#steve rogers age gap

[sergeantxrogers]

| run hot |

Summary: Visiting Aunt Nat at the new Avengers Facility was not at all what you expected it to be: stolen kisses, pretty lakes, and your secret being uncovered.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader

Word count: 6k 

Warnings: Fluff, age gap (same as in part 1), smut-about-to-happen, Steve being vulnerable and kinda sad, Steve also being defensive, super-spy Natasha, that’s all

Note: This is part two to this previous fic

_______________

“Mom-”

“Did you pack your toothbrush?”

“Yes, but mom-”

“What about your charger? How will I call you if your phone’s dead?”

“I packed my charger.”

“You sure? Why don’t you double check, just in case?”

“Honey,” your dad’s voice drifted from the doorway, causing both you and your frantic mother to turn towards it. “She already has everything she needs.”

Your mom huffed. “How can you be so sure?”

Your dad sighed, then pushed himself off the door frame and walked over to her. “Because you’ve been over this with her a million times already.”

He enveloped her in a hug, and her head rested heavily on his shoulder. Your eyes met hers, and you gave her an empathetic smile. 

“I’m just worried, that’s all,” she said, the words muffled against your dad’s shirt.

He pulled back, then turned to look at you with a smile and a tilt of his head. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“Yeah, mom, I think I’ll be able to manage a week away from you,” you cut in, and you saw her shoulders slump. She stepped forward and grabbed you by your shoulders, studying your face for a moment before speaking.

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Your mom sighed, and looked to your father hesitantly before glancing back at you. “I just... There’s been so many bad things going on in the world lately, and you’re gonna be so far away from us-”

Her voice cracked towards the end of her sentence, and it broke your heart along with it. You shook your head and gave her hand a small squeeze. 

“Laura,” your dad said softly, bringing a hand up to her shoulder, “she’ll be staying at a highly-guarded facility with a bunch of superhumans. There’s not a single place in the world she’d be safer.”

“Aunt Nat wouldn’t have invited me if she didn’t think it was safe,” you added hopefully, and it took a moment, but your mother finally nodded.

Taking in a deep breath, she straightened her back and cleared her throat. She gave your arm a final squeeze before smiling. “I’m heading downstairs. Natasha’ll be here any minute to pick you up.”

You and your father stood side by side and watched her leave, before you turned to look at each other. 

“Is she like this with you?” you asked him with a skeptical brow.

“Every damn time, kiddo,” he said with a sigh. 

__________

“Jeez, Nat, this place is huge,” you gaped as you walked in through the main entrance of the facility. “How do you guys not get lost in here?”

Natasha chuckled as she threw an arm over your shoulders, pulling you along with her down a long hallway with big windows and high ceilings. “Practice, kid.”

Your eyes kept drinking in everything the facility had to offer, from high tech elevators and doors, to meeting rooms filled with people in suits and lab coats, barely sparing you a glance as you walked passed their open doors.

Everything else was a flash of movement and excitement that you were actually, finally here, until Nat ushered you into a large room with couches, matching chairs, a huge desk and a few overflowing bookshelves.

The conversation in the room died down once all eyes fell on you, and you felt your heart stutter with nerves. You knew all of these people - of course you did. But they didn’t know you. At least, not all of them. Your eyes bounced between the girl you knew was Wanda, and Sam Wilson, contemplating which one to approach and introduce yourself to first, when a familiar voice to your right tore your attention away from them. 

“Hey-”

You met the source of the voice with furrowed brows. 

“I know you,” he said, and got up from his desk chair, circling the corner of the desk while pointing a finger at you. “You’re Barton’s kid, right? Finally here to meat the rest of these shitheads?”

You sighed, partially in relief, and partially because you knew what was in store for you for the next seven days. “Yeah, Tony. It’s me. I wouldn’t say they’re shitheads though.”

“Oh no, they’re shitheads, alright,” Tony said with an affirmative nod. 

He pointed to Wanda and she rolled her eyes as he said, “She’s the smallest shithead here.”

Wanda seemed to completely ignore his statement as she stepped towards you and, shockingly, engulfed you in a warm hug. 

“And he’s the biggest shithead here,” she whispered into your ear, and you had to bite back a smile.

“I’m Wanda,” she said as she pulled back, and her energy had your shoulders relaxing and your breath evening out.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, and before Wanda could reply, she was pushed to the side and replaced by a smirking Falcon. 

“And I’m Sam, but you can call me anytime,” he said confidently with his hand held out. 

You stared at him, mouth slightly hanging open, as you looked back and forth between his hand and his face. You shook his hand skeptically, and he gave you a wink. You heard both Natasha and Wanda groan from behind you, and the whole situation was so weird you almost burst out laughing. 

Almost.

You would’ve, if it wasn’t for someone clearing their throat in the doorway.

Your head snapped to the side, and you felt yourself go weak in the knees as your gaze met his blue one. It took all the energy you possessed to look indifferent as he walked slowly towards you.

“Why don’t you stick to girls your own age, hm, Wilson?” his deep voice drawled, and you had to cover your shocked laugh with a cough at the hypocrisy in his words.

“You okay, honey?” Nat asked, resting a caring hand on your back, and you nodded as you waved her off. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m good,” you said, taking in a deep breath. “I’m fine, really.”

You met Steve’s eyes again, and you could’ve sworn the bastard had the smallest smile known to man playing at his lips, just to spite you. 

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “Nice to see you again.”

You nodded slowly, hoping nobody around you could see the shake in your hands as you tightened your grip on your duffel bag. “Likewise, Steve.”

His gaze continued to bore into you, and all you could think as you stared back at him was they don’t know they don’t know they don’t know.

They didn’t know the abundance of texts you and Steve shared, or the late night phone calls that lasted until sunrise most times (”How did you even get my number?” “Swiped it from Nat’s phone, duh.”), or the many, many pictures sent between the two of you.

You could’ve gotten lost in his eyes, just as bright as the first time they met yours, and you felt the world around you darken. It was almost like he was getting closer. How long were you standing there, staring at each other? It didn’t matter; it felt like an eternity.

“Okay,” Tony’s grating voice spoke, pulling you from your hypnotized states with a sharp clap of his hands. “That just got awkward. Don’t really think Capsicle and Barton Jr. like each other all that much.”

When you spared a glance back at Steve, you noticed he was still standing where he had been, not an inch closer to you than before. It was just the whirlpool of his intoxicating stare, it seemed.

“Anyways,” Tony continued, looking back and forth between everyone in the room. “Who’s up for a party tonight?”

__________

You tugged at the tight material stuck on your body like cling-wrap as you huffed out a sigh. When Natasha said you could borrow one of her dresses for the party, you hadn’t expected her to shove you into something so unforgiving. You pulled at the hem as you attempted to cross a leg over the other without flashing anyone in the room or spilling your virgin cocktail all over yourself in the process. 

Letting out a heavy breath, you took a sip and let your eyes roam across the waves of people talking, laughing, drinking, catching sight of a very intoxicated Sam Wilson hanging an arm around an annoyed Aunt Nat as he threw his head back in laughter with a couple other agents.. She caught your eye and her grimace quickly morphed into a smile and a wink. You smiled back at her, lifting your glass in the air above you before the crowd closed in again and swallowed them up. 

The smile on your face faltered, and you let your shoulders slump as you fell back into the soft couch (Tony really spared no expense in this place), and you went back to people-watching. 

“This seat taken?”

You lifted your eyes to find Steve pointing at the couch with a boyish grin, and you motioned for him to sit. 

“You okay?” he asked, words dipped slightly in concern, but you only shrugged, then nodded.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A bit bored, but...”

“Bored?” Steve asked teasingly. “How on earth can you be bored at a Tony Stark party?”

You caught the sarcasm in his tone and gave him a look that had him smiling and tilting his head. He took in a deep breath and mirrored your pose, leaning back against the couch himself and letting his head fall onto the cushions. 

“Seriously, though,” he pressed. “You wouldn’t be bored if you actually talked to someone.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, your glass freezing just in front of your lips as you stared at him. “Well I guess the person I want to talk to the most just likes ignoring me.”

Steve’s entire demeanor changed, the teasing smile dropping from his lips, and you wished you could take back the words you had meant as a joke. It was too late though; he was already worried, and upset, and you knew what it looked like and what it entailed. 

“Steve-”

“Sweetheart, I’m not ignoring you,” he said, voice barely heard above the music and the talking and the laughter and the glass clinking. 

“I know-”

He cut you off again, looking around the room quickly before coming in closer to you. “I’ve been trying to get Tony off my tail all night. I can’t exactly tell him I want to spend alone time with Barton’s daughter.”

You sighed. Your head fell back against the couch, and you stared deeply into Steve’s ocean blue eyes, already feeling the miniscule amount of anger you had withheld dissipate with every passing second.

“I know,” you whispered, loud enough for his superhuman hearing to pick up. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

You tapped your nail on the glass in your hand, letting the dull vibrations of the music travel through the couch, up your spine, into your head as you sat there, content to take in the sight of Steve Rogers in a button up with the sleeves rolled up halfway, right in front of you. 

You watched as his gaze slid downwards, and his brows furrowed. He shook his head slightly, and before you could ask what was wrong, he lifted his eyes back to yours and grabbed your hand.

“C’mon.”

“Where?” you asked, even as you hastily set your glass on the coffee table and tried pulling your dress down with one hand as he led you away from the couch.

“You’ll see,” he threw over his shoulder, and you had no choice but to squeeze his hand a little bit tighter as he wove you through the crowd of people you didn’t know. 

Your senses were a blur, dim lights mixed with an occasional scream of happiness and the smell of alcohol hanging in the air, and all you could train your focus on was Steve’s broad back as he led you away from the party, through a pair of glass doors, and out onto a huge porch. 

The doors slid shut behind you, effectively muffling the music inside and leaving you with just the shuffling of a few other people outside, their chattering muted and calm, and the uneasy yet tranquil feeling of being surrounded by stars, trees and moonlight. 

“Stevie, what are we-”

“Shh,” he hissed, looking over his shoulder subtly. “Half the people at these parties Stark throws are from tabloids or news programs.”

You understood, not taking it personally when his hand dropped yours, because he motioned with his head for you to follow him down the steps. You did, following him in silence across the large expanses of green grass, broken only by the occasional stone path, until you met the line of trees circling the large lake. 

At this point, you were far enough from the compound, and certain enough that no wandering eyes could see you in the dark, that you grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled him toward you. He seemed to have the same idea, because as soon as he stopped walking, he surged forward and pressed his lips against yours. 

His calloused hands found the sides of your face, and your own hands scrambled to find purchase on his waist, his chest, his shoulders, anywhere you could reach as his warm lips melted against yours for the first time in weeks. 

You felt your heart pick up it’s pace, and you felt like it was about to burst out from behind your ribs with the need and longing it had been carrying for what seemed like forever. You heard it in your ears, felt it in your throat, pulsing in your fingertips, and by the smirk Steve molded against your hungry lips, you knew the bastard could hear it too.

His hands left your face, dropping to circle your waist and pull you in closer, and your arms found themselves wrapping around his neck. You pulled back only when your lungs burned, and Steve gave you only a couple seconds to get your breathing in order before going in to kiss you again. 

He sighed into your lips, his breath warm and minty, and the little whimper you let out was completely involuntary, but valid all the same. 

Steve gave your bottom lip a soft bite with his teeth, before pulling away with a slight groan. His thumbs stroked your sides as he looked down at you, and you swore you had never seen someone as devastating and gorgeous as him, right here, right now, with his cheeks rosy and lips red, blue eyes just a shade darker than what they normally were.

“Missed doin’ that,” he muttered into the quiet air, and you smiled. 

“Eh, not bad,” you said with a shrug, and he raised his brows. 

Your smile only grew, and you dropped your head to leave a soft kiss to the base of his throat before whispering up at him, “I’m only kidding.”

Steve shook his head in defeated amusement, then looked out through the trees in front of the two of you. “C’mon. I wanna show you something.”

You let him lead you by the hand through the wooded area, under the thicket of branches and leaves, rustling slightly in the wind, until you reached the edge of the lake. 

Steve chuckled at the surprise on your face that was hard to hide when you were met with a sight you had only ever dreamed of: underneath on of the largest trees lining the edge of the lake was a soft blanket, covered with heaps of pillows and a couple books. The lake in front of you was blue and vast, and stretched out further than you could see, glittering calmly in the moonlight. 

“Steve...?”

He didn’t reply, only pulled you along further until you reached the rich, white blanket draped across the grass. 

“What... who-”

Steve hummed as he waited for you to gather your thoughts. In the meantime, he crouched down in front of you and started taking your heels off for you. You held onto his shoulder for support while your eyes flittered from him, to the pillows, to the lake, then back to him. The only sounds in the air were the chirps of crickets and the muffled, quiet party music from the compound.

“Stevie, this is...,” you breathed as you took his hand, and he helped you lower yourself on the plushy blanket. “This is beautiful.”

Steve, bless his heart, had the audacity to shrug and shake his head. “It’s really just...”

He sighed as he trailed off, making himself comfortable next to you. He leaned back on his hands as he stared out at the lake. “I come here when I feel overwhelmed. To read, or draw. Or just... sit and think when it all becomes too much up there.”

No matter how much of a casual tone he pushed with the words, however, you sensed the heaviness weighing them down, the sad tint to the edges of his voice that had you frowning.

You were afraid to speak for a moment, not willing to ruin the serenity of the night, but you shifted your body when he let out a soft sigh. 

“Does it become too much... too often?” you whispered, and he let his chin drop to his chest, before lifting his eyes to yours.

“It does.”

Those two words meant more than what it sounded like. You studied him closely, perfectly sculpted face seeming to glow in the pale moonlight, as you chewed your bottom lip. 

“Stevie,” you murmured, casting out a line for him to grab onto before he got lost in his own mind. “You’re a good man.”

At that, he lifted his head completely, turning to you. “Am I?”

You frowned harder, brows meeting each other at his doubtfulness. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

He had nothing to say to that, but the way he turned his head away from you made it obvious that he disagreed.

You sighed heavily, before getting up onto your knees next to him. The sounds of you moving were enough for him to look back at you, and when he did, you threw your leg across his lap, effectively straddling him. He shifted underneath you, bringing his hands up to squeeze your hips as your own palms cupped his face.

“I know...,” you started, not sure how to begin, but willing to try. “I know it’s hard for you, feeling like you always have to do the right thing. Like you can’t fail anyone. Like you’re not allowed to fail. And it’s not fair to you, Steve. It really isn’t. It’s not fair that the world puts its weight on your shoulders and expects you to carry it, as if it’s not a burden.”

Something in Steve’s gaze softened, and his fingers dug deeper into the partially exposed skin of your hips. You kept talking.

“It’s not fair that they expect you never to break. You’re still only a man. You’re allowed to be hurt, and feel broken, and be lost sometimes. You just need someone there to help you put the pieces of yourself back together again.”

Steve’s eyes had gone glassy as he stared up at you, and your fingers caressed his cheeks, his jaw, his hairline. 

“It’s okay for you to feel lonely sometimes, too. Everyone does. Just because you’re Captain America, doesn’t mean you’re a robot. It doesn’t mean you don’t have a breaking point. You’re Steve Rogers, first and foremost, and I need you to remember that any time someone asks too much of you.”

His chest rose with deep, shaky breaths, and you kept your fingers tangled in his soft hair as you waited. You would wait a century, if it meant your words meant something in the end. 

Steve felt like his chest was going to explode. Like the very universe was pressing in on his soul, urging him to say something, anything. Say what he really wanted to. He had to say it or else he would die, right there on the spot, with the most beautiful girl on the planet sitting patiently on his lap.

“I think I love you,” he whispered.

You were stunned. 

Your body shut down. Were your organs failing? Yeah, your organs were probably failing. But it was fine, because the words that fell from Steve’s pretty lips were enough to keep you alive for the next few decades, at least.

His hands froze on your hips as he watched your breathing grow shallower, and you just stared and stared and stared at him. He was beginning to think he had made a horrible, grave mistake, until an unbelievable smile grew on your lips.

“I think I love you too,” you whispered back.

Steve felt like the air disappeared from his lungs.

But it was fine, because you were breathing life into him anyways.

He couldn’t help the warm, soft feeling deep in his gut as he smiled and pulled you in for a kiss.

Your dress had ridden up over your butt, allowing Steve’s hands to roam freely wherever they desired, fingers trailing underneath the edges of your panties. Your breath quickened against his mouth, and a low groan left his throat when you grinded your hips against him. 

“Steve-” you gasped against his lips, attempting to pull away but failing when one of his hands grasped the back of your neck. 

Steve felt himself grow even harder at the sound of his name so pretty on your tongue, and he hummed lowly in response, moving his lips downwards, across your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your burning skin. You threw your head back, almost forgetting what you wanted to say, when a particularly loud bang sounded from the compound as a new song started, bringing you back to the present.

“Are we doing this right here?” you panted, unable to stop your hips from pressing against him of their own accord. “Right now?”

Steve looked up at you, trailing his hands up to encase your upper back. A whisper of a smile was painted on his flushed lips, and his heavy lidded eyes drank you in.

“I don’t think I’ll make it to the rooms,” he replied, voice deep and hoarse, a stark contrast to the soft tranquility of the night. It sent chills down your spine, and a warm pool of desire lit its fire deep in your stomach. 

“Fine, then,” you concluded, and pushed your hands against his chest. He went down, flat against the blanket, and looked up at you with a shocked blink. 

“We’re doing this here.”

__________

The smell of coffee tugged you toward the kitchen, growing stronger with each step you took. 

You had woken up in your own bed, dressed in your pajamas with your makeup from the previous night taken off. You hadn’t remembered much; only that Steve had waited for most of the guests to leave before taking you upstairs in the middle of the night, carrying you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing on earth. You supposed, to him, you might have been. 

He had helped you undress, pulling your pajamas on for you, and laying you down in bed before gently wiping your makeup off. You were so worn out, you had barely managed to thank him before you were out like a light. 

Now, however, you felt like a brand new person. The only thing missing was a big cup of steaming hot coffee to help you start your day. 

“Good morning, honey,” you heard as soon as you stepped foot into the kitchen, and you found Natasha sitting at the large island with a tablet and her own coffee set in front of her. 

“Mornin’, Auntie Nat,” you mumbled, ambling over to her and placing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Did you sleep well last night?”

You nodded in response, turning towards the counter and grabbing the coffee pot. You stood on your tippy toes to reach a mug from the overhead cabinet, grunting lightly once your fingers finally latched onto it.

