I don't like a gold rush

You feel your lip curl in disgust at yourself as you tap out a reply that should be its equal.

‘Nothing’

You want to throw your phone away, want to pretend you don’t wait on his response, but you’re alone in your apartment and it’s late at night. If nothing else, there’s no point lying to yourself about this. Him.

Not about him.

And when his reply, minutes later, is exactly what you expect, you huff out a laugh and stare up at the ceiling for a long time after firing back your answer.

‘Be there in 5’

‘Don’t bother’

There’s a knock at your door seven minutes later.

Opening the door without a word, you stand there, staring at each other for a time.

Bucky breaks the silence first.

“You gonna let me in?”

Your eyes narrow. “What happened to ‘let’s not do this anymore’?”

He didn’t look ashamed, held no regrets, not even an apology. Just clenched his jaw and shouldered past you.

“Yeah, well,” he said, dropping his keys on the little table beside the couch. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

You raised your eyes to the roof and took a deep fortifying breath. Then you shut the door.

He was on you in a heartbeat.

Hands snaking around you from behind, fingers splayed across your stomach, his metal hand sliding up between your breasts to grasp your throat. His mouth hot against your shoulder, teeth grazing, lips pressing open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your ear.

He pulls you back flush against him, ass cradled by his thighs, and your head falls back against his shoulder.

Maybe you can let him chase it all away for a night, you think to yourself as his hands pull your tank top up and over your head. Maybe you can pretend he won’t leave, is the cruel voice of hope as he unhooks your bra and throws it away. His palms take on its job, cupping you, fingers splaying wide then curving to squeeze just right.

Maybe you should chase him away before he breaks your heart again. 

He pinches your nipple with a force that stings so good, making you gasp and arch into his hands.

“There she is,” he grunts at you approvingly.

You feel like you’ve lost the high ground, your jaw clamping shut and eyes closing.

He moves you bodily, shuffling you to the buffet table against the wall.

Happy snaps of family and friends are shoved aside with one sweep of his hand, and he pushed you against it, your hands falling to the edge to catch yourself.

You gaze drops to the frame discarded next to you. A picture of you, Bucky and Steve. The night you met.

The irony.

You don’t say a word, don’t utter a sound, don’t give him the pleasure as his hand delves into your shorts, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your panties and down to the place that craves him no matter what he’s done to you.

The groan that rips from him reverberates through your bones right to your heart.

“So fuckin’ wet for me every time.”

Every. Time.

You can’t fight the way your body jerks into his touch, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet as he finds your bundle of nerves with precision and rubs just the way you like.

Huffing, definitely not panting, you undo your shorts around his arm and start trying to shove them and your panties off.

“Get on with it, Barnes,” you hiss as he pulls away from your body and helps you step out of the clothes.

With a grunt he turns you roughly, lifting you onto the table like you weigh nothing, grabbing your legs and pressing them up until your heels scramble for purchase on the table top.

You’re spread wide open for him.

Stable physically, but something inside is completely off course. You feel it rising, trying to choke you, emotions tired of being denied clawing their way to the surface.

Your eyes burn as you hold back tears.

A soft moan sneaks out as he slides two fingers up and down your slit before plunging inside, the initial burn smouldering into a hot ache

There’s a smile on his face you don’t like the look of. It’s smug, satisfied, entirely too male. So you grab his stupid pretty face, squeezing his cheeks like you could squeeze any joy out of him.

“Why the fuck are you smiling at me?”

“Because you said don’t bother—“

He wrenched his face in your grasp to bite down on your finger across his lips. It’s not hard, it doesn’t hurt, but his busy fingers crook so perfectly inside you that you snatch your hand away to clutch at the table, holding on for your life.

“—but look where I am anyway.”

The tears welled despite your best efforts to hold them back and you twist your face away from him, refusing to let him see. But your traitor body, the one rolling up into his touch and milking his fingers for more, is weeping for him in a completely different way.

He pulls back, lifting fingers shiny with slick to his mouth and groaning at the taste of you, and you press your thighs wider waiting for him to dive back in.

So when he turns and walks away, you’re dumbstruck.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

You’re sitting there, heels on the dresser with your legs spread wide, as he picks up his keys and heads to the front door.

“You don’t want me here.” He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance as he looks back at you. “So I’ll go.”

Words die in your throat. What would you even say? No, please, baby, come back? It’s not in your vocabulary.

Your eyes lower in defeat, your pride not letting you beg, and that’s when you see it.

His sweatpants do nothing to hide the thick bulge of him, bobbing against the fabric, smearing a damp patch in the grey that has you smiling meanly at him.

“Well, if you can’t finish the job …”

You trail off, breath quickening despite yourself. Your flesh is puffy and wet with need, and no your touch isn’t what you want but your body is so desperate it eagerly takes what it can get, accepting your two fingers easily.

Your whine has him stiffening, his hand clenched at his side.

“You just gonna stand there and watch me do it for you?”

He’s back to you in three strides, eyes flashing.

He grabbed your wrist, fingers digging into your pulse, and held your hand up.

Fingers glistening in the light.

“Open up.” His voice a harsh whisper.

You let your jaw fall open, tongue out, the tang hitting just right as he guides your fingers in.

You watch him as he watches you taste yourself.

Moaning around your fingers, relishing the way his mouth falls open in heated admiration, you wrap one leg around his waist and pull him closer.

His hand curving to your jaw, he braces against the wall behind you and leans in to press his mouth to yours.

It’s messy, tongues clashing and lips wide, a devouring of each other that’s too primal and raw to be called a kiss.

He bites down on your lip and you pull back with a gasp.

There’s a pause.

Both panting, staring, him taking in the tear tracks on your cheek and you not understanding that flickering of something behind his eyes.

So you close yours. You don’t want to understand him. You don’t want anything from him.

Your eyes snap open.

Anything except this.

Your hands scrabble for his sweatpants, loosening the tie and shoving them down just low enough to free him.

He’s not wearing briefs. Of course. He only came here for one reason.

He lets you palm his cock, weighing it in your hand, feeling for the throbbing vein that has him hissing a breath out through his clenched teeth. Swiping your thumb across the weeping tip you bring your hand to his mouth, pressing the pad against his lips.

“Taste,” you order, and his tongue darts out obediently to lick the pad of your thumb.

He shifts against you and your gaze drops down. You watch as he takes his cock in hand, stroking the length twice before fisting the swollen head and pumping into his hand.

You don’t notice your mouth hanging open in wanting until he leans in to lick up into your mouth.

Caught off guard you don’t fight it, don’t wrestle for control. Your lips mould over his lips, tongue dancing with his tongue, hand slipping up around his neck and into his hair, curling in and pulling him closer.

You feel the head of him nudge against your core, slipping easily up and down the dripping folds, and you gasp into his mouth.

He swallows the sound as he pushes in.

The slide of him is relentless, both your hands landing on his shoulders to grip, to push, to squirm against the impossible fullness as he seats himself inside you.

Mouths panting ragged breaths into one another, he places a palm against the underside of one of your raised legs and pushes it back. The burn of being stretched so far has you gasping for air, and he sinks his cock further, making you cry out.

His lips are everywhere as he pauses, giving you time to adjust. Kisses brushing your cheek, grazing the corners of your mouth, licking the line of your jaw back to your ear to whisper low and husky, “Feels like home.”

Bastard.

You buck in his hold, forcing him to sway back, his hand slacking from your thigh so you hook both legs around his waist.

Heels digging into his ass you wrap your arms up around his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin. You enjoy his wince.

“Move.”

He shakes his head at you even as he obeys, hips drawing back, slowly sliding out of you until just the tip is still buried between your lips. Then he surges forward, filling you, pushing so deep you can feel him somewhere in your lungs.

That must be why you can’t breathe. 

He sets a punishing rhythm and it’s all you can do to hold on, clawing at his back, legs tight around him, taking everything he gives and still needing more.

“Knew you wanted me.” Each word is punctuated with a sinfully deep thrust.

Can he read your mind? Why does he have to say it?

“Fuck you.”

His laugh is mirthless as he says, “Doesn’t have the same bite when I’m inside you.”

The snap of his hips drives your head back against the wall—or it would if his hand didn’t appear, cradling you. The gesture doesn’t have time to feel good, to feel like something gentler, not when his hand curls and he’s fisting your hair, tilting you back to expose your throat to his greedy tongue.

“I hate you.”

You don’t mean it.

“Yeah, well, maybe I hate you too.”

You know he doesn’t mean it either, you don’t imagine the way his voice cracks on the words, but it hurts you all the same.

His lips and teeth fasten on your neck drawing a stuttered gasp from you, and he soothes the bite with his laving tongue, licking up the sweat on your skin as he fucks into you harder.

You can feel your body clenching, feel your walls fluttering around him, and you know you don’t have long.

The first real, unguarded moan rips from your lips when his hand dips to your back, changing the angle of your hips and driving every thrust against that perfect spot deep within.

“That’s it, baby.”

