#steve drabble

You’re a giggly smoker is what Steve finds out when you’re both high together.

You can’t keep yourself from letting small bursts of laughter fall from your lips the longer you smoke.

Steve’s fondly amused, he’s more of a horny mellowed out guy.

His limbs feel delightfully heavy and the air feels warm and thick around him like a comforting blanket.

You’re babbling about what’s on the TV, some chick flick Steve has a mild interest in but prefers the sight of your adorably sweet smile more.

Your hand shifts to grab the remote laying somewhere between the two of you, most likely buried beneath the seat cushions.

Instead, the warm heat of your palm greets his upper thighs and with a sharp inhale from him, you turn to him.

Your smile is soft and warm as you look at him, befuddled by his response.

Steve’s cock twitches at the small glimpse of your teeth, leaking a small bead of pre into his boxers.

He grits his teeth, trying not to give himself away.

Unfortunately for you, you’re more than aware of his dilemma at hand.

Your hand flexes when you feel his cock jerk by sheer proximity of your hands and your grip tightens.

A hoarse groan bubbles from Steve’s throat at the feeling of your grip, every ounce of sensation amped up as the weed settles into his system.

Your pupils dilate at the sound, your mouth watering as your eyes drop down to Steve’s clothed erection.

Your movements are slow but deliberate, tracing softly from his thigh with your fingertips, inducing shivers down Steve’s spine in pleasure before reaching his cock.

His mouth goes dry.

Your hand splays across his erection, soft and hesitant as your peer at Steve through your lashes as if asking for permission.

“Can I?” You mumble shyly, as if you’re afraid he’d ever say no.

Steve tilts his head back with a groan, you’re the most precious thing he’s seen in a while.

“Whatcha’ wanna do?” He groans hoarsely.

You bite your lip, eyes growing wide in hesitancy. Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips and Steve fights the urge to lurch forward and tug your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Wanna jerk you off,” You’re abashed, murmuring shyly and avoiding eye contact with Steve whilst you’re nibbling at your bottom lip in arousal as he stare at his dick.

His dick that’s been leaving what Steve can only assume is a wet patch on his boxers as he feels himself leak steadily against your hand.

He holds himself back from thrusting into your loose grasp like an unrestrained animal.

“Yeah baby, you can jerk me off.” he breathes, unbuttoning his jeans and lifting his hips in quick precision to shuffle them and his boxers down to his ankles, leaving his cock hard against his abdomen.

Your jaw slackens softly at the sight of him, drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of the reddish tip of his cock, leaking pearlescent liquid as it twitches on his abs.

“Looks painful,” you say softly, your hands hesitantly reaching out but stopping before making contact with his heated flesh.

Your doe eyes blink owlishly at him, waiting patiently.

“It’s okay baby,” he coaxes. “You can touch.”

You hum, pleased.

Your hands and soft, probably all those little hand lotions you carry in every bag you own, smelling like all kinds of things that you force Steve to use due to the callouses he’s built up over the years.

Your grip is loose at first, as if you’re just planning on holding him and Steve takes a breath shakily when it tightens.

If Steve closes his eyes, your hands could start to feel like your pussy, soft and inviting and his favourite place to be.

“‘S good?” You mumble softly, hesitant as you stroke him slowly.

A fire starts to burn in Steve’s gut.

“God you’re sweet baby, doin’ real good.” Steve’s answer is filtered through a groan as his eyes roll back through his head.

He hears that same floaty giggle from before as his tummy flexes, he wants to thrust into your hold.

“Can you spit on it baby? just to make it a little wet angel—s’gonna make it feel better.”

You listen like the angel you are, all doe eyed and eager to please and Steve is all too happy to direct you.

“Hold it tighter angel—like y’r makin’ a fist sweetheart, yeah, ohhh fuckk, yeah like that baby. Good girl.”

Steve is lost to the pleasure filled haze of the warm heaven of your hands, slick from your own spit.

It’s dirty and gross but you don’t care, you’re enraptured by the sight of Steve.

His chest heaving, growing shiny as he perspires, he flexes into your palm and his breathing grows stuttered.

Your brain goes offline, all energy focused on making Steve feel good.

You want him to praise you again, you want to hear those words drip like honey from his lips.

So you do the one thing you know is bound to get a reaction out of Steve.

You shuffle backwards, bending your front half towards his crotch as you swallow the tip of Steve’s cock into your mouth whilst jerking off the base of him.

Steve’s groan is a mix of a yelp as his entire lower half bends upwards from the couch in pleasure.

“S-shit!”

His eyes are blown wide open in shock before his expression crumples in pleasure and a punched out sound is released from his chest.

“Baby baby baby—hng yeah fuckk, oh angel yeah you suck me so well, uh huh.” He babbles deliriously.

Your own cunt twitches in time with Steve’s members and you hump the air to feel your clit grind pleasurably against your panties.

Steve’s hand makes its way into your hair, “my good girl huh? Takin such good care’f me.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you feel Steve place slight pressure on the back of your head, silently asking you to swallow more of him.

You do so with pleasure, letting your buildup of drool pool around Steve’s cock in a messy pool of fluid.

The soft shlick shlick shlick of your fluids as your slurp around Steve’s cock like a crazed woman is vulgar.

If you weren’t lost in such a pleasurable haze, you’d probably be less inclined to be so messy.

But as of right now, there’s nothing more that entices you than the idea of you getting Steve wet and messy.

Some primitive parts of your brain likens it to you staking your claim.

“Fuhh—“ Steve huffs as he feels your spit travel down his balls.

“Y’r doin’ so good for me baby, lettin’ me use that throat of yours, does that feel good? Is your little cunt getting wet from sucking Daddy’s cock?” Steve growls, his pupils enlarged and teeth bared as he thrusts shallowly into the warm, wet heat of your mouth.

Your panties are practically glued to your cunt with how wet you’ve grown, undeniably turned on from giving Steve head.

The whine that you let out is garbled from Steve’s cock in your throat.

Steve lets out a hoarse shout at the vibration of your whine, pushing you down further for you to deepthroat his length and nestle into the small patch of hair at this base.

You swallow harshly around him, trying not to choke at the feeling as you moan and slurp around him.

“Fuck—fuck! Your throat is heaven, m’gonna cum, fuck baby you were meant to suck cock, fuckin’ droolin and letting me ruin your fuckin throat—”Steve’s voice is hoarse and ruined as he lets you back up, letting you work his length the way you know he likes.

You tongue at his slit, letting the warm salty taste of his precum slide across your tongue as you take in the groans that have turned into low whines of pleasure.

You find the nerve right under Steve’s head you trace softly with a pleased hum as Steve mutters promises under his breath of breeding you up as a thank you for the head you’re giving him.

“I’m gonna cum baby—y’gotta get off if you don’t want it inside, close close close— ah! Shit—fuck!” Steve cries when you swallow him back down, letting him pump your throat full with his hot, sticky stripes of cum.

