Milk Tea and Dreams

“Well, well, well- look at what we have here.”

A squeak leaves the girl and Dabi grins as the cowering thing curls in on herself, as she presses against the dirty wall of the alleyway.

You’re an awfully cute little thing to be skulking around an alleyway late at night. What the hell are you doing out here with your little sundress and cardigan, your fearful eyes and trembling hands, your flicking...ears?

Dabi’s brow raises as he watches the fluffy things twitch. His hands reach out before he even thinks of it and he grabs onto your ears, pinches them between his bony fingers and makes you squeal and squirm.

“What are these, huh? They’re awfully cute, doll. Hey- what the hell are you supposed to be, huh? Some kinda lil bear?”

Under your fear, confusion bubbles up and you whine softly as he shakes the ears, try to back away from him only to make him tug on them tighter.

“N-No, please. I-”

“So what the fuck are ya?” Dabi interrupts, pinching them again and crowding in closer to you, leering down with a grin that makes you quake. “C’mon, sweetheart, I just wanna know.”

He yanks on them and that’s when you let out a bleat- your whole body jerking and little tears wetting your lashes.

Ah, shit- now he knows what you are.

Well, ain’t that fucking cute.

“Aww, a little lamb,” he croons, thumbs rubbing in little circles along your ears. The whimper that you let out doesn’t escape him- nor does the way your eyes screw up and your cheeks flush, your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “Hey, what’re ya doin’ out here, lambchop? Didja get separated from your flock?”

“D- Don’t call me that,” you sniffle out, head trying to turn away from him. He pinches your ears to keep you in place and you whimper again, cower even more as he leans down until his face is right in front of yours, until he can perfectly see those cute tears beading along your lashes and threatening to slip down your cheeks. “Mister, please- I just- I just wanna go home.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” he agrees, voice dripping with faux-sympathy. He starts rubbing along your ears again- little circles with his thumbs that makes you squirm- and Dabi licks his lips when your thighs press together, when you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper. “Aw, babe, I’m just messin’ with ya- no need to be such a crybaby.”

Your pretty little lips tremble and Dabi grins at that little wobble, squeezes your ears gently and runs them through the slits of his fingers. A weak shiver runs through you and Dabi hums appreciatively at the tiny, stuttered bleat that chokes out from your throat, the way you try to shrink away from him when he grabs onto your waist with one hand and goes back to fondling one of your ears with the other.

“Hey, do ya got a tail too? Bet it’s real cute.”

A squeal leaves you as he easily turns you around- you barely try to fight him off, can’t really do anything with those weak squirms and pathetic little jerks of yours. Dabi forces you around and you whimper when he whistles- little hands scrabbling at the rough brick of the wall and a fluffy tail greeting him. He grabs at it immediately and you cry out when he grips it tight- back arching and your ass sticking out toward him, quivering little sobs starting to break from you.

“Hey- I was right; it’s pretty cute, lambchop.”

“Mis- Mister, please! Please let me-”

Dabi lands a smack to your ass and the words die under a whine, your little tail shakes along with your rump. Dabi stifles a groan at the sight and he grinds against your ass, reaches up to fondle your twitching ears. There’s another little bleat that sounds and then a whimper- ears jerking underneath his fingers and your ass rubbing all along his cock as you squirm and try to get away from him.

Oh, no- he’s not about to let a tender little morsel like you get away.

“Hey, calm down- I’m not gonna fuckin’ hurt ya or anything.”

You only give a cute, pathetic little sob in response. It goes straight to his cock and Dabi licks his lips whenever you turn your head back to look at him- eyes bright with tears and cheeks flushed, wet lashes threatening to stick to your cheeks.

“Aw, darlin’,” he croons- mouth stretching with a grin, thumb massaging the fluffy mass of your ear and sending a tremble through you. “C’mon- I’m just playin’ with ya a little. Let me have some fun and I’ll let ya go, okay?”

“F- fun?”

“Yeah,” he tells you- gripping your tail again to mirror the way he plays with your ear. The tiniest bleat slips from your lips when he does and he nearly groans at the noise, presses tighter against your ass when you shiver. “Just a little fun, doll. Just a little fun and I’ll let ya go.”

“P-Promise?” you sniffle- lips wobbling with an upset pout, even more tears glistening and dripping from your lashes.

Aw, ain’t that adorable. You’re just the cutest little dipshit, aren’t you?

“Yeah, babe,” Dabi lies through his teeth- grin stretching wide enough to take up his whole place. “I promise.”

Another sniffle and your head bobs in a nod, your shoulders slump in dejection. Dabi almost laughs at it, but he just smacks your ass instead- makes you jerk and bleat before he pulls away.

If you were smart, you would have tried to run away when he did. But, no, you just cower like the frightened thing you are and rub at your eyes with loose fists.

Dabi grabs onto your wrist before the thought of fleeing enters your dumb little brain and he jerks you toward him, makes you follow after him on wobbly feet as he drags you out of the alley.

“W- what? M- Mister- where are you- I thought-”

“What? You want me to fuck you in the alley? Well, aren’t you eager.”

You squeak and shake your head frantically- eyes so wide and still so bright with tears. Dabi snorts and tugs you toward the hideout, grins whenever you whimper but don’t try to get away with more than a weak little pull of your arm.

“M-Mister, you didn’t say anything about- about-”

“About fucking? Oh, come on, lambchop- what kind of fun did you think I meant?”

“N-no! Please!”

Dabi ignores your pleading and your whines- just like all the people that he drags you past.

You try to grip onto the doorframe when he gets to the hideout, try to stop yourself from being pulled inside. It’s no use, though- he rips you from it with ease and makes you stumble into the hideout and into him. A panicked whimper leaves you and Dabi huffs at it, grips you by the hips and squeezes them so tight it has you wheezing.

“You better be good, sweetheart, or I might not let ya go.”

Fear has your eyes widening, another whimper sounding. You sniffle, head dropping, and Dabi yanks on your tail until you squeal and look back up at him- tears dripping down your flushed cheeks and body curling in on itself.

“Tell me you’ll be good,” he demands- grinning while you cower. “Tell me, little lamb.”

“I- I’ll be good! Mister, pl- please! I’ll be good!”

Yeah, of course you will.

Dabi grabs you by the wrist again and drags you past the bar and up the stairs- ignores whenever Twice pokes his head out of a room and gives him a curious little look. It’s only luck that keeps him from running into Toga and thank god for that- there’s no way he’d be able to keep the little freak from tearing you from him.

You yourself had spent quite a few nights, drunk and carefree in Bucky’s arms as he made sure you were tucked into bed before the sun rose, but that was you and this was Bucky. Bucky—the man with super soldier serum pumping through his veins, an unstoppable being that would move mountains for you. The same man that was so serious you often had to force a laugh out of him whenever you were outside the confines of your apartment. And here he was, red in the face and snickering. 

“Sorry to call you so late, y/n,” Steve apologized, a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “He was supposed to spend the night here after the mission, but the guy wouldn’t shut up about you. Threatened to drive home if we didn’t get you, and I wouldn’t put that past him.”  

“Exactly how much did he have to drink?” you laughed, stuffing your car keys in your purse. 

Bucky snapped his gaze up at the sound of your voice, pushing past Steve to stumble down the steps. “My best girl,” he called, his body heavy against yours as he reached you. “Sweetheart, I’ve been thinkin’ about you for days. Missed you while I was gone.” 

You struggled under his weight as he nuzzled his face into your neck, but you could hardly find it in yourself to mind when he kept brushing his lips against your skin so sweetly. You dropped your purse in favor of holding him up, and Bucky was quick to reach down and swipe it from the grass. 

“Dropped your bag, sugar.” He wrapped the strap around his hand, eager to get his arms back around you. “Don’t worry though, I got it. Wouldn’t want you to leave it at the bar.” 

“Buck, we’re not at a bar. We’re at the compound. With your team.” 

“Then why do I feel drunk?” 

It was impossible to keep the full-bodied laugh from escaping you, prompting Steve to let out a chuckle from the top of the stairs. He shook his head as he made his way down, uncrossing his arms and letting the fondness for his best friend crinkle at the corners of his eyes. 

“Let me take him up. You can stay here for the night and drive him back in the morning,” Steve offered, already moving Bucky’s hand from around your shoulders. 

But Bucky was having none of that, swatting his friend away and yanking you out of reach. “Hey, hands off my girl, Rogers. You might be big now, but she’s still mine, got it?” 

Steve held his hands up in a placating gesture, a smile hidden behind a serious facade. “‘Course, Buck. Why don’t you bring your girl up to your room then? She’s looking awfully tired and you wouldn’t want a lady to stand out here in the cold for too long.”

Bucky looked taken aback by Steve’s words, his unstable posture turning to you to take your face into his hands. “Are you cold?” he asked, with so much sincerity and concern that you had to grapple to keep your composure. 

“I’m a little cold, Bucky.” 

That was all it took. With an alarm you had never seen on his face before, Bucky pushed past Steve and guided you forward on unsteady legs. He bypassed the kitchen and the living room and the hallway, all of which contained members of the team that watched as he hurried you into his room. 

You caught the tail end of a conversation when you passed the couches, a quiet, “That guy’s whipped” preceding a soft, “Well I’ve definitely never seen him look like that.” All of the words were ignored by Bucky, even though there was a great chance he had heard even more than you had. 

But it didn’t matter, because the second you made it to Bucky’s room he was kissing you and holding you and still drunk, but drunk and in love with you. 

a smirk grew on your face, suddenly remembering the surprise he was in for. your hands gripped the hem of your shirt and pulled the fabric up to your chin.

his jaw dropped.

mouth going dry before nearly drooling, nishinoya opened and closed his mouth dumbly, wide eyes flickering from your chest to your face. it made you giggle, playfully moving your shoulders to make your tits move, the silver metal going through your nipples catching the light.

"ca- whe- ho- huh?" he stammered, shaking his head quickly before looking back, trying to make sure that they're real.

"i got them a few years ago" you explain, studying his face before arching your back slightly. "you can touch them if you want to"

his eyes went impossibly wider, staring dumbly at your face while his hands move up to cup your tits. careful fingers swipe over your nipples, playing with the piercing and pinching the skin, groaning at the feeling. his cock strained in his pants, begging for attention as he moved closer, massaging and groping your chest. nishinoya looks up at you for consent before leaning in and flicking his tongue over one of the nipples. eyes falling closed, he wraps an arm around your waist and brings you closer, fully sucking on your nipple while moaning, his tongue gliding against the smooth skin and teeth catching the silver ball.

"so fucking hot-- the hottest tits, fuck" he lowly moans, gently pushing you onto your back and straddling your hips. his free hand plays with your other nipple, mouth working and drooling over the other one.

He calls your name as he gets closer, draws the attention of the other lady standing with you; she’s holding your baby, swaying side to side. Settling the little guy. “Who’s this, sis?” She smiles, giving you a sideways glance. She’s not as pretty as you— he’d be hard-pressed to ever meet someone as lovely as you in his lifetime— but she’s got that ass, big and round, same as you.

You’re wearing a blouse— flowy, feminine, white— and the tightest jeans he’s ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, “this is Mirio, we, um, met at the supermarket,” you smile, doing that thing with your hair again.

So cute when you’re nervous.

“She had so many carrots in her cart, I was just being nosey,” he’s chosen to wear a gym tee today, showing off his triceps, traps, deltoids; and you’ve noticed, glancing away from him, pretending to busy yourself with the placement of the sweets on the table.

“Speaking of, here’s the cake,” you gesture to it, still unable to meet his eyes, before holding your hands behind your back. It’s a neat looking cake, if he didn’t know it was homemade, he woulda thought it’d been done professionally.