He holds you there, pounding into you even as his voice softens, whispering encouragement and praise into your ear.

You frantically shake your head, refusing to hear his sweet words, desperate enough for release to say the one word you knew he couldn’t resist.

“Please, Bucky!”

“What do you want, baby?” He croons, hand gentle at your jaw, thumb swiping over your lips and dragging the bottom one down. “You want me? What can I give you, baby?”

“Please let me cum,” you beg, clenching around him the way you knew drove him wild.

He loses rhythm, hips bucking against you so hard you’re pushed further up the table, his cock sinking impossibly deeper, and you cry out.

“Fuck, doll, you wanna cum for me? Yeah?”

“I just wanna cum,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut against his earnest gaze, something soft seeking you there that you can’t bear to see. “Let me cum.”

His hand squeezes between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing a rhythm so sublime you see stars.

Words start to spill from your mouth; his name, yes, Bucky yes, and he’s telling you how good you are, how good you feel, to cum for him, baby. Cum.

Your orgasm tears through you, a wail so loud you can’t contain it, your hands clutching his back, pulling him in, holding him as close as you can until you drag him into bliss with you.

You’re sobbing, not just words but tears, gripping at him desperately as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan and your name.

His lips are gentle against the curve of your ear, down to the soft hollow beneath on your neck. You close your eyes, swaying into the sensation.

You can allow yourself this one moment. This fraction of time before reality returns.

“Was gonna just get you off and leave, you know.”

Of course he had to ruin it with words. “Why?”

He huffs out a laugh devoid of joy. “Thought you’d like it.”

Another tear threatens to fall. 

“I must be insane to like it.”

You hate the way the hurt you feel is reflected in his gaze. And you put it there.

So you push. You unhook your legs from his waist and, hands gentle, press against his chest until he takes a stumbling step back from you.

You feel his cum spill as he pulls out, dripping onto the buffet.

He scoops up your panties and steps in again like he’s going to use them to help clean you up but you bat his hand away, sliding off the table.

But your legs are unsteady, still shaking from how he bent you up there, and he catches you before you can trip or fall.

This time you don’t push him away, but he lets go quickly like he thinks you’re about to anyway and wants to do it first.

You’re fully naked, completely bare to him while he stands there with his pants shoved down. There’s a metaphor there, about how the only thing he’ll bare for you is his cock, but you know it doesn’t land when you look in his eyes.

That same open expression he always wore when you were friendlier. The one that got your heart into so much trouble in the first place.

“Don’t,” you tell him.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

His arms spread wide in confusion. “How should I be looking at you?”

“Don’t look at me at all,” you mutter, finding your tank top and pulling it on, like armour. You can’t hide your pussy from him but you can hide your heart. “You should go.”

He’s staring again, expression sad, but you tilt your jaw up in defiance and meet his gaze.

You have no idea what he sees there, but it makes him nod and turn for the door.

“I’ll see you next week.”

“No, you won’t.”

His shoulders sag and he shakes his head, no fight left in him. “Okay, maybe I won’t.”

He leaves.

You’re alone again.

You sink to the floor, arms wrapping around your knees.

You don’t know if you’re trying to keep what’s left of your pride from seeping out or more shame from creeping in.

Either way, you’re a mess on the floor without him.

And this time it’s your own damn fault.

a/n ! I don’t know what tragic misunderstanding put our reader in this position, but I wrote this after watching Wuthering Heights so you have to forgive my heart for all the anger

Almost none of you.

Steve’s is cleaner than a freshly waxed and plucked floor. Steve’s letter is perfect. He’s perfect. He’s the Golden Boy, designed in a bottle to be likable and confident and collected. Camera’s flash and his smile is whiter than the moon, and more blinding than the sun. He claps Tony on the back after a slightly mocking joke, clearly unfazed. He places his hand on Nat’s lower back in the most gentlemanly way possible, and everyone swoons like he’s some movie star.

He sits next to you on one of these panels you’re not allowed to skip—you tried to, and Clint dragged you to the helicopter like some misbehaving child—and ignores you all together. A tiny nod and smile for the cameras. Stiff shoulders that square away from you, like if he blocks you out, you’ll just vanish in the hazy lights.

He’d like it, if that happened. He’d probably throw a fucking party.

Because you don’t know why. You don’t know what you did. But Steve Rogers hates you, and no one even thought he was capable of that emotion.

It started the first time Nat dragged you in, spitting and weary like a feral cat. She’d given Steve and Tony the brief on your powers. Said that you had a good heart—although she hadn’t done an x-ray, so you have no idea how she was so sure—and asked to keep you.

Asked.

Natasha didn’t ask for anything. She said it like a question, and fixed Steve and Tony with the most terrifying glare in the world. Tony had shrugged, and Steve had tried to protest. Nat had crossed her arms and flicked her brows up in a silent challenge. Steve had swallowed, looked at you with a strange gleam in his eyes, and given up. He’d left the room with a grumble, not sparing you another glance. Tony would tell you later—after you annoyed it out of him—that he’d spent a month trying to talk Nat out of you. Like a toy he didn’t want her to be playing with.

You hadn’t said a single word. Natasha hadn’t told him anything about your past. And he still hadn’t wanted you there.

“Rogers,” you murmur, smiling at the flashing lights that—supposedly—have people behind them.

You’ve come to think of them more as vultures. They’d like to pick you apart and eat out whatever kind of black, charred thing you’re made of. You never give them the satisfaction.

Steve says your name, low and flat. His attention flits over, scanning you from the corner of his eye. You catch his gaze, and he looks away just as fast.

You roll your eyes and huff, slumping back in your seat. You drum your fingers on the smooth, deep blue cloth of the table. They gave you a water bottle. Maybe if you drink it fast enough, you can just go pee and skip this whole thing-

“Sit up.”

Steve speaks so low you almost don’t hear him. You frown at his profile—stupid clean jawline and strong features—and slump further in your seat. Just to test him. Just to make him twitch.

There aren’t a lot of things you find pride in. Being able to get under Steve’s skin is one of them.

He notices immediately, and shoots you a glare. You snort, and his eyes narrow.

“I told you to sit up-“

“I heard you.”

“And you didn’t listen?” Someone shouts his name. He turns to flash them that look at me, aren’t I perfect? Smile, and you try not to gag.

“You’re not my boss.” You hiss through your teeth, smiling at the people shouting your name.

Steve makes a low, rough sound in his throat. “I am your boss.”

“No. I work under Nat.”

“Who works for me-“

“Does she?”

Steve shoots you another look, and this time you giggle. He’s still smiling, through every single glare. It looks psychotic.

He doesn’t even try to reprimand you this time. He just sighs dramatically and looks back to the crowd. You sit up, but not because he told you to. You’re not another one of his dogs.

Because there’s one more rule about being an Avenger. About being an American.

No one hates Steve Rogers.

He’s an angel. A blessing. His pretty boy face and classy words and pure heart. He never falters, never gives up, never does anything selfish, never gets off his fucking high horse. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at, and he’s so innocent about it, like blushing virgin schoolgirl who can’t stand seeing a fucking ankle without getting red faced and sputtering. He’s all kind words to everyone, he carries twenties on him to give to homeless people, he donates most of his Avengers salary to charities, he handles every press question with tact and charm, and he looks at you like you’re sulfur coated gum, stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

No one tells you what to do when Steve Rogers hates you. He’s not supposed to hate anyone.

So you must be the fucking problem.

You try not to look at him, for most of the panel. It’s easy when he gets seated on the other end of the table, but whatever fucker was in charge of seating today must hate you. You can’t turn your head without seeing his lazy, kind smile, and you can’t turn out his deep laugh, and god, what if you just punched him in the face on live TV-

Someone says your name, and your head snaps over.

“Yeah?”

Steve tenses. You’re supposed to just nod, or say yes, not yeah. That’s not professional. Shame for him the media trainers gave up on you years ago. You don’t know why Steve still bothers. Everyone still loves you anyway.

And the person who said your name doesn’t deserve professionalism anyway. It’s a slimy man at the front of the question line, with slicked back hair and an expensive watch and teeth that look too big for his mouth. You know what kind of question this is going to be, before he even opens his mouth.

“Hi,” the man smirks at you, and you smile back. It’s the cold, bored smile that you wear like a shield. If the man feels the chill from it, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. If he breaks a tooth, maybe you won’t have to deal with this question.

“Hey.” The man echoes back, his gaze dropping back to your tits. “I have to ask, what does it take to get you out of the Avengers compound and out on a date?”

You laugh, spinning your mic and leaning back in your chair. The audience laughs with you. They always do.

Steve doesn’t, and it stabs near your ribs for some useless reason. Sometimes you wonder if your powers just don’t work on him, which would make him even more annoying than he already is. 

“More than that,” you say, and the man stands a little taller.

“You wanna give me a step-by-step?” He winks. “I’m a good rule follower.”

“Hm.” You smirk. “I’m sure you are.”

