#sub steve rogers

steve let out a broken groan, eyes unfocused as he stared at his desktop monitor. his hands trembled, fingers slipping on the keys as he tries to correct the errors you were mocking.

you leaned forwards, your chest pressing against his back — which coincidentally lodged your cock even deeper into his tight arse. the sudden deep intrusion made steve cry out, high-pitched, strangled.

his fingers jerked on the keyboard, sending a string of random characters across the screen.

"i think you're missing a semicolon there," you chuckle, your free hand dropping to thumb his nipple with a bruising pressure.

"god, please," steve gasped, eyes water as he stared at the monitor to find the cursor through his hazed pleasure. "i'll fix it, just — fuck, please — harder —"

"too formal," you scoffed, reading the second paragraph, "tone's far too stiff for a report, stevie. reads more like a damn textbook than a log."

smack!

you delivered a stinging slap to america's fine arse, making him jolt too violently that his forehead nearly hit the screen. "watch your typing, captain. a mistake in the syntax and you're getting another one."

"i'm trying — s'too much, oh god," steve sobbed, his voice a slurred mess. tears of pure sensory overload leaked from the corners of his eyes, as he stared at the screen. his vision was swimming; he was being fucked dumb.

his brain was turning to mush under the relentless, heavy thrusts that kept him hovering on the mean edge of an orgasm he wasn't allowed to reach.

every time he tried to focus on the cursor, you'd drive into him with a sickening squelch, churning through the mess of your previous releases already coating his insides.

"there's an error in the third sentence — 'deployment' is spelt wrong. steve, are you really that distracted?"

smack!

another harsh palm landed on his backside, making him let out an undignified yelp. his fingers danced clumsily over the keys, hitting 'delete' far too many times as he struggled to regain his composure.

"i'm sorry — god, please — just one minute of peace —" he was begging desperately, voice cracking with the frustration of being kept on the edge, his ignored cock twitching and leaking uselessly past his desk. you held him there, practically buried to the hilt.

"peace is for people who get their work done right, steve." you countered, your voice dropping to a predatory growl. he whimpered at your words, eyes rolling back at your prodding tip. "you're far from deserving of that."

you pat his reddening arse —soft but it stung lightly — "chop, chop, get on with the third paragraph now."

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus

steve’s own hand guided yours to his neck.

oh?

here you were, thrusting into him slowly, for now, watching his every move. “..choking? you’re into that?” you muse, raising an eyebrow. steve shifts beneath you, his perfect legs locking around your waist. “captain a-fucking-merica is into choking?” you asked amusedly, your fingers brushing against his throat with intent.

he leaned his head back with a small gasp, pushing his hips to meet yours; poor guy was desperate. “jus’—fff..faster.” he bit out, blinking to focus back on you.

you grinded your cock in deeper, making steve grit his teeth. he rasped your name when he didn’t get what he wanted, his hands gripping your forearm that was just in front of him. your free hand was on his hip, holding him down.

“hey, chill. you’ll get what you want. lemme just enjoy the sight? and- oh, lemme recollect my fucking thoughts, which i lost, when i realized you want me to choke you.”

steve closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “you don’t have.. to. i just thought—”

oh nuh uh, no backing out now. your hand squeezed around his neck slightly, cutting his sentence off. steve paused, taken aback by your sudden, and honestly, unexpected, action. he let out a small groan at the feeling.

steve loves it. he loves feeling desperate for something as trivial as air. it makes him all floaty in that pretty little head of his.

when you noticed him practically buzzing at the sensation, you squeeze a little harder and then let up, only to slam your cock all the way to the hilt, making steve arch his back and cry out. as soon as he does though, and before he can recover, your fingers tighten around his throat.

his eyes shoot open, now wide, his mouth still parted in an attempt to get some air into his lungs. he feels your thumb brushing against the skin of his neck. it was pure fucking ecstasy.

your thrusts were rough, unrelenting. it wasn’t even sex anymore, it was just you taking what you needed. not what you wanted. what you fucking needed. slamming your cock down his hole, feeling your tip abuse his prostate—that got you off. kind of like gasping for air for steve off. eh, to each their own.

