the-true-vessel

[the-true-vessel]

Your Soft Doll

Steve Rogers x female reader; cam!boy Steve Rogers x cam!girl reader

summary: A new collaboration increases not only your ratings, but also your heart rate.

warnings: sex work; sex work positive; cam!boy Steve; cam!girl reader; smut; sex recording; p*rn content; oral (m receiving); pussy spanking; safe sex/use of protection; light Dom/sub undertones; aftercare; pet names (Doll);

word count: 5.7k

Author's Note: This is my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Extravaganza 🔥I used prompts: #CE!babe is a cam!boy and #Soft!dom. I think the vibe of the story is telling, but if anyone has any doubts after reading it, then I confirm that they totally going to be coworkers who fall in love 🥰 Steve is titled Sir as per the final results of the most exciting, head-to-head till last minute poll.

Ever since you found yourself in front of the camera, your confidence has gradually grown. The shyness and uneasiness of the first shows you did has diminished, since you fully acknowledged that you had full control.

You decided on what to do, how to show your body, which toys to use. Even when you allowed your viewers to pick something of their choice, it was curated to whatever you felt comfortable doing. 

The power was yours all the time.

It was about to change…

When two weeks ago a private message appeared in your inbox, your heart paused for a long moment, then started into a rush. 

Registered viewers could send you DMs, but your web provided e-mail address was hidden, available only to the site managers and other verified performers. Aside from regular updates about rules, porn-related newsletters and fun messages exchanged with a few cam working friends, you never received any significant mails. 

Until him. 

The name of the user itself has evoked such a strong reaction.

Nomadick.

One of the most popular camboys on the site, whom you knew not only due to his followers count rating him in the top three, but also because he was one of your secret little joys. 

Well, considering his actual size, it was a massive joy. Had been even before you set up your own profile. 

The term camboy also didn’t fit him. 

With his broad frame, impressive shoulders to waist ratio, sculpted muscles, big hands and the most beautiful, thick cock? With sharp jawline softened by neatly trimmed beard and blue eyes sparkling mischievously as he stared into the camera? With his voice so deep and velvety that each of his words felt like a caress of leather on your naked skin?  

He was no boy, but a man.

A man of your dreams. Of your wet, needy dreams. 

You indulged in his videos and livestreams before you even joined the site yourself. And you still continued. While some of the sex workers strayed away from that source of pleasure once they got to work it from the inside, you still enjoyed it. You had a few of your favorites, but Nomadick triumphed over all. 

To have him contact you directly was a somewhat of a fangirling moment for you. 

His message was polite and professional, without an ounce of cockiness or lewd undertones. What you appreciated was that he started with an introduction of his real name - something so simple, but which you read as a truly respectful approach. 

Steve.

You knew from now on you would be moaning it as you got yourself off watching his videos.

He wrote to you with a proposition of a co-working project. Something that never truly crossed your mind, until he suggested it. 

Steve listed the reasons why he was considering a series of shows with a partner (something he hasn’t done yet himself either) and admitted that you’re the first and so far the only camgirl he had messaged about it. Keeping it professional, he suggested meeting for coffee and talking the details over. 

You remembered your heart hammering in your chest and your skin tingling with heat as you approached him at the small, but quite busy cafe. It was sort of a business meeting, yet you were trembling and nervous as if it was a date. 

Steve’s smile and friendly approach eased your nerves, though something in the way he eyed you a few times suggested he was probably aware of his effect on you. If he figured out that you may have gotten a little wet, Steve didn’t comment on it. 

He skilfully led your conversation from comfortable small talk, to sharing some funny misadventures in your workline, to finally talking over the details of your potential cooperation. 

You had a nice number of subscribers and your streams have gotten more and more viewers these past months. However, Steve’s statistics were monumentally more impressive.

From the business point of view, having your name associated with his would mean a great gain in terms of new followers and income. 

Even if you weren’t itching to feel his hands on you at least once, it was an opportunity you couldn’t pass.  

With the way Steve explained why he chose you, he had any remaining doubts and resistance melting away, too. 

He made it clear that he watched a few of your shows; complimented the way you made the viewers feel as if they were exploring some things with you for the first time; which was what he aimed in his work, as well. 

Steve’s eyes darkened slightly, causing your thighs to clench, when he mentioned how hot you sounded.

You both agreed that doing a livestream first, to gauge the public’s reaction, was the best idea to start with. If the response would be as enthusiastic as Steve predicted, you would plan on recording more videos. Perhaps even decide on a long-term cam partnership. 

The following days consisted of exchanged mails: each of you listing your limits, preferences, expectations, as well your latest STD testing results. Over the phone you talked over the recording details, including choosing the place of action. 

Steve left that decision to you, flexible to be at your place, if you felt more comfortable and safe in your own home. However, you decided his apartment was the best option. Not only was it considerably bigger than yours, but Steve owned better equipment. Quality was important in your line of work, or at least you liked it more polished and clean.

Preparations had you focused on the practical side, pushing aside anxious thoughts of actual sex. It was the moment you stepped out of your apartment to go to Steve’s place, that realization of what was about to happen unleashed some buzzing emotions. 

It was a rush of excitement, underlaid with a softer kind of fear. 

Nervousness about the performance veiled the trembling curiosity regarding intimacy with Steve. 

You scolded yourself inwardly; reminding yourself of the professional angle of the whole situation, to treat it more clinical than emotional. But then Steve opened the door, wearing only a pair of low-hung sweatpants and an objective approach flew out the window. 

Perhaps, if you were co-working with any other camboy, your reactions would be more restrained.

With Nomadick it wasn’t possible. 

Not when you experienced so many orgasms induced by his videos, flooding your body with binding oxytocin. 

Steve greeted you with a boyish smile and let you in. Being shown around his apartment as if you were simply visiting a new friend, allowed your heart rate to gradually settle down. Though it picked up its rhythm again once you stepped into his spacious bedroom. 

You recognized that bed and that background. Steve often streamed from this exact place, sprawled on his bed like a king to be worshiped, basking in the golden hour’s glow. 

The other place you liked in his videos was a big, comfy armchair in the corner of what looked like a library, though he hasn’t shown you that nook in his house yet. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Steve asked, pointing to a dresser where a whole array of water bottles and fruit juice stood. You also noticed a basket of candy bars. 

A camera was set up on a sturdy tripod in front of the bed, along with basic light equipment already put in place in the right setting. The camera was linked to a laptop, which was on a narrow table right next to it. The screen displayed Steve’s cam site. 

On the bedside table Steve has prepared a bottle of lube, a box of tissues, some wet wipes and a box of condoms. 

You had an implant and a part of you was more than eager to take Steve bare, but since it was your first time together using condoms felt like the right choice. 

When you expressed a slight doubt  on the matter, wondering if the viewers wouldn’t prefer it the other way, Steve said that they’d be into watching your pussy taking him anyway and that a creampie could be something additionally exciting for your future projects. 

Build up the excitement for more.

“Not at the moment, thanks,” you replied with a smile, placing your to-go bag on the floor. 

“Thought we might start soon, since we’re reaching the busiest hours on the site’s activity.” Steve said as he pulled closer a small clothes rack with free hangers for you to put your clothes and necessities on. “If you need more time, that’s okay, too.”

You smiled, feeling some of your nervousness float away at Steve’s caring and patient behavior. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “There’s really nothing that I could do to be more prepared.”

Though remembering now the size of your cock, maybe I should take a week or two of stretching my pussy…

Trying to appear confident, you took off your t-shirt and hung it on the rack. You chose a pink, floral lingerie set to wear. Even if you’d be losing them rather quickly, you enjoyed wearing pretty things.

As you unzipped your jeans, you remembered something you wanted to ask Steve earlier.

“Umm, one thing, though-”

“Yeah?” Steve glanced your way as he moved to prepare the stream to start. 

“You go by Nomadick and your real name has never been revealed on the camera. I imagine there will be moments when I feel the urge to address you in some way,” you focused on your clothes, hoping your sudden embarrassment didn’t show. “How would you want me to call you?”

There was a quiet pause and when you looked up Steve was back right in front of you. His lips were curled in a soft, appreciative smile.

“You are right, I’d prefer our names to remain private. Though-” he touched your cheek with a single digit, tracing a gentle line to your lips- “calling you by your name feels the most instinctive.”

“Wha-what do you propose then?” You stood glued to the spot, mustering all your control not to quiver at his touch. 

How the hell would your body react to him fucking you, if you were already quite putty in his hands?

“There's a word doll in your username. How about I call you that?” 

Hearing Steve roll the pet name on his tongue sent a tingling zap to your nipples. 

Your choice of username was dictated by the necessity of the job. You were never truly fond of that particular pet name, but there were already so many kittens and babies on the site that you needed to stand out in some way. 

When Steve said it, suddenly it felt good. 

“Sure. That’s actually perfect, I think.” Your sweet wonder soured as your brows drew into a scowl. “But I’m not convinced that calling you Nomadick would sound natural. Nor begging, please give me your dick, Dick.”

Steve laughed at that and you reciprocated with a grin of your own. However, when his mirth slowly ceased and he tilted his head down, peeking at you from beneath his ridiculously long, curved eyelashes, you felt the heat burn your lungs again.

“And what would you like to call me, doll?” He didn’t make any move to touch you again, yet somehow you felt a brush of digits right between your thighs, causing your breath to hitch as you replied:

“Sir.”  

Tip of a pink tongue darted out as Steve slowly licked over his bottom lip. You felt an urge to swipe your own tongue over it, to coax him into kissing you so good you’d grind against him in need. 

“Agreed,” Steve accepted your suggestion. 

For a few seconds more you just looked at each other; a charged pull holding you both in a tense bubble that really called for one, delicious kind of burst. 

Then Steve straightened and took a small step back, bringing you both back into reality. He returned to his task of setting up the stream, while you put final touches to your appearance. 

Once you felt ready, you slowly stepped toward the bed and sat on it. You had a few poses mastered and you knew to curl your legs as you slightly leaned to the side, bracing on one arm, while your other hand gently stroked your own thigh. 

Steve winked at you as he approached the bed then sat on the edge of the mattress. He faced the camera and you knew that he gave the viewers this seductive, playful smirk as he greeted everyone. 

“As you can see, I have a special surprise for you tonight.” The way he said it made you giddy, as if you were the recipient who was about to get spoiled.

In a certain way, you would be, since you got to experience Steve in all of his glory.

“I’m so excited to spend this evening with YourSoftDoll-” Steve turned his face to look at you.

Your eyes met, your breath once again hitching in your lungs as he tucked a curled finger beneath your chin. 

“You have good taste,” he winked at the camera, “so I’m sure you’re already familiar with her work. If not, there’s a direct link to her account. You have to check it out, it’s most delicious.” 

“It is,” you chimed in, keeping your voice in that softly seductive tone you practiced for your videos. “Just like I am delicious…” 

“Mhmm, can’t wait to find that out for myself.” Steve held your gaze as he moved his hand to brush down your neck and over your shoulder. “I’m sure our audience would love a taste, too.” 

He eased the pink strap of your bra down your shoulder, then drew his index finger along the trim of your bra cup, tracing a hot line over the swell of your breast.

You let out a tiny sigh - a little practiced, but also elicited by your genuine reaction to Steve’s touch.

You tilted your face toward his, not quite reaching his lips.

“I want a taste of you, too.” You made your plea sound just on the edge of needy.

The way Steve’s eyes darkened suggested he wouldn't mind satisfying that need. 

He splayed his fingers over your sternum then swiped them up, curling around the front of your neck as he claimed your lips. It was an intense kiss, even if it was on the more demure side compared to the open licking and messy spitting type of kissing most porn portrayed. 

When Steve pulled away, it was with a slight bite to your bottom lip and his hand still wrapped around your throat. 

“Let’s show this beautiful body of yours to the viewers first, doll,” he directed softly.

“Yes, Sir.” You licked your lips, nearly giggling mischievously as you saw Steve’s gaze fall back to your kiss-swollen mouth.

Steve made you sit on the edge of the bed, taking his place behind you. With how big he was, your frame in front of him didn’t obscure the sight of him too much. 

With your back to Steve’s chest, you leaned your head onto his shoulder and sighed in pleasure as his hands traced over your body. Steve’s touch was feather-like at first. Unexpected gentleness of that intimate introduction to each other’s bodies evoked goosebumps on your skin. 

He eased his hands down your sides. Onto your thighs. Gripping your knees, he pulled them wider apart. 

You wondered if his camera would catch that wet spot already forming on your pink panties. 

How wet he’d get you, before discarding your underwear completely?

Steve peppered soft kisses along your neck and shoulder as he cupped your breasts. He teased your nipples through the fabric, tormenting them into hard points that were visibly straining against the lace. 

When he unhooked your bra and took it off of you, you purposely hunched forward and then pushed your chest forward. You kept the slight arch of your back as you comfortably leaned back against Steve’s chest.    

Your own hands were gripping and moving against Steve’s thighs. You let out soft humming noises as he caressed your sides and belly. Then a tone louder moan when his hands cupped your tits again. 

Soon, the sounds and squirming weren’t heightened for the audience’s pleasure, but because Steve’s fingers were driving you mad. 

He played with your breasts, tugged on your nipples, or held them pinched for a long moment - until you needled your fingernails into his thighs and rubbed against his crotch with a truly needy whine. 

“So responsive, pretty doll.” Steve kissed a spot behind your ear.

One of his hands smoothed down your soft belly and dipped between your thighs. Two of his long fingers rubbed over the wet fabric of your panties.

With his other hand, he pulled your panties to the side, exposing your wet pussy to the camera. A pause to let everyone get a good view, then his fingers dipped between your slick folds. He brushed them up and down, then circled your swelling clit a few times. 

Steve returned his hand which had been holding the panties aside, to your throat. His grip was very light, but you felt it wasn’t about pressure, but the gesture itself which would make some of the viewers extra horny. 

Honestly, you didn't expect it affecting you this much, either. But the slight pressure of his fingers had your clit throbbing.

Your own hands moved to your chest, playing with your tits as Steve teased your pussy. You rocked your hips eagerly when he rubbed your pearl in wicked eights, drawing your arousal higher and higher. 

Suddenly, he withdrew his hand. Wet fabric of your panties rolled back over your folds and you made a sound of protest. 

You watched from your angle as Steve brought his fingers, glistening with your juices, to his lips. He sucked them into his mouth, letting out a loud purr of pleasure.

“Even more delicious than I thought.” 

He kept his fingers on your neck as he bent his head to kiss you. The tangy taste of your own juices filled your senses at the sensual push of Steve’s tongue. 

“I believe you also demanded a taste,” he said against your lips, but loud enough that the viewers could catch it. 

“Yes!” You nodded eagerly, feeling a rush flooding you at the prospect of getting to play with his cock. 

“I want you on my tongue, pushing into my throat.” You rolled your ass into his crotch harder, eliciting Steve’s groan. “Want to suck your beautiful, big dick so bad, Sir.” 

Though it was your first time together, you somehow knew how to follow Steve’s clues when he got off the bed and took off his sweatpants.

Getting onto your knees, you rolled down your panties, shimmying out of them with a little giggle. Once you flung them away onto the floor, you raked your fingernails up your own thighs, until you reached your mound.

You were about to tease the audience by dipping a single finger between your folds, but Steve tsk-ed at you and your attention immediately snapped back to him.

Pumping his hard dick in his fist, he stood in a wider stance on the side of the bed.

You crawled onto your hands and knees, angling your body for the audience to have a clear view of your swaying breasts and of your profile. Especially of your mouth that was going to stretch around Steve’s girth.

Wetting your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue, you leaned forward to kiss the crown of Steve’s cock. Such a pretty shade of dark pink with a shimmering pre-cum on the tip. 

You didn’t take him in your mouth right away, first nuzzling your face into the juncture of Steve’s thigh then tracing open mouthed kisses across his abdomen. The curve of a protruding vein flowing above his hip bone and disappearing into very neatly trimmed curls tempted you to lick its length.