A chorus of teasing jeers comes from the back of the crowd, where all the men always get shoved. They’re less insistent than the fangirls who want to see Steve and Thor’s muscles. The man at the front of the line looks back with a proud grin—he got you to talk, what a miracle—then returns his gaze to you.

“What about if I promise to be a gentleman?”

“Then I’d ask you to cross your fingers,” you say, smiling with so much honey you’re worried your face is going to get glued like this.

The oooooos are louder this time, and you laugh. The man at the front looks like he’s about to fall to his knees. He grabs at the mic stand like a lifeline, staring at you with wide, devout eyes, and you don’t even flinch when Steve rips your mic from your hands.

“She’ll be backstage after, buddy.” His tone is light, but firm. The man blinks at him, like he forgot he was there. “Remember, she’s got a whole panel to get through. Don’t want to distract her too early.”

He laughs. Everyone laughs with him, except for you.

You smile at him with enough venom to burn the super solider serum right out of his big, muscled body. Steve smiles back, with that strange gleam back in his eyes.

It’s only there for you. It’s been two years, and you never learned to read it. The questions move on, and your mic gets turned of while Bruce talks about his favorite kinds of tea. You lean to the side, hissing from the corner of your mouth.

“What the fuck is your problem.”

Steve doesn’t blink. He keeps his winning smile on his face, and you’re sure that to anyone looking on from the crowd, it seems like you’re exchanging friendly jokes.

“This isn’t a dating app.”

“I know that-“

“Didn’t seem like it.”

You scoff. Your smile is starting to hurt your face. “What was I supposed to do, tell him to piss off?”

Steve’s lips twitch down, ever so slightly. “You flirted back.”

“So? I was never going to go out with him, he looked like a fucking sewer rat.”

“That’s rude-“

“Oh, suck my dick.”

You look back to the crowd. Steve mutters your name, and you ignore him. He says it again, firmer this time, and you shoot him a shut the fuck up look.

His nostrils flare. His eyes are so blue, you think you could get lost in them if he wasn’t always trying to forcefully burn you out.

“You-“ He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, shakes his head, and look back out to the crowd. “You’re going to find yourself with a stalker one day. It happened to Nat.”

You almost snort. You’ve heard that story. Nat curb stomped him. “I’m sure I’d handle it.”

Steve’s lip curls. “You have no combat training,” he grunts, and you huff.

Not this again.

“If someone got the jump on you-“

“No one gets the jump on me.”

“Yet,” he gives you a pointed look, and you hold it, unimpressed and bored. “But one day-“

“One day what? I’m just going to lose all my powers? And need Captain America to protect me?” You laugh crudely, and Steve scowls.

 “I didn’t say that-“

“Then what were you going to say-“’

“That you need to be careful-“

“And why do you care-“

“I don’t-“

“Really?” You roll your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You- You fucking-“

“Steve.” Sam leans over Steve’s shoulder, glaring between you. “People. Watching. Calm down.”

You and Steve both freeze, and glance out to the crowd. Sure enough, almost all the eyes are on you. Shining vultures. For one, at least, picking Steve apart with you.

You smile and wave. Steve sits so tall you think he might be trying to fly away.

“What were you talking about?” The next person asks, and Steve laughs.

Controlled. Always so fucking controlled.

“Nothing important-“

“It looked important.”

Steve shrugs. “We take everything we do here seriously. A conversation about dinner can look like a war meeting sometimes, with how much passion we have for- Everything.”

He waves at the air, and the crowd murmurs. You smirk, because Steve sees the light in that ripple. Only the rising relief. Not the dents it’s leaving in the water.

But you see them. You see them better than anyone. And you know why the people drop it. Tony’s glaring down the table, and Nat is rubbing her face, and you know they heard it too.

You love it when he fucks up. You’re beaming for the rest of the panel, because you know what the headline is going to be in the morning.

Passion, he said.

Idiot.

It happens so fast, and Steve’s the only one surprised by it.

“You two.” Tony points between you in the morning. “My office. Now.”

You smile, shoving your bagel in your mouth and following after him. Steve looks confused. You’re sure he’s never been called to an office before. You’re thrilled to have that first experience with him.

“Tony, what’s going on-“

“No.” Tony points at him with a scowl, and the door locks behind you. “Not a word from you, Cap. This is your fault.”

“My fault?” Steve almost recoils. “How is it my fault, I haven’t even done anything. It’s probably her fault-“

You snort, taking the bagel out of your mouth. “My fault? You don’t even know what we did yet!”

“Well, I know it’s your fault-“

“Because everything is my fault-“

“For stuff like this, yeah. It is.”

“Stuff like this- Like what, you getting in trouble-“

“I’m not in trouble-“

“Oh, you just got called to Daddy’s office because of your good behavior-“

“Can you both shut up?” Tony raises his voice, glaring between you with his nose pinched. “I swear, you’re going to give me a migraine that kills me. And you,” he shoots you a glower. “Never call me Daddy again.”

You smirk. “Why, does it turn you on too much?”

Steve looks at you like he wants to kill you. Tony just looks bored.

“Yeah, it does. Which is annoying.”

“Aw,” you beam at Steve. “He thinks I’m annoying.”

A vein is pushing out of Steve’s brow. If anyone is going to die right now, it’s going to be him, from bursting a vessel. You giggle, dropping in the seat in front of Tony’s desk. Steve just stands behind you, a soldier at attention against his greatest enemy. You tip your head backwards, looking at him under fluttering lashes.

“You should sit down, buddy.”

Something flickers over Steve’s face. “Don’t call me buddy.”

“Don’t stand there like a creep.”

His lip curls. You give him a challenging smile, and he lets out one of those heavy sighs that’s only reserved for you. He stomps over to the chair next to it, and drops down with a scowl at Tony.

“You want to tell us why we’re here, Tony?”

Tony frowns, and glances at you. “Does he not know?”

You shrug. “He’s a little stupid. You know that.”

Tony’s lips twitch despite himself. Steve scowls.

“I don’t know what you two are talking about, or- Planning-“

He cuts himself off, as Tony tosses the printed out article down on the desk. You hadn’t actually seen it yet, but you knew it was coming.  

From the look on Steve’s face, though, he really hadn’t realized at all.

“What.” It’s all he says. One clipped, dumbfounded word as he stares at the paper. You sort of want to laugh, but you bite it down. Tony’s looking at you like this is serious. Like he can’t make it go away with a wave of his hand.

Stever grabs the article. You lean over his shoulder, just to piss him off a little more. He doesn’t even bother to glare at you, his fingers digging so deep into the paper it tears. The headline gets crumpled, like he’s crushing it with just his gaze.

Secret Love In the Avengers.

It’s not very snappy. You think they could’ve tried harder, but at least the picture is good. You and Steve both look nice, and you’re staring at each other so intently you can’t even blame them for the minimum effort. With Sam looking bored on Steve’s other side, and you and Steve leaning so close together, there’s no mistaking in that photo who might be seconds from making out.

“Tony,” Steve mutters. “What’s this.”

Tony snorts. “What do you think this is, Cap? A news article about trades with China? No, because less people would be reading that than they’re reading this.”

“We’re hotter than trades with China,” you offer, and you think Tony would laugh if he wasn’t so pissed.

“Why is there a picture of us.” Steve mutters, and Tony rolls his eyes.

“Well, when two people look at each other like they want to fuck, everyone tends to notice.”

Steve’s jaw locks. You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So what, do you need us to do another release-“

“No.” Tony glares at you. “This is the third time something like this has happened with you two-“

“What?” You snort. “No, it isn’t-“

“Ah.” Tony raises a hand. “Don’t play stupid with me. I’m trying to be generous with third, and I’m not in the mood to hold your hands through feelings right now.”

“Feelings?” Steve spits, fumbling with the paper. “There are no- I don’t know what you think you’re talking about, Stark-“

“Steven.” Tony says flatly. “You. Shut up.”

Steve shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Yes. I do. And you do too.”

You raise your hand, frowning between them. “Can I ask what the first and second time were, because I’d remember if this happened before-“

“No, you wouldn’t,” Tony snaps. “Because I have spent millions bribing people out of running these stories, and you never look online to see what people are saying.”

“What people are saying?” You look at Steve. “What are people saying?”

Steve coughs, ears turning red. “Nothing-“

“They think you’re fucking.” Tony says flatly, and your mouth falls open.

“They- What?!”

“You have chemistry, kid.” Tony shrugs. “Every second you’re next to each other, you’re eye fucking so much we all feel like we’re supposed to leave the room.”

You sputter, shaking your head. You can feel you flush, burning up your face. When you look at Steve, he won’t meet your eyes.

He never does.

“Did you know about this?” You hiss.

He sighs, running a hand over his face with a half-shrug. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?! What the fuck does that mean-“

“Means he knew.” Tony says flatly. “Everyone knew.”

“Everyone knew what?! That the whole country thinks I want to fuck Steve?!”

Tony snorts. “You do want to fuck Steve.”

Your face burns. Steve looks up with warning pinch in his brow. “Tony.”

