Steve Rogers Fluff - Blog Posts

༻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Tarzan!Steve Rogers x doctor!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | 6’6” Steve, feral behaviour/feral!steve, nomad!steve, fluff, scientist!reader, gentle giant!steve, soft!steve, size difference, SMUT - minors DNI, size kink, manhandling, unprotected sex, creampie, sort of animal-like behaviour, mentions of dead parents, specific warnings in each part.

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | S.H.I.E.L.D. had a lot of secrets, you just never expected one of them to be an actual person—a blue-eyed giant, wild manbeast at that.

♫ ·ﾟ𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝗧𝗼𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗪/𝗖 | 23.9K + 7.1K in blurbs

𝗔/𝗡 | well hello everyone! This is based on my short drabble about Tarzan!Steve, but changed a bit for storyline purposes. In this verse, Sam has always been Captain America and best friends with Bucky. Also, since I felt weird with consent from Steve’s side, there won’t be smut until part 2 where he’ll fully understand what sex is. BUT, there will be an alternative dark!Steve version that’s sort of just pure filth because why not. No gifs/photos belong to me, found bottom ones on Pinterest [1 | 2] all credits go to the original creators. [*=smut] ☼ 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐊𝐨-𝐟𝐢 ☼

Feel free to send blurb requests or asks about this series! ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!

For blurbs and the alternative dark version since this story is completed: 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 — ​˖◛⁺⑅♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

˗ˏˋ𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ⋰˚ 𝐂.𝐄. & 𝐂𝐨. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: (3/3)

(1/3)

(2/3)*

(3/3)*

Alternative DARK version*

What A World Drabble Masterpost: 1 - 2

Role Reversal: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐄𝐲𝐞 [feral!reader]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒/𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

bubbles

a lil about steve

marking*

typical jungle boy behaviour*

little hand

baby fever?

his mind, body, and soul*

9 kink drabbles* (see more drabbles in the gallery👇)

steve and his adventures with food: 1 — 2 — 3 — 4

steve wants a pet: 1 — 2

letters from steve

winter wonderland

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐘: tags

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬: #what a world drabble

Discussions/Drabbles: thots — fluff — dark — dark!reader — angst

All asks — Theories — Art — Ideas — Videos/TikToks — ??

Specific tag drabbles: sex toys* — periods — sex tape*

Tarzan!Steve aka WaW!Steve — Dad!Tarzan!Steve

Spicy Videos

Setting: Jungle

Do you think you could write about short sized! Reader working for Bruce banner as a lab assistant and Steve has a total crush on her.

Get A Life

You sat comfortably at your desk, analysing recent data on your computer screen. To an everyday person what would look like a jumbled mix of numbers and symbols to you made perfect sense. 

“Bruceee.”

“Ah-huh.” He responded, eye deep into a telescope.

“The optimal temperature for nuclear reaction is…” 

“100 million Kelvin… depends.”

“Figured.” You grumbled, nibbling on the end of a pen.

He rose from his stool, moving towards your desk and minimising the screen.

“This might sound hypocritical coming from me, but you need to get a social life.”

You re-opened the screen, eyes zoning in on him “This is social.” Gesturing between you both. 

“No this is work.” He minimised the screen again. 

“It’s a hobby.” You re-opened it,  

“That you get paid to do.” He minimised the screen once more.

Before you could continue your game of cat and mouse, a knock at the door caused both your heads to rise.

“Sorry to interrupt I just came to drop off these documents for Y/N.”

Your eyes darted up to the large frame leaning against the door, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he offered a soft smile, holding a thick manilla folder in his hands like it was nothing. 

“Oh yeah, okay, I was just about to go.” Bruce rose, walking past Steve.

Bruce raised his pointer finger at Steve, leaning in close and whispering while you were distracted by the screen in front of you “I…MIT won’t stop calling desperate for her to join so don’t… you know because I will go Hulk on your ass.” 

Steve gave him a respectful nod “I won’t.” 

“Good.” With a slap on the shoulder Bruce made his way out. 

Steve stalked towards you, placing the folder on your desk with a thud.

You skim through the contents only to find blank pages.

“These are all blank?”

“Yes, they are.”

“What… why would you… what?”

Steve’s hand rubbed the back of his head “I just wanted an excuse to come see you.” He smiled at you sheepishly. 

You sighed, rising from your desk making your way to the chemical cupboard with Steve close on your tail.

“I’m in the middle of making universe altering research breakthroughs Steven.” You thumbed through the walls of vials and chemicals.

Steven. Only you called him Steven. Not Rogers. Not Captain. Steven. And while he’d choke out anyone else who called him that besides his mother, he loved hearing his name fall from your lips. 

“Which is why I think you deserved a break.”

“Why is everyone so obsessed with me talking breaks around here?”

“Because you work the hardest.” You momentarily paused, turning your head over your shoulder, catching the sincerity on his face. 

“I’m not a superhero.” You shook your head. 

“You are, in a way…” He moved forward coming behind you as you reached upwards, pushing your weight onto your tippy toes to reach the container on the top shelf, your fingertips barely brushing it. Even in heeled boots you couldn’t even reach. 

With a swift motion, he placed his hand on your hip to pull you back slightly, raising his toned arm and grabbing the container effortlessly and handing it to you.

“I can’t even reach the top shelf.” Blush rose to your cheek at the feeling of his body so close to you. 

“Yes, but even superhero need help sometimes and more importantly… lives.”

“I have a life!” You moved out of his reach going back towards your desk. 

“When was the last time you had a beer with us? Or didn’t go into the lab for a day? Or went on a date?” He spat out.

You paused, turning on your heels, eyeing him.

“What do you want?” You said bluntly, crossing your arms over your full chest.

You were annoyed and he could tell. But he was absolutely obsessed with the way you looked in this moment, eyes piercing right into his soul through your glasses, your hair in a claw clip with strands sticking out and falling over your face. The tapping on your boot against the linoleum floor and the way your arms crossed pushed your chest together revealing a small sight of cleavage under your sweater. 

He shouldn’t have found it as sexy as he did. 

“I’d like you to take a break…”

You went to interject him and give him a 1000 reasons why you wouldn’t take a break until he finished…

“So, I can take you on a date.”

Your mouth fell agape but you were quick to recover with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Do you want me to warm up the CAT scan? Seems your brain has turned to mush from being in the ice so long.”

“Y/N please.”

“Steven, I don’t date.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not scientific and it’s not logical, it’s unexplainable nonsense that drives women to insanity.”

He crooked an eyebrow up at you. “I don’t think you could get more insane than you already are if that helps.”

You rubbed your temples turning on your heels to go back to your desk until you felt a strong hang grab your wrist and pull you back into a hard chest. 

“Y/N, I see what you do day in day out for this team, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. But I also see how when you’re focused your eyebrows knot together, how I know which pencils are yours because of the bite marks on ends, how at the end of every day you let your hair fall out and you shake it with your hands, how the sweat drips down your chest and soaks your sports bras in the gym, how when you make a sly comment everyone laughs because you’re funny without realising and I can’t stop looking at you and I won’t but I desperately want to see what’s in your mind behind formulas and data because I know there’s more to you than that so if you would give me the pleasure I really REALLY want to be the social life you so desperately need. I see you, more than you know. And while it may not be mathematical, it makes perfectly calculated sense to me.”

You sucked in your lips, emotions swelling inside of you. His head bowed towards you, foreheads touching. 

“Please.”

You nodded unable to form words as his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you in as his lips lightly brushed yours, forcing you to relax in his grip and reciprocate the tender kiss.

“I’ll see you at 7pm - don’t be late.” He gave you final kiss on your forehead, walking out with a beaming smile. 

Leaving you in shock as you finally let out the breath you’ve been holding in and warmth spread throughout your body. 

Reader adopts a cat to help her boyfriend Captain America, Steve rogers deal with the trauma and nightmares

Soxs

You were woken up to thrashing beside you in bed. Third night in a row. Sweat formed on Steve’s forehead with his face contorted in terror. You rolled over, placing a light hand on his shoulder, he instantly moved into you.

“Hey hey, honey… it’s just a dream.” You patted his head softly as his eyes slowly blinked open.

He let out a large sigh, sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. 

“Same one?”

“Same one.” He said in a defeated tone.

You rubbed his back soothingly before getting up to get a glass of water from the sink. Handing it to him in bed.

“Thanks honey.” You sat next to him as he took a large gulp, turning back to cuddle into your comforting frame. 

As he gently lulled off to sleep in your arms, large arms wrapped around you. You mind wandered to all the things you could do to help your poor guy.

3 WEEKS LATER

You placed the gold box in front of Steve on the couch. Holes punctured in the top and a shiny red bow in the middle.

“What’s this?” He looked up at you curiously. 

“Open it.” You smiled, taking a spot next to him.

Steve inched forward, slowly taking off the lid and peering inside the box.

“Oh my goodness.” Steve’s eyes widen in joy at the little ball of fluff, sitting pretty. 

The calico kitten let out a small meow, standing on its hind legs and pawing at the walls, desperate to be picked up.

Steve took the small kitten in his large hands, encompassing it carefully as he brought it to his chest. The kitten immediately rubbed his ear against Steve’s jaw, purring at the contact.

“Y/N… you… you didn’t… omg I love him.”