Finally, much to your own pleasure, not only Steve’s, you ghosted your lips along his cock. 

You let your hot breath tease his sensitive skin. Then you gave his underside a broad lick, flicking your tongue against his rounded tip. 

Steve moaned unabashedly when you closed your lips around him. Only the tip first, then with each bob of your head an inch more. Hollowing your cheeks, you paid attention to suck extra hard each time you were pulling back. 

You were unable to swallow him whole. Steve’s length and girth weren’t monstrous, but he surely was more impressive than most of the toys you used; even the ones you sometimes sucked on the camera. 

Using your hand, you stroked the rest of him, smearing your drool along. Steve put his hand on the back of your head, but conscious of the viewers he used the one which wouldn’t obscure the sight of your face stuffed full of cock. 

A visible, shiny string of saliva hung between your bottom lip and Steve’s dick as you pulled back. You let the audience enjoy the messy glimpse for a second, before you dipped your head down to mouth at Steve’s balls. 

You were considering tasting his cock again, quite enjoying all the sounds Steve was making and the pressure of his hand on your head, but he snapped his hips away. 

Unexpectedly, he flipped you onto your back. 

His chuckle at your little squeak sounded criminally sinful. 

Steve helped you arrange into desired position, so that your head was tilted back, almost hanging off the edge of the mattress.

Understanding his intention, you opened your mouth again, sticking your tongue out. You kept one of your legs bent at the knee, but the other - the one closest to the camera - you laid flat down and angled to the side.

The audience wouldn’t be able to see your pussy fully, but with your legs spread they would see clearly anything Steve did to it, while you were choking on his cock.

Holding the base in one hand, Steve slapped the head of his dick against your cheek then guided it into your awaiting mouth. 

The push was slow, but deep. Much deeper than you took him previously. 

“That’s it, doll.” Steve praised. “Relax your throat for me.” 

As predicted, after the first gentle thrusts into your mouth, Steve bent forward. His fingers slipped over your drenched pussy. Three digits rubbed between your puffed folds, matching the same rhythm with which he was rocking his hips into your face. With his thumb, Steve caressed your swollen clit. 

Suddenly, the softness of his touch disappeared. Only to be replaced by a sting from a swift slap. 

Your body jerked in reaction. Your cry was garbled due to a cock in your throat, but judging by Steve’s sound (a mix of laugh and moan) it gave him extra pleasure. 

For a few minutes it continued - slow face fucking with petting and spanking your pussy. 

After Steve pulled back, letting you catch gulps of air, he bent at the waist to capture your lips in another kiss. This much messier than the previous ones, but not less seductive. 

“Are you good?” He asked softly.

“Yes,” your voice was already a tad raspy and breathless.

Steve kissed you again, tongue gliding against your own more lewdly. In the back of your head you knew this one was for the show and you matched his performance, until he broke away with a growly curse. 

You stayed on your back, only wiggling slightly down the mattress so your head rested properly on the soft covers, while Steve moved to the nightstand. He grabbed one of the condoms and rolled it down his length. 

He walked around the foot of the bed and climbed onto the mattress. You parted your legs wider, tracing one of your hands down your belly and lower; fingertips barely touching your wet, eager pussy. 

You swear your walls clenched at the look Steve gave you. It was leashed hunger for destruction.

He settled on top of you, bracing his weight on one arm. With his other hand, he guided his cock into your opening. No teasing this time, as if he couldn’t wait to feel your pussy.

The first inch stretching you open was enough to have you moan; your hands fisting the sheets. It wasn’t painful at all. It just felt so fucking good. 

Steve slowly sank in, still keeping himself braced on one side, so the camera caught the best view of your bodies joining. It wasn’t until he was fully in and you were breathing heavily, your toes curling, that Steve caged you between both his arms and started really moving.

“Your cunt feels so fucking good, doll.” Steve grunted, snapping his hips against yours. “Feels like it was meant to take my cock.”

“Hnghh!” You were more coherent when recording your own videos, but your brain cells scrambled away the moment that dick speared you.

“ T’s so big-” you whimpered. “Feels so good, Sir.”

Despite knowing the preference most viewers displayed toward the female remaining pinned down and just taking the pounding, you couldn’t help your hands from touching Steve.

Your sweaty palms mapped the wide span of his back, clutching onto him on especially harsh thrusts. Fingernails nicked his skin as your arousal started peaking; your head tilting and your back arching.

Never a particularly loud lover when cumming, your cries of release were a string of stretched, high-pitched moans, but the way your body strained and writhed beneath Steve surely gave away the intensity of your orgasm.

Through which Steve fucked you mercilessly.  

Eyes widening, you stared up at him as he quickened his pace. He paused for a split of a second, only to change the angle of his thrusts. Which resulted in him hitting a spot that threatened to either make you pee, or lose consciousness.

When you keened, straining your arms out to press your hands against his pelvis and push him away, Steve huffed an amused laugh.

He stopped. Withdrew even. 

But you didn't use your safeword, nor safegesture that would indicate your true distress.

So the split of a second pause was your only reprieve, before Steve was rolling you onto your side. With your face facing the camera. 

He closed your legs together and bent them at the knees, placing them on the mattress. Your wrists were captured in one of his big hands and held against your thigh. Which made your breasts squeeze between your arms; they’d bounce with each thrust. 

Steve was kneeling. He pushed his cock back in between your swollen folds and in this position it felt even more maddening. With his free hand he gripped your hip, his fingers clenching on the soft roll of your skin. 

He resumed his previous pace, depriving you of any means to fight the onslaught of pleasure. 

The sounds of skin slapping could be heard by your audience, despite not setting up extra microphones. If you weren’t making so many sweetly pitiful noises, maybe they could also hear the obscenely squelching sounds of your pussy.

When Steve made you cum again, the viewers could clearly see your face - the way your lips  parted on each cry, your eyes glazing over, your brows furrowing as the pleasure continued into light pain of overstimulation. 

Steve’s own sounds gained in volume as he neared his own peak. His hold on you tightened. You didn’t think it was because he wanted to hold you extra hard, but because the tension rolling down his spine and into his muscles was too great. 

Though spent yourself, you couldn’t resist tipping your face slightly, so you could watch Steve as he came. 

His cheeks were flushed pink, his hair messy, strands slicked with sweat sticking to his forehead. His plush lips were parted as he moaned. His neck strained; a vein protruded in the redness of his skin. 

You felt his cock throb inside your cunt and you experienced a pang of disappointment that you couldn’t feel him spilling deep into you. 

Steve remained buried in your pussy, rocking into you in shallow moves. His gaze locked with yours, sharing a very intimate connection. 

The hand holding your hip eased its grip and the sting of it was an indication of potential bruises forming there in a few hours. Still holding your wrists captive, Steve used his other hand to squeeze your breast. He gave your nipple one last pinch, grinning as your walls contracted around him in response. 

A few heartbeats later Steve slowly slipped out of you. 

You stretched out your legs in a lazy, cat-like manner, but remained on your side, glancing at the camera and purposely drawing your bottom lip between your teeth.

Steve walked over to the tripod and with a very satisfied grin and a cheeky wink to the viewers, he turned the camera off. Then he ended the stream. 

You watched him walk into the bathroom, admiring the way the marks from your nails mixed with the bold ink of tattoos. When Steve returned, still fully naked, the condom was gone. 

He walked over to you and crouched down next to the bed. His hand slid across the covers to touch squeeze your fingers.

“I’m quite biased, but that was fucking fantastic,” he flashed you a lopsided grin, which spread into a full one when you snorted. 

“What do you need now?” Steve asked next, his tone soft and comforting. “Is there a ritual you go through after a session?” 

“Well, it’s a bit different when I do it solo. I’m definitely less worn out then,” you pointed out. “For now I just need a moment to catch my breath and return my brain to my body. And to hold Pinkerton.”

“To what?” Steve arched a single brow at the last part. 

He looked quite comical, especially compared to how hot he presented a few minutes ago, and you couldn’t help the small giggle escaping your lips.

“Open my to-go bag, please.” You pointed in the direction of your belongings. “Pinkerton is right on top.”

Pinkerton was a fluffy bunny stuffie. Despite its name, it didn’t have a spot of pink on his creamy coloring. It had a bow tie, though. 

Steve was chuckling as he handed you the bunny, but you didn’t sense any judgment nor mockery from him. He rather looked simply amused. For which you couldn’t blame him. 

“I’ll take a shower while you and Pinkerton have a moment.” Steve stretched as he said it. Your eyes greedily followed the whole length of him as he did so. “Then we’ll order some food. Is pizza okay?”

“More than okay,” you replied, touched by the provided aftercare which Steve made into something far beyond just cuddling after sex. 

A half an hour later you were stepping into Steve’s kitchen - having showered yourself and put on some comfy clothes. He was dressed, too. In clothes he looked as impressive as he did naked. 

“Pizza should be here soon.” He told you, setting down plates and glasses on the kitchen counter. “I order from this small Italian place nearby. I have to confess that they converted me from the typical American pizza to theirs. Don’t tell other Americans.” 

“To be honest, I’ll probably eat any pizza, as long as it doesn't have fruit or anchovies on it.” You weren’t too picky when it came to pizza. Or burgers. Or soup. 

“So-” Steve started a moment later- “I took a quick peek at the statistics. It’s too soon after the livestream to talk about actual numbers, but what we have so far is amazing. I’ve gained twenty one percent more viewers for this stream than my most popular one did in the first week.”

“Shit, that's a really good result!” You expected the numbers to be big, but you didn’t think it would be this good. 

And it was only the first hour of streaming. The saved lifestream would be available for weeks to come, calling more new viewers, as well often having the previous ones revisiting. 

It tempted you to check your own profile right away, to see how many new viewers browsed through your videos. But you made a resolution earlier that day to look at it only after a full twenty four hours pass. 

“I know!” Steve showed the same enthusiasm as you, not playing it down as a honed porn star like him could’ve. 

“We agreed to give more thought to future projects together,” he continued, “but I don’t think there are any doubts left to consider. I mean, of course, no pressure.”

You didn’t get to reply right away, because the doorbell ring announced the arrival of pizza, but you returned to the topic after the both of you swallowed down half of your slices. 

“Working together would benefit us.” You took a sip of soda. “Making couples videos along with our solo performances gives more variety and heightens the chances of holding the viewers attention.” 

“I agree.” Steve nodded. “I wouldn’t want either of us to give up on our brands, but rather expand them.” 

“Yeah, exactly. That way people stay excited and curious about what we drop next. Will it be solo? Will it be us fucking? I’m sure we could really come up with some interesting ideas on how to make it creative.”

“Positions and toys aside,” Steve smirked, bringing a glass to his lips, “are there any ideas of what we could do that are already sprouting in that pretty head of yours?”

You felt a wave of heat fill your chest and face, but you hoped not to appear too embarrassed as you admitted the truth.

“Well-” you took a long sip of your drink, before bravely meeting Steve’s gaze.

“Some of my favorite content of yours is in that library nook, which I haven’t noticed anywhere here. I may have had a thought, or two, about being over your knees while you sat in that armchair.” 

Steve’s eyes sparked. You weren’t sure if it was mischief, or desire at the image you created. Probably both.

To see a reflection of his eagerness caused your own body to react with a new flush of need for more.

“As it happens, I often am tasked with cat-sitting for my best friend.” Steve explained. “Bucky goes away for longer periods and his kitty isn’t fond of leaving the house for more than an hour or two. So I’m staying over at his place when he’s away.”

“Bucky’s aware of my work and we’ve come to an agreement that I can use the library to do streams and record videos when I’m there. I’m forbidden from his bedroom, though,” he flashed a cheeky grin.

It morphed into a seductive smirk as Steve leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“Quite a pity-” he murmured- “You would look so fucking sexy on Bucky’s dark sheets.” 

Your heart jumped up. A tinge of interest fizzed into your nipples and clit, though it was more about Steve’s proximity and the sinful way he was looking at you than just the forbidden fruit of fucking on the mysterious Bucky’s bed. 

“I’m not sure if my striking beauty would compensate for defiling his bed,” you rolled your eyes.

“Maybe not.” Steve shrugged, not the least apologetic. “But a session in the library? We’re totally doing that.” 

He took another big bite of pizza, before adding: “It would allow for a really good close-up on your cute ass and your holes taking fingers, or toys.” 

You almost choked at his words. For which he was unrepentant as well, winking at you as he stuffed his mouth with puffy crust. 

Perhaps you should spend some time assessing risks of this co-operation, because you found yourself immensely eager to shoot a hundred videos and more with Steve, of whatever wicked, hot things he wanted to do to you. Just because it would be with him… 

[the-true-vessel]

at the hand or command of a man

pairing: prince!steve rogers x princess!reader

summary: your father orchestrates an arranged marriage between you and crown prince steve rogers, but, on your wedding night, you must face the man you've come to view as your enemy—and you start to see him in a new light.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dubcon-ish?, unprotected sex, choking, serious breeding kink (including talk of getting pregnant, having multiple children and lactating), other dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, knife kink, sorta threats of violence (not followed through), nicknames (princess, wife, your highness, husband), possessive steve rogers. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 6.5k

a/n: day 28 of my 30 day writing trope challenge was royalty au, which i've been looking forward to for most of the challenge. i had the photo of chris evans picked out for a little while after seeing it here on tumblr. but oh my god i struggled with this one. i wrote and rewrote it so many times. i thought it'd just be a simple enemies to lovers fic but enemies to lovers can be so difficult to write without getting creepy and idk if i managed that here. but i've already spent so much time on it and i just wanted it done so i could move on and finish my challenge. so! i hope it's not terrible! 😅 enjoy!

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You had suffered so many indignities in your life—so many even in the last few months—but your husband, Crown Prince Steve Rogers, had managed to find a new one for you to endure. 

You’d thought the worst would be when your father reduced you to a political pawn, a bartering chip in the talks he initiated with Rogers’ country. You knew, despite it being the 21st century, that your marriage would be a political one—you were a princess after all. But you never thought your father would marry you off without even consulting you.

Then, you’d thought the worst had to be your first meeting with your potential betrothed. Rogers had requested a meeting with you alone before agreeing to any kind of terms, so your father set it up. You’d met the crown prince in one of the private receiving rooms of your father’s palace, wearing one of your favorite dresses and with your head held high. You’d expected it to be something like a date, and had the servants lay out a spread of coffee and cakes.

Instead, Rogers had stalked into the room like he owned the place, though you gave him the benefit of the doubt—most princes acted in such a way. It came with the training of the station. But then he acted coldly, refusing to return your greeting or accept the hand you held out to him. He’d simply circled you with that arrogant strut of his, his eyes combing over every inch of your body so thoroughly, it felt as if he was undressing you without even touching you. 

Rogers didn’t touch you, of course. It was no small part of you that felt relieved he kept his hands to himself. His crystal blue gaze was sharp enough to make you shiver, you couldn’t imagine the horror of him actually touching you. With how cold he acted during his inspection of you—since there was really no other word for it—you imagined he was just as aloof during moments meant for passion.

The longer Rogers scrutinized you, the more your shoulders sagged and your chin drooped. By the time he’d completed his silent inspection of your body and face, and left with no word of goodbye, you felt like you were curling in on yourself. A creeping, crawling feeling, something that felt quite like shame, burned over every inch of your skin. When you’d found the strength, you’d fled back to your personal rooms and burned your dress, never wanting to look at it again.

You’d honestly thought it couldn’t get worse than that, but you were wrong. Crown Prince Steve Rogers then insisted on a fertility exam before negotiations could continue. The horror that washed through you when your father informed you he’d agreed to the exam on your behalf was a feeling you wouldn’t soon forget. Rage roiled in your body as you submitted to the doctors, internally fuming that it might be modern day but your father and Rogers were treating you like no more than a prized broodmare. 

What was worse, the exam showed you were healthy and fertile, damning you to a life of being Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ wife. Not long after the exam results came in, the deal was signed and the wedding planners began their work. 

