Warnings: NSFW. it’s not smut but uhhh, you’re still warned. not exactly dark Steve, but he’s not healthy. it’s not love, he doesn’t really care for your feelings. selfish, unhappy Steve.
A/N: I have no business writing new things with the requests and challenges and homework I need to finish but nonetheless… I hope you enjoy.
Post CW Post Nomad Steve, but nothing Thanos ever happened and he came back home to mend relationships.
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The sheets are thin and white and transparent as clouds. They’ve fallen over the curve of your hips as the rain did over the Brooklyn streets and the roof of his apartment while he fucked you last night.
Bathed in both the golden dawn’s sunlight, and the scent of his own cologne and musk, you’re still sleeping alone in his California king, and he’s wondering when you should leave.
He hadn’t meant to go this far. Sure as hell didn’t mean to invite you over to his place… it was a vulnerable act on his part.
This wasn’t him, fucking pretty trainees who gave him the right eyes. But, he supposes, he doesn’t really know who he is at all anymore.
He knows he’s itching to be back on the road again. Steve, along with Sam and Nat, hadn’t been doing God’s work, but they were helpful, and it was on their terms.
There’s a freedom in lacking roots, in knowing how much you really need,and being able to pack up everything in a duffel in less than five minutes.
Now Steve’s some pseudo Avenger, living the unspoken promises that he’d stay long enough to help heal Tony’s bruised ego, and Bucky’s broken mind.
When he’s too tired to remember letting himself think it in the morning, his mind whispers…
“What about you, Steve?”
So he did it. He saw you at some lunch, and you were in some dress that showed off more than your training fatigues ever did.
You had trained for years, survived multiple invasions of New York, given yourself hundreds of pep talks, all to say you could work beside Captain America himself.
The moniker didn’t fit anymore, but the glory did.
The glory had you wrapped up in his every word, and gently pressing for conversation.
He doesn’t know how to tell you he’s not the patriot who went in the ice, or the same hopeful man that brought down SHIELD in the name of justice.
Yesterday though, he supposed it only mattered what you believed, when you looked at him with your bright eyes, that were knowing, but only enough to know he needed fixing.
What you can’t know, is that it won’t be you to do it. He’s not sure if anyone can help him.
The conversations you try to weave between hard fucks and obligatory cups of coffee are never going to be therapy.
But as he considers the shape of your ass and the wet spot made wetter from his cum still leaking from between your thighs, he realizes this is as close as it gets.
Phantom pleasure blooms warmth across his skin, instead of the sunlight, when he remembers the sounds of fucking you.
The gushing wetness that had you near embarrassed, the gasps when you felt his beard rough against your collar, the splintering deep snap of his headboard as it broke under the pressure he put it under.
He chuckles to the thought that you must think he’s fucking you hard. You’ll rush home and text your group chat that Captain America likes it rough, not knowing that whatever he’s balling up in his fists, or his poor headboard takes most of the force.
He’s careful with you and he can’t figure out why. It confuses him in the same way when he realizes he looks forward to having coffee with you.
But he’ll kick you out anyway. Maybe he’ll say the coffee got too cold. Maybe that will be true if he switches the machine off now.
He looks at your thighs, now spread. He remembers being between them, pushing them apart. Manhandling you because you love it.
He remembers grasping the soft skin of your lethal thighs, with his face between them, breathing in the sweet musk of you.
You melted when he rolled his tongue back and forth and around your clit, with three fingers inside you.
He knows your weak spots, he can pull you apart piece by piece, but what he doesn’t know is if that means you’re made for him, or if it’s time to let you go.
You’ve grown too sweet, too soft, too familiar, and when you whisper his name in the sheets, it sounds a little too much like love.
None of these things stop him from crawling back into bed…from pulling you closer…and from leaving the coffee machine on, because he’ll keep his moments with you even if the house burns down.
This was the first time you brought Steve home to meet your parents.
He currently has you bent over the sink in your childhood bathroom, sundress rucked up around your waist, your thong down by your ankles. He ruts into you hard and fast, his skin slapping against yours as you pray the running shower masquerades the noise. You bite down on the towel in your mouth and squeeze the sides of the small counter, your fingertips white from the pressure.
Your mother and father are just on the other side of the wall.
“You’re a filthy little girl,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and sticky, “You know that?”
You tried to fight him off, slapping at his wandering hands with your own as you brushed your teeth, preparing for bed. You kept your giggles at bay as his devilish fingers tickled your sides and that evil mouth nipped at your sensitive neck. I’m a good girl, you told him, I’ve never had sex in my parents house, and I don’t intend to.
Au contraire.
He’s doing it on purpose. He’s trying to ruin your good girl reputation because he wants to know that he’s the only mother fucker that’s ever made you shed one ounce of your morality. You’re such a prude, he’d always tease. He’s also getting back at your father. He was hard on him at dinner, reading Steve the riot act when it came to his little girl.