“Her. And you’re welcome. I looked it up and the purr of a cat can help relaxation and healing. So, I thought maybe a couple of kitten kisses will help you sleep through the night.” You beamed at him, your hand going to scratch the little one’s head.

“Her. She’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten. I can’t believe you’d do that for me.” Tears started to form in the captain’s eyes as his heart burst at the ball of fluff. 

“Think of her as our first baby.” You winked.

“Gotta name her… what do you think she looks like… Esmerelda, Fluffy, Ariel?”

“How about Soxs.” You grabbed the kittens’ paw, admiring the pattern of fur that gave her four perfect little white blocks.

“Soxs. Perfect.” He turned to you, kissing you on the mouth softly.

The two became inseparable with Soxs taking up permanent position sleeping between your heads at night.

The nightmares stopped but Steve got even less sleep after being woken up at 4am to Soxs wanting breakfast.

She'd follow him everywhere, doing little walks between his legs.

The whole of Avengers loved her, with Stark acting like a villain whenever she'd sit in his lap.

Her favourite place to nap was the Avengers meeting table.

Steve would feed her little slices of ham at dinner, dangling it under the table for her to catch.

A/N: Short and sweet. 😘☘️

A fluff where Steve Rogers and his wife reader dropping off their daughter or son to college for the first time. The two cried on how much their child has grown up

Off to College

A/N: Wait.. why am I crying 😭 This is, in my opinion, one of my best fluffs yet. Stop cutting onions guys!

WARNING: Tissues on hand needed.

“She’s too young.” Steve’s hands gripped the steering wheel, eyes focused straight ahead.

  “She’s 18 Steve. That’s the average American age to go off to college.” You replied to your husband. 

“You know I’m right here and can hear you guys, right? Like, theres no soundproofing between the back and the front seats.” Your daughter Sarah pulled out an air pod from her ear, jumping into the conversation.

“Well as I was saying, I don’t care I still think you should of stayed back a year at home.” Steve retorted, looking in the rear-view mirror at his little girl who now resembled that of a young woman about to go off to college.

“May I remind you, DAD, that at 18 you were joining the army to go fight in the second world war. Whereas I’m simply moving across the state.”

“In many ways my daughter going off to college and war are the same thing to me.”

You turned behind you and shared a puzzled look with your daughter. While she mostly resembled you, she had Steve’s piercing blue eyes. 

“How so?” You egged on your husband to elaborate.

“I’m scared shitless about both of them.” He let out a loud sigh.

“Dad… its fine!”

“Repeat to me the rules.”

“Omg not this again.” You put your forehead into your palm, dreading to listen to this speech for the 50th times.

“Dadddd” Sarah whined in the backseat

“So, help me God I will turn this car around, unless you repeat to me the rules, Sarah Mae Rogers.” He turned his head to the backseat, giving her his classic “I’m not playing around” eyes. 

“No drinking. No drugs. No “philandering” with the opposite sex…is that even word?”

“It is.” You and your husband said in unison

“No staying out past 1 and in the case of a national emergency inclusive of war, alien invasion, terrorist attack; extra-terrestrial...

“And domestic... don’t forget that!” He interjected

“…and domestic I am to find immediate shelter, call you to give you my location and wait until the ship arrives to take me to the safe house.” She groaned finishing the spiel.

“Good.” Steve smiled, satisfied with her memorisation of his rules.

You gave your daughter a sympathetic smile, knowing while some rules may get broken you had raised a smart, young woman with her wits about her. 

It’s not that Steve didn’t trust his daughter who he had trained in hand-to-hand combat since the age of 3, it’s just that he knew the world was scary. Sending his only daughter off alone, miles away from home terrified him. He wouldn’t be there to protect his little girl anymore. 

You exited the car to the chaos of move in day at the popular university. Steve insisted he take all the boxes up in one trip. All stacked high above him, he didn’t break a sweat carrying them up the 5 flights of stairs towards her dorm. 

Your daughter bowed her head in embarrassment as she walked 10 steps behind her father, watching as people stopped and stared at the superhero, whispers filled the halls as he gave kind nods to everyone who he walked past. 

You came up beside her,

“Mom everyone is staring why didn’t he just wait in the car!”

“Well neither of us were going to carry the boxes, besides your father is a respected man, he saved humanity that’s nothing to be embarrassed about!”  

“Yeah, I get it but he’s still embarrassing!”

You wrapped your arm around your daughter’s shoulder.

“You know he’s just as nervous as you are right?”

“Why would he be nervous? He’s not the one who has to be known as Captain America’s daughter!”

“No, he doesn’t.” You sighed stopping her in the hall and pulling her off to the side. 

“Do you remember when you were five and you really wanted to jump off the roof into the pool?”

“Yeah...”

“And we said no but you climbed up the ladder anyways and being five you miscalculated the distance between the ledge and the pool.”

“Yeah…”

“Who caught you before you hit the ground?”

“Dad…”

“Right and when you were 10 and you fell over your bike, breaking your arm… who was the first person who came to your aid and took you to the hospital?

“Dad”

“Exactly and when aliens invaded earth 3 years ago what was the first thing your dad did before going to headquarters?”

“He came to school and picked me up.”

“Exactly.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is from the moment you were in my belly your dad has spent every moment of his life trying to protect you from the world. He realises he’s not going to be right by side anymore… and he’s scared. Scared of losing you.”

“He’s not going to lose my mom, I’m an adult now I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.” 

“I know that, and he knows that. But it doesn’t matter how old or big or strong you get he is always going to care about you. It will always be his number priority to keep you safe and that’s not going to change anytime soon.” You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Your daughter looked down, biting her lip. 

“Come on let’s go unpack.”

You walked her into her dorm. 

You got to work setting up her room. She put up fairy lights on the wall, while you fluffed the pillows on her bed. Steve assembled all her little bits of furniture.

As a final touch, Steve pulled out a framed photo. Sarah in the middle, between both of your arms. She was only 3 in it, a big smile between her chubby cheeks, her arm up in superhero pose, dressed in her mini captain America shirt. It was his favourite family photo and lived on his bedside table. He looked at it a little, wiping a tear from his eye before he placed it on her bedside table.

“Alright you’re all set! We are going to head out now sweetheart you need anything else?” You chirped.

“Nope, I’m good. Thanks for helping guys.”

You gave your daughter, your final hugs and kisses and exited the room down the hall. 

She studied her room, satisfied with her interior decorating skills. Then suddenly, she noticed the photo that appeared had on her bedside table. She picked it up and held it in her hands. Suddenly, she felt the tears well up in her eyes.

“Wait!” She ran down the hall, just catching you both before you went down the stairs. 

You both looked back to see your daughter running towards you. With a thud she landed against her father’s chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug. Instantly, Steve hugged her back, pulling her tightly towards him. 

“I love you dad.” She whispered against his chest. 

Steve’s head fell to the top of his little… now big girl’s head. His hand encompassing her head. Kissing her forehead tenderly. “I love you too kiddo. Be safe.”

“I will.” Tears welled up in your eyes watching their embrace. She pulled out of the hug, gesturing towards you. 

“I love you mom.” “I love you too baby.” All 3 of you huddled together in an embrace. Both parents wanting to hold onto their daughter for a little longer. 

You all pulled out and said your now final goodbye. Brushing away tears. 

You held your husband’s hand as you exited the college dorm building.

“She’s too old for me now babe.”

“She’s never going to be too old for her daddy.”

He pulled you into his arm, kissing your forehead. 

Sarah was going to be just fine. And besides, she’ll be home in 2 weeks anyways to get you to do her laundry. 

TAGS: @royalwriteroftheuniverse (girl you're gonna wanna see this!)

Steve Rogers

Agent - angst smut fluff

Masterlist

Masterlist

Steve Rogers

Bucky Barnes

Peter Parker

Rules for requests

i've never read anything like this before. love it!!! :)

Threadbare (1)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader (see series)

Summary: Steve gets to meet his favorite designer, and you get a surprise visitor at work.

Warnings: none. Maybe a bit of creepy behavior but not from Steve. Yes, I did just want to use the leather jacket gif for shiggles. What's it to ya? WC 3355

Steve Rogers hates stuffy functions. He hates the brown-nosing. He hates trying to convince people who have everything to give scraps to people with nothing. He hates watching the excess and indulgence, even when he knows it ends up giving something to those in need. He hates it. He hates the whole lot of these stupid, asinine—

Steve takes a breath and smooths his hand down the buttery fabric of a double-breasted jacket hanging next to his intended garment.

Ok, fine, he hates the functions, but he actually enjoys the dressing up part.

He didn’t used to. No. The only outfit outside of his Cap suit that ever truly fit him—before or after the serum—was his SSR uniform, and coming from a time of nothing, Steve accepted that as a huge win.

And then he woke up in this world of excess and—what do they call it? Fast-fashion?— realized that what should be easier to acquire was much, much harder to find: room to breathe.

Steve may roll his eyes at Tony’s custom everything, but he admits internally that at least Stark’s comfortable all the time. Steve would settle for being comfortable in his own skin.