“Oh fuck,” Steve breathes as his orgasm curbs and you softly suckle on his sensitive tip.

“C’mon baby—up, up. I got nothin’ left for you sweetheart.” Steve lifts you up by your arms despite your disgruntled whine.

Your expression is satiated if not a little grumpy and Steve messily pushes the sweat stick hair out of your face with a post-orgasmic hazy smile.

“Did so good for me baby,” Steve murmurs and you seemingly glow at the praise, you tuck yourself closer to him and close your eyes in comfort.

"Oh, sh-iiit.. S'good for me, hon.." He panted, chest flushed to yours and nose nuzzled into your cheek as he squeezed his eyes shut, still pressing his thick length inside your gummy walls. He groaned softly, still enamoured with the feeling of you despite the fact that sex wasn't exactly a new subject between the two of you, he couldn't care less, you felt like a warm hug, comfort, love.

"Steve.." You panted, nails digging into the soft, freckled skin of his shoulder blades as he bottomed out, which is also when you finally notices his biceps. Works of art, soft yet firm, wrapped around the insides of your knees to keep you open enough for him. They listened with the soft sheen of sweat he'd already worked up, both from the heat of Hawkins, and from the sticky, simmering air accumulating in his room.

"What'ya lookin' at, baby, huh? M'arms make you feel good? Oh- fuck- yeah they do.." He drawled out breathily into the soft shell of your ear as he began to move, more rocking than thrusting, sighing softly as he felt your cunt clamp around him at the mention of his muscled arms. He doubted he'd ever get over how perfect you are, ever.

"Yeah, sweet thing.. Gonna start working m'arms just f'you, yeah? Huh?" Rambles fell from his mouth, whispered promises you'd both most likely forget as he leaned up slightly, opening his arms as he began to thrust, shallowly, his eyebrows knitting together and tounge darting out to wet his lips as he saw your quivering for beneath him, your eyes flicking from his biceps, to his face, back to his biceps.

Maybe he would keep his promise, if it got you this worked up.

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Steve won't, can't look at Bucky. He remembers their tiny room, the single bed, the bathtub in the kitchen.

Eyes on Bucky? He won't have a choice. Nowhere to hide now.

Winnie ruffles Bucky's hair up; he scowls and smooths it down. "You'll both come home for dinner every Friday night."

"Yes, ma'am," says Steve, as if the thought of sharing a room, a bed, a life with Bucky doesn't scare Steve joyous.

But Bucky doesn't know.

And Steve will never tell him.

*

Steve doesn't know.

"A fine idea," says Ma.

But Pop hides behind his newspaper, silent. Bucky's stomach is in knots, waiting for certain disapproval.

The idea of Steve, alone in Hell's Kitchen, churns Bucky's stomach more. Or worse—sharing that rat-trap with any other guy.

"Home for dinner, every Friday," adds Ma.

Bucky's stare could set the paper on fire by the time George turns the page and speaks. "Stop mothering them, Win. They'll be fine."

Bucky stares in disbelief… and hope.

If George can accept this new normal, maybe…

But Steve doesn't know.

And Bucky will never tell him.

*

George doesn't know.

"It's a fine idea," says Winnie. "You can keep an eye on each other."

Not that Bucky nor Steve look at each other now; Winnie could laugh or knock their heads together. She settles with ruffling Bucky's hair; he scowls and keeps his anxious gaze on George.

They're grown, they need freedom, Winnie had said earlier. Don't disapprove just because you don't like it.

"Stop mothering them," says George. Winnie smiles, satisfied.

Alone, together, maybe Bucky and Steve will see what she has.

They don't know she knows.

And Winnie won't be the one to tell them.

“Morning! I made a cobbler,” you explain, not mentioning the burnt first attempt that’s smelled up his kitchen despite you opening all the windows. “Do you want some bacon, eggs, and toast for breakfast?”

Steve blinks, eyebrows rising slightly. “Uh, sure. You gonna make me some?” 

“Mhm.” You’re already taking the eggs out of the fridge. “Scrambled?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, babe.” 

“No problem.” You grin, happy to be of use as you whisk his eggs with a fork, turning on two burners of the stove to preheat as you do. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he yawns. “Well, pretty good. Woke up a couple times this morning, but you were already gone. Been up for a while?” 

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep.” 

Steve nods, frowning. “Sorry, honey. You didn’t get much chance to sleep the night before, either, right?” 

You hum, bacon sizzling when it hits the pan. You put the toast down in the toaster, hoping you’ve timed it right so it’ll still be warm when everything else is done. “Oh, do you want orange juice?” 

“Sure, but I can grab it.” He moves for the cabinet, but you nudge in front of him, too restless to stop moving while everything heats on the stove. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” You shoot him a smile as you grab a cup. Steve returns it, but muddled.

“So between last night and the one before, how many hours have you gotten?” 

You shrug. “Not sure.” Nine, give or take. “But I don’t feel tired.” 

“Well, that’s good,” he says slowly, watching as you fill the cup with orange juice before hustling back to the stove, flitting between tasks at something approaching light speed. 

“Hey, so I was thinking,” you go on, flipping the bacon, “do you want to do some Christmas shopping today? I mean, I know you said you’re not thinking about it yet, but it can’t hurt to get a jump on things.” 

Steve yawns again, stretching his back. “Yeah, that sounds okay. Not sure I’d know what to get anyone.” 

You nod a few times. “Maybe you’ll know it when you see it.” Flip the bacon onto a plate, add more pepper to the eggs, put the bacon’s pan in the sink, turn off that burner on the stove—the toaster goes off, and you nearly hit your head on the ceiling. You jump straight up. 

“Oh.” You press a hand to your chest, laughter tripping off your tongue. Your blood thrums excitedly, like it’s finally found the outlet it's been looking for all morning. “God, that scared me.” 

“I could tell,” Steve says, eyebrows at his hairline and smiling faintly. “You doing alright?”

“Yeah, good.” Your heartbeat has become more noticeable all of a sudden, a hollow ache behind your breastbone. “I’m almost done, just a sec.” 

“No rush, honey. Thanks for making me breakfast. It looks great.” 

“Of course, no problem.” You plate up the rest and spin to find Steve already there, his hand the only thing stopping you from nearly flinging the dish into the wall surprisedly. 

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, taking the plate from you and setting it on the counter. He brings his arms around your shoulders, and you wrap yours around him too, an automatic response. Steve sighs, his ribs expanding and contracting with the force of it, and you copy him mockingly. 

“Still tired, baby?” 

“A little,” he admits. “Though I can’t really complain, considering how little sleep you’ve gotten.” 

You make to pull out of the hug, but Steve tightens his grip on you, palm pressing into the midpoint of your upper back. You give in, a willing captive. 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m sorry you’re tired.” 