“Don’t Tony me, pretty boy-“

“Just- Not now-“

“Yes, now.” Tony glares between you. “This has gotten out of hand. We get it. You’re both hot. You’d have hot sex. But if you don’t either fuck or cut bait and start acting like adults, you’re grounded.”

Steve scowls. “You can’t ground me, Stark, I’m your boss-“

“Well, I cut the checks.” Tony crosses his arms. “So I think I can do whatever I want.”

Steve and Tony keep glaring at each other. You stare off in the middle distance between them. Your hands don’t feel like they’re your hands. Your feet are planted on the carpet, but not on solid ground. Your head feels like it’s pressing into itself, yet also expanding to something bigger than you can hold onto.

You don’t want to fuck Steve. Sure, he’s all muscles and rugged yet soft features, but there are countless men like that.

There are very few men like that. Well, you could find one. You have one in front of you. But you don’t want to fuck him. He’s annoying. Impossibly annoying and bossy and always up your ass about something, and not in the fun way like you’d prefer-

No. You wouldn’t prefer. You don’t want to fuck Steve. You can have anyone else, you’d rather have anyone else. Steve’s just always there and always making you embarrassed and angry, and maybe you’re into that but it’s none of his business. It’s not like he’d be like that in bed, either way.

You think. Not that you’ve thought about it. He’s too perfect. Too boring. He’s not boring when he’s arguing with you. He just hates you that much. That you make him break. Or you let him show that side of himself. You don’t poke and prod at anyone like you poke and prod at Steve. He’s just fun to get a rise out of. He gets cute when he’s pissy. He sneers your name and it goes right between your legs, but that doesn’t mean you want to fuck him.

You don’t. You don’t. You don’t?  

He has big hands, but you don’t want them groping and squeezing all over your body. He’s got a strong nose, but you’ve never thought about it pushing against your clit, just like you’ve never thought about his huge biceps wrapping around your neck while he fingers you stupid. And you’d smile at him, dazed and long fucked out of protesting. And he’d feed those fingers to you while sitting you on his cock, and all that perfection would melt away into something raw. Something real, that’s open and refuses to be stitched close. Something that both of you want to drown in.

Something’s that’s just for you, and Steve, and no one else.

Oh, no.

You want to fuck him.

Tony says your name, and your gaze snaps back over. Your palms are sweating, your face burning, your skin suddenly itchy and your feet restless. You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck Steve.

He looks at you weird, and you shift in your seat. He can’t know. Ever. This is going to get cleaned up, and Steve will never know that you might, kind of, really want him to just toss you over his shoulder and fuck you stupid. You glance at him from the corner of you eye, and his gaze sears into you. You have to look away.

There’s no way he can know. You’ve barely even known for a minute.  Tony only says he knows because he’s an ass. This will pass. It has to pass.

“Figure it out.” Tony tells you, before walking out of the office.

And you will. By never being in the same room as Steve again.

You shoot to your feet, and almost sprint out of the room. Steve calls your name, but you don’t look back. He’s faster, but he’s also respectful. He won’t manhandle you and force you to listen, like you want him to.

God, you really want him to. You’re going to kill Tony for making you realize that, then kill yourself, and no one will ever have to know that—for all your cool, bored smiles and teasing and flirting, for all your powers and siren-like smile—you just want to be fucked stupid by the most righteous, innocent sex-symbol in America.

But then Steve shouts your name again. He’s following you. Why is he following you.

“Fuck off, Steve!” You shout over your shoulder, and he scoffs.

“No, you heard Tony, we need to talk-“

“We really don’t-“

“Yes, we do- Will you slow down-“

You pick up the pace, just to piss him off. Steve groans, and you hear boots hitting the ground behind you. He’s giving chase, and you can barely outwalk him.

Steve grabs your arm before you can even break into a sprint. You thrash, but it’s useless. He’s too strong, and that’s so hot, and you’re going to throw yourself off a bridge about this.

“Let go-“

“No.” Steve drags you down the hall, into an empty conference room. “Not until we talk.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about-“

“Will you just stop being such a fucking brat and listen?”

Steve raises his voice, stern and commanding. It’s deep, so deep it echoes through you, and your knees wobble. He sees it. His jaw ticks, his grip slackens, and you rip your hand away.

“Brat.” You mock. “What would America think, if they saw their Golden sun talking to a girl like that?”

Steve’s lips twitch. “You are not a girl.”

“Aw. I’m a woman-“

“You’re a problem.” He leans over you, voice dropping to a hiss.

And this is how he always looks at you, but magnified. With a sharper gleam in his eyes, his lips thin and white, like he’s trying to swallow every word. A vein in his brow ticks, and you smile.

“I’m a problem?”

Steve’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“Hurtful,” you whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’ll live.”

For a long moment, you just stare at each other. He wants to talk, he can talk. You’re not entertaining this. Not just for him to unravel you then keep being a fucking dick.

“You…” He shakes his head, a tiny motion as his tongue flicks over his lips. “You are impossible.”

“You’re impossible-“

“Because you make me impossible,” he sneers, and you lean back slightly.

“I- You-“ You try to scoff. It’s a weak sound. He’s too close, and he smells like pine trees and something spicy, and it’s not fair. “I don’t even do anything-“

“Yes. You do.”

“What, is my skirt too short? Are my shoulders distracting you-“

“You’re distracting me.” Steve presses forward, until your faces are only inches apart. “You always distract me, you fuckin’-“ He closes his eyes, shoulders heaving.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he chuckles.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he rasps. “You don’t fuckin’ mean it.”

You blink, trying to think over the desire, burning in your body. Of course you meant it. You didn’t even want to say it, but he’s so close. It’s intoxicating. You’d think he was drugging you, if that was possible.

Steve’s pressed you against the conference table. His arms are caging you in, giving you no escape from the electricity, almost crackling in the air. You open your mouth, then close it, lost for what to say. You’re worried you’ll just whisper his name again. He drags his eyes open after what feels like a million years, his voice dropping down to something hot and dangerous.

“You never push anyone,” he says. “Like you push me, doll. It’s not… It drives me crazy.”

You swallow, your voice smaller than you want. “You- You push me-“

“Because I can’t help it.” He presses closer. Your noses are almost bumping. “You are beautiful, and insolent, and infuriating-“

“Steve-“

“And you’re so sweet to everyone.” He grabs your jaw, and your hand flies to his wrist. “Everyone loves you, so they think I’m crazy when I say you’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Everyone loves me because of my powers.” You try to remind him, because if he does this, you won’t be able to stop him. “You- You know that-“

“I do. Trust me,” he murmurs your name, gaze flicking to your lips. “I know. Spent so long blaming them too. All those daydreams had to be because you’re Nat’s honeypot. Thought it was the wrong thing to do, that I was some kind of monster to thinking about you like that, when everyone else already does. But no,” he looks back to you. “It’s just you, doll. I plugged my nose, avoided your pheromones, let Bruce experiment on me to make me immune, did fuckin’ everything, and I still wanted you.”

You take a deep, ragged breath. You have to lick your lips, to stop the spit, and Steve tracks the motion like a predator.

No one wants you. Everyone loves you, but no one wants you. You’re pretty but untouchable. No one can hurt you. If you ask someone for something, they’ll always do it, whether they really want to or not.

But Steve…

He says he wants you. And you really want to believe him.

“How long.” You breathe, and he sighs, bowing his head.

“Since the second I saw you.”

“You…” You scan over his face, looking for any hint that it’s not really him. That he doesn’t really, fully mean it. “You want to fuck me?”

His ears turn red. “I mean- Not just that-“

“But you do,” you breathe, and he sighs.

Stares for a second longer, then nods.

“Okay.” You whisper. Steve looks to your lips, then back to you again.

“Okay?”

 You nod. Steve’s grip on your jaw tightens, and your breath hitches. He leans down slowly. So torturously slowly.

Your lips meet, soft and chapped and nervous. You lean up, and he presses down. Your noses bump, and his tongue flicks over your lower lip. Your nails dig into his bicep, and he grunts, and-

Steve snaps.

His other hand flies to your face, and he presses over you, hot and demanding. Your breath hitches, you mouth falls open, and he shoves his tongue down your throat with a groan. You grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him so hard you both stumble back. Your knees hit the back of the table, but Steve’s fast. He ducks down without breaking the kiss, and scoops you up into his arms.

You squeal, but the sound is quickly muffled by Steve’s tongue down your throat. Your laugh is breathless and giddy. He chuckles, pushing further forward, and you pull at the collar of his shirt. He jerks forward, angling his head to deepen the kiss.

“Needy.” He mutters against your lips, and you shove his shoulder with weak hands.

“Shut up, I could still stop this-“

“But you won’t.” He taunts. “You like it, don’t you. Like gettin’ on my nerves, making me lose control.”

Steve pulls away, grabs your knees, shoving them apart with rough, firm hands. You gasp, grabbing at his neck. “Steve-“

“You’re wet under there.” He growls, running a big hand up your inner thigh. “I can smell it. Smell how much you want me, every damn time you’d mouth off.”

