphasizes it with another smack to the side of Bucky’s ass.

Bucky bites his lip and pulls back before slamming back in hard and fast.

“Ffffuuu“ you stammer out. Bucky’s metal hand wraps around the back of your neck, and Steve sits up and wraps his hand around the front.

“You know how we feel about that, Daisy girl,” Steve whispers against your lips.

“Yeah, it’s the only thing we ask of you, Doll.” Bucky coos in your ear. You smile as they squeeze a little and then let go. Bucky slams back in.

“FUCK!!!” You scream as he hits that sweet spot inside you. Bucky smirks and slaps your ass, and Steve kisses you hard.

“Thatta girl.” Steve praises.

“Love that dirty mouth! Gotta fully commit.” Bucky grabs your hips and sets a brutal pace as he chases his high, bringing you and Steve over the edge.

“Squeezin’ us so good, baby girl!” Bucky moans as he cums deep inside you.

“So good, my sweet Daisy!!” Steve cums alongside Bucky and fills you to the brim.

You lay there wrapped in their arms for a good 10 minutes, unable to move or even speak. You play with Bucky’s hair as Steve kisses your neck, and you thread your hand in his. “I guess we should get up, shower, and join the rest of the world,” Steve says; he stands up to head to the shower. “And you, my wife,” you smile proudly. “are coming with me!” Steve lifts you into his arms and throws you over his shoulder. You laugh and smack his ass. He looks at Bucky and winks. “You comin’?” Steve says as he walks off to the bathroom. Lifting your head, you make grabby hands again, and Bucky can’t resist your grabby hands and pouty face.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me!” Bucky teases and runs after you two. After a long, hot shower and an orgasm each, you finally get out and get ready for the day.

“Any plans today?” You ask Steve and Bucky as you gather the daisy petals into a bag for later.

“I’m going to spend some time with Cap. See if I can get through to him.” Bucky kisses your cheek. “We are almost on the road to almost having a breakthrough!” He smiles proudly. Steve laughs and pats his back before leaning over and kissing your cheek.

“I am helping Bucky for a bit later, but first, I’m making a grocery run or else Jake, Cap, and Winter will eat us out of house and home.” He grabs his wallet and heads to the door.

“To be fair, Cap and Winter can finally have seconds without punishment. So I get it. Jake? That you’ll have to talk to Precious about.” Steve waves it off and heads out the door. Once you have a moment, Bucky pulls you close and kisses you sweetly.

“I love you, and I’ll see you later. Hopefully, Cap doesn’t kill me,” he teases you. “I’d like my last night with just my Wife before I have to share you with others again.” You blush and pull him close. Three weeks ago, in a private ceremony with just the house members, you and Steve added Bucky to your marriage. It’s not conventional, but nothing about this situation is. Bucky has always been a part of your lives, and that one day, when he expressed his love for you, it felt right. Even Steve knew and felt the same way. Bucky moved in about four years ago, and three weeks ago, it was made official, as official as this can be. Out of respect for the new “marriage,” everyone except Steve had to be hands-off with you for three weeks; today is your last day. Well, that rule only applied to Ransom; you could hold yourself back from sleeping with any of the other men, and they could hold back from you. Random needed strict rules.

“If he hurts a hair on your pretty head, then he will have to answer to me.” You kiss Bucky and rub up and down his back.

“I’ll tell him he will be in big trouble with my Doll.” He says sweetly and kisses you again before finally slipping out of the room.

You are getting dressed when you hear the bedroom door creak open, but no footsteps approaching. You knowing very well who likes to stand in doorways, observing and taking it all in, you turn around and smile at a happy Jefferson. “And why are you so happy this morning?” You tease. Jefferson smiles and glances down at his feet before looking back up at you and questioning what kind of morning you two will have. He knows this is the last day of your three weeks, but a man can hope, can’t he? You smile and hold out your hand, allowing him to come to you. A gentle smile breaks his smirk, and he walks over to you. You pull him into a hug and give him a sweet kiss on his jawline. Regardless of the hands off rule, Jefferson doesn’t enter your bedroom unless you invite him in. And if there is an invite, he knows it will be a sweet, platonic relationship-type day. If you come to him, step into his basement room where he designs and lets his imagination run free, he has his way with you.

See, Jefferson likes to play this game; he lives off the chase and honestly can’t get it up without the excitement of it. Cat and mouse, hunter and hunted. If you draw him in, then there is no fun, no chase, no sex, just sweet head scratches, fuzzy pajamas, and cuddles, which he loves. If you approach him, all bets are off. It’s his crazed form of consent, and once you got the safe words and hard stops in place, you two have had tons of fun, even involving Steve and Bucky once in a while. If Sex is involved, then Jefferson needs you to approach him with an “I want this; don’t hold back.” He can get intense, so he won’t chase you unless you initiate it. It’s how he keeps himself in check. It keeps the madness from breaking free. You hold out a hand and invite him into your warm embrace; he knows you’re not in the headspace for his games, and that’s okay. Jefferson rubs up and down your back.

“I am Happy, my little Bunny because I just got word that I have a hearing about getting my visitation reinstated.” You could scream, you do!

“Jefferson!!!” You hug him tight, and he lifts you off the ground in excitement. “When?!”

“Later this week, Ari got the call from Andy this morning and told me over breakfast.” He smiles, and tears well up in his eyes. “I could see her soon!” His tears break free, and you give him a gentle kiss on the lips.

“Let me know the exact day and time, and I will be there; we all will!” Jefferson laughs a little.

“Well, we could leave Ransom here, and I wouldn’t care.” You smile and roll your eyes.

“He will be there too. Besides, we can’t trust him to be left alone, at least not yet, so he has to come.” Jefferson laughs again and gives you a sweet kiss on the forehead before he lets you go. He walks to the door and then looks back at you, smirking slightly,

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He asks as he bites his lip. “It’s been too long, Bunny.” You blush as you answer.

“Maybe. It will depend on how exhausting my day is. If not tomorrow, then definitely the next.” Jefferson nods and watches as you walk over to him. “I’ve missed my little Kitten too.” You smirk up at him, and he leans in, kissing you and leaving you breathless.

“Be good, my little Bunny. I’d hate for the Wolves to have to join us.” Jefferson says as he leaves the room winking; you stand there a little dazed and happy.

“Mom! It’s not- No- I am fine-“Ransom rolls his eyes. You laugh to yourself as you walk into the living room. Ransom paces around, having a lovely conversation with his mom on the phone. You come to stand beside a tall beast of a man, his hair long and almost down to his shoulders, a full beard, and muscles so big it’s a shame they are covered with a shirt. He turns and sees you walking in; a small smile breaks across his face as he opens his arms and puts one around your shoulder.

“Hey, Daze.” He kisses the top of your head, and you hug him tight. “Long morning?” He looks down at you, and you laugh and nod.

“You could say that. Hey! Jefferson told me that you got word from Andy about his visitation!” You say excitedly. Ari nods as he smiles.

“Yeah, Andy has a good feeling about it.” You can’t contain your excitement, and you lean up and kiss Ari’s cheek, “Ha! I’m just the messenger! But I’ll take a sweet kiss if I have to!” You tease,

“in your dreams.” Ari laughs loudly, and you smile up at him. You fully believe in platonic soulmates, and Ari is yours. You’ve had moments and still do from time to time where it gets physical, and boy, is it amazing, he is an excellent shoulder to lean on, and he knows you about as well as Steve and Bucky. He’s just the best. “What’s all this about? Linda not happy about the arrangement, again?!” You ask, and Ari nods.

“Oh, you know Linda, Daze. Nothing will ever be good enough for her boy.” You sigh and look at Ransom. “This has been going on for 20 minutes,” Ari says. He nods his head in Ransom's direction and then nudges you. You shoo Ari away, and with a kiss on your cheek, he is gone.

Ransom paces the room while still on the phone with Linda. “Mom, if you would listen-“she cuts him off for the hundredth time. Ransom sees you walking closer, and you take the phone from his hand.

“Linda! Hey, I am so sorry, but Ransom is due for a therapy session. He’s gonna have to call you back. Bye!” You hang up the phone and lock it before sliding it into Ransom’s back pocket. “Now that she’s quiet for a bit… you wanna tell me what that was about earlier?” You ask as you cross your arms and look up at Ransom. He smiles and looks you up and down.

“I was just enjoying the view.” He bites his lip, and you lightly laugh.

“Well, I’ll let Steve know that you enjoyed the sight of his ass.” You pat the side of Ransom’s face before you walk away. He grabs your hand and pulls you back into his arms. He kisses you hard, and you let him have control for a moment. One little moment, and he thinks he got you. Taking his face in your hands and pulling back, you smile.

“Do you not know the meaning of hands-off, Ransom?” You say as you walk away.

“I do, but I’d much rather put my hands all over your body. Even if G.I. Joe and his handler come for me.” Random calls after you.

“Who is the Handler, and who is G.I. Joe?” You ask.

“It’s pretty obvious. Which ones the machine?” Ransom says, trying to get under your skin. Your face doesn’t change, all you say is,

“That was mean, Ransom. And here I was about to tell you to come by my room tomorrow morning, and I’d draw you a nice bath. But I don’t give treats to mean boys.” You turn to walk out of the room. Ransom realizes he messed up.

“Wait, Daze- I-” you turn around to face him. He is conflicted, his brow furrowed, and he seems tongue-tied, like apologizing is entirely new to him cause it is.

“If you can hold your tongue the rest of the day, no mean words, no angry outbursts, and no making fun of the others, then the bedroom door will be unlocked at 8 am. You can come in then. Understand?”

“You got it, Daisy Mae .” He says, trying to regain his sass as he turns and leaves you alone in the living room. He has no idea what’s in store for him tomorrow morning; you thought it all up while cleaning up the flower petals. You can’t wait, and you know he will love it too.

Bucky stands at the basement door and takes a deep breath before twisting the knob and pulling the door open. At the sound of the creaking hinges, Bucky hears chains rattle and scrap along the floor. ‘He’s awake,’ Bucky says to himself as he descends the stairs. He usually sleeps at odd hours, and Bucky can sneak in and be ready and waiting when he wakes.