“That’s good,” Nat muttered into her cup. You felt her watchful eyes on you, and poured your mug full to the brim before turning back around. 

“Laura mentioned something about you not being able to sleep well in different places,” Natasha continued, her eyes dropping down to her tablet on the table. “So I was just wondering if the bed was okay.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sitting down on the island stool beside her. “It was great, actually.”

“Not too soft? Not too hard?” Natasha questioned, even as her eyes stayed glued to some sort of file in front of her. “Wasn’t too cold, was it?”

Your own eyes narrowed slightly as you hesitated. Did she know? No. It was impossible. 

Wasn’t it?

“No,” you said suspiciously after taking a sip. “It was fine.”

Natasha hummed and nodded, barely paying you any mind as she lifted her mug to her lips. She took a sip, put it down, then continued scrolling. It all seemed too casual. 

Finally, her blue eyes looked at you from the side, and you could tell by the subtle smirk on her lips that you were royally fucked.

“Super soldiers do tend to run hot.”

If your mug wasn’t already on the island, it would’ve slipped from your fingers and came crashing down. Much like your world right now, collapsing in around you as you felt your heart stutter. You stared at Natasha, and she continued to ignore you, turning her eyes away from you again.

“You-”

“Hm?”

“You don’t- you can’t-”

“What?”

She sounded bored, and completely uninterested. It only made you spiral further, feeling threatened, like a wild animal backed into a corner.

You finally settled on, “How?”

Natasha sighed, and finally, finally, turned to look at you completely. Her lips held a smile; one you couldn’t tell if it meant good news or bad news.

“Y/N, sweetie,” she said through a sigh, “I’m a spy. I’ve been a spy my entire life. If you thought this was something I wouldn’t notice, you’re seriously underestimating my abilities. To be honest, I’m kind of offended.”

Your mouth was left hanging open, and her smirk only grew. 

“But you... why did you...”

“Why did I what? Bring you out here?”

You nodded, and she sighed again, this time getting up from her seat to walk over to the sink. She set her empty mug in it, then turned back around to face you. All the while, you sat and watched her in dumbfounded silence.

“Look. I knew the entire time. I knew it the morning we left the farm. I knew it when I figured out Rogers had been rummaging through my phone. I knew it when he, all of a sudden, had someone to talk to every single day, which he hadn’t had before.”

“So... why did you convince mom and dad to let me come?”

Natasha pursed her lips to the side and crossed her arms. She squinted her eyes as she took you in. “Because I trust him.”

Your brows furrowed, and you gave her a slight shake of your head. You weren’t following.

“I trust Steve,” she reiterated, and you bit the inside of your cheek.

You felt like one wrong word from you could send this conversation and situation in a whole different direction, so you stayed silent.

“I was angry at first, of course,” she continued. “I love you. I’ve known you since you were just a toddler. You’re my family, Y/N. And Steve is... well, he’s not exactly your age.”

You felt a pang in your heart at the heavy reality of her words, and you opened your mouth, willing to fight for your side of the story, but she cut you off.

“However,” she said with raised brows. “I thought about it. A lot, actually. And I figured, if I was to leave you in the hands of anyone, it would be Steve. Because Steve’s a good man, with a heart of gold, and I know he’d do anything in his power to protect the people he loves. So I called you over just to confirm it for myself, and to see if it was really worth giving a shot.”

You nodded at her words as you stared at the coffee swirling in your mug, agreeing with them as you felt your heart rate slow down once you figured out Natasha probably wasn’t going to give you the scolding of a lifetime. But someone else might, you realized.

Panic flared in your bones as you looked at her. “Are you gonna tell mom and dad?”

Natasha cocked her head as she studied you. It lasted a beat too long, and your pulse picked up again, dread beginning to settle in your veins.

Until she said: “No.”

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, yet she only shrugged.

“I won’t tell them,” she said, and began to walk out of the kitchen, passing by you in a blur of red hair and black cotton. “If you promise to tell them yourself.”

“Nat, no-”

“Yes. Trust me, they’d much rather hear it coming from you than me. And I know them well. They might be mad for a while, but they’ll come around.”

Natasha left you sitting at the island alone, the coffee in your mug now room temperature as you chewed your bottom lip until it bled. 

You were most likely, grandly, royally, fucked.

__________

Finding Steve was easier than expected, especially since the briefing room he was in had glass doors, allowing for the perfect view inside. 

You burst in, smudging the glass with your hands, frantic eyes searching the room for his bond head of hair until you spotted him at the head of the table, Tony to his right, Sam to his left, and Wanda, Vision and a guy you only knew as War Machine occupying the rest of the chairs. 

All eyes turned to you as you gasped out Steve’s name.

“Um, kid, we’re kinda in the middle of something-”

“Y/N?” Steve interrupted Tony, making him roll his eyes. 

“Can you- could you-”

You couldn’t formulate the words, couldn’t get them out of your head and into the open so you pleaded with your eyes, begging for him to just understand.

“Do you mind-”

“Steve-”

Steve shot up out of his chair, sending it rolling with a bang into the wall behind him, and it took him three long strides until he was right in front of you, ignoring the protests coming from the rest of the team.

“Are you okay?” he asked, soft enough that only you could hear. 

His hands twitched to hold your face, his arms burned to pull you into his chest, his lips ached to cover your face with kisses. But he couldn’t do any of that, not in front of them.

“Steve, I need to talk to you, right now,” you said urgently, tugging on his arm like a child asking for ice cream, and he frowned with concern.

“Rogers, you better not leave this room-”

“C’mere,” he muttered, ignoring everyone else as he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you out of the briefing room. The glass door swung shut behind you, and he pulled you slightly to the side.

He couldn’t help it; he reached a hand up to cup your face, and you leaned your cheek into its warmth, letting it spill inside you and calm your erratic nerves ever so slightly. Your own hand came up to his, fingers wrapping around his wrist as you looked up at him with the saddest eyes he had ever seen.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he pleaded, keeping his voice low. 

“Aunt Nat knows,” you whispered, on the verge of tears. The confusion was evident on his face, blue eyes staring at you in curiosity. 

“She what?”

“She knows, Stevie, she knows,” you pressed. “About us.”

You watched, in real time, as Steve’s face contorted into realization. “Baby-”

“She wants me to tell my parents,” you told him. “She said I have to do it or else she will.”

Steve shook his head, trying to calm you down, but you were on the brink of hysterics, he realized, and he took a step closer to you before engulfing you in a bear hug that had your face buried in his large chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat gave you something real, something alive to focus on as you tried calming your own. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” he muttered into the crown of your head. Your arms snaked around his waist, fingers gripping his sweater like your life depended on it. 

“You don’t know that,” you said, the words muffled against his chest, and he huffed a sigh that had your head moving along with it. 

“Yes, I do.”

Steve sounded so sure, so certain in his words, that you had no choice but to relax against him. You rationalized it; he never had any reason to lie to you before, so why would he do it now? You trusted him, always. 

Steve, on the other hand, felt your body relax against his, and after a few quiet moments, he heard your heartbeat go back to a normal pace. He ignored the stares through the glass doors as he pulled you away from him and bent his neck slightly so he was at your eye level.

“Trust me,” he said. “It’ll be okay. We’ll work it out.”

And he said the words with such certainty, that it had you nodding, taking in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeated, and he placed a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“I have to get back to this meeting,” he said reluctantly, but you shook your head and stepped away from him. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you realized you had just had a minor breakdown in front of Earth’s mightiest heroes. 

“You do what you have to do, it’s okay,” you insisted, patting his chest a couple times before sidestepping him. 

“I’ll find you in 20 minutes,” he called after you, and you blew him a kiss once you were out of sight of the others. 

Steve stood there, watching you leave until the last traces of you disappeared behind the corner, and then he finally walked back into the meeting room. 

It was dead silent.

Borderline awkward.

You could hear a pin drop as their eyes followed him making his way back to his seat. He pulled the chair up to the table calmly before sitting down and clearing his throat. 

His eyes flickered to Tony, who was staring at him with an incredulous expression, then to Sam, who was wearing some variety of the same on his face.

“What?” he finally forced himself to ask, and Wanda just blinked, her brows shooting up. 

“I didn’t know you had game like that, Rogers,” Sam finally said, and it was the teasing infliction of his voice that broke the tension in the room.

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed.

“I didn’t even think your little friend worked anymore,” Tony said, and Wanda choked on a cough. Steve glared at him. 

“What?” Tony asked with his shoulders raised. “It’s been a long few decades, I’m just saying.”

“God, Tony-”

“So is this like a caregiver-slash-senior citizen fetish or something-”

“Sam-”

“I’m kidding, old man.”

Steve let out a heavy breath as he leaned back into his chair. Tony and Sam kept flinging jokes back and forth over the table, with Wanda laughing and Vision pitching in with his own confusing way of asking questions, but none of it mattered.

None of it mattered, because none of them knew.

He would sit there and take all the teasing the world had to offer if it meant he’d still get to hold you in his arms at the end of the day. 

In all the rowdy chaos of jokes and laughter flying over Steve’s head, nobody noticed the faint smile on his lips and the pink tinge of his cheeks.

_______________

TAGLIST:

@dreamsley @a-ngeli-que @555shots @agirlinherhead @s-katergorl @ace-27749 @leyannrae @tailsoflightning @acidwidow @angelofthorr @gallysonegoodlung @creatingjana @gitasor @artofluxuryy @inlovewfictionalmen826 @pin-ci @peaches1958 @eichenhouseproperty @seitmai​ @writing-for-marvel​ @spookyparadisesheep​ @talesofadragon​ @wbyss​ 

(if your name is crossed out, it means tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!)

#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #steve rogers age gap #barton!reader

[goldensunflowe-r]

Chris Evans Age Gap

Masterlist

#chris evans masterlist #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans one shot #chris evans headcanon #chris evans fluff #chris evans #chris evans x wife!reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x smut #chris evans fic recs #chris evans fic rec #chris evans imagines #chris evans fic #masterlist #steve rogers #avengers fic rec #chris evans age gap

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 4608

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, enemas, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30s), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Persistent Genital Arousal

Previously:

This may be (and hopefully is) Bucky's last day as a Hydra patient, but that doesn't mean he won't have some group classes and therapies left to attend with the other boys in his cohort that afternoon and evening. Steve will just have to find a way to fill his own time, leave Bucky to his schedule, and hang in there while he gets the ball rolling to secure Bucky's release into his custody.

That afternoon, Steve completes a plethora of paperwork. He submits his recommendation for Bucky’s care, fills out a formal application for custody, and hands in his letter of resignation to Raynor.

He’s completely transparent with her about his intentions, and Christina isn’t just fair in her response: she seems downright pleased. She does call him a traitor for leaving Hydra, but she’s smirking when she says it, so Steve knows he’ll still be getting a stellar reference from her.

He is officially quitting, but Bucky’s still a patient on-ward—with all the services afforded one—for at least the next twenty-four hours. So to avoid interrupting his scheduled therapies and groups, Steve tries to keep himself busy, closing out his cases and saying goodbye to some of his more friendly coworkers. Hydra Sanatorium might not be the nicest or the most well-funded place, but for a county-run institution it’s always done the best it can with what it has for the people who come through its halls. Lord knows Steve has. After five years of working there, doing his best to help the people that he could, Steve hopes he made some sort of a difference. In one case, at least, he knows he has.

Later in the day, he goes looking for Bucky and finds him with the rest of his cohort in the soft room. A lot of the boys are napping, the rest of them engaged in various stimming activities. Steve doesn’t immediately spot Bucky, but the room attendant points him towards one of the nesting pods. When Steve pokes his head through the little circular opening into the cave-like space, sure enough there his boy is: nestled amongst an impressive collection of blankets, throws and pillows.

Inside it smells heavenly, Bucky’s scent built up in the air. All sexually mature omegas experience something called persistent genital arousal, or PGA. It can be more debilitating for some, and it’s definitely more intense at certain points of their cycles, but in general Steve’s heard it described as a low-level thrum of arousal—like what one might feel from touching themselves idly from over their underwear while watching mediocre porn. Essentially, omegas really do always have sex on the brain.

The resultant smell they give off is, of course, one easy identifying marker for any omega out in public, and Bucky is no exception. The nesting pod is already thick with his scent, sweet and cloying, and Steve finds himself breathing in deeply to get more of it as he crawls inside. He smiles when Bucky’s sleepy eyes peek open and register his presence. The boy is beautiful. “Hey,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky lets loose a huge yawn and stretches with a lazy smile, his hair all floofed in different directions and his eyes nothing but puffy, squinty slits. “Stteeeve,” he hums, reaching for him with grabby hands. “Mmm. C’mere.”

How could he ever resist? Steve crawls over and settles next to him, pulling their bodies close together. “Hey you.”

Bucky’s already purring as he wriggles up against him. “Mmm. Hi.” He shoves his face into Steve’s chest and rubs his cheek against his pec, scenting him. “I took’a nap.”

“I can see that.” Steve’s mood is already in the stratosphere, because he’s suffused with Bucky’s scent: happy, safe, content—and yes, mildly aroused—omega. It’s infectious, making Steve’s body respond with all of those same feelings and more. There’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, tucked into a tiny, warm nesting space with his omega. 

“His” omega, because Steve’s already started thinking of him that way. The transition feels almost seamless, feels natural, like maybe Bucky was his long before he knew it. He rumbles in his chest to match the boy’s purr and holds him close. “Missed you,” he murmurs, speaking against the softness of his hair. “How’s your day been?”

They’ve only been apart for a few hours, but after the intensity of their morning together, Steve hasn’t been able to stop thinking about Bucky’s wellbeing all day, even though he knows he’d left him in a good place, mentally. He’d made sure to bring him down from the high of their sensory session, had tenderly changed him and dressed him in warm, soft clothes, checked that his body’s lingering confusion from the therapy wasn’t anything that was going to cause him discomfort or distress during the day. He’d personally escorted him to his life skills group, kissing him on the cheek and promising to find him later, even watching from the doorway for a few long minutes until he could be certain that Bucky was relaxed and taking to the company of others well.

Now, in the safe confines of the nest, Steve kisses his hair again. “Good?”

Bucky does a happy little wiggle. “Mmm, good,” he mumbles, still seeking contact through the way he rubs himself against Steve’s body. “Missed you.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, like he’s stubbornly trying to dig himself a space inside of Steve. It’s adorable. Steve smiles and rubs his back. “Me too, Honey. I’ve been getting a lot of things sorted out, so that I can take care of you after today. If you want.”

Bucky peeks up at him. “‘If I want?’”

“Yeah.” He knows that this is a talk they need to have, now that Bucky’s sober and fully back in his head. Steve doesn’t think there’s a high chance that Bucky’s going to change his mind, but they still have to discuss it. Because Steve would be a bad person—and a garbage Alpha support—if he didn’t give him the chance to decide for himself now.

And he’s going to have to tell Bucky about the castration issue. As much as Steve hates it, he can’t deny the sheer medical facts. It’ll help Bucky. His body produces too much testosterone as it is, his testes given too much time to develop before he finally presented. They’ve always known that the elevated hormones are part of what contributes to Bucky’s aggression and his struggles. Steve takes a deep breath and forces composure into his voice. “So, my boss asked me to put in my recommendation for you.”

“Recommendation for what?”

“Um, since your folks signed over custody, the state is in charge of you now until you turn twenty-five. That is, unless you find an alpha guardian to take care of you in a personal capacity. But you know, Hydra isn’t really … it’s more of an acute care facility, right? So even if you didn’t have an Alpha, you’d still have to go somewhere else, like a group home or a treatment facility that’s geared toward longer term stays. My boss asked me to submit my assessment of what your needs are and where you should go. It’s called an ongoing care plan.”

In his arms, Bucky tenses up. “My ongoing care?” he repeats, uncertain.

“Yeah Honey.” Steve tries to smile reassuringly. “There are lots of places where you could go to live other than with me, if you wanted. Nice places.”

Bucky’s face crumples in distress and he keens lowly. “But I … I mean, I thought …” His lip trembles. “You changed your mind? Don’t you want me?”

“What?” Steve’s heart sinks at the way Bucky’s looking at him—as if he’s just revoked a promise Bucky had been counting on. “Oh, Honey,” he mourns, pulling him in close again. He cradles his head and kisses over his hair in apology. “No, no bub. I do want you. I was just trying to be fair and give you all of your options. I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Didn’t want you to feel like you had to make that choice to go with me.”

It’s immediately obvious that his words calm Bucky down. The scent of distress dissipates as quickly as it had formed, and their dimly lit nesting pod is once again filled with nothing but cozy, happy omega pheromones. Bucky butts his head into Steve’s chest and grumbles at him for having scared him. “I always want to go with you, Steve. I don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Steve strokes his back. “Okay, okay. I understand.” His hands dip under the soft fabric of Bucky’s top, tracing up the vertebrae of his spine. It feels good to have the connection of their naked skin again. Steve hums and flushes, aware of his cock having a vague but growing interest. It’s all chubbed up in his briefs, tingling with a low level of arousal. And even though he has little intention of doing anything about it right now, it’s still nice to feel when he’s close to Bucky like this. He turns in towards him a little more, pressing him back and down into the nest with his bodyweight. The boy’s legs part for him on instinct and Steve hums, pleased. He slots his thigh between Bucky’s legs and tucks his face into his neck. “I just want to make you happy, Buck,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to do anything other than what you really want. And if it takes you time to figure that out, then you’re allowed to take your time.”

“Nooo, Steeeve. I want you to be my Alpha. I don’t need to take time. S’stupid.”

Steve scoffs fondly. “Oh yeah?” He searches out the slight swell of Bucky’s bonding glands beneath the skin, closes his lips over the spot, and sucks. Bucky gives a surprised little ‘meep!’ of a sound, then pretty much melts full-body into the blankets. Steve chuckles. “There’s a lot that comes with that, you know. Having an Alpha you’re bonded to is different than just what we do here.”

“Mmm. Yeah. Like you said before, in the bathroom when my tummy was full. You said you could be my for-real Alpha.”

Steve kisses where he’d sucked, the spot now pinked and swollen. “Do you know what that means?” he whispers. “To have a for-real Alpha?” Bucky shivers pleasantly in response to the question, but Steve’s not just asking to get him worked up over it. “Buck,” he prods gently. “C’mon, tell me.”

“Means you’d be in charge a’ me,” Bucky sighs, his scent shifting as he grows more aroused. Beneath Steve, he squirms purposefully against the weight of his body. “I’d live with you, right?”