Steve hums, taking another big breath. “I’m good.” A pause. “Okay, you can tell me if I’m crazy, but it does smell like something’s burning in here, right?” 

“Burnt,” you admit. “I left a blackberry cobbler in the oven a bit too long. The one in the fridge is a re-do.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No, don’t be. I think the smell’s clearing out anyway. Right?”

You sniff experimentally at the air. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Yeah?” he sniffs too. 

You inhale more fully, only detecting the faint remains of smokiness under the newer scent of bacon grease. 

“I’ve never had blackberry cobbler,” he says, palm beginning to coast slowly between your shoulder blades while his other arm stays firmly around your waist. “What’s it taste like?”

You perk up. “Wanna try some now?”

“No—I wouldn’t want to ruin this breakfast you’ve made me. Describe it to me.” 

It’s an odd request, but nothing you can’t manage for him. You think back, letting your tongue conjure up the memory of the last time you had it. “Well, the blackberries aren’t tangy by the time they’ve been cooked,” you tell him. Steve hums, hand solid and steady on your upper back. “And this recipe is really sweet. The dough is kind of like sugar cookie dough.” 

“Sounds good,” he says appreciatively. “Hey, do you think you can smell it?” 

“From inside the fridge?” You take your head from his shoulder to give Steve an odd look. 

“Sure, just give it a try.” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. You wrinkle your brow, sniffing tentatively. Steve opens his eyes as if to check you’re doing it, and it’s the worry in his look that gives him away. Your bemusement gives way to fondness as you take a long breath in, filling your lungs and holding the air inside you for a few moments before emptying them. You know what he’s doing, but you’re letting him anyway. 

“Mmm, don’t think I can,” you tell him wryly.  

“No?” Steve’s smile is sheepish, well aware you’re onto him. “Do you think we should find three things you can touch, just for fun?” 

You roll your eyes at him, but inhale again as you hug him tightly. Some of the pain in your chest eases. “Thanks, Stevie.” 

“What for?” he asks, hand resuming its route between your shoulder blades. “Hey listen, I’m all about your Christmas shopping idea, but do you wanna try taking a hot shower first? It might help you relax.” 

“That’s a good idea,” you admit, peeling away from him. He lets you this time, albeit reluctantly. “Your breakfast is going to get cold.”

Steve looks at it as though just remembering it’s there. “Right, thanks. Sit with me while I eat? You could have some of that tea you like.” 

You smile at him, taking a mug and your herbal tea down from the cabinet. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.” 

Your voice fades back in, and as you address him, it snaps Steve out of his train of thought. “So, I’m sure now that we’re well acquainted with each other, Captain Rogers—“

“Please. Just call me Steve. We’ve known one another long enough.”

He quirks a brow as your cheeks flood over in red, before beckoning you to continue your speech. “Well, then, Steve,” you swallow thickly, your voice dropping a few octaves, and Steve senses that he’s embarrassed you. “Now that we’re well - uh, better - acquainted, I hope that you can consider me for the position of your personal assistant.”

“What?” Steve’s blue eyes bore into yours, and they make you brood in anxiety. You feel childish, sitting in front of him in a flowery dress, at what could somewhat be considered an interview, asking to work for him. Perhaps you should’ve dressed nicer, more work appropriate? Yet, before you can blubber on, Steve continues; “doll, if you wanted to work for me, you could’ve just said. Did you do all of this to ask for the position?”

He blinks at you. Embarrassment washes over you like a tsunami wave as you blink back at him. Of course, you could’ve just said you wanted to work for him - you feel naive ever thinking otherwise. Steve’s not a stranger, you practically work with him every day, and he'd be more than enthusiastic to hear you out. He's not one of. the guys at work who ignore women and everything they have to say. He’s nice enough to always say hello to you and sometimes buy you coffee, and flowers if you were down. He's one of the good ones!“I thought it might’ve been inappropriate to ask you whilst you were training.” You shoot him a small smile, trying to ignore how the upwards tug of his lips makes your skin rise with goosebumps.

“Does Stark know you’re applying for this role?”

"He’s actually the one who suggested it.”

Steve takes a long sip of his drink. He stares at you over the rim of the glass, watching you squirm and ponder over his answer. He already knows the answer to your question, but watching you shuffle in your seat and act silly in front of him makes his cock throb, and he enjoys the feeling. You’re so innocent, pressing against the table, wide-eyed, acting as though your tits aren’t pressed together and basically on display for him. The dress is so low-cut. It makes him want to take you right here.

Did you wear that just to get him riled up? “Well, I can’t think of anybody more suitable to fit the position. You know the Compound, you know my office, and I’ve noticed you get on well with higher authorities. You seem like a doting employee.” He kisses his teeth slightly, looking down at the table, before looking up at you through his lashes. He tries to hold back the smirk on his face as he speaks, but it’s impossible not to: “of course, you will also be expected to work somewhat more flexible hours. Later start times, later finishes. We won't always be in the office at the compound - a lot of my additional work files are at my personal home office, but I can always make you up a key to give you easier access."

“Of course,” you chirp, nodding at him enthusiastically. “I’m okay with longer hours, and I can work around you and what you need.”

Steve grins. “Perfect.”

—

It has been about three weeks since you left your position as an intern at Stark Industries and began working for Steve Rogers. It was an exhausting process at first; the sudden change in routine, the heavy workload, the unsociable hours, and Steve often worried you would change your mind. If you couldn't bend for this position, you would break, and he was incredibly worried you'd do the latter. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen you frown so often before, but during the first fortnight of working as his assistant, your lips were always somewhat tugged downwards, and you were always so busy, unable to even joke with him.

You soldiered on, though. Managing to catch up to months worth of missed calls, avoided emails, old paperwork, and forgotten documents. Steve praised you every time you completed a task, and often he found you beaming up at him, prideful and flustered.

Yet, whilst peeking up from his desktop, he finds himself annoyed. You’re sitting quietly opposite him, noting down things and scheduling appointments, and he can’t help the twitch of his cock as he watches you do it. You're not incredibly busy anymore, and yet you're not engaging in any conversation with him. Steve knows you value professionalism, but he only really let you have this job because of his alternative motives when it comes to you.

His eyes flicker back to the computer screen, and then back to you. It's like before his brain can register what he's doing; he's doing it, but he doesn't mind. This is his office, after all, his space. You're his assistant, and if anything, you're supposed to assist him in doing it. His hands are wrapped around his thick, angry cock, and he pumps slowly, watching you intensely.

You're tapping away at your computer so innocently. Your eyes are wide and interested, and clearly whatever your scheduling for Steve has your entire attention because you don't even look up at him. He strokes his cock carefully, and slowly, and his breathing wavers as he runs a finger over his angry, red tip, using some of his precum for lube.