“That doesn’t even look like carrot cake,” he narrows his eyes, bends down to scrutinise it, teasingly so. “It looks like chocolate,”

“I, uh, made it look like that so the kids’d still eat it,” you grin, proud.

Cute.

Your sister scoffs, “You came all the way here for a slice of cake?”

She has no idea.

“No, I,” he starts, feigning embarrassment, “I actually got my team together for a car wash.” He explains, waving in the direction of the car park. It was a pain on such short notice, but it’s worth it to see you visibly relax. He’d hate for you to get too on edge about him being around.

He needs your trust, after all.

“Anyways, I better get back to it!” He laughs, running a hand through his hair, meeting your eyes. “Save me a piece of that, huh?” He winks, and you bite your lip, before righting yourself and sending him a delicate wave.

☆☆☆☆☆

It’s a couple of hours later when you approach the group of rowdy men, looking more than a little out of place, and very timid. Mirio takes it upon himself to make sure you don’t get too close to the rest of the gang, less you attract any other admirers he’d have to fight off.

“Hey,” he waves, jogging up to you, making a point to look pointedly around for your sister and the little one. “Where’s the rest of the fam?”

A little smile grows on your face, “my sister took my son home in her car; I’ve offered to help out with the clean up,” you say, lifting the paper bag in your hand and holding it out to him. “Do you have time for some cake?”

“Oh!” His brows shoot up at the invitation, and he’s wiping his sudsy hands on his damp swim shorts. “Yeah, I’ve got time,” blue eyes dart around the space before they land on Block A; if his memory serves him right, there’s a set of stairs in there that the pair of you can sit on.

That, and the building’s not in use at the moment.

He leads the way and you follow blindly, lulled into conversation about children— both yours, and the students at the elementary school— that lowers your guard, helps him gain your trust. He tells you about how he went to this school, that he’s sure his name’s engraved on a few gold plaques in the trophy cabinet.

He keeps conversation going, confident and unwavering as you both wander up the stairs, setting up camp on the landing, sitting against the wall, beneath the huge window letting the light of the slowly sinking sun in.

“I didn’t bring forks!” You huff, taking the cake box from the bag, a plastic knife. “Are you okay with fingers?” You ask innocently, those pretty eyes of yours wide, brows tented in a silent plea.

“Fingers?” All he can think about is that he wants his all over you. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he almost chokes out, but you’re sighing in relief, opening the box and slicing what’s left of the cake in half, plating it on a paper plate you pull from the bag and handing it to him.

You do the same for your own, and that’s when things go a little… awry.

You pick at parts of the cake with your delicate fingers, then slide them into your mouth, pink tongue cleaning crumbs from your lips, the wet smack of you sucking your fingers clean driving him practically insane.

What if it wasn’t your fingers those plush lips were sucking? What it it wasn’t cake that cute little tongue was cleaning from your lips?

“Mirio?” Your brows have risen, and he finds himself blinking, shaking his head of the thoughts running rampant.

“Sorry, I just— it’s nothing,” he laughs, “I just remembered where I left my Fitbit; I keep forgetting where I put it down.” The lie slips out easily, but your expression only turns more apologetic.

“God, I must be boring you, huh?” You pout with a sigh, a soft chuckle leaving your lips. “Married mother and a college student? We really don’t have a lot in common, do we?”

“Aw nah, it’s not like that,” he starts, about to soothe your mind, when something catches his eye. Blue eyes shoot down to your chest, a gasp catching in his throat at the sight of two perfectly cylindrical patches of wet sitting— and slowly seeping— over where he’s guessing your nipples are.

His cock twitches.

“Oh god,” you yelp, dropping your cake and covering your breasts with your hands. “Mirio, I’m so sorry, I— this is embarrassing, I swear I didn’t know—“

“Hey, no, shhhh, its— its fine! I’ll just,” he clears his throat, tries to ignore the niggle of need beginning to pump through his veins, and glances around, despite knowing there’s no one about. He needs to be a good. He has to be good. “I’ll head down to my truck and grab you a shirt, it’ll be okay—”

“No, I—” you gasp, grabbing his shirt before he can take off down the stairs, shining eyes of yours wide and desperate. “I need to, uh… I need to express or I’ll just keep… leaking.” He— smooth, careful, bright Mirio— is rendered speechless for a moment, eyes fighting to keep on yours, barely resisting the urge to peek down at your milk-stained blouse.

“Right, yeah, of course,” he nods, watching as your frantic eyes begin to tear up.

“A bathroom, or something?” You make a move to stand, but reflex has him reaching for your knees, keeping you still.

Because this? This is perfect.

“No, I’ll just… I’ll help.” His voice is so low, it nearly cracks, his cock already rock hard in his board shorts.

“You’ll what..? Mirio, I just— they’re both still—” the look he gives you renders you speechless.

“I said: I’ll help you,” he whispers, dead serious. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth as understanding dawns on you, eyes wide and breath hitched. “A-and—” he kicks himself for stuttering, “I won’t tell a soul, I swear,”

Your voice is almost a whimper, “M-Mirio—”

But he doesn’t wanna give you the opportunity to say no, can’t bear to hear it. “You know this is what I’ve wanted all along, right? You’re… you’re just beautiful.” He breathes, pushing onto his knees to situate himself between yours, huge hands sliding up your thighs, fingers grasping at the hem of your blouse.

You look absolutely lovely like this: inches from him, face flushed, eyes watery, tits still leaking. His fingers pinch the flowy fabric of your top, eyes locked on yours, but you say nothing, keeping deathly still; he takes that as a go ahead and begins to lift the material up, but your hands stop him.

“Just this,” you whisper, waiting for him to nod before taking the material from his fingers and pulling the shirt up and over your head.

Breath leaves Mirio’s lungs in a gasp, all blood rushing to his groin at the sight of your mussed hair, heated skin, the stretch marks dusting across the soft expanse of your plush lower belly. But your breasts… they’re something else.

Full— too full— and huge and round and wet and— fuck, he can only stare so much. His eyes flitter back to yours, one last look of ‘are you sure?’ before you start to nod and your hands come up to cover your face.

“If you don’t want me to,” he croaks, throat like sandpaper because as much as he wants this, he’s nervous. It’s bordering agitation, the seconds passing plucking at the thin, fraying thread of his self-control, brain buzzing because this might be it, and he doesn’t want it to be.

Then you’re peeking from behind your fingers, the diamond on your left ring finger shining brightly, eyes half-lidded, little: “No, it’s… It’s okay,” falling quietly from your lips.

And that thread snaps.

Frantic fingers tug at the clips of your nursing bra, breasts bouncing as gravity plays it’s part, tiny little gasp leaving your lips. He glances up at you, sees you looking at him through your fingers, eyes wide; but he can’t stop, even if you’re second-guessing yourself.

He presses his face into the valley of your bosom and breathes you in, one hand tugging down the left cup of your bra, the other wrapping around your back to keep you close. You whimper, but he soothes you gently, eyes following his fingers as he traces the curve of your breast, as his thumb and forefinger meet in the middle to pinch gently at your areola.

His cock strains painfully between his legs, a groan stuck in his throat as tiny droplets of white are squeezed to the surface of your nipple, before they all melt into each other and begin to drizzle down your tit. He almost has to pinch himself, almost cums right then and there.

But that’d be a waste, wouldn’t it? A waste of a climax when he can practically taste the precipice of his desires.

“G-god Mirio, hurry up,” you sob, pushing the heels of your hands into the sockets of your eyes, pushing your chest closer to his face.

He doesn’t give you an answer, just sticks his tongue out and drags it up the milky river running down your skin. You both moan, and Mirio closes his eyes, the sweetness almost too much stimulation when paired with your soft, plump flesh. It’s easy for him to latch onto you, easy for his big hands to milk you onto his tongue, easy for his lips to suck your pliant flesh into the hot, wet cavern of his mouth.

Your taste floods him, those lovely thighs of yours pressing into his sides, caging him in while your whimpering moans carry though the stairwell. With slowly seeping mouthfuls, your breast begins to soften, making it easier for him to press his face into your fat, for him to really feel like he’s drowning in you.

He gets lost in you, but a hand in his hair brings him back to reality, has faraway blue eyes staring up at your flushed face. “The… other one,” you breathe shakily, pulling the right cup down yourself, offering your leaking tit to him.

Without a second thought he’s groaning and latching onto your teat, suckling the sweet milk from your breast with fervour, revelling in the softness of you, letting himself press into the plush of your body.

Then he’s pulling away from you, licking his lips, “gonna lay you down,” he mumbles, wrapping your legs around his waist and lifting you with his huge hands, turning you and placing you on the floor, slotting himself right on top of you before his mouth finds you again.

It’s complete debauchery, the sounds you’re making, the way you push up against him, thread your fingers in his hair; and he’s rutting against your centre now— sucking and thrusting, sucking and thrusting— chasing the overstimulation, needing release, needing relief.

It comes both too soon and not soon enough. He spends himself in his shorts, whining around a mouthful of your flesh, milk leaking from the corners of his mouth as cum smothers the skin between his thighs. For a moment he just lays there, glued to your heated flesh, but when he does sit up, he promises himself that he’ll commit the look of you to memory.

You, with your heaving chest and watery eyes; your hot, damp, milky skin, hair sticking to your hairline. You open your mouth to talk, but promptly close it, still trying to even out your breathing. He wants to ask if you came too, if him rutting against your jean-covered slit with your breast in his mouth had the same affect on you that it did on him, but he bites his tongue, settles with wordlessly helping you up, fiddling with the clasps of your bra to help with your modesty.

“‘S fine,” you whisper, your fingers expertly clipping your cups back up to cover your breasts. You eye him off silently, questions on the tip of your tongue, but say nothing.

“I’ll,” he clears his throat. “I’ll get you a shirt from my truck,” he says, unable to look away from you, waiting for you to say something— anything.

“Okay,” you nod, pulling your knees close to hide your torso behind them.

He stares for a second longer, before deciding to take off. “Alright, I’ll be right back—”

“W-wait, I—” you reach for him again, desperate eyes pleading with him. “You won’t tell? You promise?”

you’re near ravenous when he finally comes home, shrugging off his coat, boots taken off at the door, handkerchief in hand to wipe any lingering dust and dirt from his hands- not wanting to dirty any surface you’d spent all day cleaning. he’s even apprehensive in giving you his coat- looking at you with pinched lips, grunting while gently placing it in your waiting hands.

he doesn’t touch you until he’s all showered, even when you insist that it’s okay, the dirt beneath his nails from working, from being outside all day makes him feel dirty, you’re his princess, his pretty baby- how could he ever think to lay a soiled finger onto your soft and well taken care of skin...

he usually relents to your whines, begrudgingly bending down to place a quick kiss to your pretty lips- puckered and waiting for his own to press onto yours. he makes a straight line to the bathroom, showering, rolling his shoulders back once he steps out- towel secured ‘round his hips, and once again walking in a practiced route to your shared room.

he doesn’t change, he can’t because as soon as he’s out, you’re sat on the bed. pillows, blankets- comforter fluffed daily in anticipation for him to fuck you.

eyes eagerly drinking in his every step, water running down rounded out muscle, not so defined- not anymore. the home cooked meals that you make for him has treated him well, form fluffed out with muscle that’s more fitted for his job, it’s dense and packed in, thick. it makes your pussy throb.