He reaches around your waist, his thick fingers slipping between the folds of your wet sex to tease your swollen, achy clit.
Steve chuckles as his fingers rub quick circles against you, “You like that baby? Hmm? Tell me you like it.”
You moan and stand slightly, resting your back onto his front as he wraps his long arm around your waist. You watch in the mirror as he drags his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean of your wetness.
“God, I fucking love the way you taste. Such a sweet girl.”
You dig your manicured nails into his forearm that’s wrapped around your waist. Your legs start to quake as your orgasm builds - each word, every thrust dangerously close to making you come undone. Your walls tighten around him unexpectedly, causing the slightesthitch in his brutal pace.
“Ooh baby,” he coos right up against your ear, “I think your pussy loves me more than you do.” He chuckles again.
“Mmm,God,” You mumble as electricity flashes through you, “I fucking love you, Steven.”
“You’d better,” He grins, wrapping his fingers around your neck, “You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” He whispers, his eyes watching your reflection in the mirror.
You brace yourself for impact, your walls quaking, sweat popping up on your brow, your mouth drying as the anticipation rises in your throat. A loud knock sounds through your room. You and Steve’s eyes widen as your stomach drops to your feet.
“What in the fuckis going on in there!”
steve rogers tags: (i’m slow guys. sorry if you’ve liked or reblogged already, lol)
Summary: After hearing some pretty disturbing rumours about one of his students, guidance counsellor Steve Rogers wants to get to the bottom of it, but her unapologetic response has Steve taking a more hands-on approach to get through to her.
Characters: Dark!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader.
Words:1430.
Warnings: teacher/student relationship, age gap relationship, dirty talk, size kink, oral sex (male and female receiving), very light spanking, masturbation (female receiving), slight dub-con, coercion, smut.
A/N:Inspired by a video I watched on “Pure Taboo” recently, ha. This is basically just porn with very little plot Not beta’ed so all errors, spelling mistakes and general bullshit are entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists/taglists can be found in my bio. Subscribe to Patreon and get access to fics two weeks before Tumblr.
Rapping on the door gently, you wait for his soft but deep voice to permit you entry. You push it open a fraction, craning your neck around the door and clock him sitting at his desk surrounded by paperwork. He looks up and when he notices it’s you and his lips split into a wide smile.
“Your email said you wanted to see me Mr. Rogers?” You question.
“Ah yes Y/N, come in, take a seat,” he says, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. As you walk over, he stands up and waits for you to be seated before settling himself back down again. Always such a gentleman.
“So, you’re probably wondering why I asked you here,” he states and you nod. “Well… I’ve been hearing some rather troublesome rumours about you recently.”
“What kind of rumours, Sir?”
“You’ve been,” he coughs awkwardly, “for lack of a better word, um, handing out favours to some of your fellow students.”
A request from an anon: Ooo so for the soft dom Steve ask I’d like maybe Steve being a bit possessive over you because you spend too much time with thor Or Tony. Even if you don’t write this I’ll love you 3000❤❤
I hope this fits the bill.
Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only Warnings: Explicit sexual content, furniture abuse Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
9.1k
Tony Stark had just reached the lab to make some adjustments to his bleeding-edge armor when the notifications started rolling in.
He took a sip of his coffee, the dash of bourbon in it at added the extra kick he’d need for this, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.
“Friday, show me notifications,” he said to the AI.
“Yes, boss.”
A screen materialized before him, showing a series of notifications from the team that started at around 4 AM.
Well, fuck.
They started out explaining that the upgrades he’d made to the Quinjet were working great. The additional power was good, handling and performance enhancements awesome, new landing system perfect.
The new user interface?
Well, with Barton flying the jet, to the mission site, it hadn’t been a problem. Barton was a little more tech-savvy than the average human and he was usually able to adjust to upgrades quickly. No problem.
The mission itself had apparently been a complete cluster fuck. The intel Fury had given them wasn’t entirely accurate. Instead of it being a simple cloak and dagger mission to infiltrate a suspicious Middle Eastern installment to gain access to an old HYDRA base they were trying to conceal, the team had pretty much walked into a trap.
There were only five on the mission: Rogers, Barnes, Barton, Wilson, and Nat. Wilson’s suit was down. Barnes’ arm was damaged, and Barton had taken a hit to the chest, but he was stable.
Rogers had apparently flipped shit over the entire affair and none of them were having any luck talking him down. The good news was that he’d been so pissed, he’d pretty much taken out an incredible number of insurgents and HYDRA agents with just Barnes backing him up while the Wilson and Nat got Barton back to the jet.