This helps though, this gloriously draped, stiff in a supportive way, heavy in a grounding way, and shapely button down. He doesn’t need a whole suit tonight; it’s not that kind of event. In fact, Steve wasn’t specifically invited. He heard Tony talking about the new collection by the designer of this shirt—which happens to be the label for 90% of Steve’s dressier clothing at this point—and Steve outright volunteered himself to go with Tony.

See, Steve Rogers is now a big, broad guy, and it’s been an adjustment, as well as plain difficult, to gather a wardrobe that isn’t custom tailored due to his sheer size and proportions. The team jokes about his tight shirts, but if he buys things large enough for his shoulders, his waist swims in fabric. Steve had to live off of stretchy clothing for the first three years he was out of the ice. He wasn’t out of his Cap suit long enough for the investment to be worthwhile. Then it took another several years before he discovered Tovarich.

The man must know what it’s like to be big and broad, that’s for sure. Steve may not be much for high fashion, but he’s genuinely gotten so much comfort and enjoyment out of Mr. Tovarich’s work that Steve wants to thank him personally. For once, being Captain America is a good card to play to ensure he gets to meet the designer.

Steve adjusts his rolled sleeves a bit in the mirror, smirking at himself for being a bit of a dandy concerning his look right now, but he’s determined to have a good time out with Tony. It’s just a fashion show. How difficult can it be?

Really damn difficult, that’s what it is.

Steve isn’t prepared for the bizarre press interest in who is there instead of what is being shown. He’s used to cameras flashing at him—especially because the bright and loud pops of flashes were much worse in the ‘40s—but Steve’s in awe of the models’ complete indifference while walking a straight line with a straight face in some of the simplest, most magnificent men’s wear he’s ever seen.

If all he had to do was tick boxes on a list to order things, Steve would be in big trouble with a full bingo card and an empty wallet. It’d be worth it though.

Tony tries to talk to him every so often, but the music is outrageously loud. Steve can’t hear a thing.

He gets tapped on the shoulder by some women sitting behind him, and they try to say some more things he can’t hear.

Everyone rises to clap, and Steve joins in, overwhelmed by the fast pace of all the outfits on repeat, when the man on his other side accidentally elbows Steve and drops his program. The paper flutters to land in front of Tony’s feet, so Steve picks it up, hands it back, and the man makes an appreciative face before gesturing vaguely at the runway and mouthing his admiration. Steve nods and smiles, happy he’s not the only one fanboying over clothes.

The lights change in the venue. The photography and clapping stop. Tony starts yammering on about an after party, but Steve wants to meet the designer.

“Oh, Cap, that walk-and-wave was as close as you’re getting today. Tovarich is a hot commodity. I’ll just get you a fitting sometime.” He clamps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder and tilts his head toward the refreshments. “Shall we?”

Darn. Steve should have done more research on how fashion shows work, but he hates how invasive online snooping feels. It was fine when he was catching up on history and historical figures. However, most of the ‘news’ now is not news at all, so he avoids searching for information that way. He doesn’t ask question about Mr. Tovarich because, in theory, it’s none of Steve’s business and Steve may or may not be slightly ashamed at how obsessed he is with something as trivial as clothing.

Fashion is not something he thought about until very, very recently. The most time he’s spent worried about what he puts on is his tac suit, and the main features of that are being blade resistant and bullet proof. Those things don’t exactly interest him so much as they are in his best interest.

So Steve is rather disappointed by the outcome of the evening, but he’ll manage. For once, he’s got a tiny bright light of something to look forward to in the form of a few more dress shirts and a very sharp vest.

He goes on with life as usual.

Months later and they’re doing this thing.

It’s called the Hellfire Gala, and apparently, it’s a big, big deal. Steve’s told everyone goes all out, that he’ll need to be dressed to the nines, and he realizes this is his opportunity.

Tony’s elated to make the arrangements for him with the Tovarich Atélier and plans to go with him. He wouldn’t stop grumbling about how awkward Steve might be, raving that he can’t have Steve getting a bad rap under his clout, so Steve shows up nervous.

Tony sends a text saying he’s running late. Of course he is, today of all days.

Steve shuts his eyes and lowers his head in gratitude that there are only two seamstresses when he first arrives. The ladies—one older and one younger—offer refreshments and ask a few questions about the event and what styles he might be interested in. He explains the getup needs to highlight the ‘Cap’ persona since the gala is a celebration of their work as Avengers, but other than that, it’s the-sky’s-the-limit for Tovarich.

The younger seamstress smiles at that and calls it ‘fun.’

Sure. That’s one word for it. Steve would also call it daunting.

As instructed, he stands on a small platform while the ladies bustle about speaking quietly to each other. Steve hears Tony ring the reception bell before any measurements have started, and he heaves out a sigh of relief.

“In time for the good stuff, am I?” Stark winks.

“Always perfectly welcome, Mr. Stark,” you, the younger woman, say politely. “Would you care for anything to drink?”

“Uh,” Tony smooths his hand down his current suit front, eyes flickering to Steve, “have you met me?”

Your smile widens. “Dominica, please,” you signal to your coworker.

Between your fingers, you’ve folded a scrap of paper, something you scribbled while Steve stood awkwardly on the pedestal (which isn’t to say he has stopped standing awkwardly), and Tony snatches the paper from your grasp, unfolding it to make a challenging, inquisitive face.

Steve huffs and glares, praying his friend doesn’t start hitting on Tovarich’s employee before the man even shows up. Steve isn’t the one to be worried about.

Stark takes Dominica’s proffered tumbler of brown liquor, saying nothing.

You are a ninja with the tape measure, gentle hands sliding over his chest and waist and—Steve swallows—his hips, all while rattling off numbers…which no one writes down. Steve moves his arms and legs when told. When you’re kneeling on the edge of the platform, eye level with his crotch, Steve decides to distract himself and get some answers.

“I’ve been looking forward to my first meeting with Mr. Tovarich. When might he arrive?”

Tony clears his throat, wincing. “Not possible, buddy.”

Steve tenses.

“I thought that—“

“You can’t meet him for the the first time.” Tony holds up a hand before Steve can move. “You already did. She’s measuring the distance between your balls and the floor.”

Steve startles out a ‘what,’ snapping his legs shut with your hand between his thighs.

“Captain Steve Rogers, please meet your favorite designer,” Tony beams, shoving his tongue against the inside of his cheek and hiking up his eyebrows.

Steve shrinks, face burning.

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” you introduce yourself with a lovely smile, “I will…need my hand to make your suit, sir.”

His open-mouthed impression of a fish is cut short by standing at attention, releasing the seal of his thighs. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

“Very polite,” you mutter before turning to Tony. “Mr. Stark, was that entirely necessary?”

“For the look alone, yes. My god, I’ll pay you again just to watch now that he knows.”

You push off the platform and practically skip over to Tony, reading over his shoulder. “How did I do?”

Tony looks at the piece of paper. “Damn it. Spot on,” Tony grunts.

“And that means…?”

“That I leave you alone for the rest of the consult,” Tony whines. “Fine, but make it worth it, buddy. Lady gets paid by the hour.” He snaps his fingers playfully. “Dominica, let’s take room two, my dear.”

Steve’s not sure what to do with his hands and mistakenly remains up high on the pedestal while you pull out a notebook and sit at a small table.

“Oh!” You look up at him with tender, lively eyes. “You may step down now.”

He feet seem to thunder to the floor even against the carpet. “I didn’t mean to—I just assumed that—I’m sorry, Misses—”

“It’s Miss,” you correct him. “And don’t worry. You are not the first, and you won’t be the last. Have a seat, Captain.”

“Steve.”

“Steve,” you correct yourself this time. “I’ll tell you a secret. I prefer that most people assume a man runs this business. You get to see people’s true colors when they finally find out.”

That doesn’t help Steve’s hot flush of embarrassment.

“You are one of the good ones. I can tell,” you add, adjusting to a fresh page in the notebook and marking the top corner.

In the silence Steve asks, “so you already knew my size?”

“You aren’t so different from my standard cut.”

“No,” he allows. Of course, he should have known that seeing as everything he buys from your label fits him so well. He kicks himself internally while trying not to frown at his slip up. It is, however, easy to keep a smile while basking in the glow of yours.

You pop your shoulder up into a shrug, lips morphing into a wry tease. “And I’m pretty good at what I do.”

Amazing, Steve thinks to himself. You’re amazing…at what you do.

Your elbow rests against the table, hand cupping your jaw as you hold Steve’s gaze.

“Some even call me a master of the male form.”

His swallow is deafening, which only makes you happier, and he looks down at his knee, rubbing his pant leg while his face heats.

“But for today’s purposes—“ you lean back in your chair, twirling your pencil playfully, a magic wand in your brilliant hands “—why don’t you tell me what makes me your favorite designer so I can make you my favorite client?”

Why’d you have to be so pretty? Why do you need him for so few fittings?

Steve has to stop himself from spending a Tony Stark-sized fortune on clothing for the pleasure of walking into your store and seeing you alone—well, in the hope of seeing you at all. Dominica is very sweet, sassy in a hard ass mom kind of way, and she’s one of four total assistants you have at the shop. Steve’s met three of them.

There’s just only one of you, and you’re busy.

Between his duties with the Avengers, actually sleeping, and debating with himself about what constitutes looking desperate, Steve is lucky to have caught you in-house only half the times he visits.