“how was work papa?” you question sweetly, legs spreading wide to receive his body, slick folds wetly (and loudly) parting for him while you pin your knees on either side of you, giggling at the way he sucks a breath in every time, eyes looking at the pussy he so adores, mouth salivating.

he loves coming home to you.

he loves how soft you are, warm- thinks there’s nothing better smelling and more comforting than sinking deep- so very deep into the tight and wet heat that is your pretty pussy.

letting the towel fall at the foot of the bed, his cock hangs in a thick curve over his heavy balls, pretty white pubes decorating his crotch, tummy clenching in anticipation, it’s a sight seeing him get hard, thick length bending with how big he is- even fully hard there’s a delicious curve, gravity not too kind to him.

“good... i missed you.” aone mumbles. huffing as his now cleaned, calloused- thick... such thick hands reach to finally touch, soothing up the expanse of your legs, wondering how someone so pretty- so beautiful is laid out beneath him, pussy drooling for a cock like his.

you purr, smiling, body twisting- pushing up as his hands press you down.

“missed you more... was thinking about you- ‘bout something in particular.” you mumble, lidded eyes wandering up to his neck. watching the pretty blooming blush roll down all the way to his chest- wanting to reach up and remark and fading hickies, fingertips ghosting along faded lines of your nails dug in the moment of overwhelming passion.

“hm.” he hums, giving you his whole attention as you speak- looking at your lips as you form every word, planting heavy hands to the apex of your legs, digging the pads of every finger into the giving flesh, encouraging you to continue with a nod, all while kneading and squishing your body.

“was just thinking what a good papa you are- was thinking if you’d give me a baby... to keep me company while you leave.” you breathe, pulse quickening at the thought- head spinning the second the last word tumbles free, all because you’re suddenly pulled down.

it’s near audible, a lowly groan spreading forth from the deepest parts of his chest while he huffs- pale chest rising and falling rapidly, cock visibly throbbing- balls clenching, there’s even a moment where he thinks he may cum.

“f-fuck- a baby?” he exhales, tipping his head back, the stutter making you look at him with a hint of curiosity.

blinking away the base need to shove his cock inside, blinking away the need to push your head into the bed and dump load after load of his cum inside you, all with the intent to make you round with his kid he pulls your legs up he comes down towards you.

all to make you fat and pretty and waddle around while he takes you hand in hand everywhere you need to go.

he doesn’t realizes his hips have instinctively rutted down into you- too caught up in the thought of holding you while fat with a baby the two of you made.

hands dimpling your soft skin- muscle memory carrying every action, already folding you down, knees nearly pressing against your chest, heavy cock slotted onto your cunt, squished between your bent legs.

“i’ll give you a baby. my princess wants a baby.” he grunts, gone dizzy. all of this taking place in mere seconds of you spilling the thought. he says it like it’s a command from you, tunnel vision suckering him in, barely able to see you in the absolute need to give his princess everything her pretty heart desires.

you don’t know where he’s gone, obviously lost in a heavy headspace- popping the head of his still throbbing cock into you, crying in suspense. this is all so exciting, he’s always so eager to bring you what you want, always willing to move the stars and moon for you and now he’s answering to the fantasy you built up all day.

“p-papa!” you squeal, sucking in a breath when he barrels into you with a near punishing thrust.

this is different, he’s different. he’s always cautious with every thrust, but there’s no regret or remorse while the second slam of his hips knock into you. kicking legs just barely able to squirm at all with the way they’re perched on his broad shoulders, you watch as they dangle, watch while he stares you down, his own body moving with intent- drilling into your sopping pussy.

“papa!” you yell this time, soft hands holding onto his arms, his large palms resting on either side of your face while he folds himself down, the creak, sway of the bed dangerously loud- sucking every breath from inside your lungs.

he’s never been this rough, never- and your lips curl with every open mouth yell.

he fucks into you like you’re not there, thick cock splitting you open- filling your cunt, bringing you so very early into a blinding orgasm.

it’s so wet- eyes wet, pussy wet while you squirt and gush, crying out tiny little whimpers of his name as every wave of orgasm takes you. it splatters all over his thighs, painting his tummy, dripping back down onto you hotly.

this is all he needs, needs you wet and messy, needs your pussy swollen and slicked with need and cum so you can take such a big cock easier- if you take it easier he can use every inch of strength he has to dig the swollen and still throbbing cockhead right up to your cervix. he can almost see the swollen ring so ready to take his cum, displacing your own weepy orgasm, making room to receive all of his own thick, milky orgasm.

“good girl- my good girl.” aone nearly chokes, unfocused eyes zoning down onto your bent form, pussy lips and folds sucked in and out in with each drag.

you’re melted, reduced to a babbling little baby under his large mass- doing so well, taking someone so strong and so big like him with nothing more than a few overstimulated tears. drool forming at the corner of your mouth, the only thing you can do is wait for his cum like the pretty princess you are.

“papa- ‘ts too much- too much.” you gasp, wandering eyes roaming up his neck, landing on hardened eyes.

“no- no it’s not. you want a baby. i’m giving you a baby.” he speaks- knowing this is hard on someone treated like a doll, soft hands digging into the veined arms of his, same hands that never work too hard for anything at all, all because he insists on treating you with any and everything.

and just like everything else, he knows he needs to cut this short- knows you’re tired and wanting to drift off onto a nap, so aone fucks you deeply.

he needs to bend further and kiss away the tears spilling down your soft and plush cheeks- heated with the exertion he’s putting your body under, gently apologizing. the high and heated coiled need to breed you slowly waning, now just needing to paint your pussy with his cum.

“it’s okay- it’s okay, papa loves you- you’re okay.”

the gentleness, lowly and grunted words truly bring you peace, trembling under him- hiccuping at the thrusts he gives you, exhaling heavy when he tips forward to an orgasm finally.

sealing hips down to your own, rutting with securely placed knees down onto the bed.

he pushes you up a good amount, crinkling the bedding around your limp body, pistoning shallow thrusts, each one stickier- messier, harder to deliver as he cums. thick cock pulsating in need, sinking into such silky gummy walls all shaped to the form of his large cock.

he huffs equally shallow breaths, tired- so tired from an intense fucking, balls squeezing up tight to his body, every contraction followed by a deep squish of him to you.

“fuck- fuck.” aone groans, his shaking form transferred down to you, slowly bringing your aching legs off the perch of his shoulders. he gathers the last bit of strength residing in his body to take care of you, once more- with a gentleness only found in someone who’s been cautious of their own strength their whole life, he places your legs onto the bed.

you’re still dizzy as he does so, unable to keep the seizing of your muscles down- body heated and sweaty with how he folded your form into his desired state, slowly blinking your eyes more and more open.

blurry gaze landing on him, watching with a slowly growing smile as he looks at you with a reserved guilt.

“it’s okay.” you whisper, only able to whisper for the time being- “i’m okay.”

but even with what you say, he brings a large palm to your tummy, holding it there- reminding himself that it was to give you what you wanted. you just look so broken now, limbs unmoving, all dead weight while he positions your body much more comfortably.

with a nod, he pushes down any worry to hold you tight- swollen muscle wrapping your precious body up. your giggles bringing forth a near exasperated smile from him- wondering how his sweet baby still can be so... sweet after being fucked like that.

sleepy face burying into the crook of his neck while he fights to keep his softened cock inside you, pulling his princess onto him, slotting the plushness of you against his body.

“pretty.” he mumbles once the two of you are relaxed, basking in the tiredness throbbing throughout two fucked out forms.

“pretty baby.” aone whispers, bringing down a large hand to your tummy.

Truth be told, he’s been rather taken with you ever since he and Dave were assigned to this suite with you and another girl. At first, he supposed he didn’t really care much- roommates had never given him trouble, female or otherwise- but you...you made him feel weird.

You had this gentle tone of voice when he introduced himself, his name softly rolling off your tongue, making him feel this oddest urge to...know what you were thinking. He wanted to talk, he wanted to brag, he wanted to lift something heavy just to show you that he could lift heavy things, even though he was aware that it would be a ridiculous thing to do. It was a ridiculous thing to think, even, as he confided in Dave later.

Dave had just laughed at him.

The urge he got when he saw you, the urge to pull you into a hug and press you flush against his whole body, he didn’t know what to make of it.

Until now.

He’s been sitting in almost darkness in his room for a while now, holding in his hands his varsity “Plus Ultra” jacket that he had put around your shoulders last night, when he’d walked back with you from a late evening lecture. You’d just been to return it, a soft smile on your lips,and now he’s sitting here, jacket in hand, breathing in your scent that was on his jacket, feminine and sweet. He slumps back to lay on the bed, still holding it close, one hand unconsciously smoothening over his crotch. He only notices when he gives himself a light squeeze- the warmth is both pleasurable and uncomfortable at the same time, his cock growing hard underneath his sweatpants.

He breathes in.

He is not a pervert.

But is this perverted? Rubbing himself over his sweatpants while breathing in your scent?

How would you feel if you found out?

You’d probably never even look at him again.

His hips buck.

He knows he should get his hand away before this escalates, but grinding into his own palm is just about his only option. He’s not comfortable with casual relationships, and he’s too busy to ever pursue a serious one, and being as busy as he is gives him almost no time to take care of himself.

He sighs as he removes his hand for good, rolling over to his side and grabbing his phone from his bedside table. He needs to distract himself, so he opens up his social media- he’s not necessarily a huge fan of it, but he knows it’s important for a hero like him to have a presence.

He scrolls a bit, almost lazily, but the universe is not on his side. Pretty soon he’s on your page, looking through your pictures with his lower lip between his teeth.

There’s this one picture of you. You’re wearing a short red dress, one that complements your body perfectly, tight in all the right places, with thin straps that show off your beautiful shoulders, ones he wants to kiss all over, bite and suck and leave marks on. His bright blue eyes fix themselves on your thighs- would you like it if he dove between them? If he licked the insides of your thighs, sucking on their softness- would you buck your hips and whine at him to kiss you where you wanted it?

His hand is between his legs again, his sweatpants uncomfortably tight, face half buried in the jacket.

He wishes he could bury his face in your pussy, instead.

The thought is so graphic that he flinches, but his hand stays.

He’s just going to press down a little, to help with the discomfort. He keeps staring at the picture, glancing at your cleavage, but going back to the hem of your dress.

Such a short dress. Hitch it up a few inches and you’d be exposed- had you been wearing those lacy pink panties he got a peek at, once?

Were you even wearing panties at all in this picture?

His mind wanders to how you lounge in your shorts in the common area, those tiny shorts that barely cover your ass, only offering a thin strip of protection to your bare cunt.

Toshi knows it’s not very plus ultra of him to commit the image of you in those shorts to memory, and he’s ashamed of what it says about his self control but he gives in, shucking off his sweatpants and kicking them away, palming himself through his boxers.

He’s just so sexually frustrated.

His cock is hard, straining against them as if threatening to break out of his boxers. He circles the covered head with his fingers, the pleasure too much but not enough.

He doesn’t want his hands. He wants your tongue, wet and pink and swirling gently on his head, pushing at the slit and lapping up his pre.

He’s not the most experienced guy on the block, but Toshi knows that just like the rest of him, he’s a bit larger than life. He wonders how much of him you’d be able to take into his mouth, groaning as he imagines your mouth sucking on his head, your soft hands pumping his length.

Tears in your eyes as you try to take him further into your mouth, but don’t even get a quarter of the way through.

His hand slides inside his underwear, eyes glued to his phone as he scrolls further down your page.

Perv, he tells himself, flushing from both embarrassment and arousal. You’re just down the hall from him, sweet and unaware, and he briefly wonders what you’re doing before he begins to wonder what you look like touching yourself.

He can just imagine you, lying on your bed wearing nothing but his large, open jacket, playing with your nipples and rubbing your slit. Whose name would you whisper?