The bad news? The user interface. Rogers and Barnes could fly the jet. If he put controls in it to simulate the kiddie helicopter ride from Coney Island. Barnes, with Barton’s help, got them in air and got them out of there after Steve had apparently gotten super frustrated in trying to get the team out of there.
They weren’t expected back until tomorrow, but it looked like now they’d be back by tonight. He scanned the last few messages.
Black Widow Baby: Steve’s fuming. I’m not sure Fury is going to be able to do a lot with him in this state.
Mother Goose: Fury owes all of us an explanation. The intel was shit. We’re lucky someone didn’t get killed.
Tony nodded. Wilson wasn’t wrong.
Mother Goose: Steve wants to talk to you about the jet.
summary: It’s late at night, and Steve is still gone. And when he returns, it might be the last time you’re together.
pairing: Steve Rogers x female!reader
word count:809
warnings: angst, cursing, cheating (mentioned), implied smut, Steve is kind of an ass here
a/n: This is my first time posting my work! This was inspired by Billie Elish’s Ocean Eyes. Also note that English isn’t my first language, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
It was quiet in the compound. The hallways silent, while you could see the never dying lights of New York through the windows. The skyline illuminated the night sky so much, one could say morning comes. But it was late at night. And the only thing you could hear in the Avengers headquarters were the soft steps of her naked feet on the cold tiles.
Waited too long. Too long.
Troubled she went to her room. Weighted down with weariness, but she had to wait. Wait. Wait for him. He was gone for hours. Not a shadow of him. And she was waiting for him. She knew where he was, though. Knew what he did. Knew what he hid.
Steve’s monthly barbecue is one of the biggest sources of his pride and happiness. It’s an evening for all his friends to kick back, get drunk, and eat some great food. When he invited you, you were late for work and still pissed at him for leaving you high and dry the week before so you didn’t pay it any mind - but now, as you smell the smoky aroma of different meats and veggies coming from his back yard, you’re tempted to attend.
Looking in your fridge, all you see is some sad, leftover pasta, half a loaf of bread, and the fixings for a good sandwich. But you don’t want a good sandwich. You want Sam’s famous ribs.
“Fuck it,” You utter before swallowing your pride, adorning yourself in the prettiest sun dress you own, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine and walking on over to Steve’s place.
“You’re going to have two Alpha’s,” Bucky states simply as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your shock must be written on your face because Steve’s expression softens and Bucky presses a reassuring kiss to the top of your head.
“Don’t worry, omega. We’ll take good care of you,” Steve assures, his large hand resting on your exposed calf gently. Before you can revel in the sweet yet lustful action, Buckys fingers tilting your chin up distracts you and you meet his concerned blue eyes. “You can say no,” he murmurs, eyes full of love and protection, and a glimmer of hope that you’ll say yes. “I won’t be mad’n neither will Steve. We’ll all forget about this conversation,” he promises, squeezing your hip with his free hand reassuringly as you glance between them, yearning but conflicted.
“If I say yes,” you venture cautiously, “how will it work? Like how do we decide who gets what, and when?” You ask, hoping your intentions are clear. Bucky leans to the other side of the bed and grabs a blanket which you gratefully accept before pulling it around your naked form, not missing the way Steve’s eyes rake your now-covered body, undressing you all over again with his eyes. You shoot him a half-sweet, half-knowing look before relaxing back into Bucky’s side, glancing between them as you await an answer.
“That’s up to you, doll. I may be your Alpha but I would never make you do anything that you aren’t okay with. Stevie knows that, and I hope you do too,” he says as they share a glance.
“I do,” you reassure, enterlacing your fingers with his metal hand, an assurance in itself that you trust every part of him. He’d struggled with allowing you near it, much less holding it in your own hand, but you’d gotten there, together. Just like you would with everything in life, including this.
A contemplative quiet settles over the room and you all stay like that for a while until you unexpectedly break the silence. “Yes,” you breathe out suddenly, surprising both of them, their eyes widening with shock and joy. “I want you,” you glance over your shoulder at Bucky, smiling. “Both of you,” you continue, patting the empty space beside you and inviting Steve to join you. He readily makes his way up the bed, settling on the opposite side of Bucky as you nestle into his side, your fingers still entertwined with Bucky’s who smiles at you sweetly.
“What do you want us to do?” Steve asks, his fingers drawing soothing shapes over side and hip, tone soft and imploring against the top of your head.
“I don’t know,” you confess tiredly, worn out from your earlier adventure with Bucky. “Can we just take everything slow, and go from there?” You ask, looking at them in turn.
“Of course, darlin,” Bucky murmurs, squeezing your hand softly as Steve hums an “of course,” before your eyes flutter shut and you drift to sleep beside them.
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A/N: I hope this was okay? I know not much happened but I’m halfway done with the next part of the story :) Let’s just say it’s spicy. Thanks for reading!
A/N 2: Send an ask/dm to be added/removed/updated on my taglists!