“Yeah. You’d come live with me and I’d be in charge of you.” Steve nuzzles against him, not missing the way that Bucky’s breath catches in a tiny little sound of pleasure. “Hey now, you might not always like that.” He playfully nips his skin. “There might be times when you’re mad as a hornet at me. That won't change anything. I’ll still be your Alpha. You’ll still have to listen.”

“... Could I still call you Daddy?”

Steve groans and turns his face away from Bucky's neck while the omega giggles at his reaction. “Yeah, Buck. You could.”

“Mmm, and you’ll still call me bub?” he asks, looking up with shining eyes and slightly flushed cheeks. “I um … I kinda always liked that you called me that. Even back when I was new and mean to you and stuff.”

Steve smiles tenderly at him. “I know, bub. That’s why I always did.” He kisses him softly, just once, on the lips. The first time he’s ever let himself do so.

Bucky’s wide-eyed by the time Steve pulls back, looking like a whole new world of possibilities has just been opened up to him. “Oh, man,” he breathes. “Do we get to have sex whenever we want?”

Steve laughs, taken aback. “Buck,” he scolds, but he’s already dipping back down to kiss him again. “Yes. Though I do have to keep a day job, so you can’t go full-on nymphomaniac on me.” Bucky whines and Steve kisses back down to his neck and seals his lips over his tender glands to suck some more. “Mmm, you’re swollen here, Honey,” he murmurs, kissing the spot, thinking that he’ll have to check the kid’s chart to see if he’s nearing estrus. It’d make sense, given how reactive he’s been lately. And, oh god, they’ll definitely need birth control. Steve would love to breed Bucky up, but that’s not something they should take lightly. It’s too soon to pup him, not when so much else is in flux, and Steve still needs to tackle the castration issue with him. There’s a lot to be done. Everything is changing. Steve sucks hard on his glands in one, long pull.

“Oohh,” Bucky moans, both hands coming up to run through Steve’s hair. “Oh, S-steve. Mmm. That feels so good.” He hitches his leg up higher on Steve’s hip, rocking against him, and Steve indulges him by driving his thigh forward to give him more firmness to grind on. Bucky whimpers and jerks. “Oh!”

“Mm hm.” Steve gently scrapes his teeth over the swollen spot on his neck. “I’ll need to bond you, if you’re living in my household long term.”

Bucky whimpers and nods, hips shoving up harder at the feeling of the alpha’s mouth on his glands. “Okay,” he gasps. “Yeah, Steve, do it. I'm ready.” His fingers dig into Steve’s shoulders and he cranes his head further to the side, presenting himself for a bite.

Steve chuckles, the sound morphing into a groan at the end as he denies himself and moves his face away. “Mmm. Not right now, silly. You need to be in heat for that to stick.” He gives him a peck on the lips. “Besides, it’s supposed to be something special.”

“Special?”

“Mm hm.” It kind of breaks Steve’s heart that Bucky doesn’t know this, though he supposes the kid couldn’t possibly have had many positive exposures to A/o relationships, growing up with the family he did. Steve kisses him again, explaining, “We’ll make it nice. Relaxing. Bonding is something special we’ll do in private.” They may currently be sequestered in this dark little space, but Steve sure doesn’t count a communal nesting pod in a state-run Sanatorium to be the appropriate place for such an important, intimate act.

He crawls off of Bucky and moves over to the side, sitting up in the mounds of soft nesting materials with his back against the pod’s wall. “C’mere.”

Bucky happily crawls over to sit in his lap. He straddles him, and Steve’s hands settle at his hips. Steve smiles at the bright teal clothes the kid is wearing now. After their sensory session that morning, he’d helped Bucky to get changed, and teal pants with a tangerine top was what the omega had wanted to wear. “All these years of navy blue,” Steve teases. “And it was just you being stubborn, huh?”

Bucky huffs and squirms, but he doesn’t deny it. “I always liked the colorful ones. I just never picked ‘em because I … I didn’t want to be this way,” he admits softly, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t want to be just another omega. Dumb and drooling in my rainbow patterned sweatsuits.”

“Bucky,” Steve chides. “That’s not nice. The other boys on-ward don’t deserve that kind of talk, do they? ”

Bucky flushes and looks away. “No,” he mumbles. “M’sorry. Didn’t mean it.”

Steve sighs. Just because Bucky wants to be with him doesn’t mean that the kid’s suddenly going to be well-adjusted. He's got so much internalized omegaphobia from being raised by his asshole parents, it isn't even funny. Steve gives his waist a squeeze and tells him, “Hey: you’re still going to have to go to some therapy, bub. I hope you realize that. Just because you’re leaving here doesn’t mean there won’t be rules and discipline. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have issues you need to work on.”

Bucky grumps about that a little, but eventually he nods his head in understanding. “What rules?” he asks shyly. “‘Discipline’?”

“Mmhm. That mean consequences if you act up. I’ll never be harsh with you, Honey, but being someone’s Alpha also means correcting their misbehavior.”

“Like … like spanking?”

“It could be, yeah.” Steve personally believes in gentle domestic discipline for omegas, so long as it’s administered fairly. He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully. “How does that make you feel, hm? If you knew you might get spanked if you did wrong?”

Bucky squirms a little in his lap before he’ll admit, “I dunno. Maybe embarrassed but … kinda nice, too.”

Steve tilts his head to try and catch Bucky’s eyes. “Nice?” he prods.

“Yeah. Kinda.” Bucky pouts and shrugs. “I dunno. I guess it just, um … it makes it seem like you care about me. Like you’re enjoying takin’ care of me.”

Steve’s heart warms, and he kisses Bucky’s forehead. “I do, baby. I care about you a whole lot, okay?”

“Okay.” Bucky sits there thinking it over, sucking his lip into his mouth and releasing it repeatedly. “What are the rules gonna be?”

“Oh, well … I don't know them all yet, but we'll figure it out. Just be good in general, I guess. Don’t make messes, don’t be rude to people, listen to what I tell you to do. That sort of stuff. My place is in Flatbush, not too far from here. You’ll have to be good, stay there when I go to work. I’m looking at changing jobs, so we might have some time together to start off at first, but then you’ll need to mind yourself when I’m away.”

"I'll be good," Bucky promises, sounding adorably determined. It makes Steve smile.

"I know, bub." He strokes the side of Bucky’s head, running his fingers through the soft curls that he’s come to love so much. “We’ll make you an area in the apartment to nest up real nice, just the way you like it. And I can get some stimming tools if you need ‘em, for during the day. I don’t want to see you ignoring your needs like you have been.” At Bucky’s hips, he digs his fingers in meaningfully, crinkling the plastic of the diaper beneath. “And these,” he says, arching a knowing eyebrow when Bucky peeks up at him. “You still need to wear them.”

Bucky looks mortified, but he does eventually give a reluctant nod. “I know,” he grumbles. “I wasn’t gonna argue about it.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm mn.” He’s blushing and avoidant, bites his lip and tries to wiggle away, but stills when Steve holds fast. He sighs. “I mean I guess I don’t hate ‘em so much.”

“No?”

“Mmn. Not … not when it’s just in private,” he admits. “Sometimes they even make me feel kinda, I dunno, kinda safe. … And when you take care of me with ‘em. That part feels really good.”

Jesus. Steve grips him harder and rumbles deep in his chest, praising him for his honesty. “That’s good, Honey. That’s what they’re for.”

Bucky’s physical level of need for the diapers isn’t actually all that high. He has the same small, spastic bladder that most omegas do, and he suffers from the typical pattern of stress incontinence. Most of his wetting occurs when he’s upset, aroused, or asleep. He could feasibly attempt daily life without them, though accidents would happen. But beyond the practical, it’s the emotional impact of wetting that’s so huge for someone like Bucky. That’s why consistent diapering has always been part of his therapeutic program at Hydra. It’s one routine that Steve intends to maintain once he’s got Bucky home and living with him. “It’s nothing to be worried over,” he reminds gently. “Remember what we talked about?”

Bucky sniffles and nods. “... S’normal,” he recites, voice tiny. “Lots of omegas wear ‘em.”

“That’s right,” Steve praises. “And Alphas don’t care. We like taking care of you. We like seeing you feeling safe, and knowing when it feels good for you.” He sees the color rise in Bucky’s cheeks and hums knowingly. “It’s okay when you enjoy the feeling, bub. Like how you did this morning? That’s totally okay.” Bucky whines and squirms a little, and Steve shushes him. “Hey now: I mean it.”

He uses his grip on Bucky’s hips to rock him in his lap a little, and Bucky squeaks and grabs onto his shoulders, pushing into the motion reactively before he can shame himself out of it. Steve hums, pleased. He leans in and takes Bucky's mouth in another, coaxing kiss. That seems to be the key to disarming the boy. He moans and gives another uninhibited roll of his hips. He keeps going, grinding against Steve’s crotch and panting quietly.

Steve smiles and holds him while he rocks. Ever since he ducked into the nest, he’s been able to smell the general level of arousal that Bucky always carries with him. But now it’s heavier, the distinct scent of new slick and a more urgent sort of need coming to the forefront. All Steve’s talk of discipline and acceptance and care has gotten Bucky worked up. He hums encouragingly as the omega stims himself against his lap. “Aw, Sweetie. There you go. That feel good?”

“Ah, uh huh,” Bucky pants quietly, eyes going a little muzzy as he starts to lose focus. “Oh, Steve, ff-feels good, nnngh …”

“Good. That’s all I want, honey. Just want you to be happy and feel so good. Don’t need to worry about a thing, okay? Cause I’m your Alpha and I like you just like this. Rocking in my lap, doing what feels nice, just being a sweet n’ happy omega for me.”

Bucky chirps in a way that he rarely does, his hips juddering forward hard. “Oh! Steve I … I have to …” He squeaks and tosses forward, burying his face in Steve’s neck and whining plaintively.

Steve tuts and wraps his arms around him, still guiding him in the rocking motion. “What’s up, bub, huh? You have to go?”

Bucky nods fast against his shoulder. “Nnn! But, but …” He shakes his head back and forth, trying to fight it. “Nngh …”

“Okay, okay Honey. You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about.” Steve wraps his hand around the back of Bucky’s neck and grabs him in a firm scruff. He slides it up into his hair and pulls, using his grip to guide him back a little. Bucky yelps and meets him with wide eyes. “Shhhh,” Steve hushes, shoving his other hand down inside the front of Bucky’s pants. Bucky’s eyes go even wider. “It’s okay, bub,” he soothes, hand cupping the bulk of the padding and rubbing. “I know you just don’t get it. And this is me showin’ you. Cause I’m gonna keep you right here, and I’m not moving my hand until you let go for me.”

Really, he’s sure he’ll have Bucky naked and straight up wetting in the middle of sex in the very near future, but for now this’ll do. They are still in the hospital, after all, and this is still a communal nesting pod they’re in. If nothing else, Steve knows that the orderlies would not appreciate the mess.

Bucky gulps in a huge shaky breath and nods frantically, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes as he gets overwhelmed. “Okay, okay,” he pants, grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders fiercely while his squirming gets frantic. “Oh god, S-ssteve …”

Steve kisses his forehead, murmuring non stop praise and love at him. Finally, Bucky tenses up and goes stock still. “Theere it is,” Steve coaxes, jostling his hand as he feels the warmth start to spread. Bucky moans and loses control completely, going limp as a noodle against Steve’s front and panting as he loses control. “Good boy.” Steve keeps murmuring it against his skin, giving pulses on the swollen crotch of the diaper with one hand and petting up and down his back with the other. “Good boy. That’s my good boy, Bucky. So good.”

Bucky doesn’t go all embarrassed, after. He stays a little dazed, in his head, chirping and humming at Steve when he encourages him to come out of the nest. They walk together to the bathroom, and Bucky does speak on and off when prompted; little 'yeah's and 'no's' and ‘okay’s. So he’s not quite non-verbal, and he’s definitely not in a fugue or a fit of any sort. No. He’s just a soft, contented, aroused ball of very happy omega.

In the bathroom on the changing bed, Steve is hardly surprised to find a pool of slick and a chubbed up little cock underneath the diaper. “Would you look at that,” he chuckles, going about cleaning him up. Bucky starts to whimper afterwards as he’s lying there, clean but exposed and untouched. “Please,” he begs, proving that he can, in fact, speak. “Please Steve?”

“Of course, Honey.” He wasn’t planning on denying him, poor thing. Steve smooths his hands over Bucky’s inner thighs, right up to the crease of his groin. He brushes his fingers over his half hard penis, back and forth a few times, just teasing it lightly. “How do you want me to make you cum?” he asks, only anticipating that Bucky will either ask him to touch his cocklet or else use penetration. He is not prepared for the kid’s breathless request of,

“Suck me, please.”

He freezes, taken aback. Oral sex—giving or receiving—is not permitted between Alpha Supports and their patients on the ward. Steve’s not precisely sure why, when digital and device-aided penetration is done every single day, but at some point in history, some guy writing the rules drew the line at oral. Anything that could be easily twisted to gratify the Alpha support rather than the omega patient is strictly forbidden. Steve has actually never given head to an omega before—patient or otherwise.

But he’s suddenly, achingly hard at the thought of doing so. “Oh, Honey ...” he hedges. “I don't know if ...” He grimaces at the pleading look on Bucky’s face, the anxious, wanting pinch in his brow, and finds himself throwing all his reservations aside. Fuck it, he thinks. He’s been professional long enough. Bucky’s going to be his by this time tomorrow, anyways. “Okay, Baby,” he says, giving in and rubbing over the boy’s belly with one hand. “Okay. You want that? Want to feel Daddy’s mouth on your sweet prick?”

Bucky keens and nods, “Yeah, please.”

“You ask so sweet,” Steve praises, sinking down his body, trailing kisses from his neck to his chest, down to his belly and the base of the sweet little cocklet he’s got between his legs. Steve tells him how pretty it is as he kisses it, mouthing over the softness. It’s only half hard, never really getting rigid, but it's still more to play with than the average omega has. Steve pulls him into his mouth and sucks until he gets an orgasm out of him. Bucky shudders hugely, his little prick squirting a tiny bit of useless seminal fluid, but nothing more. Steve pulls off, rubbing his inner thighs soothingly as he comes down from it. “Good?” he asks.

Bucky shudders and nods, smiling dreamily. “Thank you, Alpha,” he breathes. “We can do that all the time?”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, Honey. There’s nothing off limits anymore once I take you home with me. You can touch me and ask me to touch you any way you like. Whatever you’re curious about.” Steve is well aware that, outside of his treatment on-ward, Bucky is very sexually inexperienced. There’ll be a lot of firsts, once Steve brings him home.

Bucky's eyes have slipped closed, and Steve takes a moment to stare. He pets his belly, trailing his hand down to the boy’s wet little cock and further down to his balls. He plays with the soft skin, considering him. Bucky’s shrunk up some in the past three years, but he’s still bigger than he should be. Steve imagines what he’ll look like, after the procedure. There’ll be a bare space there, room to press and stimulate him. Steve's never had much of a preference with male omegas, finding both the little pocket of looser skin left after a castration and the tiny, coin purse sac of an intact omega to be attractive, in their own ways. But he can’t deny that he likes the aesthetics of a cut omega.

“Bucky?” he says softly. “There’s something I have to talk with you about, something we’re gonna have to do eventually. And I don’t want you to be scared, so hear me out, okay?” He waits until Bucky opens his eyes, a little wrinkle of worry forming between his eyebrows.

“What?” he asks.

Steve cups his sac and rubs it gently. “Here,” he murmurs. “You’ll need to have these removed, Sweetheart. Do you know about that?”

Bucky tenses. “What? N-no,” he looks pleadingly up at Steve. “Why?!”

“It’s something they’ve had written down in your chart for a while,” Steve admits. “I’ve avoided bringing it up until now. We had more short term parts of your treatment plan to work on, and I didn’t want to upset you. But I’m going to bond you, Sweetheart, and I gotta take care of you. This is what all your doctors have been recommending.”

Bucky keens miserably. “I don’t want to. Please. Please don’t make me.”

Steve hushes him, rubbing his belly and cupping his balls. “It’s such a simple procedure, Sweetheart. Lots of omegas are cut. Your body had a little too much time to develop. Remember how we talked about that?”

Bucky whimpers and nods uncertainly. “Y-yeah.”

“You’re bigger than most omegas down here,” Steve tells him gently. “Your body’s making hormones that you don’t need. It gets you all confused. That’s part of what makes you get so angry sometimes.”

Bucky whimpers. “Will it hurt?” he asks tearfully.

It’s such a naive question that it makes Steve’s heart ache. “No, Honey,” he soothes. “Not very much at all. You’ll just go to sleep while they do it. And then you’ll have nice pain medicine to keep you comfy while you heal. We’ll get you nested up at home. You’ll probably sleep a lot. You can watch movies and eat as much ice cream as you want,” he coaxes. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Bucky sniffles. “I don’t wanna.”

“I know, I know. It’s new and scary, but it’ll be so simple, I promise. I’ll be right there to take care of you, okay?”

Bucky sniffles for a few more minutes, but then he nods meekly, giving in. “Okay,” he whispers. “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

Steve bends down to kiss him. “The whole time,” he assures. “You’re such a good boy, Bucky. It’ll be okay. Do you trust me?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Steve rumbles low in his chest, pleased. “Good boy,” he praises. “Once you’re healed it’ll feel nice,” he promises. “You’ll have an easier time getting pleasure from here.” He touches Bucky’s hole gently, circling the rim. “Release will be easier.”

Bucky’s still nervous, Steve can smell it on him. But he calms down enough for Steve to get him in a fresh diaper and dressed again. He can hardly believe the conversation went the way it did. If Steve had attempted to talk about this during Bucky's last stay on-ward, he's nearly positive he would've had a meltdown on his hands. But Bucky accepted it so easily.

“So proud of you, bub,” he praises. “Come on. Let’s go get you some lunch, huh?”

By four fifty, he’s said goodnight to Bucky and promised to be back the very next day, when he’ll see him discharged from his stay on-ward and bring him home. He clocks out and takes the train to a specialty omega shop up in Queens, where, along with a bunch of nesting supplies, he purchases Bucky a nice collar to go home in. It’s pricey and has all the bells and whistles, from inflation features and removable D rings, to insertable scent chambers and a GPS locator. Steve figures he must really be giving off the 'new Alpha' vibe, because the saleswoman smiles at him indulgently and says “congratulations” as she’s ringing up his purchases.

"Oh. Thanks." He blushes and tries to keep a straight face, but can't help but wind up beaming anyway.