you eased off after a short amount of time and steve’s chest heaved, his eyelashes wet. it made him tear up—what could he do?

he was moaning, borderline sobbing with each ravenous thrust of yours, his fingers digging into your forearm as if urging you to squeeze his neck more. god, what a freak.

you cut off his air supply, again and watch as his lips part, trying to gasp for oxygen yet to no avail. simultaneously, your other hand slid to the small of his back, pushing and holding his hips up in the air, shifting the angle of your own. it was something you hadn’t tried before, but who gave a fuck now? you were trying out choking, the position wasn’t the main focus. even if it made your cock hit deeper.

steve clenched hard around you, his thighs quaking around your waist, heels digging into your skin. you couldn’t see it, but you knew his toes were curled. if you were being quite honest, you might’ve forgotten the fact that you were literally choking steve. when you remembered though, you quickly loosened your grip. you were about to apologize for your lack of attention, but..

steve wheezed for air, eyebrows furrowed, tears in his waterline. just a second later, he was coughing, trying to get rid of the irritating feeling in his throat. however, that wasn’t it. he was smiling. grinning from ear to ear, like a damn maniac.

“oh, you’re such a slut.” you mumbled with a scoff, squeezing his neck again before he could respond. his back arched up even more, hips stuttering as you continued abusing his prostate, time and time again.

steve soon broke out in sweat, his throat flexing under your palm, desperate for air. which you denied him, for now. your cock was throbbing, pulsating inside steve’s hole. he kept clenching and unclenching, as if trying to fucking milk you. you didn’t mind, not really, but you didn’t wanna cum so fast. it was proving difficult though…

steve was practically fucked out of his mind by now, drooling slipping down his chin, his eyes wide and borderline panicked, fingers digging into your flesh. you still can’t believe steve would risk asphyxia for his pleasure. truly a freak. jeez.

what reinforced that thought? well. him cumming when your hand was squeezing his neck harder than it ever has before. yeah. seems like that got him off real good. you wanted to laugh out of pure disbelief, but you held it because you felt your own orgasm nearing.

when you finally eased your hand off once and for all, steve groaned loudly, the dopey grin still on his face. his volume reached a point you never thought he could, his noises a mix between a moan and a sob. pretty.

“c—cum inside,” steve gasped, his voice hoarse. “do- it. shit!”

a curse? oh, he was into this far too much.

“not to disappoint, but, wasn’t plannin’ on pullin’ out.” you mumbled breathlessly, both hands moving to grip his thighs, pushing him into a mating press.

steve keened, his own hands fisting in the pillow under him. his entire body was shaking, breath heavy and erratic, his grip on the fabric so tight that his knuckles turned white. “a-ah! oh! ffff…mhhn!”

those noises. those. fucking. noises. are what pushed off of the edge. you came inside him, hot and thick ropes of cum filling his insides. steve almost wanted to pull away from the feeling; it was unusual and quite overwhelming. but he didn’t. he took it, took your cum like a good boy.

-They always thought he’s like either top or versatile at first but then it just ended up as him being a powerbottom, and he loved it this way because he loved feeling dominant while also being the bottom

-They love taking care of you whenever it ends, but also whenever you take care, god it just makes them much more hornier for you and its crazy

-They love it when they make you watch what's happening, what you're doing to them, how much list you bring over them. They can't stop, they want you to watch every single bit of it even if your shy, even if you try to look away or hide your face. They NEED to see you

-They love feeling you deep down, hitting the spot, even if they are doing the job they love feeling your big (for them you could even say monster) cock inside of them. The orgasm, the feeling, they enjoy it. The feeling of them thrusting deeper until you hit the prostate again and again until you finally cum inside

-The dirty talk is something they can never forget, god it turns them on so much because they know how much more shy, how much more effective it gives you, and how much more submissive you become. They love how much control they have over you so easily, how much weaker you can become only because of some words

-They love just randomly kissing you, like you might literally be watching a movie or just reading and they just all of a sudden kiss you, they love pinning you against the wall or the bed or the sofa because it gives them more time to steal a kiss or something else too