“Here he comes, the reformed assassin. The Soldier is gone, and here stands the Wolf.” His voice is deep and dark; Bucky can hear the hatred laced in the sound. “Or is the Soldier just hiding in the back of your mind, waiting for the right moment to break free?” A dark laugh slips through the darkness. He walks forward into the dim light hanging from the ceiling. His sick smile is the only thing Bucky can see, “Funny that the Soldier has more teeth than the Wolf.” Bucky flips on the rest of the lights. “Why so many lights, Buck?” He lunges forward, pulling on the chains. “Scared of the darkness?” He laughs and moves back to the wall, and sits down. Bucky doesn’t say a word. “I’m not talking, so if you want to stare at one another all day, that’s fine.” He laughs; it’s tight and sounds mechanical, evil. “I can learn a lot by just observing.” He narrows his gaze and looks over Bucky.

“You don’t have to talk, Cap. I can learn a lot by observing, too.” Bucky sits down and stares at his friend, this alternate version caught by Hydra and twisted into this monster before him. “You can refuse to talk, and you can hurl insults at me, but I’m not giving up on you, Steve,” Bucky says, and Cap laughs again. This time, it’s sad and broken; it actually sounds human.

“Well, you really should.” Cap looks up at the wall across from him; there is a little rectangular window at the very top. He can see red, yellow, and orange leaves on the ground. Cap may detest most things, but he always did have a liking for Autumn. He takes a deep breath; he can almost smell the crisp fall air through the basement walls. He turns his gaze down again and settles on Bucky. “Just like you should give up the hope of getting rid of Winter.” He looks down at his shackled feet, special chains that will hold him. He scoffs to himself and then meets Bucky’s gaze again. “He will always be a part of you.” Bucky doesn’t blink, he doesn’t move, all he does is nod and smile.

“And that’s okay-“

“Yeah yeah yeah…. All is well.” Cap sighs, cutting Bucky off before he can start in on his rousing speech. “Wake me when it’s lunchtime.” Cap closes his eyes and repeats the phrase that has been a constant in his life for the past six months: All is well. He wishes he could believe it, and that thought, that want that he has actually to believe in something? That scares him more than Hydra ever did. Because believing that he is okay and that All is well? Well, that means he has to have hope, and all hope has ever given him is the reality of failure and the bitter taste of blood because someone has to be punished. Hope can kiss his formerly star-spangled ass.

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dizzy-after-dark · 4 months

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Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over.

Baby I—

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet.

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same.

She should just throw it out.

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well.

She’s already made too many ghosts.

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though.

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right?

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more.

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really.

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet.

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine.

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for.

That’s still Steve— her Steve.

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days.

Her silence is deafening.

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him.

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.”

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell.

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him.

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war.

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them.

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something?

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore.

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.”

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad?

Is it anger?

Or is it something much more primal.

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him.

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.”

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do.

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers.

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry.

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts.

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze.

She’s caught— he gets it now.

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?”

She only blinks at him. Once… twice…

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter.

Come on, Steve.

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that?

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out.

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first?

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate.

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy?

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.”

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense.

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing?

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun?

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—” she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.”

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one—

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening.

He’s relentless.

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat.

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels.

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?”

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.”

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—”

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.”

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it.

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.”

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks.

Oh.

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long.

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him.

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy.

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain.

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more.

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately.

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”

And she does.

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it.

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be.

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit.

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless.

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—”

“—Stevie!”

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much.

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles.

“Of course.”

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there.

Cauterized, or something like it.

#Steve Rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel smut #MCU smut #Avengers smut #dizzy is BACK #did you miss me?

145 notes · View notes

eloquentreverie · 8 months

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𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

pairing: nomad!steve rogers x female reader

warning: established relationship, p in v sex, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), steve being soft.

summary: Your soldier finally comes home to you in autumn.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

Autumn in New York always brings a sense of familiarity to Steve. There's that crisp, refreshing air, the leaves changing colors and falling onto the sidewalks of Brooklyn. It's a welcome sight for his war-torn mind. He takes one final breath as he approaches the apartment complex, cutting the engine and nudging the brake on the bike. He walks up the steps and makes his way into the building. The scent of hot cider hovers in the air as he walks in the door, scanning the room for his girlfriend.

He can't help but grin when he spots her nestled in a chair by the window, cozy under a red and black plaid blanket. He knows waking her up is wrong, but being away has been challenging. His heart skips a beat as his knuckles lightly brush against the apples of her cheeks. It's been a while since he's been able to see her, and he can't help but want to touch her now.

Y/N's eyes flutter open, and despite her blurry vision, she can make out the shadowy image of the man bent over her. "Steve?" Y/N whispers, staring in disbelief. Steve greets her with a warm smile and gently brushes his knuckles against her jaw. "Hey, sweetheart!" Y/N's eyes widen, and she throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He holds her close, wrapping his strong arms around her back. A warm, tingly feeling spreads through her body. Taking a moment to cherish the moment, she sinks her fingers into his tousled hair before pulling away slightly to study his face.

It's not a dream, and he's there. "You're really here," she whispers, her voice filled with disbelief and joy. His warm hand holds hers, and they lean their foreheads together, breathing each other in. "I'm here," Steve promises, his voice low and gentle. He leans towards her, and their lips meet in a tender, soft kiss. The warmth in his breath and the gentle touch of his lips fill Y/N with sweetness and hope.

He wants to hold her close, to feel her skin against his, to embed the moment in his memory and replay it repeatedly in his mind. Y/N pulls away for a moment, looking up at him and noticing the smeared lip gloss on his mouth, a small giggle escaping her lips. It reminds Steve that they're real, that this moment is real, and that she's really here with him.

"What? What is it?" Steve asks, brushing her curls from her face.

Y/N's voice is a mix of happiness, relief, and the tiny edge of sadness that always follows joy. "I've been dreaming of this. Touching you, seeing you again... I missed you so much." With those words, she feels a warm glow in her chest, a sense of coming home. Steve cups her face, his lips meeting hers again with a tender warmth that seems to sink into her bones. His hands slide up and down her waist, and she breathes in his scent, reveling in his closeness.

She pulls away again, her lips twisting into a big smile. She takes his hands in her own, her gaze laced with love and deep admiration for her super-soldier. "How long can you stay?" Her voice is soft, almost inaudible. She tries not to assume the worst, scolding herself for thinking too far ahead instead of cherishing this moment. But it's been so long since she's had this moment with him that she can't help but feel worried that it might be fleeting. And if it is, she wants to prepare herself for the heartbreak that always comes with his departure.

Steve gives her a sympathetic grin, his rough and calloused hand still caressing the supple skin of her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I’ll never leave you again. I promise," he tells her, leaning down to leave a kiss on her forehead in an attempt to calm her nerves. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. I love you.”

She takes a deep breath, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding in all this time, and chuckles, shaking her head. "Gosh, this still feels so unreal. You don’t have to make anything up to me. What matters is that you’re here." The words seem to hang in the air for a moment before she looks down at their now intertwined hands. "You look tired. Do you need to rest, or do you want some food? I could cook us up something."

A wave of exhaustion washes over him, and he rubs his temple as a headache grows. He'd been so caught up in the moment, adrenaline and happiness rushing through his veins that he'd hardly realized how tired he was from the recent battle. “I'd like that very much, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly, his hand falling from her cheek as he pulls away for a moment, glancing toward the kitchen. “Do you need me to help you out?” he asks, his brows pulled together as he looks down at her.

She pauses, noticing his tired eyes and exhausted demeanor. A small pout forms on her lips as concern washes over her features. “Steve, are you sure? If you want to take a nap right now, we can always eat later.”

A soft sigh escapes him before he nods, a small smile curling on his lips. “You're right. I'm just happy to be with you again. I'm so worn out, darling, but I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else.” He whispers quietly, closing his eyes and shrugging. His rough, calloused fingers grip her chin, and his gaze shifts to her lips.

“Well, how about this?” she begins, reaching out and taking his hands in hers. “Why don’t we take a nap together? Then, when you’re rested, we can have dinner. Sound good?” She asks, still speaking in a soft tone as she tugs on his arm, pulling him toward their bedroom.

“That sounds perfect,” he nods, a grin spreading across his face. He wants nothing more than to hold her in his arms. He can’t remember how many nights he’s dreamt about touching her, holding her. Steve follows her into the bedroom, his grin only widening. Everything is right where he left it. The smell of fresh linen greets him, along with gray blankets and ivory sheets, the wooden nightstands adorned with picture frames of the two of them. To the right is his desk, which is a mess of papers and his old sketchbooks.

Y/N walks a few steps toward the dresser and starts rummaging through some of his old clothes. After a few moments, she pulls out a worn blue t-shirt and some gray sweatpants. She can feel Steve’s gaze on her before she looks up. He takes in her outfit: a dark green t-shirt, a gray cardigan, and black sweatpants. His eyes move up to her face, her curls brushing against the top of her shoulders. He traces her features, engraving them into the back of his mind forever. His expression is filled with love and adoration for her.

After a few minutes, she turns to him and hands him his clothes. “Thank you, Y/N.” He sets down the pile of clothes on top of the dresser before he begins to strip down. He starts with the gun holster, then his utility belt. She tries not to get distracted as she pulls down a few of the covers, but then she notices his tired fingers fumbling with the buckle of his trousers.

“Here, do you mind if I?” Her words hand in the air and as she looks up. She smiles, placing her hands over his. Their eyes lock. Steve gives her a gentle nod, and she undoes the belt and unzips his pants. She takes his hand and leads him to the bed. Once there, they both climb into bed, their bodies tangled together as they cuddle.

Slowly, the rhythm of his breathing changes and she listens to him as he begins to drift off. As soon as the room falls silent, she looks up, focusing on the ceiling, and listens. Then, her fingertips dance over his torso as she tries to commit to memory the moment they were sharing together. A moment, she didn't want to end. Steve sighs into her, his hand traveling up and down her back until she feels his lips land a light kiss on her forehead and she hears his whispered 'I love you.' Y/N sinks deeper and settles against his chest, eyes growing heavy, until she finds the sleep they both need.