“You okay, Steve?” your voice fills the quiet room, and he looks over at you, his hands still wrapped around his cock. The naivety of your tone makes his cock twitch in his hands, and his pace slows. He makes eye contact with you, never breaking it as he slowly strokes his hand up and down his length. It makes him so much harder that you have no idea what he's doing, and he imagines what your lips would feel like wrapped around him.

“Fine, doll. Just a little sore.” Steve purses his lips as you nod. He meets your eyes, and you hold his gaze, concern plastering over your face.

You're so... modest. Completely unaware of what he's doing, and he loves it. Steve craves you; craves to taint the innocence which consumes you. You're too trusting for your own good, and one of these days, it's going to get you hurt.

Steve just needs to make sure it's him that hurts you, and nobody else.

“You do look awfully red, Steve.” You murmur across from him, concern painting your features. The heavy gaze your boss has on you makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable, but worry overrides any instinctive emotion. “Do you feel hot?”

Steve grunts in agreement with your question. He looks more disheveled than usual. His posture seems hunched, but he seems somewhat relaxed, and his gaze is hard and trained on you. You're unsure as to what's wrong - he's so red, it looks like he's burning up. Perhaps he has a fever, but you're sure the Super Soldier Serum ensures that he doesn't get ill. “Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of water?” you ask innocently, standing up from your desk chair, slowly walking towards him.

His computer monitor thankfully covers his crotch. Steve’s eyes don’t leave you, and it makes his cock leak when you softly begin to walk over to him. He’s almost certain you own nothing but inappropriate, seductive clothing; he’s seen more of your cleavage these past three weeks than he has anyone else’s, and it’s driving him crazy. The fact he’s managed to hold off from devouring you is insane, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can take.

Being the nice guy just doesn’t seem to be working. The hand which was stroking his cock stills, and he commands you to stop once you’re mere inches away, stood behind his monitor, so small he can hardly see you. “Do you own any appropriate clothing?”

His question is direct and his tone is reprimanding. Your knees wobble, and your head hangs slightly. Shame spreads throughout your body. “I didn’t realise this was inappropriate. My apologies.”

It’s unlike Steve to bark at you. Usually, he’s incredibly soft-spoken and considerate, yet it seems you’ve worn any patience he’s held for you thin. “Doll, every outfit you’ve worn this week has been low-cut and short.” He breathes, and your neck prickles with discomfort when you notice how dark and blown his pupils are. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think these kinds of… outfits would be appropriate elsewhere. You didn’t wear these outfits when interning for Stark.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your subordinate manner only makes his cock twitch more, and he’s thankful his hand is sheathing his cock, because the precum that trickles out of its covers his skin and not his trousers. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”

It’s painful to let go of his length, but he has to, and he shoves it back inside of his trousers and innocently buttons them up. “Are you wearing these suggestive outfits to get a rise out of me?”

You gasp. “No. Never. I - Sir, I aim to be as appropriate and considerate as possible. I’m sorry I’ve been misleading you.” Steve rises from his seat, and you swallow thickly, feeling incredibly small compared to your boss. You’ve often been close to him - side by side, brushing shoulders, but he’s always been soft-spoken and gentle, apologetic and genuinely caring. Now, it seems like his patience is worn thin, and as opposed to seeing a civilian Steve, you feel as though you're standing in front of a soldier. “I can go and change now if you want?”

“No.” His tone is so low it matches that of a growl, and you cower weakly as he towers over you. Fear pulsates in your being as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe, and your heart races in your chest. Steve would never hurt me, you remind yourself, he’s one of the good ones.

You open your mouth to speak, but Steve shushes you. His finger splays over your lips, and you feel scolded and childlike. “I think you do it for attention.” His finger pushes against you, as does his body, as he stalks forward and you shuffle backward, trying to keep any space between the two of you. “You know, it’s been hard staying silent for this long. Watching you from afar, never knowing what to say or do.” His hot breath fans your ear, and Steve’s nostrils flare. “Trying to be a gentleman. Buying you coffee and flowers and cards when you were working at the Compound as a way to be friendly and nice. But I don’t think you want that.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You squeak out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Steve’s fingers gently press against your skin, wiping away any that spill, his skin icy against your own. “I-I’ve appreciated the gifts. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He asks, his eyes shooting down at you. You nod your head eagerly, staring up at him, trying to ignore how the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think you’re truly sorry. I gave you this job to be my personal assistant. I expected more of you. You’re dressing as whore, and you can’t even apologize correctly.”

You swallow thickly, staring up at him. “‘M sorry. I haven’t meant to present myself that way,” your voice wavers. “What would y-you deem a suitable apology, Steve?”

“Captain.” Steve’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you squeak slightly as he tugs at it. “You only get to call me Steve when you’ve been good, which you haven’t.”

“How should I apologize, Captain?”

Your voice is an incredulous whisper. The subordination you show drives Steve crazy, and it takes everything in him not to force your mouth open and push you onto his cock. No, he needs to coax you into it - make you agree that this is the best way to apologize. Any other way wouldn’t suffice.

It’s as though you can’t believe this is happening - and in a way, Steve can’t, either. He’s always imagined this happening - having you begging him to tell you how to do something in a way that’s deemed fit in his eyes, having you be in pain whilst doing it. He curses slightly, before breathing out, “use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me’. Don’t expect me to repeat myself again.” He warns, blinking down at you, before muttering, “you’ve dressed like a whore, sweetheart. I think it’s only fair the Captain treats you as such.” His thumb drags down your lips, and you look up at him with such hesitation it makes his balls throb. He feels as though the look on your face could make him cum already.

Warmth floods over your cheeks. It feels wrong as Steve’s palms press heavily on your shoulders, the weight of him coaxing you down. A shudder leaves you as he forces you onto your knees in front of him, and you stare at his trousers, which are tight by the groin. “Captain, I don’t think -“ you swallow thickly, shaking as he comes down to unbutton his trousers, and flinching once his hands clasp yours, “-I don’t think this is appropriate.”

Your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, and he glares down at you, relishing in your embarrassment. Your eyelashes are wet and tears prickle your eyes still, “You’re on your knees now, doll.” He huffs, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Your hands shake as he guides them to his trousers. “You might as well get on with it.”

“No I - I don’t want to.” Your voice wavers as he uses your hands to pry his cock out of his trousers, which is an angry red and seeping with cum, and you feel like scurrying away from it. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this before.” Steve is stronger than you and the grip he’s got on your wrists makes you feel as though they will snap, so you decide not to, rather cowering away from his length in fear.

“Are you a virgin?” His question makes your head shoot up in embarrassment, your eyes wide and distraught, and he groans. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking virgin.”

“I never said I was,” you mutter, yelping when his hands strike you against the face. Fresh tears fall over old tear stains, and you flinch as his fingers splay over your chin.