Your swallow, pressing your brows tight together. You watch him rub your legs, breathing through your nose like some wanton whore. Steve’s thumb grazes the place where you’re leg meets your core, and your whole body shivers.

He smirks, looking at you under pretty lashes. You try to glare, but you’re panting. His gaze just makes the fire in your core burn brighter, and your tongue flicks over your lips.

“You never said anything,” you whisper, and Steve gives you an amused look.

“You would’ve killed me.”

And you can laugh breathlessly. Ten minutes ago, you would’ve. But now he’s all over you, and you can’t even bring yourself to mock him.

“No,” you brush your lips over his. “I wouldn’t have.”

Steve works his jaw, that raw, strange look flashing over his face. The look that’s yours. That’s only ever been for you.

He leans in, and this kiss is softer than before. Steve massages your hips, settling himself between your legs. You spread them wide to accommodate him, and feel it poking against your thigh. His cock, thick and hard, somehow bigger than you imagined, and you hadn’t  been thinking small.

“You feel that.” He pulls your upper lip between his teeth, smiling slightly. “’S what you always do to me. Every day, I’d be walkin’ around so hard I was worried you’d see it. But no.” His kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You’re oblivious, aren’t you honey.”

You hum, tipping your head back. Steve groans, dragging his lips over a pulse point, letting his tongue flick against sensitive skin. One hand slips under your shirt, careful fingers tracing up the line of your spine.

“Steve…” You whisper. “Don’t tease.”

“Oh, but you like it too much when I do.” He rasps. “You love it, love being a sweet little toy for me.”

You whimper, and he reaches around, grabbing a handful of your ass.

“So bossy ‘till I’m touchin’ you,” he sucks on your neck, grinding his bugle into your core. You gasp as the rough friction, and Steve chuckles.

“You- You’re such an ass-“

“You like that too.” He grunts, breath hot in your ear. “You like bein’ the one person that gets me going, that makes me lose it. No one else, doll.” He pushes your ass forward, so your clit is pushed against the thick hardness of him.

A long moan escapes your lips, and you drop your face into his shoulder. Steve grunts, rutting forward, and it’s so fucking hot you can’t think past it. The drawl of his voice in your ear, the strength of him around you, it’s intoxicating. The clothing adding extra friction, his fingers digging into your skin. His hand slips into your pants, deft fingers dragging down your ass to tease right against the drip of your pussy.

“Just you,” he thrusts forward, squeezing your ass. “Only you. So fuckin’ pretty and sassy, drivin’ me insane-“

You whimper, and Steve makes a low sound, taking a deep breath against your hair. The table creaks, with the force of his every thrust.

“So rude of you, sweetheart, to make me try and keep it together when you’re running around, beggin’ to be fucked- God-“

Steve moans, jerking his hips back suddenly. You stare at each other, panting and flushed. He swallows, and there’s a stain blooming on his pants. Your mouth falls open, and normally you’d make fun of him, but fuck. There’s so much of it. You can see white, leaking out of the cuffs of his pants and onto the floor. He came just from that. Just from holding and kissing you.

And he’s still so hard.

You lick your lips, and look back up. Steve’s throat bobs. You smile, fumbling with your pants, and he blinks.

“You’re- Uh-“

“In me.” You point at his dick, about to burst the seam of his slacks, then your core. “You- Do that in me.”

Steve’s hands curl into fists. You’ve never seen his face so red. It’s almost adorable. “Uh- Are you sure-“

“Do you want to fuck me stupid or not?”

He leans back, startled. You hold his gaze, pull down your pants, hike your legs up on the table, and spread them wide.

You could swear you see it twitch, as he takes you in. Head thrown back, your fingers rubbing between the swollen, dripping lips of your cunt. You breathe out his name, dipping one finger into your heat and pumping slowly. Steve takes a rough step forward, grabbing your knees like handles.

“Stop,” he grunts, and you obey.

Steve runs his fingers down your bare thigh, slowly guiding your hand away from your pussy. You grab his shoulder, holding his gaze as he rubs his thumb around your clit. You let out a slow, relaxed breath, and Steve smirks.

“You like that, doll?”

“As much as you did,” you breathe out, and Steve chuckles.

“Ah. Too late for that.” He presses a mocking kiss to your open lips. “You showed me what you want. How bad you want it.”

Steve flicks your clit, and your back arches. He presses back down on the little button, and a long moan rips from your lips.

“I came in my fuckin’ pants,” he whispers in your ear. “And you’re still beggin’ me to fuck you.”

“Wasn’t- Wasn’t begging-“

“But you would,” he coos. “If I asked you to. You’d say please, Stevie and cry for me to stuff this pretty little pussy.” He pushes down on your clit, and you whimper. “Like the good little slut you are.”

God, the hold he has on you should be crime. You choke out his name pathetically, and Steve starts to rub you in thick, unrelenting circles. His free arm wraps around your lower back, holding you in place when his fingers dip down, and start to explore the folds of you pussy.

“So wet,” he mutters, pushing one finger deep into your cunt. You clench around him, and a squelching sound fills the room as he pumps slowly. “Wet and tight.” Steve looks up at you with a smirk. “You think you’re gonna be able to take my cock, doll? Christ, you’re barely taking my finger.”

He pushes in a second one, just to prove his point, and your mouth falls open. He’s right. The burn of his two fingers, it feels like he’s stretching you open with a fist. He slides them in deeper and deeper, his thumb working your clit, and your nails sink into his neck.

“St- Steve,” you gape between your bodies, watching him disappear inside of you. “Steve-“

“Hm?” He gets up to the knuckle, and looks up at you with a smirk.

You try to take a second to catch your breath, and he scissors his fingers, twisting his wrist so it hits a gummy spot inside of you. You cry out, and he silences you with a deep, messy kiss.

“Feel it,” he mutters against your lips, pulling his fingers almost all the way out. “No talkin’ for once, doll. All you gotta do is feel it.”

He slams his fingers back in. You whimper, but nod. Steve hums in approval, and the sound shoots straight between your legs. You squeeze and gush around him, and he groans. You barely get a second to compose yourself before he starts to thrust his fingers, deep and hard, and you start to unravel.

Steve’s strong. This is him holding back, and he’s still so strong. You scramble to get a real, firm hold on something, because he’s pummeling your pussy into a drenched, slack oblivion. The pace is brutal, knuckles dragging right over your g-spot over and over, splitting you open in a way that makes you drool.

He makes his mouth busy, trailing kisses back down your throat, then over your shoulders. You moan, leaning your head against his, and he smiles against your skin. Steve draws back to meet your gaze, and through the daze of the pleasure he’s dragging out of you, you smile back.

Your body is rocking, from the brutality of how he’s touching you. Steve’s eyes flick down, but not to where his fingers are being swallowed by your pussy.

He’s looking at your tits.

He licks his lips, watching them bounce under his force. You think he might be hypnotized. Before you can say anything, he reaches up and rips your shirt clean off.

“Steve- Ooh-“

“Shhh.” He gives you a stern look, twisting his fingers in your cunt. “I’ve got you, doll. Just- Lemme-“

Steve looks back to your tits, and his eyes are almost black with desire. You’ve never seen anything hotter, than how he looks at you as he lowers himself down.

He mouths at the curve of your tits, sucking a tiny, dark bruise. You moan, starching at his bicep, but he just drags you closer. Forcing your back to arch, your tits to push into his face.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice dripping with something close to reverence. “My girl.”

And you blink. Because that wasn’t discussed, but your pussy clenches all the same. His girl.

You don’t get more time to think about it before Steve’s lips wrap around your nipple, and you lose control.

He mouths at you like a starved man. Kissing and licking and sucking, sending tingling, electric sensations straight from your tits to your pussy. He moans every time you squeeze down on his fingers, which just feels like a vibrator right against your sensitive nipples, and makes you lose it all the more.

You’re grinding up into him, thrashing a little like an animal and whimpering in his ear. Steve bites down softly, his thumb staring to make quick, relentless swipes at your clit.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You moan, tugging at his short, soft hair. “St- Steve- Too much- I’m gonna- Fuuuck-“

You don’t know why you thought he was going to slow down. Steve switches nipples, biting down before sucking hard, right as his blunt fingertips hit that spot inside of you. You cry out as you cum, your body writhing against his stronger one. He keeps you in place, his hand working you through the orgasm. Pulling every last spasm of your cunt, and a few more after. He kisses your nipples and over your breasts before he draws up.

When it’s done, your eyes are lidded. Steve stares at you, slowly pulling his hand out. He smears your juices over your pussy, thumbing at your clit for a few more, light seconds. You squeak, and he smiles.

“You look pretty when you cum,” he mutters, and you flush.

You’ve been told that before, but this feels different.

This feels real.

You can’t think of anything to say. Steve doesn’t push you to try. He leans forward, cupping your cheek and giving you a smaller, softer look before he kisses you. You melt into him, too dazed from what might be strongest orgasm of your life to protest.