At home he takes the tags off all of the purchases and sets them aside tidy and ready for Bucky, excited about how the kid will react when he sees his new things and gets to experience someone taking care of him properly and spoiling him for the first time in his life.

Geez, Steve thinks, by tomorrow he’s going to have an omega living with him. He feels giddy about it. Even with knowing Bucky’s personal issues surrounding his designation, Steve still isn’t worried. He cares so deeply for Bucky, loves him even, at this point. And he knows that no matter what obstacles they may face going forward, this is the best thing that he could do for the omega.

He flits about the apartment that evening, full of nervous energy but in a fantastic mood. He shoots off a few emails, one to Sam, inquiring about job possibilities at Shield or other local private practices. Even if there isn’t a position available at Sam’s firm, Steve is still very confident in his ability to find a new job. He’s got excellent qualifications, and omega healthcare is a chronically understaffed field. He’ll have to give up the role of support Alpha, though. At least in a sexual capacity. It wouldn’t be fair to put Bucky through that, coming home each day smelling of other omegas. Steve couldn’t do that to him.

He tries to fill his evening up with distractions, but it’s hard. He surfs a few job boards half-assedly, scent marks the stuff he bought for Bucky, makes a microwave dinner that he can barely taste, and watches an episode of a show he’s been following. Nothing gets his mind off Bucky for long. He’s simply too elated and impatient for the next day to arrive. So when eleven P.M. rolls around and he’s still wired as fuck, he goes rooting through the medicine cabinet, downing four Benadryl tablets in an effort to get at least a modicum of sleep in for tomorrow.

Predictably, he wakes up earlier than usual. Rather than closing his eyes again until his alarm goes off, he forces himself to don sneakers and go for his usual morning run, pounding out a few extra miles because he’s got the time and because he needs to burn off some of this nervous energy. He goes back home, showers, changes. He heads for the Sanatorium with his backpack slung over his shoulder and a skip in his step. 

God, he thinks as he keys into the hospital’s ground floor, the building really is ugly: very outdated, institutional, depressing. He’s gotten so used to it over the past five years. He’s glad that Bucky won’t ever have to come through its halls again.

Stanley isn’t at the security desk when he passes by, and Steve’s kind of glad, since for the first time in a long time he’s forgotten to grab their usual morning pastries. He leans through the security window and snatches his badge from the wall, heading for the elevators.

Raynor intercepts him at the double doors leading onto the ward, her mouth set in a grim line.

Instantly, Steve is on high alert, tension pulling through his body. “What happened?” he says, already panicking that something awful has happened to Bucky in the last sixteen hours. “Is he hurt?”

“No. His parents showed up. Come on.”

Steve’s guts sink and harden with dread, yet at the same time he doesn’t really have the chance to work himself into a true panic, because they’re on the move. Raynor marches straight to the conference room, inside of which they find a somber-faced orderly at the door, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes seated at the table, and Bucky huddled down over in the far corner, having a bit of a fit. Steve instantly recognizes it as another stress fugue, though thankfully it seems to be less severe than the one he’d found him in yesterday. He’s still got all his clothes on and he isn’t humping anything, so that’s a plus.

Steve hurries over and kneels down next to him. “Buck? Oh Buck, Sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m right here with you, Baby. Please don’t cry.”

Bucky’s huddled on the floor, tearfully rocking in place, one arm wrapped around his knees and the other hand up at his face, sucking two of his fingers. Steve wipes his cheeks and kisses his forehead, heartstricken at seeing him so upset. “Shh sh sh, Honey. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” He remembers his backpack and slings it off his shoulder, unzipping it and dumping half its contents on the floor in search of the collar inside. He finds it and starts putting it on him, getting the buckle closed and the pressure points lined up with Bucky’s glands. “Can you get something for his mouth?” he tells the orderly at the door. The man nods with wide eyes and hurries out of the room. Steve finishes with the collar and fits the little air pump to its port, squeezing it until the pressure points in the lining have all inflated. Bucky’s breathing calms down considerably just from that. Steve rumbles low in his chest for him, giving him the sound of his Alpha’s approval. “Good boy,” he Voices, petting his face soothingly. “So good for me, bub.”

“Excuse me."

Steve looks back over his shoulder and meets George Barnes’ scowl with one of his own. “Be quiet,” he growls at him, making the man’s face go slack in sheer surprise. “Trust me, I’ll be right with you,” Steve grits. Turning back, he continues to murmur quiet, comforting words for Bucky to hear and latch onto; telling him how he’s right there and he’s not leaving, how he’s his Alpha and Bucky’s his omega and how they’re safe and good and everything is going to be just fine. Bucky whimpers and pushes himself closer to Steve, still crying sluggishly, but he’s non-verbal and even if he weren’t, he’s still got half his hand shoved into his mouth, his body’s reflexes in full gear as he tries to calm himself down.

Behind, Mrs. Barnes is complaining at her husband to “do something,” and Bucky registers her shrill voice and starts to rock a little harder. Steve winces as he sees the red indent of where Bucky’s started chewing on his fingers.

Luckily that’s when the orderly returns, and he hurries over to give Steve the suckling gag he’s brought. “Thanks,” Steve grunts, glad to see that the guy actually had the foresight to bring along a container of PheroGel for the thing. Steve exhales in relief and takes it from him. It'll help Bucky calm down. “Good thinking,” he mutters, maneuvering Bucky so that he can coax his hand away from his mouth and feed the rubber head of the gag past his lips instead. Bucky parts easily for it, accepting it with an anxious whine. “Shhh, there you go.” Steve velcros it in the back and checks the fit, then opens the valve and fills the chamber with the PheroGel.

Bucky makes a tiny, surprised sound when the taste reaches him, his cheeks hollowing as he returns to suckling instinctively. Steve smiles and encourages him. “That’s right. You just focus on that, okay?” He pets Bucky’s face and watches as he visibly calms down from the pressure of the collar and the feeling of something heavy and Alpha-scented in his mouth. “There you go, Sweetheart,” he soothes. “Just close your eyes and focus on how that feels. Can you do that for Alpha?” Bucky sniffles and nods tearfully, and Steve’s heart squeezes as he watches his eyelids start to droop closed. “Good boy,” he praises him once more. The gag is a slow suckle design, so Bucky should be able to keep using the pheromones to self-soothe while Steve works on dealing with the Barnes.

He’s enraged that they’re here at all. Steve fully intends to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Forcing himself to pull away from Bucky and stand, he’s stone faced by the time he turns around to face the Barnes. He walks over to stand across the conference table from them. They’re sitting side by side, but Steve doesn’t pull out a chair to join them. He locks his arms and leans with his hands braced on the back of a chair. “What are you doing here?” he says, letting his full displeasure come through in his voice.

For a second, both of the Barnes look a little bit intimidated. Unfortunately, that doesn’t last. George Barnes seems to recover some of his willpower and squares his shoulders to glower back at Steve. “We came to get him,” he snaps, sparing a disdainful glance towards the corner where Bucky is huddled. “We came to take him home and now they’re telling us we don’t have permission. ‘Permission’!”

“That’s right.”

“Well that’s bullcrap. He’s our son!”

Steve smiles nastily at him. “Well unfortunately, Mr. Barnes, You signed paperwork relinquishing custody of him.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. That was only a few days ago! We’ve changed our minds, so you just get him packed up or, er …” he glances back over at Bucky and winces in disgust when he sees his son: collared and rocking and stimming with the sucker strapped over his mouth. “Just get him ready to go. Take that crap off him. We’ve found somewhere to put him, and he’s coming with us.”

“‘Put him’?” Steve repeats, frowning.

“Yeah.” George raises his chin defiantly, looking every bit the asshole that he is. “Found out he’s actually worth somethin’, even like this.” At ‘this’, he casts another disdainful look in Bucky’s direction. “Milking center up in New Rochelle takes cases like him. Said they’ll pay six grand up front.”

Steve sees red so fast, he has to hold on tighter to the chair for a few seconds. “What?” he says, the word coming out quietly only because he’s so breathlessly fucking mad. “Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

George Barnes’ snide expression is more than enough of an answer. “At least he’ll be useful, not a leech on society.”

In his head, Steve hears Bucky’s tearful, bitter words from two days ago: 

“Just a waste of hardworking people’s tax dollars!” 

An unpleasant groaning sound meets his ears, before he figures out that it’s his own hands, stressing and warping the plastic backing of the chair. He pulls them away and glowers across the table at the other man. A fucking milking center, he fumes, wanting to pick the chair up and put it straight through George Barnes’ smug fucking face.

Because Steve’s been to those places, has been called in to evaluate the omegas housed in their custody. He’s seen the warehouse-sized rooms: filled with rows and rows of omegas, fat and sedated, restrained to benches and hooked up to machines, bred and fed and watered and hosed down in place, like animals.

Christina steps in, probably because she can sense that her employee is about to unleash imminent violence on their visitors. “Unfortunately, the law is clear in this matter,” she tells Mr. Barnes, as no-nonsense here as she is in any other situation. “You signed all legal rights to James over four days ago and you no longer have any say in his care. The hospital has full custody of him, and we’ve already approved a long-term guardian for him.”

“What?” George Barnes stands abruptly from his chair, sending it rolling back to thunk against the wall in his haste. “What are you talking about? You can’t do that! I’ll … I’ll get a judge. There’s no way you can just—”

“There’s every way we ‘can just’,” Steve growls, unable to restrain himself from being unprofessional at this point. Fuck it. He doesn’t work at Hydra anymore, so unlike in times past where he’s been forced to make nice with less than stellar parents, now he can say exactly what he’s thinking. “You are a piece of shit, garbage human being, who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a fucking dog let alone a child. I think that you should leave now. In fact I strongly advise it. Forget about ever seeing Bucky again—because you never will—and just be grateful that you got away with the level of abuse that you did for so many years without ever being charged in a court of law.”

George Barnes opens his mouth, ostensibly to say something pissy, but before he can, Steve tacks on:

“Oh, and in fact you should be very grateful that you did sign those papers when you did. Because if you hadn’t? You’d best believe I’d be making sure you’d lose custody of all your children before you ever got him back. Now why don’t you pick your jaw up off the floor, help your wife heft her sloppy ass out of that chair, and leave this place before you’re thrown out?”

Of all things, it’s the comment about Mrs. Barnes’s weight that fuels George Barnes into action. He gets alarmingly red in the face, and it’s to the background noise of his wife’s insulted screeches that he starts to come towards Steve (presumably with the intention of hitting him). But before he can so much as round the end of the conference table, Stanley is bursting through the door.

“Hold it! Not another move, Buster!”

At Stanley’s back, Rumlow is standing with his taser gun drawn and pointed right over Stanley’s head. It’s that sight which seems to catch Mr. Barnes’ attention, and he pulls back from where he’d been approaching Steve, hands raised and gesturing for his wife to get up, too. “Alright, alright. We’re coming. Geez.”

“Sure you were.” Stanley sports his tough guy face, proud of himself, and ushers the Barnes into the hallway. Steve’s opinion of Rumlow inches marginally higher when he sees him hurriedly holster his weapon and step back, so that Stanley doesn’t realize he’d had a little bit of backup, there.

With the Barnes led away, Steve returns all of his attention to Bucky. The tension of this confrontation seems to have had surprisingly little impact on him, and Steve is especially pleased when he sees that the orderly had at some point managed to get both a blindfold and a pair of noise cancelling headphones on Bucky as well. With the positive stimulus of the collar and gag, he’s much calmer. Steve hurriedly takes the headphones and blindfold off, followed by the gag. “Hey, hey baby.” He’s petting all over Bucky’s face, trying to read his expression and scent the state he’s in now. He’s surprised when Bucky blinks a few times and then looks up at him with clear eyes.

“Steve,” he breathes.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to go with them. You’re safe. You got your words back?”

Bucky blinks some more, looking between Steve and the place where his parents had been sitting at the conference table. “... They can’t take me, right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. That’s right. They can’t. They legally can’t.”

Slowly, Bucky’s expression starts to brighten. He smiles. “But you can take me,” he says hopefully. “To live with you. Because you’re my Alpha now, right? And I’m your omega?”

Steve doesn’t even think of propriety, he just leans in and kisses Bucky straight on the mouth. Bucky’s lips are so soft, and he whimpers and responds so eagerly. Steve forces himself to pull back before he can get carried away. “Yeah, bub,” he says happily, trying not to get emotional in front of Raynor. “Yeah. You’re my omega now.”

In reality, they’ve probably got close to a half day’s worth of paperwork and consent-confirming counselling sessions ahead of them. But in the way that Bucky’s asking about? Yeah. They already belong to each other.

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[thesugarclubs-blog]

Heat of the Moment - AU Steve Rogers x OC

warnings: modern AU steve rogers, DBF, age gap romance,DOM Steve, rough smut, 18+

word count: 12.5k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1330362443-heat-of-moment-regan

Masterlist

Sweat trickled down Regan's back as she climbed out of the cab and waved to the driver, quickly thanking them before they sped away from their destination. An unreasonable heat was smothering Brooklyn and Regan figured it was her luck that her first week at her father's apartment would be miserable. As if having to move back home at 25 after getting fired wasn't bad enough. 

There was nothing against anyone getting some help in their time of need, but Regan couldn't deny it kept her stomach in constant knots. Her dad was one of the good ones, married to his high school sweetheart until her mom passed and she'd always been what some might call a daddy's girl. Ever since Regan was born during her parent's senior year of high school, he was wrapped around her finger. It made sense that he'd be the one to swoop in and save the day. 

Hopefully, Regan thought, he wouldn't mind if I came home a few days earlier. 

She took a deep breath and climbed the few steps to the building's door, a worn duffel bag in hand. It was something from a thrift shop in London, the place Regan had called home for two years until the production company she worked for decided her services were no longer needed. Her fingers fiddled with the straps as she walked. It wasn't out of anxiety, but anticipation. 

Right before Regan took a leap and moved in pursuit of something more, she helped her dad move into this moderately upscale apartment complex. It had a rooftop pool, patio, and balconies on the windows, the perfect place for a guy like Regan's father. 

It also had his neighbor down the hall, Steve Rogers. 

She met him on the day her dad moved in. He was broad-shouldered, brooding, and tough as nails, an honourably discharged former captain in the US Army. The fact that he was built like a god and had that little accent in his voice didn't hurt either.

Steve was the same age as her dad and they found some common interests, but their bond came from both being veterans. Usually, she hated the stories from her dad's time overseas, but hearing Steve tell some of his own? She could listen to that gravelly voice all goddamn day. 

The trip on the elevator was a haze, Regan's mind retreating into the place that got her into trouble at school. She was so focused on whatever tale her mind was spinning, something warm and tinted in blue, that the elevator opening didn't even register on her radar. 

At first, neither did the man who stepped on it, until he finally said her name. 

"Hey, Regan," Steve said into the quiet space, a small twitch of his lips under his dark beard. 

His voice shot a wave of goosebumps on her skin and it made her shiver a little. He had this air of authority surrounding him. 

"Steve." Regan breathed, her fingers lifting nervously to pull the strand of hair out of her vision as her eyes travelled over the man in front of her.

"I thought your dad said you weren't going to be home for another couple of days," he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his bright blue eyes in her direction, meeting her gaze.

The fluorescent lights of the elevator made his eyes a deeper blue than they normally were and it seemed to darken each feature of his face. His beard was fuller than it had been the last time she'd seen him and Regan could see the shape of his dog tags under his white t-shirt. 

She cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the metal doors in front of her, hoping he hadn't caught her staring, "yeah that's what I thought but you know, once I finished my last day, there wasn't really much over there for me anymore so I just... left," her lips pulled into a thin line as she shrugged.

She shifted the bag in her hand, rolling the strap around nervously in her sweaty palm. She had forgotten how tall he was and now in their blistering proximity, she was forcibly reminded. 

“You’ll find a new job quickly,” Steve quipped, moving on so easily from her practically groping him with her eyes. “From all the ranting your dad does about you, you’re a talent most production companies are fighting to get their hands on.” 

She did all she could not to turn the color of a tomato as the embarrassment set in. Of course, they had been talking about her when she wasn’t around to play buffer. God only knows the things her father has told him about his sweet, precious little girl. 

Regan groaned audibly, unable to stop herself.

"I know it must be frustrating to move back home after being so independent and successful but I'm certain that your father will do everything in his power to get you back in the workforce. After all, you're his little princess." Regan detected a slight change in tone when he spoke that she decided to ignore. But the tinge of mockery in his tone got under her skin.

Regan snorted and shook her head as the elevator door dinged above them, "thanks Steve but as comforting as that is, I don't know what an army vet is going to do to get me back into film," she shifted her bag on her shoulder and walked out of the elevator onto the dusty green carpet of the 7th floor. 

"You know what I meant, Regan," Steve's voice dropped an octave as he followed behind her. 

She let out a soft sigh and nodded once, "yeah I know, I'm sorry, it's just, been a day and I was hoping to avoid the job talk at least until I had it figured out myself," she mumbled, pausing for a second outside of her dad’s apartment.

“You can’t avoid the tough stuff forever,” Steve said flatly, “life happens, and you have to deal with it.”

“I know that better than most,” Regan said bitterly as she turned at the door to her father’s apartment to find Steve standing with his hands on his hips.  “My mother. Remember?”

Steve nodded solemnly, piercing eyes boring into her as she stood defiantly.

“Anyway,” she looked away, breaking first, and fumbled with her keys. “Thanks for the advice.  I’ll be sure to consider it.”

“It should be open,” Steve offered behind her, “your dad was expecting me to drop in.” 

Regan nodded, curt and defeated as Steve’s hand landed on the wood just above her head. Palm flat and fingers splayed, she peered up to see flexed tendons and thick veins running beneath his tanned skin. Steve pushed, and sure enough, the door swung open with ease. 

“In the kitchen, Steve!” Regan heard her dad call as the sounds of cupboards and drawers opened and closed, and her dad’s off-tune humming echoed through to the hall. 

Having to move back home wasn’t ideal, but the warmth and familiarity of her dad’s apartment were welcoming nonetheless.

“Twinkle-toes!” her dad dropped the plastic containers into the sink and rushed around the island into the open hallway of his apartment. “You’re home!” 

Regan let the horrifying nickname slide as she dropped her bag to the floor and sunk into the giant bear hug her father wrapped her small frame into. He wasn’t a small man, rivalling Steve in height he was built thicker around the middle. His long blond beard had turned grey and brown. But the same soft and sad chocolate brown eyes stared down at her as he pulled back to inspect. 

“The London air has you looking all posh, have you been eating?” He asked, pinching her arm playfully. 