And then he tore a shirt. In fact, he tore three shirts, and to his credit, two of them were by accident. The third…uh, there’s a chance that when Steve exclaimed “oh shoot, I didn’t see that nail poking out” that he 100% saw that nail and deliberately brushed himself against that wall. He also may or may not have deliberately done it in front of Tony, faking that it was no big deal, because now he has the excuse that Tony is the one who told him to go see you.

Yeah, Steve agrees, if you say so.

He’s all excitement and nerves again when he rounds the corner of your street, but then the adrenaline shoots through Steve’s veins for a different reason.

A squad car has jumped the curb in front of your shop, lights flashing, doors left open, and Steve can hear lots of tense voices.

It’s a stressful enough day without the uninvited guest. Not many people—who know how you work and are not assholes—would dare to show up within a month of the Spring Show, without an appointment, and demand a rush job.

A rush job on a custom suit that you explicitly said could not be rushed before its scheduled time, mind you, but the surprise visitor doesn’t care.

Richard Fisk is broad. He has dirty blond hair that falls in front of his eyes when he tilts his head to smile. He often travels with a whole team of other imposing men.

The son of Wilson ‘Kingpin’ Fisk, however, is a prime example of personality souring good looks. Where it’s bashful and adorable that Steve Rogers hides his smile, Richard barely bridles his menacing entitlement.

You hate him, but he’s not a person you can outright refuse. He makes all of your assistants uncomfortable. Fisk is needlessly hostile to Tarik, who is thankfully not here today; he’s a creepy dick to Abby, who you insist stays in the fitting room with Anja, your longtime client who trusts you to push the envelope tastefully for a redheaded woman in her sixties; and he almost made Jules quit because he couldn’t follow instructions during a consult. Dominica stands in as the perfect buffer when she’s here, but the eldest of the Tovarich Atélier employees is currently on the other side of the city for a VIP delivery.

Your busy, busy day just got much harder.

His trio of beefy entourage flanks Fisk at the front of your shop.

“Here for my suit, sugar,” he drawls, flicking his used toothpick into a corner on the floor.

He eyes Abby as she shuts herself and Anja away from his direct ire, and although this leaves you alone, it stops your worry for their safety in addition to your own.

“As it stipulates in the commission, we take at least—“

“Those little hands are free now, I see,” he spits, stepping within an few inches of your face. His breath is foul and hot.

The aggression has you stumbling back, smashing into a side table and knocking a box of supplies to the ground.

“How ‘bout you get to work.”

You take in a heavy, fortifying, and quiet gasp. “Per your order, the fabric is manufactured off-site because teal is not a standard color. It takes time to produce. This was made very clear when you signed.”

Fisk flashes that menacing smile. “We can wait. One of these fine men can…keep you focused till you do your job.”

The condescending tone and disrespect of your work ethic spark flames of rage in your gut. Even though terror still simmers beneath, it’s too easy to let an insult fly.

“You’re lucky I’m even making it. The all white one last summer was a stretch, but teal? On you? Not something you can pull off.”

He lunges forward again. “Keep up the cheek, and I’ll lock you in my basement until I get everything I—“

“Ma’am,” a cop bursts through the shop door, “we got a call…” The officer goes quiet after one look at Fisk.

Abby must have phoned after hearing you knock supplies down, and you’re grateful, yes, but police are of little help with this guy. Cops wouldn’t dare ruffle Kingpin’s feathers or his awful son’s by proxy, but if you roll over now, you’ll never get back out from under him.

The only way forward is to put your foot down.

“Mr. Fisk, I wouldn’t make you a black and white striped three-piece if you did chain me in a basement. You’re a spring, and I have standards.”

“Ma’am,” the officer warns, his partner standing nervously in the open doorway.

“What kind of professional would I be if I let you walk around looking like a mental asylum inmate? I’m doing you a favor!”

Richard brandishes another toothpick. “The customer is always right, sugar.”

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid to taunt him and yell. Being insulted and diminished doesn’t make you want to be smart though; it makes you want to be right.

Your hands ball into fists of fear and rage. “It’s my name on the label,” you bark, “and I could just refund you to get you the hell out!”

Now you’ve really done it.

The boy gangster’s face twists and his oral fixation goes limp in disbelief. No one talks to Richard Fisk that way, least of all women.

His men step between both the cops and their boss, leaving Fisk himself to grab a solid wood tie box from the nearest counter and fling it at your face.

Your arms fly up to block it, but nothing ever connects, nor is there a crash behind you.

An officer’s voice wavers from across the room. “Uh, I’m sure this can all be worked out. No need to…start anything.”

You’re ashamed to say that your hands are shaking when they return to your sides and reveal an entirely different bulky blond.

Steve Rogers casually holds the caught box in his hands, staring daggers as he shifts squarely in front of you to block Fisk.

“This doesn’t concern you, Captain,” the bully grunts. “Piss off.”

Steve strides forward to replace the box neatly and plants himself inches from Fisk’s face.

“Can’t do that. She’s expecting me.” He turns back to you. “Ready?” Steve asks with a tight smile.

You swallow down one iota of your alarm and clear your throat.

“Yes—” the word cracks but you hope familiarity will scare off Fisk for now “—thank you, Steve.”

That seems to be Captain America’s cue to handle everyone else at odds in the storefront. By the time you get control of your trembling limbs, Steve has shown Fisk the door and promised the officers that you’ll be looked after.

Abby peeks out of the fitting room, surprised to see only Steve.

“Did they send you instead?”

She opens the door wider for Anja to see.

The redhead quirks an eyebrow. “Call the police more often, honey. They’ve upped their game.”

The now bashful, broad blond tilts his head, rogue hair falling across his face. His blue eyes sparkle beneath long lashes while he apologizes for lying, but you can’t for the life of you figure out why he’d feel guilty.

“I…” Steve stumbles. “I don’t have an appointment. I just wanted to see you.”

Currently estimating four parts to this grumbling into the ether but who knows. I clearly cannot be trusted to estimate length anymore...

[Next Part]

You can find more to read on my Main Masterlist! For readers under 18, please see the Light Masterlist which contains all-age-friendly works.

@supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @femefetalelevelingup @darsynia

to noise making ; steve rogers.

track six of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; steve rogers x mutant!gn!reader

synopsis ; pure silence never sat well with steve. it reminded him of all the time he had lost frozen in ice. so when he heard your loose, disjointed hums coming from the compound’s kitchen, he came seeking your voice out more and more.

words ; 4.5k

themes ; fluff, mild angst

warnings / includes ; mild cursing, implications of depression/ptsd but not explicit, descriptions of injury/blood, a mention of a toxic ex, one mention of biological warfare, reader is a mutant with the ability to manipulate matter, reader calls steve 'old man' and he calls them 'sweetheart' once, reader and tony are best friendos, this fic is basically a huge FUCK YOU to steve's ending in endgame, a kiss !! that tony rudely interrupts, mildly an avengers tower-reminiscent fic bcs they're my found family okay </3

main masterlist. set in the same universe as: blue jeans.

Silence accompanied Steve everywhere he went. 

It followed him through his morning—when he rose so early even the birds hadn’t started their day yet. When he went out for a quick jog, his shoes nearly mute against the sidewalk’s smooth concrete.When he showered with frigidly cold water right after, he stared wordlessly at the ground as the iridescent soap suds ran down his skin into the drain. 

It followed him through his afternoon—when he filled out paperwork for the latest recon mission. When he played a quiet game of Uno with Bucky over the kitchen counter during lunch. When he went outside, where the curious stares of strangers seemed to grow exponentially with each ticking second, and phone cameras were shoved into his face not two yards out the door. 

It followed him through the night—when he went on a blind date set up by Natasha, the dinner largely consisted of uncomfortable pauses, mostly because they really had nothing in common, and she’d also mentioned she wasn’t all that into blondes. When he later took his motorcycle out for a drive, stopping by an empty bridge to stare down at the river rushing by. When he slid into bed with naught a sound, digging his fist into his eyes until he hallucinated bright colors behind his eyelids. 

Pure silence never sat well with Steve. It reminded him of all the time he had lost frozen in ice. All the time that had slipped right between his fingers like fine grains of sand.

That morning was as ordinary as ever. He brushed his teeth. Ran a comb through his flaxen hair. Changed into his jogging clothes. Tied his shoes. And he slipped out of the compound, off for his daily run. 

When he came back, he was surprised to see Tony striding out of the kitchen—he wasn’t usually up this early. 

“Dishwasher’s broken,” the brunette told him, sipping a large mug of dark coffee as he stroked his stubble with his other hand. “Remind me to get that fixed, will you?”

Steve blinked, then nodded.

Satisfied, Tony bid him adieu with no more than a limp wave as he shuffled past him, off to the compounds laboratory. 

The rest of the day slid by as quiet as ever—paperwork, filing, having lunch with Natasha at a secluded Italian cafe, mission debrief with Sam, more paperwork, listening to Bucky complain about his cat scratching up his favorite henley, and finally, deciding he was hungry enough to make dinner. 

He rose out of his chair, stretching with a soft groan as his bones popped with the movement. Then, Steve made his way out of his room, making a bee-line for the kitchen. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the compound’s living room empty—Sam had left for Louisiana to visit his sister, Natasha was off on an impromptu mission with Clint, Tony was doing god knows what in his lab, and Bucky was busy reprimanding Alpine for destroying his most prized article of clothing.