“’m gonna fuck you ‘till you can’t walk.” Steve mutters. “But- Not here.”

You hum in agreement. “Clean up later?”

“Later.” Steve grunts in agreement. “If I don’t get inside of you, think I’m gonna die.”

You giggle. It’s so stupid, but you giggle. Steve huffs out a low laugh, and drags your forward. You’re being carried like a koala in his arms. He kisses your cheek before drawing up to his whole height, and glancing at the door.

“I, uh-“ He gives you a sheepish expression. “I’m gonna have to run.”

You nod—you’re naked, you expected as much—and he clears his throat.

“You gotta hold on.”

“I am holding on.” You pat his neck, and he sighs.

“Doll, I’m gonna be running really fast-“

“I’m holding on tight.”

“Hold on tighter.”

You roll your eyes, and wrap him in the best chokehold you can manage. The asshole doesn’t even pretend to grunt.

“Your boobs are in my face.” He mumbles, and you snort.

“You were eating them like, five seconds ago-“

“Yeah, but- That was just us. What if someone sees-“

“That you’re carrying me naked? Probably that we’re fucking.”

He twists his neck to glare up at you. You smile innocently back, and he sighs.

His breath is warm, over your breasts. It makes you squirm a little, and Steve’s grip on your body tightens.

“You are such a brat,” he mutters, almost in awe. “I stop fucking you for ten seconds, and you’re already talking back again.”

“Oops.” You beam. “You should fix that.”

Steve chuckles. His tongue flicks over his lips. “Yeah,” his voice is dark. A promise. “Trust me. I’m gonna.”

And he runs. He runs so fast you squeal, because you forgot how fast he can be when he’s really trying. You press your face back into his neck to block the wind, and when he stops, you still don’t look up.

The smell hits you first. It’s deep and rich and-

Steve.

You poke your head up, and you’re in Steve’s room.

It’s not what you expected, a military cell where he sleeps and plans way to torture you. It’s… Cozy. There are books on a shelf that slightly poorly put together, and the bed is made but the sheets look thick and soft. There’s a mirror on the dresser, facing the bed, and so much paper you almost don’t know where to look. Drawings of flowers, and rivers, and sunsets. One of a bird, and a few of the landscape of the compound, and so, so many of-

“Is that me?”

Steve grunts, tossing you down onto his bed and starting to strip. You move to your knees, ready to scramble off the bed and get a better look at the drawings, but he gives you a stern look.

“Stay.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, I wanna see- Steve-“

He grabs you like you weigh nothing, and throws you right back onto the bed before you’re even on two feet. Your thighs press together, thrilled with the blatant manhandling. Steve notices it, and laughs.

“You like that, huh?”

“Shut up-“

“No, you liked that-“

“Maybe I did.” You stick your tongue out, and he smirks.

“You love bein’ a ragdoll, don’t you. Needy girl, you’re gonna let me do whatever I want to you-“

“You have drawings of me!” You blurt, because you really don’t need him to make you more horny.

Steve shrugs. “I do. So?”

“So?” You fumble, pulling at the sheets. “You- You like me-“

“That’s a shock to you?” Steve gives you an amused look. “I just fingered you in borderline public.”

“Well- You- You-“ You’re sputtering again. Only Steve does this to you. It drives you fucking insane. “You could’ve just wanted to fuck me-“

“Nope.” He shrugs. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. You just get on my last line sometimes, doll.”

And all your protests slip out of your head.

I love you.

He- He said-

“What?” You squeak, and Steve sighs.

“I love you.”

He said it again. “Wh- Why?”

“Why?” He gives you a tired, almost annoyed look. “Why wouldn’t I love you?”

“Because I’m annoying.” You answer immediately. “And mean, and bossy, and- I’m annoying-“

“You said that one already.” Steve starts to walk towards you, and you lean into his gravity, even as your heart beats in your ears.

“How do you know you love me.” You whisper. “It- It could just be my powers-“

“It’s not.”

“But-“

Steve takes your face between his hands, his thumb dragging over your lower lip. You fall silent, and you know you’re staring up at him like he’s the sun, but you’ve never been so warm. You’re afraid to move. To lose it.

“Steve…” You breathe, and he hums. “You- You can’t mean that-“

“I do.” He presses his thumb forward, and your lips wrap around it on instinct. You suck, and his eyes flash with more approval.

It’s embarrassing, how pliable that makes you. How he’d just need to give you one bit of praise after so much mocking, and you might just cum right here. Sucking on Steve’s thumb, naked on his bed, sheets bunched between your thighs.

“I love you because you’re smart,” he says, and useless, embarrassing tears prick at your eyes. “And funny, and kind. You never abuse what you can do to people. You work hard, you drive me crazy, you’re always ready to do anything for anyone else.”

You try to shy away. You’d been wrong. You’re not cumming, you’re getting so hot it feels like a fever, because having him degrade you is less embarrassing than this. Steve’s grip on you face tightens. He’s not letting you get away that easy.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. “And it’s got nothin’ to do with any powers. So I love you, doll. And you’re gonna feel it.”

There’s nothing you can say to that. Tears are pricking at your eyes, hopeless and confused and desperate. You need to see what that feels like. Steve’s love, painted all over you.

“You want that?” He mutters, and you nod. “Words-“

“Please,” you breathe out, the words muffled around his thumb. “Show me.”

Steve smiles. He pulls his thumb away with a pop, and taps your check gently.

“See?” He smirks. “Begging.”

Your eyes narrow, but Steve doesn’t let you spit out a response. He crashes down into a harsh, long kiss that makes your toes curl and thighs rub together. Steve gropes all over your body, pushing you down into the mattress before rolling over and forcing you to straddle his chest.

He’s naked. You don’t know how you missed it—probably the love confession—but the thick, hard curve of his cock slaps against your ass, and his bare chest flexes when you drag your nails over his pecs.

“You’re gonna ride my cock, doll,” he rubs your ass, smiling up at you. “Don’t need you to say anything back. Just show me,” he squeezes your ass. “How fuckin’ bad you need it.”

You look back at it, and your breath hitches. It’s huge. Bigger than any you’ve ever taken, bigger than any you’ve ever seen, even in porn.

“Did you take fucking drugs for that thing?” You breathe, and Steve snorts.

“Yes?”

You glare at him, and he raises his brows.

“You getting on, or not?” 

For a second, you think about being petulant. You cross your arms and pout, trying to test how far you can push him. But Steve just snorts, rolls his eyes, and picks you up. You don’t even get to wiggle before he’s forcing you down on his dick, and the air is knocked from your lungs.

Steve sits so deep in your, it might be pushing all the thoughts out of your brain. You gape down at him, making weak noises as your pussy pulses and stretches around him. His fingers dig into your hips, but it’s the only sign that he’s struggling to hold himself back.

“Much as I love you bein’ a brat,” he mutters, massaging your ass. “I’d rather see this.”

He reaches up slowly, tucking air behind your ear. You smile weakly, and he chuckles, settling fully into the pillows.

“Ride it, doll,” he orders, and god help you, you try.

You catch your breath after a long moment that feels like eternity, and start to roll your hips. Steve groans, eyelids fluttering, but doesn’t help you. His hands stay firm on your body, forcing you to use everything you have to grind down onto his dick.

He pushes against that gooey spot inside of you, and you falter with a long moan. You shift, forcing him right against it, and he lets out a sharp breath, but still doesn’t move.

“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he coos, cock throbbing inside of it. “Nice and big, fillin’ up your pussy so good.”

You moan, hips bucking. Steve grunts, thrusting up slightly, and you tip your head back. The friction is good. So good. For a second, back arched and thighs aching, you find a rhythm. It starts slow, rolling and pushing Steve’s cock right where you want it. You look down at him, sweaty and adoring beneath you. His hands wander, his breathing ragged and lips parted.

“That’s a good girl,” he mutters. “C’mon, baby, there you go.”

You keen, and move faster. Your knees are weak, but the need is stronger. You bounce on Steve dick, grabbing at his chest and gasping for air as he splits you open over and over again.

But it’s not enough. You don’t have extra stamina or strength, and he’s so big, and you’re so turned on your body is starting to forget how to move. Every wet, obscene sound makes you glance at where he’s disappearing inside of you, the way your slick is coating his cock when you pull up and his balls are heavy, pushed against your ass when you drop back down. You get hornier, and you want to just let go and allow your eyes to cross and toes to curl, but you can’t. You can’t find the pace.

You can’t cum. You can’t, and pathetic, fat tears stream down your cheeks because of it.

Steve reaches up, brushing them away with a tiny smirk. “Aw, babydoll. Don’t cry.”

You sob, shaking above him as your legs finally get to weak. You’re just squirming above him now, blinking under wet lashes at his teasing, lazy smile.

“Can’t get there all alone, can you,” he pushes you down, slamming his hips up, and you make a choked sound like his name. “Yeah, that’s right. Sweet girl, just a fuckin’ mess on my cock.”