“On a hearty diet of a pack of cigarettes and croissants.” She rolled her eyes.

He laughed heartily and attempted to ruffle her hair, Regan dodging to the side at the last second with a scrunched nose and a snort. 

"A little early aren't you?" her father, Colin, asked, concern furrowing his brow. 

"Yeah," Regan breathed as she shifted her weight where she stood. "Just felt like coming home. I'd had enough pretentious movie assholes to last me a lifetime." 

A warm palm brushed the small of her back as Steve stepped by. Without a word, he grabbed the bag from beside her and carried it into the living room, setting the object on the sofa. Regan's eyes followed every flex of his broad back, tucked under a tight white t-shirt that made her brain turn to mush. 

A little spark of irritation ran through her at both the gesture and the feeling it gave her in front of her father of all people.

"Come sit. You must be exhausted." her father motioned to the sofa where Steve just put her bag. 

As she and her father sat down next to each other Steve opted to take the seat on the other side of the coffee table, settling on the armchair across from her. As she brought her father up to speed on her life, she felt Steve watching her attentively. Those incredible blue eyes she could get lost in bore right into her skin leaving a trail of flames in their wake. It was incredibly hard to have him so close but also so incredibly unattainable.

“Well, sweetheart, I hope you brought your appetite with you. Steve and I were just gonna fire up the grill and watch the game.” He voiced, tapping her knee as he stood from his place, “you up for some ribs and beers?” 

Regan smiled softly at her dad, “That sounds great I’m just gonna wash the 5  hours of plane and screaming babies off and I'll meet you up there.”

Her dad winced in sympathy and nodded, ruffling her hair before heading back into the kitchen.  Turning to Steve she smiled, which turned a little awkward and she began to flush, trying to decipher the look in his eyes.

“So I’m just gonna…you know…take a…see you later?” She babbled mentally kicking herself for sounding like a blithering idiot.

“Are you telling me or are you asking me, Princess?” He smirked.

Regan’s eyes widened in surprise, surely he couldn’t mean… She felt the flush creeping up her neck and spreading over her cheeks.  With all her usual sassy responses abandoning her she turned on her heel and almost ran into her bedroom, pushing the door as she went through, not even bothering to check if it was fully closed.

Heading into her shower room she turned on the water and took off her clothes, leaving them in a pile in the corner of the room.  She let out a sigh as she stepped under the spray, arching her back to let the water stream over her hair.

Steam was quickly filling up the bathroom with how hot the water was, but Regan really needed it. She stood still under the shower head, just letting the scalding hot water run down her body, warming up her skin and relaxing the tense muscle underneath it.

Truthfully, the plane ride over was greatly responsible for the tension, but she could admit, only to herself, that it wasn’t the whole reason. She could still feel the pressure and warmth of Steve’s palm over the small of her back, his fingers spread wide in an almost… possessive gesture.

She shook her head, trying to will the dangerous thoughts away. She’d always had a taste for older men, but Steve? He was her dad’s best friend, definitely off-limits. 

Her traitorous body shivered at the thought.

With more force than necessary, she squeezed a dollop of shampoo into the palm of her hand. The artificial scent of strawberries filled her lungs as she massaged her scalp, sighing in relief. She had kept buying it because Steve told her he liked strawberries once, well, she chose not to think about that and quickly washed it off.

She kept the same pace while washing her body, slowly massaging the soap into her skin and letting the tension go. Steve and her dad were probably impatiently waiting for her to get out so they could all eat, but the feeling of suds being washed off her skin was too good to make quick work of it, and she still wasn’t done getting rid of her inappropriate thoughts.

Only a creaking sound got her to speed up, just barely audible over the loud sound of insistent drops crashing over her shoulders. The pipes were letting her know her time was up.

Steam plumed as she stepped out onto the mat, letting the partially frosted glass door slide closed behind her.  A slight draft tickled her skin as she wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel; the bathroom door was open, letting the precious steam out.  Regan sighed as she towelled her hair, scrunching it lightly to soak up most of the water. It would probably get wet in the pool later.

Coming out of the bathroom, she smiled, seeing her forgotten bag on her bed next to a neatly laid-out outfit; her dad was always so thoughtful.  The pretty cornflour blue sundress was the same colour as her mother’s eyes, and the cute daisies patterned on the fabric were her favourite.  It was perfect for a sunny rooftop afternoon.

Slipping the dress over her blue and white checked bikini, the fabric felt wonderful against her clean skin.  Tying the dress behind her neck, she turned for the mirror.  She had been home only a few hours and already she looked and felt more relaxed.  Being home agreed with her, more than she would ever admit aloud.  She picked up a cute white cardigan and, taking one last look in the mirror, headed up to the roof of the building.

New York's summer heat was a shocker after years in London, the sun sweltering on her skin the moment she stepped out into the open air. 

“There she is!” Steve’s heart-stopping smile met her as she approached the two men. 

Leaning on the brickwork of the building with his arms folded over his broad chest, Steve’s heavy gaze fell upon her. His blue eyes tracked over her figure, subtle in their journey from her legs to the halter of her bikini top — where they lingered as his jaw ticked. 

Regan swallowed thickly and made a point of joining her father by the grill. 

In her peripherals, she caught Steve pushing himself away from the wall and sauntering over to the cooler before a dripping beer bottle was held out in front of her with no other acknowledgement.

Regan’s hand brushed against Steve's as she hesitantly took it. The frigid drops of water melted down over her hot skin. “Thanks,” she said, barely getting the word out. 

“Sure,” he winked. “That's your favourite right?” 

She turned the bottle in her hand and smiled, “how’d you know?” 

“Colin here tells all the stories in your absence, including the one about you sleeping in the bathtub after one particularly rowdy night,” Steve licked his bottom lip and tossed her dad a goofy smile. 

“Is nothing sacred?” Regan tossed her hair over her shoulder, turning away from them both to take in the views from the rooftop. God, she had missed Brooklyn and for more than one reason, she looked over her shoulder at the broad expanse of his muscles stretching beneath his shirt as he pointed to the grill and chatted with her dad.

Taking a long, much needed gulp from the icy bottle, she prayed that it would be enough to cool her off. A slightly unsteady hand caused a drop of foamy beer to spill down her chin and neck. 

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath as Colin's boisterous laugh echoed across the rooftop. 

A tingle on her skin made Regan look up as she wiped the liquid with her fingers. Steve watched her from across her father's head as he told some story, gesturing wildly with a pair of barbecue tongs. It looked as if he was assessing her like she was a danger he couldn't figure out how to approach. 

Emboldened by both distance and the heat, she raised an eyebrow and brought her thumb to her full lips. Gently sucking the beer from her fingertip, Steve's stare melted her from the inside. 

There was another twitch of his jaw before he turned away to help her dad once more. That was all she got and Regan couldn't deny that it stung but shook the feeling off.

She walked to the edge of the rooftop, pressing her stomach against the railing, her eyes travelling over the beautiful New York skyline. 

Suddenly she felt a hand on her back and it was clear from the way her body reacted to the touch who was standing behind her. His heat radiated over her as his hand lingered a second longer.

"You missed this, huh?" She heard him say and as she looked up, she found him looking at her. 

"Yeah. London is beautiful but nothing beats this view."

"I can think of something that beats this view," His voice rasped, laced with something wicked and before she could respond, he was gone.

Regan looked over her shoulder, watching Steve’s retreating form, all firm muscles beneath his tight shirt, jeans hugging his pert ass. 

She whipped back around, breathing in deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. Taking another sip of beer, she pushed off the railing and went to a lounge chair near her dad and Steve, just within earshot. 

Regan lay in the sun, warming quickly, getting sticky hot in her dress. She sat up, glancing over at the two men and getting caught in Steve’s gaze. Her dad was busy with the ribs but Steve’s blue eyes bore into her. 

With a sly smile, Regan slowly stood and peeled her dress up and off her body, revealing her bikini underneath.

She could feel his eyes on her as she hid a sly smile from his view. Regan sat back down in the lounge chair and took another long sip of her beer before dragging the cold bottle along her collarbone, trying to cool herself off. As she sat the bottle on a small table beside her, Regan could feel his eyes follow her every movement. 

Meanwhile, Steve gulped and reached for his own beer as he adjusted himself as discreetly as he could while he continued to listen to Collin ramble on about his story.

Even though she couldn’t hear his words the lilting tones of her Dad’s narrative amidst the distant noises of Brooklyn eventually lulled Regan into a comforting bubble of sleepiness.  The warmth of the late afternoon sun only exacerbated the tiredness she felt from her long journey and she let her lids slide almost closed, dozing lazily on the chair.

A whisper of breath against her neck made her shiver as a low voice sounded quietly in her ear.

“Careful you don’t burn that pretty skin of yours, Princess.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she swallowed thickly, trying to pass off the butterflies that erupted in her stomach at the closeness as she shifted and pushed her chest out slightly, "I don't think that's a concern for you to have, Rogers," she quipped back quietly and opened one of her eyes to meet his. 

Steve's tongue swiped across his bottom lip as his left eyebrow ticked upwards at her comment, making a blush rise up her neck, "well that's something we disagree about..." his eyes flickered back to Colin who was still facing away from them, watching the grill, "all that time in London, and now you think you can get away with everything," he smirked. 

The way he was looking at her made every nerve in her body tingle, the fear of her father turning around and seeing how close they were in the back of her mind, but the flirty almost demanding banter from Steve was enough for her to push it to the side. 

"I guess we'll have to see how much I can get away with," she returned the smirk, and waved her empty beer bottle at him, plastering on a sweet smile and blinking up at him, "since you're up anyway, would you mind?" she teased.

Steve smirked at her and leaned over, taking one more glance at her father who was completely oblivious to what was going on. Gingerly, he plucked the beer bottle from her fingers, his skin grazing against hers. She could see the veins in his forearm and it took all of her self-control not to trace them with her eyes. Sparks crackled along her skin and cascaded all the way down her spine. She bit her bottom lip and heat rushed to her cheeks, blossoming across her skin as Steve let out a soft chuckle.

“Must be the sun making you blush like that, hmm?”

Regan swallowed hard.

“Are you gonna get me my beer or stand there staring at me?”

She meant to sound more confident, but the way he was looking at her made it difficult to talk or even think. Her brain felt fuzzy, and it wasn’t from the beer. Steve flashed another smile, wider this time, his ocean blue eyes shining in the sunlight. 

“I can do both, can't I?” 

With that, he winked at her and headed for the cooler, her empty bottle dangling from his fingertips. Regan sat, sweat prickling her skin, with her mouth agape as she tried to process what was going on.

This couldn’t be happening. Was the too-sudden heat confusing her?

Steve had never been this bold before. There had been fleeting heated looks and barely there touches lingering a bit too long to be accidental, but he’d never quipped back to her flirty remarks.

The doubt that had plagued her since she met him was quickly fading into hopefulness. If she wasn’t imagining things, if Steve was actually flirting back… it had to mean he felt it too, the magnetic pull between them.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the feeling of something cold and wet grazing her wrist. She hissed, instinctively trying to pull her arm back, but Steve was quick to hold it still, sliding the edge of the cold beer bottle along her pulse point and right into her palm. Then, as if she was a child, he put his hand on hers and closed her fingers around it in a tight fist.

“Careful, there,” he murmured, his hot breath on her ear, “Why so jumpy, princess?”

“Maybe if you didn’t sneak up on me,” she replied, trying to keep her tone sharp. But the close proximity and firm hold on her hand stole her voice. 

Steve stood to his full height, looking over her, a handsome shadow haloed by the sun. 

“You’re a big city girl, Regan. Being aware of your surroundings is the number one rule, isn’t it?” He flashed her a lazy grin, the greys in his bread glistening in the light as he turned to survey the terrace before peering back down at her. “You never know what you might miss.” 

Regan’s whole body flushed hot and she was about to retaliate when Colin called a cheery ‘grubs up’, and Steve took two steps backward, a subtle wink and smirk on his face as he rubbed his hands together hungrily.

"Smells good, Dad," Regan said as she got up, following behind Steve to the patio table. "You always cook like this for Steve? Is there anything I need to know?" 

Colin snorted, setting the heavy plate of barbecued meat on the table as he sat down. Slipping her dress back over her tousled hair, Regan glanced over at Steve and this time, she was sure he actually smirked at her teasing. 

"Sorry honey, Steve isn't exactly my type." 

Regan chuckled, choosing the seat opposite her father.

"Just checking," she smiled. "I can't have you spoiling just anyone in my absence." 

As she reached to grip the wrought iron backing, Steve beat her to it, pulling the seat out wordlessly. Her eyes flitted up to his as she sat and fixed her dress, the flowing fabric falling just above her knees. There was a darkening in his eyes and Regan realized the position they were in again. If she leaned forward, her forehead would be at his stomach and her hands would- 

"How about you, twinkle toes?" Colin asked as he passed a set of plates to Regan. "Was there anyone you were cooking for in London? Must be a shame that you had to leave so soon."

Steve casually pulled out the chair beside her and every muscle in her body tensed when he took his seat.

“Really wasn’t there for that Dad, and no one really caught my eye there,” Regan muttered, trying to end the conversation before it started. Colin opened his mouth to speak again but Regan beat him to it. “Looks like you forgot the barbecue sauce, Dad. I’ll go grab it,” she said, relief coloring her tone as she pushed back from the table. 

Regan made her way across the roof and down to the apartment, taking a moment to breathe as she rested against the kitchen counter. 

“You okay there, Regan? Need any help?” came a deep voice behind her, sending a shiver down her spine.

Regan gulped, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "N-no, I'm okay." She opened one of the cabinets but didn't find the sauce. Her dad must have moved things around again in her absence. He was always re-organizing things. Shutting the cabinet door, she opened another one, only to sigh. Where in the hell did he put the damn sauce this time?

Frustrated, she let out a huff before hearing a soft deep chuckle behind her. 

"You're dad re-organized the kitchen in his usual manic state in prep for your return," he said as she finally turned to him. A smirk was plastered on his lips and his hair was dangling around his face while he leaned over the kitchen island propped up on his elbows, "told him the last thing you cared about was where the syrup lived." 

Regan couldn't help but breathe out a laugh despite the tingling sensation crawling over her body as his eyes darkened at the sound she made. Steve stood up straight, the white in his shirt a deeper shade from the sweat forcing it to cling to the muscles in his chest. She watched his fingers drag along the edge of the island as he circled around it toward her. The fact that he couldn't hear her heart hammering against her rib cage was shocking to her considering all she could hear was the thundering of it in her ears with the closer he got. 

As he moved to stand in front of her his tongue flicked over his bottom lip, "you've gotta be more observant, twinkle toes." Steve rasped, her father's nickname rolling off his tongue like a sin. 

His hand reached up and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her with the way he took a step forward with the action, but he reached behind her pulling open a cabinet and showed her the bottle of barbecue sauce. Regan became acutely aware of the shrinking space between them as he towered over her and the swarm of butterflies in her chest began to swirl.

The smell of his deep ember and vanilla spiced cologne swirled in her nose and made her head feel dizzy. Regan couldn't stop her eyes from flickering towards his plump lips as he smirked at her and placed the sauce bottle on the counter beside them. He had to know what he was doing to her, despite trying to keep her composure, she was convinced her feelings were right there in the open. 

His fingers brushed the side of her neck and pushed her blonde waves back off her bare shoulder, "I like your hair long like this," he finally spoke through the silence, "does your father know about the little tattoo on your rib cage?" his hand continued softly down over her dress, lightly brushing where the small lavender tattoo sat.

“Yeah, but he- he doesn’t really care,” Regan’s voice shook despite her trying to sound unaffected, “Do you?”

It was a bold question, and she wished to take it back as soon as it came out. She watched Steve’s face, holding her breath, waiting for him to react. What would he say? Had she read this wrong? Or, worse than that, had she read this right?

Steve didn’t react for a long moment, and she feared that this was it, that he would push her away, maybe even tell her dad, humiliate her.

Then, he hummed, low in his throat. “You really don’t keep any secrets from him, do you?”

He looked up at her, head tilted down and long eyelashes fluttering over his defined cheekbones, but it was the look in his eyes that took her breath away.

In the dim light of the kitchen, she could barely see the blue of his irises anymore. His pupils were impossibly wide, giving his eyes a dark, hungry look that had her core clenching around nothing.

He wanted her. He wanted her.

A spark of courage lit up in her chest.

“I could,” she whispered, wetting her lips.

“Yeah?” He breathed. “You think so?”

It was almost a challenge as he stepped toward her, closing the gap between the two of them. Every footstep, every breath felt so heavy between them as the tension mounted. Regan felt like she might burst.

Her heart was thumping in her throat while Steve stared her down, his eyes warm yet piercing. He was playing a dangerous game. They both were. 

She grabbed the bottle and placed it between them as a barrier. Steve’s large hand wrapped around it and her fingers, his eyes locking with hers. Suddenly, she found it hard to take a full breath the second he started to lean forward. Heat bloomed in her belly and the soft fabric of her dress was suddenly the most constricting and irritating thing in the world. She felt his other hand wrap around her waist and pressed her tighter against the counter like he was testing her limits along with his own.

“Why don’t I take this up to your dad and you cool off in here?” He suggested, moving his hand to brush his knuckles against her bare arm. “You feel a little warm.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice crushed by the weight of the tension between them.

He grinned.

“Keep telling yourself that, princess.”

Steve dipped his head, beard grazing her cheek on his way to her ear and sending a tingle down her spine. The hand on her arm travelled further south and Regan’s breath hitched as she felt the hem of her dress lift from her skin. Steve thumbed at the fabric, rubbing it between his fingertips. 

“Pretty,” he purred, “a good choice, don’t you think?” 

As he drew back, Regan peered up at him confused as she took in his raised eyebrow and the sparkle in the blue of his irises — or what was left of them. His pupils were blown wide as he tilted his, studying her intensely.

And then he was gone, the warmth from his body and the intoxicating scent left lingering in the air as he walked away.

The pieces of the puzzle slid together slowly as she stared down at the dress she was wearing. She had just assumed her father had laid it out for her, stupid and naive she swore under her breath. She huffed, pushing off the counter and out into the hallway. Regan closed the apartment door behind her and jogged after him as quickly as her little legs would take her, sliding between him and the entrance to the roof before he could open it. 

She pressed her back against it, looking up at him. Arm tense and pressed into her side as he reached for the bar her back rested against. She watched a single bead of sweat roll down over his skin, trickling down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. 

 "Did you enjoy the show?" She asked, biting her tongue as he leaned close enough to brush against her nose. 