With everybody gone, it should’ve been quiet. 

But it wasn’t.

Much to Steve’s mild surprise and curiosity, he could hear somebody in the kitchen. 

Who could it be? Bruce? No—Bruce had flown off to Switzerland for some sort of fancy science convention. Thor? It was possible, but probably not—the Norse god would’ve barged into his room asking how to use the microwave for the millionth time by now. 

Steve heard the clatter of pots. The sound of boiling liquid. A displeased noise, quietly followed by a frantic mutter, “Oh, too much, too much!” He heard water trickling down the drain.

Then, the humming started. It was loose and disjointed, following the tune of a song for a couple seconds at a time before taking a lengthy pause, only to pick up an entirely new melody a minute later.

It took him a moment to realize that lingering in the dark hallway whilst listening intently to someone in the kitchen was rather creepy, so Steve reared himself out of his thoughts and stepped into the light. 

Of course it was you. You were more or less new to the compound—a long-time, trusted friend of Tony’s from all the way back when he first built his Iron Man suit. You were recently brought onto the team due to your mutant abilities, uncanny intelligence, and Tony’s undeniable fondness for you. Besides that, Steve knew very little about you: he knew you were around the same age as him (at least the same age as when he was frozen), he knew you were a genius physicist, he knew you had the power to manipulate matter around you (which made you an excellent asset to the team), and he recalled Scott once mentioning that you were allergic to styrofoam. 

Steve assumed that the last one had been a joke. 

“Oh!” Your startled voice echoed across the kitchen at the sight of him. “Oh, it’s just you.”

An eyebrow raised closer to his hairline. “Just me? Who did you think it was?”

You appeared embarrassed for a moment, waving a spatula in the air. “Well, I may or may not have stolen Tony’s top secret models for his next version of the suit—just because I was curious how much he was going to spend on it, you know? I figured he’d come storming in accusing me of theft.”

A smile graced Steve’s lips. “Well, knowing Tony, I don’t think he’ll notice anytime soon. He hasn’t left the lab in hours.”

You shook your head fondly with a part hum, part scoff, before turning back to the stove, mixing the large pot full of red sauce. The air was saturated with the scent of simmering tomatoes and aromatic herbs—basil and oregano, Steve mused, were probably two of his most favorite things since coming out of the ice. They certainly didn’t have flavors like those back in the forties. Everything was far too bland and excessively moist back then. 

“I’m making vegan spaghetti,” you said, snapping him out of his mouth-watering daze. “I’d be happy to fix a plate for you.”

A polite protest was on the tip of his tongue—Steve was planning on quickly microwaving a frozen pizza before heading off to do some more work. Just as he began to voice this, his stomach rumbled loudly in betrayal, and a grimace etched over his mouth. A wave of heat seeped through his skin, tinting his face a subtle shade of scarlet. 

Much to his relief, you merely grinned brightly, smothering a laugh by biting down on your bottom lip in amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you quipped, ladleing spoonfuls of sauce into two bowls of steaming spaghetti noodles. “Take a seat.”

Complying, Steve gingerly sat at the kitchen table, resting his hand atop the smooth glass. “Can I ask you something?”

A smile danced across your mouth. “I believe you just did, Cap.” You chuckled mildly before gesturing for him to carry on.

“If you’ve got powers, why are you…”

“Cooking? I guess I just like to do things organically sometimes,” you replied easily, sprinkling herbs on top of the spaghetti before bringing the steaming bowls towards the table. “It’s cathartic.”

Steve thought to all the times he broke the sandbags in the gym—the satisfying thud of completion. He supposed he understood what you meant.

The dish in front of him was wafting with a fragrance that made his stomach twist painfully with hunger. 

“Dig in,” you said, gesturing to his serving as you started twirling the noodles around with a fork. “And to elaborate on your question, I’ve made food using my powers before—but it just tastes different. Like it isn’t the same if I didn’t measure out the ingredients, waited for the water to boil, or chopped up the veggies. It feels almost as if I’m cheating, you know?”

Steve tilted his head in thought. “That’s an interesting way to put it,” he said with a small smile, before forking some spaghetti into his mouth. “How’d you find out about your powers?”

The light-hearted atmosphere about you seemed to thin away at his question. Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth as you considered his question for a moment before responding. “It was an accident. A bad one. My ex… he was a real dick—excuse my language—and this one time one of our fights got out of hand. He started raising his palm like he was going to hit me. He wasn’t going to, by the way, he was just reaching for his phone behind me. But I panicked—and all of a sudden a shard of glass materialized right through his hand.”

Steve’s brows rose. He shoveled more spaghetti into his mouth.

“There was blood dripping all over the floor. We were both silent at first. Then, he started screaming. Luckily, we had a first aid kit in our bathroom. I bound his palm and drove him to the hospital—he was fine. No permanent damage.”

You sipped on some water, swallowing heavily.

“Are you guys still…?” 

“Oh, definitely not.” You chuckled bitterly. “He never wanted to speak to me ever again. Called me a freak. A mutant.”

It was brief, but Steve could see the insecurity meld across your features, shattering through your otherwise bubbly persona. 

“Well, he was an idiot. It was an accident, right? Accidents happen,” Steve quietly put forth. “And for what it’s worth, I think your powers are extraordinary. I mean, you can conjure up practically anything you want! That’s just… incredible.”

Warmth stained your insides golden as you pushed away a smile. “Thanks, Steve. Your powers aren’t too bad either—fast healing, enhanced strength. You’re quite the package.”

A generous smattering of crimson spread over his cheekbones. “Well, I’d have to thank Doctor Erskine for that. He was the one that invented the super serum—and chose for me to be the test subject. Because he believed in me.” There was a distant, reminiscent sadness to his eyes. You knew of Erskine, he was plastered across practically every American history textbook. 

“I’m sorry he died so soon,” you mumbled. “He seemed like a great man.”

“He was,” Steve said, nodding. He regarded you for a moment, briefly wondering just why it was so easy to talk to you when the two of you had barely spoken before this. The blonde across from you cleared his throat. “Thinking about him always gets me strangely nostalgic. I dream about the forties sometimes… my terrible childhood, my creaky apartment, my first love, … life before the war—before all of this. Sometimes I wonder—if I was given the chance to go back, would I?”

Your fork stopped halfway to your face. “Would you?” you asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, rather shamefully. “I don’t think I would. I mean, I’ve got my family here. Bucky, Sam, Natasha—they mean the world to me. I think I just feel… guilty about it all? Like when you mentioned using magic sometimes feels like your cheating at something. I feel like I cheated my own death. It feels unfair. When I look at Bucky—I feel like I betrayed him.”

“Oh, Steve.” You were shaking your head, reaching across the table to gently grasp one of his hands. Your palm was warm atop his frigid one. “I know how that feels—like you don’t deserve a place in the world because you’re different. But I promise it gets better. None of that was your fault. You’ll move on, with time. Plus, you’ve got a great support system here. I know we haven’t been the closest of friends but I’m certainly willing to lend an ear whenever you want me to.”

It mildly surprised him when he felt disappointment unfurl within his chest when you retracted your touch.

“That…” Steve released a small sigh, relaxing his muscles that he didn’t even realize were tense. “That means a lot, Y/N. Thanks. I haven’t really told anybody this because I thought it’d just… go away eventually. I don’t like the quiet. I hate it, in fact. The silence always reminds me of all the time I spent in the ice—how I cheated death. It leaves me with my own thoughts and makes me realize just how… unsatisfied I am. I’m not happy with myself when everything around me is quiet.”

He swallowed down another twirl of spaghetti, now cold and thick in his throat.

A part of him was afraid he’d scare you away with this confession. After all, it was a lot to dump on the first conversation with someone he had a lot of respect for.

Instead of finishing the rest of your spaghetti as quickly as you could and running away from him like Steve partially expected you’d do, you merely smiled at him, a newfound understanding reflected in your eyes. “Then I’ll make sure never to be quiet around you,” you said, genuine tenderness woven between each word.

Steve’s stomach lurched at that.

The rest of the dinner went by filled with stories of how you mastered your powers, stories of Steve finding out Bucky was still alive after all these years, stories of how you met Tony long, long ago.

It was safe to say, silence was nowhere near the two of you that night. 

You were humming again. Steve could hear you from down the hall. It’d been a couple of weeks since that first dinner with you—with dozens more sprinkled in between. The two of you were practically attached by the hip after that. 

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He wandered into the kitchen with his hands behind his back, coming beside you at the sink, where you were washing the dishes (which reminded him that he forgot to remind Tony to fix the dishwasher). 

“Can I help?” he asked, unclasping his hands and extending one towards you.

Without breaking off your humming, you handed him a damp plate whilst gesturing to a rag for him to use to dry. Steve caught sight of your bright grin from his peripheral vision. He ducked his head bashfully, pulse kicking up a notch. Your hip bumped into his, and the two of you quietly chuckled. 

No words were exchanged between the two of you then, the only thing filling the silence between you was your disjointed hums to songs that Steve didn’t know.

“What song are you humming?” The scratching of Steve’s pencil against paper momentarily stopped in the middle of drawing a sketch of a bowl of fruits on the coffee table in front of him as he tentatively asked the question. 