The two finally settle into a deep and blissful slumber. Unbeknownst to the super soldier, it will be the greatest sleep of his life. The two of them rested until late evening. The sun had set and she groaned as she stirred from her slumber, her stomach growling. Her eyes fluttered open, feeling his arms still tightly wound around her waist. A smile rested on his lips as she pecked his cheek. "Wake up, Stevie," she whispered in his ear, eliciting a hum from him as his eyes creaked open. "How about breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed?" He smiled brightly and got on top of him.

Steve leaned on his elbows as she giggled at him. Her lips were pursed, thinking if she should let him get his way. And in the end, she decided to give in. "Alright, fine. You stay here and I'll go cook us some dinner." She tried getting off him, but her mission proved quite difficult for the blond hero, gripping her tight so that she wouldn't slip off. Y/N could feel his cool blue gaze baring into her. Her face was hot and crimson. And he did everything that he possibly could to make her want him back, want to stay and have him touch her all over. "Not just yet. One more kiss," he demanded, his tone low and husky.

With an exasperated huff, Y/N threw her hands in the air. She knew that it wouldn't end here, and once Steve got her all hot and bothered, he wouldn't leave her alone until she was done. Until he's had her several times to the point that she was utterly spent. Y/N felt Steve's fingers crawl underneath the hem of her shirt. "Steve," she whined with a small laugh. "I'm hungry."

With this statement, the superhero propped himself up on his elbows and cocked a brow, licking his lower lip. A subtle movement to entice her. "And I'm horny."

Groaning once more as he touched her, she nearly gave in, wanting nothing more than to strip him bare, jump on him and screw him till sundown, and that was saying a lot. But before that happened, the both of them needed nourishment before the ravenous wolf inside him turned on her. She gently pushed his hands away, grinning down at him. "After dinner. I need to have my strength if we're going to do strenuous activities. Right?" she teased before pulling away and rising from the bed. Y/N grinned even more at the way his face fell and the small frown that marred his pretty boy face, looking as if someone kicked his favorite puppy. As she walked towards the bedroom door, his hand jutted out.

"Why not just grab some chips? Isn't that good enough?" The blond practically pleaded as she got ready. Y/N gave his toned frame a mischievous glance over her shoulder and smirked. "So impatient. I think I'm gonna need more than chips. Looks like you're just going to have to wait." She ran a hand down his bare chest before slipping out of his grasp and walking toward the kitchen.

Steve sighed, shaking his head but then, a light bulb went off in his head. If she was going to make him wait then he'd do everything in his power to tease her.

Meanwhile, Y/N worked on warming up leftover chicken pot pie in the oven. For the first time in months, she could enjoy some downtime in their home, not having a care in the world except Steve and her alone together. When it was his first arrival home after months of her dealing with the trauma, her heart, and mind swirled with emotions. After weeks of trying to accept what he was doing for others while giving no regard to his own well-being, her annoyance soon gave away. But no matter what, he always showed that her well-being is what is most important to him, constantly worrying about her needs, always finding ways to be a part of her life regardless.

Her thoughts took the best out of her. All it did was make her think about what happens when he's not here, when her dreams and wishes collide with reality. As she pondered about her life before Steve, he snuck up behind her and pulled her toward him. In an effort not to frighten her, he reached out and moved her curly locks over her shoulder and placed his mouth next to her ear, planting kisses on the curve of her jaw, inching his mouth down to the base of her neck.

"You smell so good." he complimented her. "It's intoxicating. The moment you left the bed, I just couldn't resist. I got up immediately and followed you all the way here. Did you know that?" Y/N turned off the oven after noticing the golden brown color of the pastry, closing her eyes as he grazed his mouth with hers. She turned around to face him and held his gaze.

"You're being distracting," she said with a small grin, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt the heat of his bare chest radiating against her tank top. "I can see that." Steve leaned toward her again, whispering softly.

"But I don't think you really have any control of what I'll do to you right now. You had your fun waking me up all by yourself. And now, you don't seem so excited to keep the fun going. I think I'll have to convince you." His teeth grazed the skin underneath her jaw, lightly sinking into her soft flesh. Y/N could hardly keep herself from moaning, feeling all of her nerve endings firing up from the way his hands wandered all around her body, focusing solely on pleasuring her. She could almost get lost in his hypnotic voice, only drawing her attention from his gentle bite on her neck.

Steve licked where he bit, massaging her hips with a glimmer of pure desire shining in his crystal blues. "We could have so much more fun somewhere more private..." he murmured against her neck. Y/N brought him closer to her, entangling her fingers in his blonde locks. Steve met her half-lidded gaze and smiled mischievously. "So what'll it be, princess? Your bed or the floor?"

Moments like these always remind him why he fights so hard. How just those sparkling doe-eyes make every battle worth every bruise, scar, and cut.

A small smirk crept up on her face. She turned off the stove before walking back to him. "Our bed." she responded before she poked his chest, "but you owe me real food afterward." She warned, her eyes filled with mirth. Steve chuckled softly, kissing her. The woman instantly melted into his loving embrace.

"So you'd rather lie in our bed while you devour me in whole? Now how does that sound like a loss? Sounds like the only win if I have any say in this." His lips collided with her jaw before leading her backward towards the bedroom. Her heart is beating rapidly, anticipating his next touch. "Just hurry before you miss the real feast." she managed to blurt out. He never makes her wait long. Never does, especially right now.

Steve crashes his lips on hers, kissing her hard with their hands frantically exploring the other. Once he's sure they're too preoccupied, he lets one arm leave her waist for a split second. Y/N thought nothing of it until she heard the soft click of their bedroom lock as she moaned into the kiss. He pushes her further inside, backing her towards their massive queen-size bed, nearly stumbling over it as the edge hits the back of her knees. Steve breaks the kiss to hold her up. "Sssh baby, just lie on your back, I've got you." She swallowed hard and slowly lowered down, resting her head on his pillows. "You didn't have to lock the door." Y/N felt somewhat silly as her face was heated, and she noticed he'd locked the door after.

"It's not you. I did that, because I don't want anything else," he uttered. The lights illuminate his features, reflecting like an angel before her very eyes. Her hair splayed out on their soft and inviting linen, gazing back up at Steve as he straddles her, kissing down her neck and chest as he starts to tear away her sweatpants.. "All I want in my life is you and nobody else. So for one night, I'll block out the rest."

He'd rid her of the black pants, and threw them across the room in a fury. "You're the only one I crave on these cold autumn nights." Steve grinned as his fingers traced her inner thigh, so close yet so far away from the spot between her legs that craves his attention the most.

"Steve," He gazes at her through thick golden lashes. She reaches forward and clasps his face between her dainty fingers. Y/N doesn't need words, she's known this all along. They only ever want to do right by one another and each day she is filled with more and more love to shower him. "Show me then. Show me that I'm the center of your universe." she gasps as his eyes meet her's, laced with pure lust. His head was practically in-between her legs now, her arousal smelling just as sweet as it tasted as she spread her legs and lay flat on the mattress.

The warm orange light illuminated the curve of her face as his vision drunkenly scans from the crown of her head all the way down to the bend in her knee before his hands sweep beneath her soft supple flesh to prop up the back of her leg.

A sharp gasp of excitement filled the room the moment his head dipped between her thighs. The sensation shot down her spine, eliciting goosebumps to crawl along her exposed flesh. He keeps them hooked in his arms, forcing her hips to press firmly against his mouth. A soft squeak eked from her lips once his tongue wedged itself between her slick entrance and his upper lip before pecking a trail of small kisses to her sensitive bundle of nerves, just the mere breath coming from his soft thin lips causing it to quiver with pleasure.

She can almost hear her heartbeat pulsating through her temple. The sweet ecstasy runs straight from her womb to her toes, intensified each time he dips his tongue inside to taste her again, knowing all of the right places to lick her like a peach dripping from its juices. One hand crawls back up her quivering thighs and brushes over the folds of her labia, squeezing them between his teeth in unison with his skilled tongue.

She wasn't the least bit prepared when a finger entered her wet cunt. He thrusts, pumping two digits inside of her without warning, and she quivers, becoming unable to hold herself up any longer as she lies limp from the magic that coursed through her body. His hair tickled her skin while he fucks her with his mouth and fingers, her body responding with pleasure beyond comparison. He pauses briefly, inhaling her natural aroma and basking in her heavenly essence, and whispers into her heat, "Don't cum until I say so."

Y/N sucks in a breath as his velvety voice dances along her senses before Steve closes the space between his mouth and her aching center once more. "Don't worry, I'll make it happen." Steve winked while his tongue swept her cunt again, beginning a slow, teasing dance upon her sensitive bud. He turns his wrist slightly to plunge another thick finger, tucking it along the others while the muscle around him trembled and clamped like a vise.

As his fingers pumped within the confines of her trembling flesh, the rough part of his lips glides smoothly over the smoothness of hers. Her breaths turned erratic from his relentless pleasurable torture, teetering on the edge until he finally decides she's earned her right to cum all over his fingers. Her hand shot out in search of his, gripping onto him tightly with all of her might as though their lives depended on it.

He strokes the fleshy bit on the roof of her inner walls, pushing against it over and over again, using the stiff tip of his tongue to roll over the plump nub. He wants her. He always does. All of him and all of his heart. Witnessing the woman he loves let herself go right in front of his eyes like an explosion of fire is enough for him. A complete revelation.

He takes great care to lower her body, which had risen on its own accord the more he stroked the source of her pleasure. His lips would occasionally lose their purchase on her soaking clit in the moments between, but he would always kiss his way back to her heated center, regaining a steadier rhythm again and again. It was with another tender flick of the tongue that her pleasure overtook and washed away the last remnants of awareness, leaving her a writhing mess of sweat-beaded skin and high-pitched mewls.

Y/N sighed with a shaky breath. Steve swallowed every drop as he drank deep of her sweet juices.

