#cafa

- He would take it personally at first, feeling that you think you’re better than him

- Really, that’s just because he’s never been shy himself so it doesn’t make sense in his head

- Once he realizes it’s not just a reaction to him and that’s just who you are, he’s way more understanding and respectful about it

- Essentially, it stops being a point of tension anymore

- He gets really happy once you start talking more and more, opening up to him as you get comfortable

- He sees it as his success

- If anyone is mean or even just says something teasing to you about your shyness like “cat got your tongue” or “wow, you talk so much I can’t even get a word in” Trevor will take offense and will start a fight over it on your behalf

- Sometimes the fights end in someone being dead and you being a bit mortified to say the least

- You’re used to people’s reactions about you being shy, it’s at most a bit annoying, but for Trevor it’s extremely disrespectful and makes him see red

- He makes sure your voice and opinions are heard even if he has to say them louder and with more force, getting mad that others aren’t listening close enough or at all

- For example, if you say something and no one pays attention, he’s going to yell at everyone to “shut the fuck up” and that “y/n just said *insert comment you made* but you fucks are too busy being pricks to hear them”

- His reactions might make things worse or embarrass you, but he’s honestly just trying to be helpful

- It would piss him off seeing how often you get pushed around and overlooked due to your shyness and anxiety. He never really experienced that and hates that you deal with it all the time, so he’s going to do everything he can to prevent it

- He always makes sure you’re comfortable and not overly shy or anxious

- If you do become anxious, he’s more than happy to go somewhere quiet with just the two of you to help you calm down

- He prefers your company over everyone else’s anyways

- He’s constantly checking on you and giving you support, even if it’s just him wrapping an arm around you, he always does something to keep you comfortable

- He likes talking and since you’re quiet, it works pretty well. You can listen to his ramblings and enjoy doing so

- He draws attention to himself and therefore to you, so you will likely fight about that. If you bring it up he will take it personal, like you’re embarrassed by him

- His lewdness and worshiping towards you is going to make you blush and feel awkward at first, but after a while it’s one of your favorite things he does

- If you bring up anything the helps you become less shy and anxious he’s going to make a note of it and have it in his mental or physical toolkit when you’re around

Steve was lying awake in bed at three am, despite having been on a mission for the past four days and without sleep for the last three. Granted, he could go for a bit longer without rest than normal humans given the serum, but three whole days? Yeah he was pretty exhausted by now. Yet here he was, wide awake and staring at his ceiling. Rolling onto his back, he pushed the covers to his waist and put his arms behind his head. Sighing, he reached to pull out the draw of his bedside table and grabbed the small sketchbook inside, rooting around for his favourite pencil as well. 

5 days earlier

Steve had packed for the mission, triple checked all the weapons and familiarised himself with the vehicles that were to be used. Now he was just waiting. This part always made him antsy, nothing left to do but sit there until they left. And another reason to dislike this part, though, was about to be added to Steve’s list. 

You had been the daughter of one of the high tech doctor people that Steve still wasn’t entirely sure the jobs of, and had come to live in the tower about six months ago. Tony had ended up adopting you after discovering one of his employees had passed away and left only a two year old behind, and you had grown up with him but away from the tower. When you reached your mid 20’s, you had come to the tower while you ‘figured your life out’ and just decided you liked it here. Six months down the line, you were reluctant to leave your now-friends and were rather enjoying living at the tower as you worked at your new job. 

So here you were, standing in the kitchen and making lunch while Steve leaned against the counter next to the stove (next to you, really) and listened to Sam’s latest anecdote. 

“Okay okay so she’s stood on the corner and he comes barrelling at me with 20 pounds of mustard in his arms-” Steve grinned at his story, watching out the corner of his eye as you attempted to focus on your meal and not laugh at Sam-the last thing that man needed was more encouragement. As Sam reached the climax of his story, you turned to pour a glass of water from the tap behind Steve, and unfortunately decided to take a drink at the wrong time.

“-and this kid comes out of nowhere, rope in one hand and a melon in the other, hurls the melon over and starts lassoing the rope-” You spluttered into your cup, laugh turning into a cough as you inhaled rather than drank a bit too much water. Both men watched as you sneezed and spilled a large amount of water down the front of your white shirt-Steve cackling at you and Sam’s eyes brimming with tears. 

“Cmon-oh boy-cmon I’ll help you clean it up-” 

“Nah nah finish your story I’ll get this-” Reaching for the paper towels you cleared up the water spilt on the counter in front of you and around the stove, then began dabbing at your clothes to mop up the excess liquid. Steve stopped laughing. 

He swallowed and watched as the wet fabric clung to your skin, your dabbing only succeeding in plastering it to the swell of your cleavage. He turned back to Sam, smiling and pretending he wasn’t ogling you. You tutted at the mess you’d made, throwing away the paper towels in favour of grabbing the tea towel from Steve’s shoulder. As you moved your hand away from your top, he coughed lightly, trying to avoid looking at what was very obviously a black lace bra underneath-not padded either, based on the way he could suddenly see your nipples straining against the material. 

Tea towel in hand, you sunk to your knees and started to clear up the water on the floor, inadvertently giving Steve a very good look down your shirt. You didn’t think you had even spilled that much but it had splashed behind his feet somehow and you shifted forward on your knees to manoeuvre your arm behind his legs, still listening to Sam’s tale as you did so. At the feeling of your hands brushing against his calves, the grip on his mug tightened, trying not to give anything away as he laughed randomly at the story again. 