-Tehy love giving you deepthroat, the saliva that leaks out from their mouth, covering your cock, the gag reflexes and how it feels, the way they can feel it so deep their eyes roll from the pleasure, the way you can't stop moaning, begging them to stop, the overstimulation they give you, the way how much cum you feed them, feed their face, covering it as a mask, then making you turn your head to them just to see the mess you did on them

-They love feeling your cock inside their boy pussys so bad, love the way it can make them also submit, the way it makes their eyes roll, the way they just fall in love with you more and more

-They love cuddling with you, giving you the best and softest hugs, the ones that can warm you or your heart, the ones that can make you smile, or even feel like a child being hugged by a parent, they love feeling your body next to theirs

-They love feeling your fingers inside of them, the way they go inside, the way they can control it, the way they can use them as if they own your hand. It turns them on so much, so bad, it just makes them hornier when you try to pull out just for them to put them back again. They love every single part of and about you and they want you to know it so bad.

Maybe it was the alcohol that was running through your body, or maybe it was the fact that Bucky was fucking you stupid while your boyfriend, Steve, swept the hair out of your face.

How totally ridiculous and wrong this was, he thought, that he even got off of seeing his girlfriend being fucked by anyone other than him - but especially his best friend.

It was so wrong, but so right. Steve sat on the bed, watching Bucky rail you from up close, your head in his lap as Bucky’s thick cock slid in and out.

“I want you to keep eye contact with him, sweetheart, look him in the eye while you take this fucking cock.” His words alone made your back arch, but you did as told. You could barely even keep your eyes open, your skin was burning with desire. “Should we let him make you cum, baby? Should we let him touch your sweet pussy while I’m fucking you?” Bucky said. You almost couldn’t speak.

“Please, Bucky, I wanna help her cum.” Steve said, almost whimpering. Bucky laughed a bit, and pushed your legs open just enough to let Steves fingers rub your clit.

“Fuck, oh my god!” You scream out, the sensation of Steves fingers and Bucky’s thick cock. “Please let me cum, Bucky, please, oh my god.” Your pleading sounded like music to both mens ears. Your legs started to shake, vision going white, and that familiar feeling washed over you.

“Good girl, cumming and letting Steve help. Was he good tonight too? Should we let him touch himself?”

Steve almost never got to touch you during these sessions. This had been the most he’d touched you, in fact. Usually he was instructed to sit on the bed and keep your hair out of your face, make sure you were pretty for Bucky. Sometimes, if he did a good job the previous time, he’d even be allowed to touch himself. To get himself off while watching your pussy be pounded from only a foot away.

Steve palmed himself through his jeans, he was still fully dressed. Watching you in this state, so blissful and taking Bucky’s cock so good, the sight alone might have got him off…

Tomorrow, Steve's life would change for good. Or for bad, we couldn't be sure. Though they'd said it wasn't very likely, there was always something that could go wrong. You just hoped you'd get your Steve back in one piece.

But you weren't the only nervous one, though. Steve was tough, for sure, but he had a soft heart and you yearned to protect it.

So when he was laid out here in front of you, panting so hard you worried for his lungs, you couldn't help the fond smile creeping its way onto your face.

You'd been kissing around his thighs for a bit, just softly teasing him, trying to get his mind off tomorrow.

But Steve was never one to handle teasing well. You hadn't even been at him for that long, before he started whining 'please' and how 'he wants more'.

Taking pity on him, and remembering you were doing this to help release his tension, you gave in to his begging.

"Stevie, sit still for me," you scolded him as he squirmed when you finally touched his leaking cock. You knew he couldn't do that, though. He never could. Other times, you might be a little mean about it, but not tonight.

He was trying, really, but the sensations were so intense and he loved you so much and he just wanted to come.

So he whined softly, not being able to keep quiet when you got him like this, licking his tip while you fondled his balls as he could do little else but lay there and take it.

It had taken a long time to get him this comfortable, though. You remember the beginning of your relationship, when he was so shy he could barely look you in the eye, much less while you were in a compromised position such as this one.