You supposed you should feel grateful the crown prince let you spare no expense on the wedding, even if he required it be held at his own palace in the capitol city of his home country—forcing your friends and family to travel if they wished to attend. You even might feel grateful that Rogers left you to the wedding planning, giving you more time to spend with your loved ones before they’d have to return home while you stayed behind, left alone with your new husband, his court and his subjects.

But, as it was, it was hard to feel anything but fury when you were kneeling on the hardwood floor of the lavish bedroom that belonged to the crown prince, the plush rug thankfully cushioning your knees. Per your husband’s instructions, that was how he expected to find you on your wedding night. 

The instructions were not delivered by him, of course. He’d yet to say more than two words to you—the customary “I do”—despite becoming man and wife that very day. No, his orders were delivered by one of his assistants. You’d taken a small amount of pleasure in the fact that it was as uncomfortable a conversation for the man as it was for you. But then you’d really heard what the crown prince expected of you.

You were to leave the celebration before him. You were to ensure you were not drunk. You were to remove any and all undergarments beneath your wedding gown and discard them before entering the bedroom. Then, finally, you were to kneel on the floor in front of the bed, your hands at your sides and your head down while you waited for him. 

You’d followed his instructions, allowing yourself the little bit of defiance of keeping your head up until you heard his footsteps approaching. Only then did you soften your shoulders and arms, dropping your head to appear like the demure, obedient wife your crown prince clearly expected. 

The position meant he wouldn’t be able to see your hand hidden in your skirts—and, more importantly, the dagger clasped tightly in your fist. If it was up to you, kneeling for your husband would be the last indignity you’d ever suffer at the hand or command of a man.

Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ heels clicked against the hardwood floor when he entered the room, the soft snick of the door’s lock engaging sending a spike of ice through your heart. He walked to you, his shiny black shoes entering your line of sight and it frustrated you to no end that his feet were all you could see of him.

A heavy hand came down on the crown of your head, behind the tiara that was still pinned in your hair. If you weren’t mistaken, Steve was petting you gently, a soft rumbling sound coming from his throat, almost like he was contented to see you there, kneeling at his feet. Something hot, something like anger but not, settled deep in your core. You ignored the slinking feeling, gripping the dagger tighter in your fist.

“You paint a pretty picture, princess,” Steve rasped, his fingers sliding beneath your chin and tilting your face up. Anger and hatred warred in your heart and you weren’t sure which won out in your expression but Steve grinned, his eyes going heavy lidded as he trailed a finger down the side of your face. “Ah, there’s the proud woman I first met.” 

You wanted to snarl, you wanted to snap your teeth at his finger, you wanted to bite it clean off. But you didn’t do any of that. You sat silently and bided your time.

Finally, when Steve seemed to have looked his fill of your face, he moved past you and turned, collapsing back on the bed. You craned your neck to look over your shoulder at him and your eyes caught on the bulge in the front of his dress pants. You forced yourself to look past it, but when you did, you saw Steve was watching you, heat blazing in his blue eyes. 

Distantly, you wondered who this man was. He was so different to the man you’d met that day in the receiving room, barely cold at all. There was so much heat to this version of Steve you were a little terrified of being consumed by it. But you pushed those thoughts and worries aside and focused on your husband. 

He seemed to be watching you think and when he saw that you’d returned to the moment, he reached a languid hand to his thigh and patted the thick muscle there. “Up, princess,” he commanded in a lazy tone. Like you were a dog.

Gritting your teeth against your need to spit insults at the arrogant man, you stood on wobbly knees, your legs shaking from so long spent kneeling. Shifting the dagger in your fingers to keep it hidden, you gathered your skirts with both hands and slid onto the crown prince’s lap, your ass resting on his spread thighs. 

With your new husband beneath you, you got your first good look at him since entering the room. Steve had tucked his hands behind his head, lounging on the bed like he didn’t have a care in the world, his thick biceps bulging the seams of his starched white dress shirt. He’d shed his black jacket before entering the room and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, showing off nice forearms. The rest of him was rumpled and, if you were anyone else, you might have thought he looked delectable. But you were his wife and you were furious.

You’d practiced the move a thousand times when you were alone in your room, repeating it over and over again for hours after long days spent wedding planning. So your movement was smooth as you whipped the dagger from the folds of your dress and pressed the tip to the hollow of Steve’s throat. You watched with no little amount of satisfaction as the crown prince froze, his arrogant smirk dimming a notch with a blade pressed to his throat. 

But his expression shifted before you had time to truly appreciate it. “Planning to kill me in our wedding bed, princess,” Steve snarked, raising an arrogantly arched eyebrow, looking like the dagger threatening his life was of no real concern.

Of all the responses you’d anticipated—shock, anger, fear—amusement wasn’t one of them. But amused was exactly how Steve looked. It only made you angrier.

“You should show the woman with a knife to your throat more respect, your highness,” you spit out, finally allowing yourself to speak your mind, giving voice to the anger that had been simmering in your blood since the day you’d first heard of your father’s plans to marry you off. It felt good—too good.

Somehow, showing your anger got the reaction you wanted from the crown prince and his eyes widened, surprise etched into every line in his face for a long moment. Then his expression shifted again and you wondered anew at who this expressive man was and what he’d done with the cold crown prince you’d met in your father’s receiving room. 

Steve’s eyes went heavy lidded as he lay beneath you, smiling with your dagger at his throat, emotion swirling in those crystal blue eyes of his. He was staring up at you like you were a goddess of wrath and he was only too happy to worship at your alter. “Tell me, princess,” he said in a low voice, his tone casual. “What exactly is your plan here?”

You’d thought about it a lot in the weeks leading up to the wedding, what you wanted to accomplish on your wedding night with the crown prince. A large part of you did want to slit his throat and claim it was an assassin of some kind, but that seemed messy—in more ways than one. You were a royal yourself, so you could probably get away with it, but there was always a chance you wouldn’t. So you’d settled on a more achievable goal. 

“I want you to know what I’m capable of, your highness,” you explained slowly, biting out the honorific like an insult. “You’re not the only one with power in this marriage.” To punctuate your point, you pressed the tip of your dagger into Steve’s skin until a drop of blood welled up. “I will not be your pawn or your broodmare, I will suffer no more indignities by your hand or your command—do you understand me?”

For a long moment, Crown Prince Steve Rogers simply stared up at you, his blue eyes sharp enough to cut crystals. His expression gave nothing away, and you were reminded of the man who forced you to stand for his inspection, who sent instructions for you to be kneeling at his bed on your wedding night. Without meaning to, you dug the dagger harder into his skin, a small pool of blood welling up and sitting in the hollow of his throat. Steve’s eyes flashed.

“So much anger in you, princess,” he murmured, little inflection in his tone to indicate how he felt about that. 

But you were a princess and you’d been expected to never show anger, so defensiveness flared hot in your chest. “I have plenty of reason to be angry, your highness,” you hissed. “I have been bartered over and bought like livestock, and now I am chained to the man who paid for my body with his allegiance. Of course, I’m angry—I’m furious.”

“You misunderstand me,” Steve said, his blue eyes somehow sharper than you’d ever seen them before. It took you a long moment to realize it was delight you saw in his gaze. “I have no intention of dissuading you from your anger.” His voice was more impassioned than you’d ever heard it, taking on a slight rasp with his emotion. “I want to watch you unleash it—I would watch you raze cities to the ground in your wrath and help you sweep away the ash.” He paused, taking a breath and holding your gaze with his own. “I would watch you punish everyone who has forced you to suffer the indignities you speak of and, if you should falter, I would finish them for you.”

Steve’s declarations felt like a lie. How could a man treat you so coldly, so disrespectfully, then pronounce such support? Though the picture he painted, of a husband entirely devoted to his wife, called to you, you wouldn’t let yourself be so naive as to believe it. “Then I would start with you,” you snarled, leaning down over your husband so that you were face to face with the man at which so much of your anger was directed.

He surprised you, though. Steve spread his arms wide, jutting his chin up and baring his neck to your blade. “Then do it,” he rumbled in a low voice, his blue eyes sparking with challenge.

You wanted to hurt him, you did. But the same arguments returned—you didn’t know if you could get away with killing him. You didn’t know if you wanted to commit yourself to the horror of taking another’s life, or of even maiming him. But a new reason joined the litany of excuses. Hope. What if Steve could be your salvation instead of your damnation? It would be foolish to kill him. So you hesitated.

Steve could sense you faltering, and he pressed on. “Be my queen,” he said, his blue eyes beseeching as he stared up at you. “Be mine, princess, and I will be your dagger.” His voice was a rasp of emotion, passion shaping each syllable. “Submit to me, and I will take all your anger—I’ll take it and I’ll wield it for you so you can keep your pretty hands clean.”

It was too good to be true. You knew it, and yet you hoped. But you couldn’t let him know, not yet, so you forced your face into a doubtful expression. “What do you get out of it that you haven’t already gotten?” you demanded, your voice harsh with anger. “Am I not already yours?”

Steve tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on you like you confounded him. “I have your hand in marriage, I have your country’s resources at my disposal, I have your obedience—up to a point,” he said slowly, like it should be obvious. “But I want everything.” His tone changed and you felt his need thrumming in every word he spoke. “I want your heart and your soul—I want you. The real you. Your anger and your elation, your dreams and your hopes and your fears and your anxieties. I want it all. I want you to be mine.”

“You make ownership sound like freedom,” you said scathingly, rolling your eyes at the preposterousness of what he wanted. It was too much, you’d never allow yourself to be owned in such a way. 

Taking your eyes off the crown prince, even only for a second, turned out to be a misstep. Quicker than you could ever hope to imagine moving, Steve’s hand shot out and wrapped around your throat. You braced yourself for him to roll you over onto your back, or disarm you, but he did neither. Instead, he just used his grip on your neck to pull you close so he could look you in the eye as he spoke his next words.

“It’s not ownership, wife, it’s love,” he said, pausing to let it sink in. His blue eyes watched your face carefully. “To give yourself willingly and to open yourself up to receiving in return, that’s love.” 

It couldn’t be so simple. For all your knowledge of the world, you knew little about love, especially in marriages. But one thing you knew for certain was that love came with strings, it always did. It could never be so simple or so pure as the picture Steve painted. Your mind raced as you tried to find the lie in the crown prince’s words, but when you didn’t respond, he continued. 

“Submit to me for the night,” Steve urged, sensing your hesitation. Perhaps even sensing your hope that what he said was true. “Give yourself willingly to me and I will show you what love can be like between man and wife.” His blue eyes blazed with heat as he stared up at you, your face so close to his you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. 

“And tomorrow I will show you how I can be your dagger.”

You found yourself considering his offer. It was only one night, after all. But just as quickly, you grew angry about the carrot he dangled in front of you. “How can you possibly expect me to believe you could love me after what I’ve done to you tonight?” you demanded, glaring down at your husband. 

Steve’s grin was like a slash across his face as his hand not wrapped around your throat pressed to your lower back, scooting you up his lap until your center connected with the hard bulge in his slacks. Your eyes fluttered and you let out a soft moan at the feel of him.

“I assure you, princess,” Steve rasped, his voice a low rumble. “The knife to my throat is by no means a deterrent of my lust for you.” You forced your eyes open and found him staring up at you with nothing short of naked desire in his eyes, proving his honesty. His hand ran soothingly up and down your spine and, against your better judgement, you found yourself relaxing for him. “Love and trust will take time,” he murmured, breaking through your walls and defenses with every word he spoke. “But I am willing to forgive you for threatening my life if you’re willing to forgive the indignities I’ve made you suffer.”

You forced yourself to look at him sharply, only barely noticing it was harder to make yourself glare at him than it had been even moments before. “No more inspections, no more kneeling.”

Steve’s face relaxed into a grin, but his gaze was genuine as he stared at you. “I promise, any future inspections or kneeling will be done with your enthusiastic consent,” he vowed.  

You narrowed your eyes at that, but then gave a soft, defeated sigh. “How do I submit?” you asked in a voice barely louder than a whisper. You kept your eyes on his bearded jaw, unable to look at him properly.

“Kiss me,” Steve demanded in a rough voice. Your eyes flicked up to his and saw he was serious. “Kiss me willingly, princess.”

Slowly, tentatively, you crossed what little distance there was between your mouths, pressing your lips to Steve’s. It felt like a betrayal the way your body reacted to the kiss, your heart racing and your stomach fluttering, warmth surging through every inch of you. Your body begged you to press closer to him and you followed its urging, deepening the kiss. 

Steve’s fingers around your throat flexed and then he was surging up, taking your mouth possessively. You opened for him more easily than you ever would’ve suspected. His tongue plunged past your lips, licking into your mouth like it was his right. It felt so good—too good—and you felt yourself sinking deeper into his kiss, finding you enjoyed submitting to your husband. 

Distantly, you were aware of Steve’s other hand holding onto your fist where it clutched your dagger, but he still didn’t disarm you, simply held you steady, ensuring you didn’t accidentally pierce his throat. You were grateful as you no longer wished to harm the man who could kiss you with so much passion.

The longer Steve kissed you, the more your body responded and, without remembering starting, you suddenly found your hips moving against his, grinding yourself down on his hard length through his dress pants. You braced your free hand against his chest, rocking against his hardness, your bare slit dripping all over his bulge.

“That’s it, princess,” Steve groaned, tearing his mouth from yours and trailing his lips along your jaw, his coarse beard rasping against your skin. “Rub your sweet little cunt all over my cock and make yourself feel good.” At his urging, you rolled your hips harder, taking your pleasure from his body. “Get yourself nice and wet and ready for me, wife,” Steve went on, his teeth nipping at your ear and making you whine softly. “So I can fuck you and fill you with my seed.”  

A shiver wracked your body and your knees spread further so you could press down on him harder, your slick hole dripping with an arousal you could not deny. When you opened your eyes, only then realizing they had fallen closed, you found Steve’s blue gaze watching your reaction with surprised delight etched into his face.

He went on, speaking slowly and deliberately, his eyes sharp as he watched you closely. “I’m going to cum so deep in your precious fucking pussy, princess, that there’s no way I don’t breed you tonight,” he said, a dark promise in his tone. A moan tumbled from your mouth inexplicably, his words turning you on when you would’ve expected them to send you running. Instead, you rocked harder against him, gripping onto his shirt in a tight fist. “Can’t fucking wait to make you the mother of my children,” he rumbled.

“Oh god,” you moaned, letting your head loll back. But Steve wasn’t having that. He used his grip on your throat to tug you back down until you had no choice but to meet his blazing gaze.

“Does it make your pussy gush, princess, hearing how I want to make a mother out of you?” Steve asked, his expression ruthless and his grip unrelenting. “Does it make your body beg to be filled up when you hear how I’m going to breed you until you give me an heir?” His hips thrust up from below, forcing the moan from your lips that had been lodged in your throat. “Be honest—be honest, wife.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, unable to lie—not even wanting to. It had taken your husband mere minutes to strip you down to your very core, managing the feat with a knife still pressed to his throat, and it only made you want him more. Despite yourself, you yearned for Crown Prince Steve Rogers—for everything he offered and everything he’d promised. Though you hadn’t planned to say more, words continued spilling from your mouth. “I need it—I need you, husband, please.”

With something like a roar, Steve flipped you onto your back, one of his hands pinning you to the bed by your throat, the other finally disarming you and sending your dagger skittering away on the bedspread. You let it go freely, your hands busying themselves with divesting your husband of his shirt, yanking the buttons loose until the broad expanse of his golden chest was bared to you. 

While you were busy tracing his muscles with your fingertips, Steve sat back enough to grab the skirts of your wedding dress. With another feral sound, Steve tore through your dress, ripping the layers of your gown up the center. 

You gasped at the sound of rending fabric and paused, stunned for a moment by the sight of the crown prince. He knelt between your thighs, his handsome face twisted with lust and his broad chest heaving as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you whole. In that moment, you wanted to be devoured, but only by him. It was a wondrous sight to see Steve—Crown Prince Steve Rogers—so totally undone by you, and you didn’t think you’d ever get enough. Your body, acting on instinct, opened for him, your thighs spreading subtly wider.