Her fingers brushed through her lover's hair as her mind attempted to find a solid anchor in the tumultuous sea of her orgasm. His pace relents just enough, and his eyes slide up to check on the boneless pile. The blond-haired male kissed a smoldering path to her belly button before pulling up the hem of her tank top and over her head before his mouth found one of her breasts. As his mouth opened around one breast, his teeth sunk into it before rolling the nipple within her warmth. "Just one moment, sweetheart,"

A soft groan escaped her mouth. Her entire body writhed against him, trapped between the relief she felt and the anticipation of having to wait any longer. In her state, it was impossible for her to register the meaning of his words, but she would surely have nodded to even an insincere affirmation.

"Steve, I can't wait any longer. I need you." she croaked between ragged breaths. Her trembling hands run through his soft golden hair, playing with his strands in the heat of the moment. He chuckled quietly at her whines, pausing to savor the beauty lying under him.

After kissing her stomach, he lifted his head with a wide grin on his face. Patience, pretty girl, we're only beginning. I wanna take my time. Taste and kiss every square inch of your body."

The dark look in his sapphire-blue eyes made the tightness inside her almost unbearable, but the thought was more than welcomed. Before she could so much as respond to his words, his teeth dug in her plump flesh again, drawing a strained hiss as he sucks it back into his hot mouth, soothing the nip immediately after.

His pace was agonizingly slow at the sight of his darling below him, glistening in the orangey hue. It was painful, yet in an entirely delicious manner, she tried with her will not to explode on him right there and then.

"Patience," He repeated before lifting her leg with his hand before bending her knee. Gently, and still with all the sensuality in the world, and trailed light nips and kisses all along the side of her knee. Y/N's fingertips comb through his hair before resting upon the broadness of his shoulder. "You don't get to see this view enough."

What he gives her, the loving admiration he has to offer, no one would ever compare. No one but him, who always, and forevermore will own her whole heart, unconditionally and in the good times. Y/N never questioned this in the slightest. They have a perfect love, so rare and unknown to many in a cruel world.

"But God help me." he said, now slowly inching up towards her stomach, trailing up with wet kisses, his eyes still admiring the smooth curves and hills of her body, completely bare beneath him. "How I wanna feast on you forever. And feel the sweet ache of your body after, just in case I forget... I want to remember all of it, sweetheart."

Steve hooked a hand around her midsection and lifted her body up and off the sheets, helping her on top of him in one smooth movement. Just as he guided her, a firm yet gentle grip on her arm, holding her hand behind his neck as he encouraged her body up to him, as she easily straddled his broad and naked form.

Y/N's forehead pressed into his collar, lips lightly ghosting and gasping with each one. The unyielding rock of their pelvis' rocking in synchrony, the grip she'd regained on him returned, fingers digging into his shoulder and with the other on his hair, massaging him between soft murmurs.

"Yeah?" His fingertips slid up and down, mapping and massaging the tense muscles between her shoulder blades, dragging over and cupping the base of her neck on each upward pass. As he traveled up to the nape, he simultaneously nuzzled her ear, moving up so that his stubble scratched the thin layer of skin there, and carefully applied pressure that soothed the raw sensation away.

She was drunk, beyond words, nothing was going to fix the raw burn her vocal cords received any time she cried out too soon. All the same, she was right where he wanted her. "Mhm." the low rumble of her lover's voice against her warm skin confirmed, one hand finding its way over hers and twisting in her locks, wrenching her face away from her solace and kissing her more aggressively than before.

Y/N matched it's hunger and was the first to take the lead. His efforts had been thoroughly noticed and enjoyed. Steve reciprocated her actions, but was too focused on her legs straddled above his. "See that?" His voice was hoarse and his tone smug.

He slipped a finger past her folds, savoring her wetness in the absence of her mouth, and she knew just as she threw her head back the exact scene he'd mentioned. All but his length, and the hand caressing and parting her legs, and her movements riding along. Only barely able to keep from crying out as the feeling took over her senses again.

But she did her damnedest not to keep that visual from him as her legs continue riding, his length sliding across his stomach in tandem. He was warm and slick, the same salty tang from his skin on her tongue a beautiful echo of her own wetness, mixing and joining in unison when she dragged herself back up, rocking her weight backward over his cock, shuddering as her own arousal came full circle and grazed her clit.

She was fast and efficient when her patience came to an end. Slick as ice, and just as impatient. He slid deep inside her when her grip took a firm handle on his rigid form. Even with the slippery mixture of fluids from her being, it took a steady rock against the head of his erection before her swollen and bruised labia gave way enough to slip his thick head in. "Baby, hold still." He'd sat forward, bringing the length of his torso against the malleable muscles of her thighs and ass.

She knew exactly how he was feeling now, his sounds a beautiful revelation of his ecstasy as it was, but it also drove her absolutely wild. Her face dropped back into his collarbone where it was a safe space for her. His hot breath beat in time with their skin against hers, creating a growing haze of dew that she burrowed her cheek to, whimpering as a smile grew from his gleeful grunts of his sweet girl fucking herself on his lap, sinking as deep as possible to fill him to her brim, just before doing it once more.

His hand landed at her side as his head fell backward to the pillows. As she continued to grind upon his throbbing cock.

"Fuck baby, you feel incredible." The pitch of his voice heightened slightly on the final syllable, and her knees wobbled in kind from the sound alone.

As his girth split her to her core she clung on. "I...It's s-so fuckin deep baby. Please...I d-don't think I c-can hold myself up."

Her hips faltered once, a weak moment lost as his fingers threaded in her hair. Instead of clutching him tighter, Y/N moved to touch the headboard and took the support given there instead. Pushing away, she held his eyes while she brought her ass backward and lifted up just enough, guiding his head against her entrance, and teased her hot folds in and out, up, then back in once more, letting a fresh wash of wetness trickle over her thighs and down onto his in an act so dirty and tempting and erotic she saw him falter and quake and dig in deeper for control to keep his place within her. It was one she hoped he never forgot. "Do I drive you crazy?"

"Mmm. You have no idea, darling." Steve laughed breathlessly with a wild look in his eyes. The telltale change had come and taken over his body language completely. She tried to tease him at the best of times, but tonight it had backfired.

The brief loss of contact made her aching womb stretch to full attention. The involuntary gasp emitting her lips pulled them both away. A chisel would not be as sharp as the bite of his nails as he grasped her hips again, seizing control with little restraint to do so.

Though he was rough, Y/N found great pleasure in it, just as her legs bounced at his sides. "Goddamn."

Her nails left trails down his chest and she's left scratching on his navel, as her voice gave up from the whimpers she'd done nothing to stifle. Steve pushed harder against her swollen and tingling opening, sinking to her womb with little room to breathe or think or put any kind of distance from his cock as their hips began a natural dance to keep themselves perfectly together and moving and pushing as one. He rolled and pushed and thrust upward until the last bit of air was knocked free from her lungs with the sudden slam.

A collection of various curses spilled through the room, no telling whose mouth had screamed or shouted until she bottomed out at his lap and buried his head under the press of her breast and fingers in the now dampened length of his hair. All coherent thought had stopped functioning altogether as he began to thrust himself and pound his girl like her heart would have exploded had he kept with his pace a moment later.

Nothing registered apart from his breathy and sporadic moans as he claimed her again and again in their own silent, little ritual, something sacred, like an engagement neither would dare reveal or show the other.

Eventually, she felt her body tense, a telltale sign she was on the edge. He groaned through gritted teeth as their movements quicken, pushing both to the limits of their physical stamina until, without warning,

"Shit!"

The climax shattered any hold she had of her thoughts, nerves exploding with a euphoric haze to render them both senseless. Y/N wrapped a quivering hand around his bicep as she used it for a grip. Her lips find the shell of his ear as Steve bucked his hips wildly beneath her. "Stevie...Steve..." she breathed in a delusional state, seeing lights, and feeling stars, all while keeping as much composure as she can. Though not very effective as the stream of her juices flooded her and her walls, pulsating at the intrusive thickness of his girth as it continues to pound recklessly as she continues her erratic screams and pleas to him.

Finally, she'd shattered. Coming completely undone. Free. To a man with his gaze fixed unblinkingly, a sheer sign of devotion, at her twitching body. The satisfaction was indescribable and everlasting. She collapsed beside him on the bed, trying to catch her breath. Her body curled against him. Her hand rested against his chest, his skin coated with a sheen of sweat, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing becoming steadier.

"Well, that escalated quickly," Y/N whispered before breaking into a fit of breathless giggles. Steve looks down on her fondly, loving her child-like demeanor and carefreeness after an intense session like that, before following in and matching her happy tone as they share a lazy, passion-fueled kiss in an equally lazy fashion. His own happy giggle tumbled over a soft smile. Y/N eventually rolled her head away with a faint huff.

His nose brushed the tender spot behind her ear, which caused her entire body to quiver from the shock and heat radiating on her neck. When he pressed another warm, open-mouthed kiss there, her breath hitched in her chest.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered. The warmth of his breath blew into the damp skin beneath his lips, sending another wave of goosebumps through her. Her skin was so sensitive. So raw. But oh so amazing. He spoke again, barely audible, as if he was having a conversation with himself. "I love you. I love you."

Y/N turned her head and peered at him through heavy lids. "I love you too," she cooed back, her voice hoarse.

Her head rested in the crook of his neck, and the two laid together, cuddled and content, the sound of their breaths and their heartbeats melding together. Y/N fell asleep before the last remnants of her high had faded, and Steve was still awake.

All night he lay, listening to the sound of her breathing until finally, he got the rest and relief he deserved in his sleep.

The next afternoon, the cold air nipped at their skin. The two of them sat in the park, watching the changing leaves fall. Steve's arm was draped over her shoulder as she sipped the warm cup of cider they had gotten from a vendor a few moments ago. A few minutes later, Steve broke the silence.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered, glancing off at the park's pond.

Y/N shifted beside him, concern written over her face, and placed the cup on the space beside her. "Is everything alright, Stevie?"