Or maybe he’d save you from a villain or something and you’d like to pay him back in kind-

Toshi shudders as he bucks his hips into his hand, chastising himself for that last thought. He is a hero, even fantasizing about something like that is unethical and abhorrent and-

-he wants to hear you moan his hero name, he wants to see you free his cock from his hero suit, run your hands over his body, look up at him with worshipping eyes-

His cock is slick with his own pre cum as he begins to pump himself in earnest, phone dropped to a side as he focuses on his own fantasies. What would you be like if he saved you from a villain attack? Would you cling to his form, subtly running your hands over his muscles, maybe nuzzling against his chest for comfort?

Would you tilt your head towards him, hoping for a kiss?

He imagines kissing you, his lips on yours, tongue exploring your mouth. Carrying you to safety as you begin to take your clothes off, grateful and adoring and looking at him as if he’s the whole world.

Fuck.

His balls are throbbing in his hand, and he gives them a squeeze, imagining you trying to suck on them, trying to cup them in your small hands, trailing kisses all over his sac and licking up his shaft.

Fuck, all he wants right now is for you to blow him. You, naked and on your knees in front of him while he sits back, completely clothed in his hero suit with only his cock out, sighing as you lick and suck and moan against his shaft, your hand occasionally moving to play with your tits or to rub your clit.

He wants to hear you call him All Might in a breathy little voice, hands clutching his thighs as you look pleadingly up at him and beg him to fuck you.

And he would fuck you, oh, he’d press you down onto the bed and tower over you, groping your body, grabbing your tits, settling between your open legs and rubbing his cockhead against your swollen lower lips-

He’s close, he can feel it, pumping and squeezing his length and taking deep breaths of the jacket you wore, imagining himself sinking slowly inside of your wet cunt until his hips meet yours.

He just knows you’d whine about how big he is.

He’d grip your thighs and fuck into your cunt, eliciting moans and screams, hitting every little spot inside your cunt, oh, he’d make you cum around his cock so many times that you’d be begging for him to stop, that he was too much and you couldn’t take it and-

“—for a study called Project Genesis which is highly confidential.” Another scientist speaks up, stepping forward to shake Steve’s hand. She smiles politely, her hair in a feathery pixie cut with a few dyed strands that contrasted with her lab coat. “And, I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance, Captain Rogers.”

Steve reads her badge, Dr. Ilo, he remembers seeing her ID on the tablet back at the compound. Along with a very urgent plea for reinforcements. With all of the recent attacks on facilities that previously worked with S.H.I.E.L.D., the team jumped at the chance to get a lead on the final, seemingly resilient, remains of Hydra. Although, they were now labelled as an independent terrorist group of mercenaries, led by the same man who was buried under a building the last time Steve heard of him.

“It’s a good thing we all aren’t here for that then.” The blond stands tall, posture straight as a board.

“All?” One of the other doctor’s echoes, eyes widening as the other members exit the jet. The notorious Black Widow, followed by a genius billionaire and finally, a renowned scientist who has been in hiding for the past months. The researchers take a small step back at the sight of Bruce, one of them offering him a strained smile.

The public still wasn’t over the catastrophic battle between Hulk and Hulkbuster in Johannesburg, South Africa. The Stark Relief Foundation was still dealing with the damages and lost lives. To say the least, it has been a rough few months for the team—Bruce especially, but his expertise was imperative for this mission.

Unbeknownst to Dr. Ilo and her team, the Avengers weren’t here strictly for reinforcements.

The whirring of the engine slows until the stillness of the wilderness takes its place. “Oh, that’s far more, uh, Avengers than we were expecting. Dr. Ilo?”

“It’s fine.” The woman waves, stepping forward to introduce herself to the others.

“We’re glad you contacted us, it saves us the trouble of randomly swooping in to save the day.” Tony fixes his blazer, squinting at the harsh sun. “You don’t try to conceal yourself out here at all, huh? Ever hear of Wakanda?”

“The tiny Third World nation? Yes, why?”

Steve huffs through his nose, glaring at Tony who only shrugs with a smile. “No reason. It has some of the greatest mountain ranges I’ve ever seen. Maybe lay off the research and do some sightseeing, Dr. Ilo.”

The woman hums, facing Steve. “Did you find out anything about the threat, Captain?”

The blond nods, “We suspect it’s the last remnants of Hydra. They’ve already taken down several other facilities that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“It’s kind of obvious you’re next—when you’re out in the middle of nowhere like a wounded cub.” Tony waltzes by and scans the area, undoubtedly uncovering secrets with his sunglasses. He claps his hands, pointing to the doors, “May I?”

“Of course,” one of the scientists begins leading the team through the large doors.

Immediately, the crisp nature in the air is transformed to a bitter profile, antiseptic. The striking white walls and glass panes reflect the bright, blinding lights as they walk down the wide hallway. Dr. Ilo brings them to the control room where one guard sits in a swivel chair, nearly choking on his coffee at the sight of the Avengers before Dr. Ilo excuses him.

She wasn’t lying about the lack of security.

Tony whistles. “You know, Stark Industries would be glad to help you out with this—substandard setup you have, Dr. Ilo. With your line of work, I think only the best would suffice.”

“We prefer our privacy—and I don’t think your famous tech is in our budget.”

“Fair enough.” The billionaire shrugs, and whips out a business card and hands it to the doctor. “Contact Pepper, she’ll be able to set up a payment plan. And you could say goodbye to all of this well-loved and eccentric technology, if you’d like, of course.”

“This isn’t a business deal, Tony,” Bruce says from where he’s hunched over a control panel, already sifting through the past footage. “Dr. Ilo, you said it set off one of the detectors?”

“On the Eastside of the facility, one of the thermal cameras caught an unusual presence that remained there for a long period. We weren’t alerted until the next morning,” She ignores Tony’s enthused hum, “Again, our technology isn’t the best.”

“Hydra lurking in the shadows? I would laugh if they weren’t horribly outnumbered, they’re probably scared of Cap going berserk as he did in that elevator.” Tony winces, “That’s also why I’ve tried to keep my wondrous thoughts to myself, I’d rather not spend months in the ICU, huh, Steve?”

The blond ignores the nudge from Bucky and watches the grainy footage of the surrounding area of the building. The heat signature barely moves from the treeline as the hours tick by, until the morning sun emerges and they disappear into the forest.

One of the scientists speaks up, “—excuse me, you can’t go there.”

Steve raises his gloved hand, carefully observing the rest of the researchers who’ve diverted their attention elsewhere. Through a wide window, that faces the deep woodland. His gaze switches to Natasha lingering by a tightly secure door. “Is that the electrical room?”

Dr. Ilo slowly nods, “It also stores some security documents and other sensitive data.”

“Well, we need to take a look inside. It’s simple precautions.” Steve asserts with crossed arms. “Stark, do you have the—guard box?”

The older man scoffs, “it’s not a guard box. It’s a portable protection system, more of an AI in a box than anything.” He saunters to the hall, tapping the doorframe, “And it’s quite heavy. Two-person job—let’s go, birdman.”

Sam reluctantly leaves with some colourful words, then, Dr. Ilo whispers to one of her colleagues. Hesitantly, Dr. Charles swipes his badge and the door beeps. Natasha slinks through the doorway, inquisitive laser eyes taking in the room. Steve follows as Bucky goes to the window, seemingly noticing the researchers’ interest as well while Bruce continues reviewing the footage, his glasses are drawn low as he bites his lip.

“Bet this is a change of pace considering the tech back at the compound—probably nothing compared to waking up in the twenty-first century.” Natasha ribbed, gesturing to the mass of blinking lights and exposed wires, several old screens lit up with various data, constantly changing. “Although, all of this—albeit old, is still quite shocking to you.” She heads to the poorly kept shelves, peering through a few unlabelled boxes. “Dr. Ilo certainly wasn’t lying about the lack of funding, I’ve seen better safe-keeping in convenient stores.”

Steve laughs humourlessly, observing the room as he walks to the desk, spotting a little blinking device on the ceiling. “Actually, gas detectors were invented in the 20s—” He squints at the screen, not knowing what he was looking for. He listens to the quiet beeps of the machines, “Why would Hydra have any interest in biological research?”

“Why does Hydra still exist?” Natasha fires back, glancing at the open metal door before whipping out a USB, she jams it into one of the machines then types on the keyboard. “Or, why haven’t these people moved on if S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone?”

“They continued their research solitarily, without any directors or secretaries to answer to. Who knows if they even follow rules of conduct.”

“You’d be surprised how many people care about ethics. More than you think.”

“But, most times, it’s never people who can impact the masses.” He frowns, fixing his gloves. “Do you think it’s him?” He lowers his voice.

Sharp footsteps sound outside the door, “Are you two done?” Dr. Ilo appears, her thin brows furrowed as she briefly checks the shelves against the walls. Boxes sealed, straight, nothing out of place.

Natasha nods, straightening her belt. “We’re just checking for any sabotage—”

The building rattles as an explosion goes off outside the walls. The team, except for Bruce who remains in the security room, rushes to the front doors and are welcomed by utter mayhem. Heavily armed trucks flipped and toppled over, the protective fence is now a mess of metal and electric shocks. Tens of mercenaries clad in black with heavy helmets, armed with weapons of shiny metal. Some were massive guns with smoking barrels, others with large blasters, glowing blue.

“Oh, lovely for you all to finally join,” Sam quips, flying into the sky, guns aimed at the enemies below. “Not like we’ve been getting our asses kicked!”

“The connection was jammed, no need to be pissy, birdman.” Tony snickered through the comms.

Swiftly crouching, Steve raises his shield in time for a blast, the disk withstanding the energy as Natasha ducks for cover. Bucky is behind him, firing at the soldiers as they drop like flies.

In the midst of chaos, between bombs going off and weapons blitzing, the outer facility takes a great load of damage. Windows shattered and the front doors were blown to bits, revealing the sleek white halls. Wanda’s red magic lays down a line of them, as Natasha wrestles a weapon from another, firing it at the final helicopter. The enemies, now stranded, split up. Few of them willingly brawl with the Avengers, others clatter into the building, although, most of them scour into the surrounding forest.

Steve jumps up, drop-kicking the dazed mercenary before throwing his shield at one racing into the treeline, knocking them on their face before the disk returns.

He pants, observing the array of destruction and unconscious enemies. “Romanoff, you clear out the building. Stark, find Banner and disable the servers to conceal all documents. The rest of us will head into the forest to get the rest.”

As the last armed person falls to the ground, Steve surveys the area. “Sam, head back to the facility. We’ll sweep for any hiding.”

“On it.” The tall man nods before taking off, soaring in the direction of the faint commotion.

“Barton and Buck will go ahead. I’ll stay in the back with Wanda.” He instructs with an authoritative tone before turning around.

He’s met with the young woman’s back as she stares into the mass of trees and bushes. Then, she takes off, sticks snapping under her shoes.

“Wanda,” Steve calls, putting his shield on his back before following after her. “Wanda!”

The woman bolts, hair flowing in the wind as she weaves through the thick trunks, hopping over stones and across a stream. Bucky and Clint have followed too, after seeing Steve run in the opposite direction. It was disobeying Captain’s orders, but with inexperienced personnel like Wanda, she was the top priority.

They come to a collection of smaller trees upon the edge next to a waterfall. The grass is dewy and the dirt is damp from the lack of morning sun, and the smell flows into the crisp air.

The loud crashing water almost mutes Wanda’s voice, “wait!”

Steve thinks it’s directed to him, but as he steps closer, the scolding on the tip of his tongue dies. His eyes widen as the small bundle falls to the ground, berries of purple, red and blue scatter across the earth. Steadily following up the bare legs to the barely clothed body, he meets the terrified gaze of a woman.