A soft tsk fell from his lips, "do you like being watched?" he asked, countering her question with his own. "Be honest," he whispered.

His voice carried the slight trace of an accent as he spoke, his eyes now so dark with wanton that she wondered how much self-control this man had. Hmmm, I could put that to the test, she thought.

"Wouldn’t you like to know," Her hand travelled to the belt of his pants, tugging slightly.

She watched him carefully as his eyes flared up and she could feel him struggle with his control.

"You're playing with fire, Regan."

“I like the heat,” Regan quipped, slipping her fingertips along the sliver of skin between his shirt and jeans. She could feel his abdomen tremble and she grinned, quickly withdrawing them and pressing backwards, pushing the door open and semi-gracefully twisting to the open rooftop. 

“Hey Dad, sorry that took so long, someone forgot to tell me they reorganized again,” Regan teased Colin as she made her way back to the table. 

“You comin’ Steve?” Colin called out and Regan glanced back, seeing Steve still standing at the door, hand deep in his pocket. 

She covered up a snort as he started, walking over slightly awkwardly before sitting at the table next to her again, a little closer than before. Regan glanced at Steve as he scooted his chair and adjusted how he sat before he began filling his plate with food. 

"So..." she began. "What have you two been up to while I was gone? Besides embarrassing me by sharing stories about me." She only half listened to her father's answer as she suddenly felt Steve's heavy hand on her knee beneath the table. 

She gave him the side eye. What the hell are you doing? Feeling him gently grip her knee while he openly acted as if nothing was happening only served to make the butterflies in her chest turn into bees.

His hand felt calloused and rough against her heated skin. She felt it slide further, pushing the hem of her dress with it just far enough to torture her with the question of how far he was willing to go with her father two feet away. 

"Regan? Honey, are you okay?" Her father's voice filtered through the flash flood of thoughts currently drowning her mind. 

"What? Oh--yea--yeah," She stammered. Steve's hand un-wavered from its position. Standing his ground and toeing the metaphorical line in the sand. She felt his forefinger begin to draw small tiny circles into the soft flesh of her inner thigh, setting fire to her scorched skin. 

"Where's your head at twinkle toes?" Colin asked, taking a bite of ribs. 

Regan shook her head, picking up her beer hoping to cool herself down, "Nowhere but here dad." She flashed him a somewhat convincing smile moving her hand under the table and curling her fingers around Steve's.

Her intention was to move his hand away, to silently scold him for being so bold in front of her father, but she couldn’t do it. 

Couldn’t deny herself the delicious feeling of his fingertips pressing into the flesh of her thigh, blood rushing back to her skin every time he shifted his grip higher. 

Her dad emptied his beer, reaching for the cooler to retrieve another and flashing them both a tipsy smile as he held one more out towards them in offering. 

“Last one,” he shrugged, gaze flitting between them. 

Only then did Steve’s hand leave Regan, long enough to flip the cap from the bottle and tilt it towards her. 

“You don’t mind sharing, do you, sweetheart?”

"I don't know where that mouth has been," she scoffed, pulling it from his grip. 

"Steve's a gentleman sweetie," Colin laughed at their playful banter, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sure he won't mind."

"You don't mind do you?" She tilted it toward her pouty lips. 

"You can pay me back some other time," Steve laughed loudly, but his eyes never left her lips and she could feel his knuckle drift back to the hem of her skirt, lifting it higher than before. "You'll be home all summer." He added. 

"It's gonna be so nice having my girl home!" Colin announced loudly, nearly spilling from his chair. 

"Dad," Regan lurched from her chair, worried about him. "I think the beer and the heat are getting to you!"

"Christ, you might be right," her dad laughed, shaking his head. "Game hasn't even started and I'm already out of it." 

"How many did you have before I got here?" 

Colin looked somewhat sheepish as he stood, swaying on his feet. There was a pink tint to his cheeks that she hadn't noticed before. Sending Steve a confused look, she watched Steve hold up four fingers just out of Colin's view and suppressed a laugh. 

"Okay, okay," Regan sighed, pushing up from the table. "C'mon, let's get you to bed."

"Alright, let's go. Steve, see ya." Colin waved his friend goodbye and they slowly made their way downstairs, her father hiccupping every second step.

She watched him get into his en suite bathroom after she picked up his pyjamas from the console across from the bed. 

"I'm fine, little one. I can take it from here. Don’t worry about me, your tipsy dad can handle a nap by himself. Go relax,” he said as he pulled the comforter over his body. He had no idea what that sentence made her feel and she prayed to high heavens that he didn't notice the way the blush crept into her cheeks. 

"Sleep well, pops. Thank you for taking me in." She whispered as her father closed his eyes. 

"Anything for you, twinkle-toes. I'm so glad I have you back here. I love you." And with that, he dozed off into sleep.

A small shiver ran through her body and the realization that she’d forgotten her cardigan on the roof washed over her. Regan fought with herself for a moment, telling herself that she could grab it in the morning, but the other side of her wanted to finish what she’d started with Steve.

Or at least what she thought had been started. 

Her body shook with anticipation at the delicious tension spreading through her body as she walked back out onto the rooftop and saw Steve sitting in one of the chairs, his legs spread apart, holding an ornate glass of dark liquid between his strong fingers. 

"Regan..." She heard him rasp as her feet transported her closer to him as if they have a mind of their own.

Regan stopped a few inches from his right knee, staring down at it, until Steve shifted. He sat forwards in his chair, jeans pulling tight against strong, thick thighs, and he balanced his glass against his left thigh, right one open and oh so enticing. 

“Wanna sit honey? Plenty of room,” Steve rumbled, lifting his glass and taking a sip of what had to be whiskey or maybe bourbon. Regan suddenly felt parched, dying for a taste. 

She glanced around, looking for her chair but it was pushed off to the side. She finally met Steve’s playful stare, the fingers of his right hand drawing her gaze away, back to his thighs. 

Before she could second guess herself, Regan took that last step forward and straddled Steve’s thigh, biting back a whimper at the feel of the strong muscles between her own soft thighs.

Steve leaned back on his chair, his jeans rubbing against Regan's underwear as he adjusted his legs. Goosebumps formed along her skin as warmth pooled between her legs while she settled herself on his thigh. 

He tilted his head upwards, meeting her gaze with a playful smirk. He trailed his index finger along her thigh, circling a freckle that lay just below the bunched up hem of her dress.

"Are you comfortable, Regan?" he purred.

"Umm..." She took a steadying breath, knowing that he could see she was flushed from her ears to her chest. Feeling Steve move his leg again made her gasp and reach to steady herself by holding onto one of his shoulders. Shit 

"What is it, princess? Something bothering you? Or is something feeling a little too good to ignore?"

Regan pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and turned her gaze towards the rooftop door. The slight fear of someone catching them, not just someone, but her dad, crept up into her mind. Even if he was drunk out of his mind and probably long passed out, he could stumble back up to the roof for something. It was too risky being so out in the open. 

As if he could tell where her mind went, Steve placed his fingertips gently on the side of her cheek and turned her gaze back to meet his, the blue of his eyes flickering in the low light from the city that surrounded them. 

"Eyes on me, beautiful," he whispered, moving his hand down to the side of her neck and tracing his thumb over her throat, "we're safe up here. It's just the two of us," he reassured, with his smirk returning, "now, answer my question, is something bothering you or are you done ignoring this?" 

He continued moving his leg underneath her, pulling small whines from her lips as she kept her eyes on him, trying to think of a way to answer him coherently.

“I don’t think I could ignore this if I tried.”

Steve’s breath rushed out of his chest at her confession. There was no time like the present to be honest, and there was no way in hell she was going to walk away from this as terrified as she was to get caught. Steve’s cheeks were dusted pink and he licked his lips. He leaned forward, dragging his lips along her jawline until they reached her ear. She shivered at the sensation of his beard brushing against her skin and bit back a whimper. 

“That makes two of us,” he rumbled. “Do you know how hard it’s been to stay away from you?”

Regan smiled and slid her hands beneath his t-shirt, fingernails just barely grazing his abs. Her hips instinctively rocked back and forth and she could feel herself getting wetter from the tension alone.

“Why don’t you show me?” She whispered.

He nibbled on her earlobe and she gasped.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he pulled back and his hand slipped around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. The second their lips crashed, Regan groaned, butterflies swarming her stomach as Steve’s other hand gripped her hip and began to rock her back and forth along his thigh as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

He took his time, feeling her out, whisky and barbecue and something uniquely him flooding her senses.

Steve’s tongue was heavy against hers, teeth catching harshly on her bottom lip before he soothed the sensitive skin with small kisses, almost too tender compared to the way he guided her over him. Steve grunted, rough and from deep in his chest as she writhed against him. 

With each rock of her hips, Regan felt his cock hardening beneath the denim, eliciting a gasp from her lips as he shifted beneath her. As glorious as the feeling of his rough jeans was, she was desperate for fewer layers and more skin.

Steve slipped a hand into the front of her bathing suit bottoms, his hot skin slipping between her folds with ease. "So ready," he groaned against her, using his hand to rock her faster, "feral for me. How long has it been since you've been touched, baby girl?" He asked. 

When she tried to answer nothing but a heavily broken whine dripped from her lips, her mouth propped open by his as he worked against her faster. "Such pretty noises the desperate whore makes, don't stop." He demanded, "ride my thigh until you're moaning my name and then I'll flip you over and give you something to really scream about."

She nearly collapsed against him but he held her in place as he pushed his thigh up against her forcibly over and over, his fingers guiding her pussy back and forth until she was an embarrassing, withering mess.

His other hand wrapped in her hair and pulled her mouth back to his, tongue and teeth crashing together as her legs started to shake. Steve's heated lips moved down her jaw, leaving wet kisses that made Regan's noises grow higher in pitch and more breathless as her head fell back. 

"Fuck me," Regan whined, embarrassed by how quickly she folded, but she felt like she was going to combust. "Please, I- I need more."

She felt his lips turn up in a grin and the throbbing in her cunt grew stronger. 

"We'll get there, darlin'," Steve murmured against her damp skin. "First I'm gonna have you come like this. Then you'll get my mouth..." 

Regan gasped as his thumb started to circle her clit and it nearly got her there, but his touch was too light, too soft for how he was speaking to her. He was teasing her and based on the twitching in his jeans, he really fucking liked it. 

"And then," Steve growled, pressing up harder against her, the friction burning her thighs raw. "if you're a good girl, I'll fuck you like one."

"But what if I'm not a good girl?" Regan asked in a playful innocence she knew damn well would rile him up. 

"Oh, Regan," he chuckled mischievously as he applied the slightest bit more pressure to her clit, her mind reeling and begging for release. "Then I'll fuck you like a good little slut," he rasped so close to her ear, his words vibrated through her body. 

Little by little he increased the pressure and speed until he was just right, a scream left her throat.

"Fuck, the noises you make. Fucking beautiful."

Regan panted, body slumping into Steve’s firm chest, feeling it move under her as he chuckled. 

“Don’t tell me you’re worn out already?” he teased, knuckles brushing under her chin and lifting her head until her blurry gaze met his sharp one. “Can’t very well make good on my words if you’re already fading.”

Regan shook herself, blinking rapidly before sitting up straight, fisting Steve’s long hair in one hand, crushing their lips together again. 

“I can handle anything you’ve got for me Captain,” she murmured against his lips and he bit down sharply on her bottom one, a yelp escaping her as he pulled it away from her, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. 

“On the patio table now, Regan,” he growled, hands going to her hips and lifting her up onto her feet.

Regan bit her lip, her heart hammering against her ribcage in anticipation. Steve's lips found her purchase on her neck leaving a trail of nips and kisses along the way as he walked her towards the table, his fingers digging into her hips. 

He pushed her against it, the feel of cold metal against her thin dress doing nothing to quench the heat surrounding her. Dragging his wet warm lips back up to her lips, he slipped his hands down to her thighs picking her up and sitting her on the table. 

"Eager there, Rogers?" Regan laughed against his lips. Her teasing was quickly cut by a gasp when she felt his long, rough fingers wrap around her neck. 

"That's Captain to you," he growled against her lips.

She giggled before gasping as he bit her bottom lip hard enough to cause a bit of pain. Regan pulled away from him with narrowed eyes. "What was that for?"

Steve gave her a hard stare before his face softened slightly. "Sorry," he murmured. He gently rested his hand on the back of her neck before placing a gentle kiss on her now painful bottom lip. "No more lip," he murmured. His demeanor changed again as he pulled her to the edge of the table and ran his hands up her dress to rest on her thighs. "Now... will you let your Captain have a taste? Because dessert sounds rather nice."

She nodded and Steve grinned.

“Good,” he whispered, pushing her thighs apart while dropping to his knees. The only thing she could see in the dying sunlight were those eyes digging into her fucking soul. Flames licked her belly, shooting through every muscle in her body as Steve took his fucking time sliding his calloused hands up and down her thighs. 

“Now, spread your legs for me. I want ‘em nice and wide, sugar. And you stay like that, is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” she purred.

A growl sprung from his throat and she could see that he was struggling to keep control, kissing his way up and down each thigh. Trying to make the most of every moment. Regan’s breath caught in her chest as he worked his way higher and higher to her dripping cunt. He lifted his head and slowly began to slide two fingers inside of her.

“You keep calling me that and the whole goddamn city’s gonna hear you begging me to fuck you.”

Regan’s retort was cut off by the sensation of Steve’s tongue slowly dragging along her clit as he pushed his fingers in deeper. Her head fell back and she bit down on her knuckles, letting out a muffled groan.

He worked at her relentlessly, the patio table beneath her practically rocking as she lifted her hips from the table to press herself against his face. She wanted to ride herself free of the second orgasm against his nose while his tongue flicked at her core and his fingers curled inside of her reaching all the tender sweet spots. 

"Wait for it," he growled, pushing her back down against the table. His hand slid from her hips and bit into the underside of her ass roughly, causing her to whimper from the pain. She hadn't expected to enjoy it so much but each rough touch sent a thousand tiny shockwaves rolling through her only making her crave more. 

He was daring her to misbehave, she wanted to feel the crack of his hand against her ass, feel the sting of his fingers around her nipples and the sharp bite of his teeth on her thighs. She wanted more than ever before. She wiggled down against him, his beard rubbing against her inner thighs as his tongue pressed against her already stuffed pussy. 

"I want more," she begged and without hesitation, he obliged but not without consequence. He rolled her hips to the side, so her leg was hooked over his shoulder pressed tightly against his cheek and rubbed the soft skin of her ass before laying into her. 

"I told you to wait," he warned.

With a whimper, Regan wriggled in his grasp, chasing the feeling of his lips against her body again. This time his hand gripped her ass even harder,  surely leaving purple marks on the creamy colored skin. In a blink, Steve rose up, gripping her chin tightly. Her lips parted as his calloused palm held her in place and Steve smirked at the dazed look in her eye. 

"Be. Good. Regan," he murmured before capturing her lips again, leaving a salty taste on her tongue. 

She nodded breathlessly, licking the dampness from her lips as he got back onto his knees, blue eyes blown dark in the lavender twilight. 

"So fucked out, already, my girl can't even talk," Steve murmured against her thigh before his lips wrapped around her clit and pulled harshly before releasing it as she cried out. "You might not make it through me fucking you."

"I can, please," Regan begged him. Her voice came out a strangled whimper.

"So eager,” he growled, “I'm gonna fuck you so hard I might have to replace the patio table," his hand darted out and wrapped around her chin so she was captivated by his eyes.

"I want you to be good and use your words, sugar."

Regan bit back a whine and wrapped her hand around Steve’s wrist, pulling his hand from her face, and guiding it back to her dripping cunt. 

“C’mon Captain,” she grinned, determined to take back some power despite her mouth falling open in a gasp as his fingers entered her again. “You want me to be good? Make me.”

Steve’s fingers immediately crooked against her spot, his thumb pressing down on her clit, rubbing back and forth until her thighs were shaking and her nails were digging into his skin. 

“Fuck!” Regan shouted, waves of orgasm crashing over her. Before she could even come down, Steve was moving, slipping his fingers from her and flipping her over onto her stomach. He trailed them over her ass, slapping it lightly, then harder when she moaned. 

“That’s my good little slut,” he whispered in her ear, bent over her back.

Steve's words flowed over her, making her shiver. If it were anyone else, she was sure she would whip around and slap them. But being Steve... something was different. Regen whimpered as she felt Steve pull apart her bikini bottoms, letting them fall to the concrete at their feet. "Steve... please." 

She looked over her shoulder, watching as he stared down at her before she noticed his arm moving. Her eyes drifted down only to widen at the size of Steve's weeping cock. Oh my god.

Regan couldn't stop the whimper as it left her throat, and she felt her cunt clench around nothing in anticipation. Every thought in her mind melted away, all the fear she'd felt about getting caught was gone. She just wanted him. She needed him. And by the cocky smirk that was painted on his lips, he knew it too. 

Steve stepped forward and positioned himself, his hard cock pressed into her folds, teasing her more with each slight movement. 

"That's it Regan, beg me," he rasped, gripping the skin of her hip with one hand and moving the other slowly up her spine to tangle in her blonde waves, pulling softly. 

She whined again, biting the inside of her cheek, "Please Steve... please," she pushed her hips back into him, pulling a growl from deep in his chest. 

He brought his hand back and slapped it once more on her ass, "try again, sweetheart," 

"Please fuck me, Steve, please," she breathed, relishing in the stinging pain of her ass as he rubbed the sore spot, "I need you inside of me, please fuck me"

He teased her entrance with the tips of his fingers. He didn’t push them inside of her, but she could feel him working her clit, teasing it ever so slowly as he leaned over.

“You can do better than that,” he urged. “You want me to fuck you like a little whore? Then you beg me like one.”

“Fuck you!” She cried out. “You’re such an asshole.”

This wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what he was going to get. She was so desperate, that every muscle in her body was shaking. Steve smacked her ass one more time and she bit down on the inside of her cheek, swallowing a grunt as her clit throbbed.

“Do you need to be shown how to behave?” He growled. Very slowly, he removed his fingers and dragged the tip of his cock through her folds. “Because I can do that for you, angel.” 

Regan’s eyes rolled back and she let out a sound that she didn’t even know she could make— broken and jagged. Steve placed his hand at the base of her throat and his lips curled into a wicked grin. Regan found her composure, drawing in a breath as he began to rub the tip of his cock against her swollen clit.

“Fuck me, Steve. I’ve been such a good girl for you, haven’t I?”

He chuckled, capturing her lips in a rough and messy kiss before pulling back.