"These past few months have been hell without you, and I can't help but think of what the future brings. You make me feel alive. When I'm with you, I'm content. At home. And that's with or without you. I think I'd always want this forever," Steve paused, his tongue darting out to nervously lick his bottom lip, sending a familiar sensation crawling up her spine. He shifted, pulling a small black box out of his pocket. His breath caught, his eyes darting up to hers. "I know it's too dangerous right now, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

Y/N stared at him, her eyes widened with shock as tears started welling up in the corner of her eyes. Her hands covered her mouth. "Oh my god." Her heart thundered in her ears as he pulled the ring from the box, the silver band shimmering in the light, the white diamonds reflecting a bright glow. "Yes, Steve, yes! Yes, I'll marry you!" she cried out, throwing her arms around him.

The couple shared a deep, loving kiss, full of love and adoration for one another. "I love you, sweetheart," Steve murmured into her ear. "I'm never going to stop loving you. You're my forever. My home."

She pulled away, a wide smile stretching across her face. "I love you too, Steve. You have my heart, forever."

The two fell back into each other's arms, sharing a soft kiss as the leaves fell around them, envisioning their future together.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x yn #nomad steve rogers #nomad steve rogers x you #nomad steve rogers x female reader #nomad steve rogers x yn #nomad steve rogers fanfic #nomad steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #smut and fluff #steve rogers oneshot.#mywritings.

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late-to-the-party-81 · 1 year

Note

Surprise, Surprise

AN: It took me a while @navybrat817 but I did something with this little thot you sent me back in June for my birthday. This serves as a follow- up to my kinktober fic Need you now.

Unbeta'd ramblings

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha! Nomad Steve x Omega! Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

CW: Angst, Attempted assault, Misogyny, Mild Violence, Fluff and Feels, implied sexy times.

Steve leant forward, his weight shifting on to his arms as his hands lay flat against the control panel. It was just a reflex. Getting closer to the view screen wouldn’t change what it was saying, wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t know where you were.

“I’ve gotta find her, Tony.”

“Chill your boots, Capsicle. She’ll be somewhere.”

Steve ground his teeth, biting back an angry retort.

“I haven’t seen or heard from her in months. She’s overdue her heat. Her apartment is all packed and cleared out. If she’s hurt, or in danger, I’ll never forgive myself.”

A firm hand came down on Steve’s shoulder.

“We’ll find your girl, Stevie. I’m sure Stark and I can put aside our differences long enough.”

There was a derisive snort from Tony’s workstation but Steve chose to ignore it.

“Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I could do, you know, considering that helping me is what got you into this in the first place.”

Steve gave Bucky a small smile.

“It wasn’t your fault, Buck. Blame the Accords.”

“But they’re rescinded now,” added Tony. “So now we’re a happy family once again, let’s find Cap’s errant Omega, shall we. Then Cyborg and I can go back to ignoring each other.”

Steve sighed and shook his head.

Where could you be?

You made your way down the busy sidewalk, trying your best not to get jostled by everyone else who seemed to be going in the opposite direction. It was cold and dark out, and you had on your big winter coat, but just the act of going against the flow was getting you all hot and sweaty. You didn’t dare undo it though.

It had been 5 months since you’d last seen Steve, when your one word missive via text had brought him out of hiding for a brief few days during your heat. A few days in which you could forget that he was a wanted man on the run. A nomad. He’d just been Steve. Your mate. Your Alpha.

But it was getting hard now. His scent had almost completely faded from his shirt, the one you currently wore. You were desperate to have the vestiges of him on your skin, not only because you missed him, but for safety.

You may wear a mating scar on your neck, but you barely had any Alpha scent lingering on you, meaning that some Alphas, unmated ones, saw you as fair game. An abandoned mated Omega was just a single Omega in their eyes. You’d already suffered some harassment in the last few weeks, cat calls and the such like, but you needed to keep yourself safe.

You pressed on. It was only another couple of blocks until you got back to your shitty apartment. You missed your old one, but after Steve’s last visit, when clarity had hit you a few weeks later, you knew that for his and your safety you couldn’t stay there. You’d packed up only the most precious of your belongings and hit the road.

Suddenly someone bumped into you with surprising force and you spun, your bags dropping to the ground, before you inelegantly joined them. You breathed a sigh of relief when you realised you’d landed on your backside.

You were just reorientating yourself, a part of you frustrated by how everyone was just passing you by, when a shadow fell over you.

“Need a hand?”

You looked up, and saw two men standing over you. The one who’d spoken had his hand out.

You accepted, tentatively, and let out a small gasp as he easily hefted you to your feet. He smiled at you, but there was something off about it, the way it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“You ought to be careful, omega. Being out here, in the dark, all on your lonesome.”

His friend thrust your belongings into your arms and you gripped them tightly so as not to spill them again. You were feeling uncomfortable and just wanted to get home.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you for stopping to help.” You made to step around them and carry on your way, but the pair shifted, caging you in against the side of the building behind you.

“Never a problem for a pretty omega.” His smile turned into a predatory grin and you tried to school your features and not let your discomfort show.

“Well, thank you again…” You took another step, but neither of them moved.

“We’re you going in such a hurry? Thought we could get to know each other better. Maybe you thank us properly.”

You steeled yourself for the inevitable confrontation and tried to nonchalantly catch the eye of a passer-by. Any passer-by.

“Look. I’m appreciative. But I’ve got to get home to my Alpha.” You tilted your head to show your mating scar, but the man just dropped his head slightly, and scented you. You couldn’t repress the full body shiver such an invasion of privacy the act elicited.

“The thing is, ‘mega, I see the scar, but you barely have any of your alpha scent on you. Makes me think you’ve been abandoned, sweet thing.”

You glared before trying to push your way between them.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

He grabbed your upper arm, jerking you to a halt.

“Then come with us nicely, and you won’t have any.”

“No. I’m not going with you. I owe you no other thanks than what I’ve given. And even if I didn’t have an alpha, which I do, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere with either of you.”

The grip on your arm tightened and you couldn’t stop the small cry of pain you let out.

“Ungrateful, omega bitch. Let’s see if you change your tune when you’ve got a knot in you.”

His friend took hold of your other arm and between them they started to haul you towards the mouth of an alley. You dropped your bags again so you’d have your hands free and dropped your weight to make it harder for them to move you. Also, it was now time to make a scene.

“Get off of me. Let me go, you creeps!” You shouted at the top of your lungs, squirming and twisting their grasp, but in the time you’d been interacting with them, the massive crowds that had been your bane earlier on had now disappeared.

You turned your head and latched your teeth onto one of the hands holding you, feeling a burst of pride in your chest when you broke the skin and the man cried out. He dropped you as he let go, and you sank to the floor. Your joy was short-lived though when he back-handed you around the face, and you went dizzy from the force of it. Your vision was cloudy as they pulled you back up.

“Just think, sweetheart. We were willing to be nice. Could have made sure you enjoyed it, but now? Now it’s just for us.” He turned to his buddy. “When did omegas get so uppity? Was a time when as an alpha you just had to say jump and omegas would ask how high.”

Your panic was rising, along with the bile in your throat, but then you smelt it.

Smelt him.

Your salvation.

For a moment you thought your brain was playing tricks on you, but then your hindbrain started whining excitedly and you knew it was true.

“Let. Her. Go.”

A deep growl sounded from the street end of the alley, and your would-be assailants dropped you and turned at the sound. You caught yourself on your palms, scrapping them on the hard, filthy ground, but you didn’t care.

“Steve!” His blue eyes flicked over you, no doubt checking to see how much you’d been hurt, as he stalked forward towards the two men.

“How dare you touch my mate. How dare you touch any omega like that.” His voice was unsettlingly calm and you saw the two men look towards each other, a silent conversation about fight or flight. They didn’t make their decision quickly enough though, because suddenly Steve was in front of them, knocking them out with one punch each, then walking past them, already forgotten, as he focused on you.

“Are you okay, baby?” His voice was full of trepidation as he scooped you up against his chest. You rubbed your face into the crook of his neck, covering your skin with his scent and allowing it to calm you.

“‘M okay, Steve. Just lost my stuff.”

You felt his chuckle rumble through your body.

“I’ll get you some more stuff, Omega. Let’s get you home.”

You allowed him to carry you, your fingers curled into the lapels of his brown suede jacket. You inhaled his scent deeply, and realised after a few minutes that you were purring. Steve pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you were sure you could hear him smile.

“Missed you too, sweetheart. Missed you too.”

You didn’t tell him where your apartment was, but you weren’t surprised that he knew. Of course he’d found out, otherwise he wouldn’t have been in this neighbourhood anyway. He let you back on your feet outside your door, and you were glad that you’d put your keys in your pocket and not your bag. You opened the door and walked through, flicking on the light and illuminating your meagre accommodation.

You could tell Steve wasn’t impressed. If the scent of his dissatisfaction wasn’t obvious enough, the way he went around the whole place, scoping out locks on all the windows would have let you know.

“Baby, why are you living here? Why did you leave your old apartment?”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. You couldn’t get away with not telling him, so sooner rather than later was obviously the best strategy. You walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him. You still had your coat on, and with how much heat Steve pumped out, you were starting to sweat within a few seconds.

“I was scared, Steve. And I felt vulnerable. My mind was telling me that I had to go somewhere safe. Somewhere unknown. What if someone had followed you the last time you had visited. Then we…I wouldn’t be safe.”

“You’ve neer felt like that before, Omega. I’ve visited you for your heat there lots of times.”

Laughter bubbled up your throat, and you shook your head, a wry smile on your face.

“Yeah, but last time was sort of different.”

Steve looked down at you, confusion on his face, as you stepped away from him and unzipped your coat, pulling it off and tossing it aside.

Your mate looked at you.

Frozen still.

Mouth agape.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of you, wrapped his arm around your thickened waist and pressed his cheek to your swollen belly, which was barely covered by his worn black t-shirt. You let him have a moment, and just ran your fingers through his dirty blonde locks, humming gently and letting out a soothing scent.

When he pulled his face away and sat back on his heels he was looking up at you in awe. His eyes were red rimmed and you could see the tracks of a few silent tears on his pinked cheeks.

“You’re having my pup?”

You smiled at him and put out your hand to pull him up.