Skin caked in speckles of dirt, leaves and blades of grass. The filthy sweater is oversized, slipping off one shoulder and ragged with holes and loose threads. The fabric is old and sheer enough that he can see right through it.

Your lips are parted, cheeks full and eyes bright, unblinking. With a stiff stature, you shrink before everyone’s eyes. To them, it’s as if you’re trying to hide, and you are, but it’s ineffective.

As the others pace forward, you take another step back, keeping a distance. Now, standing on the rocky cliff, the coolness sends a wave of goosebumps up your legs.

The tension lays thick in the atmosphere, not even the flowing waterfall can soothe it. The strained seconds silence the background noises of nature and dull the peering rays of sunshine. The surviving beams colouring you golden and ethereal, and utterly petrified.

Steve raises a hand as Wanda steps forward, he catches Bucky’s eye over his shoulder, the man is settled on a ledge a couple of feet up. His steel-blue eyes are alert, hands firmly holding the rifle, finger hovering the trigger. He barely nods.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” Steve assures, boots set in the moist dirt. When he moves, it’s barely an inch, but it has you staggering backward and closer to the edge. “Hey, hold on. Look, I’ll stay here.”

You don’t listen, and the distance increases until the cliff beneath you trembles, so you quickly walk forward again.

“You’re going to fall if you step further away.” Steve can practically see the inner battle going on in your head. “Everyone move back.”

They all obey, each taking several steps backward until you're on stable ground again. They’re wearing matching expressions of concern and confusion, all but Wanda, who was gazing at you with interest, eyes scanning up and down your barely clothed body.

“She’s cold.” She states, already unbuttoning her sweater, then holding it out, “Here, uh, warm.”

You only recoil fearfully, with trembling hands. The berries squish beneath your bare feet, staining them shades of purple and blue. The ground is the opposite, under your touch erupts yellow glimmers that cover the grass, the Earth turns dark brown and wilts, barely spreading around you, but they all notice.

“What the hell—” Clint exclaims, lifting and aiming his bow at you.

“—No one move,” Steve commands.

You start to sway, vision losing focus as you get lightheaded. Falling to your hands and knees, you force yourself to stay alert and lift your head, heavily breathing.

“Give it to me and keep your distance, Wanda.” Steve drops his shield, slowly and cautiously approaching you with Wanda’s sweater. But again, you reel backwards, teetering. The rocks crumble under your weight as something glimmers in your hand, the sharp edge of a knife. Uneasiness washes over Steve like a snowstorm.

“Take off your cowl.” Wanda instructs, “she wants to see your face.”

“Don’t do it.” Bucky warns, “we don’t know what she’s capable of.”

Steve squeezes his gloved fists, eyes flickering to the red, blue and white disk lying in the dirt. He quickly considers his options. With a single toss, you’d be knocked down and the threat—if you pose one—would be handled.

Observing you now, crouching low to the ground a few feet from the bed of dead grass. With one arm tightly wrapped around your middle, the other shakily holding a little pocket knife as if preparing for an attack—but would one even come?

That was Steve’s choice.

Right now, he almost feels like a bully, those same people who used to belittle and torment him in Brooklyn. Of course, the differences are striking. This instance is completely unintentional, he doesn’t know who you are, what your abilities are, or how you ended up in the middle of the wilderness, and truly, he doesn’t want to hurt you. He doesn’t think he could harm you if he were forced.

Why would you use a knife if you clearly aren’t normal?

Inexperienced, weak—are the words that pop into his head.

How could he wound someone who is outnumbered and terribly frightened?

To willingly cause pain on you, a cornered stranger, a paralyzed mystery.

Someone so evidently the prey.

Steve didn’t like being the predator.

He’s a soldier but no longer under an organization for their service. He is a man bound by his morals. Under the muscle, the suit of stars and stripes, is a merciful man, a human with a conscience and a determination to do the right thing.

When S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, so did the barrier between Steve and his own code, written in the walls of his heart and brain. This wasn’t binary thinking anymore, this was deeper than the surface. Buried below the past commands of others were his present principles.

“Steve,” Wanda’s voice sounds over his rapid thoughts, then he notices how you’ve moved further over the ledge, now sitting as if you're going to jump. One foot still planted on the rocks, the other hanging off the edge, a single move, and you’d vanish.

It isn’t the knife—a knife can be a deadly weapon or completely useless depending on the possessor. And as the shiny metal gleamed in your tight fist, it seemed nothing but a decorative threat. Especially when you weren’t confident in your enhanced abilities.

Not a perfect soldier, but a good man—the worlds echo in his ears. A moral man, a man who feels for the complete stranger before him.

Slowly unlatching the buckle under his chin, the cowl loosens. It falls to the ground, next to his shield. The wind fans across his skin, slick with sweat and grime from the fight. Although, it doesn’t rival the shivers he feels as your eyes sweep over his face.

You stare at him. The messy blond hair atop his head, flattened and tousled from the—head thing—you didn’t know what he was wearing, you just knew it obstructed his features. He’s too far to see the details of his pale skin, but it complemented his plump pink lips. A slight wrinkle appears between his dark furrowed brows as your gaze trails down his face. Taking in the high points of his cheekbones, and the chiselled angle of his jaw, your grip on the knife almost loosens.

His clothes are coloured dark blue, red and white. In the middle of his wide chest, framed by thick buckles is a white star, and below are stripes of white and red on his torso that only define his broad shoulders as it tapers into his small waist. You eye the heavy belt around his midriff, shiny and with several tiny pouches. Trailing down his blue pants with padding and thick stitching, you spot his brown boots.

With a brown gloved hand, he throws the cardigan and it lands within your arms reach. Glaring at his face once more, you snatch the clothing and bring it to your nose before inhaling deeply. You rub your face in the fabric, staining the peach colour in mud. Peering at the strangers, Wanda gives you an encouraging nod.

You slip on fabric and pull the sleeves over your cold hands, rubbing it over your cheeks. Making a little noise of comfort, and the knife falls to the ground as your muscles go slack. Steve hesitatingly draws closer.

“Stark, we found—someone.” Not a civilian, or maybe you were? You didn’t dress like one, although you weren’t dressed at all. Except for the thin sweater, your skin is smudged with mud and grass, and around your wrists and ankles are thin flowers chained together.

A strangled chuckle comes through the earpiece, followed by the signature repulsor blasts. “What? You find a little fairy nymph in the forest, Cap?”

“Did you get psychic abilities overnight that we didn’t know about?” Clint lowers his arms, bow still clenched tightly in his fist “More of a feral woman, but a nymph isn’t far off.”

“She’s scared,” Wanda’s expression goes soft, “she thinks we’re going to hurt her.”

Steve looks between the red magic twirling around Wanda’s fingers, and you. Still propped on the cliff and shivering, your eyebrows arched high.

“I can tell.” Bucky’s voice comes through, “she’s shaking like a leaf.”

“Her surface thoughts are blunt—loud. She thinks that we’re going to take her somewhere.” Wanda narrows her eyes, taking one step forward as the red magic intensifies. Her green eyes gleam with a hint of scarlet, the colour fading to her cheeks. “She,” The woman gasps, “She was there—she remembers me.”

Confusion strikes Steve like a bullet, his head snaps to Clint who meets his gaze. He looks just as perplexed as him.

A sharp crack sounds through the forest. The tension shatters in a split second, and Steve’s eyes dart to Bucky. The brunet reloads the sniper, and fires again. Only then does Steve buckle his cowl on again.

“They’re here—6 o’clock.”

Steve barely spots the mass of armed mercenaries rushing through the trees and shrubbery before a louder sonic boom echoes, a large glowing grenade flying through the air before landing in the dirt.

His gaze snaps to you and you’re already looking at him, a single tear streaming down your cheek. He lunges, sweeping his shield off the ground, charging straight for you but the blast goes off. Blowing him backward, and sending him crashing into a log, snapping the wood in half on impact. He heaves, spine throbbing as that warm sensation takes over—his body healing all injuries instantly.

Looking up in a daze, he sees movement in the corner of his eye. A flash of something peach-coloured and he grits his teeth before looking through distorted vision. Devastation is all he sees, trees are broken, boulders blown to bits, and most importantly, no sign of you.

A bullet lands inches from his head. Quickly, he tucks and rolls for his shield, throwing it at the enemy with a grunt. The vibranium disk ricochets back after knocking the man to the dirt ground, Steve swiftly catching it before diving as another grenade is launched. He covers it with his shield before it goes off.

Without a second to breathe, he’s kneed in the face and kicked in the ribs. As pain sears through his body, he’s hauled up by his throat. Blood pools in his mouth as he meets a deathly gaze.

The man’s face is burned, red and pale flesh forming patterns on his skin and one of his ears is deformed. The changes in his structures catch Steve off guard.

“You sure are a son a bitch, huh?” Rumlow growls.

“And you never know when to quit.” Steve sends a fist straight into the man’s face, knocking him back into a tree. He jumps and aims, but Rumlow ducks as Steve’s powerful kick breaks the bark.

The soldier fast, grabbing the ex-agent by his collar and hurling him feet away. Rumlow struggles to stand on the uneven the cliff surface from the bomb.

The waterfall plays the suspenseful soundtrack. Broken boulders crash into the water below, as if punctuating each punch thrown and kicks blocked.

Rumlow’s suit is highly specialized, throwing Steve in for a loop every time a new explosive goes off or a hidden weapon is revealed. Amongst the rest of the team, he and the ex-agent are the only ones close to the falls.

Eventually, Steve tears one of the gauntlets off. It lands on the ground, a heap of electricity and metal. He grabs Rumlow by his collar.

“I see your buddy has recovered, huh?” The mercenary hisses. “Those words don’t work anymore?”

The blond’s grip slackens for a moment before hauling Rumlow to his feet. Half of his face is hairless, void of one eyebrow and eyelashes.

“It doesn’t change what he did.” He spits.

Steve tries to pull off the other gauntlet, but a blast lands square in his chest. Knocking him down, his suit scraping on the rough rocks.

The mercenary kicks Steve’s shield out of reach and raises his arm, that sickening smirk on his face, “You survived a plane crash into the ocean—maybe you can survive a trip down the falls?”

The next blast hits the mountain of boulders, disturbing the flow of the waterfall and sending some into the rapids below.

“You talk too much,” Steve mutters, sweeping a foot under Rumlow’s feet, causing him to land on his back. He slams a fist into the man’s head, straddling his hips and raining down several more punches until he raises his arm again.

Steve clenches his jaw, gripping the gauntlet tightly, the metal caving under his strength. A loud crack sounds as Rumlow groans, eyes squeezed shut and blood streaming from his nose. Steve tears off the dented metal and throws it aside.

His cold blue glare is set on the ex-agent’s bruised and battered face.

Rumlow laughs bitterly. “What? You’re going to kill me with your eyes, Captain?” A vibrant red stains his teeth, “That’s cute—but I don’t roll like that.” With his broken arm, he rips open his jacket.

Steve looks down in horror at the bombs attached to Rumlow’s vest.

The blond doesn’t waste a moment before lifting the ex-agent over his head and throwing him over the edge. The ear-splitting explosion rattles his brain and disorients him. With his enhanced senses, it feels entirely worse and he doesn’t notice the rogue grenade that Rumlow threw at the final moment, the safety clip missing as it clattered to the ragged surface.

As Steve stands, winded, he meets Bucky’s gaze across the way. The brunet’s frantic eyes fall to the bomb inches from Steve’s feet. Quickly, he covers it with his shield again. But, the ledge is all too brittle from the previous explosion and fight, and it cracks. The split surrounds him like hunters, spreading like a virus and snapping the last string of hope.