He didn't understand how he'd gotten so lucky. But he had, you chose him, every day again and again. You saw the kind of man he was, his goodness and his pureness. How he defended those who didn't dare defend themselves, even if it was at his own expense. How he was always ready to extend a helping hand to those who needed it, taking care of the community around him like it was his sole mission in life.

But who took care of him? You had taken on that role, making sure he knew how cherished and wonderful he was. It could still sometimes make him turn pink when he realised the intensity of your love for him. He didn't think he deserved that kind of high praise.

"Love you, Stevie," you smiled before engulfing his cock in your mouth.

He gasped out, eyes screwing shut as he pushed the back of his head deeper into the pillow. He could feel you smiling around his cock, and the slight scratch of your teeth send his mind reeling.

You took him deeper, moving your hands to the part of his dick that didn't fit as Steve let out little huffs above you.

Switching gears, you popped your mouth off his cock and moved down lower, sucking his balls as your hands continued stroking him. Steve felt himself ascend to nirvana, whimpering as his back arched up.

"Does that feel good, Stevie?" You grinned at him from your position at his balls. He moaned out as your thumb swiped over his slit, "Yes! Please, don't stop."

"Oh, I'm not planning to."

Steve knew he should be worried by the devilish glint in your eye, but he was too engulfed by the current pleasure to care.

You gathered the spit in your mouth, letting it drip down onto his tip before you tried to take him all the way in your mouth. As you did so, nose pressing against his pubic bone, Steve let out an unrestrained shout, hips bucking into your face as he came without warning.

You grinned as you moved off of him once again, but you didn't let up the movement of your hand. The other hand came to fondle his balls again, now drained by his orgasm.

"Look at these," you cooed. "Think you can give me some more?"

"Please," Steve whimpered as he turned his head from side to side, not knowing what to do with all the extra stimulation to his sensitive cock. "I can't, I can't..."

"You can, Steve, and you will." You punctuated your words with a squeeze around his hardening shaft, causing him to whine out as he squirmed.

As you moved to engulf him in your mouth again, Steve couldn't help the sounds flying out of his. He was so sensitive, and he knew you well enough to know there was no taking a break.

You licked a stripe from his balls to his tip, one hand scratching and massaging his thigh as the other stroked his dick.

But as Steve kept squirming below you, you moved a hand to his hip bone to push him down.

"Sit still, Steve. Thought you didn't want me to stop? Then take it."

"I will, I will! I can take it, please, wanna come," he babbled as he continued to buck his hips up, despite your warning hand on his hip.

As you popped your mouth off once again, feeling he was close to his second orgasm, you moved the hand on his hip to his balls once again, squeezing them tightly. Steve let out a yelp, eyebrows scrunching up as his back arched again.

"Are you close, sweetheart? Hmm? C'mon, cum for me like a good boy, Stevie."

That set him off, fucking your fist by himself as he cried out. "Oh, hng, I'm, I'm—"

And then he went quiet, mouth opening in a silent scream as white liquid spurted from his tip. His hips continued to buck wildly until his orgasm had subsided and the stimulation grew to be too much.

Then, he collapsed on the sheets, completely still for a moment to recover.

You grabbed a wash cloth, cleaning your hand and then him, making him whine softly at the cold sensation.

Only when you got into bed with him, did Steve's eyes suddenly fly open in horror.

"Sweetheart, you didn't come."

"Shh, it's okay. This was about you."

He rolled on his side, facing you. "But I can make make you feel good. Promise."

You smiled tiredly at him. "Tomorrow, if you still want to. For now, rest. You need it."

His uniform sloughs off like old skin—discarded offerings marking a trail to the altar of your living room. The shield leans haphazardly against the doorframe, forgotten.

There’s a dumb, boyish grin on his face when you corner him against your threadbare couch, climbing over him and settling roughly in his lap. And when your bare thighs slide up next to his own, caging him beneath your heat, his lashes flutter involuntarily—because the first touch is always an adjustment, no matter how many times he’s been here. 