He tuts. “Don’t lie to me. Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you murmur, shameful, eyes watery as you stare up at him. You sniffle, thankful for his gentle touch, which replaces the cruelty of his hands seconds ago. It makes your heart bloom with warmth as he brushes your face softly with his fingers, although he’s wiping away the pain he’s caused.

“My pretty little baby’s a virgin,” Steve coos, and the tone of his voice makes pressure form in your lower belly. “This mouth has never been around anyone’s cock before? Ever?”

There’s almost a deluded tone in his voice as he presses his tip against your lips. You quiver below him, your eyes trained on him as he pushes himself in your mouth. It feels wrong to do this with him - it feels exploitative, and whilst you opt to pull away from him, the wetness in your panties warns you otherwise. You’re enjoying this, and it’s making you feel terrible. You’re letting your boss take advantage of you and you love it.

You'd be lying if you denied the fact that you found Steve attractive. You had a thing for blonds, and the Golden Boy reputation he had made butterflies form in your belly. The fact he was so unlike what he seems makes your thighs clench and your pussy throb. A Golden Boy with an urge to taint; and somehow, you want to be tainted.

You hum against his cock, and it makes Steve’s stomach explode with heat. The wet of your tongue and the hot of your mouth is everything he’s ever wanted and more, and as your teeth scrape against him, he hisses, trying to hold back the smack he wants to deliver to you. You’re not ready for that yet; you’re a virgin, a sweet girl who needs taking care of. He needs to be gentle with you. “Nuh-uh-uh, doll. Cover those teeth of yours and hollow your cheeks - yes, like that, baby."

Steve breathes heavily as you take it in. It feels intrusive to your mouth as you suck on his cock, your tongue swirling up and down his tip. His hands make their way into your hair, and he gently begins to slide your head up and down, going at a quicker pace. It makes your belly ache with warmth as he does it, the feeling of his hands wrapped in your hair making you feel surprisingly... horny? It makes your face flush when you realize you're enjoying being used by Steve, and you eagerly begin to run your tongue up and down his length, tracing his veins and making sure to pay extra attention to his tip.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably, “make your daddy’s cock nice and wet.” Steve’s pace quickens, and more and more of his cock forces its way into your mouth until your eyes are pricking with tears and you’re almost certain his length is going to suffocate you. Gag after gag follows through with each desperate thrust of his hips, and you clasp your hands around his thigh, looking up at him, eager to breathe. He doesn’t let you.

“My perfect little girl. Let daddy cum in your mouth and he’ll forgive you for dressing like such a whore.”

It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice anyway. In Steve's eyes, he's waited long enough to paint you in his cum, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. He pulls out slightly, spewing cum over your cheeks and lips, grunting with approval at the sight of you. His innocent little personal assistant, who has never felt a man’s cock before today, has just had her throat fucked as though she were a fleshlight. Steve groans, steadying himself by using your head for support, and your nose crinkles as you swallow his cum which had painted your tongue.

It doesn't taste that bad.

“Best you clean yourself up.” Steve murmurs as you clamber up, knees shaking, the heat between your legs throbbing. “I don’t want my personal assistant to look so... defiled whilst she’s working alongside me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As you attempt to scurry off to the bathroom, Steve stops you. “I want to make a few things clear about your position as my personal assistant, doll.”

You nod your head, uncertain as to what he might say next. The sight of you covered in his cum makes his heart bloom with pride, and he realises that he has finally got you where he wants you to be. “Your role as my personal assistant is to assist me with anything I deem necessary. Whether that be sexual or otherwise. You got that?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

—

Your body has been aching and sore for days. Forcing yourself up from your desk chair, you jolt slightly at the sudden pain which shoots up through your spine. You look away from Steve’s hot gaze, which makes you feel flustered and funny, and you begin to flip through pages in your folder, desperate to keep yourself occupied and not draw too much attention from Steve.

“Come here, doll.” His voice is gentle, his arms wide and open, urging you in.

You nod your head, opting to agree. You've become conditioned to his sexual advances, and he accepts when you're not in the mood, saying that he doesn't want to pressure you. Steve is a good guy in that way; he wants you to move at your own pace. You only have to do this for a few more months or so, as that’s how long your contract is.

Steve taps his lap. You comply, carefully seating yourself atop of him, crinkling your nose when he gets too close. He notices, but he doesn’t care, leaning backward slightly and brushing a curl away from your face.

“What have I done for you to hate me?” his once confident voice is quiet, oozing with rejection.

You blink at him. “I - I don’t hate you.”

Steve hums, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You shuffle uncomfortably in his lap, looking up at him with big, doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch. You’re so innocent, so friendly, a big baby that needs protecting from the world. All Steve wants to do is protect you and keep you safe. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he notes quietly. “You used to look at me like I was a savior before you started working under me.”

You shuffle uncomfortably, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves slightly to get comfortable, and your breath hitches in your throat when his clothed crotch rubs against yours. “I still think of you as a savior, Stevie,” you murmur quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

You’ve worked for Steve long enough now to know that the way around difficult conversations is to stroke his ego. His hand snakes around your back, and he traipses his fingers up and down your back slowly. “No bra, huh? What have I told you about dressing appropriately?”

“S-sorry, Steve.”

“Mmm, I forgive you, baby.” His hands fall to your skirt, and his fingers slowly ride up them. The material parts with the moving of his hands, and your body flushes with heat when his finger slides up and down your slits. He tuts. “No underwear, either? This'll be a little harder to forgive.”

You squeak slightly as Steve pushes a finger inside of you. “Y-you asked me not to wear underwear when I'm around you.”

“Nuh-uh-uh. I don’t remember that, doll. Don’t make things up to try and make yourself better off.” Except, he does remember it because he practically commanded you to strip your underwear off the last time you wore some when working alongside him. But you don’t need to remember that. Steve wants you to believe everything you do for him is because you want to do it, not because he’s told you to.

“Really?” you squeak as he curls his finger inside of you, ensuring he hits against your spongy spot. You try to ignore the heaviness of Steve’s gaze, and you swallow dryly, stuttering as Steve slips another digit in, beginning to fuck you faster with a ‘come-forth’ motion.

“Yeah, doll. Maybe you just wanted your daddy to have easier access to this pretty pussy of yours. I know how much you like getting that little pussy touched.”

His fingers slow down inside of you, and he gazes down at you with a raised brow. You protest, trying to roll against his fingers, but he grabs your thighs and shakes his head. “Bad girls don’t get to feel good.”

“I’m not bad," you whine, and Steve shakes his head in response.

“You lied to daddy. Said he wanted you to wear no underwear. You said it like I’ve been forcing you not to wear underwear when it was your decision.”

The sharpness in his tone makes you recoil, and you still your lower half. against him, not wanting to make him anymore angrier than he already is. “I-I’m sorry. It was my decision. I’m sorry for lying.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You know, I’ve been holding back these past weeks. I wanted to break you in.” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine in protest, but your sounds are muffled when he shoves them inside of your mouth. You suck instinctively, and he groans against you. “I’ve been wanting to use that pretty pussy of yours for so long, doll. Been wanting to defile you and make you mine.”