He hears Bucky call his name before the cliff breaks, he leaps for the edge, but it crumbles in his grip. Gravity cruelly dragging him and the tonnes of rocks into the rushing blue below.

Everything is muffled and blurry underwater, he can barely make out the large grey matter getting bigger and bigger. He swims away, mouth sealed tight as the boulders slam into the water, sinking quickly. More rain down, suffocating and pinning him under the blue. The last thing he sees is another giant grey rock coming from above before everything goes dark.

A crisp sensation draws him to consciousness, as does the quiet sound of water. He almost thinks he’s washed up on the shore, alone and deep in the forest, but then he feels cold hands on his chest and he hears a high-pitched coo.

His eyes snap open and he shoots up, shoving away whatever was next to him. As his heart hammers in his chest, he observes the rocky walls, flowers blooming from the cracks and overgrown ivy. There’s a pitiful campfire by the wide entrance, sunlight pouring in followed by a slight breeze.

A disturbed squeal rings in his ears.

His senses steadily regain focus and he notices his skin. Much more skin is exposed than when he fell over the edge. In fact, he’s as naked as the day he was born, but with the added shame and shock. The serum maintains his temperature but it doesn’t keep him from getting embarrassed or feeling the rush of heat blossoming in his chest to his ears.

Across from him and drying on a row of stones in the sun are his clothes. His suit laid out flat, as well as his undershirt and underwear. His boots, socks and gloves are there too, but next to those is a familiar cardigan and an older tattered sweater.

His cheeks burn hotter than the sun as he looks at you again.

You’re blinking slowly and yawning into your hand and clad in another thin, incredibly sheer sweater. As if his gaze physically harms you, you hurriedly shuffle back, sleep evident in your face as your legs twist. A small wet rag falls from your grasp.

Steve sits up, shielding his crotch but knocking something in the process. Next to him, his cowl wobbles, water spilling onto the rocky ground. He feels over his body searching for any injuries but as always, he’s unharmed. Even though he heals instantly, he has a habit of checking.

“What—” He coughs, “S-Sorry,” and rubs his chest.

Tentatively, you scoot forward. Inquisitive yet wary eyes locked on him as you nudge his cowl closer.

He brings the helmet to his mouth, sipping the cool water slowly. It soothes his throat, and when he sets it down, you swipe up and scurry to the little stream by the wide opening of the cave. The bottom of your feet are dirty, as is most of your body, along with scattered scars on your legs and arms. Faded, surprisingly well healed, but just faintly evident. He averts his gaze when the sweater lifts, exposing much of your behind.

You set the helmet on the ground again, and sit a few feet away in an unkempt pile of dirty, worn clothes and sticks and leaves. Tucking your knees to your chest, you tilt your head.

When you don’t speak, Steve shifts uncomfortably. He isn’t scared, but he knows you are. He can tell from the slight tremor in your hand as you scratch your head. You’re so much smaller than him, weaker—and he knows you wouldn’t stand a chance if he reprimanded you.

Steve clears his throat, “You saved me?”

You don’t reply, tucking yourself deeper into the bundle.

He groans as he sits up, bones cracking and muscles a little achy, “I fell down the waterfall.” And lost consciousness.

“…Big splash, b-because big man…” you make a quiet sploosh with your mouth.

Steve straightens at the sound of your voice, the pitch and tone, and the slow drawl of your syllables. “How long was I out for?”

You tilt your head and make a confused noise.

“How long was I unconscious for?” Steve rephases, “Sleeping?”

“Oh—Uh, sun go d-down then up again…” You answer, looking between your thighs then his. “W-What that?” You point at his large hand that actually doesn’t do much to hide his shaft. You had your curiosity while he was sleeping, but you were too scared to touch him down there—especially because of how big it looked. “...big.”

Steve turns redder than a fresh apple. He fumbles with his words, eventually settling on, “uh—my penis.”

You spread your legs, “no have?”

His throat constricts as his eyes fall to your privates. Immediately looking away as his brain screams and scolds him, he feels like a creep. “No, um, yours is different.”

“Yours bad?” You take out the little pocket knife from your nest, wide eyes locked on his crotch, “Can help?” You scoot closer but Steve desperately shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s not bad. It’s just… We have different parts for a reason.” He goes on to vaguely summarize the means of reproduction and genitals. Trying to keep eye contact instead of peeking between your still spread thighs.

You mostly just tilt your head and make confused hums.

Steve can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. Truthfully, a part of him is still a little woozy, if he were fully conscious, he thinks he’d make up an excuse to bypass this awkward encounter.

You gasp, “Oh…Oh. Seen—uh, animals…” Your whisper, looking down at his crotch again, “...but that much big.”

The man takes a breath and stands, a strange fluttering erupts as you intensely scan over his nude body.

A tingling sensation blooms in your stomach, making you clench your thighs and muffle a whimper. The conclusions settle in your mind, three words echo off the walls; big, strong and want. Although, a timid voice warns against the dangers of outsiders, knowing fully what they’re capable of. The pain they hold in their intentions, your unfocused eyes fall to the faint scars around your ankles.

Steve goes to get dressed, and as he slips on his suit, it nearly peels right off again. The pants are fine, but chest is split open, messily cut down the star and a little across his shoulders. It isn’t completely destroyed but it does sag on his frame, no longer form-fitting. He cringes at the stiffness and awful smell of his clothes.

You’re still huddled in your nest. Body less rigid than when he first woke up. “Uh… too heavy—not know t-take off,” you shrink under his watchful eyes, “wet clothes make sick.”

“It’s fine,” Steve murmurs, taking off the upper half, easily tearing it at the waist. When he looks back, you’re completely bewildered.

“...Strong man.” You whisper.

Steve blushes as the thick fabric falls to the ground, “Yeah, I am, but you can call me Steve.” He buckles his boots. Standing upright again, he notices you crawling a little closer. You sit a few feet away from the other half of his suit, cocking your head to the side.

“Ste-eve?”

He stifles a chuckle at your odd pronunciation. “Yes, and what’s your name?” He takes out his broken earpiece and sifts through the pouches on his belt, searching for the little device Tony has him carry—for reasons suspiciously like this. Where he’s lost or stranded in an unknown area. He pulls out the gadget but sags when he realizes it’s busted. Well, that’s great, he tucks away the useless device.

“...Name?” You repeat, biting your lip, “No name—can’t remember.”

That catches his attention, “You can’t remember?”

You shrug,  “Can’t remember lots…”

He observes you for a moment, straying clear of your spread thighs, he can smell you—and he certainly doesn’t hate it. “You have abilities, though.” He wants to take the words back when you cower backwards.

With wide eyes, you shake your head. “N-No.” You consider the distance between the big man and the entrance of the cave, slowly rising to your feet. “...nothing—”

“—I saw you do something to the ground.” The dead Earth in the shape of your footprint, withered with a single touch. He steps closer, blocking your exit. He tries to sound gentle, but can’t help the slight edge in his voice, “The grass, you did something to it.”

You cover your ears, squeezing your eyes shut, “n-not kill… never, ever.”

A weight sets in Steve’s chest, sinking to his stomach. It feels an awful lot like guilt, gloomy and looming over his next words as he watches you whisper to yourself in broken English. Your voice bounces off the cave walls, nurturing his curiosity and feeding his unfamiliar regret.

He hesitates, “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You only shake your head, facing away from him and sniffling.

“Hey, look at me.” He waits but you don’t move. “Please, trust me.” A moment bleeds into a minute, and you finally meet his eyes, the gentle blue washing over you with a warmth you’ve never felt before. His brows furrow tightly, “I’m not normal either.”

You go rigid, fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater.

“I wasn’t born like this. I was,” He tries to find the right word, “changed, through an experiment by a very smart man. He chose me for the serum, he looked beyond my appearance and saw the strength in my character.”

You don’t understand what he’s saying, but you listen intently. “Char-act-ter?”

“Personality, qualities—nature.”

“Nature?” You sit up slightly.

Steve puts a hand over his chest, “Inside.”

“Inside… nature…” You look down at your chest, then place your palm over it, just like Steve. “Char-ter.”

“Character.” Steve corrects, relieved that you’re no longer so upset.

You repeat after him once, then twice. “Steve inside nature?”

“The serum—is what changed me. It enhanced everything about me. On the outside and the inside.” Erksine picked him for his courage, persistence and moral strength. He wants to tell you this but you wouldn’t understand, so he says it in simpler terms. “The good becomes great–” and the bad becomes worse.

Your soft eyes fall to his chest where his hand remains. “Steve… inside nature good?”

Yes. “He said so, yes, but you can choose to believe the same.”

He knew power all his life, being on the receiving end of it during his days in Brooklyn. He was introduced to the value of strength as a 5’4” 95-pound kid with a heart of gold and hatred for bullies—now, before you, he’s a 6’6” 270-pound man, with an even bigger heart to house his humanity and the ability to stand up for himself and others.

Blessed with enhanced qualities that have crafted him a pedestal as a throne, a symbol for freedom and protection. Immunity to diseases and infections, outstanding might, agility, reflexes, stamina, and durability paired with his heightened senses and enriched mental processing.

All of which he can utilize in flawless unison whenever he pleases.

Alone since he was eighteen, Steve has taken to greatly valuing all things he comes across. And, for some reason, he can’t imagine not divulging in you.

“Were you born like this?”

You slowly shake your head.

“I wasn’t either. I was really small and skinny, maybe even smaller than you.” He grins.

Oh, your skin prickles, you like his smile, lots. “But… big man.”

Steve chuckles, “Now I am. I used to have asthma, scoliosis, heart arrhythmia, astigmatism,” He lists, “Oh, partial deafness, fallen arches, stomach ulcers and pernicious anaemia.”

You just stare at him and blink.

Oh, right. “I had trouble breathing and I got sick really often.” He condenses. “Now, I’m the complete opposite.”

“...Steve big–strong.”

“Steve never gets sick either.” He says, “Steve also heals very fast.”

A little oh comes from your lips, “Me too—heal… Steve was hurt when found. N-Now, hurt gone.”

The blond man nods, acknowledging the slight slump in your posture, your hands uncurled and your chin tilted up. Calm, interested and unguarded.

“I told you about me, now will you tell me about yourself?” He inquires gently. Soft blue eyes trained on your face, you can feel the heat radiating off his body—but you didn’t want that, you wanted him right next to you, pressed skin to skin like you were when he was sleeping.

You couldn’t help yourself. He was so—he made you feel all fuzzy and good inside, and he was warm and big. Cuddling next to him was instinctive.

If kindness had a form, it would be embodied in the man before you. And because of that, you wrack your brain for an answer, hopelessly wanting to please him.

But nothing comes, the memories all too foggy and scattered. You make a pained noise and shift in your nest.

“Tell me anything you remember—”

Your face contorts in frustration, “Can’t, d-don’t know!” You slap a hand over your mouth, surprised at your own volume, “don’t know… what am. Just do—and get tired after too much.”

Steve contemplates asking again and prodding for more information but judging by the sudden distress taking over your features, he leaves it be.

“Do you have anything to eat?”

Your mood lights up, beaming across the dull cave walls. Quickly uncovering a round object, you slide it across the ground. “Steve hungry?”

His shield is upside-down and filled with berries varying in purples, reds and blues, and mushrooms of different sizes and colours. Steve gives you a nervous smile, “Are those safe to eat?”

You stare at the platter. “Some?—Has never tries these…” you point to the assortment of mushrooms, “but, s-special for Steve… okay?”