Like a live wire pressed to his skin, ripping through his veins and setting every nerve ablaze. 

All the white-hot brilliance of a collapsing star; tiny supernovas erupting under his skin, leaving behind a constellation of heat marking your divine path. 

You narrow your eyes at him, nostrils flaring, yet your dainty fingers still tremble when they rise up to his chest.

The locus of your power—where your touch is most potent—laid flat over the flushed skin covering his heart. The thrum of his pulse flutters against your palm, reassuring.

Still beating.

The first time you'd touched him, you’d been so cautious—fingertips barely grazing his skin, sending sparks across the top of his knuckles. Yanked your hand back just as quickly, wide-eyed and breathless as if you expected him to crumble to the ground in front of you.  

Instead, he’d caught your quivering hand in his, grip warm and unyielding.

It’s alright. 

Guided it under his shirt, pressing your palm flat against his chest, just left of where the five-point insignia's etched into his skin. He'd kept your hand there for a long while, letting you feel the warmth of human flesh, the steady rise and fall of a moving ribcage besides your own—maybe for the first time.

Met your gaze as if to say:

See? Still beating.

Disbelief and trepidation in your eyes when you stared back, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But when it didn’t—when he didn’t—you’d gone straight for his lips instead.  

“Where’d you go, Rogers?”

Your distant warning calls him back, punctuated by a soft tsk as your hips tease slow circles over his lap. One hand braced on his shoulder for leverage, his stomach glistening with your arousal. 

There’s something chiding in the furrow of your brows, the purse of your lips—like you’re disappointed that he’s managed to remain in one piece. Like setting him alight was the only absolution.

He blinks, still drowning in the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming burn reduced to a steady buzzing as his eyes focus back on you. 

But it’s too late—you’ve found other ways to keep his mind tethered.

Your arm slides behind your back, finding the head of his cock, swollen red and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. As soon as your fingers graze the tip, his breath hitches, abs clenching like he’d taken a blow to the gut. His hands shoot up to grip your hips, palms searing at the contact. 

An appeased grin touches your lips as you stroke him once, twice, then sink down in a single, fluid motion, the heat of your body enveloping him whole. 

“Oh, fffu—“ 

His mouth falls open, a half-formed hymn forming on his tongue, the rest swallowed by the ruthless pace you set.

Both hands anchored to his chest as you lift back up, until just the head of his cock is enveloped by the tight, wet ring of your entrance. You swivel your hips in a slow, teasing circle, testing his restraint before sinking all the way back down. Then you'd start over from the top, the weight of your thrusts heavy and relentless—eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back as if you’re basking in the first downpour after a lifelong drought. 

He tracks your every movement, eyes lazy and half-lidded, head lolled against the back of the couch. The thick column of his neck bares itself to you, his jugular pulsing a steady offering.

And being the merciful god you are, you take it.

Four dainty fingers curl around his throat, your thumb pressing just enough to feel his breath catch, his pulse thundering under your grip. Searing heat shoots up his neck, sharp static rippling across the flesh.

And as his vision grows hazy around the edges, you begin to glow at its center. Your silhouette illuminated by a blinding radiance as you bask in his pain—the ache, the burn, all laid bare for you.

“That’s it, show me.”

His voice breaks out gravelly and thick, nearly unrecognizable with you pressing down on his vocal cords. His hands grow restless, quick to worship the curve of your hips, your stomach, before sliding up under your shirt. Calloused fingertips find your nipples, pebbled and straining against the flimsy cotton, and pinch hard enough to elicit a choked gasp. He smiles as you glare and press harder against his neck, betrayed by the way you clench around him when he repeats the gesture. 

The only man who can withstand your touch without succumbing to its power. His super-soldier healing ability absorbing your raw, unbridled energy, strong enough to send anyone else into a permanent coma with just a moment’s touch. 

And there’s a thought in there somewhere, deep in the corner of his sex-fuddled, oxygen-deprived brain, about something Sam once told him. How some people grow so accustomed to pain that they seek it out—caught in a relentless cycle of self-destruction and sabotage, never having known a life without it. 