“Ple- Please-“ You blubber, collapsing over Steve’s chest. “God, Steve- Please-“

“Aw. Begging so pretty.” He kisses your brow. “How could I ever tell you no?”

Steve grabs you off his cock, twisting you onto your stomach as he sits up. You’re shoved down into the mattress, your cheek pressed into the cushions by one of Steve’s hands on the back of your neck. The other stays on your hips, dragging your ass high up in the air to present to him.

“Such a mess.” Steve runs the head of his cock between the lips of you pussy, letting it press against your clit before he lines it up at your entrance. “You really needed this, didn’t you?”

He slides in slowly, and your eyes rolls back in your head. He’s impossibly deeper at this angle. You try to press your face into the mattress, to muffle your pathetic sounds, but Steve folds his body over yours, fisting a hand in your hair and yanking it back as he bottoms out.

“Look.” He bites your ear, dragging back before slamming forward, drilling his cock back into your abused, over sensitive pussy. “Look at us, babydoll. Fit so fuckin’ perfect.”

Your eyes dart up, and oh. Oh god.

It’s the most pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Steve wrapped around you, his jaw tight and one hand resting on your hip. You can’t see where he’s fucking you, but you can see how his muscles flex with each thrust. You’re trapped under him, your gaze locked onto his black, fervorish one. There’s no blue left in his eyes, as he hits a pace like an animal. Only hunger and adoration.

“St- Steve-“

“That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s right, say my fuckin’ name- Scream it-“

“Steve!” You cry out, the tears streaming down your face as it becomes far too much. “Oh- Ooooh-“

 Steve lets go of your hair, wrapping his massive bicep around your neck. It keeps your head up, keeps your eyes on his. He kisses the side of your head, and you can feel arousal sliding down your thighs as he rolls his hips.

“So pretty,” he whispers. “Look at yourself. Look how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

Your eyes dart over, and an unbearable warmth prickles over your skin. You look more beautiful than you’ve ever felt in your life. Thoroughly wrecked, worshipped, fucked into a drooling mess with swollen lips and glazed eyes. Steve noses at you, smirking against your skin.

“Good, good girl.” His words are thick, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You whimper an agreement, and Steve chuckles.

“You gonna cum for me? C’mon, show me how nice it feels, cum on my fucking cock-“ 

It’s like he has more control over your body than you do. The orgasm rips through you at his command, and you sob out his name as you fall apart in his arms. Steve grunts, pulling fully out for half a second to roll you on your back. You barely even feel the loss before he’s burying himself right to the hilt, and you can’t remember what being empty feels like.

There’s more than there looked to be. Steve pulls almost all the way out, to try and make more space, but it does next to nothing. Thick ropes of cum fill you up until you can almost taste it. There are wet, messy sounds as it starts to leak out, over your ass and thighs. You can see it in the mirror, dripping down onto the mattress. You’re stuffed up so well, you try to say Steve’s name, but it just comes out a pathetic moan.

He collapses over you with a grunt, and all the edge vanishes. He pulls fully out, cradling you in his arms and kissing over your neck.

“I made a mess.” He mutters, running light fingers over your inner thigh.

You giggle, kicking him away, and he smiles against your skin.

“You gonna talk to me?”

You shake your head, licking your lips. Your voice is gone, from screaming, and you can see him wince when he realizes it.

“I didn’t hurt you-“

You shake your head quickly, and his shoulders relax.

“Okay. Good. I- I’m gonna-“

He tries to get up. You grab him, and yank him back down. He grunts, giving you an incredulous look.

“Honey, it’s everywhere.”

You glare at him. He’s warm. He’s not getting away from you that easy. And you expect him to argue, like he always had before, but he just… gives in.

“Okay. Five minutes.”

He leans back over you, and you lay there. Cuddling.

Like a real couple.

You could be. Steve said he loves you, and he meant it, and that opens a door you’ve never thought about before. A door you never even let yourself think about.

A door you might want to see the other side of, more than you’ve ever let yourself admit.

But now-

You want it. You wanted this, and you want that, and you’re not going to spend another second pretending you don’t.

“About what I said,” Steve mutters, like he’s reading your mind. “Before we- Or- I guess during-“

 You roll over and grab his face. He blinks adorably, and you smile.

Steve murmurs your name, and you smile.

“I love you,” you croak out.

His jaw goes slack, and your smile widens. It’s the only thing you can think to say. The only thing you want to say.

And when Steve kisses you, it’s slow. Romantic and loving and deep. He really loves you. Everyone in the world, and the perfect man loves you. He holds you like you’re the only thing in his world. You feel like you’re the only thing in his world.

And he might really be the only thing in yours.

The lake house looked like it had always looked—warm… and sticky vibes. The hot air from spring got you grumpy, and the fact that Natasha had spent all the trip talking about Sam and how great they were going to do there made you only feel pathetic. Bucky would probably bring someone new or someone for the week, and you would spend your days with Wanda and Steve.

The wooden lake house was Steve’s parents’, and basically, the friends group had taken advantage of it since you all got your driving license and were able to drive on your own—and more importantly—without parental supervision. But it was always the same since Sam and Nat got together; now the weeks there were more like a couple thing for them, and the rest of you were awkwardly around them.

Then, Bucky and Steve started bringing casual flings, and Wanda and you spent a girl’s weekend basically watching amateur porn being made in front of your eyes.

Natasha was finishing unloading the backseat of the truck while you were starting to unload the trunk when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

“What are you doing, worrying those pretty hands?” Bucky spoke behind you as he took your duffel bag from your hands. “Go inside; I’ll take care of this.”

He kissed your cheek and made you and Natasha walk into the house.

“So… this is finally the weekend?” Natasha hugged you by the shoulder.

“Yes, of course. I’ll tell him after the first quickie with whoever he brought, and he hasn’t promised anything weird to her.” You rolled your eyes.

Natasha scoffed a laugh. “He didn’t bring anyone this time.”

“Of course he didn’t bring anyone, Nat.”

Steve was stocking the fridge with alcohol, with Sam and Wanda helping around—but then, you didn’t see anyone strange around. Not a blonde girl giggling in the kitchen bar, not a redhead wandering around to see the house, not a brunnette sitting on the couch as if she were too superior to do any help.

“No special guests today?” Natasha asked, peeping at you.

“I wanted a free romantic tension weekend for me.” Bucky chimed in with all your bags on his arms.

“What a surprise.”

“But there’s a special guest today…” Pietro, Wanda’s twin, walked from the hallway that led to the rooms.

He had been abroad for years and barely visited the country since his school exchange program had taken all of him. You and Natasha screamed and ran to hug him. You two were just rambling over the other as Pietro hugged you by your waist.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” You looked at Wanda.

“Kind of a surprise?”

You were still giggling on Pietro’s arms when Bucky nudged you on his way to the rooms—you shrugged it off as accidental. Steve followed him with the rest of your things and sat in the room you had always shared with Wanda, but Bucky noticed Wanda’s stuff wasn’t in the room.

“Where’s Wanda?”

“Oh… She’s staying with me… Pietro asked if he could stay with her for the night…” Steve scratched the back of his neck. He knew Bucky was going to get pissed.

“And couldn’t you tell him to fuck off? This is your fuckin’ house…”

“What was I supposed to say? Sorry, you can’t stay with her because Bucky will rip your balls off?”

“Basically…”

“Bucky… she had seen you for years to parade girls all over this same house; she had probably heard multiple girls moaning your name over here… and you are mad because one time a guy is asking to sleep next to her?”

“He hasn’t even been here for years!”

“Exactly, and they were close… even closer than you two… before he left. He was obviously going to ask to sleep next to her. This is not even something sexual…and even if it was… there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed.

“Well, you’ve got one thing to do if you wanna keep him away.” Bucky looked up at Steve, “Fuckin’ confess.”

Later that night, you were sitting next to Pietro. You had missed him like crazy—he left just after you had realized your feelings towards Bucky, and even in the distance he kept trying to make you tell him how you felt. His hand caressed your back while you had your legs over his lap, and your head resting on your knees.

“So, nothing yet?” He asked, rubbing your back. You shook your head.

“He’s been all over the place with every girl he finds—I’m not gonna come straight up when a girl is still latched to his neck…”

“You know he was super mad earlier, right? He had been giving me the cold shoulder since he learned we’re sharing a room.”

You chuckled. “What if I do it and it turns out that I have read this whole thing completely wrong?”

Pietro rolled his eyes. “Look. Do I like him for you? No. Not at all. I can’t believe after all these years you’re still into him, but I know when he likes someone… and he really likes you; he’s just an idiot who hasn’t realized it, yet.”

“Or hasn’t accepted,” Natasha added, sitting in front of you.

“You too?” You tilted your head.

“The only two people who haven’t accepted that you two are in love are… you two…”

You looked over your shoulder just to notice Steve and Bucky bringing some coolers. The show was about to start, and it was the first time you could even wrap your mind around the idea of drinking.