“Yes, silly. Although, I have a feeling it might be pups. Two.”

Steve stood, only to stagger a few feet to your worn sofa, before dropping down into it and pulling you with him to sit across his lap. One of his arms was around your back, supporting you, and the other lay across your stomach, long fingers splayed over your bump. He gave you a soft, lingering kiss, before pulling back and shaking his head, still in disbelief.

“You’re having my pups. Pups. You. Me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him, how shocked he was by it all.

“Well, that’s generally what happens when an Alpha and an Omega love each other very much and have a special cuddle…oww!”

You let out a cry as Steve playfully nipped at your neck, just above your mating scar, before running his tongue over it.

“Okay, just stop teasing me, baby. It’s a shock, alright? I knew it was a possibility, but I just didn’t think it would happen. Not yet.”

“Steve, it’s not like we were doing anything to prevent it.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…it’s just part of me thought it wouldn’t happen until we were properly together again.”

Your heart sunk in your chest, as he reminded you of the current state of your relationship.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you resumed toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“When do you have to go?”

“Well, I was thinking that we’d stay here tonight, then pack you up and move you to the compound tomorrow.”

You sat back up with a start.

“What? Compound? What do you mean?”

“Well, now I’m back, I have a big apartment at the Compound, and if you’re there with me, then we can get you the best medical care and…”

You scrabbled off his lap, chest suddenly tight.

“Back? You’re back? When? How? I’m…oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

You sank to the floor, leaning over and dragging air into your lungs. Steve knelt down beside you rubbing your back, letting his scent flow in an effort to soothe you.

“My turn to shock you, ey, Omega?”

You nodded, still unable to speak and feeling a prickling in your eyes.

“I don’t know how you missed it, but the Accords were rescinded. I mean I still gotta have a long ass meeting with some high up folk, but I’m no longer a wanted man. Tony and I have even made tentative steps to get our friendship back on track. Brought Bucky back with me too.”

You threw your arms around his neck and pressed your lips to his, uncaring at the tears rolling down your face.

“You’re back, you’re back. Oh god. And I’m having your pups and I can move out of this shitty apartment. Pinch me, I’m dreaming.”

Steve chuckled, and then for the second time in as many hours scooped you up into his arms.

“How about you show me where you sleep in this awful place, and I’ll bite your neck instead, Omega…”

His words were almost a growl as he rubbed his face up against yours, and you felt heat suffuse your body.”

“I’d like that very much, Alpha…”

Tag list: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @yarnforbrains @sidepartskinnyjeans @flordeamatista @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @seitmai @marvelstarker-mha98 @talia-rumlow

#alpha steve rogers #nomad!steve #alpha steve x omega reader #nomad steve x reader #alpha nomad steve #late writes #asks answered #jen's got mail #love my moots

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fandomfluffandfuck · 11 days

Note

S, I just came up with this idea. Listen..

Sebastian just losing it for Steve, he loves Chris, he's fucking weak for him. But sometimes, he looks at Steve on the screen in CA:TWS or Civil War, and just can't take it, he wants that guy. And imagine him talking Chris into role playing Steve just for him, when he's got the blonde hair, the bulk and all that. He just wants to be treated well by Steve, and not as Bucky, just himself, he can't help it.

That was it thank you very much.

I do love this idea! I love it a lot. And I think this kind of fits with my fic, "Character Bleed," obviously it's not the same concept, but if you haven't read that, I think you'd like it 👀

I mean, we know that Chris feels like this for Bucky on a PG level. Remember that con panel where he said he has a soft spot for him, bursting out with "I was gonna defend Sebastian, he's not a villian, he's a victim really!"? I remember it well. I especially remember Sebastian's happy little, 'he loves me' wiggle. It was the cutest!

(16:53-17:21)

So... I can totally see this happening with Sebastian in a PG-13 to R-rated way 😏 and I would like to imagine that it spills out of Sebastian accidentally, too.

Over the years and years of playing these characters, so much of Sebastian has become tangled up in Bucky, so much of Bucky is tangled up in Sebastian (which reminds of the top Chris quote in this gif set, too), and after the years of being with Chris, his infatuation still the same, maybe even worse now, realistically, it's only natural.

His heart speeds in his chest whenever he sees Chris and, usually, the effect is the same when he sees him larger than life on screen, portaying a character. Chris only has one face and it's just so goddamn handsome. He can't help it. C'mon! It's not fair! What's a man supposed to do?

And no matter how embarrassed Sebastian is of his simmering, latent, years long crush on Steve Rogers because of his affection for his boyfriend, Chris Evans--who is real and not fictional and more than enough, of course--he'll never say it willingly.

It only comes to a head because of the fucking sledgehammer to the head that is Nomad Steve Rogers.

That's so much closer to the Chris that Sebastian gets to love every day with his thick beard and his natural, untamed body hair and just his bigness, but it's also still so Steve.

It's Steve elevated.

It's Steve irresistible.

It's Steve knee-weakeningly hot.

So knee-weakening that when they're shooting, Infinity War over one of the the weekends, too wrapped up in each other to go out with the rest of the crew, hitting the town, it happens.

They're wrapped up, consumed in each other. Sebastian is pressed roughly back into their rented apartment bed, the sheets mused and ruined, the air thick, and his legs are spread as wide as they can be but they're still tense, still squeezed tight around Chris' impossibly broad shoulders. Those fucking shoulders--they're just so huge that he can't not press against them, no matter how shamelessly he opens himself to be taken and he loves it.

He loves how little and surrounded Chris makes him feel, always having to fight to make room for him. He's so big. Larger than life especially when he's been bulking and working out like a madman for the silver screen. Jesus, it feels as though Chris hardly fits between his legs sometimes. Like. Shit. He belongs there, between Sebastian's legs, having his way with him, wringing all the pleasure he wants from him. But he's so big!

Big and heavy, pressing down on him. Keeping him in place as if he would dream of going anywhere else. He dreams of this--Chris' palms broad and hot and owning, gripping handfuls of his thighs and ass, groping him, leaving finger- and handprint bruises where no one else will see. Underneath his costume, bruises that will ache when he stretches later, warming up for stunts and making his face warm with the secret, too.

(If only the makeup artists could see, they'd tease him and tut at him, playfully scolding him for getting it so hard when he knows he has to be on camera. Couldn't he have waited a few more days? Couldn't he have controlled himself for a little longer? God, Sebastian shudders impulsively, hot.)

So, Chris' there.

He's taking up space there, between his legs. Big, broad, and feverish, taking handfuls of him, taking mouthfuls of him, devouring him, first leaving marks across his skin with his lips and teeth and tongue, then sucking him off like he wants to kill him. Murdering him with how good it feels. Hot. Wet. Tight. Sucking him down, the slick, soft insides of his cheeks, the thrilling edge of his teeth, just hinted at, the depth of his throat.

Oh, God.

It's so distracting. He's so good. So good at this. He's gotten so good at this over the years that Sebastian is losing his mind. He loses his mind every time, now. He knows just what he likes.

So, Sebastian's grasping the sheets, fisting them so hard his knuckles are white, whimpering. Breathless. And Chris does fucking something, something with his tongue that he can't comprehend when he's so hard, throbbing, he just--

Sebastian arches and moves, feverish, squirming, reaching swiftly, grabbing and holding onto Chris' hair, dyed dirty blonde and long enough to really fucking hold on.

Then, to make it worse, Chris goes with his frantic hold, letting himself be directed, humoring Sebastian for now, until he wants to take control back; he dives deep, deep throating him, humming, letting him sweat with the vibrations that gut him. So overwhelmed with how fucking erotic it is, how good it feels, Sebastian is groaning, mouth open. He can't think. He can't stop.

It simply escapes him.

He can barely see through the tears in his eyes, his head spinning, but he's blinking, staring down at his shaking hands fisted in that blonde hair, and whining, "St-Steve!"

Suddenly, Sebastian is cursing how good of an actor his boyfriend is--how willing he is to "yes, and" because while Sebastian wants to curl up into a ball, tingling with arousal that's being rapidly taken over by superheated embarrassment, his nerves spitting and sparking like faulty wiring, Chris is chuckling. Just for a moment, though. The dark vibrations feel like fire. Hot as fuck. But that laugh, rich and dangerous, disappears and is replaced with Chris' touch. Chris has let go of one of his thighs to gather his right wrist, then his left--Sebastian hadn't even realized his hands had unweaved themselves from his golden fucking head of hair, making him see double, but they had. His hands are covering his own mouth. They were. Chris is putting them back in his own hair and he's--

"Ohh, oh, God!"

He's making him hold onto his hair and he's pushing himself down, down, pressing his nose to the flat of his lower stomach, swallowing around him, making him feel so good that his hips jerk sharply up. Chris doesn't choke and Sebastian dies. Just a little bit. Dying. He's sucking him like a beast and he's just, just... it's like he's urging him on, it's like he's--

Without his hands to cover his mouth and shut himself up, Sebastian moans again, "Steve!"

It's like he's trying to get him to say it!

Between his legs, Chris is determined, there's just the hint of a smirk on his mouth, curled up around his aching cock. And in his eyes--

Sebastian knows that look.

Fuck.

He knows it!

He knows the determination; he knows the steel in his gaze; he knows the dangerous glint and he fucking sees Steve.

"Pluh-please, please!" Sebastian gasps, overwhelmed, trying to hold himself off but failing spectacularly, "please, Steve!" His outcry is immediately followed by half-whimpering, half-panting, "'m sorryy!"

He's so fucking embarrassed that his face is tingling; he couldn't be blushing more, but he also can't stop himself, his body is rushing, pulsing, throbbing, and too sensitive to stop. It's too much! There's no brakes, only more gas.

Steve, Steve--Chris, er, whatever.

Chris won't have it, though.

Chris isn't just looking at him with that bastard fucker, stubborn stare that's pure Steve Rogers--Steve Rogers who won't and doesn't know how to put his head down and give up, not giving up now--Chris is lowering his voice and putting that lilt in it that's booming, authoritative, and empowering.