Sound familiar, Steve?

And maybe the fact that this was what he was thinking about, in the midst of being fucked into oblivion, was a good example as any to prove Sam’s point. But he shoves that thought aside too, tossing it onto the ever-growing pile, stacked miles high. 

Like all the others, it’ll have to wait. When you’re not grinding your hips and arching into his touch, so warm and tight and perfectly fitted around him.

So he pushes you harder, meeting your thrusts and pinching your nipples sore until you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Draws you to the edge, just like he knows how, that line where control and reason blur into nothing but raw sensation. 

His Adam’s apple bobs under your palm when he swallows thickly, smiling: 

“You’re gonna cum, aren't you?”

You let out a sharp breath, eyes squeezed shut, whispering as if you’re pleading for forgiveness. 

“Shut up. Shut up.” Your prayers grow louder still.

“God, just fucking—”

He meets your glare with a steady gaze, the subtext in his eyes clear as day:

Do it. Try me.

You slow the relentless rotation of your hips, brows furrowing as you lift your other hand. It hovers for a moment, uncertain, before draping over the one already pressed to his neck. 

The added pressure’s enough to actually render him starved for air, back arching as his breathing grows shallow. Pressure builds up in his ears, the blood rushing to his head and muffling the world around him, leaving him with only the thrum of his own pulse and the filthy slaps coming from between his legs, wet and frenzied as you pick up your pace.  

Your brows are knitted together, a bead of sweat rolling down the curve of your temple. Knees rubbed raw against the scratchy upholstery as you roll your hips over and over, hands still fixed over his throat. With no room to swallow, spit starts to pool in his mouth, the same time your rhythm falters, a familiar pattern of spasms signaling your end. 

He’s right there with you, teetering on the brink—whatever breaths he can muster getting shorter, faster. It leaves him lightheaded and reeling, the serum working overtime to absorb the onslaught of your energy. 

And if the thought of his healing ability stretching out so thin, enough that you could actually choke him to death, only makes his dick swell inside you, then… fuck it. He likes the noises you make anyway, eyes rolling back every time it finds that tender spot deep within you. 

The Almighty Captain America, laid to waste by your bare hands and pussy.

Now wouldn’t that make for a nice headline.

He drops one hand to find your clit with deft precision, desperate to see you tip over the edge before his lungs give out. Rubs tight, small circles, just above where his dick’s plunging into your heat, until you're twitching violently against him, collapsing forward with a sharp, fractured cry. 

Your hands release around his throat, flying up to grip his hair instead, and the sudden rush of oxygen precipitates his own release as he bucks up into you, a strangled groan ripped from his abused throat.

He finds solace in the crook of your neck, the cradle of something divine, as light bursts behind his eyes. He comes in thick, pulsing ropes, his body collapsing under the weight of the sensation, trembling as he’s made undone by your touch. 

He blinks away black dots from his vision in the comedown, ears still ringing as you shuffle off his lap. You raise a soft tissue in his direction, smiling at his defeated form—legs spread and chest heaving—and grant him a few more breaths before he lifts himself off the couch.

“Same time next week?”

"Fuck off, Rogers.”

With a tired huff, you snatch up his uniform off your floor, shoving it against his chest. He smiles, letting his hand brush against yours, savoring that electric surge one last time. 

His shield feels feather-light when he slings it across his back, giving you one last look before you slam the door in his face. He doesn’t miss the blush that bloomed across your cheeks, just seconds before you averted your eyes, mirroring the one on his own face. 

Because the truth is, he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe more.

Someone to break the parts of him that never healed quite right, snapping them clean so he can piece them back together. 

As he stares at the faded mahogany of your apartment door, that familiar high begins to settle in—a fleeting but vivid taste of what it felt like before the serum, when cuts stayed open and bruises remained tender for weeks. 

And as the long-lost weight of exhaustion starts to seep into his bones, making his eyelids grow heavy, he rejoices. 

He’s treading on nothing but air when he bounds down the stairs of your building, giddy with anticipation for a night of deep, unbroken sleep.