You looked away from your book propped up on your legs, which were carelessly thrown over Steve’s on the compound’s couch. His free hand was splayed largely on your knee—but you pretended not to notice.

“Huh?” you asked, having not heard his question properly, preoccupied with the story you were reading.

“You’re always humming the same song,” Steve said. “Well, parts of that song.”

“Oh!” Placing the book down, you shifted around so you could reach for your phone in your pocket. “It’s this sixties song called Summer Wine by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood. One of my all time favorites.” 

You pressed the play button on your phone screen and Steve listened along, enjoying the softness of Nancy’s voice in stark contrast to the slow rasp of Lee’s. He bobbed his head to the song off-beat, but you found it endearing all the same.

“Yeah, that’s it, old man,” you teased, elbowing him in the side and mimicking his movements. Your smile, so wide it seemed to illuminate the entire room, made Steve giddy with excitement. “It’s a good song, isn’t it?”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle. “You know, I was so set on forties music being the best of the best for the longest time—I think you might just be able to change my mind. Don’t tell Bucky I said that, though—he’d skin me alive.”

A genuine gasp fell from your lungs as you lurched forward, grabbing at his hands and leaning in so close he could see his reflections in your enlivened irises. He could smell your perfume, a soft wafting of vanilla and lavender that made his head spin. “Really? Because I have so many more songs I could recommend to you—tell you what, I’ll make you a playlist tonight. Finally introduce you to the world of modern music.” You relinquished your hold on him, moving back with a grand beam. “That might be the nicest compliment anybody’s ever given me, Stevie.”

Steve couldn’t help but feel like you were overexaggerating just to make him happy, but you seemed happy to do so, and how could he ever interfere with that? 

“I don’t know, though,” Steve started, his tone teasing. “Forties music is gonna be really hard to top.”

“It’ll be my mission to find something for you, then,” you said, determined. With that, you picked your book back up and began reading again, humming softly once more. Steve took that as his cue to continue drawing. 

He spared you a glance every once in a while, observing the way the sunlight from the window cast a dewy, honey-like luminescence over your features. The way the sloping curvatures of the shadows on your face enhanced your relaxed state. The way your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip as your pupils flitted to and fro from the book’s pages. He wanted to ask if he could draw you, but the words lodged in his throat, like he had swallowed a large stone.

So he stayed quiet, listening to you hum a song that Steve now knew.

“Steve.”

Natasha crossed her arms.

“Steve.”

She sighed, eyes narrowing. 

“Damn it, Steve!”

Finally, the blonde startled, ripping his headphones off and whirling around in his chair to see Natasha standing a foot away from his desk. He’d been listening to the playlist you had meticulously curated for him, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet when you told him to listen to it.

The annoyance in the green of her eyes dissipated, replaced with mild amusement. “So much for super-hearing, huh?” she snarked, lacking any true bite to her words. Despite her stoic demeanor, she was really glad Steve found someone that made him happier than anybody else ever did. Even though he didn’t know it yet—Natasha saw the way he looked at you. 

Steve scratched the back of his neck bashfully. “Sorry, Nat. How can I help?”

“Y/N just got back from their mission. They’re in the infirmary.”

Immediately, he stood up, chair squeaking at the abrupt movement, eyebrows furrowing. “Infirmary? Are they hurt? What’re they doing back so early? The mission was supposed to be take an entire week, that’s what—”

“Relax, Rogers,” Natasha sternly asserted, effectively cutting him off. “Just doing a check-up—they were exposed to some radioactive material but it should be fine.” In a much softer tone, she added on, “Y/N was asking for you.”

Breath hitching in his throat, Steve nodded and a quiet thank you left his lips as he jogged out of his room. 

The few minutes of silence as he rushed to the infirmary did nothing good for his worrying. He passed by a pretty bruised-up Clint lounging across the waiting seats, pressing an ice cube to a gash on his forehead, and gestured to the double doors across from him. He knew of Steve’s budding relationship with you (because Natasha made it her personal mission to embarrass the poor guy) and could only assume that he’d come rushing here for you. The polished floors squeaked under his shoes as he came to a sudden halt, briefly saluting Clint thanks before knocking twice. Before he got a response, he slowly pushed the doors open, peeking his head in.

You were seated on the edge of the hospital bed, still in your mission’s attire, hair rumpled and a bit of dried blood on the side of your jaw, but you looked to be otherwise just fine. Doctor Cho was beside you, tapping her pen against a clipboard as she took note of your blood pressure. 

“Hey, old man. Long time no see,” you said with a toothy grin when you heard the door creak open. “You missed the funniest thing on the mission. There was this—”

Steve strode forward, and before you could finish your sentence, he knelt down and enveloped you into a tight embrace, nose pressing against the crown of your head. 

Your words were muffled into his shirt, which eventually died away when you noticed that he clearly was too emotional to listen to your amusing story of how Clint tripped on a big rock and cut his head. He smelled so good, like clean laundry and those tree-scented car fresheners. Steve barely registered Doctor Cho shifting awkwardly and excusing herself out of the room, entirely fixated by the way your arm loosely curled around his shoulders as you hugged him back.

“Whose blood is that?” he asked without pulling away from you.

“Not mine,” you assured him.

“Nat told me you were asking for me,” said the blonde, gingerly pulling away from you to meet your eyes. His hand went under your chin to tilt your head around, as if reaffirming that you were perfectly fine. “Exposed to radioactive material? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Looks like someone missed me,” you laughed at his mother henning, bringing your hand up to wrap around his, holding it close to your chest. “The wrong kind of people were trying to steal stuff that could potentially be used for biological warfare—we intercepted, but one of the cases broke and I had to use my powers to forge a new one. I was only exposed for a couple seconds, but it was enough to warrant a check up. We had to back off because they were in possession of the last case and threatened to drop it into the city’s main water supply.”

Steve’s brows knitted together as you spoke. “We gotta go stop them, then—”

“They think they have the last case,” you said, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips.

“You used your powers to make a fake,” Steve whispered in realization. “You’re a genius.”

Waving away his praise, you leaned forward, gripping him tighter. “Enough about that! Did you listen to the playlist?”

His chest rumbled as he laughed. You had just gotten back from a dangerous mission and you were asking about him. 

“I was around halfway through,” he said, grinning softly.

“Guess you’ll just have to listen to the rest with me,” you quipped, craning your neck to swiftly kiss his cheek. When you pulled back just a little, you did it ever so slowly, hovering close enough so that your noses brushed against one another. 

Heat flushed across his face. His heart palpitated painfully against his ribcage. His stormy eyes flickered down to glance at your lips, then moved up again to meet your eyes. All he saw was you.

“You can kiss me, Stevie,” you mumbled against him, giving him the green light he was waiting for. “I promise I won’t bite. Unless you’re into that. I mean, you’re a super soldier, would you even feel th—mmh!”

That spurred him to shift forward, capturing your lips with his and effectively interrupting your thoughts before he could get any more flustered, foreheads bumping against one another. After recovering from your initial shock, you tugged him closer by the lapels of his shirt, tilting your head to the side so he could fold into you ever so perfectly. It felt as if a fire was crawling around his veins, consuming him entirely. Your skin was cold against his, quelling the burning sensation dancing over his skin. 

You smiled into the mouth, laughing against his lips when he drifted his fingers up your side. “That tickles,” you murmured, pressing butterfly kisses on the corners of his lips and the tip of his nose. 

Steve couldn’t help it. He began laughing as well, muffled when you slapped his tickling hands away, kissing him harder.

The two of you stayed that way for what felt like hours—breaths turned ragged and chests heaving, when really it was only about five minutes. By the stroke of the sixth minute, Tony strode into the infirmary room uttering, “Knockity knock knock,” despite not knocking.

“Woah!” he exclaimed upon seeing the two of you in such… close proximities. “Took you two long enough. Barnes owes me twenty bucks. And, Jesus, hang a sock on the door, Rogers! I know you’re old, and not at all accustomed to the sexual customs of our generation, but I do not want to see my recently-radiated best friend swap spit with you.”

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him. “Nice to see you, too, Tony. And yeah, your recently-radiated friend is just peachy, thanks for asking!”

Tony glared at you. “Please, if you weren’t ‘just peachy’ Rogers wouldn’t be shoving his tongue down your throat.” Steve looked like he wanted to object, but he cleared his throat and diverted his gaze to the floor instead. Tony barked out a laugh, rotating on his heel to head back out. “Good to see you’re okay, kid. Remember to wrap it before you tap it!”

As soon as he was gone, Steve groaned, dropping his head against your chest, flustered beyond relief. 

“Does he always have to be so crass?” he asked, wrinkling his nose with embarrassment. 

“That’s Tony for you.” You shook your head with amusement. Then, your voice a notch softer, you asked, “Hey, Stevie?”

He hummed in response, lifting his head to look at you.

“You remember when you said you weren’t sure if you’d want to go back to the forties or not?”

Steve blinked in mild surprise. “Yeah?”

Your expression betrayed your clear hesitance as you swallowed uncomfortably. “Do you think you’d go now?”