Actually, that voice is not so different from his usual, deep, rumbling, this-is-making-my-dick-hard voice, and the association is going to ruin Sebastian for the rest of his life. Every time they're on set from now on, he's gonna think about this and he's gonna fucking die of mortification.

Chris has so easily slipped into that voice. That role. Criminally easily, he's started being Steve.

Steve.

Steve ordering Sebastian around like he's making calls on a battle field as he pulls off his cock with a slurp, leaning his broad shoulders back, confident and cocky, a fucking leader, "you're gonna cum for me, baby. C'mon. I see it. It's right there. I know it is." While he talks like that, he jerks Sebastian off hard. Dick wet and sloppy from his dreamy mouth. Squeezing his throbbing hard-on until Seb gasps hard enough his throat hurts, he's going raw.

"You're gonna gimme what I want, baby," Steve tells him, "and you're gonna show me how pretty you are by cumming."

Sebastian is just a man.

Just a man on edge with an order to fall over it. So, he cums.

Hard.

He cums, pumping, throbbing, and shattering in Steve's hands. A fucking wet dream worthy man--his flowing, blonde hair, his voice, his beard, his stupidly broad chest and shoulders, his torn, dusty uniform, his hands, and those fucking gloves. Sebastian can see those gloves, his rolled uniform sleeves, exposed forearms, all of it. He can see it painted on the back of his eyelids as his eyes roll back, breaking apart with pleasure.

He makes a mess of Steve's beard and plush lips and the site of it, when he manages to peel his eyes open, it makes him wanna cum again.

Now.

Please.

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #sebastian stan #chris evans #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction #steve rogers #stucky #bucky barnes

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evansbby · 2 years

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oof i had a midterm earlier today and i couldn't remember anything i studied for the past week while taking it because all i could think about is getting double penetrated by curtis and ari while nomad steve watches </3

no bc why is this me

#i don’t have exams but whenever i’m in class it’s the same thing hehehe #anon #the curtis and ari double team ft nomad steve is SO HOT

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megamindsecretlair · 10 months

Text

Sit Still (Look Pretty), Part 1

Cross posted on @megamindssecretlair

Pairing: Nomad Steve x Black!Fem!reader/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. There is some unresolved tension, mutual voyeurism, cursing, mentions of female and male parts, Part 1 of ? Not sure how long this will take to resolve. Age gap, reader is mid 20s, Nomad Steve is mid 30s.

Summary: AU where Steve was born in modern times but still received a serum in the Army to make him a super soldier. He's moved in next door and has noticed you watching him. You and your mom have gone over to introduce yourselves.

Word Count: 1,857k

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

A/N: I've been reading a lot of age gap fics so decided to try my hand at another. Apologies if I miss any warnings or this is super corny. But this was fun. While likes are awesome, please consider commenting and reblogging to help writers!

Fuck, your neighbor was hot as hell. You sat on your window seat gawking at the tall, sexy neighbor as he picked up huge boxes and carried them in the house as if it weighed no more than feathers.

Muscles rippled in a dark blue muscle shirt as he moved and bent over. And that ass. You bit your lip as the neighbor bent further down to lift a chair. Oh and those thighs. You sighed. The Lord took His time with this one.

The man was at least six foot tall, dark blond hair and a full trimmed beard. He wore a pair of dark jeans and boots. All week, you had watched him go in and out of the newly bought house next door. He carried lots of boxes but none of them gave any clue to his story.

Was he married? Was he expecting? Surely someone that damn fine had a wife heavenly pregnant and ordering him about. You weren’t sure how he didn’t have eleven rugrats running around. There were no other movers and the neighbor had rented a small truck for his sofa and dressers.

You also saw the neighborhood crones using any excuse in the book to talk to him and be nosy. If he thought someone that looked like him was going to move here without raising any alarms, he was sorely mistaken.

You gasped as he stopped to stretch, moving his body beyond his limit. You just wanted to lick him. Just once. You fanned yourself as you watched him. You imagined all kinds of filthy things when it came to him.

You imagined him grabbing your fleshy thighs and shaking them before slapping them. You imagined him in between your legs coating that full beard with your juices. You imagined him breaking your back. Like, literally breaking your back. Because he could put you in the hospital and you’d say thank you.

He disappeared into the house. His curtains were thrown open so you could still watch him moving around the house. The downfall to stock houses was that they were lined up just so. The houses were nearly identical. Your bedroom window faced his bedroom window on the second floor. The angle you had was just enough to see his kitchen sink. It’d be possible to see his arms and hands as he washed.

You spent plenty of nights this week just watching his hands work over his meager dishes. If he was married, she didn’t live with him. You never saw anyone coming or going from his place. He didn’t have a second car.

Your mom called your name. “I’ve got this cake for the neighbor, let’s go introduce ourselves,” she called.

You rolled your eyes. Yes, your mom was very much just as gossipy as the neighborhood crones. Everything you’ve heard of the neighbor was through her and probably had twisted from its original message.

You weren’t dressed yet. You had made watching him your dirty hobby. But you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Sometimes, you got the eerie feeling as if he were watching you too. You had taken to keeping your curtains open and your light on.

You never saw him look over here. The random times he was in his room and moving around, he never gave any indication that he knew you were looking. Still, you pranced around in your bra and panties every morning or before hanging with your friends as you decided what to wear.

Sometimes, you even faced the window as you decided between two shirts or two skirts. You pretended that he was picking your outfits, telling you what he likes seeing you in. That he would imagine ripping it off of your body all day and it would drive him crazy. Knowing you’d be capable of making him hard and uncomfortable all day turned you on so badly.

You stood and did just that. You faced his bedroom window even though he was probably still on the first floor. You held up a red, frilly shirt and a light ocean blue plain shirt. You flipped back and forth, imagining what he’d like.

You put the shirts on your bed and then flipped between jeans and white shorts. You held up the red shirt and white shorts. If you were going to meet him, you might as well show him what you’re working with. You turned around and imagined him at the window, getting dressed for him.

You bent low and shimmied into the white shorts as slow as you could. Then you slipped on the red babydoll tee. It made your breasts look good. Plus it was hot as sin outside.

You ran down the stairs and sat on the steps as you slipped on your shoes. Your mom floated into the room holding a small box. “I went with chocolate,” your mom said. “Everybody likes chocolate and those who don’t are lying to get attention.”

You laughed as you shook your head. Your mom was gorgeous, with flowing locs and a great figure. She wore loose tan pants and a cream shirt.

“Isn’t this a little Southern of us?” You asked. You lived in Suburbia with the white picket fences and neighbors who’d gone to high school together. It was capital boredom and should be labeled as a torture method.

“Best way to meet your neighbors. They associate you with good food and are less likely to be rude to you by throwing loud parties and orgies,” your mother said.

You snorted. Your mom never had a filter and would often say the first thing that comes to mind. Your dad hated it but you caught him smiling more than a few times.

You trudged over the manicured lawn, over the small concrete divider, and onto his property. The door was closed. He was probably taking a break from moving things. Your mom rang the doorbell and you waited.

The door finally opened and you gasped silently. He was even more gorgeous in person. Fuck, it had to be illegal to carry those arms. They looked big enough to crush a coconut in one grip. His hands were large and his fingers were long, like a musician's fingers.

He smirked at you and your mother. Your mom stepped forward. “We wanted to introduce ourselves, we’re your neighbors on that side,” she said and pointed to your house.

She told him your names and all about the chocolate cake, including her joke about people lying. He threw his head back as he laughed as if it were that funny.

“I’m Steve,” he said. He shook your mom’s hand and then moved to yours. His grip was firm but not crushing.

You looked down at your combined hands, loving the way that your copper skin contrasted with his creamy skin. He held on a second too long before turning his attention to your mom who asked him a million questions.

“If I heard all of those, I’d say I moved here for work, not married, and I work for the military. Did I get it all?” He asked.

He had a bit of an accent. You guessed somewhere on the East Coast. Your mom giggled. You looked at her as if she grew a third head. She widened her eyes at you and then smiled back at Steve. She prattled on about her career, that fact that you were in college for your master’s, and that you were always available if he needed you.

Since his attention was on your mom, you took the opportunity to study him up close. His blue eyes were sharp, giving one hundred percent of his focus on the person speaking. He had a prominent vein on the side of his neck and you imagined licking it.

“Oh, I have to take this, excuse me,” your mom said. She answered her phone and stepped off of the porch.

You turned to Steve who had his eyes trained on you. He barely blinked and did not look away.

“So, military huh? That explains that,” you said. You waved at his figure and he laughed. It was deep and made you tingle.

“Thank you. I’m not active duty anymore, I’ve transitioned to the state side and do boring office work now. You home for the summer?” He asked.

“Yes, I am. Taking a break so no work, no homework, just time to decompress. Usually in the pool. This is one of the worst summers ever,” you said and fanned yourself.

Steve slowly perused your body. There was no mistaking that look in his eyes. He faintly smirked as he took in your outfit, your wide curves, your generous hips, and your thick thighs.

He slowly dragged that gaze back up until he reached your face. “Make sure you stay cool, then. Dehydration is nothing to play with,” he said.

Your mouth went dry under the intense heat of his gaze. You were aware. You were aware of him and aware of his focus. You bit your lips and his eyes zeroed in on it. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you okay?” He asked. You shifted your footing, trying to find some relief. The heat outside had nothing on his face.

Your mom’s scuffling shoes took you out of the moment. He winked at you before your mom joined you. Though it was Saturday, her job needed her to come in and solve an emergency. She waved goodbye to Steve and told him not to be a stranger.

You waved bye, unable to speak at the moment. As you turned to leave, Steve grabbed your hand. He ran his fingers over your wrist as he leaned in.

“My favorite color is light blue. And you should get more of those garter things. They look divine on you,” he said. Gravel skated over ‘divine’ and you whimpered. You hoped he didn’t catch that. Your eyes flicked from his lips to his eyes and his eyes narrowed again.

Your heart thundered in your chest. He knew what you had been doing all along. Your skin heated for entirely different reasons as you thought of all the different lingerie combinations you tried on in front of the window. It somehow made it filthier that he was getting naughty glimpses of you. It made you horny all day thinking of wearing the lingerie and that he didn’t know it was for him.