Steve’s sharp eyes caught the slight movement and a brutal grin hooked the corner of his mouth. “Oh, wife,” he murmured, tearing through the rest of your skirts and bodice, leaving your wedding dress in tatters on the bed. “We’re going to have a long and happy life together.”

His words hung heavy in the air between you, like they were a spell and, by speaking them, he could simply make it so. You found you didn’t want to protest the future he predicted. Instead you nodded, agreeing with your husband and hoping he had the ability foresight. He didn’t, of course, but your husband was a determined man and you knew he intended to make his words become truth.

When Steve finally broke your stare and looked down at your body, naked and bared for him, he sucked in a breath. He trailed his hands down over your curves reverently, before reaching the apex of your thighs. He spread you open with his thumbs and groaned at the sight of you. Steve wasted no time, shoving three fingers inside you. You were so turned on, your body took them greedily, clenching down like you wanted to keep him buried deep. But Steve pulled free and licked your taste from his skin. “Mm, princess, so fucking sweet,” he commented, giving you a heated look.

Your hands reached for Steve’s belt, fumbling with it for a moment before he batted your fingers away. Moving quickly, he undid his slacks and pushed them down his thighs, far enough to free his cock. It hung heavy and hard between his thick thighs, so girthy you were glad you were wet and ready for him. If you hadn’t been so lust-drunk, you may have worried about him fitting inside you, but all you felt was a need to feel him fill you up.

Lust consumed you and you whined, reaching for him, but Steve caught your hands and pinned them above your head with one of his. With his other, he gripped his cock and rubbed the blunt head up and down your slit, teasing your clit and making you whimper. You rocked your hips up against his dick, trying to find the angle to take him inside you. When that didn’t work, you resorted to begging, whimpering, “Please, Steve.” 

“Fuck,” he gritted out through his tightly clenched jaw, the strain of holding back carved into his face. “Sound so fucking sweet begging for my cock, wife.” He teased you some more, getting his hard length nice and slick with your arousal. “You ready for me, princess?” he asked, capturing your gaze and pinning you to the bed with his serious look. “Tell me how much you want this.”

“I want you—I want this so bad,” you confessed breathlessly as your back arched up off the bed, trying to get closer to your husband. “Oh god, I want your cock, please, Steve—fuck me,” you begged, desperate tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. 

“That’s a good girl,” Steve practically purred, kissing the tears from your cheeks. He notched the tip of his dick at your entrance and you bucked your hips up, taking the head inside on your own. Steve grunted and released your hands so he could pin your hips to the bed. “So fucking greedy, wife,” he bit out through clenched teeth. He pressed deeper, his hips driving his cock into you with steady strength, the thickness of it pushing the air from your lungs. 

It felt like he was entering you body and soul with how deep he reached inside you, and it felt so good. Steve’s cock was so big, it felt like he was splitting you in half, but you were so wet, you took him easily, just as greedily as he accused you of being. He forced your thighs wider as he pressed ever deeper, your breaths only gasps as you took him. When he was finally fully seated inside, you let another sob escape. 

Steve captured your lips in a kiss, pouring his passion and desire for you into your mouth while he drank down your sounds of pleasure. He plundered your mouth, his cock still buried deep inside you, unmoving, just focused on your lips while you adjusted to him. 

When he’d decided you’d had enough time, his hips pulled back and he thrust inside you. Steve set a brutal pace, fucking you in hard, deep strokes that had your back arching up off the bed and your mouth wrenching from your husband’s to cry out. But Steve didn’t let that stand, his hand wrapped around your throat, pinning you to the bed as he fucked you, his mouth slamming down on yours for a messy kiss that was all snapping teeth and soothing tongues. 

You could feel some of the anger in your heart draining out of you, and Steve replaced it with his own emotions—his passion and lust, stoking your arousal higher as he drilled his cock into your pussy. It felt like he was taking a piece of your soul with his kiss and giving you part of his in return. It was overwhelming and heady and you never wanted him to stop.

Steve bit your lower lip hard, sucking it into his mouth and your body clenched down hard on him, making him groan like he was in pain. “Oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, princess,” Steve muttered against your mouth, his tone almost accusing. It sent a flare of pride through your chest and you couldn’t help but grin. He took notice of your response, his blue eyes darkening. “Gonna fill you up, wife,” he promised. “Gonna pump you full of my seed and make you give me an heir.”

His words, his piercing eyes, his thrusting cock, his grip on your throat all made you feel alive and more present in your body than you had in your entire life. It was glorious, and you couldn’t help but want more. You smirked, jutting your chin up at him and pressing against his hand still wrapped around your throat. “Then do it,” you urged, only distantly aware you were repeating his words back to him. 

Steve’s eyes flashed, and a feral grin spread across his face. “Gonna knock you up, princess,” he promised, fucking you harder, forcing your legs up and back so he had you folded nearly in half. “Can’t wait to see you swell with my child and your pretty tits fill with milk,” he said, ducking his head and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, biting the nub before pressing kisses across your chest to the other. “Gonna fuck you with your tits leaking milk and drink from you, then breed you again,” he vowed, staring up your chest at you, his mouth sucking greedily on your nipples. “Can’t wait for you to give me an heir so I can give you even more of my children, wife.”

Despite yourself—despite initially dreading that part of your marriage—the picture he painted sounded appealing and you found yourself nodding. “Yes, Steve,” you said on a gasp, digging your fingers into his hair and dragging him up to kiss you again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. “Please,” you begged against his mouth.

“So perfect, wife,” Steve murmured, his lips trailing kisses over your cheeks. “So perfect for me, taking my cock so well.”

His gentle praise wound the coil of pleasure in your core tighter, and you sobbed your need. “Please, Steve,” you begged, not knowing exactly what you needed, only knowing he was the only one who could give it to you.

Steve seemed to understand and he changed the angle of his strokes, pounding into your pussy and grinding against your clit, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside you that made you scream. “Cum for me, princess,” Steve ordered, every ounce of royal command in his tone. “Let your sweet cunt milk the seed from my cock,” he said between clenched teeth, reaching between your bodies and rubbing your clit hard. At the same time, his fingers squeezed your throat, choking you lightly. “Cum for me so I can breed you and give you my heir.”

It was the last push you needed and the coil of pleasure inside your body snapped. You screamed your husband’s name as you came, clinging to Steve as your body clenched tight and then bucked wildly. He held you down, pinned to the bed by his hand squeezing your neck and his hips rutting into you. You screamed until your voice was hoarse and the waves of pleasure were less overwhelming.

Steve fucked you through your release, manhandling your body until you were folded even further in half and he had you in a mating press. He grunted and groaned as he shoved his cock into your pulsing cunt. “Feel so fucking good, princess, to tight around my cock,” he said on a deep moan. 

Dazedly, you raked your nails through his hair, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm and needing him to take his own pleasure in your body. “Cum in me, husband,” you urged, wanting to drive him as wild as he’d driven you. “Knock me up, make a mother out of me—put a baby in my belly, Steve, please.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and held him close as you whispered in his ear. “I want it—I want to give you an heir.”

“Fuck,” he bit out, finding your mouth and giving you a messy kiss. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re so fucking perfect, wife, I’m never letting you go.”

“Don’t,” you said on a gasp. “Don’t let me go.”

With a grunt and a few more sloppy thrusts, Steve shoved his cock deep inside you, groaning as he came. His whole body tensed and then you felt his dick twitch inside you, warmth flooding your pussy as he pumped you full of his load. You moaned softly, raising your hips as much as you could against his weight, hoping you could give his cum an easier path to your womb. 

You knew that if someone had told you that you’d end your wedding night moaning and begging Steve to get you pregnant so you could give him an heir, you would’ve laughed or smacked that person. But something had changed. It took you a long moment to realize you weren’t furious anymore. You were sated, and something akin to happy. Steve had done what he’d promised, he’d taken some of your anger and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for it, fondness blooming in your heart.

After a moment of cuddling you to him, Steve dragged himself up, massaging your legs as he helped you lower them, though he kept his cock buried in your pussy. With darkened blue eyes, Steve caught your gaze as he rested a possessive hand on your lower belly. “Mine,” he rumbled, his expression resolute.

With a small smile you nodded. “Yours.” Tentatively, you reached your own hand up, pressing it to the center of Steve’s chest, right over his still pounding heart. “Mine,” you repeated, but it sounded more like a question.

Your husband’s face softened and he used his free hand to cover yours, holding your palm to his chest. “Yours,” he agreed with a smile. Steve bent down, kissing you gently, his mouth so sweet you couldn’t help but grin so big you couldn’t kiss him anymore. He chuckled, the sound a happy rumble.

Steve helped you from the bed, insisting on helping to clean you up and tucking you into bed with him. When you both slid beneath the blankets of his bed, your dagger fell to the floor with a dull thud, but neither of you paid it any mind. You spent the night talking and kissing, your naked bodies tangled up in each other as you finally got to know one another in all the ways that mattered. 

In the morning, you and Steve greeted the world shoulder to shoulder as one. But when you summoned your father to the throne room you now shared with your husband, it was Steve who did most of the talking. He showed you exactly how he’d be your dagger, by announcing—before his court and your father’s—that anyone who organized an arranged marriage without the explicit consent of all parties involved would be punished.

When Steve meted out the punishment for your father, denouncing the man who had raised you for misleading him into believing you’d been a wholly willing party, you felt satisfaction. Nothing truly bad would happen to your father or your home country, but it was delightful to watch him squirm and be the focus of more than a few scathing looks. You held your head high in front of your new husband and your new court.

After, Steve tugged you into an antechamber and kissed you until you were breathless, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he held you close. “How’d I do, wife—do I make for an adequate dagger?”

You giggled—something you never would’ve believed you’d do in the crown prince’s presence—and smiled up at him. “You were quite adequate, husband,” you confirmed, pulling him down for another kiss.

When he pulled away, affection and something deeper, something that looked like blossoming love, shone brightly in Crown Prince Steve Rogers’ eyes and it made your heart flutter. You felt certain your husband would make himself an honest man and ensure you lived a long and happy life together. 

But first, he had a request. “Now tell me, wife, how else can I be your dagger?” your husband asked, excitement in his sharp blue eyes. “What other indignities have you suffered at the hand or command of a man for which I can exact recompense?”

⫸⫸30 Day Writing Trope Challenge Masterlist⫷⫷

[the-true-vessel]

lilacs & ink

pairing: tattoo artist!steve rogers x reader

summary: you go in to get your first tattoo and the very attractive tattoo artist steve rogers takes good care of you.

warnings: tattooing (needles, pain, definitely some inaccuracy in the process because i'm not a tattoo artist! also definitely some unprofessionalism!), FLUFF, praise kink, hugging, kiss on the cheek, flirting, bucky being a bit of a menace

word count: 7.5k

a/n: i recently got a new tattoo (only my second one! and my first in like a decade!) and i've been wanting to write/publish something with tattoo artist steve for ages so this is inspired by all that. i did start a story with tattoo artist steve last year but something about it's not right and i can't figure out what so i started fresh with this one! anyway, please enjoy this very very fictionalized tattoo experience, hope y'all love tattoo artist steve as much as i do!!!

-

“Do you take walk-ins?” you asked, stepping up to the counter of the small Brooklyn tattoo studio where a bored looking redheaded woman with sharp eyes dragged her gaze from the computer setup to glance at you. Without looking around, you knew the modest waiting area was crammed with artfully mismatched chairs, a brown leather couch and a very real plant that shot up from its pot and towered over even the tallest person in the room. You knew because you’d done your research online before even walking in the door.

A faint smile, more like a smirk, curled the redhead’s mouth from where she stood behind the burnished copper counter. “Just a sec, hun,” she told you before turning to shout over her shoulder. “Is your three o’clock still coming, Barnes?” A tall man with brown hair, a stubbled jaw and full sleeves of tattoos decorating both his arms jerked to attention from where he’d been lazing in a chair in the back. He grumbled as he stood and tied his longish hair up into a bun, tucking some leftover strands behind his ears. 

“Yeah, they should be,” he said, walking up to the front of the store. His pace was smooth, like a panther, and you couldn’t help yourself from admiring his broad shoulders and thick chest. “Why?” he asked the redhead, barely sparing you a glance.

“Cause my two-thirty should be here any second and this sweet girl wants to know if we do walk-ins,” the redhead gestured to you even as she kept her attention on her colleague. The man’s crystal blue eyes finally slid to you, roaming your face before slipping down your body. 

You couldn’t tell if her description of you was meant to be patronizing or not, but you wilted a little, feeling even more out of place in the industrialist decor of the tattoo shop. You tried not to squirm as the man looked you over. It was a warm spring day so you were wearing a sundress and comfortable tennis shoes, a denim jacket around your shoulders to ward against the chilly breeze. You didn’t know if he was checking you out or just looking for any visible tattoos, but if it was the latter, he wouldn’t find any. You didn’t have any tattoos. Yet.

“You wanna know if we do walk-ins, doll?” the man called Barnes asked, resting his inked forearms on the shop’s counter and leaning down, his head ducking until he caught your eye. A mischievous grin curled the edges of his mouth and a warm heat licked to life in your core, a flush filling your cheeks.

In reality, you already knew the Shield Tattoo Parlor took walk-ins. The idea of getting a tattoo had been burning a hole in your brain for some time, but you were nervous about it. So you’d researched all the different tattoo shops around Brooklyn, consulted your friends with tattoos and finally settled on not only Shield, but the exact artist you wanted to work with. The only reason you hadn’t made an appointment was because you knew you’d stress about it for weeks before the day finally arrived, so you figured tricking yourself into thinking it was a spontaneous idea would be the best way of avoiding the stress and anxiety. You’d been right—until you’d stepped in the door.

“Y-yeah,” you said, trying make your voice come out strong and utterly failing. You were letting your nerves get the better of you, and it didn’t help that the handsome man in front of you hadn’t stopped staring since he’d first looked at you. “I was hoping Steve Rogers might be available?” It was meant to be a statement, but came out sounding more like a question. 

Barnes’ smirk dropped. You recognized him from Shield’s website, which featured photos of each of the artists and tons of images of their work. Bucky Barnes was more proficient in the traditional tattoo style, which wasn’t what you were looking for. Nor was Natasha Romanoff, the redhead, who specialized in fine line and geometric tattoos. Instead, it was Steve Rogers, who worked in watercolor, that you wanted to do your tattoo.

Bucky let his gaze slide down your body once more, making heat flood your face. “Good choice, doll,” he murmured, his lips curling again in a smile that was somehow even more flirtatious. “You’ll look pretty with one of Steve’s pieces.” He stood up straight and turned to the back, calling out to a blond man who was cleaning up his station from what appeared to be a just-finished appointment. “Ayo, Stevie, you got a client!” 

The blond man looked up and his gaze snagged on yours. His bright blue eyes were the color of the ocean and they stole the breath from your lungs. The fact that they were set into a face that looked sculpted by the ancient masters only made him more of a sight to behold. With cut cheekbones and a sharp jaw, contrasted by the soft curve of his lips and sweep of his eyebrows, he looked like the definition of attractive. 

It struck you like a lightning bolt: Steve Rogers was much more handsome in person than in his photo on Shield’s website—and he was already devastatingly hot in the photo.

The warmth that Bucky’s flirty smirk had stoked to life roared into an inferno when your eyes met Steve’s, making your hands tremble enough you had to shove them in the pockets of your jacket to hide the tremors. Butterflies took flight in your stomach and your heart pounded an anxious beat. To the best of your ability, you gave Steve a tremulous smile. 

Steve quickly finished cleaning up his station then made his way to the front of the shop and you were able to get an even better look at him. He was tall, with his blond hair swept back from his chiseled face, his blue eyes sparkling in the daylight of the spring afternoon. A white t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders, a full sleeve of tattoos decorating his left arm and peeking out from the collar to cover the side of his neck. He sported a small star on the edge of his cheekbone, like a permanent stamp of defiance. He would be intimidating if not for the charming smile adorning his handsome face.

