Summary: Steve buys you a present, but it’s more for him.
Warnings: smut, dom!Steve, language.
W/C: 663
Rating: E (explicit - 18+)
Characters: Steve Rogers, fem!reader.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).
A/N: I saw a post online that said something like, “got a couple of sundresses I want you to fuck me in!” and it inspired this. I created the dress on the title card using canva.
There was a time when you would have called Steve shy. He was a fierce soldier, a loyal friend, and, in the beginning, a shy lover.
He was timid; the first time he saw you completely naked, you swore, his eyes filled with tears. He’d acted as if you were made of porcelain, taking extra care not to hurt you, needing your reassurance at every move to make sure you were okay. After a frank and earnest conversation, you’d revealed a few kinks, and it had awoken a hibernating bear. He was hungry all the time. Insatiable. Passionate. Sometimes borderline condemnable.
He’s waiting in the hallway of your apartment when you get home, arms folded over his broad chest, seams of his shirt barely holding their ground. That devilish smirk, the one that is reserved only for you, creeps across his mouth.
“Welcome home, baby,” he says, and his eyes shimmer with mischief, “have a good day?” His tone suggests he doesn’t actually care.
“I did,” you shrug off your jacket. “And I have a feeling it’s going to get a hell of a lot better.”
His smile deepens, eyes darkening, and he flicks his chin up slightly. “Bedroom.”
Summary: Steve buys you a present, but it’s more for him.
Warnings: smut, dom!Steve, language.
W/C: 663
Rating: E (explicit - 18+)
Characters: Steve Rogers, fem!reader.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).
A/N: I saw a post online that said something like, “got a couple of sundresses I want you to fuck me in!” and it inspired this. I created the dress on the title card using canva.
There was a time when you would have called Steve shy. He was a fierce soldier, a loyal friend, and, in the beginning, a shy lover.
He was timid; the first time he saw you completely naked, you swore, his eyes filled with tears. He’d acted as if you were made of porcelain, taking extra care not to hurt you, needing your reassurance at every move to make sure you were okay. After a frank and earnest conversation, you’d revealed a few kinks, and it had awoken a hibernating bear. He was hungry all the time. Insatiable. Passionate. Sometimes borderline condemnable.
He’s waiting in the hallway of your apartment when you get home, arms folded over his broad chest, seams of his shirt barely holding their ground. That devilish smirk, the one that is reserved only for you, creeps across his mouth.
“Welcome home, baby,” he says, and his eyes shimmer with mischief, “have a good day?” His tone suggests he doesn’t actually care.
“I did,” you shrug off your jacket. “And I have a feeling it’s going to get a hell of a lot better.”
His smile deepens, eyes darkening, and he flicks his chin up slightly. “Bedroom.”