Slowly sitting next to his shield and separating the berries from the mushrooms he knows are not safe for consumption. “These aren’t good.”

You pout, “not good?” Your hopeful heart sinks, you wanted to impress the big man ever since you saw him at the falls.

The fear you felt has since dissipated as you’ve watched him sleep and slyly cuddling with him because he was so warm! He smelt good too, aside from the overlay of the water, he had a musk you couldn’t get enough of. His smell couldn’t be described in one word, not because you didn’t know many words but because it was a feeling.

You couldn’t explain why you saved him either. He was very heavy and much bigger than you, so it was a challenge to even haul him out of the water and back to your cave. But you couldn’t leave him—to die. You just couldn’t, and worst of all, you couldn’t express the mess in your mind because most of it was things you didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

Indescribable with your mouth, lack of language and vocabulary has never made you more frustrated. You wanted to tell the man how he was making you feel, with something as simple as his presence.

Safe, your mind says, makes me feel safe.

And you haven’t felt safe in a very long time. Practically starved of it for years.

“These aren’t, they’re dangerous—and they can make you very sick, or even kill you.”

You gasp, swatting his hand. “Then, no touch!”

“If you eat it.” Steve clarifies, “only if you eat it.”

“Oh… no eat, okay. Safe berry?” You grab a little berry and hold it to his face, “smell good?”

A small smile crawls onto his lips as he gazes into your twinkling eyes. “Yes, thank you.”

Shyly, you nudge the fruit against his nose, then his lips. “Open… please?”

If he lets you feed him, it must mean he trusts you too, and that would be an accomplishment in your head. You’ve never seen a man like him, so very tall, wide—thick, sturdy. You couldn’t help but jump at the chance to please him. He struck the curiosity in you like a gold mine, you wanted to know everything—even things you didn’t understand.

And he did, his lips parting for your fingers to place the berry on his tongue. Anxiously, you wait for him to chew, and when he does, he makes a quiet hum.

With glee, you gather a handful and shove it into his face, “More!”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the fruit splatters on his face. He gently pushes you away, leaning back as you continue to try and stuff his mouth. “Ah—wait, phew.”

Once your small hands are pulled away, Steve tries to clean his face, but you appear once again. This time, with the wet rag from before.

“Clean?”

“Oh, I could—”

“No,” you cradle the cloth to your chest, frowning, “me, clean.”

And so, he lets you. As you shuffle close, you bring the rag to his face and start to wipe the smeared juices from his face. Similar to before when he woke up, you were cleaning him then too. The little fire you made didn’t provide much light, so you waited for the sun to rise to see his features. Only then you noticed the sand and dirt on his body. It was an automatic impulse to clean him.

Despite the peculiar circumstances, Steve finds a glimpse of bliss. With the little furrow on your forehead as you concentrate, your tongue poking out from your lips as you clean him. Careful and sweet, like an animal would tend to their own.

Or a mate to another.

In your mind, that was what you were doing. Nurturing by nature, you act out the behaviours you’ve witnessed in the wilderness.

Oh, and you hope this man doesn’t have another person.

To have him in your sight, only to have him snatched away—you wouldn’t know how to cope.

“Okay, thank you.” Steve takes the rag from you and gives you a soft grin, a little indent in his cheek.

Tingles erupt in your belly, flutters like the butterfly wings you’ve admired.

Your fingers examine his face, pulling the flesh of his cheeks and stretching his lips. Observing his teeth and running your fingers over the edges, you even dip your finger in his mouth before he pushes you away.

“Miss—”

You pinch his nose and trace the wrinkle between his thick eyebrows and finally land on his thick eyelashes. In awe, your touch turns as gentle as the gleam in your eyes, the tips of your digits brush the thickness of his eyelashes. Nearly poking him in the eye, but Steve doesn’t protest. All too stunned and a little flustered over such a curious creature amazed by his own features.

Finally, you cup his chin. Leaning close to inspect his eyes.

At this short distance, Steve can see every detail of your face. With your breath fanning over his cheeks, he can count every mark on your skin, every dip, curve and swell. Every particular feature that combined, made the most exquisite profile.

Your view is different and narrowed on something specific. While Steve took in the aspects of your face, you’re exploring the endless pool that was his eyes.

A light blue speckled with hints of green. The blue that was softer than the sky in the early morning and the water of the falls—the green more vibrant than the leaves of the trees, shrubs and berry bushes.

Blue and green just like your home. The forest, the planet.

You’re bewildered.

Did this man have the earth in his eyes? Because it sure looked like it.

You draw closer, gasping as the peering rays reflect—combined with the green and blue, this man surely housed your very forest, your world in his eyes.

That’s why when he turns away, you grumble.

His stern gaze is set on the entrance of the cave. Steve goes stiff, standing and shoving you behind him. He sweeps up his shield, the berries and mushrooms falling to his feet as a deer peers around the corner. He visibly relaxes, shaking his head in embarrassment.

He chuckles, “almost forgot I’m in the forest—”

You leap up, racing after the animal but you trip and take a nasty tumble in the grass. You squeal, your head spinning as you flop on the ground, the cool blades tickling your skin as Steve’s concerned face appears.

“Are you okay?” He crouches beside you, big hands touching your leg, “you scraped your knee.”

“Animals always run away…” you sulk, “N-Never hurt them—but always leave.”

“They’re scared, just like you were when you first saw me.”

You squirm as he examines the fresh surface-level wound, lightly touching the skin around it. “...Won’t hurt them.”

Steve lifts his gaze, chest feeling heavy as sadness takes over your features. Painting you soft tints of blue and extreme loneliness, he can tell from your strange animal-like behaviour. The clothing, or lack of, the foraging, and the tiny cave behind him. Your vocabulary and grammar weren’t the best, and your face was very expressive.

Looking down at you, dazing into the blue sky with child-like innocence and mumbling to yourself, he can practically hear his heart soaring.

You blink slowly, the corners of your lips turning downward. The sunshine casts a warm glow on your skin, the dark green of the forest trees mirroring in the whites of your eyes. Your neck tenses as you gulp, and Steve’s stare trails down your collarbones to your chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath.

“Steve? Okay?”

He inhales, nodding. He bends your knee, watching you for your reaction. “How does this feel?”

“Will heal—but warm. Steve warm.”

The man almost loses himself in your tender touch as you caress his jaw, tracing up and to his ear. You lightly tug it.

“Me—cold, feel?”

He never feels cold or chilly anymore and when he shivers, it’s because of heat streaming through his veins. A red spreading across his cheeks as your fingers ghost to his neck, pressing into a specific spot.

“Mark not here—” you note, excitement and promise planting in your heart, “—so, free?”

“What?” His voice is breathy.

“Steve have no mate…”

Mate? “I, uh, I’m not in a relationship.”

You perk up, your pretty lips stretched in a relieved smile. “Alone—I alone too.”

Steve knew that, and he wanted to know more. You were a person stripped of all things related to the outside world, rooted in animal instincts, untamed and wild. But, harmless for the most part. Clumsy, like a fawn—like Bambi—if your fumble had anything to do with it, gentle but all-embracing.

An odd, mystically gifted Bambi.

Compared to when he first saw you yesterday, terrified and shrinking into yourself as to disappear, today, you were vibrantly different.

In the best, and most fascinating way.

Wanda said you remembered her, yet you didn’t remember your name. You don’t know your abilities, and from that, you’re unaware of the power you possess. Steve knew a mystery when he saw one, and you were the most intriguing, and beautiful one he’s ever come across.

“Be alone—together?”

That night, he falls asleep telling you about his life. You, the ever-vigilant listener, hang on every word of his. And, tucked into Steve’s arms, you receive the long-overdue taste of touch that you’ve been so mercilessly starved of.

Steve thought it was a little strange to intimately hold you like this.

“Steve warm… Feel so cold, s-so cold…”

But, how could he deny someone so pure, and clearly in need of affection and contact? Especially, when you looked at him like that.

It’s the next day, and for someone who doesn’t need much sleep—Steve found it challenging to wake up. Not wanting to leave the comfort of your little cave. So, for hours, he laid there on the ground with you on top of him like a heavy weighted blanket. It gave him time to think and to process the whirlwind of the previous day. Most notably, he anxiously waited until the rest of the team found him. He knew they were coming, but when was the question.

While his brain was running a mile a minute, you were snoring and drooling as you slept the day away.

Now, the two of you were venturing into the forest for some more food. You had finished the berries last night and now there were a few purple and red stains on Steve’s white tank top.

The sun has already begun to set. Hiding behind the layers of trees and pine, dark shadows bleeding over the solid dirt and grass.

Steve watches the little creature hop about, ducking into a small bush before popping out again. Its nose wiggles and he tightens his grip on the pocket knife. He’s crouched low to the ground, senses honed on the rabbit, everything else fading into a single mass.

That’s why he falls flat on his ass when you jump in front of him, the sudden movement causing the rabbit to run away.

You hiss at the man, snatching the blade from his hand and using it to cut the branch of a berry bush. Adding it to his cowl around your wrist, the helmet acting as a basket.

“No killing. Ever.” You’re frowning at him with such distaste that Steve is shocked.

You growl softly, pushing him aside, but the blond doesn’t move. Looking up at him with a scowl, you huff, “move.”

Still surprised over your abrupt change in behaviour, Steve stumbles backwards.

You spot the small dead wilted flower that was squashed under Steve’s weight. Peeking up at him from your knees, you pat the ground. “Watch? Can show—try to show.”

After you pick up the flower, the speckles flow from your hands like gentle wisps, soft shimmering and golden.

The once limp flower straightens before his eyes, the stem turning a healthy green and the vibrancy spreading to the petals. The veins under your skin glow, the energy blooming and entwining with the open air. It performs an artistic dance before his face, enchanting and vaguely reminding him of Wanda’s abilities.

Steve reaches out, touching one of the sparkles, flinching when it turns brighter and brighter, until burning out. His eyes drop to your hand, cradling the lively plant as you breathe heavily.

“C-Can do only—little things.”

He remembers the blooming flowers in the cave. Away from sunlight, water and rich soil. They wouldn’t survive there in those circumstances, and he knows you had something to do with it. He isn’t sure what it is but Steve’s resolve is unbreakable.

Dark and wilted to brilliant existence.

“How?” Steve murmurs.

He stares at the flower as if it were going to morph back—to its broken stem and squashed petals, but it doesn’t. From death to life. As if he’s strung back in time, he’s standing alongside Wanda and Clint with Bucky’s voice playing in his ear, his vision locked on your feet as the grass turns brown and withers under your touch. From life to death.

You tuck the flower with the berries in his cowl, then blink up at him. “Don’t remember…”

You couldn’t tell him because you didn’t know. There are forms of knowledge in your mind, unrecognizable yet familiar, in muted shades and structures you couldn’t distinguish.

Steve goes through an array of emotions, so fast he can barely process them. Thrilling revelation to ephemeral fear and finally, landing on speechless fascination. His mind and heart are speaking at the same time, altering volumes, chanting about your concealed potential, and the birth of your abilities. You, a giver and taker of life.

“Did bird once—broken wing but got so tired after… slept until sun almost came down.”

You sway to the side, your body slumping into Steve’s. Immediately, you curl in his warmth, humming. It’s concerning how much energy that small plant took from you, and that deeply worries Steve. Then, you yawn and start wiggling into his lap, murmuring his name until your eyes snap open again.

“Bugs!”

Traversing through the forest, over overgrown roots and between trees, of thick pine and redwood. You warn him about the wolf’s den a few miles away and babble about the different places you wish to show him—a little garden you care for, the tallest hill that overlooks the entire woodland and your favourite stream where the frogs and other small creatures come out to play–you call it.

Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell you he probably won’t get to see any of those places.

You also mention your current cave being your favourite so far. When he asks what you mean, you only shrug.

Truth be told, he’s still unable to grasp that he’s following a random wild woman in the woods.

“Shh,” you shush him, eyes locked on the pond below you, it’s covered in duckweed, water lilies, and algae. The sun inches lower, settling on the horizon and the final ray cusps over the tree line. Another inch and you’re thrust into the shadows. Steve’s eyes adjust to the darkness, making out your features slightly.

The crickets ring in his ears, blending into the surrounding sounds of the wilderness. The smell of the freshwater tingles his nose. A cool chill brushes over his skin, and he sees you shiver.

“Cold?” A part of him feels stupid for asking when the answer is so obvious.

You nod, the top of Steve’s suit hanging off your frame. He lifts his arm, about to pull you close to share some of his body heat, but you’re already on him. Tucking yourself under his chin and rubbing your face in his chest. The cold of your hands seeps through his shirt as you feel over his torso, fingers dipping into his belt.

“Uh—”

“Shh!”

Steve’s mouth snaps shut and he follows your gaze.

Speckles of green and yellow erupt from the surroundings, flickering and flying. Buzzing over the still water of the pond, weaving through the tall reeds and shrubs. Steve chuckles dreamily, “It’s beaut—”

“Shhh!” You slap a hand over his mouth, glaring up at him. “Shy bugs… will go a-away if too loud. Just watch.” Your face is enriched by the flare of the fireflies, their flickers playing on your skin.

The man nods silently, waiting for you to remove your hand. Once you do, your touch trails down his neck again, lightly petting over that clear spot on his skin. You purr softly before burrowing into his body again, peering at the pond to watch the insects flit.

They grace the air with their glow like little suns that can fit in the palm of Steve’s hand.

He opens his mouth to speak again but you glare up at him. So, he returns his attention to the pond. Taking a deep breath and allowing the smell to seep into his lungs, the delicate burn of the fireflies hypnotize him with their motions.

Steve has seen war, death and loss. He’s seen victories and failures and experienced heartache and joy.

But, he has never just been still.

The realization strikes him like a collapsing skyscraper. His arms tense around your body, pulling you closer.

Your distant sigh harmonizes with the crickets and nature, playing in the back of his brain as his life flashes before his eyes.

Face-paced images of loneliness, delight and fame. Glory draped in opportunities, from forging his enlistment forms to becoming Captain America and joining the army. Finding and fighting alongside his best friend—he hopes Bucky was okay.

“Steve watch…” you murmur barely above a whisper, “still—just still.”

He nods, fading into your lingering touch as his mind scans through his memories like a photo album. Pages of experiences, from the beginning of the Avengers in New York, to Washington and meeting Sam and finding Bucky ultimately leading to the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., to Ultron and finding the twins and the creation of Vision. And lastly, before the rest of the blank pages, is now.

Currently, the Avengers operate as a private organization—helping when and where they can, and still taking down enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D.

All of that, in the span of three years.

There was good that surpassed the bad. His friends, his experiences, and the changes he’s made in the world for the better.

But, the concept of time is what bugged him the most. Snapshots of moments that were once the present, some have since lost their vibrancy and become dull and faded. He did feel like he was out of time—as if he lost all opportunities to be who he was destined to be. Perhaps destiny was never that important anyway. Or, fate had it be that he ended up here—after seventy years still and frozen, to wind up in the twenty-first century.

“Steve…” you breathe, a gentle smile on your lips. There’s a firefly on your finger, it flutters its wings, hopping onto Steve’s bicep before flying off. You gleam up at him, “...never t-touch one before.”

Moments that have since become memories, unable to be relived.

Fleeted instances that have escaped from his grasp.

“Steve touch one–before?”

He was convinced he had lost the chance to live his own life in his own time—but now looking at you, he wasn’t sure. As the wind blows against your skin, fireflies dance around you, their glow highlighting the prominent points of your face and reflecting in the whites of your eyes. Steve thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful, pure, untouched.

Someone so out of touch, starved of affection and warmth—right in his arms.

He’s about to respond, but his ears pick up familiar voices. Faint enough to make him wonder if it was just the forest playing tricks, and then, he sees them.

Over your shoulder, between the trunks and branches of the trees are some of the team, holding flashlights or devices as they manoeuvre the uneven terrain.

He almost rejoices right then and there, but you keep a firm grip on his arm and try to yank him in the opposite direction.

“Wait—”

“Hurt… stay away,” your voice is hushed, as are your careful footsteps, wary of sticks and crunchy leaves.

Steve doesn’t let you pull him any further. Planting his feet in the ground while you struggle and become more frantic, wide-eyed glowing with panic. You go stiff as the voices draw closer and surround the both of you.

“Need to go, now.” You plea, ducking as a light flashes in your direction.

“That’s my team, they’re looking for me.” The blond hears a voice, I’ve got heat signatures, one of them is well over one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the other is quite low.

“Steve?” One of them calls.

The man stares down at you, as you shiver and tremble in his suit top. Your bottom lip quivers before you bite down on it harshly, urgency in your eyes, he can feel the nerves radiating from your body.

He opens his mouth but you slap your hand over it. You whine softly. “S-Steve… no.” Tears pool in your eyes as you desperately shake your head, “Don’t tell,” you beg, fingers digging into his forearm. “Please—will take me away, hurt.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Steve promises, cupping your jaw. His heart flutters when you burrow into his chest, whimpering. “And, they’re good people. They’ll help you.”

He doesn’t know how you’ve survived this long or how much luck was on your side but he doesn’t want to find out.

He wasn’t staying in the forest another night, and neither were you.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, each silent cry coming from your sealed lips adding another tonne to the weight on his shoulders. He combs his fingers through your hair, keeping a firm grip around your squirming body.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He says again for the umpteenth time, hoping to speak it into existence. “You’re okay, Bambi.”

You just shake your head, huddled into his chest with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. The jet shakes, causing you to let out a high-pitched whine. Steve just presses you closer, ignoring the prying glances from his friends.

He does feel terrible for tearing you away from your cave, your forest, but he couldn’t leave you out there. Even if you did dash away when his friends spotted the two of you.

“Let her go,” Steve commands.

Clint lowers his bow, standing next to Natasha and one of Tony’s drones. The flashlight on the robot’s chest shines in Steve’s eyes.

“Well, you weren’t lying about the nymph,” Tony’s voice emits from the drone, it whirrs softly as it turns in the direction you ran in. “I’ve got a track on her. She’s heading straight up North. Fast little thing too.”

They had shown up at your little cave. Steve’s heart aches awfully as he remembers your quiet sobs from your nest, buried under the old clothes and his suit top.

You hear his boot land on the rocky ground and perk up with hopeful eyes. “Steve?”

“Hi, Bambi.” The name escapes his mouth before he could even think.

“Bambi?” You tilt your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You’ve never felt this happy before–you could scream. He came back, Steve found you!

“Oh–” he blushes, knowing fully that his friends were listening to everything, “Can I call you that?”

You nod quickly. “Yes! Steve—stay?” You point to your nest, “make bigger for Steve… uh…com-for-ble. Comfort… make comfort for Steve. Soft.”

A little pout plays in your lips when he doesn’t move any closer, just lingering by the wide entrance. “Stay…with Bambi.” You whisper, testing the new word on your tongue. You repeat it again and again.

Each time you say it, another nail is hammered into Steve’s chest. Pinning the guilt and sorrow from tearing you away from your little cave.

“I’m sorry, Bambi.”

“For—what?” You ask innocently, “Steve… Steve stay?”

“I’m sorry, Bambi,” Steve says again, keeping you tucked snug in the blanket. He hopes they arrive in New York soon. “I’m so sorry.”

He is a good man, and you deserved good—no, you deserved great. And, he was going to give it to you, and even if it meant taking you away. He can only hope you’ll understand.

𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: and here it is! the long-awaited feral!reader au !! I’ve had the ending planned for this series way before I started actually writing it, the next chapter will be the final part. hehe reader definitely has a secret :)

I'm always open for your thoughts/feedback ! I hope you all enjoyed !!

it’s not long before your back hits the sheets, your boyfriend his companion looming over you, teasing off your slick underwear and pushing apart your trembling thighs. poor baby, you don’t know where to look, who to touch as they play with your folds— deku’s fingers spreading your fat n puffy lips open so rody can get a good look at his first pretty cunt. 🥺🥺

“she’s got the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen...” rody coos, breath tickling your inner thighs as his tongue runs a lap up your drooling slit, messy from the praise your boyfriend had knowingly fed you. your body is hot, hotter than ever and when you look to shining emerald eyes— they’re reassuring, telling you it’s okay for you let out those cute little gasps that you usually save for him, it’s okay to rut your hips into rody’s face until his nose bumps your sensitive clit. it’s okay baby, go ahead, deku’s eyes say and you can’t help but whine his name— yearning for his touch even though your hands are twisted in a sea of brown hair.

oh rody soul, literally sucking the soul from your sweet little pussy— not used to the roughness that comes with his tongue as it pokes and prods at your blossoming sex to gather every drop you leak before it runs into the sheets. he’s not like your deku, not at all. biting your folds, pulling at your clit with your teeth until it’s his name you’re saying and not your lover’s. “none of that, yeah? ‘m the one making you feel good. we’ll make a deal kay? i make you feel like this over and over,” he slurs and thrusts his tongue into you, curling it against your sensitive insides, spitting onto your clit and you gasp and deku gasps— humping the bed at the sight of you being ravaged by his good pal. “and you moan my name. if y’want something y’gotta pay for it, pretty girl.”

“r-rody please! i-i want it, wan’ it, wan’ it!” you wail, you demand— squealing as he dives back in, seemingly satisfied as he eats your cunt like he’s never tasted pussy before, like the sweet cream dripping from your raw folds is liquid gold. your voice grows raspy, throat sore as you cry his name over and over with every stroke of his tongue against your inner walls— tears near brimming in your eyes as you screw them shut and let the pleasure take over. “‘m gonna cum! lemme cum rody!”

it stops before you can cum, when your legs are shaking the most and you can barely get a word out without choking on your own saliva. “oh no baby, what happened to your manners? usually you’re so good for me, are you misbehaving’ cause i brought a guest along? that’s no good.” you recognise the tongue that writes those soft words against your sex, lapping up your essence with such familiarity— your hand is still in rody’s hair as he bites and sucks pretty bruises into your inner thighs but you’d recognise the curls of izuku’s anywhere, his hot mouth sucking on your poor teased clit, sending his possessive growls through your body when he and rody fight with their tongues over the spot— practically making out against your sex. “feel that baby, rody’s bein’ so nice to you, playing with your pretty princess parts. and i’m being so nice by sharing. what do you say?”

“t-thank you!” comes your muffled sob, shoving your face into the sheets— thighs threatening to snap shut.

they’re quickly forced down by two hands, an odd pair with one belonging to each other men who ravage you, destroy you and take turns playing with your clit using the tip of their tongues or shoving them into your spasming hole. “t-thank you!” rody mocks you, swiping his pink muscle over his nectar glazed lips— earning a chuckle from your green haired boyfriend. “thank you, what? i thought deku said you were a good girl.”

he nudges izuku between your thighs, who looks up at you with trusting green eyes again. “thank you. t-thank you rody! thank you izu!” you cry out, back arching as you writhe against the sheets :( before the two boys go back to ruining your pretty princess parts.

“that’s right, that’s a good girl,” izuku praises, licking up the spit his friend’s let drool onto your sex— sending your eyes rolling into the back of your skull.