You knew well if this ended badly, the whole group would collapse. It was enough having Steve and Natasha dating to add more to the equation.

You really tried to enjoy yourself, to make yourself treat him as you always did, but every time his hands grazed your skin, it made you feel somehow weaker. Every time he brought you that specific drink you had mentioned weeks earlier, and he remembered you loved, every small detail made you think this could go some way if you were more like the girls he had been screwing the last years.

The night ended with most of your friends passed out drunk as you just sat at the edge of the dock looking at the moon reflecting in the lake. Your head rested on your knees; the air cold from the forest made you squirm from time to time, and you had refused to go inside and put on a sweater after you heard Bucky talking on the phone with someone.

You were about to surrender and just go inside when you saw him walking outside. He was just hanging up the call when he saw you. You heard his footsteps getting closer in the mud and then his pace on the wooden floor; you only hugged your legs a little bit tighter.

“What’ya doing?” He stood next to you.

“Just contemplating the moon. It’s been a minute since we were here, and I realized I missed the sight,” you didn’t look at him.

“Do you remember the first times we came here?” He knelt and took one rock and threw it at the lake.

“We were like fifteen? Joseph and Sarah had to deal hard with all of us wanting to be all over the place.”

He chuckled. Steve’s parents had always been supportive of the friends group and had done more than any other parent to make you all close.

“I remember Joseph rushing from the house through here to save Pietro from drowning.”

Trying not to make a lot of noise, you snorted a laugh. “It was before he started to grow like a weed.”

“You seemed happy earlier to see him.” A hint of jealousy could be heard in his words.

“Of course I was… I missed him so much. He was my best friend even before I met the rest of the group.”

He hummed in response, and you really wanted to take one of the rocks and throw it at his head. How was it possible that he could sense all that but could not notice how much you liked him? He looked at you again, the way you hugged your arms as you tried to bring some warmth to your body.

“Hey,” he tried to bring your attention to him, “What about one midnight swim?”

“Bucky, we’re gonna freeze the fuck out of our bodies.”

“Yeah… That’s kinda the point.” He took off his jersey and, without thinking it through, dove. As soon as he came out of the water, you saw his damp hair falling over his forehead.

This had always been your favorite moment. When he called for a midnight swim with the group and everyone followed him, you used to love seeing him try to swim as he fought not to die from the cold water.

Without thinking about it much, you just dived in too. He caught you in the water and hugged you to his body. Your teeth were clicking from the cold, and his naked chest was paradise, grazing through the thin blouse you were wearing.

“It’s freezing, you’re freezing.” He mumbled in your ear, “We shouldn’t be here.”

“You jumped in first.” You looked up at him.

“Well, you didn’t have to follow me.” He scoffed, and between the cold water making you not think straight and the way he looked at you—something finally snapped.

You pulled him closer by the neck and kissed him slowly, closing your eyes—letting him decide what the next step he was going to take.

And, much to your surprise. He kissed you back.

His lips desperately devouring yours, his hands gripping your waist, roaming through your thighs to make you straddle him as he let the heat of the moment engulf him. Your hands stroked his hair while you tried to make the kiss last longer. And when he finally pulled away just to look at you, the only thing he could notice was the way the moonlight covered your face fully. Making you look like the most beautiful masterpiece he had ever seen.

“If I say something stupid, blame the cold water…” He mumbled before kissing you again.

“We can blame the cold water for everything.” You said between kisses, and he nodded eagerly.

In a matter of seconds, you both were already running carefully, wetting the floor of the house, to reach his bedroom. As soon as you reached his bedroom, he closed the door and held you against the door to start kissing you again.

“Bucky… We shouldn’t… We really shouldn’t be doing this…” Your breath came erratically; a soft moan left your lips between every word.

“We’re not doing anything wrong…” He said, before starting to kiss your neck, his lips finding the most sensitive spot your neck could have. Your head tilted back.

“Then why does it feel like we are?” You keened.

“‘Cause you keep letting your most rational side decide what’s correct and what’s not…”

He started to kiss down while he knelt in front of you. He looked up, and for the first time, all those embarrassingly wet dreams you had had through the years were coming to reality. Carefully, he pulled down your shorts and started to kiss your inner thighs. And, at that point, you weren’t even questioning what was going on. You just knew you loved the way he was taking his sweet time kissing every inch of skin he could reach.

Your mind was racing through all his touching, not completely focused on anything—this until his wet and warm tongue found your slit; he was lifting your leg to rest it on his shoulder while he dived on your core. His hands gripped your waist as you pulled him closer by the hair.

Before you could come to your senses, you were already pinned down on his mattress while he circled your clit and lined to your core.

“Are you sure you want it, sweetheart?” You weren’t thinking straight. You could only nod and pull him with your legs.

He finally bucked his hips and slammed his cock inside you, splitting you open. He noticed you were about to moan and placed his hand in your mouth, “We need to be quiet, baby… We don’t need them to know what we’re doing…”

You cried out in his palm and nodded.

“Fuck… you feel so tight… When was the last time…?” Your eyes widened, and he chuckled. “Too private? C’mon... I’m balls deep in you, and you can’t tell me that?”

“You’re enjoying yourself too much…” You were able to speak when he moved his hand from your mouth.

“Just enjoying what I got in front of me…”

He leaned over you, both his arms on your sides, still rolling his hips to get you to your highest; you were sure you had never felt like this before, and you were sure he knew that.

Clenching around his cock, you finally came, an aching feeling pooling on your lower stomach, fingers digging on his side, and then he pulled out, and warm ropes fell in your pelvis. His cock was still throbbing while he pumped himself to let all out.

When he finally fell over you, both of you started cracking a laugh.

“What did we just do?” You looked at him.

“I think… we just fucked…”

“No shit, Sherlock…” You said, cynically. “Blowing off some steam?”

You didn’t notice, but a hint of disappointment appeared in his eyes.

“Yeah… Blew some steam…”

He knew he should have said something, but then he couldn’t really understand what had just happened—and how he could call it.

You took a quick shower and went back to your room—there, Pietro faked to be asleep, but he noticed you had just arrived and all your clothes were damp… He was then curious to know if tomorrow Bucky would have some clothes drying on the porch rail.

And, unsurprisingly. There it was. Some of Bucky’s clothes drying and a clear… very clear hickey on your neck that you had done everything you could to hide with some makeup.

You tried to avoid Bucky—even when he was trying his best to catch your attention. And he had just been able to do it when everyone was already asleep—you were sitting on a rocking chair on the porch, a beer in your hands and a cigarette in the other.

“You look different out here…” He mumbled from the threshold of the house.

“Huh?”

“You look different… or at least for me…”

“Shut up, Bucky…”

“Shut me up…” He teased, and your cheeks heated.

By the third night out of five, Pietro had kept his mouth shut, even when he noticed you only arrived before dawn and slept there enough that anyone would notice you were sneaking out from Bucky’s bedroom.

This night was no different. You were already riding him as if your life depended on it.

“Fuck… Fuck… Bucky… We shouldn’t…” You moaned.

Your knees side by side, your hands steadying you on his chest—his arms were behind his head, as he looked at you bouncing on him with all the eagerness you have been holding for years.

“You look so good like this.” He husked, and you bit your lip.

You had heard him so many times talking like this to so many girls that listening to it for the first time directed to you felt like a teenage dream—you felt pathetic for the first time.

“Fuck… You have no idea how much I have waited for this…” He muffled a moan and leaned to pull you down into his chest, now pounding from below.

“What?” You tried to speak, but it came more like a cry out.

“You have no idea how much I love you…” He groaned on your ear. “I’ve been wanting this for so long…”

“But… we’re friends…” You mumbled, and he husked a laugh. “Why are you laughing?”

You felt his pace growing faster, your hands now hooked on his neck to help you stay put.

“Say it—” You furrowed, “Say we’re just friends after this...”

“Bucky…” You mewled, and he kissed your temple. “I can still taste your precious juices, and you keep calling us friends… I’ve been fucking you three nights in a row… I just told you I love you… and you keep calling us friends…”

“But what if they know?” You made him stop.

“Huh? Who? Them? Or Pietro?” He teased.

“Stop it with that… He’s nothing more than a friend for me…”

“Well, I’m supposed to be a friend too, Aren’t I?”

You rolled your eyes.

“I mean everyone… Aren’t we going to ruin the group if something happens?”

“Then let’s do it great…” He murmured in your ear and pulled out, making you whine. “I’m being serious…”

He leaned and made you sit on his lap.

“I really wanna do this… And I hate that I’m confessing now… Naked… after three nights of whatever that was… But I’ve been dying to tell you that I love you…” Bucky was stroking your hair while he spoke.

“I love you too, Bucky…”

“Then why is Pietro sleeping with you?”

You snorted a laugh… "Because he wanted you to snap… and look… he hasn’t lost his touch…”

“He wanted what…?” He tilted his head.

“He was sure you loved me and wanted to prove a point.”

“Asshole…”

“But it worked…”