Before you can even react, the tip of his cock is pressing against your slits. “I’ve wanted to fuck you and fill you up with my cum for so long now.” His voice is a growl, and you feel frozen in place, beginning to slowly shake your head. “Fuck you full of my babies. And I know you want that, too.” He groans as he presses harsh kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin.

“No, Steve,” you breathe heavily as he holds you into place, your own body no match for the strength of his. “I- I don’t want that. I'm not ready for a baby."

“But you are. You just don’t know it yet.” His cock pushes into you, and you let out a whimper, struggling against him. Your walls sheathe him, and you let out a pained squeak. "Look at how well you take me, baby. You were made for me. You’re so wet for me. Look at you, trying to deny your rightful place as my subordinate. My pretty little girl.”

He forces his cock into you slowly. Your walls squeeze around him, sheathing his cock so well, and you whimper, squeezing your nails into his shoulders so hard you feel as though you're going to leave behind crescent moons. "No, Steve," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the burn between your leg. "'t hurts. Stevie, I'm not ready."

"You're ready, baby," he seethes, throwing his head back slightly as he pushes his hips up further. "Your little virgin pussy is hugging my cock so fucking tight."

A mewl escapes you as his cock brushes up against the spongy spot inside of you. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and mascara begins to brew below your lash line. Steve stares at you, his gaze passionate, wondering how he ever got so lucky. Not only has he got you exactly where he needs you, but he's also ruining you, tainting you for other men.

The only way he can truly ensure other men will leave you alone is to fill that belly of yours with his baby, so that's exactly what he intends to do. "Does that feel good?" he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. "You feel so full, baby?"

"So full, Steve," you whine, trying to adjust yourself to gather more comfort. Your walls rub against his cock as you adjust, and it feels kind of... good, so you do it again. Your hips slowly roll atop of him, and you whimper to yourself, pain mixing with pleasure.

Steve lets you bounce on him. It's a slow pace, and it doesn't hurt, though it feels unnatural to have something this big inside of you. It's not that you're entirely sexually naive - you've masturbated before, but this is completely different. Steve is huge, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel him. There's no room for escape, and your stomach flips as you throw your arms around his neck. "Steve," you breathe, eyes flittering shut as the coil inside of you threatens to break and snap, your toes curled in desperation. It feels as though you're just inches away from experiencing pure ecstasy, but you can't reach it, and it's making you so frustrated, you feel as though you could cry. "H-help me, Steve."

"You want Daddy's help when getting off?" he coos, brushing a curl away from your face. You stare down at him, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, and he groans slightly. So cute, so small, so ready for him. This is how you should be - begging for his help, needing him, relying on him. You're just a woman, after all; you need a big, strong man like Steve to take care of you.

His hips thrust up, and it's incredibly painful at first. Steve's pace is nothing compared to yours - you were being slow and gentle with your body, and he just wants to ruin it. His hips smash into you, his cock sliding in and out, and he peppers harsh kisses against your neck. You mewl against him, pressing up against his chest to feel him, your toes curling in your flats, your eyes dazed, mouth gaping. You look like a picture-perfect image, and Steve grunts as he fucks you, wanting to tip you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until the coil snaps. You murmur and shake against him, your thighs clenched as you cum, squirting all over his cock, drenching his balls and trousers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you yell against him, his cock relentlessly fucking you throughout your orgasm.

"I'm gonna fill you with my babies," he growls, "drown your pussy with my fucking cum."

"No," you cry out, unable to move as he thrusts himself into you; again and again and again. You feel so helpless, so small and weak against him, and you stare up at him. His pupils are dark and blown, and his Adam's apple bobs desperately, his nostrils flaring as his cock twitches inside of you. "Please, pull out!"

"I don't think so, baby," he grunts, and with one final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you. Your walls squeeze him simultaneously, and he lets out a low, powerful groan, as he coaxes your walls with his cum. "Gotta make you a nice little housewife. Gonna have you popping out all of my babies."

Steve brushes away the tears which slip down your cheeks. He doesn't even realize how hard he's been holding you until he lets go, your arms riddled with handprint marks which he's sure will bruise. "Don't cry, doll," he murmurs, "you knew what came with the job."

"No, I didn't," you sniffle, pressing your head into his neck. It's wrong how his warmth and his smell act as a safety valve for you when he's the reason you're so upset. "I would've never - I would've never gotten into this if I knew what you expected from me."

A gentle sob racks your body, and Steve looks down at you, caressing your face gently. "Baby, stop crying. You're ruining that little face of yours." In honesty, Steve's patience is running thin. He's been good to you; caring, doting, paying you well for an easy job, and this is how you react? You cry into his arms after he tells you he's going to pump you full of his children? He's Captain America, for God's sake. You should be begging for it. "Just - Jesus fucking christ," he huffs as you continue to cry, grabbing your face harshly, and the sudden grip shocks you. "Stop crying. If you're going to speak, at least try and be fucking coherent."

Nodding your head, you wipe your eyes, which are tender and you assume, red. "I'm not ready for this," your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve almost feels a bit sorry at the sight of you. "I- I don't want this."

"Only good girls get what they want," Steve states plainly, staring at your disheveled face. He certainly got what he wanted - you look ruined, and you feel it, too. He imagines his cum is mixed with a bit of your blood; what, with him defiling you and all, he probably broke your hymen as well. The thought makes him grin to himself, and he utters, "I don't think you've been good, so you don't get what you want, baby."

"I'm sorry! I just - this doesn't seem like a fair punishment! I don't want this!" You cry out as Steve delivers a harsh smack to your ass, and you gaze up at him pathetically through your lashes as he tuts.

The girls, on the other hand, had gathered in the kitchen; and you can feel their eyes on you while you concentrate on cutting the crusts off of Steve’s sandwich. One of them addresses you directly:

“Where’d you get the apron from?” 

“Uh, Steve got it for me.” You answer awkwardly. Which is true - he’d thrown it at you a few days ago with an oddly excited look on his face, saying something about you looking like a “proper housewife”. You had simply thought the print was pretty, but didn’t miss the glint in his eyes as he’d made you put it on for him. 

One of the girls is chewing on a piece of gum, ogling at you as if you’re some kind of specimen on display at a museum. 

“So, is Steve like, your boyfriend?”

You purse your lips together, not really knowing what to say but deciding to give the less complicated answer: “I-I... I guess he is.” 

“Could we see your mark?”

You cough, feeling your chest tighten up slightly. You’re sensitive about your mark and the memories of how it was given to you. And anyways, it’s personal to you. You really don’t want to show them. 

“Oh my God, you can’t just ask people to show their marks!” one of the other girls huffs, and the three of them burst into a fit of giggles while you force yourself to laugh along with them, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. 