“No, sweetheart,” he whispered, bending closer so his nose brushed yours. “I’d never leave you. Not ever. I wasn’t going to leave in the first place, because I could never leave my friends and family here. But you… you make me feel not guilty for being happy. Like I deserve a life of my own—with you. And I think the quiet becomes more bearable when you’re around me. I don’t think so much of the past with you because… well, because I’m thinking of our future.”

A heartbreakingly bright smile painted your lips golden, and you shook your head fondly. It might’ve just been a trick of the infirmary’s painfully artificial lights, but he could’ve sworn he saw the glimmering film of tears briefly gloss over your eyes. “Did you just come up with that on the spot?” The two of you laughed into each other, and you pressed a gentle kiss just under his eyes. “You’re something else, Stevie, I’ll tell you that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, unable to stop smiling, before capturing your grin with his once more.

Steve x female!reader smut

WARNINGS: kinky!steve, slight dubcon, dom!steve, sub!reader, teasing, thigh riding, hold the moan, touching in public, dirty talk, color system, steve is absolutely filthy in this, and i'm not sorry. MINORS DNI BELOW THE CUT, 18+ ONLY

side note: uuhhh yeahhh i kinda got carried away with this, and i will not apologize lmao.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“When’s the last name you’ve got any action, grandpa?” Tony asked.

Steve, who was currently taking a drink, almost choked.

“Give you 20 bucks he’s still a virgin.” Bruce said back, a smile creeping onto his face.

“Okay fine. Easiest $20 I’ll ever make.”

Steve chuckled and turned to them.

“For your information, I’m not. But if you gotta know, it was before I went into the ice.”

Tony made some comment about Steve being the oldest and horniest man alive.

“Will you two leave him alone?” You barked. “It’s rude to ask someone about their sex life.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony rolled his eyes at you. “You’re just being defensive cause you wanna tap that. Don’t blame you, though. I mean look at him, he’s 250 pounds of pure muscle and-”

“Holy shit, Tony! Shut up. You’re drunk.” You laughed, swatting at his shoulder.

Steve glanced over at you, his eyes lingering a little too long on your hips. It was less than a second, but you automatically felt his eyes on you.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

— — —

After that night, you had made it your personal mission to fix Steve long lived dry spell. It wasn’t like you would be throw yourself at him. Ever since you had joined the team, you and Steve had flirted with each other. But you had just figured it was more of a work relationship type thing.

But guess it wasn’t. You started noticing the little touches he would give you, whether it was trying to get around you in the kitchen or out on the battle field. His hand would just stay a little too long for it just to be harmless flirting.

And ever since then, you had been doing everything in your power -without being too obvious- to have Steve finally notice you.

“Hey, Stevie.” You smiled at him, squatting down to observe the dumbbells that were on the floor.

“Hi, Y/N.” He muttered from behind you, his eyes glued to your perfect ass. You were currently wearing leggings and a sport bra to work out in. Something new that you had started doing. You had purposely worn your sheer leggings, knowing Steve would be in the gym today.

You grabbed the 30 pound dumbbell and walked over to him, smiling still.

“Will you spot me?” You asked, batting your eye lashes. Steve nodded and stood behind you with his hands out as you proceeded to do squats.

“Didn’t even think you could lift 30 pounds, Y/N.” He chuckled awkwardly.

“Hey!” You squealed playfully. “Gotta keep myself tight somehow.”

You squatted down one last time, your ass cheeks barely grazing over Steve’s dick as you went down. Steve went rigid, and it felt like all of his blood went rushing to his cock, leaving him light headed.

You dropped the dumbbells and reached behind you to stretch your arms out. Turning around, you smiled at him noticing how flush he looked.

"Thanks, Stevie. I'm gonna hit the showers, Nat, Wanda, I are having a girls night." You patted his shoulder as you walked past him, headed towards the locker room. Steve just stood there nodding stupidly, praying to whatever god that was out there that you didn't notice his very obvious erection.

But you most definitely did notice it.

As soon as you disappeared behind the door, Steve ran into the other locker room, locking the door behind him. He turned the shower on and shed his sweaty clothes, his painfully hard cock smacking him in the stomach. Stepping into the shower stream, he moaned quietly, his hand stroking his cock.

Why was Y/N being such a damn tease? Didn't he see he wanted to fuck her in oblivion? Was it really that hard to notice? Or was he just bad at dropping hints? This would be a third time he’s touched himself this week thinking about you underneath him, moaning for him, begging for him.

Steve fucked his hand harder, the thought of your ass in those leggings flooding his thoughts as he painted the shower wall with his cum. He let out a frustrated sigh, still feeling unsatisfied. Touching himself has worked before, why wasn’t it working now?

— — —

“Movie night!” Tony yelled, plopping down in the arm chair. It was Friday, and as a tradition the team would watch a movie together. And so no fighting happened about what movie to watch, they took turns picking one out. And this week is Y/N’s turn.

“Fifty Shades or Grey? Are you kidding, Y/N?” Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“It’s a good movie!” You protested, sitting down next to Steve. “There’s more than just sex in it, Sam.” You pulled a blanket overtop you and Steve and crossed you legs, you knee bumping into Steve’s.

Steve could already feel the hotness creeping up the back of his neck. A movie all about sex? That would make people uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?

Y/N hit play on the movie and the opening credits started, the recognizable rainy skyline of Seattle filling the screen.

It was about halfway though the movie, and Steve was already pitching a tent in his pants. He glanced quickly at the rest of his males in the room, seeing if anyone else was hard. But he was the only one. Thanking Y/N silently for covering him with a blanket, he soon released his mistake.

Steve felt a hand land on his upper thighs, squeezing it softly. His eyes went wide and a snuck a look over at Y/N, who had no expression on her face. Your hand continued upward, leaving little squeezes and soft caresses as you went. Steve stirred uncomfortably, the tip of his dick pressing painfully into his jeans.

“Got ants in your pants, capsicle?” Tony asked, which reciprocated a loud “shhh” from Natasha.

As Steve opened his mouth to answer, Y/N palmed his dick, your finger tips ghosting over his balls. He quickly shut his mouth, clenching his jaw to hold back a moan.

As soon you started your hand disappeared back into your lap, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Steve was dumbfounded. He wanted to yell at you for doing this to him- in the of the living room of at places! But at the same time he wanted to drag you back to his room and shove your head down onto his cock until you were choking. He wasn’t sure which one would come first.

The ending of the movie was stupid and Steve was still hard, making him grumpy. The rest of the team got up and said their good nights but you and Steve stayed planted on the couch.

“Well, good night Stevie.” You whispered, starting to get up. Frustrated beyond belief, Steve grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you in so you were straddling his thigh.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” You smiled innocently.

“Don’t be coy, Y/N. It’s not very nice.”

Y/N looked at Steve, his beautiful blues were raging with anger and lust. It should have scared you, but it was just making you more turned on. You slowly drug your heat against Steve’s thick thigh, shuddering.

“Well, you were oblivious to my other hints. So I decided to be straight foreword.”

“You are playing with fire.” Steve growled, his hands finding your hips, moving you up and down on his thigh.

You leaned in close, your hot breath hitting his ear. “Good thing I’m a convicted arsonist then.”

You suddenly stood up, your core was begging for more attention but you waved goodnight to Steve, leaving him on the couch.

— — —

It was a couple days after the movie night, and Steve still hadn’t ruined you yet. You were starting to think you pushed him too far and he wasn’t interested anymore. He had been avoiding you like wild fire and whenever he was forced to speak with you, it was spiteful.

Getting your thoughts to calm down, you climbed into bed and pulled the covers over yourself, nuzzling your freshly cleaned comforter. Just as you were starting to fall asleep there was a loud sharp knock on your door.

Grimacing, you threw the covers off you, you eyes darting to the clock. Someone better be dying to have woken you back up this late. You flung the door open and snarled “What?”

The figure in front of you pushed into your room, kicking the door closed with closed with his foot. Spinning you, he pinned you against the wall, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna show you what you do it me.” Steve growled, biting you softly on your shoulder. You let you a high pitched whine as his already hard cock pressed into your ass. “And you’re gonna take all of it, like the good little girl you are.”

“Steve-” You moaned, pushing your ass farther back into his hips. He hissed and grabbed your hips, slamming them back into the wall.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ greedy brat. If you’re good, I’ll reward you. If not- we’ll let’s just say it’ll be fun for me.” A soft moan fell off your lips. "Oh, what's wrong? Can't keep this act up anymore, can you sweetheart?"

Steve spun you back around so you were facing him. Your cheeks were flushed and you could feel your lips getting chapped. Steve's hair was messed up, tuft's of it sticking up. He didn't look like the calm and collected Captain America you were used to seeing. His pupils were large, blown up with lust and need.

"Get on you knees." He whispered. You sunk down, your hands placed in your lap. Steve had hardly even gotten started and you were already submissive for him, and it just turned him on more knowing he was able to tame you this easily.

Steve dropped his sweatpants, his cock springing free from its binds. Y/N licked your lips in excitement. You knew he was big from feeling him on the couch the other night, but seeing it was a different experience. It was long and thick, and a large vein that zigzagged across the bottom of it.

You hands grabbed the back of his thighs and you licked his tip lightly. He shuddered, your actions sending shivers up his spine. You pushed your mouth deeper into him, your tongue dragging along the bottom. You blinked up at Steve, looking at him through thick lashes. He let out a strangled moan and grabbed the back of your hair, pushing himself down your throat.