“What can I help you with, sweetheart?” Steve asked, edging in front of Bucky so he stood across the counter from you. Bucky glared at the blond but let it happen, only grumbling a little as he stepped back and gave Steve room. “Do you want a consult or are we tattooing today?”

“I was hoping to get a tattoo?” you said, your statement coming out as a question again. You winced a little, trying to get control of yourself—though you weren’t sure how you’d manage it with both of the very hot, very tattooed men still staring at you. You looked down at the counter, unable to hold Steve’s gaze for too long. “I mean, if you have the time.”

Steve hummed, catching your attention and when you looked back up at him, he gave you a gentle, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you come to my station and we can talk more, that sound good, sweetheart?” he asked, one hand extended toward the back of the studio where you’d initially spotted him.

You walked ahead of him across the shop, passing other artists working on people. Natasha was applying a stencil to a young woman’s forearm, while a man you recognized as Sam Wilson was doing the line work for a big piece on an older man’s calf. When you got to Steve’s station, there was a cheap plastic chair set up at the foot of the tattoo table, a rolling stool on one side along with tons of instruments and tools you had only a vague idea about from your research. Steve sat on the stool and gestured for you to sit in the chair. 

“Okay, so do you know what you want, or do you want to look through some pictures?” he asked as he bent over to grab a thick black binder from the bottom shelf of his station.

“I know what I want,” you said quickly, the words leaving you in a rush as you practically cut him off. 

Steve froze halfway bent over to retrieve the binder, his ocean eyes sliding to yours with a little bit of surprise on his face. He let the binder fall back on the shelf with a thunk and sat up, crossing his forearms and propping them on the table beside you. “And what is it that you want, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his voice dropping low as he leaned forward, interest sparkling in his blue eyes.

The sounds of the shop fell away, even the music that was pumping out of the speakers feeling distant as you stared at Steve’s handsome face. The color of his eyes reminded you of blue hyacinths, and you couldn’t help but melt a little under the warmth of his attention.

All of a sudden, you realized you were leaning forward in your seat, unconsciously swaying closer to him; you made an effort to lean back and sit up straight. Squaring your shoulders, you looked Steve dead in the eye, refusing to let yourself get distracted again, and told him what you wanted. 

“I’d like a small watercolor tattoo of a lilac,” you said, one hand flitting up to your shoulder and pointing to your collarbone over your jean jacket. “Here.”  You dropped your gaze to Steve’s hands, one fully covered in artwork and the other entirely unblemished. “I saw the lavender sprig you did on your Instagram,” you said more softly, a little shy about admitting you’d stalked his social media even though your friends with tattoos had told you it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

“You liked that piece, huh?” Steve murmured, his voice low and drawing your attention back to his face. Heat flooded your cheeks at the way Steve was looking at you so intensely, a soft hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, but you managed a nod. “Well, I think I can manage something like it for you,” he said. Steve sat up, breaking his stare and leaving you feeling like you were gasping for breath. He rolled his stool over to the shelves to pull out a sketchbook, seemingly unaffected while you were left feeling cold and bereft.

Steve flipped to a page and showed you a rough sketch of the lavender piece you’d seen on Instagram and you hummed delightedly, nodding. “That’s the one,” you said excitedly, remembering how you’d been struck by the photo of the final design. It’s what had made you decide on Steve to be your tattoo artist.

Steve grinned at your reaction, staying silent for a beat too long before shaking himself and getting back to business. “I can work up a lilac sketch real quick,” he said. “We can make adjustments before I transfer it to a stencil, then we can figure out the placement, sound good?” he asked, his blue eyes catching yours, that charming smile still making your heart thump in your chest. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you said softly, a little struck dumb by Steve’s attentiveness. Steve’s gaze lingered on you, his blue eyes intense and sparkling, staring at you like you were a work of art he didn’t want to look away from for fear of missing out on a second of its beauty. It was heady, and you didn’t want him to stop.

A loud rolling sound and Bucky sliding into your peripheral vision interrupted the moment. Steve looked away, flipping to a new page of his sketchbook and grabbing a pencil. Heat filled your cheeks and you tried not to look guilty as your gaze swiveled to the brunet.

“How’re things going over here?” Bucky asked in an obnoxious voice, spinning around on his stool idly. He reached out and steadied himself with a hand on your knee, but you jerked away from his touch, scooting your chair back an inch accidentally. He pulled away quickly, his palm out in a placating gesture. “Sorry, doll,” he mumbled, rolling his chair further from you.

“Buck,” Steve growled warningly, his blue eyes sharp as he glared at the other artist. “Behave.” The men exchanged a borderline violent look before Steve turned back to the sketchbook, his hand moving in small, swift arcs across the page. 

Chastened for the moment, Bucky stood, prowling behind Steve until he stood behind the blond’s shoulder on the opposite side as you. He stayed quiet as he watched Steve sketch. For a long moment, the only sound in that corner of the shop was the music filtering through the speakers, a rock song you didn’t recognize, and the soft scratches of Steve’s pencil on paper. You tried not to stare at either men, looking around the shop instead.

The space was decorated with an industrialist design scheme, in warm, earthy tones. There were accents of burnished copper around the room, tons of stylized artwork on the walls and plenty of leafy green plants throughout the space. It was cozy in a masculine way, and looked nothing like a stereotypical tattoo shop—which is what you’d hoped to find.

You were wondering who was in charge of taking care of all the plants—and how long it took to water the two-dozen ones you counted as you looked around—when Steve’s voice broke into your thoughts.

“Is this your first tattoo?” Steve asked, not looking up from his sketchbook. 

Somehow, him not looking at you made it easier to answer his question. “Yeah, but I’ve wanted one for a long time,” you said honestly. You let your eyes trace the curves of Steve’s face, appreciating everything that made him look the way he did. The line of concentration between his pinched brows, the determined slash of his mouth, the smoothness of his cheek and the sharpness of his jaw all held you captivated. “It took a while to figure out what I’d get, though—and who I wanted to do it.” You heard yourself speaking even though you weren’t focused on your words at all.

They got Steve’s attention, though, and he looked up, He caught you in the middle of memorizing the exact shade of blue of his eyes, but he didn’t look uncomfortable. Instead, a soft smile curled his lips. “I’m honored you chose me, sweetheart,” Steve said in his low, rumbling voice that you were quickly learning you couldn’t get enough of.

His deep tenor sent heat coiling through your body, making your cheeks flush as warmth spread through your bloodstream. It was unfair that even his voice was hot, but that wasn’t the only reason you liked it. Steve’s voice was comforting in its pleasant deepness and some of your nerves settled for the first time since stepping into the Shield Tattoo Parlor. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of you,” he said in that same deep tone, his blue eyes sparkling with pride and something else you couldn’t quite name. His reassurance comforted you even more.

Smiling shyly, you felt the urge to look away but managed to hold his gaze, even as you squirmed in your chair. “Thanks, Steve,” you said in a quiet, earnest voice.

He let his eyes roam over your face, like he was taking in your expression and committing it to memory, before refocusing on his sketchbook. The moment ended, but you had an inkling of an idea that something more had passed between you and Steve, and you weren’t the only one who’d felt it. You were so enraptured by Steve that the sudden sound of Bucky’s voice almost startled you out of your chair.

“D’you think you’ll get any more tattoos after this?” Bucky asked, breaking the quiet with his question. His tone sounded more than a little hopeful, and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly.

You looked to him with an apologetic expression on your face. “I honestly don’t know,” you said, shrugging. 

Bucky’s hopeful smile drooped a little and his shoulders sagged. “Well I’d take good care of you, too, doll,” he said, starting to walk behind Steve. His blue eyes were piercing, pinning you to your chair with their intensity. “Just remember that.”

Words escaped you, but you were saved from responding by a voice up front. “BARNES!” You turned in your chair to see a blonde woman manning the front counter, an annoyed look on her face. From your research on the Shield website, you recognized her as Yelena Belova. You’d almost picked her for your tattoo since she did pretty fine line pieces, but you’d ended up deciding on Steve because of his watercolor work. 

Bucky loped up to the front counter, greeting a man and leading him to his own station across the room from Steve’s. You figured that was Bucky’s three o’clock. A little relieved to be freed from the brunet man’s intense gaze, you turned back to Steve, who was finishing up his sketch. 

“Don’t mind Buck,” Steve said, brushing some pencil dust from the page. He looked up and caught your eye, giving you a conspiratorial smile. “He sees a pretty girl and he gets a little stupid.”

A heated flush rushed to your cheeks when you realized Steve had just called you pretty, but then he turned his sketchbook to you and you were distracted by the art on the page. You sucked in a sharp, excited breath as you looked at the design. Steve had drawn a pretty little branch of lilacs that looked like they were taken right off a bush. There was no color, but you could imagine the soft purples and pinks he’d use. 

“It’s beautiful,” you said on an exhale. When you looked up at Steve, you were a little embarrassed to have to blink away tears, but he didn’t comment on it. “I love it.”

He grinned, puffing up his chest a little with pride and letting himself bask in it for a short moment. But then his expression turned serious and his eyes dropped back down to the paper. “You’re sure you don’t want any adjustments?” he asked, a note of concern in his tone. 

You stared at the page harder, tilting your head. “Maybe…” you started to say, but bit your lip in uncertainty.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart, and I’ll do it,” Steve urged in a hushed voice like he was trying not to spook you. “Anything.”

A shiver raced down your spine. It was so easy to imagine Steve saying those words in another, more intimate context and you realized you were the one going a little stupid. It took you a moment to gather yourself before you could remember the thoughts that Steve had so thoroughly wiped from your mind. “Can you make it a little… narrower?” you asked, pinching your finger and thumb together as if to illustrate what you meant. 

A determined look swept over Steve’s face and he spun the sketchbook back to him, his hand moving fast to make the change you wanted. You watched him as he worked and it struck you suddenly that you could watch this man draw for hours. You enjoyed seeing the little ways concentration contorted his face, from the small frown he made to the pinch of his brows. Then the way his face would soften while his eyes sharpened as he regarded his work and decided where to move his pencil next. It was all so fascinating to you.

You didn’t know how much time passed before Steve was sitting up and turning the sketchbook back to you. It was even more perfect than before. Grinning you looked up at him and nodded. “That’s it, that’s what I want.” Your voice was decisive, and you knew it was due in no small part to Steve’s diligence to ensuring you were happy that made you feel confident in your decision.

Steve nodded, an answering grin tugging on the corners of his lips. He stood. “Let me just transfer this to a stencil,” he said, moving around your chair to another part of the shop.

You found yourself feeling a little bereft without Steve, and the nerves swept back into your stomach. Valiantly, you held them off by analyzing his station and trying to pick out any personal touches. He returned after only a few short minutes, his drawing transferred to a small piece of paper.

“Can you take your jacket off for me, sweetheart?” Steve asked, settling onto his stool again and giving you a reassuring smile. He busied himself with the stencil as you shed your jacket and hung it over the back of your chair. When he looked up, his eyes lingered for a moment over your exposed shoulders, like he was a little stunned by the sight revealed to his gaze. A beat passed and then another before he seemed to remember himself and his eyes flicked up to your face. “Where do you want it?” he asked, his voice suddenly lower than it had been. He cleared his throat. 

With slightly trembling fingers, you reached up and traced below the jut of your collarbone. “Here,” you whispered, your breath coming out shaky when Steve’s blue gaze followed the trail of your fingers. 

He seemed to shake himself, then took a deep breath and grabbed a mirror from the shelf at his station. He rolled his stool until he sat directly in front of you. With another quiet cough, he moved forward, his thick thighs spreading wide so his knees bracketed your legs.

You squeezed your legs tight together so your bare knees wouldn’t brush the inside of his thighs. Heat was spreading through you and you weren’t sure what to do with your hands or your gaze with Steve so close to you. Before you could decide, Steve handed you the mirror and directed you to hold it in front of you. 

Steve reached toward you, his fingers stopping to hover just shy of your shoulder. Your eyes were focused on his jaw and you watched the muscle there pop as he clenched and released it. “Can I touch you?” he asked in a voice so soft you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Yeah,” you answered, nodding slightly. You held yourself still, trying not to tremble at the thought of Steve touching you.

With tentative fingers, he edged the strap of your sundress down your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brushed against your skin so lightly, his touch so careful you realized he was worried you might flinch like you had when Bucky touched you. You weren’t startled, though, and Steve made you feel safe, so you only felt warmth flooding through you at his soft touch. Looking up, you caught Steve’s eye and smiled, his lips curving in return.

“That alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, ducking his head so you didn’t have to look up at him. It was such a simple, considerate move, but it made your heart thump pleasantly in your chest.

“Yeah,” you said again. 

Goosebumps rose all over your arms as Steve pushed the strap of your dress further over the curve of your shoulder. The top edge of your dress shifted down less than a quarter of an inch, baring a small new strip of skin and you heard Steve suck in a quick breath. When you glanced at his face, his eyes were on that bit of skin like he couldn’t pry them away. Long moments passed as heat bloomed and swam through your body.

“Steve?” you asked when he spent a little too long staring at you. You couldn’t help but marvel at how distracted he was by the relatively tame amount of skin you were showing. But it made you feel nice, too, to know you weren’t the only one captivated by the other.

The tattoo artist shook himself free from his stupor, pink tinging his cheeks lightly as he glanced at your face and looked away again. “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me,” he said, shaking his head at himself, his mouth turned down in a frown. He leaned back and looked like he was going to move way.

Reaching out, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, squeezing slightly. “It’s okay, Steve, I’m okay.”

He looked up, catching your eye and giving you an assessing look. “You’ll let me know if I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, like he needed to be sure.

You nodded. “Yes, Steve, I promise,” you said. It struck you that you and Steve had each made promises to each other. You hadn’t expected getting a tattoo to be such an intimate experience, especially when you were only getting it on your collarbone, but in the short time you’d known Steve, you already trusted him. And you wanted him to trust you too. “I’ll tell you if I’m uncomfortable,” you said, squeezing his wrist again before letting go, missing the warmth of his skin immediately.

Steve bobbed his head in a nod, his hand moving to rub his wrist absently where you’d touched it. He smiled and squared his shoulders, his expression morphing into a mask of friendly professionalism. He seemed detached all of a sudden and you wished you could go back to before things got weird. “Okay, now look in the mirror and tell me if you want me to adjust the placement at all,” Steve said, holding the stencil up to your collarbone so you could see where it would go.

After a few minutes discussing the placement, during which Steve seemed determined not to look at you too long, you settled on what you liked. Steve grabbed a spray bottle from his station and spritzed the stencil while he held it against your skin. Water trickled down your chest and you gasped a little at the cold of it, but Steve was quick to catch the trail with a paper towel. His hand grazed your soft flesh and you squirmed in your seat, wanting something you knew you weren’t going to get. 

“Still alright, sweetheart?” Steve asked, his voice deep but still a little distant. You nodded, trying to stay still while he held the stencil against your skin. After a moment, he pulled the paper away, leaving the outline of your tattoo on your collarbone. “The placement look good?”

You looked into the mirror while Steve rolled away, tossing out the stencil and paper towel. A frown tugged at the corners of your mouth from the loss of Steve’s closeness, but you smoothed out your expression before he saw it, worried he’d think you didn’t like something about the stencil. You focused on deciding if it was in the right spot, shifting the mirror around to see it from all angles.

When you were satisfied, you looked up to see Steve watching you, a faint smile on his face. You couldn’t help but offer a smile in return, the nerves you hadn’t realized were building in your chest settling again. “I like it,” you said, hard-won confidence in your tone. It seemed easier to tell Steve how you felt than would’ve seemed possible when you first walked into the shop. 

Steve beamed at you, flashing such a charming smile it reminded you just how handsome he was and you were struck dumb all over again. He didn’t seem to notice his affect on you, though, and stood from his stool. Patting the leather table covered in a crinkly white paper like a doctor’s office, he said, “Glad to hear it, sweetheart, now hop up.”