“You’re lucky. Steve’s probably the best-looking guy in college.” The girl with the gum sighs. 

“Totally,” The second girl agrees, “Although Ari could give him a run for his money.”

“So, what’s Steve like in bed?” The third girl asks out of nowhere.

Another question that catches you off-guard, and you feel your cheeks heat up. 

“Come on, Priya. Why would you ask her that? As if you don’t already know!” More snide laughter, and now you freeze in the middle of cutting the sandwich into triangles. 

“I think we all know.” The gum-chewer giggles, “Oh my gosh, remember Halloween night, when Steve took both of us to his room? Of course, he was with that bitch Sharon at the time, but that never stopped him, and-”

The knife makes a loud cluttering sound when you drop it on the marble counter-top, promptly turning on your heel and leaving the kitchen, sandwich forgotten. You’ve also seemingly forgotten about your own shyness because you walk straight into the living room, past all the jock alphas who leer at you, making a beeline for Steve. 

He’s sitting on the couch, legs spread and beer in hand, laughing at some video Bucky’s showing him on his phone. And that’s when you hesitate, wondering whether he’d be nice or mean to you in front of his alpha friends. But you can’t help it, tugging at his sweater sleeve anyways until he looks up at you.

“Can we talk?” You ask softly. 

“Aww, look at Stevie’s little girlfriend in her cute little apron!” One of the alphas whose name you don’t remember booms. You cringe inwardly, wishing you’d taken the darn thing off before you’d come in. 

Steve smirks, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down on his lap. And you aren’t kidding when you wish you’d rather bury your head in a hole than be sat on Steve’s lap in a room full of beer-drinking, weed-smoking alphas but here you are. 

“You look so sweet, baby.” He whispers in your ear, taking your hand in his and playing with your fingers. But that doesn’t seem to be enough physical contact for him, he grabs your face and presses his lips onto yours, tongue gaining entrance almost immediately as he licks into your mouth. 

Eyes wide, you can’t believe he’s just casually making out with you in front of his friends, but you don’t dare push him away unless he gets mad. 

“Steve, please, can we talk somewhere private?” You ask against his lips when he pulls away for breath - and immediately you hear booming laughter erupting all around you.

“Talk in private. That’s code for ‘I’m horny, please fuck me.’” A brunette alpha you vaguely recognise from your politics lectures - Andy - guffaws, with Sam and a few others joining in.

“Shut the fuck up, Barber.” Steve frowns, pushing you up to your feet before following suit, his hand fast holding on to yours, “Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that.”

You keep your head down, letting Steve drag you out of the room and into the nearest bathroom, sighing in relief when he shuts and locks the door behind him. But that relief doesn’t last too long because in an instant, he’s on you. 

“I-I need to talk to you,” you say softly, but you’re sure he hasn’t even heard you, your beefy alpha grabs you from below your thighs, picking you up and setting you down on the marble sink, immediately spreading your legs and slotting himself between them. 

“Mmm, you’re so hot. I’m happy my friends got to see you in your little apron, busy in the kitchen like a good little omega.” Steve’s bulge presses against your belly and you let out a squeak, his lips sponging wet kisses up your neck while his hands freely explore your body, “Now they know how well I’ve got you trained.”

You lose yourself to his touch for a moment, melting when he cups your face in his hands, almost tender until he yanks you into him, kissing you so fervently, you feel like you’ll pass out. 

Meekly, you push against his chest, “Steve. Please. I just wanted to talk about one thing.”

Steve’s lips drag down back to your neck, back to his favourite spot - your mark. Licking over it repeatedly, kissing it, grazing his teeth over it till you’re jelly in his arms, he smirks against your skin, “Talk then. I’m listening.”

“Well... I... I was talking to those girls back in the kitchen...”

“Mm, yeah? What did you talk about?” His hand slips underneath your blouse, infinitely more interested in what’s under there as he squeezes your breast roughly. 

You try to focus on the issue you want to bring up, hoping to ease into it... “Well, first they asked me if I wanted to go out with them this weekend.” (This was true, they had asked you this when they’d first come in.)

“Oh? And what did you say?” Steve draws back, blue eyes finally making contact with yours, fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your skirt and flipping it upwards along with your apron. 

“I said I would have to ask your permission first.”

Steve kisses you again, “Good girl. You can’t go, by the way.”

Him forbidding you to go out with the girls doesn’t bother you in the least - you’d much rather stay at home with Steve and Steve Junior than spend an entire night guessing whether you’re the butt of the girls’ jokes and whether they’re being genuine with you or not.  

“They... They also said that...” You pause, mulling over how to say it. “They said that last Halloween...”

Steve’s already refocused his gaze between your legs, yanking your panties down past your thighs. 

“Have you slept with them?” You blurt out, cheeks heating up even more. 

There’s cold fire and confusion behind his blue eyes as they narrow down at you, “What?”

“They said they already know what you’re like… in bed, because they’ve been with you — slept with you — before.” The more you say it out loud, the tighter your chest becomes, and you haven’t even noticed it but you’ve got your hands clenched into fists.

“Mmhm,” Steve goes back to kissing you, not giving your words any importance except this time you turn your head to the side.

“Steve, please. I just want to know—”

“I don’t remember. Maybe. Probably.” He’s acting too casual, continuing to make out with you, forcibly capturing your lips between his.

You feel a sharp pang in your heart at his answer. And what follows next is perhaps a tad over-dramatic, but it’s like you can’t help yourself. You sniffle softly, reaching up to wipe your eyes.

Steve stops short, looking down at you incredulously, “Are you… Are you crying?”

“N-No.”

He gathers you in his arms, carrying you over and sitting down on the covered toilet seat with you in his lap. And by this point, you can’t help the tears that trickle down your face. And you can’t understand why. You always knew Steve had a reputation for sleeping with a lot of girls — all the alphas on the football team did.

But hearing those girls say they’d slept with your alpha… right in front of your face! And hearing Steve confirm it… Suddenly, you want nothing more than to trudge upstairs and get into your nest and cuddle with Steve Junior. Your emotions have been all over the place lately, and you can’t seem to figure out why...

“My little baby omega,” Steve coos, “are you jealous?”

Another sniffle, “I know I have no right to be. It’s in the past. And it’s not like I was a virgin when I... when we...” Your voice trails off when his face flashes with annoyance, his grip tightening on your arm and fingers digging into your flesh.

“What have I told you about mentioning him?” 

“Sorry, alpha.”

He loosens his grip, “I barely remember fucking any of those girls, so they probably weren’t that good in the sack anyways.” He brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ear and stroking your head like you’re his pet. “Baby, they’re all worthless sluts - not like you, you’re wife material.”

Wife material. Why does that compliment make the omega inside you want to spontaneously combust with happiness? But like spiderwebs lurking in every dark corner, the doubts creep into your head to combat the light-heartedness you feel because of his praise. 