“You’ve been anything but that.”

"I'll be a good little whore, I promise," she cried out, every inch of her aching for him. She could feel him running his rock hard length from her ass to her clit, over and over without remorse. Only a soft chuckle fell from his lips as she begged him for all of it. "Please Captain, fill me to the brim, I can't take it anymore. I'm begging you, I'll do anything."

"You say that like I doubted you," he whispered, the hand around her throat tightened gently against her skin and his hand ran down the sweat licked center of her back. He kicked her feet apart, spreading her wide and exposing her to him completely. She felt raw and on display as he rocked himself into her without warning. She wasn't prepared for his size, stinging pleasure rolling through her as he stretched every inch of her sore cunt, pushing her to her limits. The pain vibrated down through her toes as she pushed up onto them and fell into the hold around her throat. 

"I can't-" she pleaded, feeling the hand that rolled around her ass, he was playing at it. Waiting for her pleas but she could feel him wanting more as he dragged himself from her clenching, dripping cunt slower than her body could process the size. "Steve," she panted, unable to finish her sentence as his balls slapped against her throbbing clit and he filled her again. 

"You can't what?" He growled, his thumb brushing against her entrance. When she didn't answer him he slapped his hand across her ass, the sound ringing through the air alongside her strangled gasp. "Answer me."

Regan felt tears well up in her eyes, frustratingly turned on to the point that she couldn't even begin. His fingers tightened around her throat as another slap echoed across the rooftop, sending spots across her vision. 

"You aren't a very good listener, are you? That's okay, I'll teach you." 

"Please, please, please," she sputtered. "I can't take...fuck, Steve!" 

This was what she needed, maybe a part of the reason she came back. Someone to break her and put all those pieces back together. A tear fell down her face and Steve's thumb turned her cheek towards him, his wicked grin appearing in the corner of her vision over her shoulder. 

"Cry for me a little more and I might go easy on you."

Regan’s eyes rolled back into her skull as a shudder travelled through her body. She heard Steve curse and suddenly he was pressing against her entrance again. 

“You have no fucking idea how you look do you?” Steve started pushing in, slowly, Regan moaning loudly as she was stretched again. “No idea how you look with that fucking body moving, caught up in pleasure, thinking of nothing but me. I’ll fuck you, pretty girl, I’ll fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come until you’re crying harder than this little display.” 

Regan couldn’t catch her breath, between the tears and the way Steve had started fucking into her, punching the air out of her chest until she was nearly screaming. 

A big hand came up to cover her open mouth, covering half her face with its width. “Shh, Regan, the whole neighborhood didn’t hear you yet,” Steve whispered into her ear, biting down on the lobe before sucking on it, hips pounding her into the suddenly creaking table.

She whimpered into his hand, her whole body shaking under his.  She was desperate to feel more of him. Even inside of her he still wasn't close enough, there was too much fabric between them. Regan wanted to feel his taut chest against her back, feel the way his muscles flexed as he relentlessly drove into her. 

Steve dragged his hand back from her mouth slowly, and as if they shared the same need his fingers worked the knot at the back of her neck the thin strands of her dress falling onto the table. His movements didn't falter as he pulled down roughly on the fabric causing the table to shake along with her.

"The... the table," she moaned, trying to do her best to help Steve remove her dress from her body. The table creaked loudly beneath them. Loud enough for her to wonder if they were both going to topple to the ground. The thought was fleeting though as Steve increased his pace, driving himself into her body. "Steve..."

"Steve!" His name came out as a louder sob than she'd meant it to, but it caught his attention just in time. 

The table once more groaned loudly as the legs finally gave way, crashing the old metal table to the ground. Steve's arm linked around Regan's waist and caught her before either of them fell, stepping forward, his cock slipped out of her and he spun her into his chest. 

The world felt like it was spinning for a moment as her fingers curled into the metal dog tags that hung around his neck. He helped her stand and catch her balance as his now dark blue eyes flitted over her features, concern sparking over his face. 

"Are you okay?" he rasped, cupping her cheek in his hand and gripping her waist with the other. 

Regan nodded and breathed deeply, keeping her gaze locked on him, "I'm okay," she repeated, the coolness of the dog tags bringing a new feeling into her otherwise warm body. 

"Good," he growled, scooping his arms under her legs and making his way over to the chair she'd found him in earlier, "cause I'm not finished with you yet"

Her laughter echoed through the air and Steve sat down on it, letting Regan shift her body so that she could straddle him. She looked back at the mess that they’d left behind and giggled.

“How are you gonna explain that?”

“Communal rooftop, drunk teenagers,” he replied, cradling her face with both hands. The pad of his thumb slid along her bottom lip as he searched her eyes. His expression was tender and vulnerable, and it made her heart skip a few beats. This guy could turn on a dime. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded and Steve kissed her, so sweetly that she wanted to cry. Her arms snaked around the back of his neck, playing with his hair and running her fingers through it. She’d always thought about it, it looked so soft. Steve groaned as the kiss deepened and Regan decided to take the reins, easing herself back down onto his cock. Her eyes squeezed shut as he filled her to the brim. Regan felt tears sticking to her lashes as her cheeks flamed. 

The whimper that left Steve's lips was addicting, and she began to rock her hips, taking control. There was something about him that made her feel insanely confident. She pulled back, bouncing on top of him as his head fell back.

“Fuck, Regan.”

“Atta boy,” she whispered. “How long have you been thinking about fucking me?”

He laughed, his chest heaving as she fucked him and he tried to swallow his groans. Regan grabbed his dog tags and pulled on them, forcing him to meet her eye while she took him as deep as she could. His eyes widened as Regan leaned in and flicked his bottom lip with her tongue.

“I asked you a question, Captain. I expect an answer.”

His hands ran down her back, his fingers tickling the bare skin down to the swell of her ass. He cupped her more gently than she would have liked but he helped lift her up and down his shaft, pushing the speed at which they moved together. His breath trembled from his lips as he opened his mouth to speak as Regan pulled herself to the tip of his expanding erection. She revelled in the pressure it built, she found sick, needy pleasure in how it drove him nuts to be out of control. 

His hands tightened around her skin, pulling her ass into his palms as he fought his hungry urges. "I've wanted a taste of your weeping pussy the first time you bent over in those tiny jean shorts you wore around last summer." He nipped at her collarbone. "Tell me," he begged breathlessly, still gripping her tightly, "tell me you wanted it too."

She giggled, it dripped from her lips. She had visited her dad for a week and she could feel Steve's eyes watching her even then. She had dug those shorts from the back of her closet, barely squeezing her ass into them before parading around in the apartment. The tip of his dick rolled against her entrance, stretching her wider as he tried to pull her back over him. "I enjoyed watching you squirm," she whispered, "how often do you think about those shorts?" She asked, needing to know the answer. 

"As often as I think about your pert little tits in my mouth," he dragged his teeth against her, "more when I dreamed about how good your pussy would feel wrapped around me."

Regan gasped, high and loud as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, biting down and pulling until she cried out before letting go. Her breast stung, pain spreading through it but she relished in it, digging her hands into his hair and pulling. Steve's head fell back, their eyes meeting, and Regan pressed their foreheads together, lips meeting in an open-mouthed, gasping kiss. 

"Gonna make me come again, Captain?" she asked breathlessly, rising and falling quickly on his dick. Steve gripped her hips tight enough that her skin was darkening before their eyes but she didn't care, she wanted more. "C'mon Cap, I'm waiting."

Steve snarled and his hips jumped up, pumping into her hard, the chair groaning beneath them but somehow holding together as he fucked up into her. "Gonna make you come so hard you can't even say your name, Regan," he growled, and she hiccuped, tears forming in her eyes from the intense pleasure gathering at the base of her spine. 

"Please- Steve I-" 

"No, you don't say anything unless you need to stop," Steve grunted, nearly lifting out of the chair as he fucked her.

Regan's face fell forward and she took her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down almost to the point of drawing blood holding back her cries. 

She closed her fists on Steve's shirt pulling at the sweat ridden fabric. Her fingers ached to feel his hot skin. 

Steve dragged a finger up her chest, the soft graze making her hiss at the contact. He grabbed onto her chin forcing her to look back at him as he pounded into her. 

He pulled at her bottom lip with his thumb, "You're taking me so well, sweet girl." 

Regan cried out, her hands pulling even tighter on his thin t-shirt. Steve leaned forward hovering his lips over hers, "Rip it off, Regan," he breathed.

She grinned and licked her lips. Regan didn't have to be told twice. She pulled hard at his shirt, hearing the cotton tear between her fingers. Regan instantly let go of the fabric and ran both hands along his chest, enjoying the feeling of his muscles against her hands. "I've been wanting to do that since I saw you in the elevator," she admitted. 

Steve chuckled as he halted his movements for a moment and sat up to fully remove his shirt and toss it to the ground before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, devouring her mouth with his. He moaned into her mouth, when she began rocking back and forth against his pelvis once more. Regan was getting so close. Steve pulled back from the kiss and smiled at her. 

"Come on baby, ride me. Hard and fast."

As Regan began bouncing faster, clenching her dripping cunt around him, their sounds echoed out into the New York sky. All their cares about who might hear them disappeared. The only thing that mattered was them, at that moment, taking everything they could from each other. 

The fire deep in her belly grew with every thrust and she knew she wasn't going to last much longer with the soft praises that dripped from Steve's lips. 

“Doing so good for me, darlin’,” he moaned. "Taking every inch just like I knew you would."

All she could feel was heat in her belly, her toes curling and tingling each time their hips met. Their moans reached a crescendo and her fingernails raked down his chest as Steve’s hand came to rest at the base of her throat again. Regan’s lips parted and she grinned, reaching up to cover his hand with her own.

“More,” she whispered, pressing down on his fingers.

Steve grinned.

“You filthy little slut,” he growled as he pressed on the sides of her throat just enough to make her dizzy. 

Regan rode him harder and faster, butterflies exploding in her belly and the knot that had been getting tighter and tighter as he hit her g-spot finally snapped. She cried out, wildfire spreading all through her belly and down her legs. Her muscles quivered and Steve released her throat, letting her bury her head in his shoulder as wave after wave of her climax washed over her. He stroked her back and let her slow down for a moment. 

“Good girl."

The sound of his husky voice praising her made the wetness between her legs grow even as she drenched his cock and spiraled down from her high. She wanted him to call her all the sweet things all the time, especially if he was praising her for taking him so well. She wanted to feel every inch of him every second of every waking moment and she was quickly granted that wish as he began to pump again chasing the high he hadn't caught. 

She leaned into him, offering herself to him like a prize to be won and he took it without mercy. He slipped her off him, lifting her effortlessly from his cock and setting her on her feet. "Prove to me how good you can be," he whispered, reminding her of all the dirty, shameful things she had promised him. She sank to her knees before him as he slid forward and presented his hefty length to her. 

His cock had seemed impossibly large, crammed inside of her but as she popped her lips over the tip and sunk down on him she realized how wrong she had been. His hand wrapped into her hair, pulling her down against him until his tip pressed against the back of her throat and tears stung at her eyes. "That's my girl," he whispered, his free hand twisting her sore and sensitive nipple between his fingers. "My sweet little desperate whore, so willing to do as she's told."

She pumped her mouth around him, pushing her tongue against the base of his shaft until he was making sweet noises for her. The grip in her hair tightened and she loosened her throat, welcoming the tantalizing taste of her own pussy mixed with the sweat and need of him down. He pumped twice more, shooting his release down her throat without remorse as he rubbed his thumb across her face and cleared the tears from her eyes. 

She pulled away from his cock, licking up from the base to clean him completely and rose from her knees. Standing over him, covered in sweat and bruises, her ass stung from his playful abuse and her cunt clenched sore and sex abused as he drank her in with a sex drunk devilish look on his face. His pupils blown and the strands of his long hair messy and ready to be tugged on, she licked her lips chasing the taste of him as his cock fell against his stomach and he held out his arms to her. 

"Pretty girl, you look even better covered in my hand prints."

This time his hands were soft as he brushed her equally messy hair from her face, wiping the remnants of sweat from her upper lip. Regan felt like she was outside of her body. She couldn’t help but giggle, biting her lip when Steve laughed. 

“What are you laughin’ at, sweetheart?” He asked softly, the rasp still sending shivers down her spine. “You’re gonna hurt my feelings.” 

“We ruined this rooftop for everyone,” she shook her head and started laughing even harder. “You broke a fucking table, Steve!” 

Steve buried his damp head into her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist, Regan forced herself to reach up on her tiptoes to alleviate his hunched position. Chuckles shook her body as his breath cooled her overheated skin. 

After a few moments, they came down from the high they created in this not so-secluded location. Earlier on, Regan was worried that she would have regrets afterwards, but that was the furthest thing from her mind. 

She watched Steve button his jeans and outstretch his hand, the cornflower blue dress clutched in it. Smiling up through her lashes, she practically vibrated with the feeling of a new adventure in her future. Being with this man was certainly going to be a wild ride. 

As if reading her mind, Steve spoke up as his head popped through the neck of his tattered t-shirt. 

“So…are we gonna do this again?” 

The sweet questioning tone made Regan’s heart flutter, so much so that she crossed the few steps to him. Placing a soft kiss on his slightly chapped lips, she sighed into him and enjoyed the warmth. Heartbeats went by until he tilted her head back and she smiled at his raised eyebrow and stern expression. 

“Hell yeah, Cap.” 

Steve’s eyes grew heavy as his hand drifted up to fix the neckline of her dress and he bent down to whisper in her ear. His words made a shock of excitement run straight to between her legs, already wanting him again despite the bruises and aches. 

“Then I better see you in those shorts tomorrow.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers x oc #mordern steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers smut #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel au #marvel one shot #marvel oneshot #marvel imagine #marvel fic #modern au #age gap romance #dbf steve rogers #dads best friend #one shot #fluff #marvelous

[hurtcomforted]

"You are technically old enough to be my grandfather but practically young enough to be my son" - Tony Stark about Steve Rogers, probably, at some point

#steve rogers #tony stark #they are dating and neither of them is allowed to start wondering about their age gap #stony

[sergeantxrogers]

| one for the road |

Summary: Clint had a wife? Clint had children? Steve was just as shocked as any of them to find out about Barton’s double life, yet what was even more shocking to him was Clint’s oldest daughter, who seemed to sink her claws into Steve’s skin the minute they met and keep them there, unremoved, as he felt himself get pulled deeper and deeper into the workings of her inner mind with every smile of hers. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Barton!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Some fluff, mentions of reader being worried and sad, age gap (reader is 20, Steve is a bajillion years old), reader is Clint’s daughter

Note: part 2

_______________

The farm was usually peaceful. Your days would be filled with the sounds of your siblings watching cartoons, or the tea kettle whistling, or your mother humming to herself as she cooked, whatever vegetables she had thrown in the pan sizzling softly. 

There were the rare occasions on which your father would finally drop by, staying for a few nights before having to fly out on a mission again. Those days were filled with laughter, your brother and sister yelling happily as your dad recounted the adventures he had been on for them, and silent tears as your mother hid away in the bathroom to weep because she knew, eventually, he would have to leave again, and every single time was harder than the last because you didn’t know if this would be it. The last time you ever saw your father alive and smiling. 

She thought you didn’t notice, but you did. You kept track of every little thing that went on with her, and with him, and even heard bits and pieces of their worried conversations late at night behind closed doors. But you didn’t want her more worried than she already was, so you kept it all in. Bottled up your own concerns and forced a huge smile to your face as you drank in the view of your family together at the dinner table. 

So, other than that, the farm was usually peaceful.

Usually.

Today, it seemed, was not one of those days. 

You heard the familiar engine of the quinjet before you saw it, and you hurried over to your bedroom window to watch it soar down and land into the trees. The giddiness in your bones picked up pace as you watched the door open, and your father stepped out, with an arm wrapped around a seemingly glum Aunt Nat. 

Your brows furrowed as you squinted your eyes against the sun, catching against the silver glint of metal behind your father. You focused your gaze, and your eyes widened as you took in a hammer and a head of blond hair. And another head of blond hair above broad shoulders as wide as the shield resting on them. 

Dad brought the Avengers home.

Your father bringing the rest of his team home could mean either one of two things: something really bad happened, or something really good happened. 

You had high doubts it was the latter.

You watched the men trail behind your dad, down the rocky path, past your barn, your eyes following them all the way until they reached your porch and disappeared under the sill of your window and you could no longer see them. 

The faint call of your father’s voice, followed by the happy screams of your brother and sister mixed with the low timbre of new, unfamiliar voices, pulled you from your window and down the stairs. 

“... off S.H.I.E.L.D’s records,” your dad had just finished explaining before he turned his head towards you.

The smile that grew on his face was almost as big as yours as you hurried toward him with open arms, slamming into his chest and pulling a huff from his lungs. 

“I missed you,” you muttered into his shoulder, and he patted your back.

“I missed you too, kid. I’m sorry I was gone so long this time.”

You pulled back, and met familiar eyes.

“Nat!” 

Natasha wrapped her arms around you before you could say another word, her hug bone-crushing, yet the pain of it was known to you and grounding. 

“I hope you haven’t been causing any trouble while I was away saving the world,” she whispered into your ear, and you smiled, rolling your eyes.

“It’s no saving the world,” you replied as you pulled away, “but I’ve been helping mom just fine.”

Someone cleared their throat to your left, and you finally turned your attention to the line of men standing in your now-too small living room, staring at you like you were a wild beast. 

“Hi,” you simply said, eyes going down the line, from one to the next, snagging on a particular tall blond with blue eyes and pink lips threatening to curl into a curious smile. “I’ve heard all about you guys.”

The shortest one - Tony, you knew, of course - blinked and stared at you. He pointed at you, then at your dad, then back at you, and gave your dad an incredulous look. 

“This - she’s - You made this?”

You bit back a smile when your dad sighed. 

“Yeah, Tony. Twenty years ago.”

Tony blinked at him, then back at you, and you smiled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark. I’m Y/N.”

Tony squinted at you, but before he could say anything, the tallest one - Thor, obviously - stepped forward. You tried not to be intimidated by his sheer size and the fact that he was a god breathing the same air as you, and instead focused on smiling up at him politely, and not gaping at his hammer you had heard so many stories about - from your dad, and others. 

“I suspect you’re the eldest Barton offspring?” his booming voice asked, and you swore you could’ve laughed at the groan your dad let out behind you. 

You almost did laugh when Thor bent down slightly to be level with you, and squinted his eyes as he stared at you while you nodded. “Yup, that’s me. Firstborn, first raised.”