Standing up carefully so you didn’t jostle your dress too much, you held the strap up and stepped around the table. You needed both hands to boost yourself up onto the table, and when you did so, your dress slid down another quarter of an inch. A low growling sound rumbled in Steve’s chest, but it stopped almost as soon as it started—gone so quick you weren’t entirely sure you heard it. You looked up at him in surprise.

Steve reached forward and gently but firmly tugged your dress back up, higher than it had been when you’d walked in. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and rumbly. His blue eyes had darkened and there was an intense look in them as he looked at you. “If you need help with anything, just tell me, it’s what I’m here for.”

Ducking your head shyly, you hid a smile as heat bloomed in your chest and your heart thumped at Steve’s words. “Okay, Steve,” you said softly. 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Steve handed you an iPad and asked you to read and sign the shop’s consent form. He told you to let him know if you had any questions. Quickly, you skimmed through the form, but you’d already read it since Shield had a copy on their website. You signed it and handed the iPad back to him.

When he’d set it aside, he patted the table to your side and directed you to lay down. You did so, with your your feet facing the wall, your head and shoulders poised beneath the bright standing light that was part of Steve’s station. You shifted around until you were comfortable, while Steve busied himself with putting on latex gloves—after he’d checked to make sure you weren’t allergic—then prepared his tattoo gun and ink.

Nervousness twisted in your gut as you watched him and you looked away when it became too much, staring up at the ceiling instead. Your fingers twisted together in your lap, and you chewed on your lip. You knew you wanted this tattoo, but you didn’t know how much it was going to hurt and, if you were honest with yourself, you were a little scared.

“Hey,” Steve said, getting your attention. You looked to him and found he’d sat back on his stool so he hovered close above you. “Are you ready?” he asked, his expression soft as he stared down at you. His eyes were attentive, watching your face closely.

Biting your lip, you nodded, wanting to get it over with. Or, at least, you wanted him to start so you’d know what you were in for because the anticipation was killing you. 

“I know it’s a small piece, but if you need to take a break at any point, just tell me, alright?” Steve asked, his face kind, a gentle smile curling his lips. 

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding. 

“Good girl,” Steve muttered, his eyes trained on the stencil as he bent over to focus on his work. 

It didn’t seem like he realized exactly what he’d said, but you’d heard it and his praising words sent a pleasurable warmth cascading through your chest, spreading outward until your fingers and toes were tingling with it. Your body relaxed, even as the loud buzzing of the tattoo gun started up. You stared at Steve’s face, watching his expression twist with concentration, wondering if he had any idea how he’d made you feel with those two simple words.

Then the needle of the gun touched your skin and your thoughts scattered. You were proud of yourself for not flinching, but your face definitely screwed up in a wince. Steve shot you a quick sympathetic smile before returning his attention to his work. You didn’t know what you expected, but the sensation of a needle piercing your skin over and over again was both exactly what you’d imagined and nothing like it. It hurt more and less than you’d thought it would. 

Shifting your hands to your sides, you clenched your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms, the bite of the pain taking your focus away from the feel of the tattoo needle for a short moment. Your leg bounced, too, even as you forced your shoulders and upper body to stay perfectly still so you didn’t mess up Steve’s work.

You didn’t know if Steve saw your body’s reaction to the pain, but he started talking to you, and you were thankful for the distraction. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he said in a low murmur barely audible above the sound of the tattoo gun. “I know it hurts, but you’re being so good for me—sitting so still.” 

Steve’s words made you feel impossibly good, so proud of yourself, which sent more heat licking through your body, though you did your best to ignore it. “It does hurt,” you mumbled, unable to stop yourself, but you were rewarded by making Steve grin. You couldn’t help yourself, the sight of him grinning made you smile. “It’s different than I expected,” you admitted.

“It feels weird, right?” Steve asked, glancing at you, his blue eyes sparkling like you were sharing an inside joke. “You never quite get used to it,” he said. Your eyes fell to his fully tattooed arm. Before you could ask him about it, though, he continued. “So why a lilac?”

Your gaze skated away from Steve and up to the ceiling. “It’s my favorite flower,” you said, wondering far too late if it was a silly reason to get a tattoo of it. But it was the truth—you thought lilacs were pretty, and they smelled nice.

Steve hummed in acknowledgement. “Do you like flowers, then?” he asked, no judgement in his tone as he made conversation. “Or just lilacs.”

“I like a lot of flowers, I suppose,” you said, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling. “Lilacs are my favorite, but I like daffodils and daisies, too—oh, and sunflowers.” You said, grinning and looking back at Steve. “A lot of flowers,” you repeated. 

Steve pulled the tattoo gun from your skin and gave you his full attention, grinning down at you. “So have you been to the botanic garden then?” he asked before turning and fiddling with the ink, then returning to work on your tattoo.

A frown marred your face, but you winced less when the needle pressed to your skin again. “No,” you admitted. “But I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You’d love it, sweetheart,” Steve said, his voice a little distracted as he focused on his work. “There’s a whole hill of daffodils this time of year.”

You sighed dreamily, wondering if they had any lilac bushes. “That sounds beautiful,” you murmured.

Steve made a humming sound of agreement. You both fell quiet for a bit, but you noticed your nails weren’t digging into your palms anymore. The needle still hurt, but Steve had distracted you enough that it had taken your mind off the pain for a bit. As the silence dragged on, though, you could feel yourself tensing up again. 

“Can you keep talking to me, Steve—please?” you asked in a small voice, a little shy about your request. 

Steve paused his tattooing to look down at you. You didn’t know what he saw in your expression, but he smiled softly, an indulgent look crossing his face. “Of course, sweetheart,” he murmured, before returning to his work. “You’re doing so well,” he said again.

His praise sank deep into you, and you felt like you unfurled to soak it in. You were so glad you’d chosen him to be your tattoo artist. You couldn’t imagine what the experience would’ve been like if Steve wasn’t the one guiding you through it. It amazed you how safe and comfortable you felt with him. You’d even almost gotten used to how handsome he was. Almost.

“Ask me anything you want to know,” Steve went on, drawing you out of your thoughts.

“How long have you been tattooing?” you asked the first question that popped into your head. 

Steve grinned absently and launched into his story. He’d been tattooing for over a decade, having gotten into it when he was a teenager with a talent for drawing. He’d grown up with Bucky, who’d decided to pick up the trade, too. Together, they’d met some of the other artists and started Shield. 

For the rest of the time it took Steve to finish your tattoo, he told you stories about the shop, the prank war Bucky and Sam held every winter during the slower months, and asked you about yourself. You told him about your job and your friends, finding it was easy to talk to him. At one point, you asked for a break and he eased up immediately, telling you again how you were sitting so well for your tattoo. His praise made heat pool in your cheeks, but you never got tired of hearing it. 

Finally, Steve finished and cleaned up the tattoo. He handed you the mirror and you held it up so you could see his work properly. You gasped—it was gorgeous. The blending colors and the shading made it look like a piece of art adorning your skin. Tears sprang to your eyes again, but you didn’t blink them away. You let Steve see your shining eyes. “I love it so much,” you whispered, unable to speak any louder.

Steve’s expression softened, something like fondness in his eyes. “I’m so glad, sweetheart.” The backs of his knuckles, still covered in latex gloves, brushed gently against your arm, so softly you weren’t sure if it was deliberate or not. His gaze lingered on your face, his knuckles brushing against you again and that time you knew it was on purpose. You were both caught in the moment, staring at each other, smiling at each other—you wanted to live in that moment with him, lingering together. 

A shiver made your shoulders tremble, and the movement seemed to snap Steve out of his trance. He pushed back from the table, and removed the gloves from his hands. As you sat up, Steve stood and tossed his gloves in a garbage can, seeming to take the moment to gather himself.

“D’you mind if I take some photos,” Steve asked when he turned back to you, holding his phone up and gesturing to it. 

“Oh of course,” you said, hopping off the table as gracefully as you could manage. Steve’s eye’s caught on the hem of your dress where it had fallen low on your chest again, but he didn’t say anything. He led you over to a bare wall, a large ring light set up in front of it. 

Steve snapped a couple photos on his phone and when he was done, you handed him yours and asked if he’d take some for you, too. Steve happily took the phone and snapped some photos for you, chatting with you about any plans you might have for the spring and summer.

When you returned to his station, he had you sit back on the table. Before you could boost yourself up, though, his hands landed on your hips and he helped you up. A little surprised sound escaped your mouth and you looked up at him, your eyes wide.

“I told you, I’m here to help—with anything,” he murmured, a spark in his eye as he looked at you in a way that was anything other than strictly professional. 

Your breath hitched in your chest and your fingers flexed, only then did you realize your hands had fallen to Steve’s arms. He was warm and steady beneath your palms and you didn’t want to let go. “Th-thanks, Steve,” you murmured, unsure what else to say. You wanted to beg him to keep touching you, but you didn’t think that was appropriate.

Before you could say something to make the situation uncomfortable, Steve reluctantly pulled away, taking his hands with him and leaving yours to fall to your sides. Steve took a deep breath, holding your gaze captive with his own, then curled his mouth in a sheepish smile before he turned to gather supplies.

Steve applied a bandage to your tattoo, explaining what he was doing the whole time, and went over the care instructions with you. He told you they were also in the consent form you’d signed that had been sent to your email address. You appreciated that because you were so focused on his hands and his face and his eyes, you were pretty sure everything he was saying was going in one ear and out the other.

When he was done, he helped you off the table. His hands were strong and firm on your hips and you couldn’t help yourself from imagining them wandering to other parts of your body. You cut off that line of thinking before it could get too far, though.

“Thanks Steve,” you murmured, as he stepped back and gave you room to move. Your hands hovered in the space between your bodies, desperately wanting to grab hold of him and pull him back closer to you. “For everything—this was better than I imagined,” you said, staring up at him.

“I’m glad,” he said, his expression softening the longer he looked at you. His hands reached up like he was going to touch you, but his fingers only grazed your elbows. 

Impulsively, you threw your arms around Steve’s neck and pressed yourself against him as you gave him a hug. His arms went around your waist, steadying you against his chest. Your heart pounded in your chest at the realization that hugging Steve felt wonderful. It felt as though your bodies fit together perfectly, and with your face pressed into the base of his neck, the scent of his cologne surrounded you, something fresh and earthy that made you want to wrap your whole body around his.

“Seriously,” you muttered against his shoulder, reluctant to pull away. “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, his face buried in your hair. He held on to you, only loosening his arms when you began to step back. 

You shot him a shy smile before turning to pick up your jacket and purse, holding them in your hands since you didn’t want to put either on your bandaged shoulder. When you turned back to Steve, his expression was determined.

“I shouldn’t do this—it’s wildly unprofessional,” he started and stopped, glancing over at Bucky before returning his focus to you. He took a deep breath. “D’you wanna go out some time—with me?” he asked, looking charmingly flustered. 

Your heart thumped in your chest and, for a moment, you couldn’t speak. But the second Steve started to wilt, you reached out, hand wrapping around his tattooed wrist. “I’d love to, Steve,” you said, letting your eager happiness show on your face and in your voice. “I’d love to see you again.” You squeezed his wrist and looked around. “Somewhere that’s not necessarily here,” you said wryly with a grin.

Steve returned your smile with one of his own. “Great,” he said, and handed you his phone so you could put your number in it. When you were done, he pulled you in again for another hug, his arms wrapped around your shoulders. Steve’s hug was warm and comforting and you could already tell you wanted to see him many more times. When he released you, he started leading you to the front of the shop. “I’ll text you—maybe we can go to the botanic garden.”

You beamed up at him. “That sounds lovely,” you said, genuinely excited by the idea.

For a moment, Steve hesitated, then he ducked his head and kissed you on the cheek. His soft lips lingered for a moment, letting you revel in the feel of them against your skin. 

“Be a good girl and take care of your tattoo, sweetheart,” Steve murmured in your ear. “Text me if you have any questions—I’ll take care of you.” With that, he straightened and flashed you one last winning smile before turning back to his station.

You stood there for a moment, a little stunned. You accidentally caught Bucky’s eye as he was looking up from freshening the ink in his needle. He glanced between you and Steve, his face falling a little before returning his focus to his work. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad about it, though. You were too excited that Steve had asked you out.

When you turned to the front counter to pay, the blonde—Yelena—checked you out. You gave Steve a hefty tip. Even if he hadn’t asked you out, he’d made you feel so safe and comfortable during your tattoo. It would’ve been a great experience even if it hadn’t ended the way it did. Steve was a talented artist and good at what he did. 

You left the Shield Tattoo Parlor excited about your fresh ink and the man who’d given it to you. Before you’d even gotten on the subway, you felt your phone buzz and when you pulled it out, you saw Steve had texted. You smiled as you descended the stairs into the subway, unable to wipe the excitement off your face as you read his message.

Looking forward to taking you to the botanic garden, sweetheart, it read. I’ll take you to see the lilacs.

[the-true-vessel]

[the-true-vessel]

Does anybody else get legitimately worried when a fanfic author who was updating regularly just suddenly disappears with no warning? Like, is it a serious case of writers block or are they in a coma? Did they just up and quit? Was it me? Were my reviews not good enough?! Did they die 😳?! Were they kidnapped? Do I need to file a missing persons report? Excuse me officer, there’s been 13 weekly updates and now nothing for months! Find them! What’s their name?! Name!? I don’t know their name but they write 3k+ chapters and I need them safe and back in my life!

[the-true-vessel]

all fanfiction is funnier and sexier and vastly better-written when you read it at three in the morning, in the dark, lying on your side, tucked into bed, with screen rotate turned off. that’s just how it works. that’s just facts.

[the-true-vessel]

The royal family employs no bodyguards. A would-be assassin discovers why.

[the-true-vessel]

Not Meant To Be Like This

Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Avenger!Steve x Female!Agent!Reader Word Count: 680

Content/Warnings: omegaverse - heat triggering; smut: vaginal fingering

Additional Notes: One of four short alpha drabbles triggered by an ask from @biteofcherry for a very horny Monday and Alpha April.

“Stop that now,” you sputter, looking back over your shoulder at him.

Steve frowns. “What? Breathing?”

You glower at him.

Huddled and hiding in a metal supply closet, neither of you has moved the last few minutes, and the giant alpha is as close it gets without touching you for lack of space available in the cramped darkness the two of you are desperately hoping keeps you from detection by the Hydra agents who have arrived to investigate this old facility just as you and Steve had an hour before.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” you snap back. Because that’s the only thing he had been doing.

But it was too much, and you’re frustrated you didn’t decline the mission because you knew you were dangerously close to your heat.

“Agent,” his tone is disapproving.

He hasn’t been rude, but he’s certainly been aloof since leaving base that morning on this assignment.

This was your first mission alone with the super soldier, and that’s part of why you had said yes, wanting to prove yourself and work closely with someone you admired so much on the team.

You turn your head back to look at the wall in front of you.

“This is not only humiliating, but dangerous considering our predicament, but your… your alpha scent is suddenly more than I can take. I’m at the tipping point of a heat.”

He’s quiet, and you can’t look at him.

He shifts behind you.

Closer.

“Steve,” you hiss. You warned him. What was he thinking?

“Omega,” he says, voice low, right next to your ear.

You whimper.

He presses closer.

Primary resistance is at a critical low.  

“This is not what I planned at all,” he whispers. “I thought I might ask you on a proper date, court you, all the old-fashioned way.”

Was that why he’d been so uncharacteristically cooler with you today? Trying to be professional but coming off as aloof?

Your mind cannot process because you are desperately trying to stave off your heat.

But then he presses even closer, pushing his chest flush up against your back.

And then he scents at the juncture of your neck, and it takes everything in you to swallow back the whimper that wants to escape.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whisper franticly.

“There’s no way out right now. We’re surrounded,” he murmurs against into your ear. “I did not mean to push you to the brink of a heat, but there’s no telling how long we’ll have to stay like this. Do you trust me?”

You shiver, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Omega, do you trust me?”