You gagged and spit bubbled out of the corners of your mouth as he fucked your mouth. Breathing through your nose, you tried to relax the back of your throat so he could all the way in.

"You lettin' me mouth fuck you like a good little girl?" Steve panted, sweat beading on his forehead. You moaned in response, the vibrations causing him push into you even faster. "Fuck sweetheart, so good, so fucking good."

Steve felt his orgasm rapidly approaching and he tried to pull away, but you kept him still by holding onto his thigs, knowing he was close.

"No, fuck, Y/N, stop." He sputtered. You stopped working him, his cock falling out of your mouth with a wet plop.

"Can't handle me, Captain?" You asked looking up at him, your bottom lip sticking out. "S'okay. I knew you couldn't."

Steve felt the same rage he felt in the living room bubble up in his chest again. He grabbed you by your hair, dragging you to your feet. His face was inches from yours as he brought you in close, his breathing ragged.

"You're being bad again, Y/N." He growled, his voice dangerously low. "Do you need to be punished, sweetheart?"

Y/N's eyes widened at his words. Steve Rogers was one kinky fuck. He steered you over to your bed, his hand tight on the back of your head still. Sitting down, he pulled you across his knee and yanked your panties down.

His fingers dipped in between your legs, collecting the wetness to his tips. He chuckled darkly and you heard the sound of him sucking on his fingers, licking away your honey.

"Hmmm, so sweet. I knew it would be. Too bad your mouth is filthy, or I would be devouring your little pussy right now." He chuckled again, his hand running across you ass cheek. You shuddered, knowing what was about to happen. "Y/N." Steve said suddenly, all the dominance in his voice disappearing. You looked back at him, surprised. "I need to hear your colors, sweetheart."

"Green for go, yellow for slow down, and red to stop." You whispered.

"Where are you at right now, doll?"

"Green. So green."

The dark and domineering look returned to Steve's face after hearing you speak those words. "Good."

Smack! You let out a whimper as Steve's rough hand collided with your soft skin. "Count, little girl."

"One." You panted.

Another smack, and you cried out, your head hanging down.

"You gotta count doll, or we're gonna restart."

"Two." Your cheeks stung and you were blinking back tears.

You made it all the way to six, until you were begging him to stop. Your words coming out as incoherent mumbles and whines. Steve sat you up in his lap, snaking his arms around your waist. You buried your head into his bare chest, trying to calm your hard breathing.

"Such a good girl. Did you learn your lesson 'bout mouthin' off to me?" He mumbled into your hair, as he placed soft kissing on the crown of your hair.

You nodded. "Yes." Steve set you carefully on the bed, trying not to be too rough knowing you were still recovering. He pressed a hard kiss on your lips, his body sliding on top of yours. You softly moaned, tasting him for the first time.

"I've dreamed about this night, Y/N." He groaned, his bare cock rubbing against your heat. Your hips bucked in response, but he moved a strong hand to your side, pinning them down. "About having a whining mess underneath me," He placed a wet kiss on your neck. "Letting me take you, anytime, anywhere." He bit down on your collar bone. "All while you're begging me to fuck you."

"Steve, please." You begged, your core aching for some sort of attention. "I need you to-"

"Need me to what, Y/N?"

"Touch me, please, Stevie." You cried out, finally not able to take it anymore.

He smirked, and moved down to your pulsing heat. "Oh, sweet girl." Steve purred, his breath hitting your pussy. It made you shudder knowing he was that close to your most intimate parts. "You are drenched. Did I do this to you?" You moaned in response, but apparently that wasn't good enough. "Use your words." He stuck a long, calloused finger inside of you, curling up words.

"Yes, fuck yes, Steve!" A scream ripped through your throat. "It's you, it was you!" You sobbed.

"Good girl." His lips attacked your clit, swirling his tongue clock-wise, as his finger worked in and out of you, and it felt like your stomach was doing flips. You sat up slightly and removed your tee shirt, throwing it somewhere over Steve's shoulder. His free hand instantly snaked up to your breasts, squeezing on your nipple.

You let out a string of curse words as you came finally, your thighs shaking. That must have been the most mind blowing orgasm you've ever had. But Steve didn't give you time to recover. He instantly added two more fingers, the tips of them hitting your g-spot every time. His lips suction-cupped around your clit, sucking and nibbling on it very softly.

"Oh, my god Steve." You whimpered pitifully. "Please-fuck." You slammed your head back on the pillows and grabbed his hair. "Please, Steve, I'm gonna cum again."

You felt him laugh on your clit and you moaned, noticing how good it felt. The feeling of your stomach doing flips returned, and you groaned. You came and your vision blurred, ears ringing. You tugged on Steve hair, trying to pull him away from your clit.

"Yeah, that's a good girl." Steve murmured, finally coming up for air. He moved back on top of you and slammed his lips into yours. You tasted yourself on his beard stubble and his tongue. "You taste so good doll. I coulda been down there for forever."

"Please, can I have your cock now Stevie? Please, I've been such a good girl."

"Only because you asked so nicely." He grinned, kissing you again. You watched with hazy eyes as he pumped his cock in a fist a few times before lining himself up with your entrance.

He slid his tip along your slick folds, a moan falling off his cum-covered lips. Slowly, he pushed into and your legs wrapped around his waste.

"Oh, fuck baby." He groaned. "You're so fucking tight for me."

He finally bottomed out, his balls slapping against your taint. You felt him pull back out before he slammed back into you, hard. You gasped, loving how he completely filled you up. His cock scratched the most deepest places you could never reach. Steve started going at a relentless pace, your headboard smacking against the wall with each thrust. You couldn't form a single thought as he drove into you. Every nerve was light on fire and exploding like a firework.

Your walls clenched down around him and he cried out. "You gonna cum again for me sweetheart? Is my fat cock gonna make you cum?"

You somehow whimpered out a yes, nodding your head. You saw a devilish smile creep across Steve's face as he grabbed your legs by the back of your knee's, lifting your ass off the bed. He sat up and brought you to him and started going faster than you could ever imagine.

"FUCK!" You screamed, your fists balling up the sheets, turning your knuckles white. Your entire body shook as your orgasm washed over you like waves. Steve pulled out of you and set you back on the bed. Noticing that he was out of you, you felt cold and empty. He hovered over you as you moaned and twitched, your entire body overstimulated.

"Y/N, honey?" He asked softly. "What's your color?"

"Green." You moaned, body still on fire.

"Y/N-"

"It's green. I promise." You reached up for him, touching his chest. Your fingers traced over a small scar, wondering how he got it. You would have to ask him sometime. His large hand clasped over your small one, and he brought it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles tenderly.

"Face down, ass up." He whispered, still kissing your knuckles. You turned your body to how he wanted, wiggling your ass in anticipation. He slid his fingers down, checking your wetness. You heard him spit into the palm of his hand, and stroke his cock. "How do you want me, love?"

"Slow. I want to feel you."

Steve pushed back into you, your body a little more adjusted to his size. The two of you moaned in unison, reveling in the feeling of his cock sliding against your velvety walls. Each time he thrusted, he almost came all the way out of you. His nails scratched your ass and your name fell off his lips. You knew he was close, but you didn't want this mind blowing feeling to end.

His pace picked up a small bit and you moaned a mouth full of curse words into the pillow. "Baby, please-" You moaned. "I can't cum again."

"S'okay. Your sweet little pussy has me so close." He grunted. Steve hooked a strong arm around your chest and hoisted you up, your body flush against his. "You're so beautiful, Y/N." He whispered into the crook of your neck. "So fucking beautiful, my sweet little girl."

"Steve." You groaned, your voice full of lust and love. "Cum in me, please."

"Oh, fuck." He whimpered. His lips connected to your sensitive flesh on your neck, sucking on it hard. He was marking you. You were his. "Fuck...fuck." You felt his hips stutter against you. "So fucking good, Y/N." His white hot seed spilled out inside you. "Oh, shit! Oh, fuck!" He cried. "Look at you, taking all my cum like a good little girl."

He pushed into you a few more times before letting you go, and rolled onto the bed. You collapsed next to him, your head falling on his chest. When his breathing finally slowed, you looked up at him. He was smiling like an idiot.

You giggled, kissing him on the cheek. One of his hands reached up and cupped your cheek. "I told you that you were playing with fire, Y/N."

"And I told you that I'm a convicted arsonist."

Steve laughed and got out of bed. "Here- let's clean you up." He grabbed a towel out of your laundry basket and whipped you clean. He did the same to himself before coming back to bed.

Steve pulled you close and kissed you on your temple, his stubble tickling you. "I think we're gonna have to do that again, but without all the teasing." He chuckled.

"But that's the fun part." You protested, and he swatted at your butt. "Okay, fair enough." You smiled.

Just as you were slipping into unconsciousness, there was a loud knock at your door. You felt Steve pull himself away from you, and cover you up with a blanket. You watched as he grabbed another towel and wrapped it around himself, and opened the door. You couldn't see past Steve's' large shoulders, but you could hear who it was.

"Listen, I'm happy you're getting some, but please go to your room next time. I don't wanna heard the damn headboard hitting my wall all night." Sam grumbled, sleepily.

Whoops.