You finished mopping the spillage up, and reached up to drop the wet rag onto the counter. Sam recounted a particularly confusing part at that moment, and you looked up with a curious “I’m sorry what?” on your tongue. Steve looked down as you spoke, and a small crack came from the mug in his hand. The way you had shifted to clean up meant that you were now sitting back on your heels, one of his feet partially between your knees, white shirt soaked and see through, clinging to your soft breasts and an innocent, inquisitive expression on your face as you looked up. Christ-your hands were even resting on the tops of your thighs, and it felt like he was looking at the best view he’d ever seen. The very picture of obedience.

He had apparently zoned out as he looked down at you, and he blinked as he heard you and Sam laughing together about something. You sprang back to your feet and Steve coughed at the sheer bounce, and then felt his jaw go a little slack. He usually prided himself on being in control, knowing the limits of his body and being able to withstand unbelievable amounts of pressure, torture and pain. Apparently, a stray water droplet slipping from your neck and down past your collarbone, disappearing into your cleavage was too much though. Who knew that would be his breaking point? He mumbled out an excuse about preparing his suit for the mission tomorrow, set his mug down-probably cracking the counter top-and walked slowly out of the kitchen. 

“Steve? Steeeeve?”

Except he couldn’t leave while you were calling his name like that, like you needed something from him. He looked back and raised his eyebrows, asking silently.

“Is there any chance, maybe, that you could, possibly, if it suits you, stopinatthatbakerywiththebrowniesIreallylikeonthewaybackfromyourmissiononFriday?”

Steve smiled at you, he should have known-always that goddamn bakery. And always a request for brownies from there if their mission wasn’t too long and they wouldn’t forget. Before he could reply you took a couple of steps towards him and started begging again.

“Please? Pretty please? I’ll do something for you! Anything you want, Cap.” Jesus did you want him to fuck you in the communal kitchen-with Sam there?!? “Anything you want, Cap.” He needed to get somewhere private, quick.

presently

Steve flipped past all the other drawings of you-one of you holding the bouquet of flowers Tony had given you the week before, one of you wearing his shirt with your hand between your legs, one of you in that red sundress he loved so much, one of you on all fours with your faced pressed into a pillow-and stopped at an empty page. He briefly thinks if you ever find this, he’s just going to shoot himself in the face. Or maybe in the dick, then in the face. 

He twirled the pencil for a couple of seconds, then put the tip to the paper, sliding confidently along it. He drew two legs, two thighs spread open as if he was looking down at his own. Adding the details in of the jeans he thinks he was wearing four days ago, he began sketching the fly of the trousers, unzipped and pulled open. Steve paused for a second after finishing that, pencil hovering a couple of centimetres above the paper before he pressed back down again lightly. The lead skated over the paper, drawing in the shape of your face situated between his thighs. He moved to your hair before adding any other features to you, tilting his head as he debated which direction to go in. Ah well, nothing wrong with what his fantasies seemed to be gunning for-he sketched your hair pulled back, adding in a few flyaways and locks escaping to hang down by your cheeks. 

His hips shifted where he was sitting on his bed, getting slightly uncomfortable, and he began to draw his hand fisted in the hair that was pulled back. The pencil was moving almost without thought now, shading in the tendrils of hair wrapped around Steve’s thick fingers. He pressed his lips together as he began on your facial features, drawing the lines of your cheekbones and the flush he imagined decorating them. Hesitating again, he looked at the blank space he was about to draw your plush lips in. It’s not that he hated seeing himself or thought he was ugly-no he knew that many many people considered him very attractive (god willing so did you) and he was extremely lucky to look the way he did. But he never really drew himself-it just seemed narcissistic. Especially if the drawing was of you-it was one thing to put pencil to paper and get out his thoughts of you but it was another thing entirely to draw porn of the both of you without you knowing. 

He thought back, though, and his mind was suddenly filled with the image of you on your knees before him, looking placidly up and just waiting for his next move-images of your soaked shirt and the shape of the lace containing your breasts. He cleared his throat and gripped his pencil tighter, starting to outline his shaft jutting forward towards your face. Though he wanted to spend as little time as possible sketching his own genitals, he couldn’t help but slow as he added in the thick vein he always traced when he wrapped his own around himself (always to thoughts of you but that’s a whole different matter) and his mind wandered, fantasising about how you might lick a long strip from base to tip, tracing your tongue over the vein if he asked you to. 

As his pencil moved further up, he started on the shape of your lips stretched around his girth, saliva drooling out of your mouth as you struggled to take him. Steve imagined you would try as hard as you could, swallowing around him and pulling back to swirl the tip of your tongue around the slit when you couldn’t manage. He pictures how you would want him to press your head down further anyway, sliding deeper into your throat as spit dribbled messily onto his jeans. He draws your nose next, barely spending any time on it in his haste to depict your eyes. In his dreams, images of you come unbidden to him-the sight of your eyes wide and round, curiously looking at him like he could say anything and you would believe it. Sometimes a team member will say something unnecessarily dark about a mission and your gaze finds his across the room-doe eyed innocence immediately looking to him for answers. He inevitably wakes up scolding himself, because his next thought is always of your eyes brimming with tears. He drew them as he thought about his dreams, and did his best to illustrate the glassy look he’s desperate to see in them. Sometimes when he’s alone, in the shower usually, he’ll imagine the tears that would collect in your waterline, so overstimulated and fucked dumb by him that he can practically see his reflection in them as he pushes his cock into you over and over again. 

Steve finished his drawing with a single tear on your cheek, escaping at the fullness of his length sitting heavy in your throat, and he sighed defeatedly, scrubbing a hand over his face before shoving it down to undo the strings on his sweats.