You held your breath as you stared at each other, and you were about to turn and hide behind your father until Thor broke out into a cheesy grin. He flung his heavy arm around your shoulders, and you grunted under the weight of the impact. 

“Well then we have something in common, mini-Barton,” he said proudly, and you breathed out a chuckle. 

Turning your head as best as you could in Thor’s grasp, you smiled at Bruce.

“Dr. Banner,” you said kindly.

He looked stunned at your acknowledgement of him, fidgeting with his fingers deep in the holes of his sweater as he gave you a small, albeit hesitant smile.

“I’ve heard so much about your brilliant work,” you continued, all the while trying to push Thor’s heavily muscled arm from your neck. “I think you’re quite possibly the greatest scientist of our time.”

You almost missed the little noise of protest that came from Tony as you finally pulled yourself free from the god, and you huffed lightly as you fixed your hair and shirt. Your eyes met baby blue when you stepped to the side, and you held your hand out.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” was what he replied, a teasing half smile on his plump lips threatening to distract you. He took your hand and held it a second longer than he should have in his firm grip.

“I’m Steve Rogers.”

“Yeah, I know who you are,” you breathed and nodded, and he gave you a smile that was more sincere than the one of amusement he was wearing a moment ago.

The toaster dinged behind you, pulling you from your trance as everyone’s heads turned toward the kitchen. 

“You guys hungry?”

_______________

This was bad. 

It was morally, ethically, completely wrong in it’s very principle core, and Steve knew that. Yet he couldn’t stop his eyes from following you as you moved about the kitchen, stacking plates on top of plates and forks on top of forks, helping Laura as the rest of them chatted. He caught the way you smiled to yourself at something your brother said, and the sad twinkle in your eye as Clint placed a kiss to your mother’s temple. 

Steve was in the middle of trying to tear his eyes away from the way your bare feet padded across the hardwood of the living room when he felt a kick to his ankle. 

He turned his head, only to find Natasha already looking at him with her eyebrows raised in question and something that seemed to be protectiveness. He answered with a defensive shrug of his shoulders and a shake of his head; he definitely had no idea what that look was about. 

“Steve?”

Your melodic voice pulled his attention back to you. “Yes?”

You gave him a small smile and lifted the glass you were holding. “I asked if you preferred orange juice or apple juice.”

“Oh,” he said lamely, and blinked a couple times before shaking his head. “Whichever one you prefer is fine.”

Your smile grew as you nodded and turned towards the counter. He watched you pour two glasses of apple juice, before turning back around and stepping around Tony carefully to bring him his glass.

“Thank you,” Steve said, looking up at you from his place at the table, and he meant it. You waved him off and went to sit at your own seat. 

“By the way,” your mother’s voice chimed, “I took the liberty of setting you all up in your rooms.”

You chewed your toast as you listened to her rattle off her bedroom planning: Natasha and Bruce were staying in one room, and Tony and Steve in another.

You missed the subtle wink your mom threw Nat when Tony cut in. 

“Uh-uh, no way,” he said, adamantly shaking his head above his plate. “Not a chance I’m sharing a room with Rogers.”

“Tony-” Steve began, but Tony glared at him.

“I’d rather die. Find somewhere else to go, Rogers.”

“Well,” Steve started with his brows furrowed. “Where do you recommend I go, Tony?”

Tony shrugged, unbothered by the situation. “Their barn is pretty big.”

Your dad tensed. Nat’s chair scraped slightly against the floor, and Steve opened his mouth to reply.

Before he could, though, you interrupted.

“My room,” you blurted out. They all turned to look at you, dumbfounded, and the look on your dad’s face had you scrambling to reiterate. “You can - you can take my room, I mean.”

Steve blinked at you, his harsh gaze softening. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling small under so many pairs of eyes. “Yeah. I can sleep with Lila tonight.”

Nobody said anything, and you could see the uncertainty in Steve’s eyes as he contemplated your offer. 

“I insist,” you pushed. “It’s no big deal.”

Steve stared at you a moment longer, before nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And he looked like he meant it.

_______________

How did he like his coffee?

Black? With milk? Did he even like coffee? Oh God, what if he didn’t like coffee?

You took in a deep worried breath, and let it out, all the questions clouding your mind leaving with it. You’d already made it, might as well bite the bullet now. 

You carried the mug through the house, careful not to spill hot coffee all over your hand and the floor, finally relaxing your shoulders when you made it to the front porch and set the mug down on the railing. 

They weren’t hard to spot; it wasn’t like there was much going on around the farm anyways, but at least now you had some nice eye candy to look at while you moped around the house. 

Tony and Steve were chopping wood. Well, Steve was chopping wood, and Tony was talking his ear off and occasionally splitting a log or two. You bit back a smile of amusement when you saw Steve visibly sigh at something Tony had said, and then he replied.

Your brows furrowed when they stepped closer to each other, and their voices raised. So, this wasn’t exactly a friendly conversation. 

Steve picked up a particularly large log, and cut off whatever Tony was saying by ripping it in half with his bare hands. Like it was a piece of paper. Your eyes widened, and you grabbed the coffee mug again. 

You were planning on waiting them out, content to watch them chop wood in their tight t-shirts until they finished, but by the defensive stance Steve had now taken up, you decided now was a better time than any to butt in. 

Your feet clambered down the creaky wooden stairs, and you tried not to seem panicked as you hurried your way over to them across the grass. 

“Hi-”

Both of them turned abruptly to look at you, and you gave them a small, slightly breathless smile, before turning to Tony.

“Um, dad said you wouldn’t mind... but our tractor in the barn won’t start and-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take a look at it,” Tony said, waving you off before turning away. 

Before he left, he turned back to Steve and pointed at the chopped wood. “Don’t take from my pile.”

Steve watched him go with an amused smile quirking the corner of his lips, before he shook his head. 

Turning back to you, he rested his hands on his hips, and you swallowed heavily, focusing your eyes on his face and not the ripple of muscle with his every movement. Why does he buy such tight shirts?

He nodded to the mug in your hand. “What’s that?”

It seemed to pull you from your stupor, because you let out a soft “Oh!” before giving him a sheepish smile. You held out the mug towards him, and he stared at it in your hand, before his eyes flicked back to your face, and then he silently took the mug from you.

“I - I didn’t know how you took your coffee, or if you liked coffee at all, really, I just thought you could use a bit of a pick-me-up... which now that I think about it, sounds stupid, ‘cause you’re a supersoldier and you probably don’t even need pick-me-ups-”

“It’s perfect,” Steve interrupted after taking a sip, and the way he licked his lips after had you losing your train of thought. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Your mouth fell open into a small O, and you nodded. “Cool. Great.”

Steve took a seat on the large stump of wood he had been using to chop wood on, and you perched yourself opposite him on Tony’s. He took another sip of coffee, blue eyes staring at you above the rim, and you loosed a small sigh.

“So... how’s farm life?”

You smiled, and shrugged lowly, letting your eyes fall to the ground. “It’s fine. Kind of boring sometimes, but there are other fun days that make up for it.”

He nodded as you spoke, and he then he looked up at your house. There was something there, in his eyes, in his gaze, that had you wanting to climb inside his mind and read every thought racing through it. It made you want to know what went on inside his head when he ran quiet. 

After a while, Steve spoke. “I always wanted a big house like this.”

His words were quiet, and you tilted your head. “You did?”

He nodded. “With a big porch, and a big yard for my kids to play in. On a farm, too. Chickens and tractors and horses, the whole nine yards.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the image planted inside your head. 

“So, why don’t you get one?”

His furrowed brows had you explaining. “A big house, I mean. And a porch and a yard for your kids.”

Steve was silent for what felt like a long minute, staring down at the coffee swirling in his mug, before smiling up at you sadly.

He shrugged. “I haven’t found the right person to do it with yet.”

“Oh. I see.”

____

Steve felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut, knocking all the air from his lungs, and he willed himself to just keep breathing.

You probably had no idea how beautiful you were, sitting across from him, surrounded by the woodchips and the smell of sawdust, staring back at him with concern and something else in your bright eyes.

It took a broken person to know a broken person, and from the moment Steve laid eyes on you, he knew your smile was a little too wide, your laugh a little too loud, and your answers a little too urgent to be authentic. And as weird as it may have been, Steve wanted to crack your skull open and trickle into you, seep into your pores like a gas and swirl around in your lungs as he got to know you better. More intimately. 

But he couldn’t. So, he settled for sipping the coffee you made him and making small talk with you. After all, your parents were watching.

_______________

“This is so weird,” you admitted.

Steve gave you a funny grin, narrowing his eyes. “What?”

You held back a laugh as you shrugged, and held your hands out to gesture to the space around you, then to him.

“This is my room. And you,” you pointed at him, “are Captain America. And you’re sitting in my room, looking at all of my stuff, breathing in my air. You’re butt is on my study chair!”

Steve let out a laugh at that, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get it now.”

He twisted in your chair, and his eyes caught on something colorful in the dim glow of your desk lamp, the only source of light other than the moon creeping over your windowsill. 

“What’s this?” he asked as he lifted it from the desk. 

“Oh! My photo album,” you said excitedly, and grabbed it from his hand before plopping yourself down onto the rug by his feet. “In truth, it’s just a random album I decorated and then filled with pictures I periodically stole from mom’s albums. But it’s mine.”

Steve chuckled, and pointed down at the album when you opened it. “Is that you?”

You nodded, and felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the prospect of showing Captain America your baby pictures. But it didn’t seem like he minded, so you brushed the thought away and continued.

You kept flipping through the pages, stopping every now and then when Steve had a question (”when was that?” or “that’s Barton?”), and eventually, the two of you had compiled a list of your favorites, and you had taken them out of the album and spread them around you on the rug. 

Your favorites mainly included pictures of your dad cringing while holding you with a full diaper (which was more often than you realized) and photos of Laura holding all three of you, each when you were babies. 

Steve was currently laughing at the idea of Clint Barton having to change poopy diapers, and you were smiling brightly up at him. 

His laughter slowly died down, and he let out a big sigh. It was only then that you noticed the slight tenseness in his shoulders, the faint bags under his eyes, and his weary but dopey expression. 

You swallowed heavily, but the lump in your throat refused to go away, so you decided to ignore it as best you could as you turned your body on the floor to face him. 

Resting your arms on his large thigh, and your head on your arms, you stared up at him. 

He seemed to calm down, all his movements and his breathing slowing and his eyes blinking down at you with lazy yet satisfied curiosity. 

“You’re tired,” was all you said, the words low and hanging in the air between you.

Steve searched your face for a moment, before subtly nodding. “I am.”

“Should I ask?”

He shook his head, bringing a hand down to grab one of yours, squeezing it lightly. 

“I’m tired, too.”

“I know,” he rasped. “I can tell.”

“How?”

“I can see it in your eyes when you smile.”

“Mmm.”

The few words exchanged between you were now mere whispers, as if both of you were afraid to be any louder, so as not to disrupt the peaceful lull you’ve created.

“And I’m scared,” you admitted quietly, and he frowned down at you. Immediately, you wanted the worried creases between his brows gone. They seemed to dim the light in his eyes. So, you changed your position, sitting on your haunches in front of him and raising a hand up to run your thumb between his brows, smoothing the skin and simultaneously pulling a pink blush to his cheeks.

“Scared of what, sweetheart?”

You shrugged sadly, even if you knew the answer. The orange glow from your lamp only made you seem sadder, so Steve leaned forward closer to you.

“Scared of what?” he repeated, and you sighed, meeting his eyes in earnest.

“I’m scared that... I’m scared of...” you began, but didn’t know how to formulate your thoughts, and you huffed. Steve squeezed your hand again.

You continued. “What if, one day, dad leaves us to go on a mission... and he just - doesn’t come back again?”

Even saying it out loud made you uneasy, a steady burning behind your eyes threatening to turn into pools of tears, and Steve sighed heavily.

“That won’t happen,” he muttered firmly, and you gave him a weary frown. 

“How do you know that?”

“Because I just do. Your dad loves you very much. All of you. And he’s very good at what he does,” he insisted, and you shrugged a bit. “In fact, he’s the best of us, I’d say.”

“Really?” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes, and Steve nodded.

“Really.”

You watched him, and he watched you. You sat in silence for a moment, before you cleared your throat softly.

“I’m... also afraid of something else.”

Steve’s brows shot up lazily. “Do tell.”

“I’m afraid that...,” you trailed off, and he nodded for you to continue. 

Was it just your imagination, or was he closer than he had been a minute ago? Steve’s eyes flickered to your lips, then met your gaze again. Your eyelids felt heavy.

“I’m afraid that this time, when dad leaves, I’ll be worrying about the safety of two people instead of one,” you finally murmured, and as soon as the words were out, Steve’s lips were on yours.

When had you closed your eyes? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t focus on anything with his soft lips melting into yours. 

One of Steve’s hands went up to your jaw, pulling you even closer to him in between his spread legs, and your own hands found their way to his comforting hoodie, pulling him in tighter.. Your lips parted slightly when you felt his tongue swipe at them, begging to be let in, and he sighed into your mouth when you tugged softly at his hair. 

You couldn’t help smiling against his lips, and in turn, causing him to smile too. Your teeth clashed into each other, and you giggled before pulling away. 

Steve Rogers was a supersoldier. Him being a supersoldier meant he had an abnormally fast metabolism, making him less susceptible to weight gain and loss than normal people. It also meant he couldn’t get drunk anymore, not with the amount of alcohol that was societally accepted, anyway. But right now, looking up at him, his eyes half-closed and a stupid smile on his flushed face, Steve looked drunk. 

Drunk on your kiss. Drunk on you. 

Your lips still tingled; you still felt him there, a phantom touch of the softness that tasted like mint and faint coffee. 

“I don’t need you worryin’ your pretty little head about me, doll,” Steve whispered, voice gravelly in his throat, and it sent a chill down your spine, settling in prickling needles at the base of it. 

“I want to, though. I need to worry about you now.”

Steve smiled, half in amusement, half in disbelief, as his hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you in again.

_______________

“Mrs. Barton, you’ve truly been too kind,” Bruce’s polite words rang from somewhere in the house, and your mother’s reply followed them soon after.

You, Steve and Aunt Nat stood waiting for the rest of them on the porch. You had already said your goodbyes, but if you spent a second more inside the house with the heavy atmosphere and teary eyes, you would’ve had a breakdown. Natasha noticed this in the way your breathing became labored, and locked an arm through yours as she pulled you out the front door.

A comfortable silence surrounded the three of you as the chatter from inside the house carried through the windows, until it was broken by Nat swearing.

Steve frowned, turning towards her. “What is it?”

Nat patted around her pockets, then groaned. “I forgot my stupid GPS upstairs.”

“I can get it for you,” you offered, but Natasha waved you off with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s fine, honey, it’s my mistake anyways.”

And with that, she breezed past you, the screen door slamming shut behind her. Soon after, you heard a couple yells from inside the house, and you presumed she had made a slight detour caused by a tiny distraction.

You heaved out a sigh, and Steve leaned against the porch railing, smiling in amusement at you.

You glanced up at him, then glanced away before he could notice the red tinge to your cheeks. “What?”

He shook his head, but the smile never left his face. “Nothin’, sweetheart. Jus’ like lookin’ at you.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

Steve chuckled, before pushing himself off the railing and taking a step towards you. 

You furrowed your brows in suspicion. “What are you doing, Rogers?”

“Oh, so it’s Rogers now?” he teased with a smile, and you bit back your own grin as he backed you into the wall of the house.

“Gimme a kiss,” he whispered, your breaths mingling in the close proximity, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest with every loud word or sudden movement from inside the house.

You shook your head. “Someone could come out any second.”

Steve pouted. “So?”

“So?” you repeated incredulously. “What if my dad sees?”

He gave you a sneaky grin, before dipping his head down to whisper into your ear, “I can handle your old man if that happens.”

You gave him a look, but no matter how much you tried convincing him it was a bad idea, he seemed to like said idea even more. 

“C’mon, please?”

You let out a heavy sigh, turning your head to the side, watching the door for a moment. Steve’s grin widened; he knew he won.

“You’re such an asshole, Steve,” you muttered, and grabbed his face in both your hands, pulling him toward you. 

Your lips met his, and again, you felt the same fireworks from last night. For a brief moment, you wondered what it would be like to kiss him all day, every day, and if the fireworks would be there each and every time. They probably would. 

Steve smiled against your lips, pushing you deeper against the wall, until you pulled away with a slight smack.

“That was for good luck,” you said breathlessly, and before he could blink, you pressed your lips to his again.

Pulling away, you let your hands rest on his chest as you smiled up at him. “And that was for the road.”

Footsteps thudded through the house, and you quickly pushed Steve away from you. He reassumed his previous position, leaning against the railing, and you decided you had no time to do anything but stay right where you were, leaning against the wall. 

Your eyes met his, and the blue in them glittered with mischief as he licked his lips. You took in a deep breath and tore your gaze away from him the very second your father stepped out onto the porch. 

“Ready to go, Cap?” he asked, and Steve gave him a low bow of his head.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

_______________

TAGLIST:

@dreamsley @a-ngeli-que @555shots @agirlinherhead @s-katergorl @ace-27749 @leyannrae @tailsoflightning @acidwidow @angelofthorr @gallysonegoodlung @creatingjana @gitasor @artofluxuryy @inlovewfictionalmen826 @pin-ci @peaches1958 @eichenhouseproperty @seitmai @writing-for-marvel

#marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #barton!reader #steve rogers age gap #the avengers: age of ultron #age of ultron #steve rogers age of ultron

[reginaphalange2403]

thinking about 1940s-50s au experienced actor!Steven Grant Rogers starring alongside young starlet reader and helping her relax/be comfortable on set and in scenes with him🥺😭

Rereading 7 husbands of Evelyn Hugo has revitalized my love for old Hollywood aesthetic drama and glamour

#does this sound interesting to anyone lmao #or would it be weird for me to write within this time period lol #not me thinking of doing a little age gap🥸🤠 #not huge tho #evie talks #evie shitposts #Steve rogers au #Steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers x reader au

[daydreamerdrew]

Captain America (2005) #25

#the complexity of growing up learning about a guy as a deceased historical figure #eventually learning that he was your elderly aunt’s lover #and then meeting and falling in love with him and there’s no serious age gap #like they’re from different times #but I think Steve would have been 25 or 26 when he got frozen #the spectre of Captain America was at once so big and so intimately connected to Sharon #and then he’s her boyfriend #marvel #steve rogers #sharon carter #my posts #comic panels