“Yes, Alpha,” you submit.

He turns you around to face him. His eyes focus on you, serious. “Rather than risk triggering your heat,” he says, “I want to slowly ease you into it so that you and I can ride you through, keep it controlled, keep you safe, because we may not be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Alpha!” What he’s proposing is a huge gamble.

You don’t realize you’re trembling until he smoothes his hands up and down your shoulders. “Hey, eyes on me. Take a deep breath in.”

You do, and your eyes widen, because his scent fills your lungs.

“Now, close your eyes and breathe out slowly, I’ll be with you through all of it, sweet Omega.”

You close your eyes and exhale.

His right hand moves to your hip. He slowly slips two fingers into the waistband, then drags them along to your navel.

“Breathe,” he reminds you.

Then he unzips your pants and slips his fingers into your panties.

He swallows your gasp covering your mouth with his, engulfing you in a kiss, and he plunges his fingers into your slick channel, pumping slowly.

“Stay quiet, stay with me,” his words are fervent, urgent, and an alpha command. “Your heat is mine, Omega, but I’m going to keep this slow and keep you safe.”

As your hind brain is taking over, Steve presses a kiss over your bonding spot. “I want all your heats, just know that.”

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

[the-true-vessel]

letting a boy slide inside of me, but not letting him move. then i use my vibrator to make myself cum while he squirms and trys not to fuck into me, begging me to let him move

[the-true-vessel]

Concept:

I’m using your pussy to edge myself while we cuddle under a blanket on the couch watching TV. We’re both just loosely paying attention while I slowly slide my cock in and out of you. Sometimes stopping just to let it twitch and pulse while it’s fully inside you. I have no intention of cumming any time soon. I just want to feel your pussy around my cock and see how you react to it.

I’m tracing my fingers across your skin and grabbing at your hips and thighs as I slowly fill you up over and over again. Your pussy is so warm around my cock. I can’t get enough of it. I just want more. I want to stay inside of you. Just edging. Just enjoying how good your pussy feels around my cock. I could cum at any moment, but I just love how this feels, how wet you sound as I slide into you, how you moan as I fill you up. I just love feeling this close to you, and I'm not at all ready to fill you with cum just yet.

We both barely know what’s going on in the show anymore. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is how good this feels. How much I crave you and your pussy. How much I want to fill you with cum, but also how much I just want to keep enjoying this. Just bringing myself right up to the edge again and again but never going over it.

You reach your hand down between your legs and start rubbing your clit as I fuck you. But you’re not trying to edge yourself. No, you want to cum. You want to cum all over my cock and make me cum with you. You know I will. You know I can’t hold back when your pussy is constricting around my cock and you’re squirming around so vigorously. You know I’m going to fill you with cum. And you want it. You want to be full. You want every last drop in your pussy.

You rub your clit very slowly at first. Slow enough that I think you're just edging yourself with me. I love when you do that. I love watching you make yourself feel even better. But then you start rubbing your clit a little faster—a little harder—like you're trying to build yourself up to cum. And I notice. “Fuck babe, I see what you’re doing. You know that’s going to push me over the edge right?” You just moan back at me and keep rubbing your clit. Not letting up. Just getting yourself more and more worked up. Closer and closer to that edge.

“Fuck, okay baby. Do it. Cum all over my cock. I need to feel it. I need to feel you cum,” I say as I wrap my fingers around your neck and look you straight in the eyes, “cum for me.” I watch as your body starts to contort and shake. "Mmmm, yes babe. Fuuuck. Cum all over it." You grab my forearm with both hands and just hold on as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Your pussy gets so tight around my cock as you shake and squirm on it that I just can't hold back any longer. I can't stop myself from filling you with cum. I let out a long and deep moan as I lose control of my body and cum starts pouring out of my cock inside of you. I can hardly even hold your neck anymore. I just wrap my arms around you and hold tightly as the orgasm courses through my body, making me shake and squirm and moan with you. "Mmm, I fucking love cumming with you like that."

Eventually we calm down and our breathing returns to normal, but I never pull my cock out of you. I just leave it inside. Still moving it ever so slightly. Just to keep it hard. Just to keep it inside you. Just to keep feeling you. I’m not done with you yet.

[the-true-vessel]

Flood

Bucky Barnes x female reader x Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Little Worshipper Masterlist

Main Masterlist

summary: Waking up between Steve and Bucky may finally make your desperate dreams come true.

warnings: smut; consensual; D/s undertones; power imbalance; orgasm denial finally leading to permission; degradation; slight objectification; creampie; aftercare is included;

This is a follow-up to Soaked.

You voted for those two ruining you this weekend, so here you go.

You rarely had trouble sleeping and being squeezed between two warm, solid bodies somehow deepened that state of bone-melting relaxation. Bucky and Steve worked better than a weighted blanket, even though neither of them laid on top of you. Their limbs were enough to make you feel anchored and protected. 

However, as blissful your sleep was, it was startled by your more active brain areas awaking.

And it was the supersoldiers’ fault, too.

Really, you couldn’t blame your mind from creating erotic images and rousing your unconscious body ready for what you desperately craved. 

You woke up just as your dream self was about to come (from having Bucky slap your clit, while Steve fucked your ass).

Darkness filled your vision as your eyes opened; it took a few long seconds for your eyes to adjust and notice contours. You hoped that your startled awakening didn’t stir anyone else from their sleep, but as your eyes met Bucky’s glinting gray-blue irises you realized it was too late to fake sleep. 

Your breath hitched as the lights very slowly filled the bedroom. Then Steve’s hand that’s been splayed on your hip traveled down your thigh. 

Bucky yanked the covers away, exposing your naked bodies. Steve gripped under your knee and forced your leg over his, spreading you open to their curious gaze. 

“So wet, starburst.” Steve’s voice was a velvety, soft caress, all the while his grip tightened when you instinctively tried to close your legs. “And we haven’t even touched you.”

“We were planning on it, you know,” Bucky reached out his hand and trailed a single digit along your collarbone and down over your breast. “On tormenting your sweet body while you slept. Getting you all nicely wet and needy.” 

“It seems your body already knows to prepare for us.” Steve hooks an ankle over your calf to keep your leg pinned as he moves his hand toward your pussy. “As a good little worshipper should.” 

When Steve’s fingers touched your slick folds, you couldn’t contain the gasp. Nor the way your hips rolled up, begging for more of the contact that has been denied to you for so long. 

They cooed at you in unison.

They moved coordinated, too.

Steve’s fingers spread your folds, tracing a line down and up, as Bucky flicked the pads of his fingers over your stiffening nipple. When Steve’s digit circled your clit, Bucky’s fingers moved to your other nipple, rubbing around it. 

They didn’t rush, but there was a steady increase of pressure and pace. They rolled you fully onto your back, with Steve still pinning your leg down. Bucky was pressed to your side, you felt the twitch of his dick against your thigh. 

Usually, you needed time with the foreplay, but somehow Bucky and Steve turned you into a writhing, pleading mess quickly. Perhaps it was the double teaming that overwhelmed your senses; or maybe the denial which kept you on the brink for so long. All it took was for Steve to draw a few eights across your clit and Bucky’s mouth to close around your nipple, and you were fisting the sheets and moaning. 

“Oh!” A high pitched keen bubbled on your lips as Steve slid a single finger inside you. 

“For someone so eager to take two supersoldiers, you’re very snug, starburst.” Steve angled his body, so that he could look down at your face as he pushed his finger in and out of your pussy. 

“I think it turns her on,” Bucky’s chuckle tickled your nipple, “that her tight holes will stretch around our cocks.” 

“She’s so tight, it’s going to feel like heaven.” Again, they talked to each other, speaking of you as if you were only a toy for them to use. To take whatever they gave you. 

Steve inserted a second finger and you nearly bowed in half from how good it felt. Your walls contracted and your breath turned ragged. 

You were so damn close. 

“Not yet,” Steve withdrew his fingers and you felt like bursting into tears.

Instead, you whined and kicked your free leg (since the other was trapped under Steve’s weight, as if he somehow predicted you’d be prone to kick him). 

Bucky grinned, sharing a knowing look with Steve above you. They both moved and for a split of a second you were terrified that they would just leave you all dripping and desperate. Again. But Bucky merely scooted back, while Steve knelt between your splayed legs. 

“Behave,” he admonished, tapping your puffy folds and the clit peeking from between them. 

“You’ll get to cum, no worries.” He dipped his fingers into your pussy, pumping them slowly a few times and then withdrawing. 

You watched, breath almost withheld, as he smeared your sticky juices along his hardened cock. That glorious, big cock, the sight of which had your walls clenching. 

“But you’ll be coming around me.”

Then he was pushing into you, angling his body forward, but not lying on top of you. His eyes held your gaze captive as he pushed the tip past the barrier of your hole. Your whole body tensed, heat filled you in a tsunami-intense wave, your toes curled. 

So much delicious torment. So much denial. And finally you were granted something you’ve been craving. That moment you realized it wasn’t even the orgasm that you wanted so much, but the ultimate intimate connection. 

Though your body definitely longed after that orgasm.

The men have strained you to that edge enough times that your body was primed to snatch it, before it disappears. Steve didn’t even fully sink in when the coil snapped.

Your own eyes widened in surprise as you cried out. Your cunt clenched tight, your muscles tensed. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” Steve goraned, his eyes not once leaving your face. 

“Looks fucking good, too.” Bucky moaned, stroking his length. His gaze swept back and forth between your face, the point where Steve’s dick was stretching your opening, and Steve’s face. 

Steve didn’t give you time to fall into that softly pliant, post-orgasmic state. He pressed in, shushing you as you made little mewling noises at the slight discomfort of his cock filling you more than you ever experienced. 

When he bottomed out, he slipped his hands beneath your buttocks and lifted your hips as he knelt up. Steve easily held your hips elevated; high enough your feet weren’t even touching the mattress anymore. You squeaked at the new position and the angle that allowed him to stay deep. 

“Now,” the corner of Steve’s mouth tugged upwards in a dangerous smirk, “let’s keep the needy worshipper cumming, since she claims to be so devoted.” 

Unexpectedly, Bucky was bending across your bowed body, his hot breath fanning the top of your mound as he leaned his head down to where you and Steve were connected. 

Steve slowly withdrew. Then Bucky’s tongue flicked over your clit. 

“Oh God!” Your moan was choked.

“Gods, little worshipper.” Steve corrected, amused. 

Then he started moving, hard and deep. You had no idea how Bucky was able to keep at it, but his tongue was merciless on your swollen clit; every few thrusts switching to lick inches of Steve’s cock as he pulled out. 

They had you screaming your release twice, squeezing tears out of your eyes from the intensity of sensations. It was bliss, being allowed to come after denial, but it was also overwhelming. Especially with the way you had zero control of your own movement, being used like a ragdoll. 

Through glassy vision you watched Bucky kiss his way up Steve’s torso; he bit lightly into Steve’s neck before capturing his mouth in an imperfect, hot kiss. Through the haze of your own blood pounding in your head and the sounds of slapping skin and your squelching pussy, you heard an awed “You look good together. You taste good together, too.” 

Bucky settled down beside you, bending down to nibble on your lips playfully. The way you panted into his mouth, your tongue shyly meeting his, seemed to please Bucky greatly. 

He traced a line down your arm and gently unclenched your fingers from around the crumbled sheet. Guided your hand to his hard cock, wordlessly showing you how to stroke him. He pushed two of his fingers between your open lips then rubbed your own saliva over your nipples. 

“Seems you like taking it, starburst,” Bucky hummed, tweaking your peaks. “Just being a good, obedient worshipper and taking whatever you’re given.” He pinched your nipple. “Say it.”

“I- I like it,” you complied, trying hard not to lose focus on how to move your fist over Bucky’s dick.

“Good girl.” Steve praised, gently lowering your ass to the mattress. 

“Good little worshipper, serving her gods-” he didn’t slip out, keeping his cock buried in your fluttering pussy as he settled his weight on top of you- “spreading for us like a perfect, eager vessel for our cum.” 

You moaned at that; a pinch of weak protest, but mostly a sound of pleasure from combined stimulation. Being filled and fucked, being used, being made to give Bucky pleasure, all the while being addressed as an object. 

“You think she’ll like being filled?” Bucky withdrew his hand from between your bodies as Steve’s chest crushed your boobs. 

“I think she’ll love it,” came Steve’s sure reply. At your glazed over gaze staring up at him in devotion, he chuckled darkly: “She loves being our cumdump.” 

Was it the spot Steve hit mercilessly as he fucked you, or the degrading words, but your body shattered in another orgasm. Much to their satisfaction.

“That’s it, starburst.” Steve’s breath turned ragged, hips slamming into yours in rough strokes. “Open up for my cum. No need to be shy about it. A worshipper is allowed to take pleasure from being used and filled.”

You spluttered incoherent noises; a staccato of whimpers as Steve sped up, chasing his release. A long, strained groan combined with your gasps as you felt the warmth of Steve’s spend spilling inside of you. 

Your cunt squeezed his throbbing cock - eagerly, as they predicted. 

Steve’s large hand framed your face; thumb and forefinger squeezing your cheeks slightly. His own face was flushed as he stared down at you; a strand of silky hair fell across his forehead.

“Thank me for filling you with my cum.” 

“Thank you for fucking me and filling me with your cum.” Despite your voice quivering, you were quick to follow his command. “Thank you for making me come.” You added hastily, too. 

Steve huffed a laugh; dark sternness of his features melting away, forming crinkles around his eyes. He leaned down, brushing his lips against yours. He kissed you slowly and almost tenderly, reinstalling that emotional connection. 

He was still gripping your cheeks when he ended the kiss and he used that hold to force your head to turn to the side. Your gaze immediately landed on Bucky’s cock and your hand still wrapped around it. 

“That’s right, little worshipper,” Bucky intoned almost menacingly, “you’re not yet done serving.”

He made you squeeze your hand tighter and speed your moves, then knocked your hand away. That’s when Steve slowly pulled out of you, a thick trickle of his cum leaking out of you in his wake. He sat back, leaning against the headboard and watching Bucky settle between your spread legs. 

Bucky’s gaze dragged from your face down your body. His eyes darkened and he licked his lips hungrily as he watched the white streak of cum seeping out of your pussy. He fisted his own cock, giving it a few more jerks as he stared at the mess of you.

“Do you know what will happen now?” Bucky lifted his eyes to your face.

“You’ll fuck me?” You asked hesitantly, though you sensed that it was more of you hoping than what was actually going to happen. 

Bucky flashed you a wolfish grin.

“No, starburst.” He shook his head. He bent your legs and pressed them against your chest, his hips pressing into your ass. 

“Now, I will fill my cumdump.” 

With that, he thrust his cock into your tight cunt. You were so hot and snug. And so fucking creamy. It was a dizzying sensation Bucky couldn’t compare to anything else. He cursed under his breath as he felt the mixture of your juices and copious amounts of Steve’s cum. 

Your eyes widened as you felt the hot spill of seed filling you. Bucky really didn’t need to fuck into you to reach his climax. 

That he simply used you as a vessel for his release had your post-orgasm softened nipples stiffen into hard peaks anew. The jolt of arousal shot straight to your clit, too. 

“Fuuuck!” Bucky groaned; his face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed. 

He stayed buried inside your pussy as his cock throbbed in last spurts. 

When he opened his eyes, amazement shone in his blue irises. He looked at Steve, some silent but meaningful understanding passing between the two of them. Then his gaze returned to you, just as soft and full of feeling.

Bucky stroked one of your calves and kissed your ankle. 

“You’re a perfect cumdump, starburst. A delightful little worshipper. We’re so damn lucky to have found you.” 

“She found us, if we’re being precise.” Steve chimed in. 

A few minutes later - after both Steve and Bucky had their fill of staring at your messy pussy and making a few more comments that were arousing you in a twisted way - Bucky carried you to the bathroom and into a bath. He didn’t join you in it, but was there beside you, tenderly cleaning you up. 