“You used to call me a slut.” You say quietly.

Steve huffs, brushing blond strands away from his forehead, “I already told you... I did that to keep you safe, to keep all those other alpha dickheads away from you.” He cups your face in his hands, making those butterflies in your stomach awaken again, “They would’ve taken advantage of you, baby.”

Believe him? Don’t believe him? You don’t know what to think, but it’s better not to think at all, better to just focus on his lips that are back to kissing your neck. That sensitive spot where your mark is - his favourite spot - and you throw your head back and whimper softly when he grazes his teeth against your gland. 

But you can’t get the sinking feeling out of your tummy, this sinking feeling that’s been brewing inside you ever since those girls came into the kitchen and started speaking to you. Once more, you risk Steve’s wrath by pulling away.

“H-How many girls have you slept with?” The question comes out in a timid, weak tone. You’ve never asked him anything this forwardly before. In fact, you don’t ask Steve too many questions anyways, because he either ignores them or changes the subject.

“I don’t know.”

You gape at him. “Y-You don’t know?”

You really don’t understand what’s up with your emotions because this news brings on a fresh wave of tears – because I don’t know probably means his number is in the double digits – or triple, even! You swallow harshly, unable to ignore the lump in your throat. So many girls – all of them probably prettier than you, sexier than you, more refined, ore knowledgeable about pleasure… And the list goes on and on and on.

“Stop crying,” Steve orders you stiffly, pressing his lips to yours, tongue swiping against your mouth slowly, “Or don’t, actually. It turns me on when you cry. See?” He grabs your hand, placing it on top of his hard crotch. But you’re not in the mood, despite his scent, despite his touch, despite everything.

“Wanna go upstairs.”

“Mm, but the guys won’t be able to hear me fuck you if we go upstairs.”

You bury your head in his shoulder, wishing you had Steve Junior to cuddle with because Steve himself only has a one-track mind. How could you ever have expected him to understand, to comfort you? What had you expected?

“Please. Wanna go to bed. Steve, please.” Again, you swipe at your eyes as tears somehow continue to well inside of them.

“Hey,” He cups your face with both his hands this time, stroking your cheek in the way that only he knows how to do, in a way that makes you melt into him despite anything, “I told you – those girls meant nothing to me. You’re my one and only. You’re the one I’m gonna knock up, my omega who’s gonna have my babies. You should be happy.” He wipes your tears with his thumbs, the act surprisingly gentle although his words still confuse you.

He's got about a hundred explanations and a hundred excuses, and why is it that you believe each one? Are they excuses? Or maybe he’s being genuine now? He’s being so sweet – well, as sweet as Steve can get. You bite your lip; wondering why alphas like Steve don’t come with a manual, a manual explaining his intentions because damned if you’re ever able to.

Believe him! The omega inside you screeches, and you find yourself biting your lip again.

Steve frowns, “Don’t bite your lip. Or I’ll bite it for you.” And with that, he rips your apron off you, cherry print rags on the floor as he begins to pop the buttons of your blouse, one by one. And that’s when you smell a fresh whiff of hot summer days and freshly mown grass and that woody, musky scent that has you going weak.

Alpha is good, alpha chose you. Not them. You. You, you, you! The omega inside you chants.

Steve’s tongue is tantalising as he licks up your salty tears from your face, pushing your bra strap down your shoulder, “I’m gonna fuck you right up against the bathroom door, omega. That way they’ll all hear it, hear you scream for me, know who you belong to. The girls will hear it too, and you want that, don’t you?”

You squirm, suddenly feeling hot all over, emotions washing away as quickly as they’d rained over you. Now, all you can feel is his thick dick underneath you, straining against his jeans and poking up against your ass, as if promising to fuck you good. 

“Answer me, omega. You want those girls to hear me wreck your little baby pussy, don’t you?” He grabs your hair, twisting your head backwards and pressing his forehead against yours, “I know you do. Because I know you...”

You feel your pussy throb, and you can’t help it when you fervently begin to return his kisses, letting him pick you up and walk you across the bathroom and up against the door, just like he’d promised. 

“Done being an emotional little cry-baby?” His tone dances between cruel and condescending, but for tonight it seems like you’ve given up trying to understand him - not when his touch feels so good. And now the source of your tears is the overwhelming pleasure you feel, and Steve licks them up readily. 

“Cry some more, sweet omega. You know daddy loves it when you cry.”

“Yeah, laugh it up now,” he grits, finally reaching the couch and eyeballing it cautiously. Eventually he decides that his desire to get off of his feet beats out the fear of contact and sits gingerly on the cushion. If anything, you hope that the cool leather is soothing against the hot, angry sunburn. Finally situated in a somewhat comfortable position, he fixes a playful glare on you and continues, “but when you get a little tipsy at dinner or your feet start hurting in your heels later, guess who won’t be able to carry you back to the car. Sunburnt Steve, that’s who. You’re on your own, kid.”

“Hey!” You protest, lifting a hand to playfully smack him in the chest, but think twice and opt for a pout instead. “It’s not my fault you fell asleep on the beach! And I would never count on you to-” His dry stare, heavy head rolling against the back of the couch, is enough to stop you in your tracks. It’s true, he’s carried or piggy-backed you back to the car on more than one occasion throughout your relationship, more times than ever since you arrived at your beach vacation with the gang just a few days ago. You both share a chuckle at his accusation, but you can practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin and there is a hesitance to his laugh. You do feel bad for him after all, so you tell him to sit tight and head to the bathroom to seek out a first aid kit. The little packets of aloe provided aren’t going to fix everything, but it’s a start at least, and you make a note to buy more on your way to dinner tonight. Back in the living area, you gesture for Steve to lean forward and say, “alright, Harrington, shirt off, c’mon.”

He does as requested, but not without comment. 

“Whoa, babe, I mean I’m flattered but I don’t think I’m in any state to-” 

“You want this aloe or not?” You interrupt with a cheeky smile and roll your eyes. 

“Yes please.” 

Taking a seat back on the couch, you gesture for him to settle in between your legs, which he does with a little bit of struggle. Wasting no time, you work the gel into the angriest patches of his skin, the tension melting from him as you do. He’s putty in your hands as you try to soothe the sting of his burn, working the aloe into sharp shoulders, down toned biceps and over taut pecs. By the time you’ve finished with your impromptu massage, his head lolls into your lap with a relaxed sigh. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss into your exposed thigh, just below the denim hem of your shorts. The ghost of his laugh tickles the sensitive skin there when he adds, “I take it back, I’ll suffer the pain to carry you ‘round tonight.”

You hum, threatening your fingers into his hair to tilt his gaze up at you. “You don't have to,” you coo, bending your back at an odd angle for a quick upside-down Spiderman kiss. “I’ll just be in pain with you.”