It had gotten so bad, that you didn’t care if your parents were home. You had to get off on thinking that he helped select the combos. And those were some of the best orgasms you ever gave yourself.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered and licked your lips. He smiled and nodded his head as if he were dismissing you. As if he had any right to order you around.

Yet you left the porch and nearly skipped across the lawn like he told you. Before getting in the house, you looked back. He stood on the porch, facing you, with his hands in his pockets. You smiled and went inside, thinking of how many blue outfits you owned.

Read Part 2 | Read Part 3

#marvel smut #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #nomad steve #nomad steve rogers #nomad steve x Black!reader #nomad steve x fem reader #nomad steve x plus size reader #nomad steve x Black reader #nomad steve x reader #steve x neighbor fic #nomad steve x neighbor!reader #The Secret Nomad Steve Files #Megaminds Secret Files #au #alternate universe

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pedrito-friskito · 1 year

Note

Happy Sleepover lovely Kay!

I didn’t see the character on the list but if you’re writing for Chris Evans’ characters, I was wondering if you could do Ransom Drysdale with the prompt “Your eyes are beautiful.” He’s a dick but I think the right person could turn him into a puddle. If you can’t do Ransom, my back up is Nomad Steve Rogers

Please and thank you

💕

ericca darling thank you!!

okay I don’t know if I completely did the assholery justice (it’s been a hot second since I watched Knives Out) but the mere thought of Chris Evans in that cream-coloured sweater DOES THINGS TO ME so here we are…! a…softer side of Ransom Drysdale (for the right person!)

hope you enjoy sweets, thanks for the request!

requests are open until saturday midnight!

firecracker

(word count 1.7k)

He knows you’re angry.

It’s not hard to see, every time he glances over at you in his car. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your legs the same, and you’re staring pointedly ahead, eyes glued to the windshield. Any other night, and you’d be staring out the window, dreamily pointing out stars and constellations as he drives, or, if you were in a mood, you’d be clinging to his arm, either pulling his hand between your legs or fitting yourself over the centre console and freeing him from his slacks.

The anger is nearly rolling off of you, filling the car with tension that he thinks he could cut with a knife. He’s seen you upset before, but never like this. And he knows it’s his fault. He knows.

We’re not dating, he’d told his friends, not realizing you were within earshot. We’re just fucking around. She’s a good lay, little firecracker in bed. It was a boldface lie, Ransom will be the first to admit. But he’s a different person when he’s around those guys, when he’s out in public, not alone with you, in the house you’ve only just decided to share.

He was just…fronting. He can’t tell those guys shit like this, like he’s in love with you, like he would move heaven and earth to make you happy. He can’t be seen as that guy, he has a reputation to maintain for Chrissakes. He can’t let anyone else know that you seem to have this innate ability to turn him into a fucking puddle with a bat of your eyelashes.

He didn’t meant to fall in love with you; it just…happened.

You just…happened.

And you heard what he said. You rounded the corner a moment later, cocktail glass held so tight he was shocked it didn’t splinter in your grip. For a moment, he thought he was home-free, that you just happened to be walking his way at that time, but the expression on your face? Oh no, you’d definitely heard.

You’re silent the entire drive, eyes not moving from the road ahead. He’s barely cut the engine when you’re flinging the door open and stepping out, the headlights illuminating your path to the door. Ransom waits for a moment, stuck in the driver’s seat. He watches you fish your keys from your purse, open the door and step inside, slamming it shut behind you without looking to see if he followed.

Yep, you’re angry.

He’s slow to get out of the car, locking it and heading for the door, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. He’s half-expecting the front door to be locked, but it swings open easily, and he sighs, closing it behind him and flicking the lock, hanging his keys on the hook and shucking off his jacket.

He can hear you upstairs, your feet padding across the floor. Even from the bottom of the stairs, he can see the open bedroom door, the light flooding through it. He hears the sink in the ensuite, the television hung on the wall turned on for a few moments before you shut it off again, and then the door slams shut.

Shit.

Ransom doesn’t go upstairs right away, instead padding into the kitchen, pouring himself a drink, leaning against the counter as he sips the liquor. It slides down his throat easily, but does nothing to quell the nerves in his gut. He well and truly fucked up this time; he wouldn’t be surprised if you’re up there packing your things, if he’ll hear you walk out the door in just a few minutes, never to be seen again.

He doesn’t expect you to step into the kitchen halfway through his drink. He nearly chokes on it.

You’re wearing his sweater.

Only his sweater.

You don’t say a word as you walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. He just watches, letting his gaze rake over every inch of your body as you find yourself a snack, reaching up on your toes to fish a glass from the cupboard before you fill it with water. That’s his favourite part, watching the sweater ride up your back as you reach up, showcasing the curve of your ass, the scrap of lace that’s barely covering you. You look over your shoulder as you sink back onto your feet, lashes fluttering, and his drink suddenly feels like an iron weight in the pit of his stomach.

“What?” you snap.

“Nothing,” he replies, staring down into his drink. He wishes he could disappear into it. “Look, baby, can we—”

“No.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he spits out, the words spewing out of him. “I’m sorry, all right?”

You roll your eyes, planting your hands on the counter and lifting yourself up and onto it. It puts you at eye-level with him. “You’re sorry?” you repeat, your tone dry. “Oh, that’s perfect, Hugh. I feel so much better now, thank you.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Baby, sweetheart, honey,” you spit back, throwing a hand in the air. “I thought it was firecracker.”

“I didn’t mean it!” he nearly shouts, banging his fist on the counter. You don’t flinch, fixing your eyes on his, staring back. “Would you just listen to me for one goddamned second?”

Your brow lifts as you take a sip of your water. You cross your legs, then your arms. “Well? I’m listening.”

There were words. They were right on the tip of his tongue. A confession, an apology, an explanation, something. But then you’d fixed those eyes on him, big and wide, still smudged with makeup from the party, lashes fanned across your cheeks, and they were gone.

“Hugh?” you prompt, and he nearly chokes. Only you call him that, and god fucking damn it, his name sounds like a song from your lips. You blink at him, he blinks back. “I’m listening.”

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” he breathes out, and for a long moment, you just stare at each other, sinking into silence. Carefully, he steps forward, closing the distance slightly, slowly, like you’re a deer in the woods. He doesn’t want to spook you. “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t know what I know anymore,” you say flatly, pursing your lips. “I didn’t realize we were just fucking around.”

Ransom groans, tipping his head back on his shoulders as he closes the distance more, until he’s close enough he can plant his hands on either side of you, fingers tapping at the counter. “Baby, you know that’s not true.”

“Oh, do I?” you ask. “Cuz I bet if I asked any of your friends, they’d tell me we’re not dating, that we’re just fucking around, and that I’m a little firecracker in bed.”

“Fine,” he says, and reaches into his pocket, produces his cellphone. You watch with a furrowed brow as he swipes across the screen, dials the number of one of his friends. “Hey, man, it’s me,” he says, and stares you down as he speaks. “Listen, what I said earlier, about the girl?” A pause. “Yeah, the firecracker. Yeah, we’re not just fucking around, all right? We’re together. Officially.” You blink, lips parting. “I’m in love with her.”

He doesn’t wait for his friend to reply, just hangs up, tosses the phone onto the counter.

You’re on him a second later.

He drinks your kiss down, gathering you into his arms as your legs lock around his waist. The sweater somehow feels softer on your body, and you whimper into his mouth as his hands roam, diving beneath the hem and feeling your bare skin.

It sparks like wildfire between you; it always does, but he lets you take the lead. You paw at the buttons on his shirt, fumble with his belt buckle, whine for him to do it for you. So he does, all but tearing his jeans open, sucking down a breath when your hand closes around him. “God damn, baby.”

He returns the touches in kind, dragging his knuckles along the bit of lace, chuckling into your mouth when he feels them soak through, your thighs slick with arousal. Ransom doesn’t waste any time, pulling you closer on the counter, hitching your legs around his hips. You moan when he drags your panties to the side, crooks two fingers deep in you, prodding at the spot he knows makes your toes curl.

“Hugh,” you murmur, fingers curled in the collar of his shirt, hauling him close. “Fuck me, please?”

“Yes, baby,” he agrees, and pushes into you a moment later, palm skirting down to the small of you back, coaxing you closer to him. “Ah, there you are.”

Your head tips back against the cupboard, your arms wrapped around his neck, and he leans in, dragging his tongue along your pulse. Your eyes flutter shut, lips parted as he starts to move, thrusting deep, rolling his hips into yours. You fist the back of his shirt, the other glancing down his chest, nails digging at his skin.

Neither of you are going to last, that much he knows for sure. He can feel it, in your body and his own, and the feeling starts to roll through him as he reaches up, takes your jaw in his hand, angles your face back down towards his. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth dropped open.

“Let me see those eyes, baby,” he says, leaning in to kiss you rough, tasting your tongue with his own before he pulls back. “C’mon, I wanna see those eyes when you cum.”

You nail him with a wide-eyed stare, and he cums so hard his knees nearly give out. You’re not far behind, clenching down on him with everything you have, milking his cock, and he kisses you again.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, moving his lips down to your throat, gathering you impossibly closer. “You hear me? My girl.”

#sleepover saturday #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #my fics #knives out #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale angst #ransom drysdale headcanon

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ronearoundblindly · 2 months

Text

Hideout (2)

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

Sweet Baby (see previous or series)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grant seems hesitant to accept or argue.

You press on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks so tired.

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

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

His eyes shut.

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

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

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

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

Somewhere around his throat, the man sniffs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can, however, still tease him.

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

Steve groans.

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

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

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

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

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

“I should let Tom know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to go…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s nothing wrong.

He can feel good.

He should feel good.

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

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

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

Steve whimpers and juts his pelvis forward.

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

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

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

“Whatever you need…it’s okay.”

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

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

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

But it’s too late.

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

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

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

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

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

So that was okay, and this is okay.

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

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

“Thank you for the…the bath.”

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

“I’m glad you feel better, Grant.”

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

[Next Part: Sensitive Boy, Part I]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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