When you exited, the sheets on the bed had all been replaced with a fresh set and Steve was already halfway through making breakfast. They insisted on you sitting at the small, round dining table, wrapped in a blanket and being served food and tea. 

As you held the warm mug in both of your hands, sipping steaming brew slowly and watching Bucky and Steve move around the kitchen, you realized you didn’t feel any awkwardness or shame, which would be expected considering how they defiled you. 

They exchanged small smiles and sweet kisses between each other, but also with you. A brush of fingers on your shoulder when Steve brought you tea; Bucky pulling your feet to rest in his lap while he sat in the other chair at the table. They kept you included, as if it was most natural. 

For the first time in a very long time you felt wanted and cared for. 

And yeah, thoroughly used. In the best way. 

[the-true-vessel]

ok i'm looking at the original script and i am visibly shaking

[the-true-vessel]

So Good | virgin!Steve x reader

summary: Steve accidentally creampies you

warning: accidental cream pie, smut, 18+ to interact

feedback and/or comments are always welcome :)

-

Steve doesn’t realize what he had been missing until he slides in.

Keep reading

[the-true-vessel]

[the-true-vessel]

Best blurb of the year so far

This is from “The Witches are Coming,” by Lindy West. If there are more paragraphs like this in that book, I really want to read it.

[the-true-vessel]

Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky x Pornstar!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI (Porn with a substantial amount of plot fingering, P in V, pet names, bucky barnes.)

Author's Note: Installment 4 here we go! So sorry for the delay but writing should be coming more close as I enjoy my spring break! Hope you all enjoy and happy readings Buns!

Tony Stark was always looking for the next best thing to boosts his websites rating. 

“Any of the scenes catching your eye?” 

Bucky looked up from the script titles, eyes meeting his boss, a shake to his head. 

‘Step-sister helps me relax’ 

‘Horny sitter cums clean’ 

‘Caught stepbrother smelling my underwear’ 

Bucky grimaces at that one, “Jesus stark, who the hell wrote these titles?” he says as he slides the page back at his boss. 

Tony laughs as he picks up the paper he laid out for Bucky minutes prior to scan them again himself. His grimace mirrored his stars, he's tossing the page back down on the desk, “they were sent to me by the scripting company,” he answers with a heavy breath, “apparently this is what the people want, this is the sex that’s selling.” 

Bucky’s looking down at the page again, reading through the titles, “stark hubs dabbled in these categories before, but shouldn’t we be bringing something new, something we haven’t filmed before instead of just slapping on a raunchy title to one of our viewers favorites?” 

Tony tilts his head, “that would be ideal, yes – but this is what is selling right now, this is what the viewers want.”  

The brunette shakes his head rubbing at his stubble, “Do you have the list of costars for me this week?” 

Tony goes to answer his question but a knock stops him, both their eyes going to the door. Pepper pops her head in with a warm smile a paper in her hand, “got the list of girls that are available for this week.” She says letting herself in, you following in right after her a warm smile and greeting on your lips, Bucky returns the sentiment. 

“Wonderful,” Tony grins grabbing the page from his wife, looking it over before sliding it to him, “got that list for you right here Barnes.” Bucky gives his boss an unamused look, grabbing the page to scan the names, his eyes finding your name right away looking over your open days. 

“Y/n sit,” Tony offers the seat next to Bucky, “maybe you and Pepper can help us here.” Bucky continues to scan the list of names and days available while Tony explains what they had gone over before you and Pepper had come in. 

Bucky’s placing the list down just as you’re picking up the list of titles, Tony laughs at the grimace that kisses your features, “this came from the scripting company? You question passing the page to Pepper, “are they running out of titles?”  

Peppers reaction is similar to yours, “this is what’s  selling?” Tony nods leaning back in his chair, “unfortunately it is, it’s all the hype right now.” 

“Getting caught smelling your stepsisters underwear though? I mean Im not kink shaming but that cant be that hot.” 

Bucky chuckles next to you, “My thoughts exactly, the only way that title is selling is if the sex that comes after.” 

You nod turning to Pepper, “I guess I’ll do solos and Cams this week, work on my views.” Your boss nods jotting it down already, Bucky turns to your brows furrowed, but Tony asks the question burning his tongue, “not feeling up to working with the guys this week kid, the soldier not do his job last week?” 

You laugh, “the soldier did his job and then some -” 

“So what’s the problem then?” stark jumps in. 

“Aside from the bad titles,” you say pointing to the paper, “m’not really comfortable with the list of costars left to choose from, I’d rather get myself off.” 

“I think I get you off just fine y/n.” it’s out of Buckys mouth before he can stop it. You turn to catch his gaze, “I could take any of those titles and have you coming within the first thirty minutes.” 

Your tongue runs along your cheek, “I know you can, but I’m not trying to step on any toes.” 

The brunettes brows furrow, head tilted in question, “step on toes?” Tony questions drawing your attention away from Bucky. You nod, you hadn’t wanted to bring this up, but from the look on the broad-shouldered brunette sitting next to you, he deserved to know. “Carter approached me in the lockers this morning, said she had Bucky the whole week.” You leave out the part where she said Bucky only filmed with you for the views and now that your ratings were high enough his job of filming with you was done. “She had overheard me and Wanda talking about our plans for this week, I mentioned wanting to work with Bucky, that’s when she approached me to tell me she had you for the week.” 

He licks over his lip, jaw ticking, “So its not that I don’t want to work with you, and have you fuck me silly to one of those raunchy titles,” you say drawing a low whistle from Tony,  but you wanted to make your intentions of working with him still known. “But I assumed you were booked for the week with the way Carter approached me this morning – I’m not trying to make enemies of the girls.” 

“Listen kid,” Tony speaks up drawing your attention, “schedules have to go through me for final approval, Carter can say she has Bucky booked for the week but if it’s not approved by me it ain’t happening, so if you wanna work with him add it to your schedule and I’ll give the final approval, and given the ratings the two of you have been getting it’ll be the first approved.” 

“Give me Friday,” you say gaze finding Bucky’s, “I’d like to start my weekend off with a bang, won’t be a problem – right soldier.” 

Bucky runs his devious tongue over his lower lip, “not a problem at all, I’ll give you something to hold you over till next week.” 

Tony claps his hand, grin on his features, “you sure you just want Friday kid?” Bucky watches you nod your head, “yeah, I really wanna do some solos with some new pieces I purchased last week.” The man raises a brow, “pieces we might get a peek of Friday?” 

“I have the perfect piece.” 

Tony grins, “well its settled you’ll do solos Monday through Thursday film with the soldier Friday.” 

“Thank you Tony.” 

“No problem kid,” he replies watching you and his wife stand the two of you making your exit. He watches you wave at Bucky promising to see him Friday it’s only after the doors closed behind the two of them that Tony turns to his star. “Something tells me you’ll see her before Friday.” 

Bucky shakes his head with a chuckle, “unless she accepts an invitation to join us at the bar when we go during the week I won’t see her till Friday.” 

“Speaking of Friday,” Tony turns the discussion, “how would you feel filming something new.” 

Bucky looks at his boss in question, “you mean something not on the list?” Tony nods, “mobile recorded videos have been a hit lately on other sites, I’m thinking we could dip our toes, try a new category here at stark hub.” 

“What did you have in mind?” the brunette questions. 

“So where do you want me?” 

The kitchen. 

The living room. 

Shower. 

Bucky wanted to take you apart on every inch of his apartment, and the longer he stood here watching you in that set the longer he had time to think maybe going along with starks idea hadn’t been his best. Yes, it had been Starks bright idea to have Bucky film an ‘amateur’ scene with y/n where he had her in his bed to see what the viewers might think about it, but it had been Bucky who offered his actual bed, that probably wasn’t the smartest thought he’s had, amongst all the filthiest. 

“B,’ you laugh softly, “if you want, we can get a set instead, maybe just haul your sheets with us so its mor natural - this is your space I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, I’m sure Tony will understand and can set us up.” Your words seem to bring him out of his reverie, his gaze finding yours, “sweetheart,” he chuckles licking over his lower lip, “I am anything but uncomfortable right now, if anything I’m holding myself back from taking you on every surface of my space I want you everywhere.” 

A grin pulls at your lips, “well no one's here to tell us what to do, so why don’t you?” 

The growl ripping from his chest is your only warning as he closes the distance between the two of you, hands going around you as he grips at your under thighs hoisting you in his arms. 

You let out a surprised laugh, your arms hooking around his neck though it’s short-lived as he drops you on his bed, his body covering yours, lips a breath away. “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me soldier?” 

Bucky consumes your laugh with a press of his lips to yours, and a roll.of his hips that has you moaning into his mouth. 

“You feel how happy you’ve made me?” 

You arch up into the press of his hips as you chase his lips, “put it in – please.” 

He groans into your parted lips; stark was really testing his patience with this scene he offered him. “I plan on it, but right now I need you to be a good girl and get yourself real comfortable in my sheets, ass out for me to play with, you think you can do that for me?” 

You’re nodding your head in answer but it’s the soldiers’ time to play. He grips your jaw, “words Eden, you can’t be that cock drunk yet.” 

“Yes sir.” 

He grins planting a kiss on your waiting lips, “good girl, get up there.” You do as he says sliding up the bed, you don’t get far before he stops you with a hand on your hip. “Oh, and Eden keep being a good girl for me and you’ll really be staying the night tonight.” 

His words have your heart racing in your chest, teeth biting back the grin that threatens to break your lips. You're thankful for the pillow and sheets that hide the warmth filling your cheeks, though it does little to quell the butterflies erupting in your stomach. Everything smells like him; you want to drown in it. 

You situate yourself in his sheets curled onto your side, leg hiked high in the sheets leaving your bottom pushed out for him. You burrow yourself into his pillow eyes shutting as if you were really asleep, as if he had really let Eden Ivy stay the night.  

The room is quiet, darker now as he shuts off the light, you can feel him shuffle around his room, but don’t know where he is till you feel the dip of his bed behind you. Behind your closed lids you can see the faint light of the flash from his phone's camera. A true ‘amateur’ film touch. 

His touch comes shortly after and you can’t help the quiet ‘sleepy’ moan that builds in your chest, he shushes you softly, as his hand dancing over the skin of your exposed thigh. His hands feel you up groping you through the flimsy red fabric of your set. It doesn’t conceal the skin beneath it, the set so sheer he can see your the slick gathering between your thighs. 

He cups your pussy drawing another murmured moan from your lips, you shift in your ‘sleep’ and he stills. When you settle again he pulls the ‘wet’ fabric to the side giving the camera a picturesque view of your “petty wet pussy”. A shiver rolls itself down your spine when he slips a digit into your wet awaiting heat, it takes all of you not to ‘wake-up’, you moan instead. He fucks you with the lone digit, pulling it out just enough to stick another alongside the first.  

“So wet Eden, you dirty girl, wonder what you’re dreaming of.” 

You push back into his hand letting your moans build as he fucks his fingers into you, he doesn't let up in the build of your pleasure, sliding a third finger in to stretch you out for his cock. “Gotta get you stretched out for me Eden, gonna fuck this pretty little pussy – make it better than your dreams.” 

The ‘please’ is out of your lips before you can stop yourself, he chuckles body finally finding yours as he presses up against you, his phone still angled at your pussy where he fucks his fingers into you with vigor. “My pretty girl waking up for more, didn’t feed you enough earlier?” he questions. 

His words have you whimpering, he presses a wet kiss to your neck, licking your skin, “don’t worry baby,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you, don’t even have to open your eyes, gonna take real good care of you.” You find you want to open your eyes; you want to see him. You want to look into those cerulean blue eyes gone dark, those all to pink pouty lips parted in pleasure, you wanted to kiss him.  

And you do, your head turning, seeking out his lips, he goes to you easily, lips finding yours tasting you with his tongue.  

“Fuck I gotta get my cock in there, put you right back to sleep sweet girl.” 

His fingers slip from your pussy hand hooking around your thigh as he gets you into position. He slips his grey joggers down just enough to get his hardened cock out. He gets annoyed with his phone trying to find the perfect angle to slide against you, he finds it groan building in his chest as he presses forward, the head of his cock pressing past your drenched folds, his hips roll forward the tip of his cock brushing against your clit. 

The noises you make are music to his ears, he wants more. 

Grabbing hold of his leaking cock he drags it through your slick folds pressing into your warm heat, a moan falling from your lips as he bottoms out, your body pushes back, ass flush against his hips. 

His head meets your shoulder, ragged breaths fanning across your skin, “fuck this pussy is addicting,” he groans feeling you flutter and clench around the length of him. 

He pulls his hips back, cock sliding out from within you till only the tip is left, he slides back in again making sure to get every inch of it. The buildup is slow, as he fucks up into you, he wants to capture every part of the way your pussy takes him, and he lets you know just how well she is. “She takes me so well, always so fucking hungry for it.” 

If you had trouble keeping quiet then, it's almost impossible to quiet your moans now as he fucks into you with vigor, a steady speed which has the sweetest groans of pleasure falling from your lips and his. “Fuck you’re close aren’t you, can feel her clenching for me baby, you wanna cum for me?” He quickens his thrusts, pressing himself deep, your walls fluttering around him as pleasure builds.    

“Soldat,” you whine low in your throat as if you’re being roused from the depths of your sleep. “There she is,” he chuckles picking up speed needing to bring you to that release. It doesn’t take you long to fall apart around him, his cock taking you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you in waves of pleasure. Moan's part your lips, fingers curling around the sheets as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your stage name falls from his lips in a silent prayer, “come for me,” you breathe, “fill me up again.” 

Your words have him falling over the edge with you, his jaw clenching as his orgasm washes over him, his stomach muscles tense, as he spills into you, warm spurts filling your core. “Fuck take it, take my cum Eden.” 

You’d take it all and then some if he let you. 

You groan when he slips his cock from you, the flash on his phone bright as he shines it between your legs capturing the moment his cum slides from your pussy. You moan when he pushes it right back in with his fingers. He stops the video, the light going with it as he tosses his phone somewhere on his bed the hand that wasn’t buried between your thighs cradling your head, bringing you closer to him his lips finding yours in the dark. 

“Does this mean Eden Ivy gets to stay the night?” 

“No, but you do.” 

[the-true-vessel]

Dressed to Kill (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 9533 Summary: A wrench is thrown in your latest mission when the world’s best assassin interrupts your carefully planned hit. Now you’ve got to distract the Winter Soldier so your crew can carry out the objective. Just so long as you don’t get distracted, too… Warnings: NSFW (language, smut), 18+ A/N: Just in time, here’s my entry for @barnesrogersvstheworld​‘s 3k challenge! Congrats Attie! 😘 My prompt was ‘through the looking glass’ (two people share a moment when their eyes meet across a glass barrier). This got a tiny bit carried away, but hopefully you don’t mind :3 Still trying to figure out how to write smut, so uh… let me know what you think!!! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

“Kasie.”

“Mm?” Kasie’s voice crackles in your comm device.

“Remind me why you made me leave the blanket in the car?”

“Discomfort builds character.”

“My character is plenty built, thank you very much,” you mutter. You shift on your elbows and add concrete to your list of least favorite surfaces to lie flat on. The lip of the building is just high enough to keep you from lying flat. Without the blanket or elbow pads, you’re suffering.

Well, discomfort for a couple hours is worth the payout. At least it’s warm out.

The building across the street is a posh hotel, and on the second floor there’s a ballroom stuffed with elites. Fancy drinks, fancy chandeliers, fancy jewels all sparkle in the night.

Kasie’s in the getaway car downstairs, you’ve got the gun, and all you’re waiting for is confirmation that the target’s inside. That’ll come from Luka, who’s ferrying hors d'oeuvres around the ballroom. You can make him out through your scope, even if he is a few inches shorter than most of the other men in the room.

But no word yet. No sight of the target, either, though you’ve got your binoculars trained on the door.

Then again, the party only started thirty minutes ago. And your target is notorious for being fashionably late.

You check your watch. Yeah, he’s not showing up for another hour at least.

Great.

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